#there is just something soothing and restorative about that song

[rickybaby]

Listening to different live versions of goal of the century on YouTube and every single crowd around the world invariably cheering at the ricciardo is racing part … that’s my Roman Empire

[yoonia]

tears of the sea (m) | kth

— title: The Forsaken II: Tears of the Sea | pairings: Taehyung x female reader| genre: Siren!Taehyung, Smut, Mystery, Slight Horror | word count: 6,350 words

— summary: after a long time spent apart, he finally came in the night, accompanied by the soft, haunting serenade which he has been singing for you since the day you left, putting your broken souls together back into one.

— ratings & warnings: +18 / M for mature; curses, black magic, siren’s spell, mention of hypnotism, mention of pregnancy and child birth, body horror (shape-shifting), body worship (mentions of body dysmorphia), explicit smut scenes: nudity, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), breast play, clit play, public sex (sex on the beach), unprotected sex, rough sex, cum eating, multiple orgasms. 

— original: The Forsaken by @yoonia — fic drop date: Oct 24th, 2024 — song companion: half the world away — written as part of my 2024 birthday bash event, 𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊, created based on this request. 

How many nights have you done something like this?

To find yourself walking across the beach, over the jagged rocks lining the water’s edge, with the steady waves crashing over your feet and ankles. 

On most nights, you would find yourself drawn to the sea by the ghostly sounds of a tune, serenading you to come out of your shelter before it would fade into the night. Other nights, you would come out here with the hope of seeing a shadow of a movement dancing between the waves, to see the sight of a figure that had been filling your dreams, of seeing rough viridescent scales slinking across the water when you look on towards the night. 

The only times you stopped visiting the water’s edge had been the night your daughter was born, and the many nights after when you were still too weak to travel out into the night and onto the seashore.

And those nights had been the most peculiar moment of your life. The alluring tune you heard kept echoing from the sea each time your newborn baby girl was crying and you were too exhausted and spent to soothe her. Yet those tunes had always managed to calm her down, just the way it eased your lonely soul, as if there was some kind of a magic force flowing through the night, through the water, coming in the waves, just to help make your baby girl—and you—feel safe. 

And now you are back here, just like the many nights that have passed since six months ago, when your baby was born, lured towards the water’s edge at the sound of the same tune serenading for you to come. 

Out here, there are no lights to guide you. Nothing but the glowing moonlight falling from above. You look back over your shoulder towards your cabin on the top of the nearest hill, where your baby girl had just fallen asleep in her crib. 

Leaving her behind feels heavy. If not for Mira, the young local girl you recently hired to be her caretaker, you would have never been able to step out of your temporary home. The home that was built by the people of the tribe for you to reside. To welcome you as a part of them, even when you never felt like you had truly become one of them. 

The island of Parram. 

You arrived here one year ago in your boat after a long journey. All because of the Fountain of Life, the source of magic that would be able to restore life and prosperity. Everything that your island—your tribe, your people—needed needed for the sake of their survival. 

But that long journey had given you more than one blessing. 

Not only had you found the Fountain of Life and the Elder who had learned about the magic and how to use it to save your home island, but you have also been blessed with the birth of your baby girl. 

The latter had been the reason why you are still here on this island, while your travel companion, Namjoon, and Elder Moira travelled across the sea to bring home the magic from the Fountain of Life. The presence of your child and your steady recovery from childbirth had been deemed too risky for you to challenge the journey home. So you stayed, even if only for a while. 

Your moment of wondering about life and the mystery of your fate is suddenly disrupted by a rough, splashing sound coming from the nearby waters. It sounds nothing like the steady waves; so abrupt and violent, that it immediately draws your attention towards the dark waters by the shore. 

And that is when you see it; a sparkle of viridescent scales slinking between the jagged rocks breaking apart the waves, before it slips into the darkness and disappears into the water’s edge. 

Heart pounding, you hike up the front of your nightdress and hastily rush towards where the sparkle of scales had faded into. The rocks feel sharp against the soles of your feet, and the water feels cold on your skin, soaking the ends of your dress, yet you keep going, searching, until you see a figure rising in the dark. 

You are breathless when you come to a halt. Your heart is pounding when you see him. 

Standing between some high, unruly rocks, with crashing waves rising as tall as his shoulders and dark, wet sand beneath his feet, he stands on unsteady legs, as if being on land has taken away his sense of gravity. 

And he is glowing. 

The sight draws a gasp out of you. It seems magical. Enchanting. And then your eyes slowly adjust to the bleakness of the night and soon notice what is making him appear as if he is emitting lights. 

Just like how his legs are still trying to adjust to land, his skin is taking its time to shift. As you take a few steps closer, you can finally see them; the bright, viridescent scales on his skin which are still present, glistening as they reflect the bright moonlight coming from the night sky above. 

Slowly, the scales begin to melt into his skin. In their places, dots of redness appear, until they all fade and his skin turns smooth right in front of your eyes. 

The last time you met, the scales on his skin, the gills that appeared on the sides of his neck and ribs—which had now melted into smooth skin, with nothing but fading red lines left behind—and other changes on his facial features, had all frightened you enough to let out a scream. Looking at him now, with the remnants of his true appearance slowly fading away, he looks—beautiful. 

Truly beautiful. 

You look up just as he slowly raises his head, quickly realising that you are not the only one who has changed. His body appears bigger, stronger, with more solid muscles growing on his limbs and chest and less scar marring his skin. His hair has grown longer, framing his face as they fall under the weight of the water soaking each strand. 

You don’t realise that you have reached him until he lifts his head, and his face appears so close to you. His eyes glow in bright, golden yellow, looking inhuman for a brief moment until he blinks, and a pair of dark eyes are looking back at you. His gaze is filled with longing and sorrow, one that you can immediately feel in your chest as you return his gaze with your own. 

His lips, which have been in your dreams for many nights since you were apart, twist into a smile. “You’re here,” he says in his deep voice which sounds almost like a serenade. 

Just like his voice, his whole presence feels like an enchantment, a magic spell that keeps pulling you towards him, that you are brought closer and closer. Close enough that you can almost feel the warmth of his skin without touching. 

“I—” You try to speak, yet the words are caught on your tongue. You have so many things to say to him that you have no idea where to start. Instead, you slowly reach up, brushing the wet strands of his hair away from his face so you can get a better look at him. 

“Taehyung,” you gasp the moment you touch him. The moment you feel him. “Is this real? Are you really here? Is this not a dream?” 

His smile softens as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. “It’s real. I am here,” he says with a soft hum. “I’ve travelled far just to see you again.” 

You sink into his touch, and an incredulous laughter slips out of you when you hear his words. “That’s the part that is so hard to believe,” you say with a chuckle, drawing his own when you glance over his shoulder. “How—? I doubt that you used a boat to get here.” 

He gently shakes his head. “I have better ways,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. 

You almost laugh again, knowing what he means. Then an uneasy tightness grows in your chest as you imagine him swimming all the way here. Another thought crosses your mind when you remember about the cave where he was confined in. The cursed place where you first met. 

“You managed to escape the cave.” His gaze finds yours, surprised to know that you had somehow found out about his secret. 

“I learned about your kind,” you explain with a wry smile. “You wanted to keep me in that cave.” At your accusation, remorse fills his eyes. “I know what you—sirens—do with humans. Were you planning to…did you cast magic on me so you could…” 

Taehyung stops you from finishing your sentence by pressing his thumb on your lips. “My magic never worked on you,” he says, admitting his secret with a pained tone of voice. 

“I wanted to keep you. I’ve been confined in that cave for so long, I lost track of time. Days blended into weeks, months, years, perhaps decades to hundred years had passed since, and I was lonely,” he continues to admit. “But it was your magic which allured me, enchanted me until I was falling helpless in your presence.” 

You merely shake your head, refusing to believe him. Mostly the part where he said you have some kind of magic in you. 

“I was wrong to even think that I could keep you, to even think about holding you captive just to keep me company, when it meant for eternity,” he says with a resigned sigh. Then, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, he gently whispers, “Forgive me.” 

“You’ve already been forgiven,” you admit to him with a soft voice, and relief washes over him. 

He looks at you again. “He left you here. Your friend.” There is a bite of bitterness and anger in his voice at the mention of your travel companion, Namjoon. And you cannot even blame him for it, knowing what Namjoon had done to him.

The image of Taehyung hurting, wounded by Namjoon’s arrows when he came to rescue you—who came barging into the cave, believing that he was protecting you from a monster—and left bleeding in that cave, alone, still haunts you to this day.  

“He has other responsibilities, while I was—” You stop yourself from continuing, not sure how to reveal about the child that you carried after the one night you spent with him. You continue instead to tell him about how Namjoon had to return to your home island to bring home the cure to your declining land, to marry his betrothed—just like how he was always meant to—and bring Elder Moira, the grand Healer, to meet your father. 

“I couldn’t travel with, so I stayed,” you continue, omitting the fact that you were too heavily pregnant to join Namjoon in his journey home. 

Biting your lips, you look up to see his eyes, only to find him smiling. 

“I know why you stayed,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing down to follow his hands as he lowers them to your covered torso, brushing at the slightly swollen flesh which has yet to recover after carrying the child inside you for nine whole months. 

“You knew,” you can barely say those words without getting your breath caught in your throat. 

“I was there with you the entire time you carried her in you, even if only in my spirit,” he says, his gaze finding yours again. “The curse that was holding me back in that cave was broken when we got together and our child was conceived. That’s how I knew.”  

As relief washes through you, your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, slowly moving lower to his bare chest. You react with a gasp at the touch of his skin, having been too enamoured by his presence and his alluring voice, you have failed to realise that he has been standing there with you, completely naked. Bare to nothing but his skin, instead of the bone-coloured tunic and soft, tattered pants that he wore when you first found him in that cave. 

Seeing him this way, and thinking about the night you spent with him in the cave, gets you feeling warm inside. Heat begins to coil in your belly, unfolding through your chest while drifting down south. As does your gaze, as it travels down his body, following the trail of lines of muscles on his chest, to the V-line below his toned torso, and then—

Sensing where your attention and your mind have drifted towards, Taehyung slips a hand to the nape of your neck. He gently brings your face closer to his, making you look up at him while lowering his head until his lips are touching yours. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, before he gives a deep, gentle kiss, stealing your breath, your thoughts, your everything away until it all fades into pure lust. 

As you return the kiss, you no longer remember where you are. The sea fades into the back of your mind. The sound of the steady waves chasing each other becomes white noise, drowned under the sound of your heartbeat. The uneasy feeling that has been plaguing you—all from having been stuck in a land which you cannot find it in you to call home—is no longer gripping at your chest, replaced by a sense of belonging which manifests under his touch. 

With your arms wrapped around his neck, your chest pressed against his, and your mouth being devoured in his kiss, you are lost in his warmth. You melt into his embrace as Taehyung wraps his arms around your waist, bending you backwards as he deepens the kiss. 

With your bodies moulded to one another, you can feel his arousal pressing down against your lower belly. It draws some intense heat rising inside you, warmth pulsing from between your legs as you rub your hips against his. 

Your mind grows so hazy with lust that you almost believe you are floating from the sensation of his kiss when you feel like you can no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It takes you a moment to realise that Taehyung has lifted you in his arms. You react with a gasp, breaking away from the kiss to tighten your hold around him to keep yourself from falling over. 

Yet he holds you steady in his arms, with his unwavering smile on his face as he carries you away from the jagged rocks, away from the rough waves and the rising tide, and from the wet sand that has been soiling the ends of your nightdress. He carries you across the rest of the way until he reaches the cliffs wall where he finds a flat slab of rock to lie you gently down on. 

Grinning wickedly, he crawls over you, pressing his lips gently on yours as he teases, “Should we take this time to reminisce our first night together?”  

You cannot help but laugh, but you also cannot stop the heat rising in your skin from having the chance to reminisce and repeat that night all over again. A do-over in a new place, where you can see the ocean of stars filling the wide sky above you instead of being in an enclosed cave with nothing but walls of rocks around you. 

Your laughter dies down as he once again captures your lips with his, distracting you from the work of his hands as he gently peels your nightdress and undergarments off of your skin. Soon, you are left just as bare as he is, naked as the day you were born, with the pulse of your desire building between your legs. 

Taehyung pulls away from the kiss, giving you the chance to breathe. Only to quickly steal your breath again when his hand reaches down, lifting your left thigh up to open your legs. Cold breeze touches your skin, and then his fingers find your center, pressing at your slick heat.  

“Taehyung,” you gasp at his touch. “Oh, heavens.” 

Pressing his lips on your bare shoulder, you feel his deep chuckle as he gently pushes a finger into your hot entrance. “You are so wet, beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, and your heart stutters at the sweet endearment that he had once used to call you when you were with him for the first time. For him to be using it again brings back the memory of you surrendering to your carnal desire. To him. 

“I’ve waited for so long for this,” he whispers, sounding desperate that his voice trembles. 

Running your hand up the back of his neck, you slip your fingers between the strands of his hair and whisper, “So do I.” 

Hearing this pleases him, and he quickly presses his lips on yours again, kissing you gently until you nearly melt to lax beneath him. At the sound of your muffled hum, he begins moving his hand, pushing and pulling his finger in and out of you, over and over again until your breath grows ragged and your body grows even hotter. With his thumb, he finds your clit, pressing on it as he adds another digit into your pulsing walls. 

“Oh!” you cry out when the pleasure comes to you in waves. Building up and rising over you, engulfing you until you feel like you are floating high in bliss. He continues until you feel it coming, your legs quaking around his hips and you begin raising your hips to meet each thrust of his fingers. 

While Taehyung is busy working his hand in your heat, his mouth begins to trail lower, down the column of your throat, to your shoulder, not stopping until he captures the pebbled tip of your breast in his mouth. Cries of pleasure keep slipping out of your mouth as he suckles, licks, and lightly bites on your hardened nipple. His hand remains steady, moving at a slow pace to bring your pleasure to its peak. Then he releases your nub with a pop, before moving to the other breast where he does the same. 

The pleasure feels too much, it almost feels like you are falling over the edge with nothing to hold on to. Your fingers slip out of his hair as he begins to move again, crawling his way down. You watch through hazy gaze as he trails kisses down your body, still relentless in his work of hand, and then—

“Oh, dear Gods!”

Your hips rise higher as Taehyung dips between your legs, burying his face so he can kiss your slick heat. With his fingers still moving inside you, he moves his thumb away and his mouth takes its place. 

“Taehyung—!” 

Once again, your hands find leverage by burying your fingers through the strands of his wet hair. With your grasp, you press his face deeper, while each steady rocking of your hips keeps pushing your center onto his mouth and his fingers deeper into you. 

It doesn’t take long before you finally unravel. The coil in your core snaps, and you are engulfed in the intense waves of your orgasm, with his fingers buried inside your heat still and his mouth latched around your throbbing clit. 

“That’s it, beautiful. I love it when you cum,” he murmurs against your heat, his lips still ghosting over your throbbing center, as if he has yet enough to drink your essence. “You taste so good,” he says between licks, “I’ve craved for this for so long.” 

You cry out once more when a smaller spasm rocks through your body at the touch of his lips on your nether region. Then you feel a void forming inside you when he pulls his fingers out of you. Still lost in bliss, you barely feel the touch of his wet lips pressing on your skin as he slowly crawls his way up, trailing kisses on your stomach—right across the stretch marks on your skin which has made you feel unconfident, as if he is worshipping them with his lips—and up to your heaving chest, brushing his lips from one breast to another, and continues his way up until his lips are on yours. 

He is biting and kissing you gently one second, and then devouring you like a beast, taking everything that you have to offer while letting you taste the heady scent of your release from his mouth and tongue. 

Your body heats up further when he begins touching the curves of your body with his big, wide hands. His gentle touch makes it seem as if he wants to memorise everything, even as he kneads at your breasts. 

Then his hands reach down, pulling your legs wide apart so he can settle in between. You are still sensitive after your first climax that the touch of his hard shaft makes you jolt beneath him. Yet you make no move to avoid him when he carefully aligns himself at your center. He moves the tip of his cock between your slit, back and forth, coating himself with your release, and then you feel him nudging at the entrance. 

“Can I—?” he asks with a strained voice, filled with need, yet still keeping himself back when he seems so unsure to proceed. 

“Yes,” you simply cry out before he can finish asking, already lifting your hips to welcome him home. 

At your final word, Taehyung pushes into you in one smooth stroke that stretches your walls to the point of pain. Yet the pain feels exquisite, so much so that you almost find yourself unravelling once more in the peak of pleasure. At the same time, it also feels as if you are gaining back a piece of your soul which you lost on the day you left him behind in that cave. 

You look up to him to say this, only to see him closing his eyes. The relief written on his face is so profound that it almost brings you to tears. Because you know that he is feeling the same way too about this moment; of having your bodies and souls joined into one. 

Taehyung opens his eyes and his forehead comes down to yours. For what seems to be the longest time, neither of you makes a move. You simply exist in this space together, your bodies joined, your breaths colliding with one another, and your hearts beating as one. As if you are bounded not by magic, but by fate. 

“________,” he whispers your name as he kisses your face, your nose, lips, and hair, down to your neck, and then returns to claim your lips again. “I’m so happy to be able to touch you again. To love you like this.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat, just as your words do. “Then make love to me,” you whisper breathlessly beyond the sound of your rapid heartbeat. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you encourage him to move. “Show me how happy you are to see me again.” 

You rock your hips, and then he follows. His tortured moan seems as if it is being ripped out straight from the depths of his soul. There is a hint of tears forming in his eyes as he begins to move, thrusting deeply inside you, withdrawing and slamming back into you, over and over again. He hooks his arms under your legs, pulling them up higher as he starts driving further into you. 

Despite getting lost in his pleasure, Taehyung keeps his eyes on you the entire time. Just like how he did it back in that cursed cave, the way he wanted to keep the moment he had with you in his memories, he does the same thing as he rocks his hips against you, taking you over to the peak of pleasure. 

Soon, his forceful strokes trigger the familiar strain of your orgasm. He seems to feel you holding back, both of you wishing that you could let this continue just a bit longer. But the pleasure is too much, and he is close to falling over the edge as well to stop it. 

