#last year. it does get better. or you do i think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amiableness · 2 days ago

Text

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can't tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you'd like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy's eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him. But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night.

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn't spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them.

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction.

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts.

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy.

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud.

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you're off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed.

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you've been on my mind for months—years, if I'm being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. So much closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door."

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

244 notes · View notes

heechwe · 3 days ago

Text

the start of time | 𝐩𝐣𝐬

୨୧ pairing: park (jay) jongseong x reader ୨୧ word count: 8.6k ୨୧ genre: angst, semi-fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to strangers to lovers, childhood friends, miscommunication, pet names (baby, love, etc.), unprotected sex, TRIGGERS FOR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND PARENTAL ABUSE IN THE LATTER HALF OF FIC. ୨୧ synopsis: You've lost your creative spark for the first time since moving away from Jeju Island, leaving behind your best friend in the process without an explanation. But when a work assignment sends you back to your hometown, truths come to light and perhaps lost love can come back with a little time and effort. ➸ bless @pars-ley for following this fic to the very beginning and being one of the best betas ever! this story is for you, ley, and thank you ♡ 💿Listen to the story's playlist here!

Over the thin railing that separates Jay from the cliffs below, the waves crash violently together. The weather mirrors the feelings circulating through his veins. The ripples of the seabed meeting the sand make him long for what his life could be instead of its current state. The wind whips his trenchcoat in angry thrashes against his back. His hands grip the lighthouse’s iron bars to keep his body steady. The upcoming storm was forecast last night to be one of the biggest downpours of the summer.

As the second in command of the lighthouse keeper, his father, it’s standard practice to be prepared for what’s to come. As the sea continues its visceral reaction to the weather, Jay thinks about her and what her life has become since she’s left. Is she happy? Is Seoul everything she dreamed of? Was running from Jeju without saying goodbye worth it? Or is she closer than he believes, her heart’s desire turning out to be not far from the fishing town they grew up in?

His father calls for him inside, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Probably for the better, anyway. Thinking about those chapters of his life, the book separated cleanly and harshly with a before and after, does him no good. So, like he should, he runs inside to do the next task that keeps one of the last lighthouses in Jeju working properly. Even if his heart has to be sacrificed in the process.

The subject of your next photograph takes no interest in the lens standing three feet away. Her tail wiggles rapidly as she inspects the bush in front of her with her perky, wet nose. You giggle quietly behind your camera, trying not to disturb her inspection of the roses.

Rule #1 of photography, according to your department head Sunghoon, is to make yourself nonexistent. To get the perfect shot, conceal yourself as much as possible. It’s taken many practice sessions since your first magazine catalog, the original photos coming out less than perfect. Thankfully, you’re now lead photographer thanks to Sunghoon’s tutelage and tips. After five years, you feel like you’re on stable ground.

It reminds you of Jay, the sudden memory of him being the focus of your lens many times before a punch to the gut. Your oldest friend in the world probably wonders what the reason was for your sudden departure. You couldn’t even leave him a letter to provide some semblance of an explanation, one that he definitely deserved more than anyone else.

If only you had a reason that made sense or could salvage the bond you once shared. You know now it’s been eaten away by silence, so what could be said anyhow to repair it?

Your guilt gnaws at your empty stomach the entire way back to the headquarters of Otherworldly, the magazine you interned at and subsequently were hired to take pictures for. You greet the rest of your team when you make your way upstairs.

”Finally found some inspiration?” Sunwoo asks. Your friend tries to balance a pencil on the top of his nose.

”I’m working on it. In the meantime, I got the copies you wanted.” You give him the folder that holds your pictures for the month’s spread.

”Barely made the deadline this time, kid.” Sunghoon tuts his head at you.

“Leave her be,” Chaewon chides him, thwacking her notebook on the back of his head. It’s nice to know the writer’s room has your back when the boys decide to tease, especially in the form of Chaewon. She may be a stern leader, but she also happens to have a soft spot for you, the only female photographer.

You hear your boss, Kim Taehyung, call your name and ask you to come to his office. Your body bristles at the command, but Chaewon pats you on the shoulder. “Probably just a timesheet thing.”

Tip-toeing into Taehyung’s office, you smile at his back. Your boss is focused on a box of files on the windowsill, the outline of his button up shirt highlighted by the sun. “Please sit,” he says.

You do as he asks, putting your hands on your knees to pinch the skin, an old habit you couldn't kick. You tuck your hands under your legs to stop when Taehyung turns to you. He presses his glasses higher to the bridge of his nose, a soft smile emerging on his lips. “I wanted to say your photos from the last column were very impressive.”

”Oh!” You respond instinctively. Expecting reprimands that turned out to be compliments, you mentally take a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

"Also," he says, "I was wondering how you’d feel being sent out on an assignment. Well, you and Sunwoo, actually. Sunghoon was discussing a location-focused piece, and he recommended you for it since you may need a change of scenery for some fresh inspiration.”

You nod your head immediately. “Of course!”

Taehyung claps his hands together, clearly pleased. “Perfect. I’ve already booked you two for the next flight to Aewol in two days. It’ll probably be easy to find a place to stay, right?”

The pit in your stomach that faded immediately widens into a chasm. The sound of your hometown’s name on Taehyung’s lips could have been a figment of your imagination. A sick joke your guilt materialized to punish you further. But as you look longer at your boss, his glee transforming into hesitant confusion, you know the reality is far worse.

”The location piece is for Jeju,” you say, the realization on your lips hitting your ears like a cannon.

”Is that an issue? I can always send Jungwon with Sunwoo instead."

”No sir! Not a problem at all.” The words tumble out before you can stop them.

Jungwon, the little prick, wouldn’t get in the way of your success if you could help it. It’s bad enough that he reminds you of your creative block whenever he gets the chance. No way would he steal a cover piece from you. Particularly the one Sunghoon recommended you for and your boss expected you to complete without problems.

Despite the implications creating intense dread in every fiber of your being.

”Perfect. Get some sleep for the flight! I’ll send the piece details in an email first thing tomorrow morning.”

You walk back to your desk in a daze, unsure what to say when Sunghoon, Sunwoo, and Chaewon ask about the meeting. All your thoughts can center on is Jay, his smiling face continuously playing in your mind’s eye.

“This town is cute! A bit barren, but cute,” Sunwoo says as he exits the car parked in front of your childhood home. Your mother’s rose bushes stand tall near the mailbox, the only color in the dry grasslands surrounding your house. Aewol pales in comparison to the colors of Seoul, the city’s vibrant hues suddenly replaced with sepia tones. The only color that seems to shine through the landscape is the sea a five-minute walk away.

”Say that again, Woo, and your face won’t look so cute.” You roll your eyes and grab your luggage from the trunk.

Two weeks, only two weeks, you can survive two weeks. Your mantra on the flight to Jeju Island has been giving you some relief at the thought of going back home in half a decade. Standing in front of the brick and mortar that encapsulates your old house, you find the words to be extremely hollow.

With her uncanny senses, your mother is already out the door and greeting you and Sunwoo with hugs and kisses on the cheeks. How she could tell the two of you were barely out of the car without spying out the window, you’re unsure.

Sunwoo melts under your mother’s attention, his gummy smile and polite aura on full display. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

”Ah, my prayers were answered. Glad to see my daughter returned with a boyfriend!”

Yours and Sunwoo’s eyes grow to saucers. Your tongues are erupting with explanations at an absurdly fast speed. “No, Mom,” you shush her as Sunwoo’s blush creeps across his neck. “Woo’s my coworker. He’s here with me on an assignment.”

”Oh! Apologies.” She laughs behind one hand and pats Sunwoo on the back with the other. “Doesn’t mean one day you can’t be more than coworkers! That’s how your father and I met, remember?”

You give her a close-lipped smile and nod, the muscles in your jaw tightening.

You hadn’t thought about your father or your parents’ relationship once since you had flown out to the mainland. Admittedly, your life was all the better for it.

Feeling the air of his presence surrounding yours again twists the veins in your neck to tense knots. The ends of your hair prickle in anticipation. You make it to the front of your doorstep, wondering where he is and why he didn’t barge outside to greet you.

Like she can read your mind, your mother says, “I forgot to call and tell you, honey. Your father had an accident at the factory a month ago.” You see a tear in the corner of her eye, but you don’t address it. “So…he’s been bedridden for the past few months now.”

Sunwoo expresses his deepest sympathies. Unbeknownst to him, they deserve to go to the next beggar before him.

Like any other child, you should worry about your father’s sudden health change with a heavy heart and a frazzled mind. You should feel guilty for being away for so long, wondering how to make up for the lost time.

But you feel nothing. Not an ounce of what you should feel.

Even when you sit by your parents’ bed, his eyes lazily gazing out the window while your mother tells him in a loving voice that you’re home, your emotions are devoid of anything negative or positive. Sunwoo smiles and greets him politely. Your father says nothing. The seizure that overtook him stole his ability to enunciate coherent words.

Some moments later, when it’s just the two of you in the room together, you itch to leave. It should be a pleasure to see him. But you’re unsure to see it any other way but objectively: he’s just a body in a bed, doing nothing every day.

You hear your mother shouting in the living room. Her voice is at an abnormally high pitch to exemplify her happiness. You forgot she could achieve such a decibel when she wanted to.

”You won’t believe who’s here, Seongie!”

Seongie.

The childhood nickname Jay was blessed with by his parents, and the name stuck like a second skin. Now, it bounces off your ears and exacerbates your already conflicting emotions. Your body goes into overdrive from the sudden overstimulation, at ease from knowing Jay is close by but petrified you're seeing him after so long.

You fix your hair and take tentative steps out of your parents' room and into the hallway, hearing your mother call your name to beckon you to welcome your old friend.

When you see him, his frame filling the doorway of your childhood house, you’re transported back in time. You see yourself and Jay on a day when he could barely stand at half the wall height. You were etching pencil markings into the doorframe, the wood concealing the handwriting perfectly when the door was fully closed. A time when there were no worries or anxieties placed on you, the two of you against the world.

Looking over his face now, you realize the years have not shown physically. He still has the same angled jaw and smooth cheeks. His bottom lip remains puffy, especially when he pouts. The only thing that has changed with time is his eyes, most likely from the image before him, one he hasn’t seen in so long.

He has every right to be confused. One second, you stopped being a staple in his life. Now, you’re back in it without a warning.

You can’t deny your heart clenching. The muscle seizes when he looks over your figure, his jaw ticking when he finally meets your eyes with his own.

”You’re back,” he says finally. His first words to you in five years hold an air of uncertainty, laced with unspoken pain. He’s unsure what to do with his body, his arms pressed to his sides and his hands stuffed tightly into his pockets.

Knowing you’re the cause of it makes you want to run to Seoul all over again with your tail between your legs, hoping you can forget the misery you’ve caused. How can one apology hold enough weight to make up for what you did to one of the only people you’ve ever loved?

Sunwoo, aware of the sudden tension flooding the room, holds out a hand to your best friend. “Hi, I’m Sunwoo.”

Jay breaks eye contact with you to take Sunwoo’s palm, shaking it with a gentle but present grip. Jay gestures to your mom when he discusses yours and Sunwoo’s job at the magazine. “She’s very proud of her daughter, you know."

”Of course!” Your mother exclaims. “‘S not everyday that your child becomes some hip photographer.”

Jay inhales a heavy breath and looks down at his watch. “I have to go back to the lighthouse, but—“

”I thought your dad still ran that thing,” you cut Jay off. Aewol’s lighthouse was one of the last on the island, and the last love Jay’s father had left after his wife passed away twelve years ago. You expected it to stay in the family, but not in this way. Not when Jay has so many dreams to fulfill. Or, at least, you hope so.

Jay releases a humorless laugh, eyes falling at the corners. “Pop’s getting old. Can’t do it forever.”

