#scar is not going to stay like that

[fallencielo]

a rough sketch of the desert duo ! inspired by a recent fic that i need to find again

[ click for quality, tumblr loves to eat my photos for food ]

[wickedcriminal]

The LU boys as Warrior Cats 😺

(Top to bottom, left to right) Time, Wind, Four, Hyrule, Legend, Wild, Twilight, Sky, and Warriors!

What should their Warrior names be?

[nelkcats]

Ghost Blood

Bad things happen to good people

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

The Justice League and the Justice League Dark had met to discuss something extremely important and confidential: the end of the world.

While this was something they faced on a weekly basis, this time it was different. It had started when the chaos lords found an ancient ritual to gain power, and multiple villains joined them to complete the requirements. Klarion, who had noticed that the spell was going to end the world sooner or later, informed the heroes.

The problem was that the spell was already underway, and it was a process that could not be stopped. They had a couple of hours left before all the known horrors in the universe would take an interest in Earth.

The Justice League Dark was overworked, all of them looked extremely exhausted. Even Deadman offered to help but there was little he could do. As they discussed how to proceed, Constantine grabbed an old spell book he was leafing through and angrily threw it to the ground, catching everyone's attention.

"Bloody hell" the Brit glared at the ground angrily "so fucking close".

His companions asked him what was going on, to which Constantine informed them that there was a solution to their current problem. Some sort of powerful cancelation spell that would solve their problems. He saw their hopeful faces and sighed, he supposed he should break their hopes sooner than later.

"We can't use it" the Hellbazer said wearily.

"Why not?" Wonder Woman looked at him frustrated "if it's the only option, surely we can-"

"We can't use it because one of the ingredients doesn't exist!" Constantine blurted out, furious. He had analyzed all the options and that was the only one that might work, but the essential ingredient was missing.

"The spell requires ghost blood" John commented after calming down, desperation could be heard in his voice "but ghosts don't have blood, their blood is ectoplasm, it's impossible!"

Deadman had suddenly gone silent.

"There would have to be a hybrid or something but clearly they don't exist, it's too unlikely."

The League, which had previously perked up at the possible solution, sank back in disappointment. Zatanna, however, noticed the ghost's reaction and watched him curiously.

"...What if it's possible?" Deadman's voice was heard in the silence. Constantine had made him visible to the others during the investigation but the ghost was not used to the attention.

"It's not, it's not possible to combine life and death, the balance would have been broken one way or another" Constantine denied.

"John, what if it's possible?" Deadman repeated "what if a hybrid exists?"

What if the hybrid is the balance?

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Constantine observed his friend. Ghost blood was a myth, mentioned in many books but never used.

"Don't get too excited" the ghost warned "there is a hybrid with that kind of blood but he's not-, he doesn't trust humans anymore, for a very good reason."

"However, he does exist" Wonder Woman said in disbelief "can you tell us more?"

Deadman looked around at the nearly destroyed dimension and begged the Ancients for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

"He was born by the Realms and for the Realms, he's a good boy" Deadman sighed, revealing the secret he was never supposed to mention "but as you well know, bad things happen to good people."

The ghost thought of the communique that had reached all the ghosts. On how the Ancients had taken in a child, how they had demanded that he needed to be left alone.

"It's not my place to say what happened" and he didn't have many details either, though gossip traveled fast "but he doesn't trust anyone beyond his guardians, he hates adults and he's scared of needles and other medical instruments, I don't think he'll be much help."

"We have to try, there's not much time left" Batman frowned. Something inside him stirred at the mention of an injured child "Can you tell us where he is?"

"The Infinite Realms" Constantine replied instantly, lighting a cigarette, his hands were shaking "But who are his guardians?"

"The Ancients" Deadman replied "and if you want their help, you really must come up with a plan."

It was obvious that only the Justice League Dark had understood the implications of all this, they were pale and looked scared. Even Dr. Fate and Marvel looked like the end of the world had been confirmed.

"I can take you there" the ghost said, nostalgic at the thought of visiting the dimension "time doesn't work the same there, so you won't spend much time even if it takes weeks to get close, but you can't all go, you'll scare him off"

"We'll go" Captain Marvel spoke up, overcoming his fear "if it's the only option, we'll go."

Little did they know that from the Infinite Realms the Master of Time was watching them with a raised eyebrow. The Ancient shook his head, knowing he should prepare for visitors before heading to the couch next to his screens. Danny was reclining there, sipping hot chocolate and bundled up in one of his cloaks.

