#one was contemporary and one is this one...

[vonbabbitt]

Okay Von hi feel free to just ignore this if it's not a topic you want brought up and I'm not saying this was bad writing on your part since it was definitely unintentional but GOD DAMN it hurts that Watari died and was specifically burned during black history month. The cold motive being during December was a coincidence so this definitely is too but holy fuck it just hurts. A lot.

Praying it's a suicide honestly because one of these students I've grown to love burning a black woman alive on purpose during February (ik they don't know it's February but on principle it still hurts) would fuck me up so bad.

You're an awesome writer so don't take this the wrong way, it isn't a critique at all and definitely just seems like an awful coincidence to me but still. It's an awful coincidence.

(if it wasn't obvious btw I am black just so this doesn't read as some weird yt person lmao)

Thanks for making tetro anyway, hope you're in better health soon

hey anon, i wanted to address this because its a totally valid thing to bring up and your message was really really polite about it

it genuinely is just an awful coincidence unfortunately. when i first wrote all of tetro a few years ago i had zero idea of when it would be releasing or what the release schedule would look like, and things just happened to line up in a really unfortunate way.

obviously i cant speak on any matters of the case or the trial or the culprit right now, so i think a much better use of this platform and time would be to discuss ACTUAL issues of anti-black racism in japan with the focus people are now giving watari. hopefully thats a use of this platform that people will be able to take something away from

japan, historically, has had relatively limited interaction with african countries and people of african descent. the first time a black person was actually recorded historically in japan was a 16th century samurai named yasuke who was brought over by portuguese traders and eventually then served as a samurai under a 16th century daimyō named oda nobunaga. yasuke was very much a spectacle in 16th century japan, with records at the time saying that people in kyoto were fascinated by his height and dark skin. japan's interaction with black people remained extremely sparse throughout a lot of this time.

in the late 19th century, during japans early globalization, american minstrel shows (blackface performances) toured in japan, which introduced derogatory caricatures of black people to japanese audiences. it was a sort of imported imagery in that sense, carrying imported western racism with it into japan and laying foundations for japan's anti-black stereotyping in future japanese media.

during ww2, japan portrayed itself as a champion of non-white peoples against western imperialism and proposed a racial equality clause at the 1919 league of nations, which western powers rejected. while they were advertising this anti-racism approach, propaganda and attitudes within japan were actually a lot different. for example, after the war, many japanese people initially blamed black soldiers for the bombings, insisting that their skin had been "blackened" by the bomb. the american occupation of japan from 1945 to 1952 then brought a significant black presence to japan, with about 15000 black troops stationed in tokyo alone by 1946. these soldiers' interactions with japanese civilians (including romantic relationships) served as many japanese people's first prolonged contact with black people. the occupation era brought a new wave of mixed-race children that then went on to face strong social stigma in japan and the US alike, dredging up entrenched ideas about racial purity. generally, japan's historical context regarding black people is one of limited contact and imported stereotypes, setting the stage for modern perceptions.

in contemporary japan, which is still about 98% ethnically japanese, black people are an incredibly small minority, thought to make up only 0.02% of the population. because of this homogeneity, many attitudes towards black people are shaped by media images and lack of personal interaction. on one hand, theres still a curiosity and admiration for aspects of black culture in japan - mainly african-american pop culture, particularly hip-hop, sports and fashion. younger japanese people emulate black musicians and athletes, as well as certain subcultures (notably the late 1990s "B-style" trend) and at times even darken their skin to imitate black celebrities. on the other hand, deep-seated stereotypes persist. black people are often stereotyped as exceptionally athletic, musical or "cool", but also dangerous and foreign. as an example, black residents in japan will commonly report that strangers perceive them with a mix of fascination and fear. baye mcneil (who is a black author living in japan that i absolutely recommend reading the works of) notes that japanese reactions to blackness are frequently rooted in ignorance rather than malice. he notes that many japanese people fear blackness, and that their fear comes from a place of ignorance. this manifests in ways that may seem subtle at first glance - avoiding sitting next to a black passenger on the train or holding their belongings a little tighter in the presence of a black person. microaggressions against black people in japan are still extremely prevalent.

that same prejudice can also take the form of insensitive comments or questions, usually stemming from the assumption that all black people are from africa or america and fit certain tropes. for instance, a black friend of mine who visited japan recently noted that she was asked on more than one occasion if her skin colour would "rub off", reflecting a massively prevalent lack of exposure. japanese anti-black racism is strongly rooted in ignorance as opposed to the overt hatred displayed in western countries; physical attacks motivated by race are unusual. instead, social exclusion and othering are the more common issues. black people, like other visible minorities, often face the "perpetual foreigner" mindset japan still holds - no matter how long they've lived in japan or how well they speak japanese, they may be treated as outsiders. even japanese-born residents of mixed african descent can be viewed by some as not "fully japanese", as seen in public reactions to famous mixed-race individuals of such descent. to recap, modern attitudes are a complicated mix: a general polite public demeanour masking unspoken biases, a fascination with black culture coexisting with lingering stereotypes, and a lack of awareness that results in black residents frequently feeling hyper-visible yet entirely misunderstood and misinterpreted.

id also like to talk about the role of japanese media in anti-black racism in japan. japanese media and pop culture have a bit of a mixed record in their portrayal of black people. historically, representations were often steeped in caricature. in anime and manga, black or dark-skinned characters are often drawn with exaggerated features reminiscent of racist minstrel imagery, such as the very frequent use of exaggerated lips seen in many popular anime. two fairly infamous examples are mr. popo from the dragon ball series and jynx from pokemon. mr. popo is a genie-like character depicted with jet-black skin, large red lips and a turban, features clearly echoing the blackface iconography japan became familiar with in the 19th century. these designs sparked criticism internationally as well. western releases of these shows later altered the characters, such as mr. popo's skin being recoloured to bright blue in one edited instance, to downplay the resemblance to racist caricatures. the portrayal of black people in japanese media has thus been subject to intense criticism for insensitivity. many japanese viewers initially did not recognize these depictions as offensive, due to the different historical context, but awareness around anti-black racism has since been growing.

live-action media and advertising have also featured plenty of tone-deaf portrayals. blackface in comedy shows persisted in japan long after it had faded from other parts of the world. as recently as new years eve 2017, a popular comedian (masatoshi hamada) donned full blackface to impersonate eddie murphy on national TV, igniting outrage among international viewers and anti-racism activists. domestic reaction within japan was mixed, with some defending it as harmless cosplay and others (both japanese and otherwise) pointed out that, intentional or not, such images are hurtful and stem from ignorance. baye mcneil (shoutout again) led campaigns to educate the public on why blackface is offensive, especially with the 2020 tokyo olympics on the horizon and japan under greater global scrutiny. in 2020, japans public broadcaster NHK aired an animated segment about the black lives matter protests that depicted caricatured black figures (a muscular black man speaking broken japanese, with others shown looting) without any mention of police brutality - a portrayal widely condemned as racist. NHK retracted and apologized after facing backlack, showing that japanese media institutions are finally (but slowly) being called to account for promoting racist imagery and stereotyping.

there have been positive developments. the rise of internationally successful mixed-race japanese athletes and celebrities - such as tennis star naomi osaka, who is haitian-japanese, or signer crystal kay, who is korean-african-japanese - has prompted more nuanced conversations about identity. advertisers have featured more diversity in commercials, though not without missteps. as an example, one 2019 nissin noodles ad drew criticism for depicting a cartoonized naomi osaka with much lighter skin and eurocentric features. on variety TV, black personalities often appear, but sometimes in tokenized roles. notably, foreign talents like bob sapp and bobby ologun became famous in japan in the 2000s. while they gained popularity, they were somtimes boxes into caricatured personas (the "big scary black man" or the comic relief.) a quote from a japanese viewer at the time noted that "bobby ologon speaks weird japanese, bob sapp eats raw meat...it's like watching a circus show. people look down on them and it is obviously discrimination." this underscores how japanese media often plays up stereotypes (the non-fluent funny foreigner, the brute strength athlete, etc.) for laughs. however. more recent years have seen more candid discussions in media about racism. for example, japanese news programs covered the 2020 BLM marches in japan seriously, and films or other literature by afro-japanese creators, such as the memoirs of black residents, are slowly gaining more attention. overall, japanese pop culture is gradually, if slowly, moving from caricature to more authentic representation, pushed by both international pressure and a new generation that is more globally aware.