Reaching down, he touches your clit, pressing hard between his rapid thrusts and groans, “Come for me, beautiful. Let me see you fall apart for me.” 

With a cry, you allow yourself to fall into a spiral of pleasure, engulfed in the delectable waves of your release. Your body squeezes around his cock, and the pleasure unwinds, ripples going through your body in waves of pure ecstasy.

Thrusting deeply, Taehyung throws his head back, his eyes closed and his jaw tense as he joins you in his own release. The magnificent sight of him losing himself in passion immediately drives you right back to the edge again. And you are too spent to prevent it from happening. The strain from the intense lovemaking, done right here in the open space where the ocean breeze continues hitting your skin—now dampened with slickness and sweat—is beginning to wash over you. It has been so long since you ever felt this kind of pleasure, not since that night in the cave, not since him. 

Taehyung remains inside you for a moment longer. Giving you slow, gentle strokes as he helps you come down from your high. And then he slowly pulls out, bringing the drops of his release and yours in his exit. 

With a small smile, he crawls back down, carefully cleaning your center with his mouth and tongue. Once again, the ripples of pleasure rise from within. It feels subtle, barely a spasm, and ends just as he finishes cleaning you up. 

“I’m officially addicted to your taste, beautiful,” he whispers against your lips when he returns to your side, taking you in his arms so you can rest for a while. 

“Hmm, I think I’m officially addicted to everything about you. Knowing you, it seems like I’m risking my entire being to be with you,” you sleepily admit as you melt into his embrace with contentment. You smile when you feel his chest vibrating with his deep chuckle. 

“Do you regret it? Meeting me?” 

“Not a chance,” you quickly say to him. Especially not when you have earned something good from meeting him. And it’s not about the carnal pleasure he gives you. 

As if she knows that you are thinking about her, the sound of your baby’s cry echoes through the night, calling for you. 

The hitch in his breath is palpable, and you wonder what is going through his head right now at the sound of your child’s cry. His child. “May I see her next time?” he gently murmurs, closing his eyes as if he is listening to the sound of a singing tune. 

“You may. She is yours, after all.” Biting your lips, you cup his cheek with your palm and turn his face towards you. His eyes are filled with the same longing you first saw when he came up from the water, and you immediately understand. 

“You were here when she was born, weren’t you?” you ask him, “I felt you.” 

You did. The night your baby was born, you felt intense fear washing over you. Yet for some reason, you can almost hear him, serenading a tune from the open sea until you found your courage, and the sense of calmness came over you until she was born into the world. 

With an amused smile on his face, Taehyung nods. “I came at her call. She was singing for me right before she came into the world.” 

Your eyes grow wide. “She…sang?” 

Again, he nods. “But I heard nothing,” you murmur with a wonder.

His gaze softens as he recalls that night. “She needed me. She wanted to let me know that she was arriving,” he says, telling you a tale of your child’s birth from his point of view. “It was your magic that saved me, freed me from the curse which bound me to the cave, but it was her magic that gave me the power to find you both across the sea.” 

Tears form in your eyes as you picture him finding the strength to swim across the ocean just to find you, all because of the baby’s magic pulling him all the way here. 

As if he knows what you are thinking, Taehyung brushes his thumb across your cheek, wiping a stray tear away. “But I had no way of approaching you. It would have been too dangerous for me to make haste and come too close to humans.”

Nodding, you understand. Surely, it would have been hard to explain to the people of the tribe about his sudden appearance when there was no sight of a boat coming after Namjoon had left. The people of Parram Island are highly superstitious. Just like the elders from your tribe, they believe in curses and the evil side of sea monsters, and would have condemned Taehyung for crossing over the shoreline and stepping foot into their land knowing what he was. 

“Do you still fear humans?” 

A wry smile comes to his face. “Only some. Not all.” He sighs. “Not after I met the most beautiful star hidden among them.” He gives you a warm smile and your heart stutters. “But I still fear for what they would become once they find out how our child was conceived, and whose blood she was born from.” 

Your breath hitches. “I never thought of that—” 

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and then takes your hand to kiss the back of it. “One day, when it’s time for us to be together, she will sing for you to help you find your way to find me, or to let you know when it’s time for me to come back to you.” 

You find it hard to understand what he means, until it slowly dawns on you—

“You’re leaving.” 

He presses his lips, hating the crack in your voice. “I must. If we want to be together, and if we want to keep our child safe, then I must find the source of the curse.”  

Slowly, you push yourself up. “The curse?” 

He grimly nods. “The same curse that has been hurting the sea and your home island, plaguing the rest of my kind, and the one that is threatening our daughter’s future like it did when it imprisoned me in that cave,” he slowly explains, before he launches into explaining why he had always resented humans. He tells you how many years and decades ago, a mortal from a deserted island came into the sea to poison it with their magic, hurting sea creatures and turning them into cursed sea monsters like himself, and how the same magic that the mortal used had been the true cause of your people’s suffering all this time. 

“They’re all the same, cast by the same source, hidden somewhere in the wide sea,” he continues to explain, while you are having trouble letting all of this sink in. 

Why had none of the elders known about this? If they had known about the presence of sea monsters, then why had they never talked about the dark spell which had been the true cause of them?

You are still reeling in the revelations—the true secret behind your people’s hardships and Taehyung’s curse—that you don’t fight him as he pulls you up from the rock bed where you have been lying on and helps you put on your nightdress again. 

Once again, your baby’s cry echoes through the night. You can only wonder if her caretaker is having trouble calming her down or if she can somehow feel her father’s presence so close.   

“Her voice is so beautiful,” Taehyung murmurs lovingly, closing his eyes as he savours the last moments of his daughter’s cries.  

“She’s crying for her mother,” you bleakly reason with him, unable to find the right words—or any right at all—to stop him from going back into the sea. “I must go back.” 

Opening his eyes, Taehyung leans down to press his lips on yours, stealing a kiss that lingers for a moment too long for someone who is ready to depart into the night. “I will return for you. For our child. For Raena.” 

“How did you—” You pull back with a start. “How did you know her name?” 

He smiles. “She told me. I told you, she would sing to me at night. She told me everything,” he says, his gaze softening with so much love it overwhelms you. “She shared her feelings about being born into the world, so close to the sea but too far away from her father. She always sings about her beautiful mother, who feels lonely at night yet still shows her so much love.” 

He brushes your cheeks with his fingers and then presses his lips on your palm when you try to do the same. “She sang to me the day you gave her the name—Raena—so I would know what to call her when we finally meet. And I have always been singing to her since she came to the world, just like I have been singing for you since the day you left.” 

Tears continue to fall as you look back on those nights when you kept hearing those humming tunes. His voice. 

You remember the haunting tune you kept hearing during the nights spent in the sea to escape his cursed island. The serenading tune which broke your soul apart, to the point that there were moments that it had weakened you and nearly caused you to turn the boat’s sail back around just to return to his side again. It had gotten so bad at one point that Namjoon had to tie you against the side of the boat to stop you from trying to go back. Now, you imagine Taehyung singing in the cave all alone, serenading the tune of his heartbreak, calling your soul to return to him again. 

And then there were the nights when the tune began to change. No longer filled with despair, the serenading sound you heard reverberating through the rough waves had been filled with hope and love, helping you to heal and find comfort even as you were still drifting away in the wide, open sea. 

Had that been the moment when your baby was beginning to grow inside you? Was it during that time when Taehyung first felt his child’s presence in your belly? 

You question him all of this, which draws a small, sorrowful smile to his face. “My soul shattered when you ran away, and the moment I felt our child’s presence inside you”—his hand drifts down, touching your stomach from over your nightdress—”all of my broken pieces were put together again. I kept growing stronger the more she grew.” 

You cannot help it. Knowing that you have this invisible bind keeping you together even when you are apart breaks your heart and fills it with love at the same time. Rising on your toes, you wrap your arms around him and press your lips on his. 

He returns your kiss gently. You can feel him bearing his heart and soul, just as bare as his skin, drawing your sense of longing to have a future together. 

A future that seems bleak now as the dark forces hurting everything around you is still out there, somewhere. 

A sob threatens to escape as he slowly lets you go. You swallow it down to beg him, “Don’t go.” 

You keep your arms around him with the hope of keeping him from leaving. And yet, seeing the sight of his scales slowly appearing on his skin, you know that anything you say to make him stay would be futile. 

“I’m not going anywhere far. I’ll return when Raena sings for me, or when you call me back home in time of need,” he promises with a smile, just as his eyes turn golden glow. “I’ll return once the curse has been defeated, or whenever I feel you and Raena needing me here.”

But we need you here now, the small voice in your head speaks.  

“Tell me how to help,” you say to him, trying a different angle, only for him to shake his head.  

“Just stay where you are and be safe. Keep our child safe.” 

You open your mouth to say something—anything—to make him change his mind. Your heart is already breaking apart as you see him slowly stepping back. Back into the jagged rocks, back towards the water’s edge. 

Until Mira’s voice is heard from the top of the nearest valley of rocks, calling you. 

“________?” you hear her shout, and you quickly turn around to make sure that she isn’t near enough to see Taehyung. “Where are you? Raena needs you.” 

Her words, mixed with Raena’s cries, make you restless. It drowns the sound of the splashing water coming from behind you. 

Once you are sure that Mira is nowhere in sight, you turn back to Taehyung. 

“Taehyung, I—” 

You wish to share one final goodbye, yet he is no longer there. You are met with silence, with nothing else but the sounds of the crashing waves hitting the jagged rocks as your magnificent siren disappears into the dark sea.

The last thing you see is the sight of a tail, covered in viridescent scales illuminated by the moonlight, slinking into the rough sea as he sets off towards his new journey. A sorrowful tune of a song echoes through the night, as he serenades his goodbye and his promise to return. 

For you. 

For Raena.  

— ©Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[primaviva]

PAIRING: gwen stacy x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: gwen couldn't sleep, her thoughts of you keeping her up all night. despite the snowy weather, you woke up from your sleep, exhausted and annoyed by notification that kept repeating on your phone. your expression drops when you see a text from gwen. “can i come over?”

WARNINGS: small angst, established relationship, mention of relationship problems, just fluff !!

a vibration from under your pillow is what woke you up to the chaos going on beyond your room. it has to be notification from your phone.

the snowstorm raged outside, its fury evident in the howling winds and the relentless cascade of snowflakes. as you rubbed your eyes to make sense of the blurry scenery, you watched as your block transformed into a winter wonderland, blanketed in a pristine layer of white. but instead of finding solace in the ethereal beauty of the season, you felt an undeniable restlessness that was practically gnawing at your soul. it just wasn’t the vibe it usually was. the type of feeling you’d get scrolling on pinterest and finding a picture of a window at night with stormy weather that exuded this cozy aura to it that held this perfect sense of home and ease. the type of feeling when you go to your winter playlist and play all the slow songs that just key you rock and sway while the rain outside was one fat water drop away from causing a power outage and having to wait several hours for con edison to restore it. con ed ain’t shit anyway.

the point is that yeah, these moments still and some ‘flaws’ like the aftermath of the bad weather and storms, but it brought a sense of peace. happiness, even.

to you, this moment should have been peaceful, little escape from reality, like waking up in the middle of a rainstorm and watching the rain drip down your window while you enjoy a quiet night of binging youtube videos. but for whatever reason, peace seemed impossible. everything about this moment felt wrong. something that should have been soothing and familiar was now strange and unnerving.

as the snowflakes gracefully twirled in the frigid air, your thoughts turned to gwen. the vibrant connection between you both now felt dimmed, entangled in a web of misunderstandings and unspoken words, leaving you adrift in uncertainty. the storm, relentless in its intensity, mirrored the emotions swirling within you. a mix of rage, destruction, and a sense of loss consumed you, propelling you aimlessly forward, seeking something to anchor yourself to. all these emotions were directed towards her.

lately, it seemed as though gwen had become absorbed in her own world. it wasn't just about her being spiderwoman anymore; it was everything about her that pulled her in different directions, inadvertently distancing herself from you. you guessed that the spark you had gradually lost its vitality, and what once felt so alive turned into bittersweet memories of her being replayed in your mind. disappointment lingered in the thoughts of her you had, the remnants of what could’ve been. what still can be.

it’s not like she didn’t try to be more present, it’s just that she simplified it so much that it seemed she didn’t take into account how you would feel. if she was late to a date because of her responsibilities? fine. but to not be able to swallow your pride and take accountability that you couldn’t make it on time and leave your loved one waiting in the cold? nah, not fine at all.

she never wanted to acknowledge her own flaws, instead choosing to blame them for her own wrongdoings. it was a confusing mess you couldn’t wrap your head around. you understood that she had a lot going on in her life, and it could be stressful for her. still, you didn't want her to simply say that she was there and expect everything to be fine. you didn't want her to compensate for her absences with thoughtless gifts.

you wanted action, heart, and risk. you needed her to say she’d just try and be real with you, not just for the sake of the relationship but because you both deserved it.

wrapped in a soft, cozy blanket, you felt the warmth against your body as the temperature gradually dropped in your room due to the light snowfall outside. you knew it was late without even checking the time. if you fall asleep and wake up later you’re bound to be met with an hour that’s after 12:00 am. it happens every time.

“ay, i need to get a grip on my sleep schedule before my eyes get more sunk than the titanic,” you muttered to yourself, voice groggy as you start to wake up.

it hits you as to why you woke up in the first place, your phone. you always slept with it under your bed, fearing that your crazy and overbearing guardian would try checking it at night. you wouldn't dare stop them, but at least you could lessen the chances because they can’t find it or come up with reasons why they shouldn't go through your messages. you let out a deep sigh as you sit yourself up and reach for your phone under the pillow. the screen illuminated, revealing the shocking hour of 3:00 am.

“oooh witching hour,” you mocked, but couldn't help but feel surprised at how late it was.

however, your brows quickly furrowed as you noticed a text notification from five minutes ago. it was gwen. with a tinge of reluctance on whether or not you should answer or get some sleep, you unlocked your phone and opened the message, your curiosity getting the better of you.

my gwen 🤍 : can i come over? i need to see you and i’m not sure it can wait sent at 2:55

gwen? at this hour? you squinted your eyes at the blue light as confusion swept over you at the unexpected request. you were tired. not just because you woke up in the middle of the night but because you were too exhausted to deal with this relationship bullshit right now. it seemed no matter what, nothing ever changed between the two of you. but for whatever it was worth, you responded with something quick and simple.

you : yeah ofc

you : windows open for you sent at 3:02

you put your phone on your bedside table before throwing myself back onto the pillow, patiently awaiting gwen's arrival. her tone sounded so urgent but also a little needy. desperate, almost. it made you wonder why she needed to see you at this time. what could’ve possibly drove her to this?

“hope she gets here good with all that damn snow,” you whispered to yourself while you laid your blanket back on.

raising your head, you perked up at the sound of knocking against the glass. sure enough, gwen gracefully jumps through your window and crawls inside. she was definitely annoyed about something, but it wasn't clear what or who caused it and how. in the moonlight, her blonde hair and blue eyes seemed to shimmer. her cheeks were flushed, and you noticed her slightly shivering.

as she landed on the floor, her shoes left small droplets of water and continued to drip from her jacket. she was dressed in a black turtleneck, a leather jacket, jeans, and pink converse sneakers. seeing her at her full height, gwen looked down at you with weary eyes.

"gwen," you called out, taking a few steps toward her. “everything good? i mean, what’s up with you?”

you got a little anxious as your mind raced with every possible reason as to why she came to see you. especially since she got all dressed and swung over here, not even in her suit. it was dark out and the streets were empty but it still felt risky, too risky.

closing the distance between you, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling the tall girl down to your height for a hug. your breath caught at the stark contrast in body temperature as the warmth radiating from your body met her chilled skin and wet clothes, which had caught small snowflakes. you felt her cautiously nuzzle her face into the crook of your neck, and a sheepish smile formed against your skin, as the warmth you offered started to bring some heat back to gwen's body.

gwen looked down at you, her eyes still glowing against the snowy backdrop. she slowly put her hands on your shoulders and pulled away quickly to stare into your eyes. her cheeks were still all pink and frigid, and she still shivered with every breath.

"you sure? it's three in the morning and you just crawled through my window lookin’ like a hot unhinged mess,” you teased. "it seemed urgent tho. you even came all the way here without your suit, gwen. that shits risky even for you," you added.

your whole body tingled as her chilly hands wrapped around your waist, drawing you in for a hug. god, she looked absolutely breathtaking in this moment. so effortlessly alluring, so damn attractive, and clearly too into you for her own good. the way her eyes lazily met yours, and her short hair accentuated by the edgy shaved undercut made her glow, made your heart race with excitement.

she was quiet, still looking at you. gwen seemed to be thinking over your words. something was definitely on her mind. she finally took a deep breath, and you could see her exhale a white mist. gwen sighed, turning her head away slightly as if she finally made the decision she was debating over.

biting her lip, she mustered the courage to speak, her voice a little shaky. "okay, i admit it's a bit risky, but i just... really, really wanted to see you." her gaze returned to meet yours, her eyes searching for understanding. "i'm here now, so can't i just stay for a little while?"

her tone shifted playfully, yet her grip on your hands remained firm. there was still a lingering sense of disconnection in the air, as if an undisclosed barrier stood between you both. gwen's presence alone was just straight up weird, and it was apparent that her mind was somewhere else. whatever it was, it seemed like she wanted to talk about it. your eyes drifted towards her slightly wet jacket. there was something hidden under it. something large, a bit bulky.

"of course, you can stay, it's just…”

you tried to speak, but the words weren’t coming to you.

you haven't seen gwen in a while. you felt so detached from her life. you heard nothing about her dad, her life, just anything. gwen always says that she's good, just fine. but every time you both talk now, it feels artificial, like small talk you do in group work with a classmate to get some social points.

the last time you truly connected on a deep emotional level was during that intense screaming match you had with her. she had been so consumed by her work as spiderwoman that she stopped talking and even seeing you for a while. it’s not like she meant to do it but you felt neglected. how else were you supposed to feel? in an attempt to apologize, she gave you flowers, and you let them wilt and die. it was symbolic almost, like a statement to her that you didn't want to be bought off with materialistic things. gwen was more than pissed at the time, thinking you were just acting petty and catching an attitude just to spite her. but you didn’t care. you didn't want her to compensate, all you truly wanted was her. you weren't interested in the clichés of romance movies with roses, love poems, and extravagantly corny displays. what mattered most in your eyes was a real, meaningful bond between the two of you.

since then, it felt as if you two had been on a break. but in the ‘freedom’ of not seeing her as often as you’d liked, it just made you realize how much you missed gwen in her absence. you missed her in every sense of the word. you missed her anger, her pain, her happiness, her love, and just the full spectrum of her being. wishing on you both just felt like false hope, and you just wanted to go back to before whatever started this rift and prevent it. maybe then your relationship wouldn't be so stagnant.

