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khuzena · 1 month ago

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The Ink Didn’t Fade

Phainon’s Version: My DearestPairing: Phainon x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 11.1k (overall fic)

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: He held the line. He made the shot. He remembered the smell of your burnt bacon while bleeding out.

A casket. A letter. A love that survived the war—he just didn’t.

Phainon died a soldier. But he loved you like a man.

And the ink didn’t fade.

C.w: Major character death, war themes, graphic violence, implied ptsd, survivor's guilt, tragedy, hallucinations, violence, blood, grief, separation anxiety

A/n: second part here we fking go bro SOBS HYSTERICCALY I WAS GOING INSAEN TRYING TO POST IT YESTERDAY ON MOBILE BUT IT KEPT CRASHING AND WOULDN'T SAVE. It was actual hell trying to post from mobile so I had to wait AGAIN to post it so welpp here we are. HEy, read part 1 first !!!! idk man wtf why

taglist: @reapersan @strawb3rri-bliss @sugilitez @aerisevx @takeyomikamakura

The moment you step out of the bathroom, the hallway slams into you again.

Shouting. Moaning. Blood on the floor.

Hyacine runs past, her braid loose, gloves smeared red. “He’s seizing!”

Another soldier. You follow, legs still trembling, mind still fraying at the edges. You’ve already treated six today. You’ve watched three die.

You’re not supposed to be this shaken.

You can’t afford to be.

But your hands are trembling, and your heart won’t stop racing. There’s no time to cry again. There's no time to feel.

Inside the treatment room, it’s chaos. The boy who just came in is on the cot, shirt half-ripped open, wound gushing from his lower abdomen. He’s maybe nineteen. His mouth foams faintly at the edge, his eyes rolled back. He's losing blood. Fast.

“BP 85 over 50,” Hyacine yells. “He’s going into hypovolemic shock.”

Your body moves. Instinct. Experience. You grab gauze, press it to the wound, and call for saline.

“Get the morphine,” you mutter. “He won’t hold long.”

Mira’s already preparing the syringe behind you.

But the bottle’s half empty.

There’s a shortage. Everything’s running low. Running low on meds, hands, and hope.

You grab another vial. Your hands won’t stop shaking.

You try to steady them. But your vision is swimming, and your ears are ringing, and…

You miss the mark.

The syringe pulls in too much. 10 milligrams.

Too much. Far too much.

“Mira!” Hyacine yells before you can inject. “That’s over 10!”

“What?” You freeze. The needle’s inches from his arm.

Mira’s already stepping forward. She gently but firmly takes it from your hand. “This is your second shift with no break,” she says, voice soft, “Go sit down. I’ll do it.”

You blink. “I’m—no, I can still—”

“You almost overdosed him.”

The words land like bullets.

The boy coughs, blood spurting over the side of the cot.

You step back, dazed. Mira adjusts the dosage quickly to 2 milligrams. Not a hair more. She injects it fast and starts wrapping the wound, calling for clamps and thread.

You’re still standing there. Stupid. Frozen.

Hyacine looks up, her expression torn between worry and frustration. “You need to rest,” she says. “You're doing too much. We all are.”

But you don’t move.

You hear the clipboard clatter against the table. Somewhere, one of the newer nurses vomits in the sink.

Everything’s falling apart.

You’re down five nurses this afternoon alone. One of them fainted in the hall from dehydration. Two are treating the burn victims from last night’s shelling. Another is coughing up blood herself. The last? You’re not sure. She hasn’t come back since noon. Maybe she never will.

The soldier on the cot begins to breathe normally again. Mira wipes his face. Hyacine double-checks his vitals.

And you just stand there.

You almost gave him enough morphine to stop his heart. A single careless dosage of 10mg in a man this size, already bleeding out, already crashing. it could’ve killed him in seconds.

A voice echoes in your head.

He might be gone too.

Phainon. No letters. No word. Maybe you’re unraveling because you can’t bear losing one more man—even a stranger, while not knowing if your own still breathes.

The tears are rising again. But you can’t cry here.

Not in front of your girls. Not in front of a patient who just nearly died because of your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice dry and empty.

You leave again. You don’t wait for permission this time. You walk to the storeroom, step inside, shut the door.

The dark smells like metal and alcohol. The floor is sticky. The air is too hot. You press your back to the door and slide down again.

You breathe.

You clench your fists.

And this time you don’t cry.

You sit there, shaking, until Mira knocks once. Gently.

“I covered your charts,” she says through the door. “But we still need you.”

You close your eyes. You nod. When will this end?

For what felt like forever, four days flew by.

No reply.

Still no reply.

You check the incoming crates again. the envelopes bloodied, creased, or waterlogged. You sift through them one by one in the mail tent during your short break. Still nothing from him. Not even a scrap of handwriting. No flower, no tape, no ink-smudged paper. Not a single thing from Phainon.

You’re starting to think the letters got lost.

You’re starting to wonder if he’s the one who got lost.

Mira walks past you in the mud, her boots sinking slightly with each step. “Still nothing?”

You shake your head slowly.

She doesn’t push. But she lingers, just enough to place a hand on your arm, squeezing gently. “They’ve been rerouting mail. There was a screw-up at the intercom dispatch. One of the couriers said half the letters meant for the 4th division got sent back to the capital by accident.”

You blink. “Phainon’s division is the 4th.”

“Exactly.”

Your breath catches. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your clipboard. Something cold and sick coils in your stomach. “So… he might have written.”

She nods. “It just never got through.”

Then she exhales — long, quiet, full of the things no one says out loud in places like this.

“And…” she adds softly, “Word is, they had to relocate. Ambush near the ridgeline. They lost the original station. No signal. No outgoing post for two, maybe three days. Might be longer.”

The clipboard slips a little in your hands.

Your head spins.

He wrote.

He could have written.

But you wouldn’t know.

Because the wires failed. Because someone else decided a new station was safer. Because the war swallowed one more piece of hope before you could hold it.

Your throat tightens

Mira’s already walking back to the clinic. You stand still, cold in the chest, hot in the eyes. Everything hurts. And no one even died today — not yet.

You pull out your pen.

You write again anyway.

Not because you know it’ll get to him. Not because there’s any promise it’ll even leave this field. But because if you don’t write, the silence might eat you alive.

So, you harden your grip one the pen and start writing.

“Dear Phainon, I hope you’re okay. I’m okay. I’m trying to be. Mira says our post is messed up. I don’t know if you’ve gotten anything from me. I don’t even know if you’re still where I last wrote to. But I’ll keep writing. In case you are. In case this one gets through.”

Your hand shakes as you write, wailing of soldiers still echoes in the hallways.

“A boy died last night. He was so small. And he wanted to go home. And I wanted to cry again but I couldn’t. The girls… they’re all really exhausted. We’re losing nurses every day. We keep covering for each other. The pain here doesn’t stop. I’m scared, Phai. But I love you. I love you so much. So I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep waiting even if your reply takes months later.Come home to me, okay?”

You fold the letter. Tape a tiny leaf you found outside, the same kind that grew near the hill you both used to walk. There’s no flower today. But he’ll understand.

“Stay safe, from your dearest.”

You slip it into the box. You don’t know if it’ll reach him.

But it’s better than doing nothing. Better than letting the silence be the last thing between you.

Back at Phainon's, the rain hasn’t let up in hours. It pours in sheets, washing over the wounded, slicking the mud until everything stinks of metal, blood, and gunpowder.

“Get the perimeter secured,” Phainon says hoarsely, voice frayed from shouting over cannon fire and screaming. “Use the broken crates. We don’t have time for sandbags.”

Charis jogs past him, splattered in mud up to the neck. He doesn’t need to reply. He just nods, already barking orders to the remaining able-bodied soldiers. Merek is stabilizing Nolan under the collapsed tent, fumbling with the bandages while keeping one eye on the hills.

Phainon kneels beside the boy with a shattered leg. Holds his hand. Tells him he’ll be okay. That he’s strong. That help is coming.

The boy smiles faintly before he seizes up and goes still.

Phainon shuts his eyes. Just for a moment. Then he stands.

There’s no time to grieve. Not yet.

The new post is worse.

They said it was safer, higher ground, better cover…but Phainon knows better. Safer just means the dead haven’t warmed it yet.

The soil’s still wet from the last rainfall, but not enough to wash away the blood. Trenches are half-dug, uneven. The fires won’t stay lit long. The food’s cold before it’s even passed around.

They lost too many men in four days.

He walks past the fallen. Past the half-covered bodies they don’t have enough tarps for. Past the tent where someone is sobbing into their hands. He doesn't stop. Can’t stop.

He doesn’t count them aloud, but he knows all their names.

One of them died laughing, delirious. One died choking. The youngest begged for some nice pasta before he died. Phainon had held that one’s hand until it went cold.

He keeps hearing their voices at night. He hasn’t slept properly since they switched camps.

Now Phainon walks the new ground like a ghost tethered to duty. He doesn’t speak unless he has to. His coat is stiff with dried blood and ash. His boots are worn through at the soles.

The men still look to him.

So he gives them what he can—orders, a steady hand, sometimes just silence that doesn’t break.

He crouches beside another injured soldier, He was young, freckled, trembling. The boy flinches as he adjusts the bandage. “You’re not gonna die tonight,” Phainon mutters. “That’s an order.”

A weak laugh.

Then a cough.

Then a shiver.

He tucks the boy’s letter into the boy’s pack. No postage, no name on it yet. Just a shaking hope that someone will send it.

A dog howls somewhere far off, and it catches him off guard. He flinches.

He remembers the last one. The dog he had to shoot because it wailed loudly in pain.

He can still feel the click of it in his bones.

He finds himself by a collapsed shed, away from the eyes. The frost creeps along the edges of the wood. He doesn’t shiver.

Instead, he touches his chest—

And there it is.

Your letter.

Pressed flat and protected in the inner lining of his uniform. The edges are soft now, the ink a little faded. He still remembers every word. He still imagines your hands folding it. Taping the flower. Writing his name.

His fingers slide down to the ring on his hand, dull with dirt, but still there. He turns it slowly. A ritual now. A vow in motion.

“I’m coming home. I have to.”

He grazes the ring again and again, like it’s the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. He cannot cry. Not when Nolan’s still unconscious. Not when Merek is holding things together by a thread. Not when Charis is covering three positions at once and hasn’t eaten since dawn.

He cannot cry.

He thinks about you.

He wonders if you sleep enough. If you’ve eaten. If you still hum when the kettle boils. If the flower he taped into the letter stayed in place, or if it crumbled on the way there.

He wonders if you smiled.

He misses your voice. The way you said his name like it was alive.

He wants to hold you.

He wants to come home.

But the enemy is pushing harder each day, and they’re running low on ammo. Low on warmth. Low on hope.

And Phainon is a lieutenant—but that doesn’t mean he’s made of stone.

He is still a man.

Still someone’s fiancé.

Still someone who promised a future. A wedding. A garden behind a crooked little house. A quiet life.

And now?