for black people living in or visiting japan, everyday life is generally safe but can be clouded by subtle discrimination and challenges. japan has no law explicitly prohibiting racial discrimination, so incidents of bias can go unchecked. a government survey in 2017 revealed that nearly one third of foreign residents had encountered derogatory remarks, and about 40% reported facing housing discrimination. black individuals often find themselves included in these statistics and often experience much greater suspicion than white foreigners. for instance, many black residents have stories of being repeatedly stopped by police for "random" ID checks or questioning, a practice linked to racial profiling. michael sharpe (a professor with the university of oxford) notes hearing of south asian and african immigrants being "stopped and harassed by police, denied housing, relegated to certain types of employment, and exploited" in japan. such profiling feeds a sense among black communities that they are being watched with particular scrutiny. a black american in tokyo reported that in his first week of living in a neighbourhood, he was stopped by police for riding a new bicycle, with the implication that a black person on a new bicycle may have stolen it.

housing and employment present other hurdles. its common for landlords and real estate agents in japan to flat-out reject foreign renters, with excuses such as language barriers or different lifestyles. black applicants, especially those from african or non-western countries, report this rejection at higher rates, sometimes hearing that neighbours or owners are "uncomfortable" renting to them. in the workplace, blatant racism is uncommon, but black professionals often face a ceiling or bias. many employers prefer hiring white westerners, perceiving them as more "suitable" english instructors or corporate representatives due to pervasive western-centric images, which can sideline black candidates. those who do work in japan might also endure ignorant comments from colleagues - for example, joking about skin colour or being compared to random black celebrities. a lack of diversity training means coworkers may not realize their "innocent" jokes are hurtful or disparaging.

social interactions can range from warmly welcoming to awkward. many japanese are genuinely curious and might ask personal questions with a racial charge behind them that the japanese fail to recognize. in more negative cases, black people may be avoided in public - a phenomenon illustrated by baye mcneil's anecdote of a man literally turning away and guarding his pockets when mcneil stood behind him in a train line. children often point or call out black people because they so rarely see black individuals, with such moments highlighting the feeling of otherness that black residents frequently experience. there have also been many incidents out outright rudeness: strangers touching black hair without permission, or making vulgar comments about the hygiene of black residents based on stereotyping.

its important to note that in the modern day, many black visitors travel in japan without incident, and many black expatriates build meaningful lives and friendships in japan. the discrimination tends to be subtle or indirect rather than open hostility. japans strong cultural emphasis on politeness often restrains open hate. however, this can be a double-edged sword. problems of racism may be denied or swept under the rug entirely. a common culture among the japanese is that "racism is an american problem, not a japanese one," which was a reaction seen when BLM rallies were held in tokyo. black residents in japan know differently - they live with daily reminders that their appearance sets them apart, for better or worse. in summary, daily life for black people in japan is usually from from violence or blatant abuse, but not free from the strain of being viewed as "alien" and having to navigate systemic biases in housing and policing that other groups might not face to the same degree.

several high-profile incidents in recent years have brought anti-black racism in japan into the spotlight and stirred public debate. one example is the case of ariana miyamoto in miss universe japan 2015. when miyamoto, born to a japanese mother and black father, won the miss universe japan title, it sparked nationwide conversation about what it means to be japanese. while many were proud of her win, a vocal sector on social media questioned whether a mixed-race contestant should represent japan. miyamoto, who was raised in japan, revealed she had faced bullying growing up - classmates threw trash at her and called her racial slurs due to her darker skin. the controversy around her victory - with comments such as "she doesnt look japanese" being prevalent - highlighted the exclusionary view some hold. her grace under fire and the support she received from others also became a teaching moment about multicultural japan.

another example is the case of tennis champion naomi osaka, who - as mentioned earlier - is hatian-japanese. while she is widely celebrated in japan, her rise came with many instances of racism. in 2019, japanese comedy duo a masso joked that osaka was "too sunburned" and that she "needed some bleach", implying her skin was too dark. they apologized after receiving harsh backlash. earlier that year, as mentioned earlier, nissin noodles released a cartoon ad where osaka's character was depicted with much lighter skin and hair than in reality. following criticism, nissin withdrew the ad and admitted they had not consulted osaka on her portrayal. osaka herself has handled these instances of racism with maturity, even joking in response to the bleach comment, and continues to proudly represent her mixed heritage.

anti-black racism in japan is a multifaceted issue, shaped by history, media representation, and japans self-image as a homogenous society. only in recent years has japanese society progressed towards a stance of anti-racism. i think whats genuinely fascinating about japans position is that we're seeing the disassembly of societal racism in real time in japan. massive civil rights strides that happened a hundred years ago in america are happening now in japan for the first time. we're seeing a new generation of japan that wants to directly oppose racism, and a generation of black japanese residents that are showing their strength and exceptionality. i really vividly remember the backlash against naomi osaka - and backlash on that massive of a scale can be terrifying. its inspiring on such a genuine level to see her demonstrating that level of strength and determination in the face of racism.

its genuinely unfortunate how the uploads happened to fall in regards to watari and black history month. however, if nothing else, im glad to have been given the opportunity to talk about black history in japan, and im glad to have been given the opportunity to witness the fight for the safety, acceptance, and love of black people in japan in real time. i know this was a bit of a long read but i had a lot i wanted to go over lmao.

as a final note, please dont be complacent. its really easy for people to reblog posts about black history and civil rights without really doing much of anything else. please always be the type of person who fights against anti-black racism. please use your voice correctly. you dont have to be anywhere near japan to have a say in how japanese racism is received by the greater world. the benefit of a global culture is that you can use your voice to affect things in other countries. when there are japanese comedians making horrible jokes about black people, and when there are japanese companies putting out ads that mock and erase black people, you have the ability to loudly raise your voice about it. so please always do so

idk how to end this but if you made it this far thank you for reading lmao. and thank you anon for giving me an opportunity to talk about this in more depth. i hope everyone has been able to have a reflective, meaningful, happy and genuinely loving black history month

[artbyblastweave]

I haven't watched it in quite a bit, but I think part of why The Winter Soldier was received as well as it was- indeed, why I still see people still speak fondly of it even in light of the MCU's contemporary downward trajectory in the general estimation of the tumblr userbase- is that it was one of the very few situations where the MCU's early grounded-and-gritty "house style-" actually synergized really well with the tone and tenor of the story they were trying to tell.

Because it's very much a mid-twenty-tens spy thriller, right? The same genus as Bourne, Daniel Craig James Bond, Mission Impossible, all those. And the Brubaker run that it's pulling from, with sprinklings of Hickman, Bendis, Millar- all of those stories were already heavily tinged and influenced by that same spy thriller idiom. So on that level it's being adapted into what it's supposed to be, a well-executed entry into that genre, but one where even the toned-down, apologetically-incorporated superheroic elements like Armin Zola, Cyborg Limbs and flying aircraft carriers are enough to make it stand out from the pack aesthetically. Boring by four-color comic standards, but at the outer-edge of outlandishness by 2010s spy thriller standards. Couple that with the fact that it was coming on the heels of The First Avenger, which is much more of a pulpy romantic romp, and the extent to which the movie is about a lot of these grand heroic narratives being unmasked as fundamentally rotten from the word go, and the sanded-down house tone feels like a thematically deliberate and appropriate contrast, rather than a casualty of the studio's broader aversion to costumes and codenames.

Of course, the problem hits when you start trying go do stories in that sanded down tone which aren't as well suited for it, which happened a bunch in the earlier phases and into the later ones- or, alternatively, when you start getting bolder and incorporating the gloriously ridiculous stuff from the comics while trying to retain the same self-serious 2010s thriller vibes, which was the main point of failure for the trailer of Brave New World for me- you've got a celestial, a gamma mutate as president, and a guy with wings, and everything is still as washed out as it was in 2014? I'm not gonna go see the movie, so for all I know they deftly grafted the two tones together, but I have to doubt it. They caught lightning in the bottle exactly once and they've been chasing it since.

[melonthesprigatito]

Hey, so remember how we as a fandom were all like "I wonder who's gonna get isekai-ed and experience angsty memory loss this time?" for a whole year?

Well, I saw the Legends Z-A trailer and I was kinda disappointed because Lumiose City is basically contemporary. So, all the fish out of water stuff you'd normally expect from an isekai is kinda gone. So I just assumed that there's not gonna be an isekai-ed angsty memory loss character this time.

BUT THEN I REMEMBERED

Remember way back in ORAS when Looker washed up on the beach of the Battle Resort with no memories? This was before the concept of Fallers was introduced to the Pokèmon series, so at the time it was just a weird cameo that never got a follow up.

But what if it got a follow up? What if ORAS is the other dimension this time? Instead of following Looker, we get the perspective of the ones he left behind. We all know from the trailer that there's a strong possibility that Emma is coming back, having taken over the Looker Bureau in his stead.

Guys, you probably don't know but Looker is Emma's FATHER FIGURE. So, you know those fanarts of Emmit going through grief and trauma and trying to search for Ingo/cope with his disappearance?

