#wistful and hopeless romantic

[gomlet]

cute guy almost my height with a gold chain shining in the streetlights who nearly plowed into me, full force, like a car a train or some other vehicle of crushes marooned on the sidewalk. u swept yourself aside at the last moment without even looking up from the music video you was watching, which i heard one bassy second of before it was swallowed again by the 1 AM rain. i remember i politely nodded to disguise that i was staring at your plastic bag of something soaked fully through with rainwater and darkness. Do you even know I would give the world for you?

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

langston hughes once wrote, in the poem 'harlem'— "what happens to a dream deferred? / does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? or fester like a sore, and then run? /"

this episode is all about dreams — seok-ryu's dreams, unrealized and unthought of. seung-hyo's dreams — given up on, and formed anew. how, from past to present — from dreams broken and built again: they're still at each other's side.

love next door captures with such beautiful fragility the reticent hope tinting our adult lives — crushed by the corporate grind, the endless race from job to job to stultifying job: can we truly rise above the numbness, the wasteland of our everyday, walking home on wistful feet — and blow the dust off of our dreams? touch the stained gold of our longings, still buried beneath the bone-deep weariness? do we not owe it to our younger selves, still glistening with the dew of possibility — to at least try?

what does freedom mean to you? what does the ability to dream mean to you? this is what love next door asks of its characters, and of us — with so much empathy. so much warmth.

i can't stop thinking about how seung-hyo put his hand in the pool water with such infinite gentleness — as if the current could carry him back to the past where anything was possible. the water a conduit to wonder — to youth.

water in any form is rebirth, redemption — and the fact that seok-ryu jumped into it for seung-hyo, that he held her in his arms, suspended in the pool: indicating that they will reaffirm their dreams together. rebuild them side by side.

this is what i love about k-dramas: they make the mundane sacred. they infuse so much intimacy into the most ordinary of things — and love next door is such a fine example of it. the parallels to lovely runner were so precious to me — swimmers headed to the olympics, thwarted by unforeseen circumstance — hopelessly in love with their neighbors.

while lovely runner was for the hopeless romantics, the purest of souls for whom love is as concrete as their own heartbeat — love next door is for the burnt-out gifted children, the disillusioned daughters: bitter but still carrying a burgeoning hope that something might change. that love might be lingering where it's least expected.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Courting in Bloom

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky is a 40s gentleman, through and through…

Warnings: Heart melting fluff!

The vase of fresh daisies on the windowsill.

It had been refilled just yesterday, another token of affection from Bucky. Your eyes lingered on the delicate petals, still glistening with dew, and you couldn’t help but smile. Since you and Bucky had started dating, flowers had become a staple in your life.

They came in all shapes, colors, and meanings—roses, daisies, tulips, even the occasional bunch of wildflowers. And each time, Bucky would hand them to you with the gentlest smile, sometimes with a shy shrug, as if the gesture didn’t make your heart flip every single time.

It was charming, old-fashioned, and so quintessentially him.

Today’s delivery was a bouquet of peach and pink roses, wrapped in soft brown paper with a ribbon tied at the base. He had arrived at your door late last night, his metal hand carefully holding the bouquet, his human hand tucked into his jacket pocket.

“Did you know these mean ‘gratitude and admiration’?” he had recited, voice soft but proud.

And, of course, your heart had melted on the spot.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The next day, you were still admiring the roses when the doorbell rang. Padding across the room in your socks, you opened the door to find Bucky standing there, looking every bit the gentleman in a navy sweater and his favorite leather jacket.

“Morning, Doll,” he greeted, his deep blue eyes lighting up as they met yours. In his hand was another bouquet—this time, a mix of daisies and baby’s breath.

“Bucky,” you laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “Another one? At this rate, I’m going to need more vases.”

His grin was boyish as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “Can’t help it, Kitten. You deserve the world, and flowers are just the start.”

The day passed in a cozy rhythm. Bucky had insisted on taking you out for lunch at the little diner down the street, the one that reminded him of home. He told you stories from the ’40s as you shared a milkshake, his face lighting up with nostalgia.

“Back then,” he said, swirling his straw in the glass, “courting was serious business. You didn’t just date—you courted. There were flowers, dances, handwritten letters…” He trailed off, a wistful smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” you teased, though your voice was fond.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe. But if it means making my best girl happy, I’ll take it.”

You raised an eyebrow, resting your chin on your palm as you leaned over the diner table. “Oh yeah? So what else does ‘courting’ entail, Sergeant Barnes? Should I be expecting serenades under my window or maybe a sonnet or two?”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound so warm and genuine it felt like a blanket wrapping around you. “Well, if I could sing worth a damn, I’d be out there with a guitar right now. But poetry…” He leaned back, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “You just might get that. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the Shakespeare book you left on your coffee table last week. I’ve been doing my homework.”

“You’ve been reading Shakespeare?” you asked, incredulous but undeniably charmed.

“Of course,” he replied, smirking. “A guy’s gotta keep up with his girl’s tastes. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’” He paused for dramatic effect, the smirk shifting into something softer as his gaze locked on yours. “Nah, doesn’t do you justice. You’re more of a spring morning—warm, soft, and full of life.”

The compliment hit you straight in the chest, and you felt your cheeks heat as you reached for your water glass, trying to hide your flustered smile. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though the warmth in your voice betrayed how much his words had affected you.

“Maybe,” he admitted, still watching you with that fond, unwavering gaze. “But if ridiculous makes you blush like that, Doll, I’ll stick with it.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “Okay, Mr. Shakespeare. What else did courting in your day involve? Or are we talking purely sonnets and flowers?”

Bucky hummed, pretending to consider it as he traced patterns on the table with his metal hand. “Let’s see… There were dinners like this one, walks through the park, maybe a movie if we were feeling modern. But it wasn’t just about the gestures. It was about intention. Showing the person you cared, not just saying it.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you reached across the table, your fingers brushing over his. “You’re doing a pretty good job of that, you know.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, the bustling diner seemed to fade away. The way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world—made your chest tighten in the best way.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet, almost vulnerable tone, “I meant it when I said you deserve the world. I may not be able to give you that, but I can try my damnedest to make you feel like you have it.”

You squeezed his hand, unable to suppress the smile breaking across your face. “You do, Bucky. Every single day.”

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

By the time you got back to your apartment, the sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Bucky had another surprise in store—he’d planned a quiet evening in, complete with a homemade dinner.

You sat on the couch, watching as he moved around the kitchen with surprising ease. He was focused, brows furrowed as he chopped vegetables with precision.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It’s not trouble, Darling. It’s… what’s the word? A privilege.”

You were leaning your elbow on the counter as you watched him chop the carrots with a surprising precision that would’ve made a professional chef jealous. “A privilege, huh? You really are something else, Barnes. Most guys these days just show up with takeout and call it a night.”

He paused, setting the knife down as he turned to face you, resting his hip against the counter. “Well, I’m not most guys, am I, Doll?” His smile was soft, but there was an unmistakable sincerity in his tone. “I grew up in a time when showing someone you cared meant more than just saying it. Actions speak louder than words. I guess… I like knowing you can see it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping closer. You reached up, brushing a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. “You know I see it, right? You don’t have to bring me flowers every day or make dinner to prove anything to me. You’ve already got me, Bucky. Completely.”

His gaze softened even further, if that were possible, and his hands found your waist, warm and steady. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “But it’s not about proving anything. It’s about reminding you, every chance I get, how much you mean to me. After everything, I don’t take things like this for granted. I don’t take you for granted.”

Your throat tightened, and you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. “You’re going to make me cry,” you said, laughing softly as you blinked them away.

Bucky smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Not my intention, Kitten. But if those are happy tears, I’ll take it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, and he held you close, his metal arm cool against your back and his human hand warm against your side. The steady beat of his heart under your cheek felt like home.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” you whispered, voice muffled against his chest.

“Not since this morning,” he teased, his tone light. Then, softer, “But it’s always nice to hear. I love you too, Darling. More than you’ll ever know.”

You pulled back, tilting your head to look up at him, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world. By the time you pulled away, the carrots on the cutting board had been forgotten, and the smell of something slightly overcooking on the stovetop broke the moment.

“Oh no,” you said, laughing as you turned toward the stove. “Your romantic dinner might be in jeopardy.”

Bucky chuckled, his hands still resting lightly on your waist. “Eh, it’s just the carrots. You’re worth a little burnt dinner, Kitten.”

“Careful, Barnes,” you shot back playfully, grabbing a spoon to stir the pot. “Keep talking like that, and I might start expecting burnt meals on the regular.”

“I’ll try to pace myself,” he replied, grinning as he grabbed the knife again. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not exactly a five-star chef.”

“Lucky for you,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile, “I don’t need fancy. I just need you.”

And with that, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm again—him chopping, you stirring, laughter and light banter filling the kitchen. It was simple, domestic, and perfect in a way that felt almost too good to be true.

The evening ended with the two of you curled up on the couch, the remnants of dinner forgotten on the coffee table. Bucky had one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other holding a small book he’d found on your shelf.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you murmured, your voice laced with drowsiness.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Perfect? Nah, Doll. Just lucky to have you.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, you woke to find another bouquet on your bedside table—a mix of sunflowers and daisies, with a little card tucked inside.

To my Darling Y/N, it read. Here’s to another day of making you smile.

And, of course, you did…

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you guys like this sickly sweet one (It was fun to write!) Make sure to leave a comment, or even a request if you liked it! 🫶

Requests Open!

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - fem!reader, implied kidnapping, implied stalking.

“I used to be the best dancer in Snezhnaya.”

