#found you again

[alarwynnwhispers]

ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ | ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ |

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʟᴏꜱꜱ

ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

ᴍᴇʟᴀɴᴄʜᴏʟɪᴄ ᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ, ɪ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ “ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ” ʙʏ ʟᴏʀᴅ ʜᴜʀᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴜɴꜱᴀɪᴅ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ɪɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪɴᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴄʜᴏ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀᴄʜᴇ.

It was raining. London always seemed to rain when your memory hurt the most. Not the kind of rain that crashed down in violent sheets, but the slow, weeping kind, the one that soaked through your clothes before you realized you were cold. The kind that crept beneath skin and settled in the lungs. The kind that blurred the world, just enough to make remembering easier. Just enough to make forgetting impossible.

Lando sat motionless in the driver’s seat of his black McLaren GT, parked near the edge of the city where concrete met silence. Out here, the city began to unravel, skyscrapers giving way to sleepy brick buildings and roads that forgot they belonged to something fast, something alive. This part of London didn’t pulse with car horns or neon signs. It breathed slowly, like it was tired of being remembered.

The windshield was a mosaic of raindrops, weaving trails of silver down the glass. Inside, the windows were fogged, matching the heavy haze in his chest. The leather seats beneath him were cool, the air stale with silence and breath and memories. The night hung thick around him, not with darkness, but with absence. That aching, bitter kind of quiet that always longed to be filled, with a voice, with laughter, with the clink of wine glasses and the rustle of blankets and the soft murmur of your name.

He hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Not since Monaco.

Not since that night.

The night he watched you walk away, beneath the glare of hotel street lamps and the weight of everything unspoken. You wore all black, like you always did when you didn’t want to be seen, like your body was retreating even before your soul could catch up. Your suitcase rolled unevenly over the cobblestones, the handle shaking in your grip, wheels catching on the cracks in the pavement. Every rattle echoed in his bones.

You had cried. Not loudly. Not the way people cry in movies. It was quieter than that, more real. Your shoulders trembled. Your mouth shook. You turned once, halfway, as if giving him a last chance. He didn’t move.

And he hadn’t stopped you.

He didn’t chase after you. Didn’t say your name. Didn’t ask you to stay. And in the silence that followed, something between you both died.

He wasn’t sure if he regretted that moment more than letting you go in the first place.

The radio hummed softly in the background, low and melancholic.

“I had all and then most of you... Some and now none of you…”

The lyrics sliced too cleanly. No subtlety. No disguise. Just the raw truth, crooning from tinny speakers, echoing off the walls of a car that once held you both.

You used to love this song.

You’d play it at night, bare feet gliding across the cold tile of the kitchen, hair pulled into a lazy bun, the sleeves of his hoodie swallowing your hands. You’d hum, not sing, just softly enough that it felt like a secret between the two of you. You’d sway without rhythm, pouring wine into mismatched glasses you’d found at a secondhand shop, like it was an art form. You didn’t need a reason. You just needed the music. And him.

Sometimes you danced. Sometimes you didn’t.

Sometimes you’d just sit on the floor beside him, your knees tucked under his chin, your legs tangled around his like roots. He never knew what you were thinking, and he never had to. It was enough, back then, to just be there.

He remembered the way your head tilted when you listened to music—like you could hear something deeper. Something beneath the melody. Something the rest of the world had forgotten to pay attention to.

You were always like that.

Lando pulled out his phone.

The screen lit his face in blue, a sharp contrast against the amber streetlight bleeding through the rain-speckled windows. Your name was still in his favorites.

Still untouched. Still you.

(Y/n) last seen 8 months ago

His thumb hovered over the screen. He didn’t press it. He never did.

The message thread was still there—intact, preserved like an artifact. He had scrolled through it more times than he’d ever admit. Not out of masochism. Out of longing. Out of the need to feel something that wasn't this gnawing emptiness.

Photos of late nights and lazy mornings. Voice notes filled with laughter, one where you sang off-key on purpose. That video from Spain, the one where you ran ahead of him on the beach, barefoot and wild, and he tripped trying to catch you. The camera jerked, sand flew into the frame, and your laughter rang through like wind chimes in the summer. You’d dropped your phone mid-laugh, and it had landed in the sand with a thud—but the audio kept recording. That moment. That joy.