The halfa greeted him looking relaxed but Clockwork wouldn't be fooled by that (he could still see the boy, his boy, with his chest wounded, crying for help), he reached over to stroke his protégé's hair affectionately, thinking of ways to get rid of his visitors. While Danny was likely to want to help, he couldn't care less about what happened to that dimension.

[shukruut]

if you're someone who draws fanart you can't let spoilers get ya because sometimes you're casually looking for references of a neat background-maybe-eventually-major character and then oops they die. and you did that to yourself.

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[qoldenskies]

I was reading back through caged lungs and I realized just how many times Donnie got hit in the head during the last fight and how hard, no wonder Leo is concerned about brain damage.

Also, when Donnie goes to see April at the end of chapter 2, is he just dissociating really hard or is that an actual physical symptom from the…everything really!

not to mention the oxygen deprivation with raph throttling him! the last fight is so visceral and nasty and it was the final nail in the coffin when it came to donnie's issues physically and mentally, because although he would have been terrified of them regardless i dont think it wouldve been "inconsolable screaming heap at the sound of raph's voice" like it was in the early bit of CW.

and id mark that as dissociation personally. the second he registered as being in relative safety he kind of shut down because he wasn't able to process it, which had kind of been a running coping mechanism through the last month or so of CL. MIND YOU: IT IS NOT HELPED ALONG BY THE BRAIN FOG CAUSED BY HIS TIME IN ISOLATION, its a nasty concoction of problems. and also yeah physical exhaustion definitely doesnt help! he ran all the way to april's apartment while actively starving, after all.

although itll get better after [REDACTED PLOT THREAD] is handled, i think dissociation is gonna be something donnie will be dealing with for years, because spending four days in a quiet, enclosed dark space has some extremely messed up consequences for your brain and body. it was also in general something he used to cope under the abuse, so i could see him having issues with it when he's not in his right mind (sick or sleep-deprived, for example), i could see him regressing back to that old mindset when something like that happens. his perception of reality is permanently a little fucked :(

[ender1821]

i have never been more stressed watching a Pearl life series season dear god

[angeart]

hhau rescue rambles - part II

>> part I here // hhau masterpost here <<

The hermits are here to take Scar home but Grian is gone and Scar can’t leave without him, even if the others would promise to look for him. (They won’t find him, they won’t, they won’t. Scar knows how vast these forests are. He knows how many hiding spots there are tucked away if one knows where to look.) (They don’t know where to look.)

They’re not listening to him. He’s half-feral and panicked and desperate, barely making any sense. He keeps saying he needs to find Grian, but he looks half-crazed, clothes stained by a huge amount of blood and—

If it looks, a little bit, like he’s just in frenzied denial of some grief? That maybe something happened and Grian isn’t here anymore? The world is permadeath, after all. The rescue party isn’t sure what to think.

Of course they promise to look for Grian. Of course they’ll try. But first, let’s get you somewhere safe, Scar.

Scar panics and backs away and says he isn’t going anywhere until they find Grian. He’s so so afraid they’ll take him away and he’ll never find him. (He keeps imagining that wretched scream he heard that very first day he found Grian, a year ago. How close of a call that was.) (He thinks of finding him after the mimic incident, barely surviving. Wounded and bloodied and ready to collapse.) (He thinks of Grian sobbing as he begs Scar to never leave him again.)

He can’t leave him behind. He can’t.

He won’t.

He’s done everything he can up to this point and if this is his last fight? Then damn it, he’s going to go out swinging. He is going to find Grian. Even if he has to fight his saviours. (They’re enemies if they’re trying to separate him and Grian—) 

He growls and lashes out and his vex magic comes through. The hermits are stunned and a little bit afraid and a whole lot confused. They’ve never seen him like this, hair white and claws ready to tear. (Cub, especially, is terrified of this development. Knowing that if Scar pushes himself too far in his vex form, he could die.) 

They try to placate him, calm him down, reassure him. They try to get the damn teleportation bracelet on him. They keep telling him they can take him home, it’s okay, Scar, it’s okay.

It’s not okay.

He isn’t leaving without Grian, and he isn’t trusting anyone else with this.

So he runs.

He runs from his friends—from people he loves with all his heart; people he thought he’ll never see again. Runs from the promise of home and safety and this hell being finally over. 