He hugs your mother and gives a soft wave to Sunwoo. You feel the pit in your chest from a few days ago re-erupt when Jay looks in your direction before he departs. All you’re left with is the grim line of his mouth to haunt you for the rest of your afternoon.

The shutter of your camera makes Jay turn his head to you with a shy grin, his hair blowing in all directions from the wind. Your spot on the cliffside overlooking the sea is close enough to the lighthouse for you to see Jay’s father going in and out of the structure with supplies shipped from the mainland. Jay only runs over when his father calls for him to help, but his father hasn’t bothered to in the last hour or so.

In the downtime, the two of you have been alternating between science homework and enjoying the cool, cloudy weather. You’ve taken a number of shots of the water’s current and weeds surrounding your picnic blanket, but the majority of them were of your best friend. He pretends he’s going to smack your lens away, but he never does.

“Are you done taking candid shots of me?” Jay asks, his pencil scratching against his notebook.

“Depends. Maybe once you tell me what you’re writing,” you tease. “Because it’s definitely not a chemical equation.”

Jay chuckles and puts his notebook between the two of you. The words are jumbled in front of you until you recognize them as a recipe. “I was testing out this version of hoedeopbap last night, but I used white fish instead of salmon. It turned out really good, even Jaeyun liked it.”

You rest your head on your hand, sprawling out on the blanket to look at Jay. He always appears so animated when discussing food. You wonder when he’ll take the initiative and do something with his passion.

“What?” He asks when he catches you staring.

You grin and turn your eyes away. “You’re just a dork for food, is all.”

“Says the nerd with her camera always around her neck.”

You click your tongue at him. “I consider myself an opportunist. How else will I get good shots if I don’t have my baby with me?” You rub your camera’s body lovingly, and Jay releases a hearty laugh.

The booming sound of your father’s voice calling your name makes your entire body flinch. You swear his figure is as tall as the lighthouse as he comes towards your picnic blanket, stopping short when he sees Jay next to you.

“It’s almost dinner time. Let’s go home.” Your father says the words with a false ease; they hide his warning to follow him back to your house. Your anxiety rumbles low in your stomach, but you play it off like it’s nothing as you pack up your stuff.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jay says, his eyes hopeful for the next morning. As it is your routine for him to bike with you to school, you’re also counting the minutes until you see him again.

“See you tomorrow,” you say, your eyes soft but your stomach wrapped in knots. When you’re out of sight, and your father wraps his hand around your upper arm on your way to the car, you calculate the next seconds until you’re away from him and back in the safety of your best friend’s presence.

You and Sunwoo have been around the town square of Aewol all morning and afternoon. The crisp hour of 4 PM hits you sharply with the sound of cows and other livestock sounding off somewhere nearby. The pictures you’ve both taken of the local townspeople, random animals passing through the pale greenery, and subtle landscape have been average at best. They don’t hit you with awe or fuel any further inspiration. It’s the same cycle you’ve repeated for the past three months, trying to strike some sort of match of creativity only to come up empty.

“Let’s be honest,” Sunwoo says, looking over his own camera’s reel. “These kinda blow.”

“You don’t say?” You kick a free cobblestone off the road in front of you, lips downturned.

“The assignment is ‘Hidden Treasures’ right? Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong place.”

“Where do you think we’ll find something like that here?”

“You’re a local,” Sunwoo says in his defense. “Where did you go all the time in this backwater town?”

The beginning of your sarcastic remark dies on your lips the second you see Jay walking out of the laundromat with Heeseung, one of your old high school friends. He looks the same as Jay, still youthful but showing maturity around the edges.

Jay catches your eyes as they continue walking, his face contorting in surprise but unsure how to address it. Heeseung is the one to run towards you and pick you up in a tight hug, practically squeezing the remaining energy out of you.

“Holy shit, Jong wasn’t lying! You’re really back!” Heeseung laughs, his eyes becoming crescent moons from his happiness. You match his reaction, genuinely glad to see another familiar face.

You introduce Sunwoo to Heeseung, and Sunwoo exchanges pleasantries with Jay. Jay remains tense, the two of you conflicted about how to bridge the awkwardness that lingers.

Heeseung, like Sunwoo, is a great detective, sniffing out tension and immediately directing the conversation to your cameras. “So, Jong was saying you’re here for an assignment?”

“Yes!” Sunwoo says before you can. “We’re trying to find hidden treasures, actually. Our boss’s words, not mine.” Heeseung laughs at Sunwoo and then flicks his fingers.

“Jong could show you guys the inside of the lighthouse! Or even the view from that damn balcony would be a treasure in its own right. You can practically see the whole town from up there. Right, Jong?”

Jay rolls his eyes and rolls the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. “Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Perfect! We were dying here without any good material. No offense to you small town folk,” Sunwoo apologizes, but neither of your old friends mind. They welcome Sunwoo’s city perspective with laughter and an open hand, just like they always have with newcomers.

On your walk to the lighthouse, Heeseung and Sunwoo taking the lead, you’re left to walk alongside Jay. The tension is a tad looser than it was before, but it still pervades the space between you both.

Finally, Jay says, “I can’t believe you’re actually home, y’know.” He says the sentence more like a question, his voice unable to mask the traces of hurt that linger.

It makes your heart rip, but you avoid the workings inside your chest to keep the conversation light. "It took a long time, didn't it?”

”Yeah. It’s like you dropped off the planet.” Jay’s voice turns a degree lighter. He smiles, the crack in his solid facade giving you a way back in.

“I basically did. All I had was my camera and some clothes in my bag.”

Jay's eyes widen, startled by the thought. “You’ve never traveled light once in your entire life.”

”I know! I barely had time to grab the necessities.”

His eyes are filled with humor. “And by that, you mean…”

“Obviously my Pokémon collection, for starters. I had to start from scratch,” you joke. “Good thing I saved all of the old cards under my bed.”

”Even the one of Charmander that I dropped in Jaeyun’s homemade soju?”

You nod, laughing. “It still smells like watermelon.”

”Bullshit!”

You both fall into an easy rhythm of witty banter and taunting, recalling old memories and brushing shoulders in a mocking fashion.

By the time you’re taking photographs on the highest floor of the lighthouse, the tension has dissipated by a large portion. Your relationship with Jay may not be completely back to where it was before, but the first lighthearted smile he throws in your direction proves it’s a start.

And a start is just enough to make your heart feel a million pounds lighter.

“So Jongseong is flailing this card around, not realizing that the bowl of my signature soju punch is right there behind him…” Jake tells the story of the Charmander card with animated expressions. Heeseung and Jay roll their eyes, but Sunwoo laughs the entire time, his buzz bumping his energy to a level you had never seen before.

The bonfire Jake and Heeseung set up a walk away from the lighthouse is big enough for all five of you to sit comfortably around it. It seemed to be the only way your old friends could hang out together at this point in their adult lives. The bar that still stood in town filled with too many old people to feel like an acceptable hangout location.

“And he completely dropped not only her precious Pokémon card, but his whole fist into the punch bowl! I had to make a whole new batch without my parents knowing about it!” Jake laughs incredulously.

The memory still holds a level of insanity for him, clearly—not just at the situation but the level of teasing that you and Jay would devolve to when you were in your own little world together. You couldn’t help that you wanted to take your card from Jay’s hands, even if that meant soaking him in alcohol to get him to give it up.

You lift your beer to your lips, blushing. Jay sits beside you and notices the humor in your expression, smiling to himself too. You didn’t expect to reach this level of closeness again so soon. Who knew it would take a work project to find your way back to each other? With the week coming to a close and a good catalog of photos under your belt thanks to him, you could say the glass was looking half full.

“You guys got any more stories? This shit’s hilarious!” Sunwoo says, still laughing.

“Loads, man,” Jake responds.

“He’s got the best memory of all of us. Probably remembers all of our first naps in elementary,” Heeseung adds.

“How about we focus on the present, please? Otherwise we’ll be here until the sun comes up, Dee and Dum,” Jay says, pointing to the prime suspects with their all-knowing smirks.

“What else is there to say, Jay? Jake and I have been toiling on the dredging boats. You keep guarding that white tower and saying no to your uncle every time he asks you to work at his restaurant. Same old, same old.”

You turn your head to stare at Jay, perplexed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It’s always been Jay’s dream to make something of himself with his recipes. Bookmarks, sticky notes, anything with free space held an ingredient here or a step for a recipe there. It was like it was second nature, as were photographs for you.

How could he deny himself from what he wanted?

“I already have responsibilities here. I can’t drive up and down the highway to Park & Co. every day.”

“Start small, idiot.” You chide him, half-serious in your pestering. “Who said you couldn't do both? You can be a good son and still have your own dream.”

“Careful,” Jake says to you. “He might listen to you.”

“You’re the only one who gets through that cold heart of his,” Heeseung teases.

Jay gives the older boys a stern look, and they back off immediately.

On the walk back to your house, Jay’s jacket nestled around your shoulders, you grill him further on the prospect of him cooking seriously. “You should do it.”

Jay shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “And what’ll happen to the lighthouse? My dad will go back every morning on his cane and keep it working himself? No way.”

“Come on, who says you can’t do both?” You flaunt your arms in the air, emphasizing your point. “It’s not like it rains every day here.”

He looks at you with humored eyes, their shape becoming extremely thin when he smiles. “You’re even more stubborn as an adult, you know?

You poke your tongue out at him. “I could say the same about you, Seongie.”

The rain soaks your clothes when you run through Jay’s door. You shake off the droplets in your hair, most of the strands needing to be wrung out in your fist. Jay gets you a towel to dry off with, laughing at your current state of affairs.

”Don’t make fun of me. Be glad I still came, asshole,” you warn, warming yourself with the dryness of the cotton towel.

Jay raises his hands in mercy. “I told you to come earlier! Forecasts are no joke.”

”Sometimes they’re wrong,” you say.

”Ninety-five percent of the time, they’re not. Trust the lighthouse keeper next time, maybe? I’ve been watching those skies for three years. I know if and when the weathermen are full of shit.”

You roll your eyes and shuck your shoes off, “Whatever. Any chance you have a spare pair of warm socks for me? I may get frostbite.”

”One, that involves snow,” Jay says as he walks into his small bedroom, leaving you alone for a second before coming out with what you requested. “And two, promise to bring them back. I only have so many pairs before I have to go to the city for more.”

”Scout’s honor,” you promise. You switch out your soaked socks for Jay’s, the feeling of the fabric making you immediately warmer. It could also be the fireplace that Jay put kindling in before you got there, but it’s mostly the socks. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

“I’d offer you a set of clothes too, but I’m moving a lot of my stuff from my dad’s.”

“It’s not that far away, though. You really want to live in this tiny shack?”

Jay laughs and returns to his food on the stove. “Do you think I could bring a girl home living with him? I love him, but I’m getting too old to be his roommate.”

You smile and press your arms into the kitchen counter, but you know it’s false. The thought of Jay being with someone else sprouts a gargantuan knot of jealousy in your stomach. He’s never belonged to you, not by any means. Not only that, but your illogical departure gives you no right to claim him now. And yet…

“Hey, where’d you go?” He waves a dish towel in front of your face, a smile on his lips.

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” you play off your prying thoughts.

“Obviously.” He sticks his tongue out at you and continues to stir the concoction on the stove.

“What are you making anyway?”

“Seaweed soup. I haven’t been able to make you any since…the last birthday we spent together.”

Your body warms deep down to the soles of your feet at this surprise. “My birthday was three months ago.”

He chuckles and turns his head to you, smirking. “Consider it a belated birthday gift then.” He carries on stirring, but continues talking. “Besides, you always liked my soup compared to your mom’s. Too watery, if I remember right.”

You blush and step away from the counter. “Let’s not talk about her or her food.”

Jay’s face turns puzzled. “You’ve always been so bristly when we talk about your family. Your mom is one of the sweetest ladies in town."

“You don’t get it. You didn’t grow up with her.”

“Hey, at least you have both parents around.”