"nevermind. yes, you can stay. i don't know what i was gonna say... i'm sorry,” you hastily interjected.

gwen slowly nods as you speak. you didn’t know it for sure, but she really did miss you. she missed having these intimate moments with you. she missed you touching her and saying her name. she missed the time you spent with her before she was the woman behind the mask, open and vulnerable for you.

"i uh actually want to show you something," she mumbles and takes a step back to reveal something poking out her jacket's pocket.

"you have something for me? actually?" you asked, in shock.

though it sounded nice, you’re not sure that's what you wanted from her. you didn't want gifts, or apologies, you wanted action. you want her to tell me that she'll love you even better than before the fights and she wants to be with you. but you know gwen, and you know that's a big ask. she's not the most vocal about her feelings, that's just how she is.

you peered curiously at her, eyes drifting towards her hands as she reached inside and grabbed the hidden object in her hand before offering it to you. it was a small gift wrapped in a pink ribbon. without breaking eye contact, she hands it over.

"yeah, but it's nothing important- it is a little important! but um… it's just simple but it means something to me," she says, her eyes now leaving yours. her voice sounds more genuine now. maybe she realized there was no need to be so secretive around you.

"not important? if it's not important, why did you risk your whole identity just to pull up at my window in the middle of the night?” you questioned, voice stern.

even now, gwen still felt so closed off. she had her guard up, and it's not like you couldn't shame her for not being open, but why? why was acting this way? was she that scared to be vulnerable?

looking at the box, you were surprised that gwen did all of this. it seemed so organized and thought out. you didn't anticipate her ability to tie a ribbon so skillfully or make the box look so adorably appealing. you took the gift in my hand, before delicately loosening the ribbon and gingerly lifting the lid.

you couldn't imagine why gwen would do all of this. her eyes dart between your face and the box, anxious to see your reaction.

the box was smaller than what it looked like from afar. as you took off the top cover of the gift, inside revealed itself to be a heart-shaped locket. its exterior frame was fashioned silver while its interior was luxuriously lined with pink silk.

with a soft smile, gwen points at the picture inside of it.

"it's...it's us!" you exclaimed, realizing the significance of the image. tenderly, you lifted the locket from the box, placing the container gently on your bed. running your thumb across the smooth silver surface, you savored the tactile sensation beneath your skin.

as you gazed deeper into the photo, your eyes welled up with an overwhelming emotion. it was a snapshot of a cherished memory the night of your first date with gwen. you both had ventured to a cozy pizza place and leisurely wandered through the neighboring stores. among them was a music shack adorned with vinyl records and musical instruments. you vividly recalled how you were captivated by an album from your favorite band, and gwen, in a beautiful gesture, had purchased it for you on the spot. the memory continued to play in your mind, the walk back home, with gwen carrying all the bags, and the tender, innocent kiss you placed on her cheek. gwen had always possessed an enchanting charm that endured even to this day.

"i love it, gwen!" you exclaimed, looking up at her with a tender smile, while delicately wiping away a tear that traced down your cheek.

gwen let out a sigh of relief, her smile softening. "really? you do? i'm glad you like it," she whispered, her voice quivering slightly as she reached out and gently clasped your hand.

she didn't know what you'd think of the gift. part of you felt a little strange, even though this type of gift wasn’t odd it was just weird to you how much the locket touched your heart. maybe it's the meaning of it, a memory of a time when things between you and gwen flourished.

gwen's gaze shifted to the locket, and she was transported back to that magical night as if it had occurred just yesterday. every detail remained etched in her memory— the captivating scent of your hair, the warmth of your smile, how beautiful you looked.

"i remember when we walked home that night,” she murmured, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

gwen takes a step closer. it seems like she wants to say something, but she chooses to stay quiet. she still looked wet and chilly, but your eyes were drawn to her lips and she leaned just close enough that you could kiss her if you so desired.

you found yourself fixated on her lips, the allure and temptation becoming almost irresistible. the desire to feel the warmth of her mouth against yours, to experience the tenderness and intimacy it promised, was overwhelming.

but then your eyes shifted up to gwen's tired gaze. her eyes looked sunken and dark, like she hadn't been getting any sleep. you could tell she was losing sleep over you, over your relationship. she stayed up, wondering how to make things better. that's why she gave you that locket, as a way to hold onto the good times and try to fix the mess she had created between you.

the memories haunted gwen, particularly the occasion when her duties as spiderwoman had caused her to arrive late to your birthday celebration. she saw you talking and laughing with everyone else while she sat in the corner, feeling unworthy of your attention. she said sorry, but her apologies were laced with excuses. she'll never forget the look of anger on your face when you expressed how your friends had questioned her absence, making them doubt your relationship with her even more.

but there were also those moments that made her heart soar. like that september night when she broke down and told you everything, her secrets, her regrets, and you held her tight. or the times when you were just together, enjoying the beauty of nature, and she couldn't take her eyes off you, especially when you laughed at her jokes. being with you, your company, your comfort, it made her realize that she was undeniably in love with you.

"gwen," you called out, breaking free from your reverie. "you look exhausted. why did you really come here? i know there's more you want to say, and i won't push you, but please... talk to me for once.”

gwen's eyes widen as you call her out. she looks down at you, almost in a pleading way.

gwen's soft voice crackles a little as she speaks. “i just,” she whispers, her eyes darting to the floor. her face is flushed and her chest begins to rise and fall at a rapid pace. your words seemed to help bring her out of the fog in her thoughts. "i've just been feeling so stressed lately and i just really miss you. i just want things to go back to the way they were between us, you know? i want us to have another one of the good moments. but i feel like things are falling apart.”

you can see tears welling up in her eyes.

"gwen, talk to me," you pleaded, putting the locket down.

you just wanted her to swallow her pride and fears. no, i needed her to. you needed her to just apologize, be real and open with you, not just compensate for the guilt she feels or how she wants to make you feel better.

it was december. and as the scene unfolded with the snow and rain coming through, so did the darkness and the cold of your relationship. all you gave her was love and open arms, but it seemed all gwen gave back was goodbyes.

with a tender touch, you grasped her shoulders, gazing up at her while your own demeanor softened. "please talk, gwen."

gwen closed her eyes. she took a few deep breaths to help calm her nerves and clear her head, but that didn't help much. as she looked into your soft eyes, gwen sighed. she wanted to talk to you so badly. tell you all the things she felt about you, and tell you why she was so scared to tell you all these things. the cold breeze that blew through the window was starting to make her shiver, but she still held eye contact with you as she spoke.

"i'm just struggling so much,” gwen confessed, her voice shaky. “i feel your disappointment in me all the time. i miss the old us sometimes, when things were just so easy. i know i've been working so hard as spiderwoman, and i don't regret it… but i just want you. i want to be with you so badly and feel like i keep messing up no matter what i do.”

her gaze slowly drifted away, fixating on the ground as her fingers clutched her sleeves in an attempt to ward off the encroaching chill. the freezing cold began seeping into her veins, numbing her hands and leaving a tingling sensation.

"gwen," you mumble, taken aback by her honesty. "but why? why feel compelled to do this all now?"

to gwen, it felt like wishful thinking or a dream that gives you relief and a sense of joy as you fall deeper into sleep. it would be a dream to save this relationship. but in gwen's eyes, it feels so far and out of her reach, like everything was too late.

gwen wanted you, but she struggled. and if she could just go back, have another chance and attempt to be the perfect lover, she'd love you right.

she looked down sadly and thought about how to respond without messing up. “i don’t know,” gwen sighed as she put a hand over her mouth in frustration before continuing, “i just don't want to lose you. i want a do over. and i want you to know how much i still love you. i have so many regrets about how i've treated you in the past.”

gwen put her hands over her face, letting out a deep breath. "please, just give me another chance,” she begged.

gwen was a mess, you could tell by the way she was acting. her mind hazy, her thoughts unsure, and it seemed the only clear thing in her mind was you. all she could think of was you. she says she doesn't know why she came here so late, but that can't be true. what compels someone to leave their home in this weather and at this time. you couldn't accept that.

now, she pleads for another chance, as if the relationship has already slipped through your fingers. yes, she's hurt you in the past but it's not like she intended to. it doesn't make it right at all, but she sounds so sorrowful.

but there was a glimmer of hope because all this time, this is what you needed from her. for her to just promise herself to you, say she'll be better, say she'll try her best, say she'll love you right. you didn't want broken promises that she knows she can't always fulfill, you just wanted her to try. the effort that shows she cares for you to try and be better.

"this kept you up at night? reminiscing about another chance with me while i'm right in front of you? gwen, i've been here! i'm still your girlfriend. you can't just wish to go back to how things were and fix everything. you also can't try to replicate the past in hopes the present will feel just as perfect. that isn't realistic!"

you were frustrated more than you were angry. no matter what you always felt like gwen was so far away from your wants and needs.

"i know! but... i can't stand how things are right now," she responds with a soft but frustrated tone.

gwen looked down sadly, hands trembling as you raised your voice and spoke to her so bluntly. she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. her voice starts to break with every word. she knew you were right— her thinking wasn't realistic. she was so caught up in herself and her regrets that she didn't realize how she was hurting you too. as much as she wanted, gwen couldn't change the past. she couldn't change the present if she just sat still and felt sorry for herself. she also couldn't create a perfect relationship.

"all we do anymore is fight... you just have no idea how much i miss you.” she admitted, voice trembling. “i miss all the hugs and the kisses and the time we used to spend together.” gwen adverted her gaze, overwhelmed by shame. “i hate who i've become. i hate that this is my life now. what happened to me?”

her statement turned more into a question. she couldn’t believe she let this happen, how she let the suit and her own problems take over your relationship.

"so, what are you gonna do about it?" you questioned, your voice carrying a stern tone.

you yearned for gwen to challenge herself. while she used to let her guard down in the past, now you only caught glimpses of what lay behind closed doors. that's just what's happening right now. she isn't telling you much, nor is she speaking much with the small information she gives. it's just a peak behind the gate to her life. you wished she would finally confide in you, or else it would all mean nothing. just like the roses, just like every other time.

gwen looks back at you with a little bit of a stunned look. as the snow comes down hard, she thinks about how you're waiting for her to say the 'magic' words. the words that will fix all your relationship's problems and make this all go away. but she was gripped by fear, unable to voice her true feelings. she gently bit her lip, struggling to hold back tears that threatened to spill.

"i'm going to make it right,” she declared, taking a hesitant step closer to you, tears welling in her eyes. she had to say something else. she didn't say she'd try, like she did last time.

her voice still trembled, her eyes glistening from the tears she was still trying to hold back. if you said this to her even a month ago, she would have gotten mad at you for implying that she hadn't been good enough for you, even if it was true. but right now, gwen was determined to be better.

she was scared, but she clung to hope.

“i'm going to love you right," gwen affirmed, her voice quivering. "i swear."

your breath hitched as she closed the distance, your bodies brushing against each other. you couldn't believe it, your mind was spinning. it was like she was a whole new person. gwen had swallowed her pride, her fears, her frustrations and dedicated herself to you.

"h-how?" you managed to choke out, still taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.

she wanted to pull out all the stops. there was a part of her that was scared of making big promises, but she couldn't think straight as you kept staring at her, anticipating what she was going to say. she was nervous about the consequences of making such promises and how much they would weigh on her, but to her, it was worth it. you made it worth it.

"i'm going to tell you the truth. i'm going to tell you how i feel, i'm going to spend more time with you and i promise, no more secrets. even when i don't have time i'll at least call you to tell you why. i'm never going to just leave you sitting in the dark ever again. i've been hurting you for so long. it's time to change that,” she promised.

it felt different, the way she wanted you to understand exactly how serious she was about this.

"i'm going to be yours.”

there was no trace of fear in her eyes, no inclination to retreat from the intimacy and close herself off once more. she stood before you, open and honest. for the first time in a long while, you truly saw her. you saw gwen.

your face heated up as you heard the words ‘be yours’ leave her lips. you felt myself get giddy again, like a little kid. this was the gwen you always knew. the gwen that was a charmer, who was able to fluster you with her raw thoughts of how beautiful you were or the simplest of wordings like calling you hers.

it felt like she was being honest, truthful. you start to tear up at her words.

“gwen,” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you rubbed your eyes.

gwen smiled as she wiped the tears away on your face. she was lost in you, for everything that you were, for everything that you still were in her heart.

"shhh, don't cry, babe. i love you, you know that, right? i love you, and i just want to be more honest with you," she spoke softly, her words a soothing balm to your heart.

it was difficult to maintain eye contact with gwen as she lovingly brushed away your tears, but you mustered the strength to gaze into her mesmerizing watercolor eyes. she had become so committed, so brave.

is that why she came, she just couldn't hold it in anymore? just the mere knowledge that your relationship was like this, she didn't have the strength to fight off waiting till the next day or whenever she planned to do this?

"i love you too, gwen... so much," you sobbed, your voice filled with sincerity.

gwen was rendered speechless for a few moments. the snow continued to fall outside, gently obscuring the windows. the world seemed hushed, still, as if you both were the only two people around.

“i’m here, all yours," she whispered, her breath mingling with yours, her eyes darting between your lips and your gaze.

before you knew it, she leaned in for a kiss. at first it was a soft kiss, but then gwen slowly parted her lips gently and let her tongue wander. her teeth met with yours and she moaned softly, kissing me with all the passion she had been holding in these months.

this kiss was everything she wanted you to know.

it was like a dream. every kiss from before was just a shadow of this moment. gwen kissed you like there was no tomorrow. like she was trying to make up for every moment gone unsaid and unshared. she just kept on kissing you, holding your neck and your hair in her hands. when she finally pulled away, her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with a light you hadn't seen in far too long.

gwen's heart skipped a beat. she felt butterflies in her stomach as she kissed you like this. you felt so new but so familiar at the same time. she pulled away from the kiss and let herself exhale. she couldn't believe how happy she felt in this moment. gwen was yours. and you were hers.

you wrapped your arms around her and hugged her, wanting to feel her warm embrace. just hearing her say she's here for you was so comforting. and her saying that she was all yours made your cheeks heat up. it was so reassuring.

nestling against her taller frame, tears painted wet streaks on her black turtleneck as you found solace in her comforting presence. her hands found their way around your waist, and you could feel the warmth of her touch as you pressed against her. with a soft smile, you pulled back slightly, gazing into her eyes.

"can you put it on me? the locket," you asked.

gwen's warm smile radiated affection as she gently wiped away the remaining tears. with a soft chuckle, she took the locket from your hand. "of course."

her hands settled on your waist, and she slowly spun you around until your back was pressed against her chest. the distinct click of the locket's clasp reached your ears as she held it above your head, delicately encircling your neck. a shiver cascaded down your spine as her cool breath ghosted against your neck, emphasizing the closeness between you. her fingers brushed the nape of your neck as she deftly fastened the hooks of the locket.

"there you go," she whispered, turning you around to face her, her hand gently resting on your back.

your hand delicately cradled the locket, holding it close to your chest as you admired its beauty. a soft chuckle escaped your lips, your eyes sparkling with delight.

"it's beautiful," you murmured, your voice filled with awe and genuine appreciation.

that was what gwen missed. the moments where she felt like she fell in love with you all over again. the sound of your laughter, the lines that formed around your eyes when you smiled, and the happy yet exhausted look on your face right now that made you look even more adorable in gwen's eyes.

gwen's heart started racing as you started to laugh and smile. this was one of the moments she missed most. she didn't want to lose you, and right now, she could finally feel all the old gwen— like feelings wash over her again. now that you're both here, things finally feel right. gwen smiled as she watched you, content with the moment you were both in. for a split second, it felt as if time had stood still. after being apart for so long, she finally got to experience the version of you that had captured her heart. you looked so happy, so relaxed, so yourself. you were just being you, just like she remembered.

"and you're beautiful," gwen replied, a playful smirk on her face as she gazed at you.

blushing under her gaze, you mumbled a quiet thank you, your fingers idly playing with the chain of the locket.

a comfortable silence enveloped the room until the sudden heavy downpour of rain drummed forcefully against the window. the storm outside intensified, with the snowfall marrying the wind and rain in a furious dance. startled by the abrupt sound, you flinched in wen's arms, and she instinctively caught you, holding you closer.

glancing at the time, you realized it was already 4:00 am. she had been here for over an hour already. we both lost track of the time so much so that the storm outside had started to get worse.

gwen looked outside of the window and noticed the storm. her eyes widened as she thought about what her dad would think if he caught her sneaking out like this.

"i should probably be heading back now... it's getting late. sorry, i just... lost track of time, i guess," she confessed, clearing her throat.

looking back at you, her expression soft. she hated that she had to leave you right now, but she knew she needed to get home soon.

you nodded, understanding the situation, and pulled her into a hug. gratitude filled your voice as you spoke.

"thanks gwen, for y'know coming in the middle of the night like this. even if you didn't plan on it, it means a lot to me. i know you meant what you said, and everytime i think of december i'm gonna go back to this memory. i don't want us to be perfect, because everything is flawed, but isn't that what makes stuff..beautiful? interesting? maybe it's just my exhaustion talking… but thank you." you expressed sincerely, offering her a tender smile.

gwen's eyes were already tearing up yet again, she was feeling all the emotions she was fighting back again, just to keep her calm and focused. now that you both were alone and they've been honest with each other again, she just feels so overwhelmed by happiness.

"i won't forget this night either. it was good to finally talk with you again, and i hope this is the beginning of us being like this again," she replied, her smile radiant. "you should probably go get some sleep. it's so late, and you need a full day's rest if you want to keep up with me, remember?"

her lighthearted joke elicited a laugh from you, and you nodded in agreement.