That, but this time it's Emma. She's spent 10-12 yeara trying to search for her missing dad and she's all jaded and a hardboiled detective now.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

do you have any wlw romance books recs? Id prefer contemporary romance but at this point I’m desperate so any genre is welcome. (Also I saw your post about the other book recs so I’ve already jotted down the wlw ones you’ve mentioned!)

god bestie there were 1.5 sapphic books on that list that's such slim pickings (Chef's Kiss is a .5 because its a lesbian-leaning f/nb romance)

anyway if there were any wlw romance books that I recommend I would have. you know. put them on the list of romance novels that I recommend. truly all of the other one I've read are shit trash I fear

[rivertigo]

hmm my own personal hangup with a lot of contemporary rock bands is that I feel as though they’re sonically crowded with guitar sounds… like I don’t feel like there’s a lot of room to breath in that type of modern “just straight up rock” and I assume this sound is derived from trying to emulate a mixture of hair metal/pop punk to an extent… the riffs are kinda boring and there’s a lot of it within the composition. Maybe it’s because I’m accustomed to different types of music but some of it can just feel overwhelming to listen to. ahh but whatever I’m glad there’s been a slow rise in rock bands… maybe if there is more of them, more good ones will be created 🫶

[bethanydelleman]

im curious about what you mean when you call "compromise" a likely ahistorical concept in that post about caroline bingley. have you posted about this before? it's one of those tropes that's almost like furniture in regency setting fic and literature - id never really considered that it wasn't accurate (at least broadly)

I wrote a whole article about it!

The biggest problem with the trope is that authors rarely consider the power dynamics of the compromise, which is roughly equivalent to a shotgun marriage today. One of the most sensible compromises I've seen is in Bridgerton, surprisingly, because a male relative of about equal status used an actual gun to try and make the compromiser marry his sister. If the female doesn't have a powerful or willing male relation, who holds the shotgun?

Another big problem which comes up a lot in fan fiction is lowering the bar of physical contact. In Bridgerton, Daphne and Simon are fully making out, in a lot of Chinese dramas they lock drunk/drugged up, opposite sex people in a room for an entire night and then let servants "discover" them in the morning. That's very compromising! Yet, you'll read some historical fiction/a lot of fan fiction of a woman doing something as innocent as tripping into a man's arms or being alone in a room with them fully clothed and people scream, "Compromise!" It's just silly. Jane Austen has men and women accidentally alone frequently and no one ever gets married from it.

"Compromise" is a modern term for a trope, I've yet to see it in a single contemporary novel from the 1800s, and while I am certain that shotgun marriages happened throughout history, I'm also pretty sure they didn't happen as often or as innocently as a lot of historical fiction suggests.

[gatheringbones]

[“Isabeau of Bavaria, Queen of France, is described by one historian as a tall blonde and by another as a “dark, lively, little woman.” The Turkish Sultan Bajazet, reputed by his contemporaries to be bold, enterprising, and avid for war, and surnamed Thunderbolt for the rapidity of his strikes, is described by a modern Hungarian historian as “effeminate, sensual, irresolute and vacillating.” It may be taken as axiomatic that any statement of fact about the Middle Ages may (and probably will) be met by a statement of the opposite or a different version. Women outnumbered men because men were killed off in the wars; men outnumbered women because women died in childbirth. Common people were familiar with the Bible; common people were unfamiliar with the Bible. Nobles were tax exempt; no, they were not tax exempt. French peasants were filthy and foul-smelling and lived on bread and onions; French peasants ate pork, fowl, and game and enjoyed frequent baths in the village bathhouses. The list could be extended indefinitely. Contradictions, however, are part of life, not merely a matter of conflicting evidence. I would ask the reader to expect contradictions, not uniformity. No aspect of society, no habit, custom, movement, development, is without cross-currents. Starving peasants in hovels live alongside prosperous peasants in featherbeds. Children are neglected and children are loved. Knights talk of honor and turn brigand. Amid depopulation and disaster, extravagance and splendor were never more extreme. No age is tidy or made of whole cloth, and none is a more checkered fabric than the Middle Ages.”]

barbara w. tuchman, from a distant mirror: the calamitous 14th century, 1987

[yjw1a1]

The Space Between The Unsaid | PSH

PAIRING. Park Sunghoon x female reader. GENRE. contemporary romance, coming of age, drama and angst WORD COUNT. 6481 WARNINGS. angst and reader is lowkey annoying. DISCLAIMER. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR THE WORK I WROTE, SO PLAGIARISM IS NOT ALLOWED HERE. all the credits to the owners of the photos. Please be kind. :) SUMMARY. Y/N has spent her whole life playing a role—perfect daughter, untouchable socialite, the girl everyone admires but no one really knows. As the only child of Korea’s most celebrated actor and a former supermodel, she’s been raised in a world where appearances matter more than reality. But behind the curated image, Y/N feels like a ghost in her own life—trapped in a cold house, wearing a name that doesn’t feel like hers Then there’s Sunghoon.The boy next door. The only real thing in her world. From the moment they met as children, Sunghoon has been her anchor—her escape. In his home, filled with warmth and chaos, Y/N learns what it means to belong. But as they grow up, the lines between them blur. Sunghoon watches, caught between wanting to save her and knowing she doesn’t want to be saved. The weight of everything unspoken between them threatens to crack because Y/N grows tired of playing pretend. And maybe, just maybe—he’s finally tired of pretending, too. Because some love stories are quiet. Some never get the right words. But some, no matter how long it takes, refuse to stay unsaid.

DATE RELEASED . 03.02.2025

Y/N KNEW SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE OUTSIDE. She could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in the back of her mind Don’t ruin your dress. Don’t go where people can see you like that.

Like that. Like a child. Like someone who didn’t belong to the world her parents had built.

But right now, she didn’t care.

Her fingers curled around the handlebars of the tiny pink bicycle, the one she had found abandoned in the garage when they moved in. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t hers. But for some reason, she liked it.

She had never owned anything that wasn’t perfect before. She tried to lift it upright, arms trembling slightly from the effort. It was heavier than she expected, and her shoes slipped against the smooth pavement as she struggled. Still, she didn’t stop.

Until the front door swung open.

“What are you doing?”

Y/N flinched.

Her mother’s voice was sharp, like it always was when she caught Y/N doing something she shouldn’t be. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, beautiful and cold all at once.

“That’s not yours.”

Y/N swallowed hard, quickly letting go of the bike, as if it had burned her.

“I know.”

Her mother sighed. “Come inside. You have your etiquette lesson in twenty minutes.”

And just like that, the door closed again.

Leaving Y/N stranded in their driveway. 

She let out a quiet breath, fingers tightening into the fabric of her dress.

She hated this house. She hated the way the glass windows made it feel like a museum, not a home. She hated the way her father was never there and how her mother only spoke to her when she needed to. She hated the way everything was supposed to be perfect, but it never, ever felt right.

Most of all, she hated that she hadn’t even tried to argue.

That she never did.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

“Hey.”

Y/N gasped, turning sharply.

There was a boy standing a few feet away. He was around her age, taller than her but not by much, with dark hair that fell into his eyes and a jacket that looked too big for his frame.

She had never seen him before. But when she followed his gaze, she realized—he had been watching.

Watching her struggle. Watching her mother scold her. Watching her freeze instead of fighting back.

A sudden wave of embarrassment crashed over her. She hated being watched.

The boy hesitated, then nodded toward the bike. “Do you want help?”

Y/N stared at him.

Most boys she knew only talked to her because of her last name. Because of her parents. Because they wanted something.

But he didn’t look at her like that.

He just… looked at her.

Like she was a normal seven year old girl standing in the driveway of a house that didn’t feel like hers, struggling with a bike that didn’t belong to her.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides.

Then, finally—she nodded. The boy stepped forward, easily pulling the bike upright.

Y/N didn’t know why, but the sight of it—the way he helped her so casually, so effortlessly, like it was the easiest thing in the world—made her chest feel strangely tight.

She swallowed. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “It’s my younger sister’s. She won’t care.”

She blinked. “Your sister?”

He nodded, pointing at the house next door. “We live there.”

Y/N glanced over.

His house was smaller than hers, a little older, with a front yard full of toys and a porch light that flickered faintly in the dim evening. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t polished.

But it looked warm.

And for a reason she didn’t understand, that made her chest ache.

She looked back at him, studying his face carefully, like she was trying to figure out if she should say something else.

Then, without thinking, she smiled. Not the kind of smile her mother taught her—the polite, camera-ready one. A real one. The boy seemed surprised at first. Then he smiled back. 

“I’m Sunghoon, by the way,”

And just like that, Y/N met the first real person in her life.

She didn’t know it then, but years later, she would look back at this moment—the pink bicycle, the cold house, the boy next door—and realize:

This was the day Sunghoon became the only safe thing she had ever known.