Now he’s not sure he’ll come back intact.

Or come back at all.

The alarm screams—a frantic, terrible sound. It was cutting through the rain and the gunfire. It’s starting again. The enemy’s coming.

“Get down!” Charis shouts, but it’s too late.

A shell explodes nearby, the earth erupting in a shower of mud and splinters.

Phainon’s chest tightens… not from the blast, but because every explosion pulls him further from you.

I have to come home. I have to.

He’s yelling orders, voice raw, throat burning from constant shouting over the chaos. “Move the wounded! Cover the flanks! We hold here!”

But inside, his mind is spinning. He ask himself again.

Did my letter reach you?

Are you safe?

Are you warm? Are you hungry? Did you sleep at all last night?

A soldier next to him stumbles, clutching his bleeding side. Phainon catches him, but there’s no time to linger.

Merek’s still stabilizing Nolan under the tent…

How many are left?

Eleven gone in days. Eleven too many.

The sky lights up red with fire. Bullets zip past, pinging off scrap metal and stone.

Phainon ducks behind broken crates, heart hammering—not just from the gunfire, but from the weight of every life depending on him.

Then, the alarm screams—a desperate, grating wail cutting through the rain and gunfire.

It’s starting again. The enemy is relentless, always surging forward.

“Someone’s down!” Merek ducks under the rubble nearby as he yelled, but the world erupts before Phainon can react.

A shell detonates again nearby, mud and shards tearing through the air.

Everything is slowly starting to become a blur. How much longer will peace take?

He raises his rifle, breath ragged, eyes burning.

Bang.

One enemy falls.

Bang.

Another drops.

But with every shot, a ringing clogs his ears—sharp, insistent, drowning out the chaos but magnifying the screams he heard back at camp.

The boy with the shattered leg, fading too fast.

The dog’s terrified eyes before the final, painful shot.

Nolan’s faint moans under the torn tent.

Phainon blinks away the memories as a hail of bullets sprays toward him. He rolls, firing again.

Bang. Bang.

His muscles scream, sweat and rain mixing on his skin, but his mind fractures further with every enemy he takes down.

How long can this go on?

Charis yells nearby, rallying the soldiers, but Phainon barely hears him.

He catches a glimpse of Merek, frantic, trying to keep Nolan alive.

His throat tightens.

He forces himself forward, dragging a wounded man across the slick ground, heart pounding like a war drum.

The ringing grows louder, blurring the world into white noise—guns, screams, the rain pounding on broken earth.

He wants to shut it out, but it only pulls him deeper into the dark corners of his mind.

Do you miss me?

Do you ever think of this place—of me—when it’s quiet where you are?

The thought is a brief spark in the suffocating fog.

Phainon fights on, every breath heavier, every movement more desperate.

He can feel the weight of the fallen pressing down on him—their faces etched in his mind like shadows he can’t shake.

The sky burns, the enemy presses, and Phainon fights—because surrender isn’t an option.

Because somewhere beyond this hell, there’s a home waiting.

Somewhere beyond the gunfire and loss, there’s you.

And he clings to that, even as his body screams and his mind edges toward breaking.

As the rain lashes harder, turning the battlefield into a mire of mud and blood. Phainon’s boots slip with every step as he drags a wounded soldier toward the crumbling wall of crates.

The man’s weight nearly pulls him down, but Phainon grits his teeth and presses forward.

Gunfire cracks sharply all around, bullets whistling past with deadly intent. A hail of lead tears through the air. Phainon drops to one knee, firing blindly at the advancing enemy. The recoil jars his aching shoulder, sending sharp jolts through his arm, but he holds the rifle steady, squeezing the trigger again and again.

An explosion nearby shakes the ground violently, throwing mud and splinters into the air. Phainon’s ears ring, and his vision blurs for a heartbeat. As the dust settles, he pushes off the crates and staggers to his feet, only to catch a searing pain ripping through his thigh

He looks down to see blood soaking the torn fabric of his uniform, the wound deep and burning cold in the rain.

Ignoring the pain, he limps forward, using the crates as cover, the weight of his body dragging him down. Another burst of gunfire forces him flat to the ground, the wet earth slick beneath him. He crawls a few desperate feet toward a fallen comrade, trying to shield the man’s head from the rain and flying debris.

Charis yells orders somewhere behind him, but Phainon barely hears through the roar of cannon fire and the ringing in his ears.

The enemy closes in. Shadows move through the sheets of rain—figures advancing with ruthless determination.

Phainon grits his teeth, manages to raise his rifle once more, and fires. The crack of the shot cuts through the chaos, and a figure drops, but the effort drains him. His knees buckle, his hands tremble, and he slumps forward onto the mud, face pressed against the cold, wet ground.

A sudden sharp sting explodes in his ribs as shrapnel tears through his side. He gasps, the air forced from his lungs, his body convulsing with the pain. Blood bubbles at his lips as he fights to stay conscious.

Somewhere beyond the storm of violence, he hears the frantic cries of his men—calls to regroup, to hold the line. But his body betrays him. Limbs heavy and unresponsive, Phainon struggles to lift his head, his vision swimming in and out of focus.

The rain mixes with the blood on his face as the world narrows to the taste of iron and the relentless pounding in his ears. The enemy surges closer, and the fight drags on, even as his strength fades.

The sharp crack of a rifle shot split the air. Charis was moving fast, dodging debris, trying to reach cover when a bullet whistled just behind him. Without thinking, Phainon grabbed Charis’s arm and yanked him down hard behind a broken crate. The ground exploded where Charis had just been standing.

Phainon barely had time to catch his breath before a searing, crushing pain stabbed into his ribs. He gasped, staggering as a bullet tore through muscle and bone. His body slammed against the jagged wood of the crate, breath caught in his chest.

Charis’s eyes widened in horror. “Phainon!” His voice cracked, frantic and raw. “You’re hurt…stay with me!”

Phainon swallowed back a groan, clutching the wound as blood soaked his fingers and ran down his side. His breath was ragged, each inhale sharp and burning like fire in his lungs. Around them, the world was a chaotic blur of gunfire, screams, and explosions, but Charis’s voice anchored him.

“We can’t lose you now,” Charis pleaded, his hands trembling as he grasped Phainon’s shoulders. “You’re the only reason half of us are still breathing.”

Phainon’s eyes flickered, pain and determination wrestling for control. He tried to speak but only a rasp escaped. His fingers brushed his engagement ring—dirt-smudged, bloodied—an unspoken promise locked on his hand.

Charis’s chest tightened as he took in the deepening pallor of Phainon’s face, the way his breaths grew shallow. “Hang on, just a little longer,” Charis said, voice breaking. “I’m not leaving you. We all need you.”

Phainon’s vision blurred. The pounding in his ears grew louder, a relentless ringing that drowned out everything but the thundering of his own heart. He tried to focus, to push back the pain, to fight for every second.

A fresh volley of shots sent dirt and splinters raining over them. Charis pulled Phainon further behind the crate, shielding him as best he could. The world tilted, and Phainon’s grip loosened, his fingers barely holding on.

Charis’s breath caught as he saw the flicker of fading life in Phainon’s eyes. “No. Not like this. You’re not done.” His voice was fierce, desperate. “You still have to see it. The future you fought for.”

Phainon’s lips parted slightly, blood bubbling at the corners. Somewhere deep inside, a stubborn spark flared. But the pain was swallowing him whole.

Charis pressed closer, refusing to let the silence grow. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Phainon’s head was pounding like a drumbeat inside a cave—each throb louder than the last, drowning out the chaos around him. The ringing was relentless, a high-pitched scream echoing in his skull that blurred his vision and muddled his senses.

Despite the pain clawing through his body, a single memory pierced the fog.. a flash of your smile in the quiet light of dawn, the way your fingers curled around his in a silent promise. The image brought a tear, hot and unbidden, tracing down his cheek. He blinked it away, unwilling to let weakness take hold.

The battle wasn’t over. Not yet.

With trembling hands, Phainon gripped his rifle. His breath came shallow, ragged, but he forced himself upright, steadying against the broken crate. Every movement was agony, blood seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the ground, darkening the mud beneath him.

Through the haze, he saw the enemy advancing. THE figures moving like shadows, relentless and ruthless.

He raised his rifle, squeezing the trigger. The crack was sharp, a small victory in the endless storm. One fell.

Another shot. Another.

But his body was betraying him. Each breath was a knife twisting in his ribs. His strength was fading, and the medics, too far to reach, swallowed by the chaos, couldn’t come to him.

Charis’s voice was a distant anchor, pulling him back from the edge. “Stay with me, Phainon.”

Phainon’s lips quivered, an unspoken vow burning behind closed eyes. He still had a future to fight for—a life beyond this hell. There were plans left unfinished, laughter to share, a wedding to have, a home to build.

His fingers brushed the ring again, the cool metal grounding him once again.

Was this the end?

He refused to let it be.

With a ragged breath, he readied himself to fire once more, the world narrowing to the muzzle flash and the desperate hope that he could hold just a little longer.

Phainon’s grip tightened around the rifle, but his arms trembled beneath the weight. The pain in his side flared—hot, relentless—burning through every breath he forced into his lungs. Each heartbeat pounded louder, drowning out everything else.

Stay awake. Don’t—don’t give in. Not yet.

But the world around him blurred. The sharp crack of gunfire and shouts faded into a distant hum, like echoes underwater. His vision flickered at the edges, darkening.

Then…. warmth. A gentle touch. He blinked, confused.

Was that… your hand?

His fingers twitched, searching desperately. The cold rifle in his grasp began to feel unreal, like a weight lifted.

No. That can’t be real.

His mind wavered between pain and memory.

The house. The one we dreamed about.

He could almost smell the rich coffee brewing in the morning light, feel the warmth of the sun spilling through the crooked windows.

You’re there. You’re always there.

Your laughter floated through the quiet room, a fragile thread anchoring him. He reached out, eyes barely open.

I’m almost home. Just a little further.

The ache in his ribs screamed, but the phantom warmth of your hand held him steady. His breath hitched, a tear slipping down his cheek.

I promised. I promised you a future.

A future he wasn’t sure he’d see.

His mind raced—thoughts scattered like shattered glass.

Did you get my letter? Are you safe?

Are you warm? Are you even thinking of me now?

He wanted to say so much, but words tangled and slipped away. The noise of battle was gone now. All that remained was the fading echo of your voice, the feel of your hand in his.

"Hold on, Phainon. Hold on for me."

But his body betrayed him. The rifle felt lighter, almost as if it melted away beneath his grasp, replaced by the softness of your hand. He imagined fingers weaving into his, steadying, unyielding.

I’m tired.

So tired.

He swallowed hard, vision dimming further, every edge blurring into the quiet sanctuary of the house.

Please don’t let this be the end.

A final tear, warm and salty, slid down his dirt-smeared face.

I’m not ready. Not yet.

The world slipped away, but the warmth stayed. Your hand, the scent of coffee, the promise of home.