He runs, because he can’t take the salvation if he can’t share it with Grian.

Everything’s a bit of a blur as he rushes through the forest, looking for something to tell him where Grian is. He’s fully in his vex form, senses sharp and heart panicked, calling out, desperate for Grian to reply. 

There’s no answer.

Scar sees it, then: a handful of ripped-out feathers and blood.

His heart jumps into his throat, but he laser-focuses and starts following the trail. The world feels askew around him, his steps urgent, his breaths hovering near growls that want to threaten the whole forest if anything dares to hurt Grian more. (He hopes Grian’s still out there.) (He has to be. He has to be—) (Why is he not replying to Scar’s calls, then?)

Scar’s aware that if he can follow the trail of blood, so can others. He needs to be better than them. Faster. (He needs to be a better hunter than them.) He knows that if he’s following the trail now, maybe someone already followed it. (He tries not to let that thought in. That he might be too late.) 

He’s trailed by the hermit rescue party. They scramble in his wake, trying not to lose him. They lag behind, losing sight of him, but Cub staggers to follow his vex bond with Scar, like a tether, trying to hold down the swell of warning anxiety at the fact that Scar is in his vex form. Scar looks feral, he lashed out and ran from them, clothes stained by blood and hair white—

Them following just makes Scar feel hunted. His instincts go haywire and put him more on edge. 

He keeps going.

He keeps calling out, too. Uncaring that he’s attracting every hunter in the vicinity. He can take them. He will happily attract them to himself if that means they won’t go after Grian instead. (The fact that he’s searching for Grian gets a bit tangled up in him. The fact that if he succeeds, he’ll just be bringing the hunters to Grian fails to quite register. He’s not thinking very straight.)

Hermits hear those wails, echoing through the forest. He sounds like a wandering spirit. 

Inhuman. 

Lost.

 --

Grian is hurt. Hand pressed against the spot on his side that bleeds, he sits curled up, pressing himself into some bushes for a moment of reprieve—just a moment, just a little bit, please, please.

He hears Scar’s calls from far away. He hears them, and his heart tears itself to pieces.

He is terrified and hurting, and it feels dangerously close to a despair-filled memory.

 He tries to shield himself from it. There’s a reason he ran. There’s a reason why Scar should stay away from him. He can’t— He shouldn’t— He—

Scar draws closer. Grian can hear his sobbing and heaving. His pleading, so heartrendingly desperate. “Grian please. Grian answer me.”

Grian finds himself cautiously standing up, every muscle taut. His heart is rabbity fast, fear clogging his throat. 

He doesn’t mean to answer. He really, really doesn’t mean to. (He needs to keep Scar away.) Yet a distressed chirp slips through anyway, like a terrified call, begging for Scar.

The sound of it pitches something in Scar. His sobbing changes to panic and dwindling hopefulness. “Grian…?”

There’s a tinier chirp then. Scared. Still involuntary.

Grian is so so afraid and he should know better, but a part of him is desperate for Scar.

The moment he sees Scar, though, the futility rips through him. No. He isn’t meant to— Scar shouldn’t be near him. Because Grian’s been gone so shortly and yet the hunters have already found him. He’s already gotten hurt. He is a beacon.

He can’t stay near Scar. It’ll get Scar hurt. 

It’ll get Scar killed.

(Everything good that stays near Grian dies—)

He needs to get away from him.

He backs away. Tells Scar, in a wobbly voice, not to approach.

Scar doesn’t care. He needs to get to Grian. He needs to get to him, they can go home, this can all be over. 

Running on some faulty reasoning, Grian tries to get away. It’s useless, he is in no state to outrun Scar—he can’t bring himself to fly and he’s bleeding, dizzy on panic—but he feels like he needs to try, anyway. 

His feet feel heavy beneath him, the world unsteady. Scar is behind him and Grian’s heart begs him to stop, turn around, and burrow into his arms. (He can’t he can’t he can’t—)

It takes only a couple of steps for Grian to trip over some roots, the world as cruel to him as ever, sending him plummeting harshly down in a rough tumble of leaves and limbs and feathers. A pained, fearful yelp gets punched out of him on impact.