You slam your hand down on another laminate countertop, growing more frustrated the longer the topic is broached. “Jongseong, please drop it.”

“Why are you getting so upset?” He asks, puzzled and growing alarmingly quiet at your outburst.

“Because you don’t get it! And you never will, okay? So let it go!”

The kitchen suddenly feels too suffocating, the memories of the past and your argument melding together in a way that makes any hunger that you had become a full stomach stuffed with nothing but anger and fear. You run out of the house and back into the rain, knowing if you say anything more, your secrets will fall around you like pellets soaking your skin.

The lanterns fill the sky like a thousand stars, close enough for you to touch before they’re whisked away into the dark clouds above you. Even for your small town, every adult and child knows the end of summer festival is a time to make the last set of wishes and affirmations before autumn comes. If Jay’s father yearned for an easy season, he would buy a lantern to release on a night light tonight, as would your friends’ families who hoped for good health and fortune.

You smile when you manage to catch one, holding on tight despite knowing it’s against tradition. Once one is meant to float away, it was considered rude to stop it from continuing on its path upward.

Jay chuckles and grabs it from you, matching your pout in jest. “Next year, I’ll buy you your own, alright? Don’t be greedy!”

You roll your eyes and watch the lantern rise up and away from your spot on the beach. It shimmers in an amber glow until it slips away into the black sky overhead.

You turn to him, eyes lit up not just from the lantern flames. “Did you wish for anything this year?”

Jay shrugs. “I can’t really wish for anything ‘cause I didn’t get—“

“Don’t give me that! It’s symbolic, anyway. Just tell me,” you whine.

Jay only side-eyes you, a smirk playing on his lips.

You attempt to throw a bundle of sand in his direction, but he sees your upcoming attack the second you raise your arm. He takes your wrist in his hand, the clump disintegrating between your fingers. The two of you laugh as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

You’re both a tangle of limbs until he finally pins you down on the ground. He hovers above you, panting hard. “I win,” Jay replies, his breathing ragged but eyes still sparkling from a successful takedown.

“You wish.”

In the flicker of lantern lights and midnight stars overhead, Jay can’t help himself from leaning down closer until there’s barely a breath between your lips. He lets every doubt that has lingered over the past fourteen years dissipate and surrenders to the moment, feeling the softness of your mouth as he kisses you.

You could be glowing as bright as the lights still being sent off into the sky. You feel like you are, anyway.

He doesn’t go faster or push you further, the simplicity of the act making you sparkle from within with every ebb and flow of your conjoined lips. The crackle of a firework is what makes the two of you come up for air, unaware of how much time has passed.

You let the moment hang between you the entire walk home. He holds your hand, squeezing it every now and then, the action more valuable than any words he could say right now. He holds himself back from giving you another kiss to say goodnight, knowing there’s always tomorrow.

Minutes after you make it inside, the scene in front of you turns whatever joy was left from Jay’s presence into acid.

“Can you not do anything right around here? I ask for the simplest things and even that’s too much.” Your father points to the food in his hands with an air of disgust directed at your mother.

He spits his vitriol in her face, the pattern commonplace. The behavior is nothing new, but his eyes show something worse than normal brewing beneath the surface.

“I can fix it,” your mother assures him, trying to take the bowl from him. “I’ll throw out the old batch and—“

“So now you think wasting food is the better choice? Are you stupid?”

The two of them are unaware of your presence, but even if they were, you doubt that would change the downward spiral they were heading towards.

She tries to walk away from him like she always has, diffusing the situation in the only way she knows how, but he drops the bowl on the counter and takes her by the arm.

“You’re not leaving,” he warns. The next moments pass in a blur, each one that plays out making you hover outside of your body, looking down in disbelief. Your mother’s temple hits the wood with a terrible thud. The next second, your body is pressed against your father’s to pull him away, begging, “Daddy, please stop!”

His upper arm has enough force to jam into your chest and knock you onto the kitchen tile below. Pain reverberates up your tailbone from hitting the floor in a violent bang.

Your mother comes from the daze of her assault to cover your body with her own. It’s a pointless defense, your father’s feet slamming hard on the floor as he walks away and into the bedroom without looking back once.

She apologizes profusely, holding your head in her hands as tears stream down her face without an endpoint. You can barely form a tear yourself, still unsure the past ten minutes happened at all. An hour ago, you had your first kiss, and now…

“Your aunt lives on a coast off the mainland. I can’t let you stay here anymore, my love.”

That moment is when you feel the water form in your eyes. You couldn’t leave now, not with so much left uncertain.

“Promise me you’ll leave this place. Don’t think about this night again and find something better, please.”

That entire night, the waves knocking into each other with the same force as you had encountered hours ago, you feel your heart shatter into a multitude of pieces, each fragment tinier and more painful than the last. The thought of Jay waking up to see you in the morning only to find you erased from his life, robs any chance of you sleeping on the boat ride to Wando.

He’ll try to call and text, for sure. But what could be said that would explain the last twenty four hours without breaking your promise to your mother? How could you live with sharing such intimate details of your household, even with someone as sacred to you as Jay is?

How could you make him believe it wasn’t his fault that you fled without revealing your most vulnerable and harsh reality? After coming so close to the future you always dreamed of with him, what would he think? What would he do?

So, like any coward does, you let the phone ring until your battery dies, not bothering to charge it again until you make it to your aunt’s. You tell yourself he’ll move on and life will be better with you safe and out of the picture. Every beat of your breaking heart may call you a liar, but you’ll learn to twist it into the truth one day.

The next afternoon, sun slowly setting to meet the waves below, you walk towards the lighthouse with the courage your younger self didn’t have the night you ran away. Your heart tosses around in your mouth when you take the first step through the threshold, but now is the last time you fear the truth. If you couldn’t explain the circumstances back then, the least you could do was explain them now.

You take the trek up the steps to the top floor of the lighthouse, every step heavier than the last. Jay stands inside the lantern room cleaning the large bulb at the center of the space. He immediately tenses when you walk through the open door, but he says nothing. He only holds the same somber expression he had the first day you arrived back in Aewol. Only now, so much more rests behind his face that you cannot decipher.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. The words release something you believed couldn’t be separated from your being. Your guilt remains present, but the apology provides a long-held breath of fresh air.

He looks up to meet your gaze, eyebrows furrowing just a touch. The setting sun casts amber shadows across his face, making his confusion breathtaking. Clearly, he’s unsure what exactly you’re apologizing for.

The next words already taste like lead in your mouth, but you can’t hold the weight of them for another second.

Speaking them out loud is what will set you free.

“The night I left, my dad pushed my mom into a cabinet,” you confess. The eight words you just uttered create a well of tears in your eyes, but you keep your voice level and solid. “He had always been…harsh before, not just with her, but that was the first night I ever saw him hurt her with his hands instead of his words.

“I tried to stop it from getting worse, and I fell down—no,” you take a breath, “h-he threw—he threw me down on the floor.” You feel foolish for trying to minimize his actions, knowing there’s no reason to protect him anymore. You lower your head, ashamed. “That was when my mom called my aunt in Wando. She begged me not to say anything, so I kept it a secret. You’re the first person I’ve ever told about it… and about how much of an asshole my father really is.”

You can’t help the way your words crumble on your tongue or the low whimper that erupts from your lips. You had accepted in silence the harsh reality of your father being a violent and cruel human being, but speaking the words aloud is another beast entirely.

You go cold, your figure limp until you feel Jay’s gentle fingers under your chin. They pull your face up to meet his, catching his glassy and red eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

You sniffle. “What would you have done? We were seventeen—“

“Fuck that,” Jay seethes, his face a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I would’ve killed him then, just like I want to right now.”

You laugh and take his fingers in yours. “I made a promise.” You lock onto his gaze harder, trying to convey every ounce of regret you still feel. “I thought about calling you every day. I’d pick up the phone and didn’t know how to come up with the right words, especially after…”

Jay laughs, passing over the curve of your cheek with his thumb. It’s the rhythmic pattern of his touch that makes you come down from such heightened emotions. It’s always been his superpower, grounding you like this. “If I had known I wouldn’t see you again, I would’ve kissed you until the sun came up.”

You blush, your body flushing with heat. “Nothing’s stopping you now, Jongseong. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward, the shy boy you grew to love appearing in front of you. The last time you were this close, you both were unsure about most things in life, but not about how much you meant to him, and vice versa.

Now, the feelings he had put on hold for so long take hold of him, his heart a kaleidoscope of pent-up sensations when he finally presses his lips to yours. His mouth is ravenous, his tongue finding yours as his arms clutches onto your body with fervor.

You’re encased in him, all the lost time suddenly found in the spaces of his mouth on yours, your hands on his body, and the moans that leave your mouth. He undoes the buttons of your cardigan with quick ease, taking it off of your shoulders and somewhere in the room you don’t care to remember. You help him pull the sweater over his head to kiss the column of his throat and top of his chest, making him shudder.

You both pause to hurry down to the drawing room below, not wanting to continue on the iron floor next to the bright bulb of the lighthouse. Yes, the cot off to the side of the room is not incredibly comfortable, but you care little about its lack of comfort when Jay lays you down on your back and smothers your body in kisses. He makes a map of your skin until he meets the apex of your thighs, your body highly strung by the time he kisses the center of your legs.

You clutch his hair with both hands and hold tight in the midst of his ministrations, his whispered words of affirmation and the figure-eight patterns of his tongue saying just enough to push you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

He lifts his head from your body to crawl over you, his heart in his mouth as he says the words that have always been in his mind and heart from the second he saw you. “I love you.”

You’re unsure if it’s normal to cry at such a confession or in the midst of your current situation, but regardless, there are no tears of fear or pain. They’re ones that fill the silence between you with what he already knows to be true. But you say the words he needs to hear anyway. “I love you, too, Seongie.”

This is what it feels like to be at home. His body against yours, him sliding so easily inside of you without a word needed for the immense amounts of pleasure that already exists. It could be a handful of minutes or a span of time that carries over into the next morning. All that matters is his lips on your own and his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

And in between every movement, he has to remind you how much he loves you. His words and feelings are already embossed into your heart, but it’s nice to hear the breathless cadence of his voice. “I love you so much,” he groans, his end close with the sudden stutters of his body.

You fall off the cliffside together, your bodies in sync in the best possible way as your eyes see the stars from the very first night you kissed in the back of your eyelids. And when he has his hands in your hair, his touch lulling you to sleep, you wonder why it took you this long to come back to the one person who has always been the safest space in your world.

The two of you stay nestled in the thin blanket, Jay’s body your source of warmth in the small drawing room of the lighthouse. The cot barely holds your bodies, but with you both squeezing together and not wanting to let go, you make it work.

Jay takes stray hairs from your face to tuck behind your ears. “I can’t believe you didn’t know how bad my crush was until the festival.”

You giggle into his chest. “I wasn’t paying attention to boys back then! How would I have known?” You hold his gaze, suddenly vulnerable.

He chuckles. “I think I was pretty obvious.”

“To everyone but me, I guess,” you joke. “Besides, I think I always knew I’d end up with you, strangely.”

“That’s not strange, not at all.” He kisses you tenderly, nipping your lips until you laugh into his mouth. “Perfect. At least to me.”

“Same,” you agree. “I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m with you.”

Jay responds by holding you tighter between his arms. He kisses the top of your head before whispering, “So where do we go from here?”

The answer is simple, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face.

Jay looks deeply into your eyes and senses the words you cannot say, and the strength of his stare and his arms as your protective walls from all the harm that still exists in this world gives you the power to confront what you need to.

That afternoon, leaving Jay in the lighthouse with your heart fully in his possession, you know you have to face the demons that wait for you in your childhood home. If you are to have a future together, the first thing you have to do is make peace with the past.

A handwritten note on the fridge tells you your mother went out for groceries, giving you the perfect excuse to release the words that would end your terror once and for all.