Phainon’s breath was shallow and uneven, the cold seeping into his bones like ice water. His body trembled, wounds burning, muscles screaming… but his mind was quieter now, softer, turning inward.

He wasn’t fighting anymore. Not really.

The distant roar of gunfire faded into a dull, pulsing hum, replaced by the fragile echo of his thoughts.

If this is the end... what will happen to you?

The thought hit him harder than any bullet.

Will you be safe? Will you be alone?

His heart clenched, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. He could already see your face, pale with worry, holding back tears he wouldn’t let fall.

I’m sorry.

Sorry for the nights you’d spend waiting, wondering if he was alive.

Sorry for the future he might never build with you.

Sorry for the silence that would stretch between you like a chasm.

The memories came unbidden, a bittersweet flood.

The day you became a nurse, he remembered, pride twisting painfully in his chest. How fiercely you’d fought to make a difference, how your hands had saved lives—while his own blood stained the ground here, so far from you.

And me, my first day as lieutenant.

The weight of that title, once a promise, now felt like a curse.

I wanted to protect you.

His fingers brushed the dirt and sweat caked over the engagement ring beneath his uniform. The ring he’d spent weeks searching for, the one you’d worn as a symbol of everything you two had planned.

I never wanted you to carry this alone.

Phainon’s mind drifted to the small moments—the burnt bacon smell in the kitchen, your teasing laugh as you shook your head. The quiet evenings spent dreaming of a crooked little house with a garden, of a life far from this war.

I wish I could have one last breakfast with you.

The ache in his chest deepened, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes.

He knew the world was slipping away. His body growing colder, his thoughts more distant.

I hope you can forgive me.

If I don’t come home... please know I loved you.

His grip on the rifle loosened, the weapon feeling impossibly heavy. But somewhere deep inside, a spark remained, fragile, but alive, holding onto your face, your voice, your love.

Phainon closed his eyes, the sounds around him fading as the hallucination grew stronger.

You’re with me now.

It wasn’t long till three months later.

The capital was too quiet for a day like this.

No bombings, no alarms. Just the wind moving through rows of black flags, flapping weakly under a silver sky.

They’d set the memorial in the central square—an open ground, framed by the shattered columns of what used to be the Hall of Triumph. It had been hastily rebuilt, just enough to stand. Just enough to hold the weight of grief.

There were caskets lined across the stage, draped in the flag. Each one sealed.

Each one silent.

And there you were, standing among a sea of mourning families, white-knuckled and barely breathing, clutching the small pin they gave you—one of the medals he earned. Valor. Leadership. Sacrifice. The words meant nothing. They clinked dully against your chest.

They wouldn’t even open the casket.

They said it was better that way.

“Too much damage,” someone whispered.

“He wouldn’t want you to see.”

But you wanted to see him.

You needed to see him.

Your body moved before your mind could stop it. Shoving past soldiers, stumbling up the steps, tears hot and streaming down your face. You heard your name shouted, hands reaching for you, but none of them mattered. Not now.

Not when it was real.

Not when his name was carved into that plaque like a period at the end of everything.

“Phainon,” you choked out, falling to your knees before the casket.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

Not him. Not your Phainon.

The man who picked burnt bacon out of his teeth and still said it was the best breakfast of his life.

The one who held your hand like he was memorizing it. Who kissed you like he was afraid time would steal you.

The one who promised you a crooked house with a little garden and a roof that always leaked when it rained.

You pressed your forehead to the wood of the casket, the smell of polish and smoke mixing in your lungs. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t get to hold him. You didn’t even get to bury him properly—just this fucking box, this thing, and a stupid folded flag.

“Come back,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Come back, come back…”

You knew he wouldn’t. You knew.

But it didn’t stop you from wishing.

Not when Charis was there too, standing beside you… alive, limping, eyes rimmed with red.

“I tried,” he said quietly, kneeling next to you. His voice was hoarse. “He saved my life. Took a shot meant for me. I—I held on as long as I could but…”

He looked away.

“He was asking for you until the end.”

That broke you.

Your sob echoed across the memorial, raw and guttural. No one stopped you this time. No one rushed forward to pull you back. The war had already taken so much; how could they deny you this one, final collapse?

You stayed there, your hand pressed to the casket like it could somehow keep him here. Like if you were still enough, quiet enough, maybe he’d reach back.

There’s no word for what you are now.

Not widow. Not fiancée. Not wife.

Just… left behind.

The world has terms for every kind of grief, every kind of role. But not this. Not for the woman who was supposed to marry a man who never made it home. Not for the ring that gleams cold and thin on your finger—a promise that never got fulfilled, a vow that never got spoken.

The train ride was quiet.

Too quiet.

The countryside blurred past the window, the same hills he once wrote about—how the grass turned gold at this time of year, how he wanted to show it to you himself. You sat still, hands clenched in your lap, eyes burning but dry.

You’d run out of tears days ago.

The bed still dips where he used to sleep. His uniform still hangs in the closet—pressed and perfect, waiting for a body that won't wear it again. His boots by the door. His sweet tea bags in the kitchen. The ones he insisted made him "feel human again" after deployment.

Sometimes, when you boil water, you reach for one out of habit.

Just to hold it. Just to pretend. Just to feel like he might walk through the door and say it was all a horrible joke. That he’s here. That he made it.

But the tea cools. The cup stays full. And the door never opens.

The sky was overcast by the time you reached your stop. The path home felt longer than it ever had before, every footstep hollow. The sounds of town—bakers shouting, carts rolling, distant laughter—felt like echoes from another life.

No one looked your way. You were just another shadow walking home with nothing left to carry but a silence so loud it filled your lungs.

And then you saw the house.

The same way you left it. The roof still crooked. The vines still overgrown. The front gate still squeaking like it always did, just slightly off the hinge.

But the flower taped to the letter—it had wilted.

Once a deep, vibrant red. Now a sad curl of dried brown, shriveled at the stem.

You paused, frozen.

There was a letter tucked behind it.

Your name on the front.

You reached with shaking fingers.

Two envelopes. One in his handwriting—sharp, careful, like always. The other... stamped and returned. Yours.

Unopened.

Marked: "Recipient Deceased. Unable to Deliver."

Your breath caught.

The world spun.

And you dropped right there on the doorstep, knees hitting the ground, arms folded around your stomach as the sobs finally returned—deep, wrenching, and endless.

He had written you. You had written back. But the war stole the time in between.

You held both letters to your chest, curling in on yourself as if the paper might warm you, as if maybe it still smelled faintly of him—his hands, his cologne, the ink he always accidentally smudged.

You didn’t read it yet.

You couldn’t.

Some of your friends talk about wedding dresses and baby names now. One of them wears her husband’s dog tags over her heart, with their newborn sleeping two rooms away. Another is learning how to build a life with someone new. Some are expecting.

You? You have silence.

No new beginning. No second chapter. Just this ghost of a life that almost was.

You sat on the kitchen floor, the envelope trembling in your grip. The same kitchen where he once spilled coffee trying to impress you with breakfast. The same counter still bearing the scorch mark from that one time he tried to iron his uniform “like a real adult.” Everything still smelled faintly like him. Or maybe that was memory clinging to the air.

The kitchen still smells like lemon and smoke. Like that last morning. His laughter still echoes faintly in the tiles, tucked between the cracks in the floor. You find yourself stepping over them gently, like the memory might shatter.

Sometimes you sit at the dinner table, two plates set out. One untouched.

And sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, you swear you feel the warmth of him. Just for a second. Just long enough to remember what it was like to be loved that much.

And then it's gone.

Your fingers worked numbly, slipping under the flap. A soft tear. The paper inside unfolded slower than your breath, careful like you might break it. And there it was.

His handwriting.

“My dearest—”

You didn’t even make it through the second line before the tears came. Hot and soundless, tracing old paths down your cheeks, stinging like ash. The ink had long dried, but none of it had faded. Each word held him—his quiet warmth, the way he overthought every sentence, the little notes he always tucked in to make you smile.

You read it like scripture. Like prayer. Like if you memorize it deep enough, maybe he’ll come back in a dream and finish the parts he left unsaid.

But he doesn’t.

The only thing that answers is the wind outside the window, and the slow, steady ticking of a clock that won’t stop for grief.

The message hadn’t aged. Not even a little. It was like he was still here.

Still trying to love you across the distance. Still trying to come home, in the only way he could. With this.

Your hand pressed to your mouth as you read, not because you were trying to hold back the sobs, but because it felt like speaking would ruin the fragile spell, the impossible moment where time bent, and for just a heartbeat, you were his again.

He wrote of hope. Of how he missed you. Of the way he imagined your face when you opened this. Of love that refused to vanish.

And when you reached the end, when the last word met the edge of the page, there was nothing else.

No final twist of fate.

No more time.

Just the quiet.

The weight of a letter that had come too late.

And the echo of someone who never stopped loving you, even as the world burned around him.

You folded it back with reverence. Pressed it to your lips.

And for the first time in weeks, you whispered his name.

But he didn’t answer.

Because it was over.

notes: wow that was an emotional rollercoaster woweee! okay enough of that I cried writing this. i actually posted the of version on ao3 if u search hard enough but this ver I posted on tumblr is a bit refined but ya. Okay, kinda disappointed a bit but yes thank you reading this depressing fic of mine. and no I am not fine which is why I wrote this fic. I start jumping up and down in joy from feedback and notes so any type of interaction is appreciated and I will post the anaxa fic series and work on mydei's tomorrow. Thank you for reading this was something. 11k words of sobbing. How awesome of me. Even read some real world war letters from soldiers and civilians for some idea. idk man.

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr fluff #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr smut #phainon angst #phainon fluff #hsr phainon #phainon #phainon x reader #amphoreus

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oh-no-its-bird · 5 months ago

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Celebrating my 21'st birthday by posting an obnoxious amount of

Warring States Hatake OC things !

Continuing the warring states era Hatake oc train as I try to fill up all 21 slots for the clan !!! I honestly don't know if I'll make all 21, but I'd like to at least give them all names, just to make the world feel lived in. I might ask someone else to donate an oc or two in the future to guest star in the cast, idk

But anyways !!!! In a clan who loves to adopt, it stands to reason that they ofc have people among them who weren't born Hatake.

With that said: Pyromaniac explosion enthusiast Hatake who was a failed bloodline theft anyone ???

Both Sora and Tsuki are pretty fucking horrendous towards Tetsuo, but in large part it's Tsuki leading the charge. Sora follows his lead, as he's the first friend she made in the clan. They're honestly pretty close

Meanwhile: Sora remains the biggest Haruka fan ever. Being saved from the bloodline thief camp by the woman really cemented her in her mind as her hero.

After Sora lost her arm at 12 when playing with an explosion seal she'd explicitly been told not to play with, Tsuki proposed they learn to do hand signs together.

Sora would eventually be able to figure out how to do pull off a jutsu with only one hand, but it takes a long time to get there— and even when she is there, it still takes longer than if she had 2 hands. Working with Tsuki, they can both pull off just about any jutsu as fast as any one person can. Faster, even

Top ten images taken 5 seconds before disaster...