You hum, playing thoughtful while she guides you through a loose turn and savoring the way the skirt of your dress fans out behind you. The music is slower than you prefer, made more for conversation than exhibition, but you’ve never taken much of an interest in gossip, nor can you stand discussions on the circus that is Fontaine’s political sphere. This, the performance of it all, is all you really care about. Well, that and a chance to sample champagne fit for an archon, of course. “Used to be?”

“I was recently usurped. A tragic turn of events, I know, but it was well-deserved.” Her gloved hand falls from your side to your lower back. It’s too low to offer any real support, clearly a choice made for aesthetics over practicality, but you don’t protest. You can hold yourself up, even if your feet won’t thank you for your independence in the morning. “By a foreigner, no less – some court gem so lovely and so elegant, even the Tsaritsa couldn’t help but stare. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s not exactly a description I’d expect from an envy-stricken rival.”

“I’m not jealous. I couldn’t be.” She takes an unexpected step forward and you take one back, nearly colliding with another pair too caught up with each other to mind anyone else. You purse your lips. Arlecchino – that was what she said when you asked for the name of the strange, monochromatic woman who’d spent the better half of the evening scaring your other potential partners away. A diplomat from Snezhnaya, if memory served. Hopefully, for the sake of her nation, she’s better at the negotiation table than in the ballroom. “I was the one foolish enough to bring her home with me.” There’s a slight pause, a wistful sigh, as if she’s recalling something dear to her. “We only knew each other for a few days – just a few nights, really. I could hardly bring myself to speak to her, but she was the one to approach me, in the end.”

A quick turn that became into an abrupt twirl, a tug in a direction that went against the flow of the dance floor. This time, you fail to suppress your reaction, a slight frown coming to rest across your lips as Arlecchino flashes a broad grin, nearly hauling you to a less populated corner of the dance floor. “You must be quite the hopeless romantic.”

Your voice is flat, cold, but if she notices your sudden change in demeanor, she doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t deem the insult worth leaving you alone and partnerless in the middle of the dance (no matter how much you’re starting to wish she would). Rather, she only pulls you closer, until your chest is flush against hers, her mouth close enough to your ear for her voice to resonate in a way that makes you want to run. “More possessive than romantic, unfortunately.” Her grin is heavy in her tone. “I’ve just always preferred to keep the things I find beautiful close by.”

That’s enough. You try to wrench your hands out of hers, to shove her away from you, your reputation be damned, but her hold is iron-clad around yours, her posture unfaltering. In one smooth motion, she sweeps your legs from underneath you, leaving you falling into a deep, full-body dip – her strength the only thing separating you from the floor. You open your mouth, ready to scream, but there’s a tight pinch somewhere in your lower back, the feeling of something very small and very sharp being pushed underneath your skin, and your voice catches in your throat, your vision blurring as your body stiffens and your joints lock into place. You do what you can to stay upright, to stay conscious, but it’s a futile pursuit, punctuated by a soft laugh, a pair of smiling lips pressed gingerly against yours. “You’ll like it, in the Tsaritsa’s court,” she says, the words just barely above a whisper.

“I know how to keep my precious gems polished.”

[twstbookclub]

Slowly, Surely, Sadly

Summary: Who would've thought one smile could make you like someone? Of all people, you never expected to fall for Riddle—not after his overblot. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce Shenanigans again, Unrequited (maybe not, who knows?) Feelings, Spoilers for Book 1 if yall haven't finished it Word Count: 3, 304 This is my first time writing full-on angst. I already had this plot in mind last April, but this was my only chance to finally write it all down. I hope I did my job, and I'm sorry also not sorry for the feels. I was running on 5 hours of sleep and a hopeless romantic playlist when I wrote this. I hope yall enjoy, though 💕

Whenever you looked at Riddle, the memory of his swollen cheek and tear-brimmed eyes overlapped with his stern expression. Even with the constant lectures and helicopter parenting becoming less frequent, you could never forget his ruthless reign over Heartslabyul. His first impression was that of a tyrannical and merciless ruler, and you’d never forget that.

Yet, you could never forget how he looked like a lost child in a garden of roses when Ace punched him that day.

“Would you like to sample one of our teatime treats, Prefect?”

Riddle’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts. Your eyes darted from your teacup to the housewarden. An expectant yet patient smile curled his lips, which was a stark contrast to his natural frown. Your eyes lingered on the smile on his cherubic face.

“Sure,” you answered, somewhat in a daze. You took a sip of your tea, before your nose scrunched a little. Before Riddle noticed your grimace, you put the teacup down and dropped three sugar cubes in your drink.

You didn’t miss the amused twitch of Riddle’s lips from the corner of your eyes. This action would have earned you a reprimand and a lecture on one of hundreds of Heartslabyul’s rules. After his overblot and the incident in the rose garden, Riddle was becoming more lenient.

“You should mind your sugar intake—” Well, he’s still working on the leniency, but he’s trying— “Do you prefer a tart, a cupcake, or a cookie? Maybe you’d like to try a slice of today’s cake?”

You gave Riddle your preferred dessert, then you watched him reach over the table. Dainty, gloved fingers curled around the dish, before he brought it to you. You gave a brief nod and a mumble of thanks, before you took a bite of the treat.

“...!” You quietly moaned from the sweet taste that melted on your tongue. With a hand on your cheek, you slowly chewed to savor the sugar that graced your tastebuds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you dug into more of the dessert.

“It’s so good!”

You didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Riddle’s face, still cherubic and radiant. Amidst the chatter and raucous noise in this week’s Unbirthday party, you somehow heard the hint of pride in the red-haired sophomore’s words.

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Trey’s baking skills are the best in Heartslabyul—possibly in the entirety of Night Raven College.” Riddle paused, before softly adding, “I prefer his strawberry tarts, though. It’s a shame he couldn’t make any for today.”

The wistfulness in that tone of his made you pause. As Riddle took his own sip of tea, you couldn’t look away from him.

One afternoon, you marched through the silent corridors of the arcane academy. Heavy footfalls echoed in your ears, as if to mock you. The reminder of why you were wandering the halls alone made you frown.

“Where the hell are you, Grim?” You mumbled, head turning left and right, as you stomped. All the doors were closed shut, and voices could be heard through them. You doubt this area had an empty classroom at the moment.

Professor Crewel’s scowl and his whip flashed in your mind. As much as you loved Grim and his snark, you’d rather not face the wrath of the dog-loving professor. Brows furrowing, you grumbled again, “If he skips alchemy lessons again, I’m going to wring his neck and—”

“Prefect?” The gentle voice forced you to a halt, and you blinked at Heartslabyul’s warden in front of you. Riddle looked at you with a raised brow, before he crossed his arms and tapped his heel on the floor.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you, but…” He paused, eyes roaming your face. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood, and your class is about to start. I passed by Ace and Deuce heading towards Professor Crewel’s classroom earlier.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and sighed. You were already on good terms with the housewarden, and you’d rather not get collared for misdirecting your annoyance.

“Hi Riddle,” you greeted with a small, strained smile to be polite. “I’m actually looking for Grim. I lost him in the crowd during the lunch rush, and well…”

You tried so hard not to curse the lovable, annoying puffball. Another heavy sigh left your lips with a shake of your head. The strained smile became an apologetic one. Riddle stared at you, most likely scrutinizing something about you. Maybe he was judging you for letting Grim get away.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you here. It’s nice to see you, though—”

“Hold on,” Riddle stepped closer and reached for your tie, “your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

You held your breath, biting your tongue to stifle any surprised noises. The red-haired sophomore was too focused on fixing your tie to notice your reaction. His knuckles brushed your chest as he tightened the knot, and you tensed. He didn’t even ask for permission. He just took initiative, and it reminded you of a doting yet strict mother for some reason.

“You should be more conscious of your appearance,” Riddle reminded kindly while smoothing the creases of your uniform coat. He stepped back and seemed satisfied with his intervention. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile again, and you couldn’t look away.

“Now, off you go. Professor Crewel isn’t forgiving when it comes to tardiness.”

“R-right,” you stuttered with a faint warmth on your cheeks. You were tempted to slap yourself for losing composure like this, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Riddle would think you lost your mind if you did.

“Thanks, Riddle.”

His smile softened, yet it grew wider. The sharp and scrutinizing gaze melted into one of appreciation. Your heart skipped a beat. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Something fuzzy and warm filled your chest as you stared at Riddle. Your fingers twitched, as if longing to touch Riddle in some way.

It was ridiculous, but you didn’t dislike the feeling either.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I should be heading to my own class. I wish you luck, Prefect.”

He skirted around you in one, fluid motion. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridor as you watched him go. His short figure carried a sense of dignity and pride, something that used to terrify and annoy his wards in Heartslabyul.

It used to intimidate you, but you couldn’t look away from him now. Even when Riddle turned a corner and disappeared, you couldn’t stop staring.

Ever since that day, you couldn’t stop noticing these things about Riddle. His entire face brightened, eyes glittering and cheeks flushing pink, when presented with a strawberry tart. Whenever he smiled, his gray irises seemed to hide behind the chub of his cheeks. He always looked red in the face whenever he was embarrassed, but the addition of a scowl and wide eyes showed his anger instead. His voice always raised in pitch, becoming less gentle and more crazed, whenever he became agitated and enraged. He even lost his formality and courteousness at that point: language becoming more crude yet still refined.

One day, while preparing for a game of croquet, you pointed out how happy Riddle seemed when he took care of the hedgehogs. Ace shot you a weird look. Deuce looked perplexed, lost even, when his eyes darted to you.

“Really?” He asked, looking between Riddle crouched on the ground and you who looked surprised. “He doesn’t look any different. How could you tell?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you told them, “It’s not obvious, but he’s smiling. See? His eyes look brighter when he looked at the hedgehogs, too. Oh, and there’s the fact that he gently pets their heads with a finger. He’s avoiding touching their quills, and he’s trying not to agitate the tiny things.”