You enter your parents’ room to see your father, unmoved from the spot you saw him in on the first day you were back home. Your mother pleaded for you to check in every now and then now that you were back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not until now.

You move the chair by his bedside out to sit down. When you finally face him again, you take note of the details you were too blinded by indifference to notice before. You observe the wrinkles on his forehead, the sunken divots under his eyes, the age lines surrounding his mouth, the frailness of his body.

The weight he’s lost since his accident makes all his features stand out more. All that he’s lost, but has also always been, is on full display now: this husk of a man without the venomous words and bravado to hide behind is truly nothing to be scared of anymore.

“You’re so much smaller than I realized.” You say it with a breath of relief, any fear or anger that was left behind for him in your soul replaced with pity. You can walk away without regrets or words you wish you could’ve said, because you know now it’s a waste of your peace. Maybe one day, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive, even. Not today, but someday.

You walk away with no grievances left, back in the direction of the lighthouse with a new purpose and ready to take the path you were always meant to. Back to the home you’ve always had resting inside of the one you love.

Jay stands with his back facing you, staring off into the expanse of sea in front of him. His shoulders ease as you step closer.

“You’re back,” he says with saccharine happiness. He takes your hand in his and presses your fingers to his lips.

“I am,” you respond. You kiss him with your whole soul, incredibly in love and unafraid of what will come next.

“Babe! The new issue is here!”

You open your eyes to the sound of Jay’s words. You could barely doze off when he was so excited to grab the mail this morning. It was only delivered a few minutes ago, but of course he has to check for the newest spread of Otherworldly in your mailbox. To his happiness and your shy pride, your name’s plastered in almost every section of the photography credits.

Convincing your boss to let you work for the magazine from your hometown turned out to be easier than expected. With his happiness from your newfound inspiration, it seemed like you could take pictures of algae for all he cared and it would be a hit in the magazine’s eyes.

You weren’t the only one who could take credit, though. Jay’s name was also included in some of the photos, his insight into Aewol’s cuisine and new sous chef position at Park & Co providing more than enough influence for your photography. The lighthouse would always be his priority (aside from you), but his second love of food could not be kept at bay any longer.

He opens the magazine to the first page that features your photos, the centerfold being of Jay’s original recipe for hoedeopbap. “It looks even better in print,” Jay says, his face three shades brighter staring at the meal.

You giggle and wrap your arms around his middle, peeking your head out from the side of his shoulder to look at the pages. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Some of the best you’ve ever done.” He turns in your hold to press your chest to his, kissing your forehead in the process. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Actually, getting lucky is how we got this.” You take his hand and rest it on the curve of your stomach, fifteen weeks peaking out from under the midriff of your tank top.

He laughs and presses his lips to your cheek. “I love you.”

To your surprise, peace was easier to find than you had expected. Confronting what you ran away from all those years ago feels like a distant memory, the pain of the past a part of another reality. There are no monsters that creep in the shadows or secrets to keep locked behind closed doors.

All that remains is the ease that comes from a life filled with nothing but love and happiness, as weightless and freeing as a lantern floating through the sky.

“I love you too, Park Jongseong.”

@junekissed (thank for beta-ing also june!! ilysm) @yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

#kvanity #svnet #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong smut #enha smut #jongseong smut #enha fic #enha fics #enhypen fics #enhypen fic #park jongseong fic #park jongseong fics #enha x reader #park jongseong scenarios

180 notes · View notes

robinsfilm · 2 days ago

Text

COFFEE AND PISTOLS FOR TWO?

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: for jason every bruise is a reminder of Gotham’s relentless toll. Haunted by the brutality of last night’s patrol, he tries to find calm in you — your voice cuts through the haze, a gentle lifeline he didn’t know he needed ;

RATE: angst w/ comfort, description of violence and gore, PTSD(?) and trauma ;

WORD COUNT: 0.6k ;

NOTES: i had the title in mind for a few weeks and i finally got to writing something for it <3 i hope you guys enjoyed it.

── .✦ MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION & AO3

IN JASON’S MIND, HIS LIFE DOES NOT RUN OR FLOW, BUT CRAWLS ALONG. The scars etched on his crooked body forever is a reminder of that fact. The rough texture of the gauze hides them, but he can still feel the soreness of every blooming bruise in light purples and reds, like church bells ringing over and over again.

Jason’s hands tremble as he unloads the heavy pistol in his grip. Every step is a choreographed dance he has instilled in his mind. Check the chamber — empty; separate the parts — barrel, side and frame; clean ‘n wipe. A violent but precise dance from start to finish. The bullets rest embedded in some scums flesh, rotting in some dirty alley corner of Gotham.

Last night’s patrol was pitiless, at best. The dried blood on his jacket still sends strikes of remembrance in his mind of the wet and thick gore. It sticks on his clothes, seeps into it and clings onto his skin, threatening to dig its way into his body and last — his very own soul.

It shouldn’t get to me like this, Jason thinks.

His head falls back on the living room couch, the soft material lessening the pain that shoots up to his skull. Maybe that hit from the pipe to the head left him a concussion as a neat present. A groan still escapes his chapped lips, coarse and painful.

“Jay?” Jason hears your petal-like voice from the kitchen, “are you alright? Do you need me to come over?”

Jason hates how shaky your voice sounds. Worry etched into every syllable as you hang onto his word, searching for any sign that he’s okay. Jason notes the stark difference between voices of yours and him. Yours is tender— saccharine sweet and like honey on his tongue, while his— harsh, grating and grave, unpleasant to his ears.

His intrusive thoughts wrap around his mind and blinden his eyes like a blindfold, cutting off his senses in a way that he doesn’t notice the shuffling of your feet against the wooden floor, he doesn’t notice you now standing in front of him.

He hears you first.

“Baby—�� your hands tremble before him, unsure of reaching out to him, “—can I?” your eyes trail to the pistol in his hands, gripped as if it’s his only lifeline, tethering on the edge.

He blinks before he gathers the remaining thoughts and shakily nods. Your velour-like hands carefully take his own, removing the weapon.

“Are you with me?”

Jason nods again, a trained response on purpose.

“I need your words, baby.”

You put down the gun and as you retract your hands, his instinctively reaches out and grip yours with his own.

“O- Okay—” You stumble on your words, shuffling closer to him and wrapping his form in your hold. “I’m here.”

I’m here.

Such simple words, but they strike a cord in his heart that has his nerve finally settle. A breath in, he remembers what you taught him, a breath out. His heartbeat slows down and the thoughts slowly dissipate. Jason notices your warmth around him and your gentle arms creating the only safe haven he’s known in years, deprived of rest and sanctuary like caim.

You, with the arcadian words and guileless smile; the viridity of your spirit is like ambrosia to him, seeping into his skin as you grin, pearls iridescent like reflected sunlight and seafoam in the marmoris.

“I made coffee.” Your singsong voice rings out in his ears as he turns his gaze on the two small cups settled on the wooden table. The steam rolls from the hot liquid like faint clouds.

Later, you say, “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” He responds with a note of relief.

Sometimes, better is all you can ask for.

Jason curls himself around you again and listens to your breathing.

Sometimes, better is everything.

190 notes · View notes

boopshoops · 2 days ago

Text

Heya!

Things are lookin rough right now, huh? But here are a few reminders:

Your blorbo will still be here tomorrow.

You have people who love and care and support you.

Policies and enactments will not all be immediate. Everything will not go to shit all at once.

Things getting harder doesnt mean they're impossible.

It's okay to be upset. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to cry. That does not make you weak.

I know there are some individuals like me who did not feel safe voting due to outside factors, like living with individuals who support trump or being disabled, do not blame yourself. (Excuse me for getting personal, yes I do want to move out. Very badly. Sadly my mental and physical health are not in a space to do so yet).

This is the last term he is allowed in office. After that, I can't help but think about how the more extremist supporters- would they even want to vote? Idk. But it's food for thought. Safe to say the voter turnout for either side was insane compared to previous years, if we keep that stride up, I honestly think and hope the democrats are almost guaranteed the next election. But this is just me blabbing.

Block tags you aren't in the mindset for seeing rn. It's okay, no one is going to villainize you when the election process is giving you a panic attack. If they try, ignore them. This is for you, not them.

We've survived through one term. We can survive through another. I know it feels difficult right now while thinking about things like access to healthcare or prices skyrocketing or job security, but we really have. Things will get better. We will push through.

Here are some ideas that might help with mental health right now:

Eat some of your favorite food

Look up pictures of your favorite animal

Watch some funny or wholesome videos

Go for a walk

Exist. Because sometimes that is enough

Positive affirmations

Schedule an appointment with your therapist if you have one

Drink water. Or dont! Maybe drink a different thing that you like.

Remind yourself that these feelings will pass.

They cannot steal your identity from you. Internally, you know who you are. Even if you're still figuring it out. They can't take your mind. Your thoughts.

To those like me dealing with finals right now. Its okay. Take that break.

I love u /p

#boopshoopsramblings #us politics

160 notes · View notes

literallynathandrake · 2 days ago

Text

So She Lost

The 2024 election and how to make things better

We did our best folks, we voted. We canvassed and phone banked and fundraised and bullied the president into dropping out of the race. But we lost. We cannot change that, and the sooner you accept that then sooner you can begin to feel better.

Take a week, a month, till the inauguration, however long to come to terms with what happened. You're feeling grief and grief takes time to process.

But a lost election does not mean you will die.

Your life, if I had to guess, will become materially worse. If you're queer and in a red state start saving up. If you're trans get those name and gender changes in. If you're undocumented, or related to someone undocumented, get your shit gathered.

I can't guide you through everything but I can tell you now that your life is not over, and even if it will suck absolute shit, it will get better over time. You'll graduate, get a promotion, find a partner (or find some garlic bread if you're not into the whole relationship thing), see friends, watch movies, read books, watch a sunset. There will still be good things, and it is important that we appreciate these good things especially when things start to suck.

We can't make any calls on how bad the next four years will be but I can say this, fascist governments can't last forever. They're a fire that gets lit and burns itself out. Some fires are big and destroy a lot of things, sometimes they can be contained, sometimes they burn longer than you'd like.

But they do burn out, especially when people contain it and help control it.

Find local organizations that advocate for the one thing you care most about. Trans rights, abortion, Gaza, homelessness. Go to join them, work with them, and recruit for them.

If you can't find these orgs, get a friend and do it yourself. If you can't find a friend, make one. Do not ever think you are helpless, you are a member of your community and with enough work you can work to change it. Even if no one listens to you, you are there making a statement and that means that you are not silent.

As online as I am I think I'm going to wane off it. It does nothing for me, outside of wasting my time and laugh at funny jpegs. It's important that we remember that the Internet is not real life, as much as it may seem.

Also, and I don't care if you're an anarchist, socialist, communist, third worldist, neo-Trotskyite. You're a bleeding heart liberal now. Keep your social positions, but leftism can't get done now. You love Joe Biden, you loved Hillary, you were ok with Bernie. Work within this framework until it becomes politically viable to do anything else.

Sleep, we all need it, and drink water. Take your medicine if you have any. Maybe go for a walk in the morning. You're not screwed yet, make the most of it

#self help #cope #election 2024 #politics #2024 #us elections #us politics #usa #america #trans rights #leftism #progressive #liberal

81 notes · View notes

burningcheese-merchant · 16 hours ago

Note

Would it be okay to have a small story request I've found? It's based on a small comic of Burning Spice and Golden Cheese that Burning Spice got a cold and his little birdy laughed at him that, him, the Beast Of Destruction caught a cold, but that backfired when Burning Spice kissed her with his sickness. In the end the two end up getting sick.

Golden Cheese: Are you feeling better now?

Burning Spice: Yes

I know what you're talking about! That little comic by wabeceucho on Twitter, right? I love them, they make premium BurningCheese content. I'd be happy to whip up a short for you, wouldn't be the first time I got inspired by that artist ngl lol

"Contagious" - BurningCheese Short #8

Spice gets sick. Golden laughs. Golden pays the price for laughing.