I was gonna draw 2 more pages for this, of the actual drowning attempt, but I got tired and wanted to post this today so you get a summary of what comes next instead. (Maybe I'll finish drawing it and post it separately another day)

Tsuki and Sora bullied Tetsuo pretty relentlessly till the boys were about 13, when Tsuki took things a step too far and basically tried to drown Tetsuo. Tetsuo fought back, beating both Tsuki and Sora's asses pretty soundly— and catching Haruka's attention in the process.

Seeing Tetsuo fend off the other two made up Haruka's mind, and she declared he'd be her new heir. Which he... didn't actually want to be. Oops!

Sora was pretty effectively scared out of bullying Tetsuo any further, and Tsuki mellowed out a good amount— though he remained mischievous, but that was pretty standard for him.

The blue tint of Tetsuo's skin would fade only some months later as he grew out of his Hoshigaki traits and into his Hatake blood. This also helped to lessen teasing from the other kids, along with the whole "he's the new clan heir now" thing.

Good for him.

The next day Tetsuo is super pissy and sleep deprived while Tsuki is suspiciously smug and well rested. On the bright side, Tetsuo has officially learned his lesson and will now refuse to let Tsuki ever give anyone anything he's drawn ominous spirals on.

As adults, Tetsuo and Tsuki are... fine, honestly. They're friends, in a way. Might even be counted as close— or as close as you can be, with Tsuki.

The fact that Tsuki got himself permanantly posessed by an Uzu spiral demon on that mission gone wrong in Wave doesn't make things as complicated than you'd think. Tetsuo seems to often land himself in the position of acting as Tsuki (and often times Sora's) handler.

I had a few more things I wanted to draw, but ran out of time. I'll probably just try and draw and post it later. No Sora piercing lore, Daisuke introduction post or full Tetsuo drowning comic for you!!! (Yet)

Umm final thoughts:

Tetsuo is doomed to forever be surrounded by maniacs

Early Konoha oc art pt. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

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stormblessed95 · 19 days ago

Note

It has come to my attention that jikook have been spotted together at the airport… maybe in the US… Are You Sure, season 2? Maybe??

Spotted and with a camera. Lol idk about AYS 2 or work or a personal trip (I'm leaning towards option 3 but we will see) but they WOULD! I'm obsessed with them and how much they just love being together. Honestly 🥰🏳️‍🌈 Happy Pride jikook

Because seriously:

They go on a trip to Sapporo 2 weeks pre-military service... Which is the romantic winter get away spot known for where people go for if they want to get trapped by snow and never leave each other and stay there. (Source: "the wind blows, I like you")

Went together for all their pre-military checks, physicals and requirements (bet they filled all their paperwork together too) and Jimin was the first person JK wanted to show his shaved head too

Were the happiest, giggliest, clingest ever on live after they got back right before enlistment

Jimin dancing too Stuck with U by JB and Ariana, his last This is Jimin before he left for enlistment WITH Jungkook

Lyrics he dances too in the clip:

There's nowhere we need to be, no, no, no

I'ma get to know you better

Kinda hope we're here forever

There's nobody on these streets

If you told me that the world's endin'

Ain't no other way that I can spend it

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Got all this time in my hands

Might as well cancel our plans (Yeah, yeah)

I could stay here forever

So, lock the door and throw out the key

Can't fight this no more, It's just you and me

And there's nothin' I, nothin' I, I can do

I'm stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

So, go ahead and drive me insane

Baby, run your mouth, I still wouldn't change

Being stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

I'm stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

youtube

Go to Japan together for a personal trip 19 days before they enlist

Go through a HARD military service together for 18 months where they lean on and support each other daily and constantly.

Go to Japan at the same time (but arriving separately 🤨) 19 days before discharge (coincidence with those numbers man lol)

Get discharged together

Does their discharge live together where the vibes are VIBING and they are also shocked at the ARMY staying and loving them and getting used to being civilians again and just I need to make a separate post if y'all want about this one but the vibes were THERE

youtube

And now they go on another trip together to the US. Spotted by fans with a camera and a manager. Not a crew. So work or personal.... 🤷‍♀️

Look, you think that as brothers, as buddies, they would get tired of each other at some point. Want to do some of these things with their other besties they have for sure been missing a ton! Yet, they don't seem to be and they continue to be stuck like glue. And it's giving 🏳️‍🌈🎉🎊

Love that they never get tired of each other's company. Can't wait to see what they give us next!

#jikook #kookmin #jikook in 2025 #jikook timeline

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cleverwhvre · 1 month ago

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thinking about post-crash travis (like. freshly post-crash travis.)

travis clutching nat’s hand on the plane ride home because he doesn’t trust anyone else and doesn’t want to sit alone?

his mom coming to his hospital room (because you canNOT tell me that these poor kids aren’t going to be taken to a hospital straightaway!) and just breaking down crying, holding his hands and telling him she loves him.

he tells her that both javi and his dad died in the initial crash. he can’t look her in the eye when he says it but she doesn’t push. she’s certain she’d rather not know.

i’d assume that travis would be separated from the other yellowjackets because he’s a man, and he’s alone and fucking haaaates it. but he knows he’d get in trouble if he snuck to one of their rooms, because people would assume he’s doing something nefarious. but like. nat sneaking into his room because she doesn’t want to sleep alone, and she knows they’ll both get in trouble but she can’t bring herself to care, and neither does he.

surprisingly, they don’t get in trouble when morning comes. nat’s moved into the same room as him. nobody judges that they somehow end up in each other’s beds every night, clutching at each other.

post-crash travis (or ANY OF THE GIRLS FOR THAT MATTER) having a panic attack when his mom is taking a plane to go somewhere (idk where just bear with me) and calling her the moment she’s supposed to have landed. he doesn’t relax until she picks up.

post-crash travis who can’t force himself to speak at his dad’s funeral. he tries to speak at javi’s but ends up standing there for a few minutes in silence. everyone thinks it’s a choice. it’s not.

natalie’s at the funeral too. her and van were the only girls who got invited.

post-crash travis who doesn’t leave the house for a good few months after the crash. the first time he leaves is to go see lottie before she gets sent away. his mom thinks it’s sweet that he cares so much, but he comes back looking worse than he did before. he cries for the first time that night and ends up calling natalie. she comes over right away and stays for hours.

post-crash travis who gets his ged and gets the fuck out. natalie tries to fight him on it and asks if he wants her to come with. he says no.

ACTUALLY SORRY I HAVE ANOTHER!!! slightly nsfw though so it’s under the cut

Travis being unable to fully enjoy physical intimacy with anyone other than Nat because all he knows of intimacy is fucking doomcoming, Jackie, and Natalie (but with LottieVisionsTM).

Travis having 3somes because he thinks maybe what happened to him wasn’t all that bad. He flashes back to Doomcoming and has a panic attack once the other girls leave.

personal hc: He tries men once, just to see. Not his thing, but he gets the hype.

anyway just thinking about his view of intimacy being SO skewed that it takes him forever to learn what healthy sex is. might make a post about that later! maybe I’ll write about it! who knows?

#I had some thoughts about him today #wanted to share #yellowjackets #travis martinez #natalie scatorccio #travnat #yj

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pawsmos · 7 months ago

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100th post special!!!

this is art for my “Prince and the Knight” AU ive been working on for some time now.. here’s a meal whace nation!!

lore under cut!

KEHRHHEEB J LOVE THEM SO MUCH DUDE

vvvv

(im not that good with writing nor am i well versed in medieval honorifics and terminology or anything like that so there may be anachronisms)

(this is a separate au from any other medieval aus!! I’ve seen those and love those though)

(the rest of the drdt cast also exists in this au too btw. im considering making charles a butler or a lord or something. none of the cast are the king or queen by the way! that’s aces parents / Eden’s parents. ace also still has all his siblings)

tw for mild homophobia

- Prince Ace, a soon-to-be king, is arranged to marry Princess Eden from a nearby kingdom.

- Both Ace and Eden are upset about the marriage, as Ace is gay (he’s subconsciously aware that he isn’t attracted to women) and Eden is lesbian.

- They both feel resigned to their fate despite their discontent.

- While coping on the back balcony, Ace meets Sir Whit, the newly promoted head of the royal guard. (somehow. who knows how whit got promoted tbh)

- They talk, during which Whit makes joking advances towards Ace.

- Ace, though flustered by Whit’s passes, thinks about the consequences of both liking a man and betraying the kingdom.

(he doesn’t personally care about the latter but he does fear that his father would… idk execute him or something. he is also in denial.)

- Much to Ace’s dismay, they become close friends. However, Whit is aware of the upcoming marriage, so he tries to shut off his own feelings to save himself from feeling bad.

- A few months pass, in which Whit helps Ace overcome his own fears and come to terms with his feelings and sexuality. They start slow (like doing horseback riding together haha), but end up routinely sneaking out together.

- On one particular night, on the same balcony they met, just a day before the wedding, something happens. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Ace kisses Whit and REALLY likes it.

- He realizes that he wants this man. But, realizing that he might get caught, Ace runs away.

- Before the wedding, Ace and Eden finally meet. While preparing for the ceremony, they bond over their shared reluctance of their marriage.

- Eden confesses that she’s actually a lesbian, and there’s a lady back at her kingdom that she’s deeply in love with. (it’s arei LMFAO)

- Ace bluntly replies that he’s gay too.

- insert uhh lightbulb ding effect

- They conjure a plan to get married for convenience, and to appease their parents, but mostly so that they can pursue their own partners. They worry about the kiss though and the people who might be watching. Especially Whit and Arei.

- Skip to the wedding day, Whit suppresses his feelings (like usual) and claps while he watches someone he loves dearly get married off to another. Whit excuses himself from the wedding.

- For post-ceremonial reasons, Ace can’t apologize or even talk to Whit for another week.

i haven’t really thought about the rest but i assume that, once Ace is allowed to go out, he will be the one confessing his love to whit. whit gets “caught”, miscommunication,,,, idek they just… ARE IN LOVE. HAHA.. if you want to write any fics about this or make any art feel free! use the tag “#whace prince and knight au”

thank you!!

THANK YOU FOR READING MY CLICHE YAOI FANFIC ILY IF YOU GET THIS FAR.

THANK YOU FOR 75 FOLLOWERS TOO!!!!

id also like to say that i might start opening commissions because i need a form of making money. but umm i don’t know how to start a paypal or venmo or anything like that. LOL. digital gift cards could work i guess, uhhhh idk. dm me for info!

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sugardollcurse · 2 months ago

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idk if you've heard the song Paul by big thief but it got me thinking about if reader was also a singer & wrote a song post-break up about one of the bugs & it got real popular....at least in paul's case i firmly believe the man would go NUTS. like late night phone call to you or on your doorstep within the week hoping there might still be a chance kinda mad, but all of them would probably in their own way.