There was a long, uneasy stretch of silence that followed your answer. After a moment, Ace’s stunned look shifted into a mischievous grin. Deuce mirrored his expression, and it reminded you of that one time he lost his composure and beat up a pair of upperclassmen.

“Huh, really?” There was an intrigued and knowing tone in the redhead’s voice. Meanwhile, Deuce turned to look at Riddle as if to verify your observation. Although, the ravenette was still grinning, as if he knew something you didn’t.

In that moment, you realized you were screwed—so, so screwed.

Upon seeing your confusion warp into a crestfallen and horrified realization, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker.

“Looks like the Prefect has a crush,” he teased, but you wanted none of it. Ace followed with an incredulous yet amused, “Really? Housewarden Riddle? Strict and overbearing Housewarden Riddle? Oh, your standards are buried six feet under, Prefect.”

A hand smacked Deuce’s own off your person, and you began to stumble over your words. Both lovable yet annoying idiots laughed it off, while you half-heartedly threatened them with a raised fist.

“Shut up, or I swear to the Seven—!”

Ace and Deuce laughed louder, nearly howling and sniggering in delight. As they clutched their stomachs and you grabbed the collars of their uniforms, Riddle’s confused and curious stare was left unnoticed.

Riddle continued to invite you to their weekly Unbirthday parties as an honorary guest. He still offered you desserts with little to no comment on your sweet tooth. He still fussed over your appearance whenever you two passed each other in the halls. He always gave you a subtle smile, despite his stern demeanor. The more you spent time around the housewarden, the more dread weighed in your stomach.

You couldn’t ignore the flutters of your heart, how it flipped and did cartwheels whenever Riddle treated you kindly. No matter what he did, you always felt like you were floating and walking on clouds.

You still longed to touch him—maybe brush back a stray strand that fell over his forehead. You wanted to know how it felt to hold his hand. Maybe even take a stroll in Heartslabyul’s rose maze with him, hand-in-hand and talking about anything. You wanted to spend teatime alone with him. You wanted to see him smile after taking a bite of a strawberry tart you made for him. You wanted to gaze at the moon and the stars with him in the comfort of Riddle’s dorm room, just sitting together in that window alcove with pillows and blankets.

You wanted to do so much more with Riddle, but the large mirror before you spelled the end of your hopes and dreams.

“Well, Prefect,” Crowley began with a jovial tone, which was a stark contrast to the despair that gripped your heart, “I found a way for you to return to your world. After long, grueling hours of searching for the solution, I fulfilled my promise to you, and I even gathered your friends here for a heartfelt farewell.”

You called bullshit on that, but you still appreciated Crowley’s effort. True to his word, all of the people you befriended surrounded you in the Mirror Chamber. The occasion was treated as a formal one, if their dorm uniforms didn’t make a statement already. Everyone had varying degrees of restrained emotion, as you stood before the mirror that led to your home dimension.

Grim stood behind you with clenched paws and glassy eyes. You spotted Ace and Deuce grinning, but there was a hint of a strain in their smiles. Kalim was close to bursting into tears. Leona stared at you with a neutral look and a hand on his hip, but the harsh dig of his fingers told you otherwise. Azul wore his usual smile, one reserved for business, and Jade had a polite smile as well. Floyd didn’t share the same sentiment. The more capricious Leech brother scowled as if he ate Lilia’s cooking after being promised a tasty meal.

You didn’t dare look at Riddle. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

Crowley spread his arms with a self-satisfied smile that both irked and endeared you to him. “Aren’t I a magnanimous and gracious headmaster to do something like this for you?”

He made a show of spinning on his heel and walking towards the doors to the Mirror Chamber. With a flamboyant wave of his hand, he exclaimed, “I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and well-wishes. However…”

Crowley looked at you from over his shoulder, and your throat tightened at the soft smile that curled his lips.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Prefect. I would’ve loved for you to stay until graduation, but alas. I wish you all the best once you return home.”

The last thing you saw was a swish of his cape, before a heavy weight nearly toppled you to the ground. Tan, bejeweled arms hugged your waist as a loud bawl harshly rang in the room. You didn’t even need to look to see that it was Kalim blubbering through his tears. Jamil’s alarmed voice echoed in your ears, and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to surround you.

Tearful farewells, wistful wishes, and unfulfilled promises filled the enclosed space. Grim clung to you all this time, all the while mewling and whining about how he’d lose his henchman.  Still, he was crying his eyes out. The large mirror was obscured from your sight, as if the unusual group of friends you made during your time here intended this. You couldn’t help but laugh—a bittersweet sound—as everyone tried to get a word in with you. Even Malleus came to say his goodbyes, though he seemed more reserved than usual.

Then the dreaded moment came: Riddle approached you with that same smile, the gentle and subtle one he always graced you with. Everyone who noticed the shift in mood somehow left space for you and the Heartslabyul housewarden to talk. You almost giggled when you overheard Jade scold Floyd for whining about this.

You forced your smile to widen, even if your eyes stung and your throat tightened again. Your voice cracked at the end, but that could be mistaken for holding back tears.

“Hi, Riddle,” you whispered as you felt your throat tighten more, “I guess I’m leaving before I could have another Unbirthday party with all of you. I was so excited to try the macarons, too.”

The gentle smile became forlorn, and it reminded you of that time he lamented over not having strawberry tarts in that one Unbirthday party. A twinge in your heart made your breath hitch, but you hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really,” he told you with a falter in his smile. The corners of his lips hitched up, as if that never happened in the first place. “I wanted you to try some tea from the Queendom of Roses as well, but… that may never happen now.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. The sting in your eyes worsened. Some invisible hand squeezed your heart, as if threatening to puncture the fragile thing with its talons. You maintained your composure as much as you can.

You couldn’t help but admit, “I wish I could have more time with all of you.”

I wish I had more time with you.

“I wish I could watch the third-years graduate. I wish I could see all of us graduate here, even if I don’t have magic.” You chuckled, and you found yourself with loose lips around Riddle.

“I want to have more Unbirthday parties with everyone in Heartslabyul. I want to have lunch with everyone in Mostro Lounge. I want to watch the next interdorm Spelldrive tournament and cheer for your guys. I want to spend Christmas and welcome the New Year with everyone. I want a lot of things, but… Well, I’m going home.”

Riddle’s smile slipped, and you watched him visibly swallow with a subtle frown. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he still had a gentle look on him.

“Who knows, Prefect? Maybe there will come a time when we find a way for you to visit and vice versa.” Riddle sounded so unsure, so hesitant, in his reassurance. Still, you appreciated it.

You ignored how much your heart hurt and your jaw clenched when he said that.

“I hope so.” Chuckling, you kept your arms to yourself as you smiled at Riddle. He was becoming a blur of red, white, and gold. Warm tears already spilled down your cheeks, before you even realized what was happening.

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you raised a hand to wipe away your tears. While the heel of your palm rubbed your cheek, you mumbled, “Sorry. I just…”

A white handkerchief was offered to you, and you took it with murmured gratitude. Your eyes were drawn to the embroidered initials of Riddle’s name on the corner. The cloth felt soft on your skin, and you found some comfort in that.

“Keep it,” Riddle told you with that smile again, “so that you would remember me every time you see it.”

Your mind blanked at his words. Riddle referred to himself rather than everyone in Heartslabyul, even everyone in NRC. Heart fluttering and throat tightening, you resisted the urge to sob. Hope came as a surge of warmth and the weight of dread in your chest.

Not now. Not when I’m leaving.

With a smile, melancholic yet bright, you dabbed away the last of your tears and tucked the handkerchief into your uniform pocket. A burst of courage let you wrap your arms around Riddle in a hug with a whispered, “Thank you. I’m going to miss you—all of you.”

I’m going to miss you more.

Normally, Riddle would be flustered at the sudden gesture of affection. You expected a loud stutter and an indignant scolding, but he simply returned the hug. His face was buried in your shoulder, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“You’re welcome.” You heard him whisper, followed by a faint sniff. Something warm and wet soaked through the coat and into your shoulder. You hugged Riddle tighter, as if to hide him from the rest of the world at that moment.

Too brief for your liking, Riddle pulled away with that same smile. His eyes appeared to be glassy, reflecting your tearful expression and wobbly grin. Your heart twinged again, and your jaw clenched.

It was that smile that damned you the moment Riddle fixed your tie for the first time.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?” You asked, laughing off your dread and despair. Riddle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart stuttered as you watched him open his mouth with reluctance.

Something held him back. He shook his head and merely smiled at you again.

“Of course,” he murmured, eyes hiding behind his cheeks again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Prefect.”

In that moment, you’d have stolen the stars from the sky if Riddle wanted to make a wish. You’d bake tarts and cakes in the Heartslabyul kitchen, even if it ended in a mess of flour, if he wanted sweets. You’d stay past curfew in his dorm room to stargaze, if he was willing to break the rules just this once. You’d shower him in kisses, hugs, and cuddles if he hesitated to spell out his desire for affection.

You’d stay in Twisted Wonderland if he asked you to.

Swallowing your heartache, you forced a smile—bright and brilliant, putting the sun to shame. Your gaze never left Riddle, while unspoken feelings laid heavy on the tip of your tongue. Reality crushed your daydreams and wishes, reduced to rubble and dust. The next words felt final and absolute.

“Goodbye, Riddle.”

What remained was the handkerchief with his stitched initials in your pocket.

[dolls-self-ships]

I decided to re-do my hazbin hotel self-insert because I just wasn’t happy with the first one, this character has gone through a lot of changes over the years but I think I’m ready to finally settle on introducing her properly as Calliope, one of the residents of and owner of the most popular beauty parlour in Cannibal Town. I’ve always loved late Victorian/turn of the century aesthetics, and when the show introduced Rosie and all her cannibals, I immediately felt like I’d love to live there. It’s way more in my element and I love drawing (and wearing) detailed and frilly antique gowns, so I just thought this fit a lot better for me.