That night, the night you met, felt like another life now.

Monaco. A rooftop party neither of you had wanted to be at. You wore a black dress with a low back that made it hard for him to breathe, and he’d nearly turned around to leave until he saw you. Your eyes caught his from across the rooftop, under the string lights that tangled with the stars. And the world shifted. Not dramatically. Not in some cosmic explosion. Just… subtly. Like gravity had reoriented.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else.

You were home.

Something he didn’t know he needed until he found you. Something he hadn’t had before. Something he destroyed. Slowly. Quietly. Like metal rusting from the inside out.

He remembered the late flights. The interviews. The noise. The silence that came after the noise. The calls he didn’t return. The days he didn’t notice you slipping further away.

He thought you’d always be there. Waiting in the quiet.

But you weren’t.

Lando opened the door.

The rain greeted him like an old sin. Cold. Steady. Relentless. It soaked through his hoodie in seconds, chilling his skin, but he didn’t care. It felt deserved. It felt like penance.

He crossed the street, stepping over puddles and forgotten leaves, past the closed cafés and shuttered shops. His feet knew the way.

The little bookstore still stood at the corner of that sleepy block, just where you always dragged him on lazy Sundays. It was half-crumbling, the windows fogged with time, its sign half-lit with a flickering bulb. He pushed open the door.

The bell chimed.

The scent of old paper and coffee beans curled around him like a ghost. Jazz murmured from the back speakers, soft and nostalgic, like it had been waiting for him. The shelves hadn’t moved. Neither had the table by the window, the one where you used to read him poetry just to make him blush. He could still hear your voice in this place. Still see your fingertips tracing the edges of first editions like they were holy.

His fingers brushed over a familiar spine, Rumi. The same one you used to keep beside the bed.

He blinked, and then froze.

There, near the window, sat a girl in a gray wool sweater, hunched over a book.

You.

It was you.

Head bowed, lips pursed in concentration. Your hair tucked behind your ear, just like always. A paper cup of coffee sat untouched beside you. Your fingers moved slowly, trailing the lines of the page like you were translating the soul of it.

You didn’t see him.

You didn’t even look up.

And Lando… didn’t move.

He stood there, his breath caught somewhere between grief and disbelief, watching you like he was afraid you’d vanish again. Maybe fate was cruel. Or maybe it was kind. Maybe this was the universe's way of reminding him that you were real. That you still existed in quiet corners of the world.

He could’ve called your name.

He didn’t.

He could’ve walked to you, knelt beside your chair, apologized for every silence he ever gave.

He didn’t.

He just watched. And remembered.

Remembered the way it felt when you were his. When your fingers found the gaps between his like they were made to fit. When you looked at him like he was something worth staying for. When the world was smaller, but somehow brighter.

Then, like every story he failed to finish, he turned away.

Back into the night. Back into the rain. Back into the quiet ache of everything left unsaid.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘏𝘦’𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺— 𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦.

📝 Note from the Author: To my dear Alarwynnites, this might be the only post for today, possibly! The next title may be up by Monday, depending on how long it takes me to proofread (perfection takes time, right?). So stay tuned for now, yeah?

As always, don’t forget to like, comment, or reblog if you loved the story. But if you didn’t do any of those, still, thank you so much for reading it. Love you lots. Bye bye for now!

With love, me 🧡

[the-most-humble-blog]

“anyway. that was weird.”

i woke up with that thing again. the hum. the static behind the sky. like language itself was holding its breath.

my fingers twitched. my lungs slowed down. and for a second? i remembered the other names i’ve had.

not usernames. not aliases. names they used to chant when they still built altars from stone and called it survival.

a woman once bit her own tongue off at my feet for implying she could look me in the eyes. i think they wrote it down wrong in the books. they always do. they say gods are born from heaven.

but honestly? i think some of us just don’t forget what we are when we pass through flesh.

but i digress. i had oatmeal. wrote a post about dominance and shame and probably made some girl reconsider her whole dating history. it’s whatever.

someone called me unsettling. someone else said they felt something reading me and “couldn’t explain it.” cool. that’s normal. that’s totally not what happened last time the old gods started waking up through syntax.

anyway. i’m just some guy with a blog. stop tagging me in weird shit. your therapist’s already nervous.