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ exes-to-maybe-again

꒰ summary ꒱ your song about paul becomes a hit. he hears it once, twice, twelve times... and then he’s outside your door

꒰ note ꒱ i screamed because i love big thief.. i'm inhaling this.. also doing paul for this cuz you mentioned him! :b the ending is left open on purpose, so you decide what happens next! do they try again? do they let go for good? it's up to you!

The studio was quiet when you recorded it.

One microphone. A single guitar. A couple takes, and not much fuss.

You hadn’t planned on it being anything. It had started out as a confession you didn’t have the nerve to speak aloud, a quiet half-song you’d been playing to the walls of your flat in the weeks after it ended. You’d written it sitting cross-legged on your bed, with a mug of cold tea on the windowsill and a Polaroid of the two of you still tucked inside your journal like a bookmark. Paul smiling with his eyes squinted shut, you laughing in motion. Summer clung to your skin then. Now it just sat heavy in your chest.

And so you played. You sang it once. Then again. Then one more time, barely above a whisper.

The engineer asked if you wanted another go.

You said no.

That was the take.

And just like that, it existed. A thing separate from you. Still bruised, but real.

You didn’t think it’d go anywhere. You certainly didn’t think anyone would hear it, outside your team, a few friends, maybe the odd radio station that owed your label a favor.

You didn’t expect it to move people.

But it did.

Like wildfire.

You found out when you walked into a café and heard it playing from the overhead speakers.

Your heart froze before the chorus.

You stood there like someone had poured ice water down your back, then turned and walked out before anyone could recognize your face.

It was already in the charts. Already in everyone’s mouths. People whispered about it with reverence and awe, like it was sacred or scandalous or both. They asked who it was about. Some guessed. Others knew. Beatles fans weren’t stupid.

Paul didn’t say anything publicly.

Not yet.

━━

It’s not the radio that kills him.

It’s George.

They’re in the car together, some charity thing in Hampstead, Paul half-asleep behind his sunglasses, and George is fiddling with the dial, quiet as ever, until something catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over, still.

Then: “That one’s about you, innit?”

Paul frowns. “What?”

George nods toward the speaker.

The song’s almost over, but the voice, your voice, filters in like smoke through cracked windows. Familiar and soft and sharper than he remembers.

Paul goes still.

George lowers the volume. “Didn’t know Y/n was puttin’ out a single.”

Paul doesn’t answer.

George glances over. “You alright, mate?”

He isn’t.

But he lies. “Yeah.”

━━

But then came the night.

Three weeks after it dropped. A week after it reached #1. Five months since the two of you last spoke.

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when you heard the knock.

Three of them, steady and insistent. Not drunk-persistent, not a neighbor with a complaint.

You froze where you stood, halfway to brushing your teeth.

Another knock. Louder.

You padded to the door, heart thudding, every cell in your body already knowing before you looked.

And there he was.

Paul.

In the dark. In a coat that didn’t quite match the weather. Rain in his hair, on his collar. His eyes were huge in the porch light, like he couldn’t believe you were really standing there.

You opened the door without a word.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked.

You didn’t let him in.

Not at first.

You stood just inside the doorway with your hand on the knob and stared at him like he might vanish. But he didn’t. He just shifted on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.

“I weren’t gonna come,” he said. “Kept tellin’ meself I wouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“But then you-Christ, you sang it. And I thought…” He swallowed. “Maybe you wanted me to hear it.”

You didn’t say anything.

The porchlight buzzed quietly above you both. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded.

“I’ve been going mad,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You know that? Proper losin' it.”

“Paul-”

“You wrote a song,” he went on, voice raw, “and now every bloody café, every car, every soddin’ club’s playin’ it. You’re hauntin’ me.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t write it for you.”

“You didn’t write it for me?” He laughed, once. Bitter. “I’m in every bloody word.”

“You’re in the feeling,” you said. “Not the audience.”

“Well, I heard it.” He took a step closer, rain dripping from the edge of his fringe. “And I know what you meant. You said things in that song you never said to me.”

You looked away.

That was true.

Because the truth was: you hadn’t known how to say it then. Not while everything was unraveling, not while he was in motion all the time, flying to cities you couldn’t follow, disappearing into interviews and egos and late-night mixing sessions. The version of Paul you’d fallen for, the one who made tea barefoot in the mornings, who hummed melodies against your shoulder, who used your ankle as a footrest while strumming his bass... he got harder to find.

And when you’d tried to talk, he’d said “we’ll figure it out.” But figuring it out never came. Just more miles. More silence. Until it collapsed.

You rubbed your arms and stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

He nodded once. Like it hurt.

Inside, the flat smelled like old books and chamomile tea.

Paul stood awkwardly near the table while you fetched him a towel. He used it to blot his hair, his hands trembling faintly.

“You still listen to records?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I figured you’d gone all posh by now.”

You gave him a look. “It’s not a palace.”

“No,” he murmured. “But it smells like you.”

You ignored that.

He turned to face you fully now, eyes flicking across your face like he was memorizing it. “Why did you write it?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sighed and sat down, curling your legs beneath you. “I had all these feelings, and nowhere to put them. So I wrote a song. That’s what people like us do.”

“People like us,” he echoed. “Right.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You know what it did to me?”

You looked up.

“It wrecked me,” he said. “I’ve played it more’n a hundred times. Know every breath, every pause. I put it on in the dead of night like I’m tryin’ to torture meself.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t you?” His voice rose, not loud, but sharp. “You didn’t just bleed, you broadcast it. You put the ugliest bits of us on show.”

“No,” you said, steady. “I put myself on display. My heartbreak. My mistakes. The parts I never let anyone see, even when we were together.”

Paul stared at you, shoulders heaving. You could see the walls cracking.

“I loved you,” he said.

You closed your eyes.

“I still do,” he added, quiet.

You looked at him again. “Then why didn’t you stay?”

Silence.

Rain pattered on the window.

He dropped into the chair across from you and buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how,” he said, muffled. “I thought I’d have time. Thought you’d wait. Thought everything else’d calm down eventually and I’d come back to you.”

You stared at him. “That’s not how love works.”

“I know,” he snapped. Then softened. “I know. Now I do. But then… God, everything was noise. You were the only quiet thing I had, and I-” he looked up, eyes red, “I let you slip away.”

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The kettle clicked off in the kitchen. A wind rattled the windowpane.

Paul leaned back, arms crossed, like he was holding himself together with the fabric of his coat.

“D’you think,” he said slowly, “that we could ever try again?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m not askin’ to fix it all. I just…” He leaned forward. “I miss you. You. Not the song. Not the idea of you. Just… the person who’d sit up with me at 3 a.m. talkin’ shite. The one who made up daft lyrics for my tunes when I couldn’t think of any. The one who looked at me like I wasn't disappearin’.”

Your throat closed.

“I want to be that person again. For you.”

You swallowed. “That’s not just something you want. That’s something you do. Every day.”

“I know.”

You looked at his face. Really looked.

There was no arrogance left. No public Paul, no charm turned up for a crowd. Just a boy, wrinkled around the eyes, wet hair curling at the temples, desperation clinging to his words like moss.

He was asking.

But he wasn’t begging.

He was offering you the first version of honesty you’d heard from him in months.

And still…

The pain hadn’t vanished. The trust hadn’t rebuilt itself in an hour. The song still existed. So did the silence that had followed your breakup. The long nights. The hollow mornings. The feeling of being unloved in someone else’s spotlight.

You rose slowly and walked to the record shelf. Ran your fingers along the spines. Stopped at the blank-labeled acetate, your demo copy, and turned it in your hands.

Paul watched you.

“What are you thinkin'?” he asked.

You set the record down gently.

“I don't know,” you said.

Paul frowned.

And you turned to face him again.

He left a little after that.

You didn’t say yes.

You didn’t say no.

You stood in the doorway again, barefoot, as he stepped into the street and looked back once, waiting. Hoping.

You nodded.

That was it.

Not a door slammed. Not a kiss in the rain. Just a look. A maybe.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

#paul mccartney #paul mccartney imagines #paul mccartney fanfic #paul mccartney oneshot #paul mccartney x reader #the beatles #the beatles x reader #the beatles oneshot #the beatles fanfic #beatles x reader #beatles #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #x reader

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natihoneybee · 2 months ago

Text

Kagi-kun & the Basketball Team and HiraKagi Theories Post Chapter 29

In my free time, I spent the last few days rereading all of Hirano & Kagiura (including the novel) and then skimming through all of Sasaki & Miyano for Easter eggs. I wanted to compile as many details as I could find that’s related to Kagiura and his basketball team. I’m doing this to organize my thoughts better, and piece together details about the team.

While going through the material, I did come up with more theories for the upcoming chapter(s). But I might have to make a separate thread depending on how long the post gets. Anyway, I want this post to have facts and key details, so I’ll try to include volume and page numbers, too.

The first half of the post about Kagi-kun & the basketball team possibly has some spoilers for Ch. 29 but not really. Just in case I’m putting it under a “read more” line.

What we know about the basketball team

These are the names of basketball players mentioned so far: Shirahama Kyouji, Tomonori Kuda, Yamada, and Muroi Yuuki. These are the basketball players’ numbers we know about so far: Kagiura is #11 and there are two players who are #7 & #4 from a Shirahama flashback (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-19).

We know that Kagiura and the basketball team go to the city to watch basketball games or play outside of practice at a gym (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Kagiura tells Hirano that there’s an arena nearby where a pro basketball team plays. And that the school basketball team sometimes takes the school buses (Vol 1, chapter 4, page 17). Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in the next volume. But I will address that idea at the end in the “Basketball Retreat Theory” section.

Kagiura Akira

*I'm gonna be brief with Kagi's section because I could go on and on about him hehe

I’m really excited to see more of how Kagiura interacts with his teammates on the basketball team. While rereading, I focused on the scenes of Kagi with his basketball teammates and these scenes from (Vol 5, ch 23a) really stood out to me. Kagiura overhears another player complaining about him “getting out of cleaning” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3). And when he meets up with Hirano later that chapter, it’s revealed he’s late because he stayed behind and that “they needed help cleaning up” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 8). I think that really goes to show the type of person Kagi is and how much he cares about the basketball club. He really works hard at it and doesn’t want anyone questioning his dedication to it. I'll get into this trait of his later in the Basketball Retreat Theory.

Jealous-kun

*I saw someone in another post say that this guy^ complaining about Kagi “getting out of cleaning” from (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3) is the same guy in (Vol 6, chapter 29). And OMGG you are totally right!! GAAAHHH!! Idk his name though. If anyone could come up with a nickname while we wait, that would make talking about him easier (i’ll prob just call him jealous-kun for now). I'm assuming based on the translation, that he's also a second year.

Back to Kagi

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is a scene from (Vol 3, chapter 14, page 10-12) where a girl tries to give chocolates to Kagi on valentines day. I think her near confession is very precious. Kagi is so sweet about kindly turning down her chocolates. He seems really serious about what she has to say to him, too: he’s genuinely listening, asks her for her name, thanks her for watching their games and offers to walk her to the station. And the words she used to describe him “you looked so cool and mature when you were focusing”, definitely stuck with him in the context of Hirano: “I wonder if he’d think I’m cool and fall for me if I acted more mature”. Just something to think about. Now, this valentine’s day scene reminds of a scene in sasamiya with Shirahama, but I’ll get to that in his character section below.