Y/N had never been inside Sunghoon’s house before.

She had spent years watching from afar—the warm light spilling from the windows, the way laughter echoed through the halls, the way his mother called for him and his younger sister, Yeji, as if their names were the most precious things in the world.

It was different from her house.

Her house was always too quiet. Too pristine. Too much like a place people admired, but never really lived in.

But tonight, for the first time, she was here.

And she was terrified.

“Just sit,” Sunghoon said, nudging her toward the couch. “Yeji’s excited to see you.”

“I barely know her,” Y/N murmured, hesitating.

“She doesn’t care. She likes you.”

That was hard to believe. Yeji had always been a blur of energy—tiny, loud, and endlessly curious. Whenever Y/N had seen her before, she had been running after Sunghoon, demanding piggyback rides or showing off her latest bruises like they were trophies. She was the kind of child who lived freely, without hesitation.

The kind of child Y/N had never been allowed to be.

A small voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Y/N?”

She turned.

Yeji was standing in the doorway, her dark hair pulled into two messy pigtails, eyes round with excitement. She was holding something in her hands—a coloring book, worn at the edges, its pages filled with crayon scribbles.

“Will you color with me?”

Y/N blinked.

Color?

She had never been allowed to color. Her mother said it was messy. A waste of time. Something only children with too much freedom did.

But when Yeji grinned at her, bouncing slightly on her toes, something in Y/N softened.

“Okay.”

The younger girl let out a cheer, dragging her toward the coffee table. She opened the book to a half-colored picture of a castle, then shoved a handful of crayons into Y/N’s hands.

“You can be princess pink,” Yeji declared. “I’ll be sky blue.”

Y/N looked down at the crayon between her fingers. It was slightly melted at the tip, broken in the middle. Imperfect.

But for some reason, she liked it.

She hesitated at first, unsure of how to start. Her hands hovered over the page, fingers stiff, her mind flooded with the echo of her mother’s voice. Neat lines. No mess. No mistakes.

But when Yeji began scribbling away with no regard for the lines at all, laughing at the way her blue crayon clashed with the pink rooftops, Y/N felt something in her chest loosen.

She pressed the crayon to the page and let it glide across the paper.

The world didn’t end. No one scolded her. Nothing was ruined.

She exhaled.

And she kept coloring.

Sunghoon’s parents walked by a few minutes later, pausing when they saw her sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Yeji, completely focused on filling in the castle walls.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Sunghoon’s mother whispered to his father.

His father chuckled. “I always knew she was more than just that fancy house next door.”

Y/N’s face warmed, but she kept coloring.

After that night, everything changed.

Y/N started coming over more often.

At first, she told herself it was just to return the coloring book Yeji had let her borrow. Then it was because Sunghoon had offered to help her with her math homework. Then it was because she had nothing to do at home, and sitting alone in her room made her feel like she was suffocating.

Eventually, she stopped making excuses. Sunghoon’s house became her escape.

She sat with Yeji on the porch, helping her braid her dolls’ hair. She let Sunghoon’s mother fuss over her, feeding her warm bowls of rice and soup when she claimed she “wasn’t that hungry” (even though, deep down, she was). She listened to Sunghoon and his father bicker over soccer matches and let herself laugh when his mother smacked them both with a dish towel.

It was loud. Chaotic. Messy.

And she loved it.

One afternoon, Yeji grabbed Y/N’s hand, dragging her toward the backyard.

“Come play!” she insisted. “We’re playing tag, and you’re it.”

“I don’t know how to—”

But Yeji had already taken off, giggling as she ran through the grass.

Sunghoon smirked. “She’s fast. You better catch up.”

Y/N hesitated.

She had never played tag before.

She had never run through the grass in bare feet, never let herself laugh just for the sake of laughing, never felt like she was allowed to be young. But when Yeji turned back and stuck her tongue out, teasing her, something in Y/N snapped. And for the first time in her life—she ran.

She chased after Yeji, her laughter ringing through the air, her lungs burning in the best way possible. Sunghoon’s parents watched from the back porch, smiling at the sight.

“She’s different when she’s here,” his mother murmured.

His father nodded. “Like a kid.”

“Like she’s home.” And maybe, in a way, she was.

It happened so naturally that Y/N didn’t even realize when she started calling Sunghoon’s parents Auntie and Uncle.

It slipped out one evening when she was helping set the table, laughing at something Sunghoon said. She had turned to his mother without thinking.

“Auntie, do you want me to grab more napkins?”

The room went silent. Y/N froze. Her throat tightened. She wasn’t supposed to say that. She wasn’t supposed to—

But then, Sunghoon’s mother smiled. “Of course, dear,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And just like that, Y/N wasn’t just a guest anymore. She belonged.

Yeji started calling her unnie—big sister. She would crawl into Y/N’s lap during movie nights, curling against her like she had always been there.

Sunghoon’s father would ruffle her hair when he passed by, teasing her about how she was “too serious for a kid” but smiling when she finally let herself joke back.

Sunghoon’s mother made sure there was always an extra plate at dinner, even on nights when Y/N didn’t come over—just in case.

And when Y/N went home at the end of the night, stepping back into the cold, empty house next door, she carried their warmth with her.

She didn’t say it out loud. But in her heart, she knew. This was her real family.

Being the only child of Korea's hottest actor and stellar model, Y/N had always been the center of attention. Even in high school, when the rules of popularity became more complicated— it wasn’t just about who you were, but who you were willing to be.

People gravitated toward her without hesitation. They laughed at her jokes even when they weren’t funny, clung to her presence like it meant something. She was the kind of person everyone wanted to be close to, even if they didn’t know why.

And she played along. She always did.

She let them love the version of her they thought they knew.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon stayed exactly the same.

He had his small group of friends, the ones who didn’t care about school dances or lunch table politics. The quiet, antisocial types who spent more time talking about their pokemon cards or some new meme that only they found funny. They kept to themselves, content in their own world.

They had no reason to interact with Y/N.

And yet—Sunghoon was always there.

Despite everything, despite how different their worlds were, despite the fact that neither of their friend groups understood it, Sunghoon was the one person who had never drifted from her orbit.

He didn’t try to belong in her world.

And somehow, that’s what made him feel like the only real part of it.

“Why do you even hang out with him?” 

Y/N heard the question more times than she could count. It always came in some variation—curious, teasing, sometimes even pitying. People never understood.

Today, it came from Gia, one of the girls who had attached herself to Y/N sometime in sophomore year. She had asked the question before. But this time, Y/N could tell it was different.

“You know, you don’t need to be with people who bring your status lower. You’re doing charity work Y/N!”

Gia’s gaze flickered toward the far side of the cafeteria, where Sunghoon sat with his usual group—heads down, engaged in conversation, completely detached from everything happening around them. 

Y/N barely hesitated before responding. “Because he’s my best friend.”

Gia snorted. “Seriously?”

Y/N just shrugged, unfazed. She didn’t expect her to understand, when she too was no different from the people in her fathers and mothers circle. 

Gia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to tell a secret. “You know he doesn’t fit in with us, right?”

Us.

Y/N smiled, but there was something in her expression—something sharp, something knowing.

She leaned back in her seat, gaze steady. “Maybe I don’t fit in with you, either.”

Gia blinked.

She opened her mouth, like she wanted to argue, but something in the way Y/N said it—the way she held her gaze, unshaken—made her stop.

And just like that, the conversation ended.

Later that day, after school, Y/N found Sunghoon leaning against the gate outside, waiting for her like he always did.

She didn’t have to ask why.

She didn’t have to say anything at all.

He glanced up as she approached, shifting Y/N’s backpack onto his other shoulder.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice dry. “Someone asked why you’re still friends with me.”

Y/N grinned. “Bingo.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “And? What did you say this time?”

She gave him a look. “The usual. That you’re secretly in love with me, obviously.”

Sunghoon scoffed, shoving her lightly as his ears turned pink. “Shut up.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder against his before they started walking together, falling into step like they had been doing this for years. Because no matter what changed—the people, the expectations, the shifting lines between friendship and something more—Y/N and Sunghoon never did.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because some friendships were supposed to fade. But there's never did.

And that meant it was only a matter of time before it either broke apart completely or turned into something else entirely.

Sunghoon had always known Y/N.

He had known her as the quiet girl who pressed her fingers into the fabric of her dress when she was upset. The girl who colored outside the lines with Yeji like it was the first time anyone had let her. The girl who smiled at everyone like she was perfectly fine, even when her house felt more like a museum than a home.

He had known her before everyone else did—before she became the kind of person people worshipped in high school, before she learned how to belong to a world that wasn’t built for her.

And maybe that was why it hurt so much.