Scar’s next to him in an instant, kneeling down and gathering him in his arms. Crying as he buries Grian in a hug, terrified he might try to run again. Frantically telling him, “Grian, it’s over, it’s over, we can go home— Please—”

Grian’s sobbing against him, held in place, unable to understand what Scar is saying. He just wants Scar to get away from him and stay safe. (Grian can’t be safe. He’s been doomed from the start. He’s been doomed this whole time.) (He’ll end up like that bird. Dead, with wings ripped off—)

The words “it’s over” mean nothing to him. All he manages to choke out is, “There is no— There’s no home anymore.” They’ve had their safety ripped away from them over and over again. They’ve been showed that they can’t have a home anymore; this world will not allow it. Nowhere is safe. Nowhere is safe, as long as Grian’s wings are bright violet and attached to his spine. 

Scar insists, a series of reassurances, words tripping over each other as he tries to keep his hold on his voice. He says they’ll be okay. He says they don’t have to run anymore. Please, Grian, we can go home.

But it’s not a concept that exists anymore for Grian; it refuses to register in his mind, words sliding right off him, incoherent.

What he knows is this: he failed to protect Scar, and they don’t have a home to go back to, and Grian is sure the hunters are about to show up, any second. He’s so tired and terrified, and he needs Scar to be shielded from this fate. He needs him to be safe.

Scar isn’t letting go of him. His grip is firm as he continues to plead with Grian. He doesn’t want to be rough, he’s never been forceful with Grian, but he can’t let go now. Even as Grian paws at him and tries to push him away. 

Grian’s crying so hard; his efforts to get free are all frantic and urgent, yet half-hearted. (He wants to give in and bury himself in the protectiveness of Scar’s arms.) (He wants all of Scar’s promises to be true.)

And yet something tips askew.

Because Scar’s never been forceful with Grian.

He was always so gentle. He’d never grab him like this, with so much force. So much insistence.

Grian is hit with a dizzying, nauseating thought. Is this a trap? Is this a mimic?

Grian starts chirping. More of those distressed, scared noises as he can't get free of Scar's grip.

It’s the first time ever that Scar won’t heed Grian’s requests to be let go. Not even if Grian says it hurts. He won’t let go he won’t he won’t. He’ll drag him home if he has to.

Grian’s scared and confused, all his thoughts are jumbled, running on rampant trauma responses and unadulterated panic. He can’t deal with any of this. He keeps trying to wrangle free and push Scar away (is it even Scar???), begging him to let go, but it’s so horribly weak. It’s almost nothing. He just chokes on sobs and hyperventilates. (He feels caught.) (He feels like Scar will get killed because of him.) (He doesn’t know what’s happening.)

It’s awful. It’s wrong. It’s— It’s not what it’s meant to be. 

This should be easy. This should be the best day ever! They can go home! 

Instead, it’s like a panicked final showdown and Scar feels like it’s him against everyone. The hermits weren’t listening to him (Grian needs him, he needs him, he needs him), and now Grian isn’t listening to him either. (He can’t comprehend what Scar’s saying at all, and isn’t that so heartbreaking?) (Scar is desperate to get through to him. To calm him down enough so that this could be anything more than Scar forcefully holding him as Grian chokes on panic.) (The kind of panic he should never feel in Scar’s arms—)

Voice breaking, Scar pleads, over and over again. Please, Grian. Please. It’s okay. It’s okay, we can go home, we’ll be alright. It’s me. It’s me, I got you, we’re gonna be safe.

It’s the kiss he presses to Grian’s hair that tips the scales a little, just enough for Grian’s chirps to mute, his sobbing drifting off into softer cries. He goes limp under the affection, still terrified, still trembling and choking on air, but now he’s pressing himself against Scar instead of trying to get free. 

“G, do you understand what I’m saying?” Scar begs in a wavering voice, unbecoming of his feral appearance. He holds onto the magic prickling along his skin, alert for any sort of danger, anything that so much as tries to approach and hurt Grian. His hands are still clawed. His hair is still white. His veins are still stuffed with unending desperation. 

Nothing is over yet. 

It should be. It should be, but it isn’t.

Not yet, not yet.

 The hunters find them before the hermits do.

-- part III here

[harpoonsnotspoons]

Was only going to draw one thing today but Coraline AU Strilondes called to me

[handsmotif]

sakurai and koyama are never fucking saying “i love you” or doing any cheesy shit they don’t care abt all that. moreover they don’t Need to. just the fact that they’ve been bonded for life like a pair of feisty shelter kittens is enough they both know the other isn’t going anywhere any time soon.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Who decided the drow should have so much fucking lore anyway.