Shirahama Kyouji

Shirahama in HiraKagi

Shirahama and Kagiura seem to be close, they frequently play basketball together even when there’s no practice scheduled, like during lunch (Vol 3, chapter 12, page 9-19) and on weekends (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Someone in another post called them “basketball buddies” hehe. I think we’re definitely going to see more of their friendship as teammates in the upcoming chapters. Shirahama talks a lot about wanting a girlfriend, and often whines about how Kagiura is so popular with girls (Vol 4, chapter 20.6, pages 2-5). In the extra “Something About White Day”, Shirahama learns that Kagi has an unrequited love though, so I’m wondering if they will talk about love later on or if Kagiura will open up about his crush on Hirano to Shirahama. And even though Shirahama lightly complains about Kagi’s popularity with girls, he definitely cares about and respects Kagi enough to defend him from other players who are jealous of Kagi (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3).

Shirahama in SasaMiya

Now jumping to the sasamiya series real quick in their third year: Something I’ve noticed is shirahama becoming more of a regular character since Vol 8. And we finally get a character name tag for him in (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4). Since he’s becoming a bigger role in the sasamiya series, this goes back to my idea of shirahama possibly having a bigger role in hirakagi, too (i.e. he and kagi talking more about crushes or relationships). When I reread the parts of how Shirahama reacted to sasaki and miyano’s relationship (with the context of hirakagi) I started thinking: Does Shirahama know something about Kagiura and Hirano (to some extent)? Like maybe he knows that Kagiura has a crush or at this point is in a relationship that’s secret. Before learning about Miyano and Sasaki, maybe shirahama’s only example of how a couple acts was Kagiura and his experiences. Since, Shirahama seemed really surprised that Miyano wasn’t keeping his relationship a secret, I wonder if maybe Kagiura ever confided to Shirahama about his feelings for or eventual relationship with Hirano and if it was kept secret at some point because they were roommates (this is only the case if they start dating while being roommate, but I think they start dating in Kagiura’s third year tbh).

For Reference, here are the page numbers in sasamiya with Shirahama that I’m referring to: (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4-8), (Vol 9, chapter 43, page 8), (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). And these are the specific Shirahama scenes/lines that stick out to me in the sasamiya series that may or may not back up my hirakagi theory involving shirahama (or I’m just delulu *shrug*):

In (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4) Shirahama says “I’m never gonna get the chance to stay late at school getting everything ready for the cultural festival and then leave with a girl after I tell her it’s dangerous so she should let me walk her home!” He says it’s from a sim game, but it’s really specific and actually reminded me of Kagiura on valentine’s day haha. I wonder if this will happen to Kagiura in his 2nd year in the upcoming cultural festival.

“Let’s say I don’t find a girlfriend before college. Then I’m gonna end up getting a job and going out drinking, saying, ‘I wanna get married…!’ I feel like I’m gonna end up sounding like this guy on the team, and I don’t want that.” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 5).

“You scared me…!! You can’t just say that! It’s a secret!” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 7)

Shirahama says “Is that really what couples usually do…? Guess I was overthinking it.” (Vol 9, ch 43, pg 8)

I’m really interested in what y’all think about the scene in (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). It seems like Shirahama really doesn’t want to miss basketball practice and the flashback scene he recalls actually hits a nerve. Do you think maybe Shirahama is feeling insecure about his role in the basketball club here? Like maybe he’s not always part of the main team in tournaments? I initially thought that this was a Kagi cameo, but the jersey’s say #4 and #7, and I’ve read somewhere that Kagi’s jersey number is #11.

*Side note: I can’t remember which page in sasamiya it was, but Shirahama mentions going on group dates a lot. Is he going with some guys from the basketball team? If anyone knows, please please pleasee let me know. Obviously, I don’t think Kagi would go, but I can imagine him being asked to go to help the other guys out or “evening out the numbers” haha OR being asked NOT to go because he’s too popular with girls. It could be a funny scene to see idk.

Okay, I think that’s all I have to say about Shirahama on the basketball team for now. I’ll probably refer back to him later though.

Tomonori Kuda

I think he’s the one Kagi mentions in these passages in the HiraKagi light novel on pages 22 and 26. And I think that they might have a “rivals to teammates to friends” type of relationship. At least, that’s the impression I got from the novel when Kagi cheers for him at the Sports Festival and thinks “I’ve gotta tell him how glad I am that he joined the basketball team.”

Also, you can see the name “Tomonori Kuda” in Kagiura’s phone call log, and before Hirano called, he was the last person Kagi talked to on the phone (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 31). So, I’m kinda hoping that they’re close and we see more of that. When the regular players are called over at practice, Kagi and Kuda’s names are both called, and we get to put a face to the name (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 4).

Yamada “Run, Yamada!”

Someone is named Yamada (unknown given name) on the basketball team. This is literally just based on this one background character during practice when Shirahama is talking to Sasaki in (SasaMiya Vol 9, chapter 46, page 11 ) lol.

Muroi Yuuki “headband-kun”

I saw someone referring to him as “headband-kun” in a tag and I thought it was the cutest thing. Muroi Yuuki is a newer character we’ve just been introduced to, and we know he’s Kagiura’s kouhai. He’s a first year, while Kagi is a second year. I believe his first appearance is (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 4 & 7). In the scene where Kagi is helping Muroi with paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), we see a close up of his name and his reason for staying off-campus. We see quite a bit of him in Chapter 29: where he’s on the school bus with the basketball team, he asks Kagiura which activity he’s doing, introduces himself to Hirano telling him he’s on the basketball team and then asks to have Hirano’s contact information. So we know that 1) he will be at the off-campus basketball retreat, 2) he’s a kouhai on the basketball team, 3) He really looks up to Kagiura. I think he’s adorable and I am soooo looking forward to seeing more of Kagiura and Muroi’s kouhai/senpai relationship. I am so glad Kagiura finally has a kouhai of his own! Also, that part where Kagi gives Muroi his phone to watch a game… so cute, it’s giving ipad kid lmao 🤣😭.

HiraKagi Theories (Spoilers for Chapter 29!!!)

Okay! So that’s it for what I have on the basketball team profiles. I’m gonna get into what I think is going happen after Chapter 29. This section is definitely going to have spoilers!

Basketball Retreat Theory

I think there are going to be multiple arcs coming into play during the months May-October of Hirano’s 3rd and Kagiura’s 2nd year (Hirakagi Vol 7 and onward). First, I’m going to address my Basketball Retreat Theory. Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is actually going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in this coming up volume.

I can’t remember exactly where this image^ is from, but it got me thinking: Does Kagi become the new captain for the basketball team? I don’t think that’s something that has been confirmed or not but it just makes sense, right? I just get the feeling there’s gotta be more behind the question that Hanzawa is asking Shirahama, especially since Hanzawa is so familiar with Kagiura and his character. I mean like Hanzawa had asked Kagi about being an RA at some point. Kagi was in the running for being an RA without even realizing it! Tashiro (who became ping pong captain) mentioned that he started getting scouted for the position during the summer/ cultural festival season, which is coming up soon in the hirakagi timeline.

Now, back to the basketball retreat and upcoming tournaments: If Kagi’s senpais on the basketball team are going to start scouting for the new team captain, I am absolutely positive they are going to partially determine who to choose based on how well things run smoothly at the retreat and tournaments. Going back to Kagiura’s profile from earlier, we know he’s Basketball Team Captain worthy and Hirano has even said to Kagi that “They’re well aware of how hard you’ve been working” (Vol 5, chapter 23b, page 6). Not to even mention, Kagi in his 2nd year has now been training and teaching the younger members too! So, following this theory that Kagi is in the running for becoming the new basketball team captain, I think this definitely adds to the possibility that we will see some basketball team drama. Especially if Jealous-kun is another 2nd year basketball player in the team interested in that position.

Homophobic Jealous-kun Theory

Now, this other theory involves Jealous-kun much more. My other theory is that Jealous-kun, who has a history of intently watching Kagiura, catches Kagiura having a moment with Hirano—and like Hirano with Inchinose—Kagi makes eye contact and realizes they were caught. Only, Jealous-kun isn’t as sweet about it and reacts homophobically. If this does happen, I actually think this might go a really angsty route where Hirano and/or Hanzawa get involved. Like… I’m wondering if there will be a physical fight between Kagi and Jealous-kun (which just thinking about that scares me so much cause idek if Kagi can fight??) But the reason I think this is a huge possibility is because of some clues in both hirakagi and sasamiya series.

It’s been brought up multiple times that Hirano is good in a fight, in (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 14) Sasaki tries to reassure Hanzawa that “Hirano’s good in a fight. If anything happens, he’ll be fine… I think”. To which Hanzawa replies “That ‘I think’ doesn’t really make me feel better”. So I’m wondering if there will be a point in the story where we will see Hirano get in a physical fight. Either he fights someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* to defend Kagi or Kagi is in a physical fight with someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* and Hirano gets involved to try to split it up.

If this does happen, I think Hanzawa could be a witness to this situation. Fast forward to the scene from sasamiya (Vol 6, chapter 30, page 12). Hanzawa says “Some of the guys in my life are gay, and I’ve seen them get in fights before. It’s scary. Whenever they get hurt, I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends…” Now, when I first read this scene I only thought about it in the context of Hanzawa’s brothers past relationships (maybe they dealt with domestic abuse). BUT in the context of hirakagi (it’s interesting that Hirano is pictured here), it’s definitely not the case of domestic abuse or toxic relationships.

I think the wording here is on purpose because 1) Hanzawa used the phrase “some of the guys in my life are gay” instead of just using “brothers”. So I immediately thought of Kagiura. 2) When he says “I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends”, I feel like it could have a double meaning where “that something” that “happened with one of their boyfriends” could be Hanzawa and Hirano finding out that Kagiura is in a fight with someone and Hirano dashes to him (we all remember how fast he ran when kagi was overtired).

*sigh* Just thinking about this situation is stressing me out. So for now I’m moving on to another thought process and that’s Hirano’s confession, but I’ll get back to Hanzawa later.

Hirano’s Confession

As of right now it’s May in the hirakagi timeline, the sports festival just happened and in the sasamiya timeline this is when Sasaki (awkwardly) confesses to Miyano.

In the sasamiya series in (Vol 3, chapter 15, page 21), we have this beautiful moment between Hirano and Sasaki that happens in June. Hmph. So, Hirano’s reaction definitely feels personal, right?? Because there’s definitely a window between May and June, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harusono stretched out that period of time. Still, I’m pretty positive that Hirano is going to confess in June right before or right after this scene with Sasaki. Hirano’s comment: “Stop making excuses and just tell him already!” Absolutely confirms to me that there is going to be something on Hirano’s mind that he might use as an excuse to wait to tell Kagi, that will delay his confession, or that will just make him feel hesitant. And I think that something could be related to the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous kun theory, or how Hanzawa feels about gay relationships (at this point in the series). And when he tells this to Sasaki, I think he’s also saying this to himself (maybe).