Because he also knew the version of her that no one else did. The one who kept choosing the wrong guys. The ones who didn’t deserve her. The ones who made her feel like she had to prove something.

It started with Minjae.

Sunghoon knew from the moment he saw the guy smirking at Y/N in the hallway that it was going to be a problem.

“He’s a dick,” Sunghoon said bluntly, watching as Minjae leaned against Y/N’s locker like he owned it.

Y/N sighed, stuffing books into her bag. “You say that about every guy I talk to.”

“Yeah, because every guy you talk to is a dick.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know him.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “I don’t need to. He’s the kind of guy who thinks girls are collectibles. You’re just the rarest one he’s found.”

Y/N stilled for half a second before shaking her head. “It’s not that deep, Sunghoon.”

But Sunghoon saw the way she looked away. The way her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

And a few months later, when Minjae stopped texting her back, when she acted like she didn’t care but refused to talk about it—Sunghoon wasn’t surprised.

Because this was how it always went. The pattern didn’t change.

In college, Jisung, the musician, was next. He played guitar, wrote songs about girls, and never answered her messages until after 11pm. Then there was Taehyun—the business major with expensive cologne and cold smiles.

“You know, I’m starting to think you like assholes,” Sunghoon muttered one night, arms crossed as he watched Y/N stare at her phone. She was waiting for a text that wasn’t coming. Again.

“I don’t—” she started, but Sunghoon gave her a look, and she groaned. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have bad taste.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Maybe?”

Y/N shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Sunghoon leaned back against the couch. “You could do better.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Says who?”

He frowned. “Says me.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “I don’t need saving, Sunghoon.”

“I never said you did.” His voice was quieter now. “I just think you deserve more than this.”

Y/N forced a smile, but Sunghoon could tell it was fake. “It’s just how things are, Hoon.”

And for the first time, Sunghoon realized—she actually believed that. She wasn’t picking these guys by accident.

She was picking them because she thought this was what love was supposed to feel like. Like something she had to earn. Like something that was never really hers to keep.

And Sunghoon hated itl He hated that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much she grew, a part of her was still that little girl standing in the driveway, holding onto something that wasn’t hers.

Y/N felt the air shift.

She hated when he looked at her like that—like he saw through everything she tried to pretend wasn’t there. Like he could pull apart the walls she had spent years building.

So, she did what she always did when things got too real.

She changed the subject. “Anyway,” she said, stretching out on the couch like they hadn’t just been having a conversation about her terrible taste in men. “My dad’s company is hosting a gala this weekend.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Y/N gave him a look. “And I need a date.”

He let out a short laugh. “And you’re asking me?”

She shrugged, playing it cool. “You clean up okay.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “Wow. What a compliment.”

Y/N smirked. “I’m serious, though. You should come. You always used to come with me since we were six, and it’s been a hot minute since you’ve been to one.”

Sunghoon leaned his head back against the couch, exhaling. “That’s because I hate them.”

She nudged his leg with her foot. “Come on. Free food, expensive drinks, and you get to see me in a dress that costs more than your rent.”

He gave her a look. “You suck at convincing people.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, I’m extremely persuasive.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. He didn’t answer right away, though.

Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Y/N. Work’s been kind of crazy lately.”

Y/N paused. Sunghoon had been busy. Busier than usual.

His job had been demanding more of his time, and even though he never complained, she could tell he was stretched thin.

Which meant, She shouldn’t push him and just let it go.

But instead, she nudged him again. “You don’t have to stay long. Just come for a bit. Keep me entertained. Prevent me from dying of boredom while old men talk about box office numbers.”

Sunghoon sighed, tilting his head to look at her. She knew she was winning. Finally, he exhaled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Y/N grinned. “That’s all I ask.”

Y/N had convinced herself he wasn’t coming.

She had checked her phone earlier in the night, almost instinctively, and there were only two more hours left of the gala, but there was nothing. No messages. No missed calls. No Sunghoon.

And maybe that was for the best. Y/N sighed leaning against the side of the balcony. The gala is still in full swing behind her—inside, the music is soft and elegant, the people even softer, pretending she don’t notice the flashing cameras catching her every move. But out here, on the rooftop balcony, the air is cold, and there are no cameras. No curated performances. No audience.

Sunghoon didn’t belong here. Not in a room full of people who only knew how to love things they could use. Not in a world where everything was polished on the surface but rotting underneath.

She had spent years pretending it didn’t bother her. That she didn’t care. That the weight of always being wanted—for her name, her beauty, her family—wasn’t suffocating her.

So when the producer’s hand slid onto her waist, she couldn’t move. When his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along her back, she didn’t flinch. And when he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered something she didn’t even process—the smile pressed on her face felt automated.

Because that’s what she was supposed to do.

She was supposed to smile. Supposed to let it happen. She was supposed to pretend like it didn’t make her stomach twist with something dangerously close to nausea.

And then—

A hand wrapped around her wrist. Firm. Steady. Familiar.

Her breath caught. Before she could react, before she could even see him, the warmth of Sunghoon’s grip pulled her back—out of reach, out of the producer’s hold, out of the moment where she had almost let herself disappear into nothing.

She turned sharply, and there he was. Sunghoon.

Standing between her and the man she had been too afraid to push away.

She couldn’t even process the look on his face. Not anger, not jealousy—just quiet, seething disbelief. Like he couldn’t believe her. Like he couldn’t believe she was letting this happen.

The producer’s hand fell away, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he looked Sunghoon up and down. Disinterested. Unimpressed.

“And you are?” the man asked, tilting his head unamused.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink.“Someone who knows she doesn’t want this,” he said, his voice calm, but sharp enough to cut.

She felt something in her chest tighten.

The producer scoffed, shaking his head as if Sunghoon were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “I don’t recall asking you.”

Sunghoon smiled then, but there was nothing friendly about it. “That’s because I don’t care.”

And just like that, the power in the room shifted. The producer let out an annoyed breath, muttering something under his breath before taking a step back. Not worth the trouble.

Not with Sunghoon’s gaze burning into him like a warning.

And then, they were alone.

Sunghoon was still holding her wrist. Not tightly, but firmly enough that she could still feel it.

For the first time that night, she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

But when she looked up at him, his expression was unreadable.

Not relief. Not comfort. Just disappointment. 

“You’re overreacting,” she blurted out before she could stop herself hugging herself, as if it put more space between the walls she placed between them

Sunghoon leans against the railing, watching her pace in front of him. She’s still in her expensive gown, still wearing diamonds in her ears, but her mask has finally slipped. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and her expression is sharp, defensive.

She’s ready to fight him, even though he’s not sure why.

“You’re overreacting,” she repeats, the words clipped. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You let that guy put his hands all over you,” he says. “And you laughed like it was nothing.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, not amused in the slightest. “Oh, please. That’s what you’re upset about? He’s a producer, Sunghoon. You can’t just—”

“I don’t care who he is,” Sunghoon cuts her off, jaw tight. “You looked uncomfortable, and you didn’t do anything about it.”

Y/N scoffs, turning away. “What did you want me to do? Make a scene? Give the tabloids something to talk about?”

“I wanted you to respect yourself,” he fires back, stepping closer, once she stepped away. “I wanted you to stop acting like you have to let people treat you like—”

“Like what, Sunghoon?” she snaps, spinning around to face him. Her eyes flash with something dangerous, something almost like betrayal. “Like I don’t belong to myself? Like I have to be something I’m not just so people will keep loving me?” She lets out a sharp breath. “Newsflash—that’s my whole life.”

Sunghoon stills.

She’s angry, but more than that, she looks like she’s about to break apart at the seams.

Her whole life has been about control, about perception, about playing the part that everyone expects of her. And Sunghoon? He’s the one person who’s never asked her to be anything other than herself.

And right now, that feels like a threat.

“You don’t get to be mad at me,” Y/N snapped, arms crossed, eyes flashing. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know that.”

“Then why do you care so much?” she presses. “Why do you always act like I owe you something?”

He’s silent for a long time. Too long. Long enough for the anger in her expression to shift into something closer to panic—like she knows she’s about to lose something she never really acknowledged was hers in the first place.

“I don’t act like you owe me something,” he finally says. His voice is softer now, but somehow that makes it worse. “I just… I’ve spent years watching you hurt yourself. And maybe that’s my fault for sticking around so long.”

Her breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“I love you,” he says, and it’s not a confession, not really. It’s just the truth. A truth that’s been sitting between them for years, unspoken, unavoidable.

“But I can’t be the only one who wants this,” he continues, shaking his head. “I can’t keep waiting for you to choose me.”

She doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in her life, words fail her.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “I’ll always be here,” he says, stepping back. “But I can’t keep waiting for you to be ready to love me back.”

Then, for the first time since they met as kids, he turns and walks away first.