"yeah, i'm pretty sleepy. and you should start heading back before your dad realizes you're missing," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

"mhm, yeah, i should probably be heading back now. my dad's going to kill me if he finds out i'm out here alone this late... i'm glad we talked, though. i really am," she spoke, her voice filled with sincerity.

she shot you a small smile before walking toward your window, pausing to look back at you. "sorry for the wet floor- i guess i just couldn't wait. haha... i'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

you chuckled at how nervous she became as you changed the topic of conversation.

"tomorrow," you repeated, observing the snowflakes swirling down. the beauty of the snow was marred by its inconvenience. you watched as gwen adjusted her leather jacket before leaping out of your window.

as she departed, you couldn't resist savoring her presence for one last moment.

"wait, gwen," you whispered urgently, careful not to wake the entire house.

gwen turned back, peering up from the bottom of your window ledge, holding onto it for support. hurrying over, you leaned down and looked at her.

gwen appeared slightly confused as she gazed up at you. she hadn't expected you to call out her name.

"what is it, babe? is everything okay?" she asked in a hushed voice. the wind and rain were loud, making it difficult to hear each other unless you were close.

you could see the concern on her face, realizing she didn't want to leave. she cherished this time with you and was starting to fear parting ways.

"i... um..." words failed you, unable to articulate what you wanted to express to her. you poked your head through the window, greeted by the cold outside and snowflakes delicately landing on your skin and hair. closing your eyes briefly, you leaned down and kissed her, a soft and tender peck, all too brief.

gwen was both curious about your intentions and taken aback by the unexpected kiss. her entire body warmed as she quickly reciprocated, her cheeks flushing as she gazed up at you, rendered speechless.

"get home safe," you said, pulling back, your lips barely inches apart. even in a quiet tone, gwen could hear your words as you looked at her shyly.

"i will, don't worry. get some sleep, alright?" she reassured you, then turned and started descending the ledge.

with those parting words, she smiled and glanced back at you before leaping off, disappearing into the snowy night.

nodding in response to her words, you returned her smile with a small one of your own.

as she vanished into the darkness veiled by the falling snow, you made your way to bed, switched off the lights, and drifted off to sleep.

gwen blushed as she saw you waving to her. she smiled softly and waved back before turning away and continuing to swing towards her house. her heart fluttered, and a yawn escaped her as she soared through the air. it was late, and the snowfall intensified with each passing moment. the thought of her father discovering she was out this late worried her, but it was all worth it. grinning, she swung through the storm.

arriving at her house, gwen opened her window and climbed back into her room. the cold air brushed against her skin, and she let out a contented sigh. sitting on her bed, she reflected quietly. she was exhausted, yet the thought of you made her feel alive.

"i'll love her right," she whispered to herself.

for a few more seconds, the snow continued to fall outside, until finally, all was quiet once more.

A/N: starting off the speak now series………..omg

© 2023 primaviva

[etherealsworldvision]

Let’s Soothe Your Mind

Before I begin the reading I’d like to take a moment to talk about Save The Redwoods. They’re a non-profit organization who is committed to protect and restore redwood forests. If you’re interested do check out their website and if you’d like to further your support here is their donation link.

Divider Credits: @ianrkives & @plum98

New Song Discovery for the Reading: Reservations – Dugong Jr, Julia Lostrom, Keelan Mak

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

🚨 P.S.A 🚨 : I do not give personal readings! Disclaimer: this is for entertainment only!

Added Description: all my readings are timeless and meant to reach those who resonate to the messages.

[ General Messages: Rain; Autumn; Libra and Leo Seasons, “My love do you ever dream of candy coated raindrops”- Candy Rain by Soul for Real, Longboards (Skateboarding and Surfing); Raya the Last Dragon; Dewdrop; Spicy (foods); Avatar the Last Airbender; Fire Flakes; Honeydew; Drinks; Tantrums; Saturn Hour; Saturn Placements and Aspects; (Smithsonian) Museums; 1010; Kendrick Lamar; Trouble - Taylor Swift; Caught Up; Cheat; Exclusion; (Reaction) Memes; Distrust; Camping; Tents; Connections; Frustration; Online ]

Pile 1

[ Cards: Justice; Moon Reversed; Ace of Wands; Seven of Cups Reversed; Two of Wands ]

Confirmation Messages: Gojo & Geto; Anxiety (Playlist); “Get off of me/Ew get away,” (directed towards emotions feeling stuck to your body or feels like “bugs” crawling on skin); Anxiousness; Nervousness; Shadow and Bones (?); Shadow Hunters; Slowing Down; Chaotic Energy; Out of Control; Bugs; (Breaking) Habits; Messy Thoughts; Strategic; “Playing it Cool”; Patrick Star?; Hares; Hates Feeling Emotions; Pink Flowers (Real or Artificial); Systems Down; Mewing (?)

Something new might have happened or you feel like this is the universe (or whoever you believe in) giving you something. This energy feels like Carl and Cindy’s interaction (from Jimmy Neutron). In this case you’re Carl and Cindy is the universe lol. Maybe you were in a rut or had a cycle of “unfortunate events” in regard to circumstances or people.

If you’re asking for clarification: You have free will — it’s up to you whether you want to continue what you’re doing or not. I’m not sensing anything “bad” or “malicious” intent in regards to what/who you’re inquiring about. There’s this sense of catastrophizing new things. There’s also this feeling of “too good to be true”. I don’t know if you said/thought/felt this: “I need a fucking break” is strongly coming in.

So now that you have this break — it’s almost like you don’t know what to do or how to proceed. It’s as if you’re holding a globe but you don’t get to actually go anywhere. Maybe at one point you did get experience with this, only to be let down? Either way having no control is what’s scaring you and causing this anxiousness (especially if this deals with a person).

What’s coming in for those who are iffy about proceeding: “let them, just let them because you are your own before and after meeting this person”. This can also deal with a situation too — as in this doesn’t define you. There is no need to punish/blame yourself for being afraid/ not taking this offer. It just means you weren’t ready and that’s okay. Go at your own pace.

For those of you who want to proceed with this situation/person then you’ll have to let down your walls bit by bit. Again it’s okay to go at your own pace or ask to slow down. The same applies: “let them”. The door is always open so let them or “let you”. You can always set it down and move to the next one. It’s okay.

Bonus Question to Ask Yourself: “What did I keep doing that keeps hurting? Why do I keep repeating this behavior?” - by WNRS

So that’s all that I’m getting for pile 1. If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading this, I really appreciate it. If this resonates let me know. I am supporting you through and through 🧡!

Pile 2

[ Cards: Three of Swords Reversed; 3 of Pentacles Reversed; 6 of Swords; 5 of Pentacles Reversed; 9 Of Swords; 3 of Wands ]

Confirmation Messages: Courage; Charli XCX (Brat album); The Sun; Music; Concerts; Celebrity; Billie Eilish; Air and Earth Placements; Careless; Responsibility; Overthinker; New Things; Success; Moving On; 55; 66; 333; 9; Truth; Waiting; Patience; Releasing Judgement; Let it flow; Getting or Wanting Numbers? Holding Back; Calculated Risks; Chappell Roan; Doechii; Temptation - Raveena; Gemini; Aries

So I’m feeling like you’re releasing this heartache (for some it could be from your past?) I don’t know why, I pulled a clarification and it’s the 10 of Cups and I heard “No that’s so scary, Boo Feelings and Happiness!” So maybe you’re afraid of things working out because you were always let down in the past.

I feel like this can be about a connection (?) — there’s a lot of air coming in which means social lives. This may have come when things just started to calm down or in the midst of healing? To be honest this pile’s energy tends to overthink a lot. Like I feel like there’s this thing where you’re scared of saying the wrong thing which makes you take a step back only to make the overthinking worse. Maybe you’re asking friends what to do because I split the deck and saw 3 of Cups.

For some reason I feel like you need more reassurance so I’ll just pull out more cards for you. So I got the 2 of cups and the Eight of Wands (reversed), Judgement, and the Emperor. The first thing I’m picking up is that: you two may have opposite personalities or are awake at different times because we have two blue cards and two gold cards.

I’m also getting that the pace is painfully slow despite things going smoothly. It’s like you want to take control but you’re aware it won’t go smoothly if you rush it. For some of you there’s this thing of being afraid to take the “lead” or being pressured by society to take the lead.

(Side note: I don’t know who needs to hear this but there’s no hierarchy in a connection. There’s no, “who wears the pants” or whatever heteronormative stuff that gets constantly pushed into connections. What makes a connection work is when both people see each other as equals and accepting of one another)

You’re going to hate me for this but…it takes time and teamwork for a connection to work out. So yeah, go at your own comfortable pace (not a pace society tells you to go by) and enjoy the present time. For some reason I really have to “hammer it in” to take your time; let this connection take its time. Let things fall into place all on its own and if you feel called to do something (meaning the timing is right) then by all means take that initiative.

When you let things slowly progress you will also get a better understanding and feel of this person, from there you can see if you want to proceed or not.

Bonus Questions to Ask Yourself: “When have I given too much of myself in a relationship (could also be platonic)? What did that look like? What lesson did that leave me with?” - WNRS

That’s really all I’m getting, to be honest this reading is so chaotic and so long even though it barely reached 5 paragraphs. If you made it this far thank you so much, I appreciate it. I’m wishing you luck and please take your time!

Pile 3

[ Cards: Queen of Pentacles; 7 of Swords; Justice; Five of Cups Reversed; 8 of Pentacles; 7 of Cups; 7 of Pentacles ]

Confirmation Messages: Horror Games; Paranormal; Libra; Yellowjackets; Birds of a Feather; Unrequited; Nevada; Winter; Baby Powder; Scents; Insincerity; Friday; Outcasts; Water(falls); Late Spring; (Couples) Therapy; 777; (Down by the Water) PJ Harvey; Library; Goth (Music); Unknown; Earth Placement; Situationship; Clear Mind; Tiredness; “Success is the Best Revenge”; Lana Del Rey; Distractions; Cheating; 1:23

You may have left a connection or felt this person was dishonest. I think what made it worse is outside advice (which is ironic because y’know we’re here lol). Perhaps someone gave you the, “time heals all wounds” or “it’s okay! Just get pretty and focus on your job!” Only to feel dread, I’m not going to lie. I don’t know if you put a limit to your sadness because there’s this sense of, “I should be over this by now.” I feel like some of you did achieve this success/glow up you wanted yet still feel grief.

Honestly, it’s okay to grieve as long as you want to. There is no time limit to feel grief and sadness. Realistically speaking, grief stays with us. Grief can come in the form of memories popping up or when you feel nostalgic — that’s a part of grief and that’s okay. All we can do is look at them and see them for who they are and what they did. (Now, I’m not excusing their actions at all!) For example; it’s one of those things where someone waits for years to get closure only to get nothing and in the end they accept they’ll never get it.

I know this may sound bitter and for some bittersweet, but let the grief flow. You’re not crying over “spilt milk”, for all we know it’s not just spilt milk! Maybe it was milk you got with your hard earned money and now you don’t have milk because you just spent the last portions of your money so you can wipe your ass! So no, it’s not just milk! (lol sorry I just hate when the 5 of cups gets that connotation — there’s always something deeper to it.)

Look, distracting yourself out of emotions via deep diving in your work isn’t always the best thing to do. Sometimes you need silence (no music or sounds!) and sit with yourself. Really sit, lay or something with yourself and be vulnerable. Sit with that feeling for just a minute (not drown in it) because it’s asking to be acknowledged. Acknowledgment is a key to acceptance and with that comes the healing.

I feel like when you do acknowledge your grief, come to terms with the situation/person for who they are it’ll make the healing process bearable. I’m not saying it’ll be easier and you’ll be happy at a flip of a coin. I’m just saying because of this acceptance you may find you’re not doing your work/hobbies/goals for the sake of revenge but because it’s for you. You’re doing these things because you love it or for your own happiness/fulfillment.

Bonus Question to Ask Yourself: “What’s my favorite song at the moment? Why do I love it so much? (Play it for yourself)”. - by WNRS

Alrighty Pile 3 that’s all I got for you, thank you so much for reading until the very end! I appreciate it. I'm giving you some peace and love 🧡.

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (4) - i'll be your mirror

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: angst. talks of parental neglect. consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) roman and reader are 17 & 16 in this flashback authors note: we going down that memory lane again. this chapter is inspired by the velvet underground's song "i'll be your mirror". it's such a bittersweet song, something that i think perfectly sums up the relationship. word count: 3900 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini

roman didn't, and still doesn't have the burden of being an only child—thank God—and certainly not the burden of being an only child to such disagreeable parents. i love you, i hate you, and then that heavy  drowning silence to follow. and no, he's never seen your mother and KG fight, but the after affects of such tumultuous affairs are always evident. cleaner and more clear than a chrome finish. a force fed sort of isolation he can feel, even if such feelings are just, to him, a secondary burden. pain by association. and he hates to imagine the messiness of it, that mangled and tattered sort of hurt littered everywhere, but his imagination is all he has, because you never say much about it.  leaving the air as dry and brittle as they had. but maybe if you do ever say something, give the silence a soft solemn touch, he can restore it the rest of the way. or try to at least. he can do or say or be something, enough of whatever you need to remedy what he can. but even the idea of that is scary, a new desire the sixteen year old him that existed the year prior wouldn't have. lacking so much urgency about anything that wasn't him inspired. 'you need to grow up fast', he'd heard his mother say once. maybe this is what she meant. his seventeen year old sensibilities a little different. a little more urgent than easy, a little more ardently driven. 

priorities are funny though. a list constantly shifting. everything ever that he liked, maybe even loved—parties, bikes, parties, girls, his hair, his bike—trumped by the state of your emotional being. which was interesting. a tire skid of an abrupt shift. and not to mention your hair, and your eyes and your face. full lips that love to pout in time with their irritations. and how would he notice that unless he was lingering? his eyes there, trailing up and over, down and everywhere. a twist in his belly, hearing you call his name. he can't help but to like it. to crave that rushing energy of getting you to squirm, to smile. to have your eyes fix themselves on him.  

and if he didn't like you so damn much he'd probably hate you. his heart sinking into himself all the time now. a habitual falling that couldn't be stopped. regardless of how deep he breathed. self soothing be damned. so its nothing new to work through, when he gets to you—twisting open the door with a spare key he forced you to get made for him because he hated the idea of you being alone a lot at night —comfortable in your very empty house but not really. wrestling still with his body, because doesn't it know he has a coolness to maintain? an air? a quality? prince of pensacola and all that nice prestigious shit. but maybe that wasn't the point. maybe that wasn't supposed to exist with you. his fingers playing over the velvet box in the right pocket of his sweatpants.

but when roman says empty, he doesn't mean barren because your house is homey. comfortable. lived in. theres just no one here to indulge in it. to indulge in earth tones and splashes of green. plants and throw blankets. KG staining the place with pops of black leather jackets and silver things. little harley bikes and idle jewelry. no one but you. but whatever you've done, it leaves him hungry. the air warm and savory scented. tomatoes and garlic and bread and other fragrant little seasonings. 

roman's sneakers thud over hardwood floors. your voice carrying from the lit kitchen. music low and melodic under your words, just enough to fill in the emptiness of the house. "roman i swear if you don't have my ice cream, please turn your ass about face and exit stage left". 

he leads himself into the kitchen easy paced. overly familiar with the lay of the house. sliding into a too tiny for him kitchen island table high chair. his body half way off the seat. "you tryin to kick me out when i have a key is real backwards shit". 

and you pout. full lips down turning. brows pulling. it makes the tip of his fingers itch. his tongue working over the roof of his mouth. he'd thought about it, once or twice. your mouth. questioned how good mango lip balm tastes. 

you throw a balled up napkin his way. "the one little thing i ask for, you keep forgetting. its like you hate me". 

"first", he starts. eyeing the portion of food you've tonged onto a plate. "that lil market you want it from is out of my way", snagging a fork and dipping it into the heat of the plate. your hand sliding him a can of coke. "second, its expensive as hell. tryna have me travel damn near across country for a forgettable ass flavor". 

you gasp offended. full on dramatics that confirm just how spoiled you are. because KG and your mother were many things. complicated people he couldn't at times understand. but they always gave you things. whether it was wanted or needed. you always had it. 

"my needs are forgettable?" 

his eyes roll playfully. pulling his fork to watch the heat rise from it. "gimme a few days. i'll draft up a nice fat invoice for your pops. show him just how needy you are. spending all my money".

"money you let me spend!", you give. smiling. because you were right. there was never a moment where he let you buy things around him. not since the development of such abrupt, overwhelming feelings. harsh butterfly's and hard to quell desire making him do things he otherwise wouldn't think of. and he never saw his dad do it. never saw his mother reach into her wallet. your fingers pointing to the once upon a time crew neck band tee that you cut into a tank top. "your contributions paid for this top by the way. and my shorts", the neck of it slit into a v shape that gave him a view he didn't need to see. it wouldn't do much but excite things that didn't need exciting. ideas that didn't need encouragement. not now anyways. the biker shorts hitting mid thigh, soft brown skin left to the air. and you seem none the wiser to his examinations. cleaning out the contents of the fridge. your voice carrying over to him still. "the best thing you can do for a woman is open up that little wallet of yours". 

roman snorts. sips at his coke with a smile. "when this so called woman shows up, give her my number so we can chat". 

your teeth suck. throwing in a little mumble of "whatever", taking a towel to the fridge shelves. a diligent but bizarre work of your hands. because the house was already clean. already presentable. there was no reason for you to drench cloths in pine scented product. to work in a wipe down that left reflections rivaling the fresh chrome finish of his father's vintage cruiser. maybe that's why you've been on him about ice cream pick ups and late night last minute shopping mall trips for band tees and flannel shirts. everything a project. a process to pass the time. and his sudden willingness to say yes to everything didn't help. it only drew him in. manifesting itself in the form of a little black velvet box. one which sat in his pocket, waiting for some much needed exposure. exposure roman is sure won't be given tonight. not if his fears have anything to say about it. obnoxiously loud, heart thumping fears. seventeen isn't the age for rejection anyways. and he's seen it before, he can do well without that type of pain. 

and with all this passion filled anxiety, roman goes unaware. tunnel visioned by thoughts and the impression of that velvet box pressing into his leg. levels the good heap of food you've given him easily. growing boy and all that jazz.

your reaction is cute though, when you do finally face him again. a play at disgust. pretty brown eyes watching the roll his tongue takes over his lips to taste the remnants of flavor. and he can feel the exacting of them. a sensation over his mouth from your eyes. hesitant and curious.��

"y'know you could've chewed it right? it wasn't going nowhere"

roman stands. a finished plate in one hand and his unfinished coke in the other. shuffling to the sink. "the way you mindin my business is kinda crazy actually". 