Some info

~

Died: 1914

Age: 23

Occupation: Beauty parlour/dress shop owner (likes to be able to pretty up even the most dingy of places like Hell) , dreams of being an actress/chorus girl though

Friends/allies: Rosie (best customer, friend), Alastor (friend), Charlie (acquaintance, friend), Vaggie (acquaintance), Lucifer Morningstar (one sided crush), Angeldust (friend, she asks him for acting advice), Husk (acquaintances), Sir Pentious (hasn’t met yet), Nifty (friends), Mimzy (acquaintances)

Backstory: similar but different, still caught her husband cheating, but she was so deeply in love with him that she ate his heart after killing him in a heartbroken rage (cannibalism as a metaphor for all consuming love ayeee), afterwards when the weight of the reality of what she had done hit her, she felt so guilty and ashamed that she threw herself to the authorities, and taken aback by her distraught and tearful state, diagnosed her with female hysteria (like all “health professionals” did back then… and who am I kidding still today) and sentenced her to spend the remainder of her years in the City Asylum.

Cause of death: strangulation via one of the assylum’s staff after only 3 months of residency

Personality: (positive) Friendly, sweet, kind, dreams big, wistful, funny, hopeless romantic, organized

(negative) insecure, cries a lot, gets feelings hurt easily, perfectionist

(neutral) clumsy, wears her emotions on her sleeve (for better or worse), dramatic, type A

tag list 💕

@shiny-self-shipping @westiefromtheeast @menshusband @bat-anon @sunflawyer

[fairyhaos]

seventeen as taylor swift songs

notes: guys. guys im not even a swiftie but ive listened to sooo many of her songs for this hc that i could literally Become one now if i wanted to

[this fic's spotify playlist]

masterlist

seungcheol

wildest dreams. it's kind of an incredibly, almost painfully romantic song. it's kind of a whirlwind romance song? while it's certainly a little hopeless, there's yearning there, and there's also so much vivid, vibrant love at the same time, a kind of possession, of protectiveness even so. it's seungcheol because of the desperate, helpless love it describes, a 'i couldn't help but fall for you' vibe that is so him.

jeonghan

style. the type of pretty boy x pretty girl energy this song exudes gives me delicate, gorgeous, jeonghan vibes. it's sweet, light, but it's also playful and so romantic that it makes your heart feel so full it might burst. it's something you can scream loudly, but also something you can hold close to your heart. the song is a silvery cream colour, reminding me of jeonghan

joshua

enchanted. i mean???? enchanted is The royal, romantic, sparkling, glittering song of all time. it's gentle and gentlemanly and yearning and hopeful and wonderful and so, so joshua coded it's actually insane. it's a type of strangers to friends to lovers that crescendos into a heart-melting happy ever after that takes your breath away. it's so joshua it makes me cry.

junhui

paper rings. it's so youthful, so bubbly, so young love in the way that only junhui can be the one to embody. it's sweet like junhui's smiles, endearing like junhui's laughs, bright and lovely like the way in which junhui would love with his entire heart. paper rings is so full of brightly orange coloured love, just like junhui is.

hoshi

22. this song talks about living your life to the fullest, no matter the age, for all time, as if every day is your last. it's about finding happiness in every situation, with the person you love the most in the entire world. it's a song that feels like bright, flashing lights, like warm drinks, like soft kisses. it feels like hoshi.

wonwoo

willow. the acoustic vibes of this song feel very wonwoo. there's a sort of undying, eternal love in the lyrics, an idea of always coming back to him, of forever finding endless comfort and wonder and new experiences while loving him. there's a certain domesticity to this song, and honestly the best way to describe it really is eternal love, constant love, comfortable and thrilling and warm all at once.

woozi

jump then fall. honestly, it took me a while to find one for woozi, but then i discovered this song and it fit him perfectly. it's devastatingly soft, so gentle and caring, just like woozi is. it doesn't have any sudden realisations of love, but rather a slow, soft kind of falling in love, an innate understanding of how one feels, and that is just so, so woozi to me.

minghao

all too well. the romantic, elegant, velvet feeling to this song embodies minghao very, very well. it's almost wistful in its love, like remembering a wonderful memory, like making sure that you remember the best times of your life without any animosity, any hatred. it's of real love, of cherishing, gentle and nostalgic and minghao all the way.

mingyu

daylight. it's a little youthful, hopeful, bright, like mingyu. the song just exudes so much "happy ever after" vibes, at the end of a perfect romantic novel, and that's so mingyu. it's the epilogue song, heart filled with warm love, his smiles as sweet and gentle as the chorus of the song. it's hopeful, optimistic, beautiful.

dokyeom

cruel summer. okay first of all—the high notes?? the pretty little voice tremble thingies?? it's so pretty dokyeom voice coded. but also, apart from that, it's such a sweet sounding song, young and happy and and hopeful and devastatingly him. it's yearning and endearing at the same time, full of every emotion in the world, just like he is.

seungkwan

shake it off. it's a citrusy brightly fun song, with lilac undertones and this is gonna sound really really weird but that instantly made me think of seungkwan. it's full of positivity, of bouncing back, of not giving up and and not caring what anyone else thinks. of being the life of the party, of making other people happy, and that is the most seungkwan thing in the whole world.

vernon

we are never ever getting back together. lyrics aside, there's a lot of feel-good energy in this song which feels so vernon. honestly lots of taylor's old songs feel like they can match him a lot, because there's so much young energy, feeling a little like a boundless puppy, and i don't know. the self-assurance, the brightness, the pure pop, light feeling is something that just fits vernon.

chan

red. perhaps an unexpected one, but hear me out, this one is so, so, chan-coded, i promise you. it's like an old love, a sad, wistful love. but a wistful love of a romance that was anything but that: of a romance that had been full of the scent of leather and love and living. that's what chan is, i think. red feels very, very much like loving chan.

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[foxes-that-run]

THE REINVENTION OF TAYLOR SWIFT

Rolling stone: She’s left country behind, sworn off dating and built a fortress around her heart

By JOSH EELLS SEPTEMBER 8, 2014 (X)

“Have you heard of the Loneliest Whale? There’s this whale – I think Adrian Grenier is making a documentary about it. It swims through the ocean, and it has a call unlike any other whale’s. So it doesn’t have anyone to swim with. And everybody feels so sorry for this whale – but what if this whale is having a great time?

[…]

The other big change on 1989 is that for the first time in years, there are no diss tracks dishing about Swift’s exes. A few of the songs are about her relationships and love life, but they’re mostly wistful and nostalgic, not finger-pointy or score-settling. “Different phases of your life have different levels of deep, traumatizing heartbreak,” Swift says. “And in this period of my life, my heart was not irreparably broken. So it’s not as boy-centric of an album, because my life hasn’t been boycentric.” In fact, she suggests, she hasn’t dated at all since breaking up with One Direction singer Harry Styles more than a year and a half ago. “Like, have not gone on a date,” she says. “People are going to feel sorry for me when you write that. But it’s true.”

Swift says dating is hard for her. For one thing, there’s the logistics. “Seventy percent of the time, when a guy asks me out, it’ll just be a random e-mail,” she says. Some movie star will get her address from his publicist and e-mail her cold. Usually she politely rebuffs them – but even if someone did penetrate that line of defense, building a relationship is hard.

“I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime,” Swift says. “And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slide shows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivializes my work. And most of all, I don’t like how all these factors add up to build the pressure so high in a new relationship that it gets snuffed out before it even has a chance to start. And so,” she says, “I just don’t date.”

(That goes for hooking up as well. “I just think it’s pointless if you’re not in love,” Swift says. “And I don’t have the energy to be in love right now. So, no.”)

Truth be told, Swift sounds a tiny bit jaded – which, for a “self-professed hopeless romantic,” maybe isn’t the worst thing to be. “It’s not like I’ve sworn off love,” she says. “My life is just not conducive to bringing other people into it right now. I’m very childlike and romantic about lots of things, but I’m realistic about this.”

Swift pauses, searching for a metaphor that will help her explain herself. “Have you heard of the Loneliest Whale? There’s this whale – I think Adrian Grenier is making a documentary about it. It swims through the ocean, and it has a call unlike any other whale’s. So it doesn’t have anyone to swim with. And everybody feels so sorry for this whale – but what if this whale is having a great time? Because it’s not bad that I’m not hopelessly in love with someone. It’s not a tragedy, and it’s not me giving up and being a spinster. Although I did get another cat.” She laughs. “I asked around: I was like, ‘Does two cats count as cats?’ But then I thought, what imaginary guy’s perspective am I thinking about this from? Someone is going to think I’m undateable for a lot of reasons before they think I’m undateable because I have two cats.”

[…]

[thoughtsbysofi]

Why do we keep chasing the Idea of perfect love?

The love stories we tell ourselves

As hopeless romantics, we’ve all been there—daydreaming about “the one,” holding on to the magic of soulmates and chasing the fantasy of a love so perfect it feels predestined. But recently, a realization hit me:

We have no idea what love actually is.

We think we do. After all, we’ve read the books, watched the movies, and consumed enough romance content to fill entire libraries. We’ve built a collective idea of love, a shared mythos, but how much of that is real? If we’re honest, hasn’t the overconsumption of this idealized version of love distorted our understanding of it?

Take the constant projection and idealization, for example.

It’s almost automatic—whenever we meet someone even remotely attractive, our minds start weaving intricate fantasies. Suddenly, they’re not just a person; they’re the one. The chosen one. The once-in-a-lifetime love that will give our existence meaning.