Y/N doesn’t think.

Her body moves before her mind catches up, feet clicking against the polished floor as she lunges forward, fingers reaching as she grabs his wrist.

“Wait.”

Sunghoon stops. His shoulders tense under the dim rooftop lights, his breath slow and controlled, but she can tell by the way his fingers twitch at his sides—he wasn’t expecting this.

She wasn’t expecting it either, but suddenly, she’s terrified of letting him leave.

He turns slightly, just enough for her to see the side of his face. His expression is unreadable, but she knows him well enough to notice the cracks beneath the surface. The clenched jaw. The way his lips press together, like he’s bracing himself for impact.

She swallows, her grip tightening for half a second before she forces herself to let go.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are soft, barely audible over the muffled sound of the gala behind them. She sees the way his brows twitch, the subtle flash of something unreadable in his eyes.

But he doesn’t say anything.

So she keeps going.

“I don’t—” Her throat is tight. She exhales sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple as if that will stop the whirlwind of emotions threatening to tear through her. “I don’t know how to do this, Sunghoon.”

Silence.

She lets out a quiet, almost bitter laugh, hugging herself. “I don’t know how to be loved like this. I don’t know how to choose something when I’ve spent my whole life being told who to be. And I know that’s not an excuse, I know that’s not fair to you, but—”

Her voice wavers.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing slightly before he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“But what?” His voice is quiet now. Steady.

She lifts her gaze, eyes searching his like she’s hoping he’ll have the answer for her.

“But I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession leaves her lips before she can stop it.

Sunghoon inhales sharply, his gaze flickering with something she can’t place.

She looks away. “You’re right,” she says. “I let people treat me like I don’t belong to myself. I let them decide what I’m worth, what I should be, who I should love. But you’re the only person who ever made me feel like—” Her breath catches, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.

“Like what?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Like I don’t have to pretend.”

The words feel raw, ripped straight from the part of her she keeps locked away. And for the first time in years, she’s not sure what he’s going to say next.

Because if he walks away now—if he lets her go—she knows she’ll never find the courage to say this again.

Sunghoon doesn’t move for a long time.

Then, slowly and carefully, he turns. His gaze finds hers, searching, cautious, as if he’s trying to figure out if she means it this time. And for once, she lets him see the truth. She’s scared. She’s messy. She’s figuring it out as she goes. 

After everything—after Sunghoon’s words, after her own confession, after the way his fingers tightened around hers—Y/N should have felt something shift.

But the city below was still loud, the gala behind them still glowed with artificial warmth, and the weight pressing against her ribs hadn’t disappeared.

She exhaled, slow and measured, her fingers still laced with his. It wasn’t tight. He wasn’t holding her there. She could let go if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

Sunghoon was watching her, his expression unreadable, but he hadn’t pulled away either. The silence stretched between them, and for once, she didn’t try to fill it with empty words.

She had already said too much.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

His voice was quiet, careful. He wasn’t asking as a demand, just… giving her an option.

For the first time in a long time, someone was giving her a choice.

She should have hesitated. She should have thought about what leaving meant, about the cameras, about what people would say, about the questions her father would have when this made headlines in the morning.

Instead, she nodded.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingered for a moment, like he was making sure, before he turned—hand still in hers—as he led her away from the balcony. They moved through the shadows, slipping past clusters of people too preoccupied to notice, and down the back staircase that led to the service entrance.

It was colder out here. No marble floors, no curated lighting—just the sharp scent of the city, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional flicker of cigarette smoke from a waiter taking a break near the dumpsters.

It was the kind of place she wasn’t supposed to belong in.

But right now, it felt more real than anything inside that ballroom.

Sunghoon finally let go of her hand, just long enough to shrug off his jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She blinked at him, startled by the casual intimacy of it, but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at her.

He just stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the street. “Come on.”

Y/N followed.

They ended up at a small café a few blocks away—one of those twenty-four-hour places that smelled like burnt coffee and had chipped Formica tables. The kind of place Sunghoon used to take her to when they were kids, when she’d sneak out of her house just to feel like she had control over something.

Back then, he used to tease her for wrinkling her nose at the chipped mugs and sticky floors. But tonight, she didn’t say anything.

She just sat across from him in the worn-out booth, hands curled around the mug of tea he had ordered for her without asking.

The steam curled between them, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally—

“Did you mean it?” Sunghoon’s voice was steady, but something in his expression was careful.

Y/N stiffened. “Mean what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That you don’t want to lose me.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her fingers tightened around the mug.

She could lie.

She could say she didn’t know what she was talking about, that the moment had gotten to her, that none of it mattered.

But she had done that before.

And this time, when she looked at him—really looked at him—she could see it. The line between patience and letting go. The quiet resolve in his posture, in the way his jaw tightened, like he was bracing himself for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted.

She had spent her whole life playing roles for other people. But Sunghoon had never asked her to be anything except honest. So this time, she didn’t run. She didn’t pretend.

She just swallowed against the tightness in her throat, meeting his gaze as she whispered “Yes.”

Sunghoon exhaled, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place.

Three weeks of pretending nothing had changed. Three weeks of slowly pushing him away. Three weeks of answering Sunghoon’s texts like normal, of showing up when he called, of slipping into old rhythms because she didn’t know how to step into something new. 

But it wasn’t the same.

Because now—every time he looked at her, every time he spoke, every time his fingers brushed against hers like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her anymore—she felt it.

The words she hadn’t said. The ones sitting at the back of her throat, burning like an open wound. She should have said it that night.

Should have said it when he looked at her in that awful little café, waiting for something—anything—that would make staying feel worth it.

But she hadn’t.

Because Y/N had spent her whole life being loved for all the wrong reasons. And the thought of being loved right—of being loved the way Sunghoon had always loved her—was terrifying.

Because it meant risking everything.

But now, as she stood outside his apartment, fingers curled into fists at her sides, she realized—

She was going to lose him anyway. If she kept waiting, if she kept hesitating, if she kept expecting him to read between the lines—He was going to leave for real this time.

And she couldn’t let that happen.

Before she even processed, her hand was curled and she was knocking on his apartment door. 

It was late, and for a second, she thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he’d see her through the peephole and decide he didn’t care anymore.

The door opened.

Sunghoon stood there in a hoodie and sweats, his hair slightly damp like he had just showered, and for some reason, that made it worse.

Like this wasn’t some big dramatic moment for him. Like he had already decided to move on.

His brows furrowed. “Y/N?”

Her chest tightened. She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe.“Can I come in?”

A pause. Then, after a long moment—he stepped aside.

She walked in, arms crossed tight, shoulders curled inward like she was holding herself together with sheer force. She felt Sunghoon watching her, felt the weight of all the things left unsaid pressing down on the space between them.

She turned to face him. “I—” She stopped, exhaled sharply, then tried again. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Sunghoon blinked, clearly caught off guard. Confused. “…Do what?”

Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh. “This. Us.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “There is no ‘us,’ Y/N.”

Her stomach twisted. “Sunghoon—”

“You made that pretty clear,” he continued, voice quiet but firm. “That night. And every day after.”

She clenched her jaw. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence.

She hated this. Hated how distant he felt. How careful his words were now, like he was holding himself back. Like he was already halfway out the door.

She had never been afraid of losing anything before. But she was afraid of losing this.

Y/N took a breath. And then, before she could talk herself out of it—

“I love you.”

The words landed between them, soft but sharp, cutting through the space like a blade.

Sunghoon stilled.

For the first time since she walked in, really stilled—like he wasn’t sure if he had heard her right.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling, curling them in and out, as she forced herself to keep going.

“I love you,” she repeated, quieter this time. “I— I don’t know what love is supposed to look like. I don’t know how to be good at it. But I know that I don’t want to spend another second pretending I don’t feel this way.”

His lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

Because he wasn’t saying anything. And maybe she was too late. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she felt small, like the walls were closing in, like she had just ruined everything. She turned quickly, heading for the door.

But before she could reach it, a hand wrapped around her wrist.

Firm. Steady. Familiar.

Her breath caught.

“Say it again,” Sunghoon murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

She swallowed hard, eyes burning. “…What?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Say it again.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sunghoon, I—”

“Y/N.”

She inhaled sharply, turning back to face him. And then, with her heart pounding against her ribs—

“I love you.”

She felt the way his fingers twitched against her skin. The way his breath caught, just for a second.

Then, before she could second-guess it—Sunghoon pulled her in. Not gently. Not carefully. Like he had been waiting for this for years.

Her hands fisted in his hoodie as his lips crashed into hers, all warmth and desperation, like he was making up for lost time.

She let him. Because she had spent her whole life pretending. And for the first time, she didn’t have to.