"the way you eat is crazy actually. very much like a starved animal". 

and roman does a lesser by the day rare thing, slipping out of the hesitancy that comes with what if's and unknowns. the saucy mess of his plate in his right hand, body inching close, smooth and unashamed, till he's caging you in between his height and the sink. his eyes catching onto the slight hitch in your shoulders as you flush up against the counter. his head tilting, narrowing in on the surprise of your face. the stillness in your body that comes with unsure thoughts. mixed desire. or at least. thats what he hopes. this would be bad if you absolutely hated everything about what he was doing. but he kills that way of thinking. pushes it to a deeper, quieter corner. his blood racing. something in him wanting to see you thrash and break against the hold of your resolve for him. for him only. "all that jealous energy for a plate of food is unnecessary. i got enough attention to go around".

you gasp. catching his drift. his thigh nudging into yours. this teasing, faint knock in that has your hands rushing into him. a not so hard pushing away. "be so fuckin for real right now".

"starin me down, watchin me cause you like the way i eat", his emphasis on words, sharper on some than others. it makes your nose flare and the pulling in your brows deepen. his body rife with sweet satisfaction. he smiles, teasing, and the slip of it catches your eyes again. "it's ok to admit i make you feel something". his hand reaching down to dump the plate in the sink and sit down his can of coke. a maneuvering that gets him closer, deeper into the warmth of your space. "squirmin n'shit away from me like you don't like it". 

your eyes dilate. a black heat pushing against the sweet docile brown. something new and unknown pushing against something comfortable and old. telling him everything he needs to know.

you bristle. short of breath."roman shut the fuck up and-...", your teeth sucking as you push against him again. "...and make yourself useful". getting away from what he's sure is suffocating air. and no this isn't totally his ego, but he knows that the intoxication of such a new feeling is more than likely overwhelming, because roman isn't new to making girls melt. to having them go weak and silly eyed for him. he was and is who he is, and the aura is natural, comes to him as true as would a birthright to the firstborn son of ancient nobility. but its never left such a satisfaction in him as it does now. 

"need me to eat somethin else?"

your fist balls around a towel you've picked up. standing in front the light of the open fridge. you hurl it fast to hit him, approaching to have your hands push at his solid chest. so obviously overdone by whatever truths you're fighting to avoid. because why else would it bother you so much if it isn't true. if you don't feel the same way he does. 

"close this", your finger pointing as his mouth. "wash this", directed at his still saucy plate. 

eyes rolling for dramatic effect. to really sink home that overflowing of disgust. you fooled nobody. nobody but yourself. 

"not sure if you know this...", his hands soapy and wet as he starts to clean his plate. heart pounding in his chest. a giant step of words tumbling down off his tongue. heavy and thumping as they hit the air less implied than they've ever been. "...but we can't work if you're gonna be violent to me. it's gotta be fifty-fifty. give and take and all that good shit". 

you wipe mindless at another fridge shelf. from what he can see of your face, the gears turning slow and cautious. "and what exactly is supposed to be workin?"

"don't be dense". he throws a look your way. mocking and a little impatient. 

you wince. a slight hitch in your arms. like such a thing to hear was painful. "roman. stop saying that", you scold. his name leaving you violent and parental. 

and he feels an immediate failing in his chest. a stuttering that forms as the complete summation of every heavy bout and measly piece of anxiety since he's taken his first step past your front door. of course he didn't mean to be so wounding as to bring up in your eyes a more than mild detesting but there it is. brown and burning and heavy. a loathing born from the awful slip of his memory. too comfortable in his slip from caution to reign in the no go phrasing. because KG—as cool as roman thinks him to be—says not so nice things sometimes. 'don't be dense', as a way to inspire common sense from the other guys romans age. ones that hang around lazily. doing half ass jobs and wasting his—your fathers— time. but it doesn't mean you hate it any less, even if it never is directed at you. 

"sorry", he gives softly. "sorry".

and the silence after is agony. like his body is working through the painstaking process of drowning. a suffocation that makes him squirm. uncomfortable in his skin. soft music playing still, the only thing that attempts to fill in the deep well of quiet. his hands toweling dry, leaning up against the sink to watch you work. steeping further into a self directed annoyance. the banter at one point ok. teasing but never so much that it made you go quiet. because quiet, from you, means that roman can't access whatever you're thinking. he can't gauge whatever feelings exist. and he's never been so brainless about a thing before, so disconnected that his words make you mount with a displeasured heat that quickly. again, this care for all of your feelings all the time. happening so quickly. when the fuck did that start and how the hell is he going to catch up? 

he needs to fill the silence. the loudness of it nearly killing him. 

"how's your mom?"

because he hasn't seen her for a while. her always less than warm stare and short words. smiles that don't reach the eyes and tense, unsure hugs. it was better when you both were younger. she gave him more to work with then. always smiling and cooking and present. her eyes bright and warm and brown, similar to the ones you have now. they looked at him with less distance then. 

the circular wipe down of your hand falters for some seconds. picks back up as if nothing has happened. "she's fine", your voice flat. unenthused. "went up north to visit family". 

and he's heard his own mother and father talk about it before. hushed words when they think others don't know. a sadness to the syllables. to the air when they say things. he figures its an excuse. visiting family is an excuse for other things. 

the curiosity crushes into him. for the sake of wanting to do something. to have you not be so quiet about it. so alone in it. "how long has she been gone-"

"a few days", sighing out answers. seemingly exhausted with his prying. you stack things back into a clean—it was already fairly clean—fridge. dumping out not so old containers and ceramic dishes into the sink. "she'll be back whenever". 

"whenever?"

you give him a look. one that peers up from under your lashes. one that says to stop. to drop the subject. to let it go. but roman is compelled by his own needs to get closer. to be something more than whatever it is that exists now. he wants to be let in. 

"listen", picking his brain for words to say. anything that will properly stick. "...i'm here... if you wanna talk about it... you don't have to shutdown-"

you wipe out a tupper-ware bowl. old food and a nasty smell. disinterested. "don't really know what you want me to say". 

romans jaw clenches. "don't do that". 

"don't do what?"

"don't downplay shit", words toughing out harsher than he means them to. he sighs, tightening his eyes and going for a deeper breath. "i'm just trying to-", but you maneuver about him regardless. eyes not meeting and your fingers soapy and wet with too hot water. like he's not there. a twist in his gut performs well enough that he thinks somehow it'll bruise internally. his jaw clenching. "stop ignoring me-"

the dishes in your hand drop hard. but somehow not breaking. the fire in your eyes small but dangerous. "s'nothin to say...", you start. each word cutting out. "...because everybody knows. because it's very fuckin obvious. she gets tired, she goes to visit family", your tone playing patronizing. like a parent to a child. "he gets tired, he stays at the clubhouse". 

"...and they leave you here alone", he finishes. upset for you. upset alongside you. why is that so hard for you to see? 

"oh really roman?", sarcasm washing over. "i didn't notice. thanks for telling me". 

and he doesn't really know what to do now. what to say. to much of an abrupt turn back into the banter could make you grow more sour. but he doesn't want to leave you to quietness either. doesn't want you to stew in the heat of all this unaccounted for anger. he's lost. ill feeling. but finally at least coming to some resignation of just how deep the care for you is steadily staking its claim into him. and that insistent scrubbing you're doing, roughing your hand into hot soapy water, almost mindless the way your arm works. like maybe whatever it is you're not saying, you're bleeding into the motions of it. your lips between your teeth. biting in. he wishes you'd just say something. even if that thing is small.  

the ceramic dish breaks. a clacking sort of crack from too much heat and pressure. weak and overworked. the water it suffers under running red from the spill of blood. the skin on your hand lifted and pooling steadily. the pieces dropping to shatter more as you let them go. beads of blood pull up still past your skin but you don't dare to move. shocked maybe? the pain waiting to sink in. 

"shit", a full registration. roman running to your bathroom. rummaging for anything first aid. bandaids and alcohol and gauze and ointments. but the cut itself was easy enough to bandage. yeah no, his speed isn't for the cut. it's for distance coloring your eyes and the way your body refuses to react. the speed of his running is to get back to that. to help that. attempt at a bandaging for that. or maybe thats not something mendable by his hand. maybe not at all.

the kitchen water is running when he comes in. hands full of helpful things and eyes filled with worry. your hand under cold water. grimacing with pain. 

"here", he gives. stripping paper towels and pressing them into your hand. holding tight to pressure over. staring hard at sad eyes. 

your hand pulls from his. releasing him. "thank you", fragile. on the precipice of breaking. soft breaths and a firm standing in front of him. amongst a too clean house and a bloody hand. your eyes not meeting. your lip suffering under the tension of weary teeth. and roman aches but the tower of his body stands over you present and waiting. a comfortable patience. your head falling into his chest. a lean in that asks for the permission to gain relief. if not from pain than from the  carrying of a full burden. something that can be shared. and he takes it gracefully. his arms coming over and around till you're flushed into his chest. fingers spread and soothing. a pleasant caress. 

you sniffle. small like but he can hear you. and maybe in this moment, this is all you can give. a simple cry without the heavy complexity of words. but it's enough. for him it's enough. 

and your face is warm when you decide to shift away from tear staining his shirt. his fingers feeling the brunt of the heat as he thumbs the wet streaks along your cheeks. feeding his eyes into yours. no examinations or readings. just simple presence. an undefiled attention. here now, not so similar to before, he knows what to say. 

"i gotchu". a tender thumbing caress just under glassy pink eyes. 

everything about you here soft and abruptly undone. 

his eyes slip against the seam of your lips. yours doing the same for his. looking away quickly to your hand. 

"i got blood on your shirt", you say. his hands leaving the comfort of your face. looking up to him from under wet curled lashes. "sorry". 

"it's cool", smiling. fingering the fabric of his t-shirt before tugging easy at yours. smudges of blood on it pressed in from the impact of your embrace. "we gotta get you a new tank top though. time to open up my little wallet i guess". 

"that and my ice cream is the least you can do". 

and roman goes about the work of wrapping your hand patiently. a tenderness he's never really known existed in his till the first breaths of this moment. soft music that played before, playing still. his fingers steady as the gauze folds over and over to cover the wound against your palm. 

he can still feel the impression of the velvet box in his pocket. the pressure of it calling to him. heart thudding ill-controlled. with no mind to give him reprieve. 

his thumb runs over the wrapping of gauze against your hand. taking in just how much he towers over you easily. something like possession working into his blood. wanting to keep you safe. 

he does the lesser and lesser rare thing. slipping out of hesitancy. 

"can i show you something?"

you nod. "show me".

the velvet box gets its much needed exposure. after living so long in the shadows of such a deep pocket. his thumb opening it to reveal a pretty silver necklace. slim and simple. a heart at the center covered in diamonds. surprise takes you whole, pretty post-tear brown eyes full of questions. 

"you like it?"

you nod again. "its pretty".

"it's yours if you want it". 

his heart. if you want it, it's yours. 

your eyes trail to his lips again. his tongue licking sly over them, feeling the burden of such a sensation. you reach on your toes, lips planting delicate and shy. an unsure take to his mouth that burst' the ways of his seventeen year old heart. he clutches the necklace dearly, the slim silver of it nestled in his palm as it circles your waist. hugging you in as his lips slot. pursing to pull against yours. a hum of sweet satisfaction slipping up as he maneuvers your mouth gracefully. something tender and fleeting, like a moan, from your throat. breaths heavy as you part from him. his nose knocking gentle into yours. mango lip balm sugary and addicting as he pecks your mouth again. 

he latches the pretty heart to secure around your neck. thumbing your cheeks. his body urging him to go for more. pursing against your lips for another kiss. 

angst and fluff… theyre so sweet!! makes all the present animosity and tension better i think. let me know what you think!!

[ezzydantes]

The End of It All...

Author's note: I had some things happen recently that made mortality rear its ugly head. So the following may be triggers or such for some, but definitely angst. For now its Luffy and Zoro perspectives...

*********

Luffy

You had fought so bravely.... so hard to survive, but it wasn't enough. Luffy had fought his hardest to get to you and Chopper had done the same trying to save the future Queen of the Pirates. The wounds were just bigger than anyone. Luffy held you close to his body... whispering how sorry he was that he couldn't have saved you sooner and that you were a target at all.

Your lifeless body dangled in his arms... How was he supposed to go on without you? You had gotten this far.... how the hell was he supposed to achieve his dream now? He was always going to be King of the Pirates.... but you were supposed to be his Queen. The world had changed forever with your passing...

Luffy eventually let go of you so that Chopper could take care of your remains.

It was a somber night the moment they let go of you. None of them were willing to part with you, but they knew they had to be strong for their captain. It had turned into a bigger affair than expected. Word had spread during the days they were preparing your body and getting everything ready for what was supposed to be a small funeral... just between the main crew of the Straw Hats... but it had turned into a more complicated and extravagant occasion. There was a whole procession of your friends and allies leading your body to the small boat that Franky had built for you. It had been common among your people to be burned at sea. Luffy had remembered the painful conversation you two had years ago about what was to happen should one or both of you die. He had chosen Usopp to do the honors of shooting the arrow that would set the boat on fire, but everyone had placed something that represented what you were to them. Nami had placed the berry you had given her when you learned about the deal with Arlong. Zoro placed the dagger he had purchased to have restored for you, that he was going to train you with. Usopp placed a small diary of his grand "adventures" that you loved to hear so often. Sanji placed a copy of your favorite dessert in along with a cookbook and his favorite photo of you two when he was teaching you how to make Luffy's favorite meal. Chopper placed a laurel wreath... to signify your status as his Queen... and all the fun afternoons you two spent in the fields studying plants and herbs for his medical supplies. Robin placed a copy of your favorite novel, the one you had her read to soothe her spirit and save her from the constant monopoly of research. Franky had hand carved your boat with details of your life and the ones that loved you to include how the two of you met. Brooks had placed your favorite sheet music from the piano in.

Luffy had written you a love letter. It was not something the crew had known about, but the two of you would leave each other love notes and letters in your room on each other's pillows on occasion. You were the love of his life and he wanted you to know that before he had to part with you. Everyone was moved by how sweet he was putting his letter in your hands. Kissing both before kissing your forehead, then both cheeks, and finally your lips. He declared his undying love for you before Zoro and Sanji helped him push your boat into the ocean. He stood there for a moment... taking in the scene before him and trying to accept that his lover was gone and so too was the child that had been growing inside of you. This bit of information Luffy ordered only stayed between himself and Chopper. He signaled Usopp when your boat had drifted far enough out. The girls had surprised him with having the rest of the fleet light lanterns from their respective boats. Brooks played your favorite song on the violin.

Luffy had made good on his promises and became the King of Pirates..... but he refused to take another lover after you.... so to his dying day, you were the only one for him. He had tattooed your name to his chest... right above his heart, a reminder that you were always with him. And on that day a few years after he had become King... he was surrounded by his crew, but it was you who had come for him, rather than Death.

"Hey Lover", you cooed to him as you stood beside his bed. You gently pushed his bangs out of his face with one hand and caressed his cheek with the other. "Y/n....", he barely whispered as he looked as if he was talking to thin air. "Y/n?" Robin questioned as the rest of the main Straw Hat crew looked back at her, "Even after all this time, Captain?"

"Never was anyone else....", Luffy smiled as he stared into his girl's eyes, "I missed you..."

"I've come to take you home, your majesty...", you teased as you continued to hold his face between your hands.

"I like Lover better than your Majesty....", he mumbled as he pouted to you, "But I am ready to go home..."

"Luffy? Who the hell you talking to?" Sanji questioned his Captain.

"I think y/n is here.... to take him with her....", Chopper began to sob.

"As much as I hate to see our Captain go.... he's endured enough... let him go with y/n..." Zoro stated matter of factly, "They never got to really be together..."

"I agree...", Franky was crying, "They were separated before they actually had a chance to live their lives together."

"He was so heartbroken when we lost her....", Usopp sobbed, "I hope they both finally find peace."

"They're happier than you know...", Brooks smiled as he looked towards the pair of you walking off from the King of Pirates now still body.

"Luffy....", Nami whispered to herself as she finally closed his eyes, "Until we meet again..."

*****

Zoro

His eyes were wide in horror as he watched the blade of his cursed sword run right through your chest. Blood began running down your mouth as your lungs began to fill with the crimson liquid and you began to choke. "Y/N!!!!" the swordsman screamed desperately as he caught your body in his arms. He was immediately surrounded by Luffy, Franky, Brooks, Usopp, and Sanji. They were keeping anyone else from getting to the two of you while Chopper tried to check your wounds.

"Zoro...", the reindeer began to cry as he examined you. It was a fatal wound and he didn't have the means necessary to treat you properly on the field. Even if he had you back on the Sunny.... the amount of blood pouring out of you even while he was trying to pack around the wound.... he couldn't take the sword out because otherwise you would bleed out completely.

Zoro held you tight to him and began whispering in your ear. He didn't want to let you go... he had already lost Kuina... his best friend. He didn't want to lose his girl too. You were the only one who actually tolerated him aside from Luffy. "Baby girl... I need you to stay with me... stay with me, okay?" the green haired man begged, "Why would you do that? That was so stupid, y/n.... I can handle myself..."

"As if I would let anything happen to you....", you mumbled into his neck. You tried so hard to lift your hand up to cup his face but you were getting weaker by the second and speaking was going to take up your energy. There were some things you needed to tell him. "You're.... you're too stubborn for your own good.... so when.... when I pass, you can't busy yourself with training and losing your mind like you did with her... I will haunt you before I let you go down that rabbit hole again...", you quietly stated, "Also... I CHOSE to save you.... so don't be dramatic about it..."