('I should've been a drow.' You can't fucking stand Cazador or your 'siblings' you would not fucking want to be a drow. Although I guess Astarion would make a fair Vhaeraunite.)

[zombieclieo]

"D'you think she cares?" His voice came across as a little worse for wear than it oughta. Death usually restored the body to peak order aside from a few scars, but here Martyn's throat was, scratchy and harder to parse than he woulda liked.

"What?" Came the reply. Scott shook his hand out, dirt particulates separating from his fingers as he did.

"Cleo, I mean. Obviously." Martyn laughed, leaning back against Scott's pretty little house, hand waving in a mockery of one of Scott's common gestures.

"Why would I know what Cleo thinks of you? We aren't teammates this go around." Scott turns back to his work, but it's still obvious how the previous victor felt about this game by how his voice catches at 'go around'.

Martyn winces, but he shakes it off within milliseconds. "You two are always allies! There hasn't been a go when you two haven't been conspiring. I'm asking because--"

"Martyn." Scott's voice was sharper than he meant, and it softens as he continues. "For one, I won't ask how you know more about mine and Cleo's relationship than either of us have told you. You and Grian get so clammy about that nonsense. For two, she hasn't mentioned you."

Martyn doesn't flinch, but Scott can tell that hurt him. Scott lived with him for a while, he knows. Martyn thinks himself infinitely cool and collected, but he isn't. He never has been and Scott's pretty sure he never will be. The blonde coughs. "Cool."

"Cool?" Scott laughs, looking up. Arcing underneath his hair from his right temple under his hair and around his throat is a lightning scar, and it glows slightly at the middle of his throat in a cool cyan. It aches. Martyn knows it aches, especially when Scott laughs. "Martyn, you were soulbound two goes ago. I know she's cool and all, but what's your hangup? Are you this hung up on Ren? Me?"

"What! Scott, you're having a giraffe. I don't get hung up on people."

There is a poignant silence. Martyn shifts uncomfortably. Scott rolls his eyes and returns to his work.

"Scott, I just wanna know how she is. If she ever thinks about me. I don't--I try not to think about it. The past, I mean. But it just... I may die but the soul lives on. Bones are buried but the soul is still here and it still feels that little string, y'know? We had the same soul, for a while. The same beating heart." Martyn finally moves from his ramrod straight stance, squatting beside Scott, a gloved hand extended.

The palm is cold. Ice fucking cold. The diamond shaped mark seems to give his flesh freezerburn as he nears the scar to any other living being. Any that are around, anyway. Martyn is cagey about it--Scott wasn't being mean. He has four of those diamonds across his body, though he supposes he's lucky that they're all... eh, relatively easy to hide. The one on his cheek, the back of his neck, and right over his heart were harder to conceal, though. That, and the massive ragged timepiece seemingly slashed across his back. The scar that never healed. The reminder to keep his ears open. To listen. To betray when it suits him. That one still pulses red, sore and obvious.

Scott doesn't know that a diamond burns for him as Martyn nears him. He doesn't know that it gets a little harder to breathe as the scalding diamond on the back of his neck makes itself very known. Bound, again and again, had he always found himself following after another? Hitching his soul into pieces again and again? Where would a diamond appear this time, for Jimmy? Where else would the cracks spread? Scott flicks his nose.

"You're absolutely doing that thing again where you just stare at me and look pensive. Fine, you want to know so bad what I think they think? Fine, if it'll get you to either go away or help me plant." Scott finally stands up fully and stretches his back out, then his arms high above his head. He reaches over to grasp Martyn's upper arm. "Cleo is a complicated person. They do care. They also don't. You aren't the center of her universe and that is fine. For both of you. Worrying about what they think won't make you less afraid of what comes next. Holding onto us--me, Cleo, the Ahaliance, Ren, that won't give you the peace you're looking for. You and Grian hold on tighter to the past than the rest of us. Let us go, Martyn, and let what joy you can have now happen."

The diamond hurts like hell. Like Martyn has slammed back into a pool of lava and it is eating him alive. It feels like dying when Scott holds his arm. He doesn't react. Scott doesn't know everything. "Alright, alright, I don't need an intervention here, mate! I'm genuinely just trying to see if she's mad at me, and you're talking different breeds and stronger memories. Bah. Maybe you're holding on to Cleo."