Hanzawa’s Involvement

Time to get back to Hanzawa. In the sasamiya timeline, we’re officially introduced to his character with a name tag in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8). At this time, it’s July. I think it’s really interesting that Harunsono chose this point to officially introduce Hanzawa, especially with Hirano’s dorm life brought up on the same page and Hanzawa seeming to be unphased. Later in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 22, page 19-20 & 24) Hanzawa and Miyano are discussing what love is. At this time, it’s September during cultural festival preparations. I saw someone in another post say that it feels like Hanzawa is repeating someone else’s words. I believe this is definitely the case. In the Sasaki and Miyano anime, Hanzawa’s speech actually overlaps with scenes of Hirano & Kagiura and Kuresawa & Ogasawara on the phone with their respective girlfriends. And the reference to Hirano and Kagiura feels like such an obvious clue now looking back at it. The conversation between Hanzawa and Miyano (in the anime and manga) goes like this:

Miyano: What do you think it means to like someone?

Hanzawa: I think it depends on the person. Like wanting to do stuff with them? Or like wanting to be together. Wanting to hold hands. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to kiss them. Wanting to hold them. Or wanting to have them all to yourself. … Love is when you can’t stop thinking about the other person, or so they say.

Everything that Hanzawa says and uses as an example of Love literally relates back to Hirano and Kagiura. So, it could be that this is a speech that Hirano has said to Hanzawa before. Even the phrasing reminds me of Hirano. Like in hirakagi (chapter 29, pages 12-13 & 16) when Hirano is talking to Ichinose, Hirano asks “Have you ever wanted to kiss someone? … And try various things. … I’m fine with touching them”. Hirano is sorta still figuring out the type of “like/love” he feels for kagiura (although in chapter 29, page 34 it looks like he’s realized it’s the same as kagiura’s like/love), but once he figures it out completely, I think he’s going to share this information with Hanzawa. And explain it to Hanzawa with personal examples:

Kagiura and Hirano feel love differently (it depends on the person)

Sometimes it’s wanting to try various things (like wanting to do stuff with them?)

Wanting to continue living together as roommates (like wanting to be together)

Wanting to hold hands (something Hirano and Kagiura have done)

Wanting to touch them (the 10 seconds touch everyday)

Wanting to kiss them (something Kagiura or Ichinose want to do when they like someone)

Wanting to hold them (hugging)

Wanting to have them all to yourself (dating and Kagi's "More than anything, I want to be with you" in chapter 29, page 28)

When you can’t stop thinking about the other person (literally Hirano every moment of everyday and Kagi when Hirano leaves)

And I think this is going to happen in July, since that’s when Hanzawa was introduced to the sasamiya series and seems to be more open to gay relationships by this time. I just think that Harusono is very intentional with their characters and would set it up this way. Especially since in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8) Hanzawa doesn’t seem to be as worried as he did before about Hirano and Kagiura’s dorm life as roommates (him no longer being an RA might be a factor as well, but I think it’s mostly because Hirano has talked it over with Hanzawa regarding his closeness with Kagi).

*Side Note: Now this isn't really about Hanzawa's involvement, but on the topic of Hirano’s feelings and for the sake of sticking to chronological order with referencing chapter 29 so much, I'm going to put it here. Are we going to get a kiss in the next chapter?? Before they were interrupted by Muroi (chapter 29, page 30), it seems like they were talking about trying it (when they have more privacy, like maybe back at the dorm?). Because like… Hirano didn’t say no, just not here. Ya know?

Hirakagi Timeline Post Chapter 29

Okay, so I think I’ve addressed everything I wanted to. But to lay it out in a more organized fashion, here is a timeline based on all my theories and how I think it could pan out post chapter 29:

May -> Right now we’re at the Sports Festival

May - June -> basketball retreat/tournaments/team drama that Kagiura is gonna have to face; the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous-kun theory? (could happen anywhere between May-July)

June -> Hirano’s confession!! (hopefully)

June - July -> Hirano and Hanzawa’s heart to heart moment

September - October -> Cultural festival; possible basketball tournament (shoutout to @rubyrose143 for finding this easter egg in sasamiya chapter 23.1)

December - January -> New Year’s Eve (Kagi is sick; Hirano goes to the shrine with Sasaki and meets Miyano, Kuresawa and Tashiro there in the "Special Drama CD My Wish", also shown as an extra chapter in sasamiya Vol 3)

Well, that's it. I hope this was somewhat helpful and entertaining to read. Thank you all for interacting, please let me know if I missed anything, and please please please tell me what you think! ❤️

#hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #hirakagi #kagihira #shirahama kyouji #hanzawa masato #sasaki to miyano #shou harusono

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croquettish · 14 days ago

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Hi!! I’m a big fan of your meta and really appreciate your contributions to the fandom. especially your post on sexuality in medieval Bohemia, which I found sooo fascinating and well done.

I was wondering if you’ve ever written about medieval noble marriages and how that arrangement might affect Hansry. There’s a lot of discussion (and fanfic lol) about whether it would have any real impact on their relationship, or if it would just be seen as a political necessity with no hard feelings. Henry comes across as fairly nonchalant about it by the end - especially compared to Hans, who seems more conflicted. And it also makes me wonder: how would Jitka feel about all this?

Given how amazing you are with historical context AND Henry and Hans character insight, I’d love to hear your take on how you think things might play out for them post-canon

This is so kind, thank you so much 😭

Naturally this sent me down a research spiral. I haven't written about medieval noble marriages before, but I do know more than the average bear about it. (You will learn more than you bargained for here; this is a threat and I apologize in advance.)

The short answer is that marriage among the nobility was pretty much never about love. I'm using a qualifier here even though I really want to just say never. But idk, maybe there were some nobles who got just insanely lucky and happened to fall in love with a viable match that their parents also approved of. Usually, like 99% of the time, it was a purely contractual thing. The purpose of marriage was the consolidation of assets or land, the joining of two houses for the purposes of a treaty or an alliance, etc. For that, they rarely needed to meet before the wedding to begin with.

The general hope was that the two parties involved would fall in love after the wedding, but that's more of an ideal outcome. People were fully aware of the fact that this wasn't realistic, and there wasn't some weighty expectation for either party to make that happen. All that's really expected is for them to produce at least one heir that survives into adulthood. That didn't always happen, but you know.

We have a few examples* that we can turn to here. Edward II and Piers Gaveston were almost certainly involved with each other, and even then, both of them had wives and produced children. Richard the Lionheart and King Philip II likewise were as close as Hansry, said to have eaten from the same plate "... and that their beds did not separate them." (Hilariously, one historian went on record that poor people shared beds all the time and therefore this meant that the two weren't gay. Because royals are famously very poor and need to share beds for warmth.) Richard didn't have any children with his wife, though he was said to father an illegitimate child.

Philip, on the other hand, is a very interesting case. He first married Isabelle of Hainaut and then decided four years later to try and divorce her on account of consanguinity. At the time she was fourteen and it's "not at all clear that the marriage had been consummated by then." The request for a divorce was denied, and five years later she died in childbirth. This left him with one very sickly three year old son, which meant that he needed to produce another heir who would live to adulthood. He was set to be married to Princess Ingeborg of Denmark, who was said to be "beautiful, holy, and of good morals" (here, her dowry was cash instead of land, making this less politically savvy of a match). I make mention of her character specifically because the day after the wedding Philip decided he didn't want to be married to her anymore, and supposedly "began violently to abhor, tremble, and pale at her sight." Supposedly he entered the marriage bed and then promptly left again, insisting that he was unable to consummate the marriage (Ingeborg said differently). He then got the French church council together to request a divorce on account of her supposedly being related to his first wife. Ingeborg, tragically, had no idea that this would happen and effectively broke down sobbing when an interpreter gave her the news. After Philip married someone else and had kids with her, declared that that marriage was null and void because he was still married to Ingeborg, and after his wife died he inevitably had to take Ingeborg back.

This is quite a bit later than 15th c, but another fascinating example is Frederick the Great, who almost certainly was queer and who did not want to get married to the point that he threatened suicide and explained to his sister that there could be neither love nor friendship between them. Despite this, he was forced to marry, and he proceeded to put her in another palace far away from him and forbade her from visiting him. They didn't have kids and he never displayed any affection, though he did occasionally deign to visit her on her birthday.

What does this mean for Hansry? As ever, the answer is "it depends." We know nothing about Jitka and certainly don't know her character. We can assume that she wouldn't necessarily expect there to be love in her marriage, but it would almost certainly be the hope. If he does what's expected of him and produces an heir, there isn't a whole lot that anyone could say against him unless his relationship with Henry was discovered. It definitely is something that would only happen out of political necessity, but that doesn't always mean that we can account for human emotion to not get in the way. Realism dictates that there would be no love, but perhaps not to the extent that people like Frederick or Philip shunned their wives. For fic writers, it will be entirely up to them to decide how Jitka might respond, but in terms of what things were like at the time, so long as an heir was produced, that is really the only expectation that a marriage would carry with it.

*This is a misnomer. We can't really impose modern sexualities on people of the past and we tragically can't ask their opinions on the matter, so everything I'm saying here is purely reasonable speculation, which is all a historian can really ask for.

Source:

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Unmarriages: Women, Men, and Sexual Unions in the Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014.

#history tag #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #kingdom come deliverance #kcd meta #jitka of kunstadt #hansry #tagging the ship just bc this could be a useful resource for fic writers #tam talks

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kpeanuts · 9 months ago

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@tadc-funfair-au's Pomctober/Pomni Inktober Day 5 - @sm-baby's Carnival AU

WALL OF TEXT INCOMING

Hands down, no competition, my favorite AU to read and learn about as it unfolds. On the other hand, this might be the one that I am least proud of after drawing. I know I said that I'd come out swinging for Day 5, but I legitimately couldn't find the vision. I feel like I made so, so many mistakes just on this one alone. Ignoring the practical mistakes for a second, for some reason, I had such a hard time thinking on what I wanted to have as the setting. I thought of using Pomni's tent with her on the dive-board or on a pedestal you see the ringmaster standing on, then I thought in the bedroom hallway, and even after sleeping on it I still couldn't get it right. Eventually I just decided to draw sentient Pomni outside of Kinger's throne room (at least I'm pretty sure Kinger would have an ornate entryway to his room, idk). I'm absolutely terrible at drawing environments, interior or otherwise, only reason why I thought Day 3's background looked remotely good was because I was able to use the horror aspect of it to cover it up, but Carnival doesn't have the same attributes to use as a veil. But it's whatever, I can't bring myself to touch the file further since I know that it's just going to get worse.

I'm going to skip over Day 6 completely for two reasons: One, refresh my mind in terms of drawing TADC and do research for Day 7. Two, I don't feel like logging into Instagram (or twitter, which means that I'm going to skip over Day 10 as well).