The swordsman actually chuckled at that. "You're gonna be fine... Chopper is gonna fix you right up", he lied. He knew from the look on his friend's face.. you weren't coming back to the Sunny. He was losing his girl and the mother of his daughter. What was he supposed to tell Sora? That he had failed in protecting her mother and that is why she was going to grow up without you... This life was difficult and to be honest Sora was a surprise... but you wouldn't change having Zoro's daughter for the world... and neither would he.

"Baby... I know its alot... but I need some warmth... can I get some sun?" you barely whispered. You felt your lover's tears hitting your face but you were losing consciousness and so speaking was already a burden.

Your swordsman sadly smiled and informed the crew he was taking you higher into the mountains. Begging them to keep people at bay. You knew he was desperate then... because since when did YOUR Zoro ever beg. You're situation was dire... but you already knew that. You had to tell him everything you felt in this moment because you wouldn't have a second chance.

"i love you... I have no other words than i love you and if you ever feel lost...especially with Sora.... You have Robin and Nami. They'll know what to do... and... and she has all of her uncles to help keep her safe. Don't give the cook a hard time, he's your greatest ally besides the Captain..." you coughed and more blood spewed from your mouth,

"You're worried about the waiter?" Zoro growled. He readjusted you in his grip.

"No... ", you chuckled. "I'm more worried about you..."

The green haired man began sobbing. He held you closer to him and placed his head on your chest. Your heartbeat getting slower from the blood loss.

"Listen to me, my Love.... I 'll be waiting for you in the next life...." you were barely breathing... the blood in your lungs becoming more and more.

"Y/N!!!!" your swordsman shouted as he felt the last breath leave your body. All he could do was hold you close to him and cry his heart out. When he finally was able to compose himself he brought you back to the crew. They had defeated your enemies but seeing your lifeless body being held so preciously in his arms was more than any of them could bear.

Your funeral was a small affair. Your crew kept it between the original members only and each one of them made sure to have their time with Sora. When they sent you off in a coffin built by Franky into the sea, Zoro held your daughter tightly to his chest. Hating the fact that your daughter didn't understand why Mommy wasn't around anymore. For the next few months, each crew member helped him and Sora go through the grief of losing you.

Zoro made it a point to train your daughter to defend herself better. He refused to lose her, and when the day came that he finally passed.... Sora had made sure her father knew, it was okay to go back to you. She had surpassed him in his sword skills and once that had become a reality is when he felt the need to return to you. He was surrounded by his crew members and greeted by you and Luffy who had passed a few years after you. The three amigos were back together again.

*******

Author's ending note: I plan on making one with Sanji, Ace... and possibly Shanks... lemme know.

[findingtarshish]

In honor of finishing my first run of BG3, I've whipped up a tav/durge ask game! I've never done one of these before so I hope I did it right.

💕 Did your Tav romance anyone? What did their lives together look like after the end of the game?

💛 Which of your non-romanced companions did your Tav stay closest to after the end of the game? Which companions drifted apart?

💜 What kind of influence was your Tav on their companions? Did any of their companions take a substantially different path because of this? Did you respec them to reflect this?

👥 Did your Tav keep in touch with any of the people they met on their adventures?

💀 What was your Tav's relationship with Withers like? Did your Tav ever figure out his real identity? When?

😈 If your Tav saved Mizora, what was their relationship with her? Did they sleep with her? Did they save Ulder or Wyll? Or both? If the latter, how smug were they?

😿 If your Tav took care of them, what became of Yenna and Grub after the game ended?

💤 What's one experience on their adventure that your Tav still has nightmares about?

📿 Are there any specific items that your Tav kept as heirlooms, or were otherwise significant to them for sentimental reasons? Did they give any of them as gifts to their companions?

🎯 Are there any fights that you felt particularly clever about how you approached them?

💬 What's an otherwise small or unimportant dialogue line that would have greatly affected your Tav?

🗨️ Where there any situations where your Tav would have said something that wasn't supported by the dialogue choices? What would they have said, and in which situation?

🩸 Who did Orin kidnap? How motivated were you to rescue them?

🏠 What was your favorite spot in Baldur's Gate? Rivington? Wyrm's Crossing?

🦑 How many tadpoles did you find? How many did you chow down on? Did you eat the special minty-fresh tadpole? What about the Mind Flayer brain?

👫 Did your Tav find Gortash's parents? What did they do with them?

🦛 Did your Tav ever attack someone who wasn't violent? Did they deserve it?

🖤 Does your Tav have any regrets about the things they did?

🕷 How many gods did your Tav mouth off to on their adventures? Who was their most behated god?

⚗️ What did your Tav mostly use alchemy for- utility or profit? How did they learn it? What were their favorite potions?

🧦 How did your Tav dress? How did their camp garments change over the course of the game? What was their dye color of choice?

💢 If your Tav was a barbarian, how did their rage affect their daily life? Did they ever rush into a situation just to soothe their anger?

🎼 If your Tav was a bard or entertainer, which was their favorite song? Favorite instrument? Did they ever play alongside other bards in the game?

🛐 If your Tav was a cleric, acolyte, or otherwise religious, which god did they serve? What led them to that god? Did they convert any of their party members?

🐻 If your Tav was a druid, what was their favorite Wild Shape? Alternatively, if they had Speak with Animals, what was their favorite animal interaction?

⚔️ If your Tav was a fighter, soldier, or otherwise a melee fighter, what was their favorite weapon? Did they ever develop enough fondness for one weapon that they didn't want to upgrade? What was their opinion of the Flaming Fist?

🤜 If your Tav was a monk, did they feel any kinship with the Cursed Monk? What was their relationship with the Temple of Ilmater, the only other real bastion of their tradition in the game?

🛡 If your Tav was a paladin, did they ever break their oath? What lead them to do it? Did they restore their oath? What was their relationship with the Oathbreaker Knight like?

🐺 If your Tav was a ranger or outlander, were there any environments that, while otherwise hostile, they felt at home in? If they had an animal companion, what was their relationship with it like?

🗡 If your Tav was a rogue, criminal, or charlatan, what was their proudest heist? How did they do it? What did their treasure hourd amount to at the end of the game?

🐉 If your Tav was a sorcerer, where did they gain their sorcerous power? Was in inherited, or catalyzed? Did any events during the game cause them to suddenly develop sorcerous power?

⛓ If your Tav was a warlock, what led them to make a pact? Who was their patron, and what was their relationship like?

📖 If your Tav was a wizard or sage, where did they study? How many books did they collect over the course of the game?

🛠 If your Tav multiclassed, what led them to take on that second class?

⛵ What was your final team for storming the Morphic Pool/Upper City? What was each member's role?

🧠 What was the ultimate fate of the Absolute? Why did your Tav choose this?

[abeinginsand]

Been thinking about Doodlerized aus for Glenn and Sparrow. Here's some details about the Glenn idea. Glenn's soul is hooked to the anchor of love (the fav guitar pick) and when Link breaks it, it all seems fine at first. The teens head out of hell and continue their adventuring like in canon. Unfortunately, as soon as they leave...that's when Glenn's starts feeling strange. Very quickly, the rest of his family also notice, because Glenn's makes such an effort to be loud and rowdy usually. Always moving around or striking up a conversation etc.

Its concerning to find him sitting at one of the lava rivers quietly with shades on and no guitar or sword in sight. Its not the first time, just something Glenn only does on X days. Nicky knows this well and as is tradition on those days--he walks over and sits down next to him. Leans his slightly against his dad's shoulder like he's done many times from his memories. A little signal of affection to say 'I'm here, you're here.' Except this time, he remains stock still--not even turning to look at Nicky. And leaning against as he is, Nicky feels a gripping chill as he notices that his dad...isn't breathing. "Dad?" "...Glenn?" "...You're not mad at me, right?" "Hey, are you...can you hear me at all?" "Or feel this?" "Dad, please, this isn't funny..." Nicky, with a restored body, is still getting used to having access to both arms again. Its hard to judge sometimes if he's gripping something too tightly etc and its been--really frustrating. He forgets about that in the moment, hands gripping onto his father's shoulders and shaking him in a panic. The only thing that earns him is his dad's sunglasses falling off to reveal the familiar eye scaring on one side. And then, his other eye, turned fully black and oozing liquid static. He finally hears Glenn's voice then, low and casual as while oddly the words echo into his head instead of the air... "No need to freak out, Nicky!" While Glenn's mouth remains closed, only now upturning into a impish smile. The voice repeats again in Nicky's head and he stumbles backward, hands now holding his head as a headache forms. There's the roaring sound of a shrilling electric guitar riff instead of words for a few minutes. Then, again, a voice that should be soothing, speaks into his mind in a distorted crackle. "Just been doing some thinkin' about the party we're about to have." Flames and lava erupt out around the river as Glenn stands up and dusts his pants off. He offers a hand out to Nicky and his grin finally stretches wide across his face, razor sharp teeth glinting in the fire's glow. His red and white wings are spread wide behind him, tendrils of goo winding and pulsing around them. "And it'll be the kind that keeps on giving. All day, all night, all smiles...Sounds sick, right?" ---- Basically....a doodlerized Glenn in my mind really exaggerates his tendency to want things to be chill and cool. He lures everyone in with his charming songs and idea of a fun party. But the party keeps going forever with no exit. Its truly a dance until you die situation. One minute the crowd looks like a regular group of fans in a mosh pit. And then, if your mind's clear enough, you'll blink-- Finding yourself surrounded by skeletons.

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 30!!!!!!

Ahhhh this is it!!!! Finally the last day of my Song(fic) Challenge! It's been quite the ride, and while I might do a little self-indulgent reflection post tomorrow, tonight I am going to try to get this done before it's literally 2am the next day where I live lol.

The prompt for today was "A song you want to share". I couldn't pick one, and so I ended up synthesizing two: "To Be Enchanted" by Sleeping at Last, and "4 O'Clock" by V and RM from BTS. "To Be Enchanted" is a more recent song discovery for me, and one I've related as it comes to feeling pessimistic about myself and my journey and needing to remind myself of the joys in living; by contrast, "4 O'Clock" has been a beloved favorite of mine since 2019, and I've listened to it as a soothing entry on hundreds of night walks over the years.

Shadows and Sorrows

Game: Ocarina of Time

Pairing: Sheik & Link (although Sheik/Link is endgame to me ofc)

Word Count: 2430

Keywords: angst, hurt/comfort, healing

The comfort ached like too much sugar in the center of a molar, but he clung on for Link’s sake, as he squeezed Sheik’s hand so tightly the bones ground together. They sat in heartbroken silence: the boy who had to grow up too fast, and the boy who had forced it upon him.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Bright light, shaded in blue, illuminated on the Triforce mosaic over Lake Hylia. Sheik shaded his eyes as he leapt behind the withered old tree just behind it, alarm and adrenaline pulsing through his body. That was Link’s teleportation magic, from the Ocarina of Time Zelda had tossed him all those years ago…but the timing was wrong. The lake hadn’t been restored yet, as Sheik anticipated would happen with the purging of the Water Temple and the awakening of Princess Ruto as a Sage. Worse still, it was still night, with hours yet until morning; Sheik had calculated, based on Link’s speed at completing the two previous temples, that if he emerged successfully, it would be along with the rising of the sun.

He was too early. Far too early. Was he hurt? Had something gone wrong? Sheik rummaged in his bindings for potions, gauze, anything that could help the hero, as the light gave one final, blinding flash, and flickered out. Sheik swore he could hear the echo of the final note of the Serenade of Water in the air. 

Link’s silhouette, recognizable by his pointy hat, the breadth of his shoulders, and the glow of his white tights in the moonlight, crumpled to its knees with a wretched cry. Sheik gasped, and forfeited the meager cover of the tree to race to his side. 

“Link?! Are you alright? Where are you hurt?”

His hands hovered over Link’s body, desperate to run along the planes of him to ascertain that he was okay, but terrified of hurting him further with careless touches. 

Link looked up, and Sheik flinched back at the tear-soaked hollowness in his eyes and the dark puffiness of the skin beneath them. A bloody line, thinner than one of Sheik’s throwing needles, traced the curve of his right cheek, and he could make out the shadows of a bruise blooming on his lower neck just above where the collar of his tunic could hide the rest.

“I’m okay,” Link whispered hoarsely. Sheik had never heard him sound so incredibly ragged, as though his throat had been scoured with sandpaper. “I’ve had worse.”

Sheik’s head, which had been craned down to scan Link’s torso for any obvious injuries—damn the dark blue of the tunic, making it so hard to see bloodstains in the dark!—snapped back up. “I have seen you with a bone sticking out of your leg and most of your body covered in third-degree lava burns, before your last fairy got to you. That does not give me confidence!” Sheik clenched his hands into fists to keep from closing them around Link’s shoulders and shaking them. “Are you as far gone as the Fire Temple, or not?!” 

Link blinked at him, wide-eyed, and Sheik felt the skin of his palm burn beneath his nails at the shrieking silence of not knowing. 

“No, it’s not,” he finally said, head drooping down as if it could not lift even the weight of Sheik’s fearful, furious gaze. “I only have a few cuts and breezes. The worst is on my stomach, but it’s not deep at all.”

The heat of Sheik’s anger whooshed out of him with his heavy exhale. “Thank the goddesses.” He retrieved the only potion he had on him, its crimson shade gone grayscale in the moonlight, and thrust it towards Link. “Drink.”

“I wouldn’t want to waste—”

“You have a cut on your stomach. I don’t think even you know where that tunic has been, so you have a good chance of infection if you don’t treat it or at least clean it.” The potion pressed none-too-gently into Link’s unbloodied cheek. “Drink.”

Scowling, Link took the potion from him, and uncorked the lid. Two swallows, and he lowered it again.

“All of it.”

The scowl deepened. The potion disappeared. Sheik took the empty bottle back, and watched Link as the agony of feeling his skin knit back together twisted his face and made him double over with a wail. A shiver of sympathy crawled up Sheik’s spine with spider-like legs.

Even after the last trembles of the painful healing worked their way out of Link’s frame, he remained hunched over, his long blond bangs obscuring his face. It took a few moments and for a new sort of jolting to begin for Sheik to realize that he was crying.

“Oh, Link…” 

Sheik wrapped one arm around Link’s back, and guided him to the ground. Link followed limply, as if he were nothing more than a puppet, the only fight in him the shudders of his sobs. Sheik crouched before him, brows knit together, heart like a dark, cold stone in his chest.

“What happened?”

Sheik didn’t get an answer for a long while, as Link cried and cried. Even after he ran out of tears—which was very concerning, didn’t the boy carry any water with him?—the seizing wheezes of his lungs and sniffling of his nose continued far longer than Sheik had thought possible. (Of course, Sheik hadn’t allowed himself to cry like this since he was eleven, so he had no guidelines for what could be considered ‘normal’.) 

Eventually, Link wiped his nose with the sleeve of his white undershirt, leaving it glistening in the moonlight. With a final sniffle, he began to speak, or try to.

“In the temple…”

Fresh tears. Another few moments. Sheik’s thighs began to burn from the strain of holding his crouch for so long, and he reluctantly lowered himself to sit fully on the ground as well.

“In the temple, I met…me.”

“Like…your reflection?” Sheik’s brows wrinkled. “Yes, water is prone to that…”

“No, not…it wasn’t the water. It came from the water, but it wasn’t the water. It was me.” Link paused, as if realizing what he was saying didn’t make any sense, and let out a heavy, wet sigh. “I mean, it looked like me. It was like…my shadow, given shape. Physical form. With a sword just like mine.” One hand rose to brush the familiar pommel hovering over his right shoulder. 

“A shadow given form…” Sheik pondered this. Growing up, he’d heard legends of a Realm of Shadows, a place where monsters were eternally reborn to infest Hyrule, and where ‘shadows slept’. He’d had nightmares about it that upon awakening only increased his terror, that these dreams, too, might be prophetic. 

What a wonderful world they lived in, where the every nightmare of a disbelieved child came to life to stalk the earth and haunt the ones who had hoped to put them to rest.

“I think it was more than just my shadow, though.” Link hesitated. “When I looked at it…it was like looking at the darkest parts of me.” His voice quivered. “It was so…sad. It had this longing in its eyes, and it looked…haunted. And angry. But not at me.

“I thought I had to kill it. It was in the same sort of room that I’ve faced minibosses in before, big and empty besides the entity. And I…I wanted it gone. I didn’t want to look at it anymore. It was just…too much like me. So I drew my sword and I slashed at it, but when I did, it mirrored me, exactly.” He motioned towards his abdomen. “That’s how I got cut.”

Sheik sucked air through his teeth and winced in sympathy, but said nothing, letting Link take the space he needed to continue. 

“I kept trying to attack it, but I was scared. I didn’t want to get hurt. It was just as good as me, and I didn’t know how it was doing that…and as I got more scared, it got more…sad. I could see its eyes. They were so…” Link stiffened in remembrance. “It…pitied me.”

Hesitantly, Sheik reached out and patted Link’s knee in comfort. Link gave him a wan smile, but dropped it again almost immediately.

“Eventually I stopped. And it stopped too. And it started…talking.”

At this, Sheik couldn’t hold back anymore. “Talking? What did it say?”

Link flinched back at his volume, and bit his lip. “It said. It, um. It said.” He paused, and Sheik saw the sobs building again, the jolts of his diaphragm beneath his tunic. “It said that I couldn’t defeat it. And I got mad, and I told it, I told it ‘How dare you!’. All righteous. And it saw right through me. It…it took my hand. I saw its hand around mine, but I couldn’t feel it.”

Sheik could picture it. The shadowy grasp around Link’s own, thunderclouds obscuring the sun. The alarm and fear Link must have felt, when most every touch he ever experienced was intended to hurt. Sheik’s heart ached for him. 

“It said it knew me, because–because it was me. And it said that I could never defeat this part of me.” A thick sob snapped Link’s voice like a twig, and when he spoke again, it was in a croaking whisper that made Sheik lean in closer to be able to hear properly. “I thought I’d failed. I thought I was going to die, that it was going to kill me. Because, because that’s what defeat means!” 

Sheik swayed back in alarm at Link’s sudden shout, at the dried-blood panic encrusting his expression. Link flinched immediately as well, and crumpled again, chest caving in and shoulders slumping.