In these mental scenarios, we often cast ourselves as the quirky, mysterious character—the one who will change their life forever. We picture ourselves as the free spirit, the deeply complex soul with a chaotic backstory. We’re the one they’ll never forget, the one they’ll think about with a wistful smile decades from now.

And why do we cling to this fantasy? Because we’ve been taught that she—the manic pixie dream girl, the enigmatic heroine—is lovable. Desirable. Worthy. She’s the kind of person people adore, not despite her flaws but because of them. She’s everything we’re not, and yet, in our minds, she becomes the version of ourselves we hope to be—the version we think someone could truly love.

But here’s the truth we rarely admit: in those fantasies, we’re never loved for who we really are. We’re loved for being someone else.

We imagine being adored not as the person writing this, but as the carefully curated romantic interest in someone else’s story. And for so long, that’s where we’ve placed our worth—in someone else’s gaze, someone else’s validation.

But is that fair? To us? To them?

It’s not fair to project these grand, cinematic expectations onto people who never asked for them. They’re not characters in our personal rom-com. They’re real, flawed individuals with their own stories, and they don’t owe us the fulfillment of our fantasies.

And yet, we find ourselves pulling away the moment someone doesn’t align with our imaginary script. We expect so much—everything, really—from one person. We want them to be the one, but when they don’t meet that impossible standard, we feel disappointed. And they? They’re left confused, wondering what they did wrong, when the truth is, it’s not about them at all.

It’s about us and our obsession with the idea of love.

Because here’s the kicker: love, in reality, is rarely like the movies. It’s not grand declarations or sweeping gestures. It’s not fireworks and soul-shattering kisses in the rain. Real love is…normal.

And that’s the part that terrifies us.

We crave the thrill, the drama, the intensity of love as a concept. But love in its truest form? It’s absurd in its simplicity. It’s imperfect, sometimes boring, and often inconvenient. And for those of us who’ve been raised on stories of epic romance, that normalcy feels like a letdown.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe real love isn’t about someone else completing us or making our lives extraordinary. Maybe it’s about learning to exist outside of someone else’s gaze. To be whole on our own, flaws and all, and to embrace the messy, unromantic, real connections we share with others.

Because in the end, isn’t that what love truly is? Not perfection, not fantasy—but presence. Showing up. Seeing and being seen. No projections, no expectations—just two imperfect people, trying their best.

And maybe that’s enough.

-xoxo

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Happy Valentines Day!!

I've been prepping this oneshot since the first, I'm super excited to finally share it!

Mary has had an epiphany.

It hits them on the Monday before Valentines Day, in the Great Hall. For once, the 14th is falling on a Hogsmeade Saturday, and it's wreaking havoc in the castle. People are asking each other out left right and centre, the prospect of a Hogsmeade date being much too enticing to pass up. Especially for the seventh years. Lily's already talking about who she's going on ask, and it's looking more and more like it's going to be James. Mary isn't all that bothered about Valentines Day, to be honest, but everyone else is, and they think that's quite cute.

At breakfast, everyone watches Valentine after Valentine landing in front of people, and as they watch another cross the table, they catch a glimpse of Remus' face. His eyes follow the owl with an expression that Mary can only describe as wistful. It throws them for a moment. Remus hasn't shown an interest in this sort of thing before. Still, there's absolutely no other explanation for Remus' expression.

That man is a hopeless romantic.

A hopeless romantic without a date. Yeah, that absolutely can't do. Mary can care about Valentines Day for a bit, if they need to find Remus a date. They're going to make sure Remus ends up on a date if it kills them.

They decide to float the concept later that day. The common room is practically empty, Remus and Mary the only ones with free lessons. They've been working in a comfortable silence, with Mary asking the occasional question about the homework they're both completing. It's the perfect time to ask.

"So, Valentines Day's on a Hogsmeade weekend," they say calmly, not looking up from their essay.

"Oh, yeah, I thought I'd heard that," he answers. It's a pretty obvious lie. Remus Lupin has never been a liar, that much is clear.

"Have you thought about asking anyone?" They glance up just in time to watch Remus' shoulders tense. Opening their mouth, they go to respond, but Mary is not about to let them deny anything. "Oh, you have, haven't you?" Remus' face promptly starts to flush, and a smile finds its way onto Mary's face. "Right, I'm finding you a date," they say decisively, and Remus' eyes widen, glancing up at them. He starts to speak hurriedly, but Mary's heard all that they need to hear.

"That's okay, I honestly don't-"

"Nope, it's happening," they hold up their hand as they interject. "You deserve a Valentine, Remus. I'm finding you someone."

Perfect, now they just need to find the right person.

They spend the first few days mulling over their options. Remus is more popular than he gives himself credit for. It shouldn't be difficult to find him a date.

Shouldn't be.

"How about Hestia?" They ask on Wednesday, dropping down in front of Remus. For a moment, he seems taken aback, confused. As the realisation dawns on him, his face drops. Okay, he's not impressed, then.

"Uh... for what?" James asks, confused.

"Nothing, Prongs," Remus interjects quickly, before turning back to Mary. "No, not Hestia."

"Why?" They huff. Hestia's perfect for Remus! He just shoots them a look and goes back to eating.

Okay, someone else, then.

As it turns out, Remus is picky as fuck. Mary suggests Amelia, Emma, Georgia, all in the span of two days, and gets absolutely nothing. They're honestly starting to lose hope. They mention it to Lily and Marlene on Thursday evening.

"I'm not sure who to set him up with next! Nobody seems to be right for him!" They groan, not catching that Sirius has tuned into their conversation.

"Hey, Mary?" Sirius speaks up quickly, and they turn to face him. "You're talking about Saturday, right?" They nod, and Sirius' eyes widen almost invisibly. "I didn't realise he wanted a date for Saturday."

"It's written all over his face. Have you not seen him watching the Valentines like he'd kill to be asked to Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah, I have, but I- I asked him, he said he didn't really care," Sirius says, and it looks like Mary's blown his mind.

Huh. That's interesting.

"Remus isn't just going to admit that he wants something like this," Lily steps in seamlessly. "He does, though. I managed to get that out of him."

"Oh, thank fuck," Sirius says with a sigh, a relieved smile finding its way onto his face. With that, he disappears from the common room, heading straight for the boys dorms.

Well, that's odd.

It doesn't take long to find out what it's all about, though.

They're all at breakfast the next morning when the owl arrives. Mary is playing around with a few more names, deciding between keeping trying to set Remus up with someone or just accepting defeat. Then, an owl swoops in with a single marigold flower, dropping it in front of Remus. He picks it up, stunned, but it's quickly replaced by another. Another. Before any of them know what has happened, there's a stack of flowers in front of Remus. Eyes are stuck on him and, after a moment, Remus looks up. His eyes fix on one person, sitting beside him, like he knows exactly who did this.

Sirius.

Their eyes meet, and Sirius smiles nervously.

"So... Saturday?" Is all he says, and Remus smiles back. He drops the flower and laces their fingers together, as he nods quickly. "I was worried you'd hate Valentines, and I'd look like a prat," Sirius admits with a relieved laugh, which just prompts Remus to move his free hand into Sirius' hair and connect their lips.

Oh.

Okay, that makes much more sense.

[linkedspirit-fanartfunart]

Sky and Hope and uhhhhhh love

(LOL)

"Excuuuuse Me for being a Romantic!! You don't understaaannnnnd!" Hope cried, flailing back against Sky's arms. Sky rolled his eyes as he did nothing but stand there. While Hope acted like ae was a prop to drape himself on. "She's the most amazing kick ass beautiful creature in the entirety of Hyrule! No the whole WORLD. Entirety of the timeline itself!! Not to mention the potential for her kisses. She has really nice lips. I would kiss her all day if I could."

"...Gross." Sky concluded quietly.

"You hate love!" Hope cried, flailing an arm. Sky leaned back to avoid being smacked. She covered her eyes with the back of her hand, like a stereotypical faint lady.

"I do not, I just think kissing is gross."

"NOOo think about the intimacy! The narrowed focus of who is right in front of you. The trust in closing your eyes! The softness!" She shifted to shake Sky by the shoulders. "The softness!!"

"The slimey saliva, the germs, the bad breath," Sky listed in return, nose curling.

"...None of that is noticeable when you're kissing the person you love." Hope dismissed with a wave of his hand. Not that they had actually done that, but Sky had no reason to know that. "Come on! What's a better way to show your love, hm?"

Sky raised an eyebrow, "How about doing things for her? Like. Helping do the chores? Making gifts? Normal, actually useful things?"

"It's not the same! You're hopeless!" Hope complained, finally properly standing in order to cross his arms and scoff about the whole thing. Sky took a step back so he couldn't become a prop so easily again.

"You're the hopeless one."

"HA! Hope is my NAME!" He announced with a grin, hands on his hips.

"Your name is Link," Sky shot back with a grin.

"I can call myself whatever I want."

"Okay loverboy."

Hope sighed in such a painfully wistful way Sky could practically hear the internal monolog about wanting to be the Princess's loverboy. Ae started to wonder if Groose somehow taught her how to do that. They seemed far too similarly punchable to ignore the possibility.

Sky sighed, damn Groose and character development. Before befriending Groose, he wouldn't be saying this. "She is lucky to have your love, even if it stays friendship," Sky acquessed, "She clearly likes you for whatever reason, too."

Hope perked up like a Remlit being given treats. Their face broke into a grin, "You're saying I DO have a chance! You, Mr Yucker of Romance, of all people think I have a chance!"

"I hate you."