"Am I, then?" Scott snorts, and thankfully releases Martyn's arm. The burning subsides, somewhat.

"I think you are, honestly. I look away and suddenly you're gaslighting and gatekeeping and girlbossing! What about my gaslighting?" Martyn holds a hand to his chest as he fakes haughtiness.

"You're a bad liar, Littlewood." Scott kneels back in the dirt. "Now help me plant before you go back to our canary."

Martyn snorts, this time. "Our canary. Yeah, Scott, only me and Grian hold on." He does listen, though, and helps cover wheat seeds with dirt. As his right hand connects with the soil, it aches like a red winter, cold and bloody. He misses Ren. He misses Cleo, and Pearl, and Mumbo and everyone. He feels like there's a world where they could have been happy together, where they played games and laughed around Christmastime. As he looks at Scott, he wonders...

"Do you know what Christmas is?" His voice is more hesitant than he means for it to be.

"No, why?" Scott replies, shoving half a tuber deep into the earth.

"No reason. Just an old story." Then, that was the difference. He and Grian knew there was something beyond. No one else remembers what life extant a Watcher's game is like. He raises his head to watch the darkening horizon. Scott boxes his ear with a smile, and he shrugs. At least they have tonight to pretend like She wasn't watching. Like they were friends planting a field.

[glacialswordsman-a]

decided to draw a ref for how i view my yaya since i have bunches of headcanons for him

i'll put it in the headcanon masterpost but i'll give him an individual post too

pls DO NOT rb bc i dont want it getting out further than my circle aslkdjaslfj thank yewww <3

[slowdesire]

are you gonna MARRY, KISS, or KILL me? it’s just a game but really… i’m betting on ALL THREE… for us two

[hauntingblue]

NAMI NEEDS TO GO UP THERE AND FIGHT BIG MOM I AM SO SERIOUS!!! THIS IS A BATTLE FOR THE ROMANCE DOWN TRIO!! SANJI DO NOT DARE TAKE HER SPOT!!!

[byanyan]

ㅤborn on june 30th at 3:40 am to eunji byun, a woman who never had any intention of raising a child, byan was taken home by their adoptive parents, hye-jin yoon and dae-seong lee, a couple who had never been able to have a child of their own and had eagerly awaited their arrival. given the name yeong-hwan lee, they were treated exactly as if they were the couple's biological son and learned to refer to the two as eomma and appa (mom and dad).

this was the only period in their life where byan had a very "normal" childhood. and it was good! they were a happy, outgoing kid from the start, always curious and full of energy. they felt loved. they were loved. they don't remember it, but they were even taken to korea to meet their parents' extended family when they were two.

things were good, and it seemed like they were only going to get better when hye-jin unexpectedly discovered that she was pregnant.

byan's sister, hwa-young, was born on september 9th, when they were four years old. given her name because hye-jin was fond of the idea of her children having similar names, even byan was excited by this, and by the concept of having a baby sister. things remained exciting for the first few weeks, but as time passed and the newness of having a baby in the house began to wear off, things started to get... complicated. neither parent had particularly high paying jobs, and hye-jin couldn't afford to take much of a maternity leave. she worked from home, but between work, household chores, and hwa-young, neither she nor dae-seong had much time left over for byan, let alone for themselves. needless to say, it was a stressful time, and with money and energy running thin, byan beginning to act out a couple months in due to a lack in the attention they were used to having didn't exactly help matters.

only a few months before their fifth birthday, byan was placed into the care of a foster family. it wasn't an easy decision for either of their parents to make, but they had never planned for two children and no longer believed that they could properly support or give them both the life they deserved. the decision was made thinking that it would give byan the opportunity for something better, and that if things ever turned around for the family, they could eventually be brought back.

ㅤ—of course, that never happened.

contact was kept for a while, but when it seemed to only make things harder on byan, and subsequently harder on all of them, the decision to cut contact completely and all at once was made. the thought process was that if byan stopped waiting and hoping for the day that they'd get to come home, maybe they would eventually allow themself to settle with another family. at least they were probably young enough that they wouldn't remember all that much from their first four years, right? surely they would move on, and eventually be happier for it.

the last thing byan remembers hearing from eomma and appa didn't even come directly from them. it came through their foster mother, who tried to make it sound exciting that their last name had been changed from lee to byun.