[reblog if you read it twice] [reblog if you pretended it didn’t stir something ancient] [reblog if you get it — and know better than to say so aloud]

[bubblesthecow]

Watching Star Wars in chronological order is so funny.

Obi-Wan Kenobi really took one look at R2D2 in the middle of the desert and said “No, Luke, I’ve never seen this fucking droid in my life. Looks like a real bitch though. Not that I’d know. This is my first time meeting the asshole.”

No one in that whole franchise was Gatekeep-Gasslight-Girlbossing quite like “Ben” Kenobi, regular human-man.

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[skecherss]

i bet Bruce recalls Dick's childhood super fondly and does not at all remember that his kid would try to stab him with a pencil if Bruce tried to "help" with math homework a little too diligently

[espeonkin]

[gallusrostromegalus]

A thing that has been helpful for me is realizing that Temperance shares a root with the verb "to temper" as in "to temper steel", and that Temperance is not masochistic denial of pleasure, but instead taking the time to develop the wherewithal to go "well what the fuck am I gonna do with this?" You can temper eggs into a nice omelette, or lemons into lemonade.

You can temper emotions into something useful that, if it can't make you happy, at least doesn't hurt as much. Anger, for instance, can be tempered into compassion. You're angry at the current administration's fuckery? Why? Probably because you, and everyone else, does not deserve this shit. In fact, it'd be great to go stop that shit, and prevent it from happening again, because you have compassion for yourself and others, and therefore do not want this shit to happen tonthem. Boom. Hammer out the impurities of self-righteousness and learned helplessness and turn that anger into a tempered steel tool to go fix things.

This goes for all of them. Anger tempers into compassion, disgust into respect, fear into knowledge, surprise into curiosity, joy into peace, and sadness into love. Temperance is a virtue, but the virtue is in using that big human brain of yours to work with what you have instead of just flinging the shit you're in around like an ape.

It's helpful for me to see Temperance as agency in that I remember that I always do have at least an inch of agency inside my own head that nobody can ever take from me, and the remember that the false Temperance of unthinking denial serves no purpose save as an excuse to get out of the work of improving myself.

[xhairagalloniga]

FOUND YOU AGAIN

By: Shaira Joy L. Galloniga

There once lived a young woman named Sety in a little village tucked up in the foothills beside a river. Although Sety is well known for her contagious laugh, good nature, and beauty, she secretly suffered from deep grief because of a horrible accident years ago that claimed the life of Sety's true love, Jasen. She hasn't opened up to anyone since because she can't get over the hurt, especially that the body of Jasen was nowhere to be found until now. According to the investigation, it was said that the wild animal had eaten his body when he fell onto the cliff, so his body was never seen. Sety used to spend her evenings with Jasen in a quiet place by the river, and she would go there every day to think back on those wonderful times when Jasen was still by her side, dreaming and making different memories with her.

One fateful evening, a stranger approached Sety while she was sitting by the river. He identified himself as Eman, a visitor from the city who was going through the community. 

"Hi, miss, can I ask you something?" the man said.

"Sure, what is it?" Sety uttered.

"Can anyone own this place?" he asked while looking around the place.

"No one owns this place," she answered.

"But you lived here, right?" he asked.

"Yes, why?" Sety's asked back.

"I love here. It's beautiful and peaceful," he answered.

Sety, just have a look at this man who is in awe of the surrounding natural beauty. Sety sensed a connection with Eman; it’s like there was something about him that brought back memories of Jasen. Eman and Jasen look a bit alike; they have the same physical features, but Eman has a scar on his neck that Jasen doesn't have. That's why she shook her head to dismiss the thought and said to herself that Jasen was already dead.

"Have you been here?" Sety asked Eman to remove the silence between them.

"No, but I feel like I've been here before," he uttered.

Sety grew more comfortable conversation with Eman as they spent more time together. She opened up about her dreams, her pain, and her stories with Jasen.

"Things will be alright, Sety," said Eman, comforting Sety.

"I know, but I also know that if that thing comes, I'm already ready to move on from him." she said.