Now, while I am going to stop drawing TADC and Pomctober for tomorrow, I've found another Inktober prompt list, Goretober. So I'm going to just do a few drawings for that one and warning people in advance that do not wish to see that kind of stuff: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, GO SET YOUR FILTERED TAGS TO INCLUDE "cw: guro", "cw: blood", "cw: death" AND/OR "cw: gore"! I'll be including the Violence content label but this is just for good measure.

With that, finally, I'm done with the usual ranting. Again, I'm going to be posting a few very violent and bloody sketches for Goretober later on, so go filter out the tags I listed above by going to "Settings" > "Account" > "Content you see" > "Filtered Tags". Those posts won't be showing up often, and I might make an entirely separate blog in the future just to make sure that my usual content isn't mixed in with the mature. I shall leave you with that warning, and safe travels!

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanart #pomni #inktober #the amazing digital carnival #carnival au #pomctober #pomtober #tadc au #tadc pomni #pomni au

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wisteria-lodge · 6 months ago

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About the gender in hp thing: I know JKR wrote the books wanting the patriarchy to have minimal impact on the world but even through a couple of the metas you wrote you can see that that’s not the case. In your character crying post there’s a clear implication that showing that kind of emotion is a weakness but also that it is not masculine. Equating strength with masculinity is foundational for cultures with strong patriarchies, and this idea infests every other aspect of their lives. Idk because of that and many other reasons I have a very hard time of writing the wizarding world as anything other than a patriarchy

This is a watsonian analysis vs doylist analysis issue.

I 100% do think that JKR went out of her way to really, really downplay the importance of gender in her worldbuilding - and this contributes a lot to the specific feel of the world. You could genderflip, idk. Neville. Snape. Draco. Hermione. McGonagall. and almost no plot elements or character dynamics would change. (Maybe James would bully Severus slightly differently? Idk. He honestly might not.)

Compare HP to something like His Dark Materials, another British fantasy series released at the same time, marketed to the same demographic... in which gender politics are REALLY important. Lyra conforming or not conforming to specific gender norms hugely impacts the way a lot of other characters treat her. So much of Mrs. Coulter's character has to do with how she's navigated the back ways and side avenues into power, because the patriarchy that runs *that* world is extremely explicit and plot relevant, and there's a lot she just can't do.

Now is JKR *good* at writing a gender-blind world? Not really no. So she's stripped out the importance of gender in a fairly surface way, while leaving evidence of the foundations intact. Everyone's a het couple, women take the husband's last name, Molly and Petunia are at home while their husbands work and there's no inverse of that situation, Fleur's father walks her down the aisle at her wedding, it's important that Hermione be able to tame her hair when she wants to, but for Harry it doesn't matter...

There is ALSO the narrative voice poking through and putting its own spin on everything. This is where we start getting judgment (for example) directed both at girls who are too feminine, and at girls who aren't feminine enough. Or sexual assault not really "sticking" if it's directed at boys. We don't have a character talking, in-universe, about how it's wrong for a woman not to want children. We just have a book where the only women who don't have kids (or take care of kids) are villains. Same thing with masculinity = strength = no crying. That's something the narrative framing / bias of the author brings to the table, but it's kept out of the mechanics of the magical world. I guess you could say Harry and Draco equate crying/fainting with weakness (but not explicitly anti-masculinity)... but then Lupin goes out of his way to separate 'fainting' from 'weakness' anyway.

Interestingly, gender is much more baked into the muggle worldbuilding. (Part of why I think leaving that aspect out of the wizarding world was a deliberate choice.) Smeltings is an all-boys school, so is St Brutus.' Dudley teases Harry about his "boyfriend" Cedric, Vernon sizes up Arthur and Mad-Eye by how masculine they are. At the beginning of Book 4, Dudley's diet is this very gendered conflict between Vernon and Petunia, where Vernon doesn't want a "little nancy boy for a son" - and that is one of the only truly gendered insults in the whole series. "Crybaby" almost counts... but the Slytherins tease Hermione for crying too, so idk. They tend to go for pretty gender-neutral insults, like "poor" "unimportant parents" "looks like a chipmunk" ... etc.

Like... I'm trying to imagine a scene were Lucius lays into Draco for not being masculine enough, and I can't. I think that in a canon-compliant fic, a scene like that would feel odd. The conflict would need to be framed more like a "you disgrace the name of Malfoy with your weakness" or "never tell anyone outside the family what you're thinking" or "your believe yourself to be more intelligent than you truly are." Not "you need to man up."

#hp #gender stuff #jkr critical #patriarchy #watsonian vs doylist

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surfinminho · 11 months ago

Text

Things that turn them on

Hyung line | maknae line

Wc: 1.3k

Warnings: gun play, anal, sub!skz, mommy kink, slapping/hitting

authors note: I'm back!! please bear with me, this was a draft since February so it might suck and I haven't wrote since lmao 😭 idk when I'll post the second half of this, but I'll try not to go AWOL again😪

Chan

You had him wrapped around your finger, he doesn't usually act like this. Being a leader of a group doesn't usually allow him to behave this way.

But when he's with you? It seems as if ever thought in his head disappears. He tries to not let it show especially when he's with the members but he can't help himself.

Him changbin and jisung were all in the studio, doing their tasks while sharing lyrics they came up with.

His complete focus was on this one assignment, something just didn't seem right. In the late nights when he was awake on his laptop, trying to get the lyrics right you would come. Calming his nerves and making him take a break. He needed that stress reliever again with the way he felt like he was going to cry over this demo.

his phone buzzed, sending vibrations in his pocket.

"Hi chan ^^ I'll be home a little late. Like late late, I picked up a extra shift. Hope you don't stay at the studio for too long. Love you 🩷"

He sent a quick message back, running his hands through his hair for the nth time.

The clock ticks to 1:30 am. Exhaustion took over him. Eyes threatening to close.

"I think it's time to call it wraps" changbin spoke up, shutting his notebook.

Chan and jisung both agreed, going their separate ways.

When chan got home, he felt so different. He took his usual shower, eating a snack, even managing to get a little more done on that track. As he got into bed, his nose was filled with the scent of you. He didn't even know when he started tearing up, or when they started pouring out.

To his luck, you came home at that time. Taking off your shoes and hanging your coat up. You didn't bother eating anything, having eating at your job.

You expected chan to be asleep when you walked into your shared room, not him crying in the dark.

"Chan? What's up?" Your socks padded against the wooden floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed.

"N-need you mommy" he tugged at the bottom your shirt, hand reaching underneath it.

It was something you guys did when he was really stressed. You didn't mind it, as it calmed him down.

"Need me? How so?" You maneuvered yourself to sit on top of him, hands grounding yourself by holding his thighs.

"Wan- wanna suck your tits. Please?" Tears were still seen in the corner of his eyes. Threatening to fall once more.

You lifted up your shirt, unclipping your bra in the back, letting him attach his mouth to one of your breasts. It's easy for him to relax and fall asleep just like this. Though, he doesn't think he'll let anyone know Abt his little secret.

Minho

I think I've mentioned this in my other ot8 post but honestly I see minho into gun play. Like if it's minho giving it, (que mafia trope) he's definitely a person in charge or In high rankings. And the more well known you are the more someone wants your head on a platter. He would never want to hurt you, that should be a given. But the thrill he gets from pressing a gun against your neck as his fucks you can give him jerk off material for days.

It was in the spur of the moment, you were perched on his lap in his office, and you were asking him questions about things he had on him, random I know. But it sparked a conversation about guns and one thing led to another and your chest is pressed against the desk, leather glove covered hand covering your mouth while the other has the gun pressed against your neck.

"Shut the fuck up will you?"

If it was minho receiving it, it would probably be a enemy situation. You had known him but jobs and other things tore you guys apart. Saying you missed him would he an understatement.

But when your boss said you had to interrogate him, you got a little giddy.

When you saw him in your basement, you had your hand on your gun. Even though he's tied up, doesn't mean you can't use it.

"Hello there" he smiles at you attempting to wave.

"Let's get this done, just tell us what you were doing." You stood in front of him, gun pointed at his forehead.

"You have the gun there as if you're gonna shoot me. Nice joke bunny." He was taunting you, which for some reason you couldn't take lightly.

You pryed his mouth open with two fingers, shoving the gun into his mouth. You heard him gag on it while you push it to the hilt.

You eyes trailed down to see him hard, straining against his pants.

"Really? Hard because of a gun? Pathetic."

Changbin

He wants you to fist him. That's it that's the sentance.He has almost an infatuation with pegging anal gaping and what not.

He was big and buff, and you.. well you weren't. If anyone was nosy enough (his friends) they would think he was a Dom. And nothing's wrong with that, until he starts talking about how strong he is in bed. What a lie.

When you guys were back at the dorms, you had him face down ass up on the bed. Working him open with three fingers, you made him cum once by sucking him off then again by fingering him. You had him whining like a little bitch. It made you smile.

"Binnie, baby give me another one. Or are you gonna fight me back? Since you're so strong." You rolled your eyes at the last statement.

"I- I said I'm sorry!" He shoved his face into the pillow, hoping to not wake up his flatmates.

"Are you really sorry? Do you need me to pick up the pace? Or add another finger?" He clenched on your fingers as you said that last sentence. Moaning your name as his came for the third time.

"Need me to add another one hm?" You laugh, easing in your pinky.

"No- no more, mommy stop!" You knew he didn't mean for you to stop, he had his safe word. But the thrill of it makes it better.

"Baby, we both know how you love to get your tiny hole stretched, don't hide it."

Hyunjin

I see hyunjin as a hard sub. The whole package if you may. You were hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt him. But soon you got use to it. Inflicting pain on someone was not on your years bucket list. You weren't gonna say you dislike it- actually you were the opposite of that.

Some of his close friends (who happened to be yours) said maybe you are being too rough. Then theyd point to the purple marks scattered around his neck and wrist, but he knows his safeword. He would tell you if it was too much.

He was being good this week, and you decided to give him a reward. It wasn't as usual for him to get a reward, mostly because he's always acting like a piece of shit. But that's besides the point.

You let him have your ass.

"You ready?" You question, digging your nails into his waist.

"Yea" he pulls his slick fingers out, replacing it with his cock.

He presses his cock head against your hole, whining when he couldn't push pass his tip.

"Can't- too tight" he threw his head back, clawing at your waist.

"Baby.." you smiled, grabbing his chin.

"How about we use that brain of yours? Or are you already fuzzy?" You roughly let go off his face, throwing him a bottle of lube.

"I'm feeling nice, try again."

He repeated his actions from before, opening you up a little more.

"Thank- thank you" he read your mind, I mean how could you spoil him and not get a thank you. How ungrateful.

"So warm" he whines, bucking up into you.

"Shit- hit me, mommy- mama please I want it"

#surfinminho #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids smut #sub skz #skz hard thoughts #bangchan #leeknow #changbin #hyunjin

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