NOTE: AHHHH it's been so long since I've posted any of my own writing, well to be exact this is my second time. I hope you guys enjoyed this little AU, because my first writing was a drabble and this one is a oneshot. I'm not too sure when I will be posting again, but this was fun lololll, but thank you for the read. I appreciate reblogs and reposts, and your feedback too! i hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!

© yjw1a1

[mechncheese]

I just found your blog via the Drift design science continuity post, which ALSO HAPPENED TO HAVE THUNDERCRACKER IN IT AND. WOW.

TC is one of my favorite characters and your design for him is stellar!! His wings!! They remind me a little of the split wing IDW design he had going on in exRID #36-ish, but your design is at a much more graceful and fantastic extreme with all the individual panels and his giant wingspan. Like a fancy space moth-bird-contemporary art installation!! And your color scheme is one of my favorite palettes (not talking about TFs, just in general as a color-enjoyer) so I am just…going kinda crazy over your design. Thank you for sharing your art!!! It's beautiful!!!!! I'm gonna go read the rest of your science continuity stuff now o7

Thank you so much, this was very sweet to read <3 ! I was heavily inspired by Thundercracker's split wing design in IDW and tried to lean into that + butterfly/moth imagery ! I hope you enjoy my silly little Science Continuity, I mostly have a lot of sillies for these guys !

[atheostic]

@ray-moo

1. Okay, let's assume for the sake of argument that we all agree that embryos are humans.

What about the rights of the pregnant human to decide who can have access to their body? Why do their rights cease to matter?

Why does the embryo have special rights a born human doesn't? A born human does not have the right to use another human's body without their consent. Even if it's a life or death situation. Even parents can't be compelled to give organs or blood to their child if they don't want to.

Even corpses have to have previous authorization to be used. So by taking away a person's right to an abortion you're literally giving people with uteruses less rights than a corpse.

2. Basic math is on the side of abortions being legal being a net positive, even if you're pro-life.

a) Less people die when abortion is legal.

We know for a fact, based on both modern and historical stats, that abortions will happen regardless of legality. The only difference is that, when illegal, people getting abortions are far more likely to die (and die in horrifically painful ways at that).

Illegal abortions are so deadly that in Zambia  69% of the respondents of a study on the topic knew one or more women who had died from an unsafe illegal abortion.

Leading causes of death are haemorrhage, infection, and poisoning from substances used to induce abortion.

In contrast, modern legal abortion is one of the safest procedures in contemporary medical practice, with case-fatality rates less than one patient death per 100,000 procedures.

So if we assume an embryo is a person and knowing abortions will happen, the choice is between two people dying or one person dying.

If you're pro-life, the choice where less people die should be a no-brainer.

But let's say you don't care about the people getting abortions because they're "murderers"...

b) Studies find that abortion numbers go down when abortion is legalized.

So if even if we were to agree that embryos are babies, infant death numbers go down when abortion is legalized.

In fact, maternal mortality rates also go down significantly when abortion is legalized. The year after abortion was legalized in New York State, the maternal-mortality rate there dropped by 45%. This is likely because people who are too young to safely carry a baby to term or who have medical issues that make pregnancy dangerous can get an abortion instead of being forced to become a parent, meaning that dangerous pregnancies aren't forced to continue.

3. If people truly cared about the would-be babies they'd be pro things that help make children thrive, like free school lunches.

Yet most of them aren't.

I think all pro-lifers should be raped, forced to have the baby (no exceptions), and become forced to raise it for 18-20 years just to see how it feels

[talonabraxas]

‘He under whose supreme control are horses, all chariots, the villages, and cattle; He who gave being to the Sun and Morning, who leads the waters, He, O men, is Indra.’ ~ Rigveda

Lord Indra Talon Abraxas Indra - lord of Heaven Indra is one of the most important gods of the ancient Indian vedic tradition. He is the king of Devas, and rules the high heavens, the svarga, with his capital at the immortal city of Amaravati. Many contemporary scholars consider Indra a personification of the forces of weather. Indra is the god of thunder and lightning. And of course, the rain, the single most important factor in the life equation of the early fledgling agrarian societies.

Origins: The origins of Indra are subject to much debate among the historical scholars. Some say, the name is derived from Inra, a got of Mitanni, an ancient Hittite race from the Asia Minor region. However there is a great resemblance to other gods from all across Asia and Europe - from Nordic to ancient Persian religions - and many scholars believe them to have a common origin.

In the Hindu Puranic texts, Indra is the youngest son of Aditi and Sage Kashyapa, who is in constant conflict with his step brothers from Diti and Danu, the other two wives of Kashyapa. Indra and his brothers, the Adityas (sons of Aditi) are the force of good while Asuras, his step brothers (sons of Diti and Danu) are forces of evil.

Significance and Role: Indra is undoubtedly the most important of the vedic deities. He is hailed the supreme god in over 300 hymns of the Rigveda. In these hymns he wields the Vajra, the thunderbolt, and is the slayer of demon Vritra.

A very interesting aspect of the vedic depiction of Indra is although Indra is consistently mentioned as the supreme deity, the Vedas never say the other gods are subservient to him. This is consistent with the vedic doctrine of the Param Brahmn, the supreme consciousness from which everything else emerges. All the gods are but aspects of the Brahmn, and in a manner of speaking, equivalent.

Indra is the first among the leaders. He was chosen by his Aditya brethren to lead the war against the Asuras - the daityas and the danavas. He is the king of Svarga (heaven) - the third of the upper seven lokas, after Bhuloka (Earth) and Bhuvarloka (Antariksha). He is the bridge between Devas and the Mortals.

The ahutis (oblations) given during their yajnas provide food for the devas. And in return the Devas provide humans with a range of material benefits mostly related to the natural phenomena. Indra is the prime deity responsible for the cycle of seasons that provide conducive conditions for life to flourish on the Bhuloka.

Indra is also a spiritual guide who appears before sages who have performed the appropriate penance and leads them on the path of spiritual ascension.

Benefits of worshipping Indra: Indra is the god of thunder, rain, rivers, and other meteorological forces. Agricultural communities worship him to bring timely rains. He is the powerful king of gods and slayer of the Asura, Vritra, and in this aspect, devotion to him brings human prosperity and happiness. His influence ends the serpent of deceiving forces and life’s delusions, imparting a clarity to the worshipper.

Almost all of the yajnas include giving havis (ahuti in agni) dedicated to Lord Indra. The somayajna - the prakriti of all yajnas - which includes Soma Ahuti dedicated to Indra bestows the doer (or the yajamana) with much grit and sharp intelligence.

Powers of Indra: Indra is a powerful deity in the vedic tradition, being the immortal king of all devas. His dicatats are as binding to the mortals as they are to the devas. He is the god of war and is invoked for success in the battlefield. Indra’s other powers include his influence over the weather of the world, which we have discussed previously.

Indra is often associated with Somarasa, a drink about which the scholars hold contrasting views. Some believe it to be an intoxicating drink like wine, others believe it to be a refreshing brew more akin to a kind of herbal tea.

[ceilidho]

All the stalking I’ve done (I love your content) has made me curious, what’s your ideal romance novel? I scrolled upon something you were talking about but lost it and it’s been stuck in my head all day!

Hmmmm I don’t know if I have an ideal one because I genuinely do LOVE all genres and aesthetics (fantasy, scifi, contemporary, medieval/historical, horror, western, retrofuturism, literally whatever you can think of) so it would have to hinge on the characters dynamics. Size difference. No love drama (bores me). I prefer when the more masculine coded character is a bit obsessive (very open to butch/femme). Obviously I LOVE a good pinch of dubcon.

Honestly it’s sooo hard for me to say, but I just like a really good story and relationship dynamic.

[wanderrealms]

I've been writing shapeshifters in high fantasy setting since I was a preteen. As a result I associate them with otherworld fantasy more than contemporary.

The Writing Paranormal Creatures workshop starts next week and for a moment I wondered: "Do shapeshifters count as paranormal creatures?"

Yes, you doofus. They're more common in contemporary/urban/paranormal fantasy.

One reason I began writing was because I wanted shapeshifters in high fantasy and couldn't find them. And I wanted shapeshifters who could change into an animal, not identity theft shapeshifers.

[internationalemeteorologie]

M. C. Goodwin

How stars are made. 2022

[larkinna]

"Don't let him scold you too much. Vi was worried about you."

crow goes hunting by ted hughes // 1 // crow’s first lesson by ted hughes // 2 // the lacuna by barbara kingsolver // 3 // domestication syndrome by dhole b // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. by sciencedfiction // crow’s theology by ted hughes // 4 // how to be a dog by andrew kane // the scream by ted hughes // unknown // for your own good by leah horlick

[of-tudor-roses]

Yeah, there is scant evidence to suggest the possibility of premarital sex, which is an idea I find deeply intriguing. However, this evidence is circumstantial and can be argued against, as I illustrate.