“And then…it touched my face. And it told me that I needed to ‘realize why I’m here’. Well, I didn’t know what to say to that, and I told it so. I said that I was there because of Ruto. Because she needs help. I said I was there for—for you, because you said I needed to do this. I said I was there because of duty and fate and all those things Rauru said. I said I was there because of Zelda.”

Sheik kept his face stone-still, but inside was sent reeling, as if pitched from a cliff into the void. The first time his old name had been used around him in years, and it was in—what even kind of context was this? Did Link resent him? Hate him? He must, to keep Zelda in the same company as duty and fate.

…It didn’t matter. Bury the feeling, bury the guilt. Bury it beside Zelda in the grave she needed to stay in, until she was needed once again. Right now, Link was the important one. 

“It wouldn’t tell me what it thought. It just begged me to–to keep trying. It sounded so desperate, as if it was hurting even more than me. And then it…it just melted away. Into me.”

“Into you? Nayru’s love, Link, are you alright?”

He nodded miserably. “It didn’t hurt. I just…felt cold. And I just…all at once…” Link made a motion with his hands resembling a storm and a spiral in one. “I couldn’t stay there anymore. I had to get out. So I…came here.” He cast bloodshot eyes in Sheik’s direction. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Sheik whispered. And for the first time since he was eleven…he reached out and took someone’s hand.

The comfort ached like too much sugar in the center of a molar, but he clung on for Link’s sake, as he squeezed Sheik’s hand so tightly the bones ground together. They sat in heartbroken silence: the boy who had to grow up too fast, and the boy who had forced it upon him.

“Link?” Sheik whispered, after what could’ve been one minute or one hour.

Link wiped away another trickling tear with his free sleeve. “Hm?”

“I don’t know if this is what the—what your shadow meant. But…I think…I want to say…” He trailed off, frustrated. “There’s no good way to say it, so just—Link, you don’t need to defeat the part of you that’s scared and sad and angry. You don’t exist to fix the messes other people made. You exist to be happy. To take in the enchantment of every moment. To be able to take time and heal when something hurts you. And I, I’m so fucking sorry that you don’t even know you can do that. No one should grow up thinking that life exists just to hurt.”

Link had gone wide-eyed at Sheik’s swearing, but as tears of Sheik’s own welled from red that had stayed dry for so long, they rounded further into shock. Sheik wanted to scrub away the liquid vulnerability tracking down his face, to pretend it had never happened, but…it wouldn’t be right. Somehow, tonight, they were both tearing holes in their personas, exposing the feelings underneath the masks. And Sheik couldn’t bare everything to Link the way Link had to Sheik, even if he wanted to, so…the least he could give him in return was his throbbing heart.

Link blinked those wide eyes at last, and his long lashes glistened in the moonlight with new wetness. “Now why are you crying?” he teased brokenly. The words fought through a throat bubbling with mucus. 

“Because I’ve never related more to anything or anyone before,” Sheik whispered. He squeezed Link’s hand in his own, gently. 

They both deserved enchantment. It was the cruelest trick of the gods that all they could manage was shattered fragments of honesty under the cold light of the moon. 

Link reached his free hand behind Sheik, and despite the slowness of the motion, he had to remind himself not to jump or wrestle or cut down. But Link’s touch never landed on Sheik’s back or shoulder. Instead, it lightly patted the golden harp strapped to Sheik’s back. 

“Could you play something for me?” He bit his lip. “Just until morning comes. I don’t think it’s far off now.”

Somehow, he was right. While they had cried together, the moon had quickened its descent towards the western horizon, and the croaking of the last surviving frogs in the muddy puddle that had been Lake Hylia had traded out for the melodic calls of the earliest songbirds. 

He unslung the harp and strummed the strings. “I’ll play for you as long as you want.”

And Sheik would. Fuck the temple, fuck the timeline, fuck the shallow poetic beauty of shooting an arrow into the sun that Sheik had planned for Link. They’d get to it all when they were ready. For the rest of tonight, they didn’t have to be. 

He played, and the stars faded. He played, and Link’s head became a warm, sticky weight in his lap as he finally collapsed into sleep. He played, and the red flush of dawn finally freed them of their moonlight blues.

[tetraharmonic]

I present to you...

An Overview about Korsa.

This post is mostly going to be backstory things and how she met everyone. Gonna hold back on some details for the sake of spicy posts, so if something is worded vaguely, it's likely why.

Info begins below the cut.

Tag list: @ceyonicember @mismatchedesox

Ask to be added or removed <3

Please note that this post will contain: haircutting as a trauma response, swearing, and naybe also spoilers? A bit of angsty thought processes (courtesy of a traumatized Korsa), mentions of injury and plant death, survivors guilt, and maybe ptsd

Before the incident

Tucked away in a little city lost to time, was a bar known as the Amber Moon. Nobody really knew who owned the place, but it took off like fire in a dry field.

Korsa has been there since the beginning; back then, she was the embodiment of feminine charm, her hair cascading to her hips as she showed off suggestive yet elegant fits. She had a preference for corsets and backless tops.

Besides her looks, though, patrons noticed that the woman only seemed to exist in the bar, rarely interacting with anyone but a very, very select few, while on her breaks. She was fully devoted to the art of performance, and so, she prided herself in building a mysterious persona.

Back then, if she liked a customer, she'd give them a single request. Once you used it, you never got another...unless she really liked you. Wolfwood got 4 requests.

After several years, regulars became pretty comfortable with her, and she to them. Her alure was undeniable, bringing traveling groups to the bar just to see if the rumors were true...and they were. She had men and woman wrapped around her finger. It was but a game to her then.

In reality, she had grown rather annoyed by the people around her, who exhausted their plant regularly. They'd managed to push the plants limits far longer than anyone else by following big pushes with cool down periods, and, quite frankly, this pissed her off to all hell.

She started sneaking in to visit the plant, singing her songs in the hopes of soothing her pain in any way that the woman could. The plant never responded, but Korsa could see the plant relax, and so, she regarded the being as her friend.

Still, her biggest weakness was ignorance and her cockiness. She'd always gotten her way with little issues, so she didn't know how to fight for it. Everything always turned out okay, no matter how reckless. Her luck wouldn't last long.

After The Incident

Survivors guilt is a hell of a thing. The first thing Korsa did when she came to was cry, far longer than her body should have allowed her. Seeing her reflection in the shards of glass ruined her. It only got worse when the Amber and blue glows caught the liquid, making it, and her own blood, shimmer with light.

The second thing she did was take that very glass to slice her hair from her head, sort of like that scene in Mulan, but fueled by her warping self-image. She didn't see herself as the performer she once was. She saw herself as a cursed wanderer with no choice but to repent for failing to save a life.

She couldn't bear to watch the town fall apart after the death of the plant, so she simply left. She didn't take anything she owned besides her money. She didn't think she deserved any memory of her past life, not after she damned not only a plant but her whole town too.

She had to learn to fight purely from desperation, leading to countless injuries and near death encounters, but it would seem that, as her adrenaline would surge, she'd heal far faster than before. It was nowhere near the healing factor of a plant or when using the restorative serum, but she wasn't aware of either at the time, so it still shocked her.

She also realized that she was beginning to feel the next attacks coming, shrugging them off as learning when they were anything but.

The next few days, she'd begin to believe she was hallucinating, but she hadn't found herself feeling hungry or thirsty, so surely, something was wrong. Even after she'd taken care of her needs, visions of strangers began to haunt her mind. It took her a month to realize they were visions.

Upon reaching the next city, Korsa promptly bought a wooden mask. It was cheap, with only one eye hole, and completely devoid of detail, but it served its purpose. Even after all her time wandering, she couldn't bear to look at herself. She also got herself a cloak to hide the blue markings that had slowly begun to crawl from her bullet scar, to her face and arms.

She visited plants along the way, realizing her presence seemed to have an effect on the production capabilities of the plants. She could also sense the emotions of the plants, and so, she refused to ever step foot before one ever again, unless she absolutely had to.

Once again, survivors guilt.

Meeting Wolfwood

Originally, she'd met Wolfwood at the Amber Moon. She'd see him around and appreciated the way he let loose at her music. She gave him one request on the night they met, only to give him another each time he visited the Amber Moon. She would be gone by the time he visited for the fifth time.

It took some time for them to find each other again. Wolfwood was checking up on the plants, purely out of a hunch, after he found the town almost desolate. The Amber Moon was nearly empty, no music playing as the last few wanderers drank away their sorrows.

Korsa was standing over the wreckage, the glass still in her hands after slicing away her hair as a trauma response. Wolfwood patched up her wounds and brought her with him to the next city.

The two of them became rather close as they traveled, their one trip becoming four months' worth. She knew him well, able to read him easily, even without the use of her abilities.

They'd have an altercation that drew them even closer after their third month of traveling together. Neither of them can discuss it without getting emotional. Wolfwood still remembers the fear and guilt from the ordeal, whereas Korsa has been bombarded by it so frequently, its merely a dull ache.

Despite having known her before she wore the mask, he adverts his gaze out of respect for her, only looking at her when she initiates it.

Meeting the rest of the group

She knew Wolfwood was gonna get hit by the car, but no! He wouldn't believe her.

Why would he believe the fortune teller who has literally never been wrong before? Surely that made too much sense.

"There aren't any cars out here, only sand."

"Suit yourself then. I'm not going to take care of your injuries when it happens."

"Whatever, Oracle."

Wolfwood gets hit by the damn car. Korsa scoffs and says she told him so.

Meryl is absolutely baffled by the fact Korsa doesn't appear to care, but in reality, she knows Wolfwood is going to be fine, so she chooses not to waste her energy fussing.

Roberto is put off by the fact that Korsa already knows everyone's name. Wolfwood has to do the explaining for her. Only after that's settled does Roberto find some humor in the situation. A fortune teller and an undertaker traveling together seems like prime scumbag scammer material.

Vash insists they're good, though. He goes on about Wolfwoods eyes. He tries to think of something nice to say about Korsa, but she scares him a little bit. There's something about her presence that he can't shake. He covers it up by saying that if Wolfwood trusts her, so does he.

As time passes, Korsa realizes that her presence also affects Vash, so she figures him out near instantly. The problem is, apparently, he can see in on her inner world too, which pisses her off. Vash doesn't think too much about it, unlike Wolfwood. Korsa can't help but feel like a hypocrite for demanding that he stop looking in on her when she can't control her own abilities and is constantly looking in on everyone all the time.

After time passes, Korsa warms up to the group, especially Meryl. Korsa admits that she used to write music way back when, and so, she had quite a lot of poetry hidden away in her head. The two talk about it when there's no one around.

Besides Wolfwood, Meryl is the first to see Korsa unmasked. Next is Roberto, then Knives (after combat with him left that huge gash up her mask), then Vash, as he comes to help a very overwhelmed and mostly blinded Korsa.

She insists she doesn't care about them, but she's constantly using her abilities to predict the best outcome of any plan they come up with. She's like a mother bear, don't touch her group, or she'll unleash hellfire upon you.

Korsa loves them all far more than she wants to admit, letting them use her as a pillow while she takes the night watch shift. Perhaps becoming the Guardian isn't all too bad.

The group catches on very fast and starts to ask for Korsa's opinions on plans more often, which always goes well. They also always agree with her when she bets, because they know she's going to win. Korsa fucks with them and bets wrong, just to tease them all, but they win back what they lost pretty easily.

Korsa isn't allowed to make bets about the group anymore because she always wins. It took the group an embarrassingly long time to come up with this rule.

[slashcrz]

☼☾ ( ni han jin , 31 , he / him , cis man , qing 3 ) - have you seen QING TIAN FENG?  we’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re DETIRIMINED but also WORN OUT. when you think of them , you think of FEET THAT NEVER KNOW WHEN TO STOP RUNNING, THE SOUND OF SETTLING IN THE DISTANCE, COLD WATER SPLASHED ON TIRED EYES.

name; Upper Three Banner General Prince Qing Tian Feng of the Ming Dynatsy

nicknames; none

birth date; january 11th, 1768, a capricorn

orientation; bisexual & biromantic

relationship; single but off && on with midori, princess of japan, on the lookout for rebound flings

politics; served as a general for the qing army under his late father, the former emperor's, bloodthirsty missions. currently has changed his views to prioritize peace - is neutral personally to the bourbon restoration, but would be in support of it forced to directly choose a side. he is more concerned with the state of his own country && continent than versailles problems, and is using this as an opportunity to try && quell wars.

religion; taoism { recently }

languages; bejing & nanjing mandarin, english, conversational japanese & korean, some french

headcanons && backstory.

TW: violence, war, ptsd mention, implications of abuse && torture

as a child, you wanted nothing more than to be the sparkle in your father's eye - your mother's first child, not one of a concubine, and a supposed jewel to the emperor... but you did not feel that closeness that was spoken of so highly, you did not feel the impressive achieve that you were spoken to be. dressed up && paraded about, you would parrot the words of your father, a bloodthirsty emperor, and the court would coo. you knew how to soothe a room, and you knew what people wanted to hear. eventually, you repeated your father, the emperor, so often... you began to believe it yourself. living a lie sold to you in the guise of china's greatness. what you would later conquer, you were told was already a blessing to your home - you would only take what rightfully belonged to them. but it was wrong, and though tian feng had joined the military at only age 19, he was quickly a decorated general leading a legion of the best men. finally you had earned the approval you dreamed of from your father - you were finally what he aspired for you to be, swinging your sword && storming onwards. an extension of his reign, a tool within his grasp, another of his greedy arms. but he died, and so did your career as a general. you turned back && returned home, a place you'd hardly visited since first leaving. the occasional banquet in your honor, a display of song && poem about your bravery in battle, but it all left a bad taste in your mouth. you retired young, just shy of 30. the dreams haunt you still. you cannot concentrate as you once could && you rarely sleep, which doesn't help things. returning home was strange && still is. you were a soldier, just a man, for so long... with your men, you were no prince. you struggle now with that balance; and within it all, you wonder if you lost yourself on the front lines. there was many times you nearly died to your injuries; once, you were captured by the enemy, held for nearly two weeks. it is not something you speak of to anyone. none of it is. a lifetime spent hoping to impress your father && gain his praise has done nothing for you except breed loneliness && hate, and no ability to handle them. you source your passion into something worthwhile; a woman, a newfound princess, an enemy you wish to make something so much more. you see in her a future for china, but also... for yourself, if she would allow it. you hope she is the change you need; that she will help you usher in a new era. it is the only way you know how to cope now. but home is harder to come by, and as you begin to realize that the world of politics is no longer large enough to accommodate you, more sacrifices for the sake of duty must be made. you say your goodbye to yet another hope, yet another future, and return to the abyss, unsure && frightfully alone.

[astridhobbit]

Hm okay so, I’m thinking about creativity and self expression and the difference between visual arts and crafty projects.

And like, one thing I’m thinking about is how much I love playing a garages song on guitar, how much I loved learning piano versions of my favorite songs, and how much I DO NOT WANT to make my own songs.

Or how much I enjoy crocheting patterns that other people have made, or even making slight design tweaks to make them better suited for me personally, and how much I NEVER EVER want to try to design my own pattern.

Or how the only pieces of writing I have managed to finish have been fanfic, despite starting original stories over and over and over again.

And like, okay, it could be a skill issue, certainly I learn really well by copying someone else’s work and later making changes,

BUT ALSO

I think it might be The Problem With Choices.

I have to make ten bafillion choices during a day. What to eat, what to feed my kids, what to wear, how to spend my time, when I can do this project or that activity, what to do next, what to do after that, what to do after that. I get worn down by all those choices, to the point that I have taken steps to reduce my available choices a great deal. (Fewer clothes, and most of those clothes in the same style, has helped a lot.)

And creative art is ENTIRELY choices. What word goes next, what scene goes next, how best to achieve this look or that feeling or whatEVer. And the varieties are infinite! Like, okay, narrow it down to a single medium, I won’t be making a playful tune out of cotton yarn or whatever, but even within a single medium, there is a vast, nigh-infinite array of choices to make.

And sometimes, I just get overwhelmed and exhausted.

Fanfic is a way of reducing choices. I don’t have to make choices about the characters or the setting, I can just make choices about the story itself. Following someone’s pattern reduces choices. I pick colors and material, and I don’t have to make up the whole dang thing. Playing a song someone else has written reduces choices. I’ve modified a few songs to work better for my instrument and my voice, but I’m not changing the lyrics or, lord above, making a whole new tune.

And to be clear, all means of creating, whether recreating based on a pattern or writing in OCs into an established world or creating something wholly new, all are good and wonderful and are all still about making something new that did not exist before. And that is great! None of these are better or worse than any other!

I’m just trying to wrestle with why I find some kinds of making soothing and restorative and others exhausting.

[intothewildsea]

Asterius leads Niamh towards the fountain and dips his hand into the gently flowing waters. "This water is not of the Lethe. It is not the sea, but I hope it may bring you some of the same peace." The waters themselves held restorative powers, but he had assumed that to her being able to touch waters - or even sit in the fountain- could help. He would not judge her, and in fact would keep anyone else away. So she may not be disturbed. Few would go against him. (Set in the future from our thread!)

It had taken some time to get use to her new life. Well, afterlife, she supposed. There had been a period of grieving, of missing her friends and family in the living world. She missed her little cottage and she missed the sea. Oh, how she missed the sea! The smell of the salt on the air, the feeling of the cold water against her skin.

She tried to describe it to Asterius as well as she could. He'd never seen the ocean. So she told him about it, and about the little island where she had grown up. About her little cottage, and her friends, and how the ocean always sang a song to her in her blood. How the longing for the sea was always inside of her, because it was a part of her, and she of it.

When he had told her he wanted to show her something, she hadn't expected it to be a fountain. It was large, big enough for her to climb into if she wanted. She was glad when he reassured her that it wasn't water from the Lethe - she'd learned her lesson after her accidental encounter with the misty white river on her arrival to Elysium.

"It's beautiful, Asterius." She smiled warmly at him and reached out to pat his arm. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's very sweet of you."

Carefully, she sat on the edge and tugged up her skirt to her knees, slipping her feet into the cool waters. It wasn't the sea, but the water soothed the longing in her, just a little, and she was glad for it.

[gabrielwritessometimes]

Hi Big Bro !