"I love you too!" Hope announced. She pecked Sky's cheek with a kiss and ran before his fist could hit her gut.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

would you like to find out pt. 2 (diabolik lovers modern college au)

pairing: ayato sakamaki x yui komori (feat. kanato and laito)

summary: everything started with a reckless, "I wanna know how it feels like to date."

themes: mostly humor with mentions of nsfw

note: part 1 here

Ayato absentmindedly playing and picking on his food was a rare sight, and it irritated Kanato as it ruins his appetite first thing in the morning. He had been doing it since the whole blonde-dream-girl-he-met-at-a-party-run-off-from-him-the-next-day-after-they-had-sex fiasco. Of course, he endured his brothers teasing him to no end, saying how he got dumped for the first time after a one-night stand (because it was rare; like hello, Ayato Sakamaki, the IT boy of Ryoutei University, the infamous college basketball champion.) It wasn't until the jokes don't sound funny anymore and Ayato wasn't eating takoyaki that Kanato and Laito believed this girl must be some serious shit.

And Kanato, being the prick he is, decided to stab his bacon and eggs so loudly in the morning, uncaring if Laito was staring between his older brothers awkwardly. While the concern was there, Kanato can't help but get irritated at Ayato's constant wistful and hopeless romantic longing.

Ugh. Love and all the neuro-shit.

"U-Umm..." Laito started, feeling Kanato's patience slip away, "Ayato-kun, aren't you going to eat-"

"Let him starve himself over some girl who dumped him," Kanato cut in, the stabbing motions not ceasing anytime soon. How dare he anger him? If that's what he wants, then that's what he'll get.

But Ayato was stubborn. Laito gulped nervously at that.

Oh, no.

Kanato slammed his fists on the table. "Okay, what do you want? Just say anything because I am getting sick and tired of your endless moping."

Ayato sighed again, stopping from his usual ministrations. "You can't help me. You don't know her."

Kanato huffed. "Bullshit. We already saw her leave the day after, remember."

"But you don't know where to find her," Ayato countered to which Laito found himself agreeing with.

To be fair, they don't know anything about this mysterious Yui Komori girl. But if they were to have first impression guesses, the girl seemed the honest yet clueless type. She also has the good girl type, the obedient one who always follows her parents' bidding because she is good like that.

However, the girl attended the party in their house and spent that one night with Ayato. That new information doesn't match their impression. Nonetheless, this Yui Komori can quite be a breath of fresh air. After all, this would be the first time Ayato flirted with a girl from the university since all his exes came from different schools.

"So this Bitch-chan has the curiosity of a cat, after all," Laito mused teasingly. "Not a goody two shoes, I see."

"I've asked random people from my course if they know someone called Yui Komori, but they don't seem to recognize one," Ayato said bitterly.

"Hmm... Ayato-kun, what if she's not really studying in Ryoutei University?"

"Nah, that's impossible." The redhead frowned. There's no way Yui would lie to him about studying in Ryoutei. Besides, the only ones invited to their party were people from the university.

"Well, I guess we could just help you look for this Yui Komori," Laito offered with a beaming smile because if this is what it takes for Ayato to stop his endless sighing over hopeless longings, then so be it. Then he turned to Kanato, giving him the "help me out here or else I'll do something despicable to your belongings" look.

Kanato only sighed in exasperation.

What a drag.

It took four days before Laito informed Ayato something about Yui Komori. It happened one day while he was seeing this one random girl he hooked up with from the Philosophy Department. After their intense sex, she mentioned something along the lines of: "I know that girl. She never skips all the classes. But Laito-kun, she's a bit boring, though? Are you sure you're looking for the right girl?"

And another fun fact: Laito had the same class with the Komori girl at 3pm every Tuesdays.

So Ayato became Laito's substitute, sitting in an unfamiliar class with brand new faces. He looked around for any sign of pale blonde hair and flower hairpins and pink until he spotted her. She was careless and lively, giggling at something her classmates said. Afterwards, the class started, the professor making his usual roll call.

"Sakamaki Laito?"

Ayato raised his hand. "Here."

The professor didn't care, but some of the students whispered, "Eh? But that's not Laito, though. It's the Ayato one."

At the mention of his name, Yui whipped her head back and saw Ayato, sitting five rows away from her. She immediately turned away and tried to shrink from his presence.

What's he doing here?

Once classes ended, Yui quickly got out of her seat and rushed towards the door, letting the crowd of students from the hallway take her until Ayato couldn't see her anymore. Ayato sighed in defeat. It was a one-time chance, and yet he failed.

"So what now?" Laito asked, munching on his salted caramel popcorn as he watched this new movie he rented with Kanato at their living room. "You'll have to wait for Tuesday to see her again."

"I don't have time for that," Ayato countered. "My practice schedule has been moved to Tuesday next week."

Kanato buried his face into Teddy's head, hugging the stuffed bear closer. "We could ask Reiji to give us a copy of her schedule. He's doing an assistant teacher job until next month," he suggested, then he remembered, "Nah. It's a bad idea. As if Reiji would let us know someone's class schedule. He abides by the rule."

"Looks like there goes your hopes and dreams, Ayato-kun," Laito remarked in despair.

Or so they thought.

Why? Because Kanato passed by Yui Komori in the hallway on Thursday. What's more? Her class is held at room 403 from 1pm to 5pm.

He knew because he skipped one of his minor classes and see where this blonde girl will move. He even approached one of her classmates and pretended he was quite interested, making some nonsensical flirtatous remarks on her because the girl looked so easy.

"O-O-Oh that?" the poor girl tucked her hair behind her ear and shyly handed out her class schedule. "Y-You can check it; I don't mind. As long as we see each other after this."

As if Kanato will let that happen.

Ayato was chugging on one of his water bottles in the kitchen when Kanato approached him and said, "I saw your dream girl today."

The redhead stopped at that, turning all his focus on the middle triplet. "Where?"

Suddenly, Kanato whipped out his phone and typed something. Afterwards, Ayato's phone beeped and when he opened it, he received a picture of a class schedule.

"I met a girl who goes to all same classes with that Yui Komori," Kanato informed. "Make sure to use it wisely or else." Because I am so tired of you being so lovesick as hell.

"O-Oh," Ayato was glad. Finally, he could see her again. "Thanks, Kanato."

"Just buy me two pints of ice cream."

"Sure."

"I want the new biscoff one and the chocolate chip cookie."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Yui was bored. Apparently their professor for their 4-hour class this Friday afternoon was absent due to sudden cold. She sighed in her seat, contemplating where she could go since her next class would be for 6 pm onwards.

"U-Umm... Komori-san!" a female classmate called.

"Y-Yes?"

"Y-Your boyfriend's calling out for you."

"Eh? Boyfriend?"

Then she saw some of her classmates whispering to each other, glancing briefly at her before going back to their own businesses. Yui decided she should find ot who this mystery boyfriend, although there's only one person that comes to mind.

I hope he's not who I'm thinking.

"Yo, Chichinashi," Ayato greeted, the familiar smirk flashing on him. "It's been a while."

Yui blushed at the familiar nickname, the whispers behind her getting louder.

This was the start of a roller coaster story.

[senka-mesecine]

How do you think the boys would propose? Like how would the wedding go and what led up to the proposal? Would love to think that some of them were obsessed from day one and knew they were going to get married at some point🤭

---

― The instance it becomes abundantly clear that not only does he love you but he also wants to marry you, Chris Taylor doesn't just end up obsessed with you, but he turns into what can only be deemed as someone possessively vindictive; he's introspective and self-aware enough to realize that in craving matrimony as the ultimate suburban, civilian social status symbol he's effectively turned into his parents against all his better judgement and all his efforts to pave his own path and yes, that makes him angry in a weird sense. Angry at you for doing this to him in the first place. Means that he needs and wants to have you. He's enamored with you. He's murderous when it comes to you. And he's singularly fixated on you. It's all big messed up package that's extremely complicated to unpack proper, but it reflects in the way he proposes, making it seem like he isn't prepared to take no for an answer even though this remains unspoken and hidden between the lines. Like he's been mulling over this and fighting it so long that when you finally get that ring that was in the family for generations and that his grandma's grandma probably wore, it almost appears like there's something fierce about Taylor and the very prospect of wiggling out of this daunts you due to how overintense he seems. The chances are very high that Chris simply elopes with you whether you like it or not, possibly because he doesn't want his folks around all that much, doubly so because he's beginning to remind himself of them, needing to put some distance between himself and them and merely because he doesn't intend to share you with anyone, so, whatever you wedding ends up being like, nobody or really few very people get to experience it all. His grandma receives a postcard, though.

― I get the impression O'Neill's the type to consult everyone else in a very roundabout and indirect way when he's contemplating matrimony, and don't get me wrong; he probably wanted it dearly and really sleazily since the moment he's saw you. He was a bit like a cartoon dog with his mouth plopping open at the sight of you, but fact is he also undoubtedly rationalizes and validates these thoughts with what the considers his boys, suddenly having the tendency of talking about that feminine touch and how nice it is to come home to someone, wistful signs, nervous leg shaking included and knowing glances exchanged between the Lifers almost as if they know precisely and exactly what's on Red's mind, meaning that nobody's gonna be surprised when it happens and how he does it is a mixture of bashful smugness, him acting cocky yet anxious as he poses the question and then being on the verge of whining when you accept and just as likely's the fact that Red's one of those men who get teary eyed at the sight of their significant other walking down the aisle. But, for all his slimy brownnosing, his effort is admirable and truly endearing just based off of the fact how badly he wants this and he's upfront about how badly he wants it, being something of a surprisingly hopeless romantic in this bunch; he's gonna put his back into it. There's rose petals sprawled everywhere, a ring that belonged to say, grandma O'Neill gets busted out, he's ordered Mai Tais, he lit candles and he's awfully proud of that excellently cooperative Hawaiian beach sunset out on the horizon like he personally put it there --- man so happy he literally returns to base camp being slightly nicer to people which is a miracle of miracles.