Chrimes notes in his biography that even Henry could hardly have rushed into marriage with a complete stranger. He would have needed time to become acquainted with Elizabeth of York and an opportunity for a courtship.

Parliament approved the match in early December of 1485, and shortly afterwards Henry starts referring to Elizabeth as his wife in his accounts, specifically in relation to enquiries regarding the potential cost for Elizabeth’s coronation (which discredits the idea that he deliberately held it off). Furthermore, Elizabeth of York was moved into Westminster Palace around this time, that is, they started cohabitating from then on.

While this could imply they were already acting as a married couple, it could also be a formality—a way of Henry reinforcing the marriage agreement before the official ceremony.

Although Henry VII ensured he received all the necessary papal dispensations, he did not wait for all three to arrive and married Elizabeth quickly after receiving the first one — only two days later, in fact. 

This early marriage could have been because of a combination of pragmatism and personal desires.

Thomas Stanley declared at the papal audience that he often heard Elizabeth and Henry talking together about their marriage ('often and at divers times treating and communing of and about a marriage to be contracted between them') and that Elizabeth had 'great and intimate love and cordial affection' for Henry. Similarly, the Earl of Nottingham, who claimed to have known Henry for twenty years, was the only one to cite Henry's 'singular love which he bears to her' to the Papal court.

However, Henry himself declared to the papal legate that 'he cannot fulfil such desire [marriage] without obtaining canonical dispensation'.

Personal affection ≠ Permarital sex.

A swift wedding could have been because of pragmatism to quickly marry her for dynastic security, and personal for the heavy implication that Henry and Elizabeth had made a connection. To reference the joke, they might have simply have had the hots for each other, and wanted to be married as soon as possible to freely act on it. Not to mention that longer Henry waited to marry Elizabeth, the more time he was allowing his enemies to potentially move against him.

I’ve seen references to a alleged contemporary account of Arthur Tudor’s birth by one of the king’s heralds mentioning that Arthur was ‘a fair prince’, and ‘large of bones’.

However, I haven't found an original source for the hereld and Arthur being described as “large of bones” at his birth. The closest thus far was in the seventeenth century, when Sir Francis Bacon described Arthur as “strong and able, though he was born in the eighth month, which the physicians do prejudge.” But Sir Bacon was writing well over a century later. Neither do the biographies I've searched mention such a thing.

In his biography of Arthur, Sean Cunningham notes that several key individuals necessary for the christening ceremony had not yet arrived in Winchester. Consequently, the ceremony was postponed by four days to complete the hurried preparations. Sean highlights that the Earl of Oxford, one of the Prince’s godfathers, was still at his estate in Lavenham, Suffolk. Although the rainy September weather likely hindered the Earl’s trip, it seems he did not anticipate needing to leave his properties suddenly when the king's messengers came with news of the birth, indicating Arthur was born earlier than expected.

Gareth Streeter notes that Elizabeth’s period of confinement for Arthur's delivery was shorter than that of her second child, Princess Margaret Tudor, again suggesting that Arthur was premature.

In his biography of Arthur, Gareth Streeter notes that neither Henry nor Elizabeth would have wanted to jeopardise the legitimacy of their future children. Both Henry and Elizabeth would undoubtedly remember her public humiliation during Richard III’s reign when he formally bastardized her through the Titulus Regius, which Henry had to formally revoke through Parliament. Her parents’ secret marriage had enabled Richard to declare it invalid, a mistake they would likely want to avoid repeating. Henry, understanding the challenges any son would face in claiming the throne, would not have taken actions that might have complicated the situation. 

Utilizing a pregnancy calculator based on the conception date (the night of January 18, 1486), the initial week of Elizabeth’s pregnancy is estimated to be from January 5 to January 11, as conception typically occurs approximately two weeks after the last menstrual period. Arthur’s conception likely occurs during the third week of pregnancy, between January 18 and January 25, aligning with the timing of Henry and Elizabeth’s wedding night. Arthur Tudor is born on the night of September 19-20, 1486, during the 37th week; although premature, he is nearly at full term.

As much as I like the idea, I do think it is more likely that Henry and Elizabeth wouldn't take the risk of premarital sex.

Hi! You think arthur wasn't premature? Do you think he was planned ?

Hi! Sorry for taking so long to reply! Honestly, I'm unsure whether Arthur was carried to term or genuinely premature. I've been meaning to make a poll about it because imo this is such an interesting speculation. The arguments in favour and against Arthur being premature would be, in general lines:

Arguments in favour:

Elizabeth of York seems to have been sick during her pregnancy. Preparations had been made for her arrival at York for the king's northern progress but she did not go. After her labour, she definitely became sick (she had an 'ague', as the herald recorded). Hyperemesis gravidarum could explain Elizabeth's sickness and possible preterm delivery.

The Earl of Oxford, one of Arthur's godparents, arrived late for Arthur's christening ceremony, delaying for a couple of days. If Arthur was born premature it could explain why Oxford had not made his way yet to Winchester by the time of his godchild's birth.

Henry VII was famously prudent, which was also talked about during his lifetime, and that might have hindered any premarital relations. He went to great lengths to have all the necessary marriage dispensations and to have his marriage formally recognised by parliament as a state necessity. Given the whole context of past accusations of illegitimacy against royal heirs, it would be out of character for him to risk having his heir born before they could get a papal dispensation and undergo a formal public wedding ceremony. Henry himself declared to the papal legate that 'he cannot fulfil such desire [marriage] without obtaining canonical dispensation'.

Arguments against:

Arthur was described as a 'fair prince and large of bones' at his birth. Being described as a big baby does not sound like someone who was born before his term. His parents waited a few days for his baptism thanks to Oxford's late arrival so they definitely thought him healthy enough to risk the possibility of him dying before getting him the sacrament. At that time, babies who died before baptism were considered unable to go to Heaven, and many hasty baptisms were performed by midwives soon after the child's delivery if their health was considered to be in danger. The herald who registered the proceedings of Arthur's birth and christening never once did mention that Arthur arrived early or that Elizabeth of York 'was delivered suddenly', like she was said to have the last time she gave birth (1503).

In medieval England, betrothals could be as binding as an actual marriage. Elizabeth of York was described as Henry VII's 'wife' since December 1485 and seems to have moved into the Palace of Westminster around that time, that is, they started cohabitating from then on. It's possible they became husband and wife in practical terms after a declaration of intention to marry followed by consummation (marriage per verba de praesenti).

Although Henry VII made sure to get all the necessary papal dispensations (3), the fact is that he did not wait for the arrival of all three dispensations and quickly married Elizabeth after the arrival of the first one — only two days later, in fact. Did they rush to get a public wedding because they had already been living as husband and wife? Did they do it because they feared Elizabeth could already have been pregnant at that time? Why couldn't they wait until March/April when the other dispensation, signed by the Pope himself this time, arrived?

The papal representative that gave them their first dispensation arrived in England in January. It's possible they already knew about his arrival back in December and knew that they could quickly get their first dispensation through him (they certainly did prepare for his audience), so cohabitating (and everything else it entailed) would not be as risky and imprudent of them as we might think nowadays. Alternatively, the papal legate might have already been in England by December but could only hold an audience in January once Advent/Christmastide was over.

Henry VII's prudence aside, they might have simply had the hots for each other. Thomas Stanley declared at the papal audience that he often heard Elizabeth and Henry talking together about their marriage ('often and at divers times treating and communing of and about a marriage to be contracted between them') and that Elizabeth had 'great and intimate love and cordial affection' for Henry. Stanley was the only witness to cite Elizabeth's love and affection when questioned, so it does not read as an argument line that was agreed upon between all the witnesses before the audience. Interestingly, in the ballad The Most Pleasant Song of the Lady Bessy, Thomas Stanley is portrayed as Elizabeth's trusted friend. Similarly, the Earl of Nottingham, who claimed to have known Henry for twenty years, was the only one to cite Henry's 'singular love which he bears to her'. The pregnancy calculator sets Arthur's full-term conception as 29 December-4 January, so could Arthur have been a Christmas/New Year's celebration baby, conceived during a time when court etiquette was particularly lax and the mood particularly festive?

This is all I can think now but there might be other arguments either in favour or against the theory. I've been meaning to read a new biography of Arthur Tudor recently published whose author seems to think Arthur truly was premature, so I'm curious to know why he thinks that. Of course, the theory that Arthur was premature does carry a certain weight. Every argument against it can be refuted, including for example, the idea that Arthur would have looked small on the day of his birth (20 September 1486) if he was conceived exactly on their parents' wedding night — he would only be a week short of his full time, then. If he was conceived later, though, he would have been even more premature. It's difficult to say.