For the ask, what about : 3, 7, 10, 18, 19, 36 and 39 ?

Take your time to answer ! Hope you have a good day/evening/night 💖

LIL BRO I missed you in my asks too 🥺 ! I'll answer under the cut !

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed ?

Of course it is cursed. It starts with a white page of google docs. Then I can spend hours or days until I write something. Usually it's a -, followed by a list of miscleanous stuff : quotes, "I want them to kissy kissy umbrella shared ;w; !", sets of clothes to describe, ANYTHING. And then I organise it. It takes so little time. Then I give up, since I'm satisfied. Then it haunts my dreams until I open the page turned WIP. And then I write 20k in 5h or so and I post it UNPROOFED and I let you read while I sleep or go to work. I don't even check the reactions afterwards, I'm that mother who doesn't look at the crying baby but is just happy it isn't inside anymore I'm so sorry.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing ?

That's gonna be a weird one, but : feeling. Feeling stuff I never felt in real life or on the contrary writing about raw unrestrained feelings I got to experience. Even weirder : panic attacks make me so much more able to write angst and characters losing it because I know what it is. I know what bounds are like, I know what love feels like for I cherish a few selected people, but as an aro/ace I don't love that way. That's why I feel so happy writing about feelings, all kind of them.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you ? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you ?

Oh I get haunted a LOT. Daydreams, dreams, little bits of dialogues running through my head at work, a song making me jolt because it'd be perfect... that's why I do lists before writing, it's like vacuuming all these haunting parts and create a puppet out of it for you to see. I perceive that as "this is something worth writing and showing to the world", it's a green light and a good omen !

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

"There are two things that make the God of Winter feel alive : the pure unrestrained happiness to see his children and the pure unrestrained pleasure to know deep down that he isn’t the one who suffers the most."

I'd rather use an original work for this one if you'll allow me. This glimpse of Léviatha'n's crooked sense of joy if both a foreshadowing (of what will happen because of him in Esporys) and a mirror shot from Aleksiel in He Who Rules Above the Snow ("His sleep was fit for he knew the turmoil he caused in his close family's minds, and their toss and turns turned into wicked lullabys soothing his heart.").

At first it was more straightforward, showing only Léviatha'n's malignity but it didn't work : Léviatha'n is both extremes, the dead quiet mirror sea and the tide tearing everything apart. He had to be balanced by something equally unbalanced which is the love for his children. Just like Zaga'n is everything to Suzak, Lantide and Léviath are everything for Léviatha'n and the wicked sense of pleasure he gets out of Suzak's endless mourning comes back to bite him when his children die in front of him. Did he learn anything from it ? Of course not, the sea doesn't learn to evade people to avoid suffering, it only restore the bodies to shore sometimes. That was the feeling I wanted for him and I think it turned out well !

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start ? Why did you start ? Were there bumps along the way ? Where are you now and where are you going ?

I started when I was 5 or 6. My childhood wasn't really a happy one, so instead I wrote stories of things that didn't happen to me to brighten it : winged bunnies hopping next to the bus like dolphins do close to boats, imaginary friends I was the only one able to see who laughed as they stole apples from the neighbour's tree with me, ... my father always indulged me in these fantasies, my mother way less.

There have been a few bumpses like right now because I am drained from work and just WISH I could chill and do nothing, slowing down all my creative process. I also had a few in middleschool when I became terrified of writing, one of my bullies reading texts she found aloud for everyone to laugh at me.

I have two solid novels I can share with the world though, a visual novel planned and many novels to write about the lore of the Life Marble, stories of unconsequential characters to show their daily life, insights of the Gods' minds, diaries found after the End, ... I also started drawing to be able to give my characters some realness. Will I be able to do it ? Wait and see !

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know ?

I know of loss, grief and not belonging. I know of secrets unshared gnawing at your insides and invasive thoughts. Of the fear of lies colliding between two worlds you tried to keep separate. Of panic attacks of being too much and too less at the same time, of blaming looks and punching walls and yelling to get people to look at me. I know of being put aside because I asked for basic decency.

I also know of softness and joy, of shared looks and desires, of joined hands kissed softly under an apple tree. I know of aspirations, of setting a clear way and being patted on the back after offering the word they needed or a hot chocolate. I know of the silent gratitude in shared looks after discovering someone did something for you the way you wanted it done.

I know of baby steps and the pride of keeping balance when everything starts to tip. I know of taking commands or receiving them without arguing, because sometimes people should really let their ego aside and stop feeling attacked out of thin air. I know of putting myself first, saying no and biting back too.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up ?

Writing is as necessary as breathing for me. It comes easily, trained since childhood, and no matter the support or the time I'll always be able to do it. I am tired but will still write a description of a peculiar plant in my lore or find a new way to sign documents for Aksel. Because you don't need to write 450 pages to be writing. Just like reading comics is still reading, roleplaying, creating charasheets and lore is still writing.

[sunnyapollonjabrigidotter]

The Tale of the Ancient Tree

In a quiet village nestled by the edge of a dense forest, a little girl named Elara cherished the stories her mother told her about magical creatures and their enchanted land. Her favorite was the tale of the ancient tree, said to be the gateway to a wondrous realm called Elysium. Every night, she would dream of the forest's magic, imagining the lush landscapes and the playful creatures that once roamed there.

One crisp autumn day, Elara went for a walk with her father, a woodcutter known for his strength and skill. As they wandered through the forest, the woodcutter’s eyes fell upon a colossal, majestic tree. Its bark was gnarled and ancient, its branches reaching high into the sky. The sight of it filled him with awe, but his practical mind saw a different vision—a treasure trove of wood that could warm their home for many winters.

“Look at that tree, Elara,” he said, “its wood will last us a lifetime.”

Elara, however, felt something different. The tree seemed alive with a magic she could almost touch. A spark of intuition told her it was not just any tree but a relic of the old stories. Despite her young age, she felt a deep, inexplicable connection to it.

As night fell, and Elara was tucked in her bed, she was abruptly awakened by a strange feeling. Through her window, a mystical bird fluttered, its feathers shimmering with an otherworldly glow. It hopped onto her windowsill and chirped urgently. With a sense of wonder, Elara followed the bird outside. Alongside the bird, a rabbit and a fox—once adversaries but now united by a common purpose—emerged from the shadows.

The forest was alive with whispers and rustling leaves. The creatures guided Elara to the ancient tree, where she saw her father beginning to chop away at its trunk. The first chop had weakened the tree, and a sense of foreboding filled the air.

Elara tried to cry out, but her voice was lost in the wind. She ran around the tree, desperate to find a way to stop the destruction. Though she faced many obstacles—getting lost among the tangled underbrush and stumbling over roots—her determination never wavered.

Finally, as her father’s axe began its final blows, Elara hid in a nearby thicket, her heart pounding. The creatures of the forest, sensing the tree’s plight, spoke to her in soothing, magical tones, revealing the tree’s vital role in maintaining the connection between their world and Elysium.

When her father returned home, exhausted and puzzled by the absence of the tree, Elara was left with a glimmer of hope. The forest creatures had shown her a small, seemingly insignificant branch that had fallen from the great tree. It was a symbol of the magic that still lingered.

With newfound resolve, Elara planted the branch in the soil of her garden. The creatures gathered around her, their eyes filled with hope. As the moonlight bathed the land, Elara began to sing, her voice joined by the chorus of the forest.

The Song of the Ancient Tree’s Hope

*(Verse 1)*

In the heart of the forest, where the old trees stand,

Lies a whisper of magic in the darkened land.

The ancients have fallen, but their spirits remain,

In the songs of the creatures, in the echoes of the rain.

*(Chorus)*

Sing to the stars, sing to the moon,

Let the old magic awaken soon.

From the ashes of time, from the dust of the night,

We’ll restore the old tales with our love’s pure light.

*(Verse 2)*

Little branch of wonder, though you seem so small,

You carry the stories of the ages to all.

We plant you in the earth, with a hope that’s true,

In the heart of the forest, we believe in you.

*(Chorus)*

Sing to the stars, sing to the moon,

Let the old magic awaken soon.

From the ashes of time, from the dust of the night,

We’ll restore the old tales with our love’s pure light.

*(Bridge)*

With the creatures beside us, and the magic reborn,

We’ll weave back the wonder that the darkness had torn.

From the roots to the branches, from the earth to the sky,

We’ll sing for the lost, and for the magic that won’t die.

*(Chorus)*

Sing to the stars, sing to the moon,

Let the old magic awaken soon.

From the ashes of time, from the dust of the night,

We’ll restore the old tales with our love’s pure light.

*(Outro)*

In the heart of the forest, where the magic flows free,

We’ll cherish the old tales and the land’s mystery.

With the branch of our hopes and the songs of our hearts,

We’ll protect the enchantment, as the old world departs.

As Elara’s song resonated through the forest, the magic of the ancient tree began to stir. The small branch sprouted, its leaves glowing softly, and the connection to Elysium was rekindled. The forest was healed, its magic restored, and the ancient tree’s spirit lived on in the heart of the land, forever entwined with the hopes and dreams of those who believed.

[dankusner]

Infinite Scroll

The New Generation of Online Culture Curators

In a digital landscape overrun by algorithms and A.I., we need human guides to help us decide what’s worth paying attention to.

Illustration of a hand holding a phone. Curated items floating in the composition.

The current Internet landscape sometimes feels like the Zone in Andrei Tarkovsky’s film “Stalker”: directionless, inexplicable, bound to change in confusing ways.

Our social-media feeds don’t offer much except the forward acceleration of algorithmic recommendations.

Google and other forms of search are becoming clogged with content generated by artificial intelligence.

Knowing what you’re looking for doesn’t always help you chart a path, because niche communities can be difficult to locate and to keep up with.

We are in a transitional phase of digital culture, and thus more in need than ever of friendly faces, personable human guides (not unlike a “stalker” in the Zone), to help us navigate this treacherous ground.

Such guides go by many names—call them influencers, or content creators, or just “this one guy I follow.”

Guided by their own cultivated sense of taste, they bring their audiences news and insights in a particular cultural area, whether it’s fashion, books, music, food, or film.

Perhaps the best way to think of these guides is as curators;

like a museum curator pulling works together for an exhibition,

they organize the avalanche of online content into something coherent and comprehensible, restoring missing context and building narratives.

They highlight valuable things that we less-expert Internet surfers are likely to miss.

Andrea Hernández, the proprietor of Snaxshot, a newsletter and social-media account dedicated to “curating the food and beverage space,” told me recently, “Curation is about being able to filter the noise.”

(I follow Hernández for her skill at discovering the wildest examples of direct-to-consumer drinks startups, such as Feisty, a purveyor of “protein soda.”)

She continued, “I go out and I scour through the Internet and I come to you with my offerings.”

Unlike a museum curator, however, the digital personalities I have taken to following also become the faces of their work, broadcasting recordings of themselves, on TikTok and Instagram, as a way of building a trusting relationship with their followers.

One such curator is Derrick Gee, a former online radio d.j. who lives in Australia.

I first encountered Gee on TikTok and was pulled in by his architect-ish look: thin wireframe glasses and stylishly baggy, often monochrome outfits.

He records videos of himself talking into a microphone in a low, soothing voice, breaking down trends in contemporary pop music and reviewing high-end audio equipment.

Gee has become a fixture of my feed; I am one of his more than three hundred thousand followers.

He has introduced me to the world of Korean alt-rap, provided a playlist of ear-tickling minimalist piano instrumentals, and explained why Mitski’s latest album feels so vintage (because of an effect called “slap-back echo”).

I trust him not only to show me something cool but to teach me something new.

“I’m connecting the dots between cultures and sounds and eras,” he told me.

When Gee was a teen-ager, his electric-bass teacher played a similar role for him when he exposed Gee to James Jamerson, the Motown bass player who put jazz runs into pop songs.

“That opened my whole world up,” Gee said.

Gee’s practiced demeanor on the mike comes from his career off of social media.

He began working in graphic design and then in television development, but he also pursued an interest in music with a self-recorded radio show, which he began uploading to the Web site Mixcloud in 2012.

That show evolved into jobs with the music label 88rising, SiriusXM, and Mixcloud itself.

Gee began posting on TikTok in early 2022, after being introduced to the platform by a successful influencer who was trying to break into music.

Gee began with videos documenting his speaker collection but quickly moved on to leveraging his music expertise.

He told me that he is still a d.j., of a sort:

“What I do is radio but with a camera on. It’s just a break between songs,” he said.

By working outside of music-world institutions, he hopes to play a small part in moving the industry forward, pushing for more informed consumption.

He described himself as a kind of elder-brother figure to his audience:

“If I can turn you, a seventeen-year-old Korean American, on to U.K. garage, I’ve done my job.”

(For anyone who doesn’t follow Gee, “U.K. garage” is not garage rock but an influential British genre of electronic dance music that originated in the nineties and has made an impact on contemporary K-pop.)

Digital platforms are largely devoted to making users consume more, faster—think of TikTok’s frenetic “For You” feed or Spotify’s automated playlists.

Curators slow down the unending scroll and provide their followers with a way of savoring culture, rather than just inhaling it, developing a sense of appreciation.

Laura Reilly, who lives in Brooklyn, runs a newsletter and an Instagram account called Magasin (the French word for “store”), which she launched in 2021.

Now with more than twenty-eight thousand subscribers, Magasin touts itself with the tagline

“It’s a store. It’s a magazine. (It’s a fashion shopping newsletter.)”

But it goes beyond simple recommendations, championing lesser-known brands—the provider of earthy, upscale basics Studio Nicholson;

the knitwear maker Lauren Manoogian—and often interrogating the act of shopping itself.

“The more you learn about a brand,” Reilly told me, “the longer you’re going to hold on to those pieces.”

In other words, her informative posts are an antidote to fast fashion.

Reilly now employs a news editor and a menswear columnist, but she serves as a writer, editor, photographer, and model.

Magasin’s Instagram account features photo carrousels of her wearing outfits from the brands that the newsletter covers, but they are often dressing-room-mirror selfies, rather than polished portraits.

This goes beyond convenience into an intentional business strategy: like influencing, curating online can be a parasocial act.

“In order to be competitive, I needed to inject more of myself and my image into the newsletter,” she said.

Curation takes work, and like any other kind of labor it is only sustainable if it’s reasonably compensated.

Gee monetizes his account by creating sponsored content on TikTok, primarily for audio-equipment brands.

Magasin earns the majority of its revenue from affiliate marketing—for every reader who clicks a link to, say, a new Proenza Schouler cashmere sweater, and buys one,

Reilly earns a commission based on a small percentage of the sale price.

Before Magasin, Reilly worked in e-commerce fashion writing at the magazine InStyle, highlighting new product releases and deals.

That approach provided inspiration for her newsletter, and set her apart from other solo fashion commentators:

“I didn’t want it to be something that was a diary; I wanted it to be a service,” she said.

In a previous era of the Internet, we might have thought of figures like these simply as influencers, whose ability to attract large followings online gives them a power that sometimes surpasses that of traditional publications.

But the idea of an influencer has, as Reilly put it, become “a little flattened over time,” connoting shallow, uninformed, even misleading content dictated by sponsors.

“There’s a distinction between influencing and what I do,” Reilly insisted.

The archetypal influencer produces life-style porn of one form or another, playing up the aspirational glamour of their own home or meals or vacations.

The new wave of curators is more outward-looking, borrowing from the influencer’s playbook and piggybacking on social media’s intimate interaction with followers in order to address a body of culture beyond themselves.

Nathan Shuherk, an online curator of literature living in Indianapolis, didn’t mind the comparison between what he does and influencerdom.

Given “how much of culture is filtered through the eyes of influencers,” he told me, we ought to take the job seriously.

On TikTok, under the username @schizophrenicreads, Shuherk posts videos in which he delivers enthusiastic monologues about nonfiction books that reflect his personal preference for leftist, revisionist, socially engaged works of history—

“How to Hide an Empire,” by Daniel Immerwahr;

“Midwest Futures,” by Phil Christman.

He began posting on TikTok, in 2021, as a way to pass on recommendations for articles and books to his friends; he has now amassed nearly a hundred and eighty thousand followers.

Prior to running @schizophrenicreads, Shuherk had accumulated experience in a very different kind of public speaking.

He has schizophrenia, and in 2017 dropped out of a master’s program in library science and went on disability leave from work to adapt to living with the illness.

He occupied himself by giving lectures about his experiences for advocacy organizations.

His account name was partly a reference to his illness and partly a joke about his wide-ranging taste in reading. “I never really conceived of doing this for a mass audience; I was trying to be my friends’ unemployed librarian,” he said.

Owing to the cutoffs for receiving disability benefits, Shuherk tries to limit his income, but he maintains a small Patreon account, where fans can donate money and get access to extra material, including a podcast. (Full disclosure: I appeared on one episode.)

Shuherk cast the rise of curatorial accounts like his as a failure of the legacy-media ecosystem.

The job of providing well-informed recommendations once belonged to professional critics employed by newspapers and magazines.

As media companies have struggled to adjust to the digital age, the number of full-time criticism jobs has dwindled, leaving a void that Shuherk and others are filling.

We sometimes blame the figure of the influencer for these changes.

“One hundred per cent, that’s wrong,” Shuherk told me.

Internet users still desire guidance from voices with expertise; it’s just that those experts, lacking other options, are increasingly finding their audiences online.

“My option for becoming a book reviewer was sitting down on TikTok,” Shuherk said. “There isn’t really a path for me outside of this.”

The onslaught of online content requires filtering, whether technological or human, and those of us who dislike the idea of A.I. or algorithms doing the filtering for us might think more about how we support the online personalities who do the job well.

Structurally, the Internet is not getting better anytime soon;

I have not hidden my pessimism about its future.

But human creativity persists, even in hostile conditions.

Figures like Gee, Reilly, and Shuherk make me hopeful that fun, interesting niches of activity can still survive online.

There’s another word that we might apply to such people: “connoisseurs,” in the art-historical sense of passionate observers who shape a discipline through their judgments.

We’ve always had connoisseurs, from the radio d.j. to the bookstore clerk, subtly but vitally informing the culture that the rest of us choose to consume.

As Shuherk put it, “The person in the nineties working at Blockbuster—we’re the same person.” ♦

ly, “Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture.”