Jumping ahead into the far future where Burning Spice is Fixed™️ and he and Golden are happy together haha

The last thing Burning Spice ever wanted to be reminded of when he looked at Golden Cheese was Shadow Milk. He cared for that man, he was happy to call him friend, their bond may have grown strained in those years they spent as villains, both imprisoned and not, but it never broke - but good Witches, could he be damn near impossible to tolerate at times. The teasing grin always bubbling at his mouth's surface; the smirk always tugging at the corners of his lips. The witty remarks at EVERY situation, regardless of severity. And most of all - worst of all - his love of saying "I told you so". Shadow Milk never allowed himself to miss an opportunity to have that sort of laugh at another's expense, be they friend or foe. Burning Spice found it funny when it was "foe", not so much when it was "friend". Least of all when it was him.

He had hoped that he would never have to endure Shadow Milk's derision, or anything like it, from anyone else besides him again; one clown's jokes were more than enough. But it would seem as though the clown's laughter had become contagious.

...Sure, he and Golden Cheese always bickered and bantered, as they were wont to do since the beginning. It was normal. He quite enjoyed it. But not now. Not when the trembling of her shoulders, and that hysterical smile on her face, and that slender finger pointed at him reminded him too much of that ridiculous blue clown friend of his, and made him wonder if a puppet show mocking his hubris would be held in his honor soon.

...Maybe he deserved it.

"I-I'm sorry," Golden Cheese laughed. "But I simply have to laugh, my darling! The Beast of Destruction, catching a common cold! The sight of it! Hahaha!"

Burning Spice crossed his arms and sniffled huffed. "Yeah, I get it. The first round of your high-pitched giggling told me as much."

"And all the other ones will keep reminding you, I'm sure," she said, shaking her head in amusement. "Honestly, you begged for this. What were you thinking, skulking around the Dark Cacao Kingdom without a coat? I told you it would be freezing!"

"And I told you that only weaklings need protection from the elements," he snapped. "I've traveled to every corner of this earth and never been worse for wear. You think a little bit of snow would do anything to me?"

"I do and I did, and I was right," she said. "It's why I kept telling you to bundle up before we went to visit my old friend. Cacao even offered you one of his robes when we first arrived there, as he's not so far from you in size and no one knows that place's bitter cold better than he does. But you chose to be proud and look where that got you."

"Hmph!" He scowled at her. "I know my own limits. I was fine the entire time we were there. Only now did this... this stupid cold catch up to me."

She started to laugh again. "Perhaps it's better this way," she told him, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Better here at home than back there, where more people besides myself can witness how stupid you are."

He harrumphed again and stood there, pouting at her and stifling a cough as she laughed at him some more - until his expression suddenly changed from irritated to... mischievous.

"Tell me, then, little bird," he said, "Haven't you ever gotten sick before? Or is Her Radiance too good for a cough and a fever?"

"Me? Once or twice in my youth," she said nonchalantly. "Why do you ask? Are you expecting me to tell you my own tale of pride and woe so you can feel less alone in your foolishness?"

No answer. Just a conniving smile slowly stretching across Burning Spice's face.

"What?" For just a moment, her confidence faltered, and was replaced by confusion. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Still nothing. Just a low chuckle.

"Alright, fine." She buckled under the weight of his gaze and that smile a bit further. "Perhaps I, too, was foolish like you were. Perhaps I thought myself invincible, only to have to lay by a fireplace for days while my friends nursed me back to health. Perhaps I even had someone wagging their finger at me, too. There, is that better? Does that bandage the gaping hole in your ego somewhat?"

He first answered her by taking a menacing step towards her, then he chuckled again and said:

"You thought yourself invincible, huh? You're speaking as if you no longer do."

Now it was her turn to huff and puff. "Well... I AM the Golden Sovereign, am I not? After everything I've accomplished and endured, I think I have the right to believe that about myself."

"Do you?" The smile grew bigger. "You just admitted that you were the same sort of fool I was once. Even golden sovereigns can fall sick." Now the smile was a face-splitting grin. "And it shall happen again."

"What-?"

He was upon her in a flash, before she could even fully register he was there (how could someone so big still be so fast?). Into his arms she went, trapped in a feverish embrace - and her eyes widened in shock when he quickly leaned down and pressed a big, wet kiss to her lips.

"What the-" Another kiss to silence her. "Stop-" Another one. "Burning Spice-" Deeper, more dramatic, a playful lick at her lips as a finishing touch. "What are you doing?!"

"Getting my revenge," he said. "This is what happens when you laugh at me."

"It isn't as if you don't deserve-" No, no more of that. Only more warm kisses - warmer than usual, thanks to the sickness - to put an end to her unwanted protests.

"You brute." Mwah. "You savage." Mwah. "You moron." Mwah. "I still told you so."

"I know," he said. He brought his lips down to her neck. "And now you must pay for it."

"It won't work," she grumbled. "I know what you're doing."

"We'll see."

"I take care of myself, unlike you." Even against her better judgment, she bent her head back to allow him further access. "I'll be fine."

"We'll see," he said again, before he started peppering her neck with those kisses she could never bring herself to say no to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yes, actually," Burning Spice said with a smile. "Better than I've felt in ages, even."

"Wonderful," she muttered. She pulled the blanket around her tighter, desperate to stifle the chills. "Then that means you don't need your medicine anymore. Hand it over to me so it doesn't go to waste."

"No." He turned onto his side to face her, gesturing for her to come closer. "I can give you a bit of warmth, though. It seems like you need it more."

She grumbled, but nevertheless shuffled over to him, snuggling into his chest and sighing softly as he wrapped his arms around her. As if on cue, the chills grew weaker.

"I still maintain that I told you so," she murmured.

"And I maintain the exact same thing," he said. "We're even."

"As long as no one knows of this, it's fine," she sighed. "I can already hear Smoked Cheese's taunts from here..."

"And I could hear Shadow Milk's when you were mocking me before," he said. "Like I said. We are even now."

"...Fair enough."

They lay in silence for a little while, his face nuzzled into her hair and her feeling and listening to the beat of his heart in his chest.

...Until he felt like talking again. "Hey. Little bird."

"Hm?"

"I just remembered something."

"Did you, now."

"I did." She felt his hands start to trail downwards, resting on her hips. "Sex can actually aid in recovery from an illness, did you know?"

"..."

"It boosts the immune system, I think... And the pleasure can act as a natural painkiller, too. But I'm not entirely sure it's true... Why don't we test it to be sure?"

"Take your medicine and go to sleep, Burning Spice."

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

Every time I came back to this draft to work on it, the "keep reading" divider was in a different place and I had to keep moving it back. It annoyed the shit out of me. There's Merchant's complaint for the day

#cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #merchant shorts

48 notes · View notes

angelsndragons · 2 hours ago

Text

okay so as a federal worker, i tell you this not to make you panic but to give you time to do what you need to do:

it's the holiday season. in addition to the federal holidays, federal workers build up leave throughout the year. the longer you've been with the federal government, the more leave you accumulate. this time of year, many federal workers will be taking their "use or lose" leave, aka the leave they've accumulated that's over the 240 hour cap you can carry into the next calendar year.

that means if you have any renewals or want to apply to anything that requires the federal government, DO IT NOW. many departments are already understaffed but this time of year? yeah, skeleton crews are the norm.

please be patient. you can check in every week or two to see where your stuff is but please be patient. many of us are going to be working our butts off in the next three months to ensure your stuff gets done. but we're only human. if you have an agency number, calling is often better than emailing. yes, even if you have to wait on the line for a while.

notaries can be extremely backed up. if you have an appointment which requires a notary's signature, make sure that you have every single thing ready the second you walk in. you don't want to have to come back.

understand that the ship of state turns slowly. we do have a lot of mechanisms in place to keep things from falling apart completely HOWEVER this time the Executive Leadership is directly coming at us with the intention of fully dismantling certain departments. chief on their list that i've seen is the department of education. if you have a special needs child in a special ed program or are one yourself, check to see who's funding the program (feds, state, local, etc) and plan accordingly. if the feds pull out their money, you need to know who's handling the gap and what happens if it can't be filled. that goes for other programs like housing.

if the republicans control the house, senate, and white house, expect them to defund everything you care about. the only spending i can see them increasing is the department of defense and border patrol. everything else? huge budget crunch. if you think the government is slow now, is unresponsive now, oh boy, just you wait. this will send a shock wave through the economy - the feds are huge spenders in many areas (sometimes the only thing keeping places afloat). much of the government is too big and unwieldy to dismantle all at once (particularly the pieces entwined with big business) but that doesn't mean they can't launch giant holes into the things they really hate. plan accordingly.

the fda director will try to ban sending abortion pills in the mail. plan accordingly. does this step on the usps' toes? yes. do they care? nope, republicans have been trying to privatize them for years. plan accordingly.

if you want to know the baseline fuckery you'll be expected to deal with, the department of veterans' affairs was shadow run by marvel executives for two years last time. i'm not joking. the white house is going to bypass any pretense of confirming executive leadership by making every single one of them "acting director of such and such." those don't require congressional approval.

if you're a dreamer and you've applied for some kind of federal relief, i would advise you to be extremely careful. your information is in a federal database and the republicans want to round up everyone of latino descent. they've already confirmed that they want to deport whole families irrespective of citizenship to "stop family separation."

stay calm and plan accordingly.

#us politics #american politics #election 2024 #federal fuckery #reference

42 notes · View notes

notmeowse · 1 day ago

Note

Curious to know why you wanted the veil to come down? I personally would’ve liked the option because it sets the world to how it was meant to be, BUT came to the understanding (idk if understanding is the right word but that’s what I’m using here lol) that because it would bunk up everything for everyone in the world currently, it was kinder/safer for everyone currently alive to leave it in place. After all it’s all anyone has known and not knowing the result of tearing it down was too big a risk. To let people keep living their lives instead of essentially turning back the clock was the safer option which is why I’m actually not super upset about not having “tear it down” as an option. It would’ve been nice to have it. In fact that’s probably the route I would’ve taken had it been available, but I can understand why the team and Rook don’t see it that way.

I think if we look at it from a developer standpoint it does look like them wanting to keep the status quo, but if you look at it from an in-world standpoint of “the world as it is now had been in place for thousands of years and it’s all anyone knows. It’s too risky/scary to tear it down just because you (Solas) can’t move on from your regrets that led to its creation in the first place” makes sense to me. Like a “you made your bed, it’s time to finally lie in it” kind of way. If they do make a DA5 (doubtful since it seemed like this game was meant to tie up or throw out loose ends) maybe it will be about finding ways to tear it down that wouldn’t idk…risk also messing up the world people currently reside in

Also question, because I mighta missed it, but if the veil is torn down completely would that not release the blight in its entirety? I thought that was also why they couldn’t take it down. I know Solas said he “had a plan” but was that a plan to not let the blight out if he took the veil down? I think that because that was my understanding of the blight that’s also why I wasn’t as pressed about not getting a tear down option, but now I just can’t seem to remember if that was the case with the blight or not

Hello and thank you for this ask! I so appreciate you leaving this for me so I can iron out my thoughts, because in many ways, the ending really did not go the way I thought it would. Spoilers/novel-length response under the cut!

After all, it was foreshadowed multiple times in the previous games. The biggest foreshadowing was Sandal's prophecy back in DA2, which was clearly the first draft of the events of this game:

One day the magic will come back - all of it. Everyone will be just like they were.

The "everyone" in this scenario could very well have meant the dwarves, but it also could have meant everyone. Elves, spirits, dwarves, everyone that lost something from the Veil going up. That was supposed to be what was coming. Every tear in the veil, every claim that it was weakening or failing in any way, served as (I thought) foreshadowing to it coming down.

And the series gives us very valid reasons for it to do so.