― Bunny does whatever Bunny wants to do, no matter how insane, volatile or unhinged; that being how he by self admission likes living his life the best and however difficult it may be to imagine this kid actually proposing to and marrying someone, just the very notion he has this willful approach to life means that if he wants it, he's gonna have it, because what's the point of it all if he can't have things his way? Boy's a real hick, though. Whatever tackiness exists in the concept of a Vegas wedding --- chuck that out the window, because Bunny would make it ten times tackier. Ring? Yeah, no. You're gonna tattoo his name on yourself and he's gonna tattoo yours on himself. Probably inks both of you himself. You could just take a ring off and shit and act single and stuffs. How he brings up the question? You gots an old man or something, because if you do, I could pop him off, says the eighteen year old without a shred of irony, making finger gun signs. What he wears when it's made official? He's probably in full uniform but it doesn't help the fact that this boy has insanity in his eyes and whoever's officiating this trainwreck is scared to death of him and Bunny knows it well enough to be proud of himself. Bachelor's night? Maybe, yeah, but Bunny's convinced he's being incredibly romantic as he promises if that if there's an broads involved he'll make sure that they all look exactly like you. Did he know he wanted to get hitched with you right from the get go or did it take time? Well, he sure knew he wanted something with you and he smugly knew he was gonna get it too. And he did too.

― Rhah's convinced civilian institutions are whack, that wedding vows are whack, that the idea of marriage is whack and that signing away your freedom to another person's whack too. Spending a fortune on a ring to tie yourself to your new soul-sucking spousal slavemaster? Whack! That's what those big corporations making a buck off of suckers want you to do, but he ain't falling for it! He's got his eyes wide open! He might think this all while actively pursuing you, pining over you, proposing to you and genuinely wanting you as his wife or perhaps even living with you in a common law marriage long before the question is ever popped; see, he's one of those people who smear and badmouth a notion constantly all while simultaneously living the lifestyle and no, he doesn't think himself a hypocrite --- Vermucci's simply convinced marriages are a virtual bear trap for men, yes, but not his marriage with you it isn't and when called out on it he could very well defend his stance with impassioned words like 'I ain' gotta justify myself to you, to Taylor, to Elias or no one, you hear! This marriage shit's a prison sentence! Never said mine is! Get that in your skulls! Dig it good!' and this is an outlook he firmly believes. Funny, though; how someone who's so vocally hateful of something would also be the guy who'd kiss up and down the length of your arm after you said 'yes' to his proposal like someone lost in a trance. Man would be so ecstatic and starry eyed due to the fact that you've accepted that he's probably all over you and fucks you at least once before he goes off to make this official. The second time he's all over you is probably right in front of the marriage officiant's office.

― As is his habit, Wolfe's proposal is delivered with a major dosage of shyness on his part or to elaborate, he's an anxious mess --- him asking you to marry him comes off like all his efforts to establish friendships and connects with people; he beats around the bush incessantly like he absolutely doesn't belong but nonetheless tries very hard to and verbally prepares the grounds so elaborately that he gets tangled into it and it's almost pitiable to behold. Just based off of listening to him, you'll probably realize this is an attempt at a proposal long before he actually manages to say so and you do probably take sympathy when he cuts to the chase and gives you his college signet ring with some roundabout notion that he'd like you to wear it permanently, throwing in a complement about how nice it looks on you with a bashful smile; something about the gesture reminding of a promising ring exchanged between two college students on campus. And yes, Mark's that preppy. And yeah, he probably planned this one way or another since the moment he's laid eyes on you and furthermore, since ethe moment he's realized other people are laying eyes on you as well, feeling that there's a certain victory and 'gotcha!' in having the person other people want as well. The wedding itself is just as preppy. If we had to rate who has the most elaborately lavish ceremony on this list, Wolfe probably takes the cake and one gets the impression he both wants to blow your socks straight off and overcompensate for everything else, at least where his lackluster military career is concerned. In either case...where did all this fine china come from?

― You know, King would probably presume that if he ever had a wedding, it would be a loud, rumbustious party with all of his army friends getting buzzed and liquored up with some Motown sounds blaring, but the day actually arrives and he does a 180 degree shift on his own carefreely, nonchalantly cynical and libertine expectations about himself and I do believe he would surprise everyone and be oddly dignified concerning the whole affair; like, the man does everything in order and the way it should be done. Gets a ring. Asks the traditional way. Cleans up good. Gets his best suit. Reminds his buddies to get dolled up as well because this is him and his special girl they're talking about and well...King ends up being the one out of the bunch that actually has a wedding as close to picture perfect wholesome as it can get even if its probably on a budget, like one can get a profound impression that he tried very hard to ensure this is a good, memorable day for you and all the things he used to joke about in the past? How there would be blunts passed at the ceremony and how broads would be jumping out of the cake? Yeah, no. The exact opposite of that takes place and it becomes abundantly clear that he is out to leave the best possible impression on you the best way he knows how and there is something undeniably sweet about that. He doesn't take any of this for granted, being convinced that not taking shit seriously is rich people nonsense. Yeah, undoubtedly got down on one knee when proposing too. It is an extremely big deal.

― Don't think Elias needs church or a ceremony in the classic sense. Doesn't even need the law to get involved with your union; a proposal and a wedding can happen simultaneously, all under the stars, in a meadow, in a forest, next to a waterfall, during a sunset, under the fullmoon, I mean, listen, it really isn't a matter of where and how. It's a matter of who with. The intent is what is important here; the commitment. Less so the details. And so long as you both really mean this, the heavens above are the greatest witness that could ever exist. The ring could easily be something he made on his own, with his own two hands. The attire of choice can genuinely be whatever you like to wear the most...or even nothing at all. You could wear a wreath of flowers instead of a veil. All these traditional nuances are insignificant to Elias because he would really just want you and nothing else, meaning that him asking you, proposing and getting married could all happen well within the span of ten minutes. He inquired, you accepted, vows are exchanged and for all he's concerned...that's his spouse. His forever and ever. His soulmate. His twin flame. The person to whom, if he's ever reincarnated, he'll return to, in whatever shape, way or form he can. Maybe like the wind blowing through their hair. Maybe as the sunlight on their face. Maybe like a stray animal snuggled against your feet. Elias is inherently spiritual, so, by extension, the ways he commemorates commitment are deeply spiritual as well. There's just no two ways around it.

― Barnes would probably be very forward about it...yet simultaneously, oddly vague; to make that statement make sense there might come a time where he could very well pose a question like 'You got a man waitin' for'ya at home?' or 'You got sumn' takin' care of'ya' and if you answer is no he might just eclipse that with a 'Wanna go about changin' that anytime soon?' and to anyone who understands even a bit of his usual mannerisms would comprehend he's basically volunteering himself for the job of a husband no differently than someone offering to fix something or be of service advertising a skill they possess would do so; a proposal that might seem a tad bit blunt and unromantic, but Barnes's method of approaching things is simply matter-of-factly and head on like that. He isn't gonna waste your time. Isn't gonna waste his own either. He'll just inquire directly hoping for a direct response --- no beating around the bush with this one. You have a man or do you not? You want one or not? Once you accept him to fill said spot the wedding can be as practical as heading down to the notary and tying the knot that same day with an almost astounding speed and efficacy because he knows exactly what he wants, so point pussyfooting around. He always knew this would be the outcome, because even if you said you already have a man at home Barnes would just coincidentally ensure you're widowed. Maybe you say you already have someone waiting at home and Barnes's response could be something in the vein of 'He any good?' because he lives and breathes under the conviction he's infinitely better for you.

[drones-of-innocence]

I've always wanted to entertain a universe where Princess Peach was not familiar at all with romance.

She would go through her life being raised on political philosophy and the understanding that she would one day be responsible for the people of the Mushroom Kingdom, her teachings are very strict and single-minded in the effort to make her an effective ruler. This turns her into an incredibly driven and kind woman who is primarily concerned with her citizen's security and happiness. The fairytale land of the Mushroom Kingdom emphasized a culture of love, certainly, but it was a love for all living creatures. Romance exists, but it was not part of the mainstream of ideas.

Her interests did not include fantasy or fiction. Even when offered by her guardians and retainers, she would decline and opt instead for denser, brainier, more intensive material. The concept of romance simply never came across her horizon.

Until she gets kidnapped, and a stranger arrives to save her.

This man is strong, stronger than the King of the Darklands. Strong enough to rescue her. He is humble and sweet, and he has the most earnest blue eyes she's ever seen. He is charming without meaning to be, content with the simple things in life, and her heart appears to do a little something every time he smiles bashfully at her attempts to thank him for his heroic deeds. He has dimples in his cheeks. Mario, he is called. Thinking of his name causes a most peculiar rush in her chest. She sometimes likes to murmur it to herself when no one is around, but she couldn't say why.

"It is love," those close to her tried to explain. But she didn't understand.

She discovers her grand library's fiction section. She pores over romantic tales, particularly those regarding a princess and her knight in shining armor. Meanwhile, she observes that her face becomes quite warm when Mario is around, and that she tends to ramble or stammer nervously when she is ordinarily so clear and concise. She has not had any practice disguising such feelings. They come off as quite obvious to any onlooker.

Mario is not presumptuous, however, and though he finds himself nursing his own romantic feelings for Princess Peach, he would never dare assume someone of his station would be worthy of her. Still, many point out her obvious flustered demeanor and clear affection for him. He had already dedicated himself to many acts of service for her, but he begins to bring her small gifts as well. Interesting findings, secret tokens, tiny treasures from his journeys. Small wonders of the amazing world he'd come to love living in, and tiny, heartfelt creations.