The main reason the Veil should have come down, for me, was to save the spirits. They're essentially trapped in the Fade, pressing against the Veil and constantly twisting themselves into the wrong shapes to be able to get to the waking world because they do not understand why they aren't part of it. Yes, it is kinder and safer for everyone in the waking world to not disrupt it by letting the world bring itself back together -- but what about the spirits? The ending, in its current state, disregards them completely. As if we haven't spent the last 3 games building them up as people. Not just that, but as the other people (besides elves) that Solas wronged by throwing up the Veil.

The games have had multiple instances of (for lack of a better word) humanizing spirits for us, by giving us characters like Justice and Cole, the All New, Faded For Her spirit, and now the demon Spite. They're naturally drawn to the waking world, to people, to strong emotion. The Veil acts as a barrier for them to truly experience the world, and when forced through it, they tend to become demons. But we are very much meant to see those characters as people, and Solas's entire argument in Inquisition was that they suffered from the Veil, too -- and no one else alive in Thedas seemed to care. Now that he's gone, that's actually the case.

In Trespasser, he was originally tearing down the veil for the spirits, not just the elves, and ended up killing Mythal to be able to have the power to do so. Veilguard wants to pretend it was for her, all along, despite the fact that he quite literally snuffed out one of the last shreds of her existence in the previous game in the name of helping the spirits and the elvhen.

But of course, we learn that the Veil doesn't just contain the Evanuris in this game, right? It also contains the rest of the blight! And shortly after we reach this revelation (depending on when you watched all of the memories) we discover that the very first Tranquil beings in Thedas were the titans (sundered from their spirit + achievement for the memory is quite literally called Tranquility), and that the blight comes from their madness. It is essentially the titans' nightmares!

Now, when we learned that in-game, I absolutely thought the next course of action would be to help them. Not just because it would stop the blight in its tracks and remove one reason for the Veil being up, but it would also snatch away the main weapon of the Evanuris, AND ALSO heal them for the sake of the dwarves. To help them reclaim that part of themselves long-since sundered. Veilguard actually gives us no explanation as to why we DON'T do this. Reversing the damage is briefly considered by Emmrich as a possibility, and never brought up again -- why didn't the team immediately pivot to that, given Harding's presence and connection to the stone? She alone (being the only dwarf currently in Thedas who had that connection) could have led us right to the remaining titans, and we could have used the dagger (the same one used to sunder their spirits in the first place) to heal them, much like the Inquisitor used the anchor to heal.

I had thought this was foreshadowed heavily in Inquisition, given that Solas learns (and is deeply intrigued by) the Inquisitor using the anchor not to rip open the Veil, but to heal it instead -- there's even a codex entry on it in this game. We also learned in Inquisition (Nope, actually DA: Asunder) that Tranquility can be reversed, but very little is done with that revelation in that game's plot -- surely it was meant to set up reversal of the titans' Tranquility in this game? For us to go fix it? Apparently not.

Regardless, that solution (helping the titans) would also have rendered the Evanuris blight-less, defanging them and taking away their favorite toy thus truly evening out the playing field and making the final fight of the game far more believable. Like, in its current state, my little Antivan Crow Rogue Rook kills Elgar'nan. The first of the firstborn. The oldest and strongest of the evanuris. At full power. Something Solas could not do. And Rook did it without even a single power boost -- and yes, I do think that Rook should have taken on the essence of Mythal, leading to Solas having an oh my god there's two of them moment. But that's not really my point in this absolute essay I'm writing you (I'm so sorry if it's more than what you bargained for lol)

My POINT! Is that we finished out Trespasser with Solas treasuring the possibility of being wrong about his plans. We are led to believe that the Inquisitor (or, you know, the protagonist of the next game) is going to find an alternative route, or a reason for him to leave the Veil up -- something that would prove him wrong. Ultimately, my point is that the revelations about the titans should have been that reason. Fixing them, rejoining them with their spirits and curing their tranquility, should have been the alternative that Rook/the Inquisitor presented him. And frankly, that should have been his fucking atonement. None of this bullshit at the end of the game with him binding himself to the Veil, he's quite literally reinforcing the band-aid he slapped over the world instead of getting to the root of the problem. Which is the titans. He should have helped them. He alone probably knows fucking how, since he broke them in the first place. It doesn't make any sense that he didn't... consider that avenue in the first place?

So by the end of the game, it's like oh, great! The Veil is now reinforced so the spirits will continue to suffer. And there's also a very real possibility that the one dwarf in Thedas with stone sense just died, jeopardizing any chances the dwarves had of reconnecting with or helping the titans. So now the titans will continue to suffer too! Yay! All of this buildup was completely pointless!

Given that they're doing a hard reboot of the series (the south was destroyed anyway, any future games likely won't take place there and Thedas as we know it pretty much went through an apocalypse/had way more death than the original ritual would have created), it would have made perfect fucking sense to boardwipe the world and change everything in it by BRINGING DOWN THE VEIL. It would quite literally have accomplished the exact same thing the superblight did, but with added benefits of spirits being free to roam about the cabin, and we could potentially have gotten the freaking titans back. Holy hell. The worst part is that they're still alive. Like, they're more scattered and disparate, clearly, but we're just leaving them in the past? Oh my god, they're still alive! What are we doing! Why aren't we helping them, why aren't we giving the dwarves back their dreams and their magic! Are we seriously supposed to accept that these are just the way things are now, despite the fact that we have a dwarven success story in the party with us? The new postergirl for dwarves getting their magic and their dreams back with very little negative side effects?

Like, the game doesn't do anything to try to convince us it would be a bad thing to save the titans, doesn't do anything to suggest that we should leave this any of this stuff (which, apparently now includes the Dalish, because Arlathan was given to the Veil Jumpers) in the past. It also doesn't put up a great argument for keeping the Veil up, either -- Rook repeatedly says Solas will drown the world in demons, and he doesn't correct them simply because he doesn't respect them -- but we, the players, know that would not be the case. He would have quite literally reunited the world with itself, on multiple levels.

I'm sorry. I'm so irritated about it all, if that wasn't clear by the novel. Thank you again for asking, it was good to get this out. Veil should have come down.

#dav spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dav #datv #bioware critical #dragon age critical #asks

47 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 2 days ago

Text

I'm going to make fun of so many peoole who don't like veilguard. Because....

Veilguard is the spiritual successor to Dragon Age 2

Inquisition is more like Origins, and I would call it the spiritual successor if it wasn't sufficiently lacking in other areas

Now there are dumb fucks out there who only like origins or only like inquisition. It's their entire personality when it comes to dissecting the dragon age games.

I like dragon age a lot because each game is a different genre. Origins is depression melodrama. 2 is a comedy that loves to stop and punch you in the gut every now and then, and shows the prime time when your friends are more your family than blood is. Inquisition is... A political thriller that happens to have magic (and the ugliest graphics. Bruh why is everyone but like three people so deep in the uncanny valley. Why is combat boring). Veilguard is getting to see what it feels like to inherit a situation outside of your control, it's more like an underdog story.

"it has cringy dialogue" and you don't remember origins? You think bioware doesn't dish out cringy dialogue for each game?

"the art style-" is STYLISED. Origins is good looking for graphics that feel outdated for 2009. But it's not realistic looking. 2 had it's budget slashed viciously so it does look wonky especially with their cameo characters. Inquisition, as I've said, feels deeply ugly because there is nothing stylised about it. They went for realistic and now everyones inquisitor is kinda ugly, sorry. People enter the uncanny valley, they always look better in concept art. The three prettiest people we have is Dorian, Cassandra and Josephine. Everyone else enters the uncanny valley of WEIRD looking. It's busted and I'm sorry. Veilguard? Fuckin stellar stylisation. The art, the environments, the magic, is so goddamn pretty.

"you cant control your compa-" yes you can. You can make them attack. Why are you sad about missing out on inquisitions boring combat where you press R. Wow. Amazing.

People have rose tinted glasses for these games. Play them from the first to the last game and I'd say veilguard is FULLY one of the best. I saw some loser on tiktok scream about the iron bull's signature being EXPLAINED in text and not shown?? Saying 10 years and for what?

10 years for a play through, start to finish, took me 55 hours doing ALL of the quests and exploring. From the amazing character creator and the hair physics that inquisition, 2 and origins could never make work. From the beauty of the backgrounds, how each location feels deeply lived in, compared to inquisition where new environments felt plastic and not real. For a finale that had me crying for 20 minutes at the choices I made and knew would make again. For the reveals, for the conversations, for the natural ending for Solas. I only cried in origins after my warden died. I teared up at Hawkes mother dying. Inquisition got no tears from me.

I'm sorry that you're hung up on small details. I have complaints too. Maybe a better fantasy term for trans and non-binary, but honestly the conversations that we're able to have about them? Deeply lovely. I personally wish that one day we can go back to the origins start, where we spend around 20 minutes IN our origin and then go frolicking. I'd kill to see that with the mourn watcher and crow origin so we can be excited when we see them again when we revisit the important NPCS. Personally do want the Lucanis romance to kick off earlier in the game, but he is one of the hardest ones to romance for good reason and it made sense for the character. I miss importing decisions but to be fair, the choices I made in origins wouldn't have shown up that much in veilguard, except maybe Kieran being in the background of some scenes at a stretch, but mostly for inquisition and Hawke. Varric obviously sees a lot of Hawke in Rook (just look at the dialogue wheel) and I wish we got to hear Isabella talk about them.

But these are so little. I have way more complaints about inquisition but I will still play it. I can acknowledge the flaws but if you hold it, or origins on a pedestal, that's just embarrassing for you, that you're stuck on a game, instead of being stuck on the series, in an excellent fantasy setting that keeps being expanded on.

Veilguard let's us say goodbye to Solas in the best way. There was NEVER going to be a happy end for him. Stop deluding yourself that the inquisitor and Solas would have rode off into the sunset. It's frankly embarrassing that themes from inquisition and veilguard flew over your head if you beloved that.

I've seen this same anguish over a sequel and it was for 2, after origins. Now 2 isn't the perfect game. It doesn't even have a proper title. But 2, a decade later, is well loved. It's full of jank, it's got strange coding, but the story has a lot of love. But it wasn't origins, so fans wailed and pissed. But it's a fan favourite these days and Hawke is deeply beloved and remembered fondly to the point that the possibility of their death in inquisition made an impact.

So, basically, get over yourself. None of these games are perfect and yes it took 10 years but I love it. I get to play as a crow for the first time, a faction I've loved since Zevran was able to rizz himself out of being killed. You can play as a Warden again, for the first time since Origins. Griffins are back and they're adorable. Their quest is heart breaking and anxiety inducing. You can play as new factions, ones we didn't fuck around with before, the shadow dragons, the mourn watchers, the veil jumpers. We get several amazing romances, that feel in character. Everyone is bisexual again but have clear preferences. Bellara has a preference for women, Emmerich has a preference for men, Lucanis has Never being in relationship. Taash and Harding might get together, Lucanis and Neve might get together. We get a companion that's trans, we GET to be trans for the first time. In inquisition we have krem but the developers never thought we would want to be trans, so I will happily take what we can get. Could it be better? Always. But I'm not stuck in 2014.

Take off your rose tinted glasses and go fuck that old man and maybe you'll lighten up.

#hey #this #wasnt supposed to be this long???#i just saw shit that got me annoyed #oh well #veilguard is a good game deal with it and piss about not getting to play ur stupid inquisitor again somewhere else #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age veilguard spoilers #quinceyeasyspeaky

40 notes · View notes

prettycottonmouthlamia · 5 hours ago

Text

I harp a lot on how I don't think the current episodic release structure for Arknights does it many favors in how it wants to tell its stories, and how it's story manifests for us, but there are some benefits to this type of long form structure, and it's moments that get better with hindsight. It's not impossible to do this in a more contained medium, as this is often a staple of the mystery genre of literature and film, but it is uncommonly employed in video games to great effect, with their contained stories often being played much more straight.

One of the benefits of releasing longer-form content is the ability to both make callbacks and to give additional details that change the meaning in earlier scenes. The most famous in Arknights, at least for me, is the scene in Wei's office in Chapter 2.

In it's original context, this is Wei Yenwu being aloof to the threat of Reunion, not even bothering to properly remember their leader's name. Once you learn though that Talulah is not just Reunion's leader but Wei Yenwu's niece, and suddenly the scene has new context. This is the scene I point to when I want to talk about how much of a slimeball Wei Yenwu is at this point in the story. This isn't him being aloof, this is Wei deliberately holding back information in order to manipulate for himself a better position. By not revealing his stakes, he wants to hold more power at the negotiation tables with Rhodes Island for Lungmen.

Of course he knows the name of the leader of Reunion, how could he not? How could he not remember letting Kaschey go and take her away, prioritizing Lungmen over the safety of his dead brother's daughter? But he's not going to show that to Rhodes Island, a bunch of strangers he intends to use in poor faith.

Now let's talk about a conversation in Chapter 10 you likely haven't thought about in quite some time!

That's right! We're here to talk about Nezzsalem's confrontation with Kal'tsit when she docks with Londinium. This is a really interesting scene that primarily serves initially to offer even more mystique to Kal'tsit and Theresa's assassination. After all, Kal'tsit and Nezzsalem knew each other, they even fought together at least once. The King of the Nachzehrer! He was there when Theresa was assassinated, and here he is now, inquiring about the death of the last pure Wendigo. None of this seems out of the question, but with some more time, it's possible to find this scene strange.

How did he know? Sure, the Nachzehrer thrives off of life and death, but they're more focused on war. The passing of lives to the Myriad Souls is the concern of the Banshees, not the Nachzehrer. Patriot is also not a Sarkaz hero, at least not directly, since he was a Patriot for Ursus, not Kazdel, and he was a supporter of Theresa at that. Given everything we know now, it's pretty unlikely that Patriot would have followed Theresis to Londinium. But it's still not completely out of the question. Babel reveals that the Military Council in its fledgling state knew about where he was.

This is a pretty small aside after Nezzsalem defeats Logos, but it managed to hit me like a brick, because the first thing I remembered was Nezzsalem confronting Kal'tsit about the death of Patriot. Patriot was not just a Wendigo to Nezzsalem, he was something of a son to him. Sure, he might not have been Nezzsalem's only student, but the Nachzehrer are not shown to be a particularly sentimental bunch pretty much ever, so the Sudaram going "Yeah. Your kid" is impactful here. Nezzsalem stands, having beaten Laqueramaline's son in combat, after Aefanyl had proven himself worthy of respect, as an old man thinking about his own son.

This reframes the conversation in Chapter 10. Nezzsalem knows Kal'tsit, it's implied he's known her for a very long time, and it's likely he's seen the different lives of Kal'tsit and likely knew of her involvement in the invasion of Kazdel a couple hundred years ago. So it's now also got that added element of the King of the Nachzehrer coming up to the landship and shaking Kal'tsit by the shoulders going "WHAT DID YOU DO". It provides new context for his anger. Kal'tsit was directly involved in the death of his foster son, just as she was directly involved previously in the destruction of Kazdel and one of the figures behind Babel.

It also adds some depth to Nezzsalem's acceptance. He died a warrior, maybe against one of the most fitting opponents upon all of Terra, and knowing that Patriot chose Kal'tsit quells that anger.

It's all neat. There's more that can be extrapolated from this, such as this providing something of an explanation for Patriot's military ability and potentially even his witchcraft, but those aren't as important or interesting to me. Chapter 14 is a story in a number of ways about the burden and threads of individuals who have lived an immensely long period of time, individuals who have found immortality in one way or another, and the ways that these lives ultimately intersect and weave with one another, and Patriot is another one of those patterns weaved through time.

#arknights

26 notes · View notes

agoldengalaxy · 2 days ago

Text

The Many, Many, Birthdays of Stan Pines

read on Ao3

words: 4091

Stan Pines has a complicated relationship with his birthday.

Stan Pines is six. It's a beautiful day to be six.

“Ford! Ford, wake up!” He stands up on his bed, holding himself up with his hands to peek over the wooden edge of the top bunk. “It’s finally here!”

Ford’s eyes open slowly, and once they meet Stan’s, his face lights up. “Our birthday!”

Hopping down, Stan stands triumphantly, his hands on his hips as Ford climbs down the ladder a little more gracefully. “We’re finally six! The amount of fingers you got finally adds up!” He punches Ford’s arm, giggling, then holds up his hand. “High six for the coolest six year olds in the universe!”

Also giggling, Ford fumbles to put his glasses on and return the gesture. “High six!”

After a breakfast with the best cereal their mom could afford, they raced each other down to the beach, intent on spending their day outside together. They didn’t have friends, but that wouldn’t deter the Pines.

“Whoa, wait!” Ford grabbed Stan’s shoulder, who groaned in discontent, dramatically melting to the ground.

“Fooord! You’re not even it!”

“No, look, Stan!” His eyes shone in the mid-morning light, a huge grin on his face. Stan hopped to his feet to follow his gaze, finding a huge wooden swing set on the hill by Glass Shard Beach. It was new, and it was unoccupied. Two swings, as if it were made for them both.

They meet each other’s gaze, grinning giddily, tripping over each other and shoving each other to get there first. Ford takes the left swing, and Stan takes the right. They have competitions to see who could swing the highest, who could spin the chains around the most, and imagine what it would be like if they had the money to buy whatever birthday cake they wanted.

Suddenly, Ford’s standing right in front of him, shaking him. “Stan! We have to go home for dinner.” He’d been leaning against the swing’s chain, falling asleep.

He rubs his eyes roughly, and when his vision clears of black spots, his brother is there with his hand outstretched, smiling. Ford pulls him to his feet, then shoves him to the side, sprinting away. “Last one home has to take the trash out!”

“H-Hey! No fair, Sixer!” he laughs, chasing after him.

***

Stan Pines is thirteen. He’s grateful it’s the summer, but he wishes he weren’t here right now.

He sits at the kitchen table, his hands curled into fists in his lap. Whenever he’s in this situation, he likes to stare down at a mark on the old table, left from when his mother had put out a cigarette there. He thinks it looks a little bit like a boat.

“Are you listening to me, boy?” Large hands slam down on the table in front of him. Stan flinches, then drags his gaze up to look at his father. “Look at you. Making that face like some scared little girl. I thought signin’ you up for boxing would fix all that.”

This exact scene has happened many times before. No matter what he does, he’s not good enough. The boxing helped him stand up to bullies, but not to his father.

His mother grabs his arm. “Filbrick, please! Stanley’s doing his best, a-and it’s his birthday…!”

“That’s exactly the point, Caryn. He’s thirteen now. Why can’t you be more like your brother? He’s never caused trouble!” he exclaims, glancing toward the shelf in the living room, nearly overflowing with the awards he’s been winning. “Or, better yet, stop draggin’ your brother down with your stupidity! Get your damn head out of the clouds and focus for once!”

Stan’s eyes burn, but he knows if he cries now, it’ll make this way worse. He glances down at the burn mark again, mumbling through an apology, when a squeaky voice interrupts them all.

“Can Stanley help me get the work I left at school?”

Ford is standing in the doorway of the kitchen now, and Stan isn’t sure where he came from or how long he’s been standing there. Filbrick glances between the two boys, then lets out a quiet sigh, lifting a hand to dismiss them. Stan scrambles off of the chair and the twins rush out the door.

Once they’re far enough away from the house, Ford stops walking, turning to face Stan, whose shoulders are hunched. “Are you…okay?”

The words make the dam break. Tears pool in his eyes as he fruitlessly rubs them, though he knows his brother is the only one who’d never tease him for this. “Pop thinks I’m useless.”

“That’s not true,” Ford replies, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “He’s just…he’s in one of his moods again. We’ll spend our birthday out of the house. Again.”

“So…you didn’t need me to get your work for you?”

“No, Stan. It’s just the only excuse I could think of to get you out of there.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket to pull out the handkerchief their mother gave him, wiping at Stan’s wet cheeks. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Sniffling, Stan doesn’t even ask where, letting his brother take him down the pathway, past the swingset that rustles with the breeze, and down to the beach where their slow progress of Stan o’ War was left. Together, they sit on the slightly-sturdy deck, cans of soda in hand. They drink in silence until Stan pipes up.

“Do you think I’m draggin’ you down, Poindexter?”

Ford blinks in surprise, then his brows furrow. “Never. You’re my best friend.”

Stan smiles slightly, running his finger along the open mouth of the can. “Eh, I guess you’re alright, too.”

Giggling, Ford punches his arm. “Hey!”

***

Stan Pines is eighteen. He’s bored.

They’ll be starting their senior year soon, which means they’re closer to finally finishing school and getting to go adventuring. But as he lay on the mostly-finished deck of the Stan o’ War , he’s left completely bored by his brother’s mumbling and writing.

“Do you have to do that today, you nerd?” Stan finally huffs, reaching for a toffee peanut. “It’s our birthday. We should be out getting ladies and partying or something.”

“Unlike you, Stan, I have a lot of classes I need to take next year. It’s really tough to organize it.”

“It’s the summer!” he groans, standing up to snatch the book out of Ford’s hands, who cries out in surprise. “This boring school-y stuff can wait. Can’t you spend some time with your best friend today?”

Ford seems unsure, but he relents and gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “No, you’re right. We only turn eighteen once, right? What should we do?”

A mischievous grin appears on Stan’s face as he walks over to the side of the boat, placing the journal down carefully. “Oh, I dunno, I thought - ” Suddenly, he screams in fake fear, which makes Ford come running. Stan’s mischievous smile grows as he pushes his brother into the water below, leaving him sputtering and gasping for breath.

“Stanley!” he shouts, his body and voice trembling with the cold ocean water. Frustratedly, he takes his glasses off, tossing them onto the ship deck. “That was unfair.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, it was just too good to pass up. You shoulda seen the look on your face. Here.” He holds his hand out, intent on pulling him back up. Ford grumbles, taking his hand, but instead of letting Stan pull him up, he yanks Stan downward. They both tumble underwater, and when they surface, they stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“And you should’ve seen the look on your face!”

“I guess I deserved that, huh.”

They splash each other back and forth, and Stan puts an arm around the other while they look up at the setting sun. “Happy birthday, bro.”

“Happy birthday to you too, Stan,” Ford replies with a smile, pulling away after a moment to push Stan’s head underwater.

***

Stan Pines is nineteen. He’s living out of his car.

Glancing down at his notepad, he sighs softly and crosses Illinois off the list. Onto the next, he supposes, with his next bright idea.

For dinner, he uses his last quarter to get a gumball from the corner store, and while he stands there, he glances at the payphone nearby, watching a woman using it squeal in delight as she congratulates the caller on their engagement. Stan sighs, turning his pockets inside out.

This is the first birthday they haven’t spent together. He wonders what would happen if he called. Would Ford finally believe him? Would Ford also wish him a happy birthday?

Even if he could afford the payphone, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to use it. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he blows a large bubble with his gum and walks back to his car, turning the engine on.

“Iowa, here I come,” he mumbles, pulling out of the parking lot.

***

Stan Pines is twenty-six. They’re pounding on his door.

“Pines! Open the door, now! Don’t make me break it down!”

Stan steels himself and stands up, placing a baseball bat beside the door as he opens it. “Rico! To what do I owe this pleasure, old friend?”

The stout man scoffs, stepping inside to grab his collar and hold him close enough that he can smell the cigar smoke on his breath. “You are not my friend, amigo. Your payment. It is due today.”

“Oh, is it?” Stan feigns surprise. “Coulda sworn the last time we talked you told me it was next week.”