Pressure grows from those around them who can see they clearly have feelings for each other. When the time comes, Peach sits, meekly admiring a flower he had offered her as they sit on a grassy hill under the starlight. She explains that she believes she likes him, but admits that she does not understand very much about the nature of her feelings or of romance in general. She's a little frightened; her daydreams and wistful yearning have distracted her from her duties at times, and she becomes overwhelmed in his presence. She wishes to understand it all better, but she doesn't know where to begin.

Mario, surprised and flattered by the news, puts his hand over hers and tells her that he is willing to help her explore her feelings and make better sense of them. He can teach her; he's been a hopeless romantic for as long as he could remember.

And he loves her. He's more than willing to take this journey with her.

Flirting, dates, kissing. All of these are foreign concepts to Peach and she frets that she's very far behind and that she'll do it all wrong. But Mario soothes her and tells her it all comes with time. He won't push her into anything she isn't ready for, though he does purposefully tease and gently flirt with her just to see her blush and smile. Over time, she is able to reciprocate.

He invites her out to classic dates and more unique ones. Garden strolls, picnics, or trips to find the best view of the sunset. He continues to bring her gifts, and rescues her from Bowser all without any expectations that she return the sentiment.

She learns. She finds or creates gifts, and arranges dates to surprise him. Her heart feels full whenever she sees his eyes light up with genuine surprise and awe. She learns that he quite appreciates physical touch, and makes sure to reach for him often. Touching his arm, finding any reason to hug him, and offering a modest kiss on the cheek upon being rescued. He also finds great comfort and solace in words of affirmation, reminding him that she sincerely enjoys his company and finds him to be very cute. She loves how he blushes.

One night, after a date he put a lot of work into arranging, Peach expresses her gratitude for his effort, and tells him that she thinks she would like to kiss him. Blinking, Mario finds himself endeared to her shy and slightly clumsy request. He approaches her with his familiar soft manner.

"Close your eyes," he says with that bashful smile, and she does.

He kisses her forehead. His hands gingerly rest on her face, and she lets out a shaky breath. "Is this okay?" he asks, and she nods. He kisses her temple, and then her cheek. His mustache tickles. Her entire body feels like it's buzzing.

He pauses, his thumb stroking her face, before he tilts his head to kiss her on the lips.

She melts. It's tender and sweet. All the stories she had read emphasized the importance of a first kiss, and his delicate manner was better than anything she could have imagined. He pulls away, his eyes shining under the starlight, only for her to seize his hands.

"I want you to kiss me again," she says.

He smiles, and he does.

[uh-niran-really]

SymWeaver - Roses

Content: Angst, Grief

Word Count: 780+

A/N: I found roses today and I was inspired to write this. After the day I’ve had, I needed to write something angsty.

She couldn’t stand to look at them. She couldn’t stand anything associated with them. Roses were his thing, he loved them as much as he loved her. And now he was gone. A tragic accident. He died a hero but left her behind, again. Niran always did have a habit of leaving her behind.

When she came home from the hospital that day, all she saw were the countless roses he had littered around their home. On the mantle, on the kitchen table, in their bedroom. They reminded her so much of him, gorgeous, romantic, deadly. They taunted her everywhere she went. Their garden was full of them. Pretty pinks, ruby reds, wistful whites. They were everywhere.

He loved roses most of all because there is nothing more classic and timeless than a rose. He was a hopeless romantic too, until fell for Satya. He so longed to sweep a partner off their feet, to write them love letters or to just have someone to hold. When Niran met Satya all those years ago, he didn’t think much of it, but as he grew and as they spent more time together he learnt what true love really was, gifting her with a pretty handmade rose and declaring his undying love for her.

He gifted her roses for their anniversary every year. He spread rose petals on their bed for the romance. He wore rose scented perfume. He learnt to perfect them from hard light. She was surprised his healing blossom wasn’t a rose. He loved the things.

At first they were a comfort, something nice to come home to everyday, a sweet reminder of her late husband. Sadly however, as time went on she grew to hate them. The scent disgusted her. The sight upset her. The word killed her inside. Niran had ruined her perception of them. She couldn’t take the pain anymore. She just wanted them all gone.

Slowly but surely she got rid all the roses in the house. Collecting them all one by one and tossing them out. It broke her inside, she felt as though she were ridding herself of him, and yet it brought her comfort. Each time she threw some out, she swore she would find more, cursing him each and every time. She found stray petals in their bed. A rose on the floor, that had fallen as she carried the last bunch out. A fallen petal here and there from the ones on the table. She even trimmed his rose bush, cutting every rose out of it and discarding them by the trash for some love sick teenager to find. She got rid of his candles, his perfume, his rose paintings. She got hysterical each time she saw one, crying for Niran to stop toying with her.

Their anniversary came around and roses were delivered to the house. He always ordered them in advance, they were always the prettiest things around. Striking colours, the most perfect cut, full of life. Beautiful. They always came with a note to tell her how much he loved her. How he would never stop. How she was the most beautiful woman on earth. His rose. She screamed at the sight hitting them at the wall over and over watching as the petals burst from the stems, scattering across the floor. She grew sick of it all, she couldn’t cope, kneeling on the floor screaming for him to just stop.

She missed him more and more each day, asking herself why he had to step in and rescue that child. Why he got himself killed.Why he abandoned her. The memories of the hospital plagued her mind, his blood stained face and fading smile, his voice so soft it was barely a whisper. He faded fast, his last words a declaration of love. He left her yearning for him, her sweet and romantic husband. The only man she could ever bring herself to love. The person she trusted most. She watched the light in his eyes dull, before they fluttered shut, never to open again.

Finally she had gotten rid of them all, all the roses gone except for one. One she couldn’t bring herself to rid herself of, yet it was the worst Rose of all. One that reminded her so much of Niran. One that she had helped him create. She looked at it daily with such sadness and love, yet such hatred. How could she hate this beautiful thing, Niran always treasured this one above all the others, as did she once. She couldn’t take it anymore, breaking down daily, wishing she could rid herself of it, until finally…

“Mummy.. why do you hate me?”

Their daughter, Rose. 🌹

[ivanttakethis]

Before Round 7 - Tov’s Log (Bonus Scene)

Daiki (?) vs. Tallis (?) - ??? Win

————————————————————

Cassio was a hopeless romantic.

They loved soap operas and romance novels and sappy movies that Tov found too cloyingly sweet to stomach.

They loved love.

Tov never understood it.

When she would ask Cassio: “What does romantic love feel like?” or “How do the characters know they’re in love?”

Cassio always answered, with a wistful smile on their face: “You just know.”

Tov didn’t believe that.

At least.

Until…

Until she had Tallis’s face in her hands and he was looking into her eyes and he said: “I love you too.”

His words struck something at the very core of her. Like he’d plucked a harp string too hard.

Oh.

Oh.

Tov knew now.

She knew with the same certainty that she knew suns were also stars. That humans bled red and warm. That she and all of her classmates were doomed from the moment they entered Anakt Garden.

Tov knew she was in love with Tallis.

It wasn’t a world altering realization, like in the films Cassio watched all the time.

There were no fireworks or chiming bells or fluttering hearts.

Instead, it felt like laying beside him under the warm sun in the fields of Anakt Garden.

Like not having to speak to be understood.

Like reaching out to grab a hand you know is always there.

It felt like home.

But how could she tell him all of that?

Tov wasn’t even sure she had the words to explain it properly. It was all tangled up in her chest.

Maybe she could kiss him on the forehead, like that time Tallis had gotten really sick when they were younger.

She’d been trying to comfort him.

His skin was hot to the touch. He probably couldn’t remember it at all.

Or.

Maybe.

Tov’s gaze fell to his lips.

Characters in Cassio’s shows kissed all the time. It was a common expression of romantic love.

Maybe Tallis would understand what she meant by it.

She looked back up at him, and found him doing the same.

Was he just—

Tov’s thoughts screeched to a halt at the look in Tallis’s eyes.

Sick of these nights to come

To be engulfed in silence

In your gaze, where I'm seen

Consume me, yes, me

“I love you too.”

All of her nerves settled then. The chaos in her mind quieted for the first time in days. Tov was certain.

She closed her eyes and leaned in.

Tallis met her halfway.

He always did.

Back and forth.

Push and pull.

Take a piece of me and I will keep a piece of you.

The kiss felt like home too.

It wasn’t much more than a simple press of lips together, but Tov’s stomach flipped anyway.

Tallis’s cheeks were even warmer than before.

His hand curled around her wrist, and his thumb brushed over her pulse point.

Tov’s medical band beeped in response.

She wasn’t sure which one of them pulled back first, but Tov didn’t let him go very far, still cradling his face in her hands. He still had a loose hold on her wrist. They were both still alive.

“I believe in you.” She whispered.

Tallis gave her a shaky, but genuine smile. “I know.”

Tov smiled in return, “Good.”

————————————————————

Tovallis kiss!! We won!!! (purposefully ignores what happened during Round 7)

This is a follow up to Before Round 7 and is 100% CANON!!! @lookatmysillies and I decided it would be and no one can stop us 😁

I included Cure lyrics in the log because it fits Tov and Tallis’s relationship during Alien Stage well. One of them will leave the other first, but it’s hard to come to terms with that.

Sick of these nights to come? To be engulfed in silence? In your gaze, where I'm seen?? Consume me, yes, me???

It’s all very Tovallis coded.

I actually wrote a whole post and lyrical breakdown of Cure in the context of Tov and Tallis’s relationship overall, if you want to read that.

Chronologically, End of Round 7 comes after this. Though it’s probably even more of a devastating read now knowing that Tov not only told Tallis that she loves him for the first time, but also just realized she’s in love with him. Oof.

Save me Tovallis modern AU, save me!!