“Do not play games with me, Pines. You are aware of what landed me in jail next to you before, yes?” He tightened his grip. “I would do it again to you in a second.”

“Y’know, I actually don’t think we ever talked about what landed you in jail, Rico. You only ever talked to Jorge in Spanish and ignored me. By any chance, were you arrested because of the smell of cigars and bad decisions stuck to your clothes?”

Suddenly, his face explodes with pain, and Stan blinks away stars, looking at the other man with his fist raised, inches from his nose. “Now, where is my money?”

Stan coughs, shaking his head, feeling the panic travel up his chest, knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach the bat if he wanted to. “L-Look, I don’t have it, I really did think you meant next week! Today’s my birthday, just…just give me a few more days! You just got to punch me in the face. That should be enough to hold you over ‘till I can pay you back, right?”

For a few tense moments, they just stares at each other, until Rico huffs and puts him down. “I give you four days. I will not wait longer.”

Nervously, Stan brushes himself off, smiling as bright as he can as he begins nudging him out the door. “Thank you! Not to worry, you can count on me! Off you go, off you go, I’m gonna enjoy my birthday by scrounging up that money for you. Bye now!”

He slams the door shut and locks it, listening to the sound of footsteps and grumbling get further and further away. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the door and putting his face in his hands.

There was no way he was going to call his parents. He’s tried to call Ford before and chickened out. It was time to scan as hard as he’d ever scammed before.

A normal day for Stan Pines.

***

Stan Pines is twenty-eight. He doesn’t realize it’s his birthday.

He’s been awake for who-knows-how-many-days straight. It’s been six months since Ford disappeared, and six months of trying desperately to learn how to reopen the portal that was way too complicated for him. He even manages to fake his own death completely on his own, taking his brother’s identity in the process. He wishes, more than anything, that he could have his brain, too, rather than his face.

Slowly, he shuffles toward the lever, pulling it to the side. “Surprise, surprise,” he mumbles, throwing the journal at the portal’s support beam in what he thought would be a much more impactful move. It just falls to the ground listlessly due to Stan’s complete lack of energy. “Give him back. Please.”

His knees shake as he walks to retrieve the journal. When he bends down to grab it, his vision blurs, and he falls forward, his cheek squished up against one of the yellowed pages. He tells his body to move but it doesn’t listen.

“It’s really not safe to sleep here, Stanley. Leave the portal alone.”

“Can it, Poindexter,” he mumbles, only half-aware that he’s probably hallucinating. His eyes slip shut and he doesn’t move for a long time.

***

Stan Pines is thirty-seven. The Mystery Shack is booming, and despite complaints of fraud or rip-offs, tourists still come, tourists still give him money.

He leans on the counter, telling the last customers that they should come back soon as one of the bobbleheads completely pops off. “Remember, we put the fun in no refunds!” he says after them, slamming the door shut before they can complain.

Slowly, his gaze drifts toward the vending machine. A year ago, just the buttons had been blurry, but now the whole thing was. Huffing a sigh, he rubs the back of his neck and heads upstairs to change. Once in his undershirt and boxers, he moves to the living room to watch something.

But as the movie plays, he realizes that from the armchair, he can’t see a thing. The characters and colors are all blobs, moving back and forth with their canny voices. Frustrated, Stan moves closer to sit on the floor, but after a few minutes his back aches, his eyes burn, and he can’t stand it.

Storming back to his room, he angrily pulls open the drawer and takes out a black case, holding it in his hands for a moment. He’d known his vision was going for a while and got himself checked out months ago, but even when he got the glasses, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear them.

Today, at thirty-seven, he can’t ignore it any longer.

He sits on the edge of his bed, opening the case. He picks up the glasses, glancing at the pair that had sat on the dresser for the last nine years. They were different enough. He’d be fine.

Pull it together, Stan, he thinks, reminded of his father insulting him for being too much of a baby. Snapping the case shut, he shoves the glasses onto his face and stands up. He draws himself up, marching himself toward the door. He intends not to look, but he can’t help it - his gaze finds his own in the mirror, and for a terribly long moment, it’s not his face in the mirror.

It’s Ford’s.

The tears start before he can even think about it. He forgets watching the movie, and sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his face in the mirror, wishing it actually was his brother staring back.

***

Stan Pines is fifty. He’s still getting used to his handyman, but he thinks he’d kill for this kid.

“Mr. Pines! Mr. Pines! I chased that woman down and got her to buy this snowglobe, dude!” Soos’ eyes are sparkling with excitement as he runs back up to the porch of the shack where Stan is standing. “And I told her no refunds!”

Chuckling heartily, Stan reaches down to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Nice work, gumdrop. You’ve come a long way.”

Soos smiles giddily. “Th-Thank you!”

“Hey, it’s almost been a year since I hired you, huh?” Stan muses, remembering it was sometime around his birthday, and that the kid was also wearing a party hat when he came by. “Isn’t it gonna be your birthday soon? What’ll you be, seven? Eight?”

Much to his surprise, Soos deflates a little at the questions. “U-Uh, no. Thirteen,” he murmurs, the quietest Stan has ever seen him.

“Whoa, why the long face there, kiddo?”

Soos plays with the hem of his shirt, sitting on one of the stairs. “I don’t like my birthday, Mr. Pines.” Stan blinks a few times, then slowly moves to sit beside him, waiting for the elaboration. “Every year, my dad promises he’ll come visit. And every year, he doesn’t.”

There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, before Stan says the only thought he has that’s child-friendly. “Whatta jerk.”

Soos lets out a non-committal huff of a laugh. “That’s what my grandma says when she thinks I’m not listening.”

“It’s true! Soos, if that guy can’t be bothered to make time for you, then he doesn’t deserve to be in your life.” Unwittingly, a shiver runs down his back. He supposes hypocrisy can be added to the long list of things he does wrong. “You can spend your birthday here, with me and your grandma. Okay?”

The kid’s big, innocent eyes shine as he looks up at him. “R-Really? You mean it, Mr. Pines?”

“I mean it.” He hesitates for a moment before putting his arm around Soos’ shoulders. “And for the record, kid, I don’t like my birthday, either. But you’re gonna be alright. You got people who love you.”

Soos leans into the hug immediately and Stan pretends not to see the tears that roll down his cheeks. “Y-You got people who love you too, dude!”

They sit in silence after that while Stan ponders if that’s actually the case for him. It sure doesn’t feel like it, but he’s glad to help this kid, even if just a little.

***

Stan Pines is fifty-nine. He’s sitting at the register, reading a newspaper, when the bell above the door rings. He looks up, and much to his surprise, a teenager is standing there, looking slightly nervous but clearly trying to hide it.

“I thought teenagers hated me,” he says, as a way to cut the tension. She looks vaguely familiar. He realizes she’s been here a couple of times with her father before. “What’s up, kid? Why the long face?”

“...My dad says I either have to go to some camp on the other side of the state or get a job. I really, really don’t want to leave my friends behind, and I’ve already been fired from, like, most of the places in town. You’re weird enough that it just might work. Are you hiring?”

Stan blinks, knowing how it feels to be sent away by your father. “...Can you scam people out of their money and/or handle a register?”

The girl smirks. “Bold interview questions, but yes, and yes. I won’t let you down.”

“Alright, you’re hired. Let’s see what you can do during today’s rush.” Stan grins, standing up and offering the stool to her. She grins and takes a seat. “What’s your name, kid?

“Wendy Corduroy,” she says, adjusting her hat, “and I’m gonna blow you away.”

Much to his surprise, she does, in fact, blow him away. By the time the tour bus leaves, she’s made more money than he expected with her smooth talking, definitely better at the conning thing than Soos ever was. She holds up her fist, and he bumps it with his own.

“You’re not so bad, Mr. Pines,” she muses as he walks her out the door at the end of the day. “Everyone thinks you’re weird, which you are, but you’re actually pretty cool, too. Thanks for the job, man. See you tomorrow!”

She smiles and heads down the path, while Stan feels a quiet warmth bubble in his chest. Maybe not all teenagers are terrible.

***

Stan Pines is sixty. Last month, he got a letter from his nephew, asking if he could take their children for the summer. He didn’t get into specifics, but it seemed like he and the wife weren’t doing very well and he didn’t want the kids to see it.

He knows he should have said no. If anyone saw what was happening in his basement, they’d kill him. But he says yes, because they’re family, and family has been what he’s been aching for.

They arrived yesterday, and thankfully it seemed that either his nephew didn’t know it was his birthday or didn’t tell the kids. They’re pleasant, of course they are, since they’re Shermie’s grandkids, but he can tell they don’t want to be here. All he can do is put them to work, keep them busy, hope they get acclimated, maybe even make them laugh. He shows them the attic and the gift shop.

They take to Soos right away. Wendy seems more or less indifferent about the kids. The day itself is a little awkward, and Stan is just relieved that they don’t know it’s his birthday to add any more awkwardness.

Adjusting his glasses, he walks past the attic door, but stops when he hears voices. He’d sent the kids to bed an hour ago, so of course he’s gonna eavesdrop.

“ - not how I wanna be spending my summer. Things are weird here. I miss Mom and Dad. And I think Great Uncle Stan is a criminal.”

“I don’t know…”

“He is! Do you see how he lies to all his customers? He’s, like, a professional conman! What if he hurts us too? I say we should escape through the window and report him to the FBI!”

There’s a quiet silence as the words hang in the air. Stan feels his heart break into a thousand pieces, mostly because he can’t even blame the kid.

A quiet rustling sound pierces the silence. “I know. We can ask the magic eight ball what to do!”

“Mabel, the magic eight ball? Seriously?”

“Has it ever wronged us before?”

A sigh. “Fine. Let’s ask it.”

“Oh, great magic eight ball, should we leave and report our great uncle to the FBI?”

Silence. Stan doesn’t breathe.

“Well, guess we’re staying!”

“Guess so. Hope we made the right choice.”

With each passing second of silence, it feels like his heart is stabbed over and over again. Finally, he forces air through his lungs, forcing himself to walk away from the door, forcing himself to make it to his room, close the door, and sit on the edge of his bed.

For most of his life, he’d felt like he had no family left. He thinks, maybe, it’s for the best. His own family didn’t want him, and now his extended family doesn’t want him.

He’s gonna have to try extra hard, but he knows how that always turns out.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

***

Stan Pines is sixty-one. It’s a beautiful day to be sixty-one.

The ocean breeze feels amazing on his skin, rustling his hair beneath his beanie. The sky is a golden orange, bringing about the new day with warmth. He’s standing on the deck of the Stan o’ War II , leaning on the railing. His memories are still jumbled, even all these months later, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so at peace.

Suddenly, the smell of coffee replaces the scent of salt, and he glances over to find Ford beside him with a fond grin, holding out a mug to him. “Good morning, Stanley.”

“Mornin’. Thanks for the joe.” He takes the mug, and they clink them together. They each take a slow sip, letting the coffee warm them. It’s quiet for a few moments, as if Ford is wondering if he should say something. Stan smiles to himself. “Happy birthday, you big nerd.”

Ford’s eyes widen, and he lets out a sort of incredulous huff of a laugh. “Y-You…you remember.”

Stan nods, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Yeah, I do.”

Wasting no time, Ford leans into the side-hug, letting out a content sigh. A few more moments pass before Ford speaks again. “Happy birthday to you too, Stan.”

It had been forty-three years since he’d heard Ford say those words to him. He blinks the salt and tears out of his eyes and smiles.

Suddenly, a loud ring echoes inside the boat. Ford straightens up, adjusting his glasses with a grin. “That’s the twins. Come along.”

They walk inside their room, sitting on Stan’s bunk to answer the video call. Confetti falls in front of the camera while Dipper and Mabel scream happy birthday to their grunkles.

It’s the best birthday Stan has ever had.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan twins #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #mabel pines #I would do anything for the stan twins #and that's a fact #my post #my writing #agoldengalaxy

30 notes · View notes