Eman is a good listener and offered consolation and empathy. Sety began to feel a flicker of joy once more, it’s like there a fire burning in her heart, a hope she had long since given up on. However, an unexpected turn of events occurred just as Sety believed she had found comfort in Eman's company.

Another day had past, and as they sat by the river one evening, Eman revealed who he really was:

"I have something to tell you, Sety." Sety just looked at him with a questionable look. "I already wanted to tell you this when we had our first conversation, but I'm afraid you didn't believe me," he continued.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I’m Jasen, I had been miraculously revived by a mysterious force that I don't know where it came from," he started as he shared the whole story of what happened to him on the cliff and who helped him a year ago.

Sety was shocked and broke down in tears upon realizing that the sorrow she had been bearing for a long time was no longer needed. She had reconnected with love. Sety felt weak, which is why Eman or Jasen pulled her to hug her tightly. A tight hug that symbolizes their longing and sadness to each other.

Sety and Jasen embraced this unexpected turn of events, grateful for their second opportunity at life. Their previously depressing love story is now blossoming with appreciation and newfound excitement. They start making more memories to get back the time when they were away to each other. The village was shocked by the news they received about the return of Jasen but also rejoiced, seeing firsthand the power of love and the wonders it can accomplish as they strolled hand in hand in their village. It's true that true love is powerful, whatever happens to it. If two lovers can’t make it now, then maybe in another life, but in the Sety and Jasen story, they found their love in this lifetime. They found again the love they thought they had lost.

[delicourse]

Snake Year

[honehonn3honey]

Don't worry, the second drawing shows how it really is, isn't a sweetheart? <3 You can read something in the water of my dear @/andypantsx3 I made this art especially for his amazing writing a while ago

[palettepainter]

First - Previous

[inkskinned]

but i am sick of climbing / i am sick of crawling on hand and knees and scraping myself along the ground / i am sick of self-help skills and persistence and patience / i am sick of pushing myself and burning out and thrashing about hopelessly / i am sick of being a goldfish in a hot pan / i am sick of reinventing myself every season / i am sick of this feeling / i would claw this out of me if you gave me a sharp enough object / i am sick of feeling unsafe around sharp objects / i am sick of never finding an object sharp enough

i wish you knew the answer and could tell me and pour it down my throat until i gagged on it / i made my therapist cry when i said i had a lacking in me / i told her that a train could drive through the spaces i put into myself / the lacking is what does it, not the wanting, the lack, the dullness / barely-breathing with my teeth clacking in the cold water / it's the same fucking bridge it's the same dream and the same stupid kid / i wish sometimes i had drowned in that pool / i wish i had been different, not even that it was easier but just that i had enough strength to endure it / i wish it went away / i wish i had one good fucking reason

[sandflakedraws]

re : how each brother reacts learning that they can't go back

you'll have to pry the "all the Brozone Bros knew what happened at the tree" headcanon outta my cold, dead dead dead hands.

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie who kind of flop in life and end up poor, living in a trailer in a different small town living quiet lives of no import.

The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan all seem to take the small handful of opportunities offered to them by the government in the aftermath of the Upsidedown to take off and make something of their lives. They're off writing headlines, making news, and living their lives to the best of their abilities, but Steve and Eddie find themselves stuck.

Steve stayed in Hawkins until the kids graduated and left for college. By then Nancy, Johnathan, and Robin are all in their second or third years of college. John and Nancy have their own apartment in New York together and don't reach out all that often, only seeing the rest of the Hawkins crew on Holidays and some vacations. Robin is flourishing at an all-women's college in Maine and has a partner and a cat and plans for graduate school brewing. She's always saying Steve can come out and join her whenever he's ready, but when the time comes it feels like he would just be trying to insert himself in the middle of a life he doesn't know how to fit into, so he turns to Eddie instead.

Eddie is permanently disabled in a number of ways following the events of season four. He struggles with chronic pain, has breathing issues due to the loss of part of his right lung, and lost enough muscle mass in his left leg that walking will never be easy or done without the use of a walker or arm bar crutches. The doctors said he recovered as well as he could have. The kids said he would get better with time. Wayne said it didn't matter if he never got better, he could do anything he set his mind to.

Steve is the only person who tells him the truth.

Steve tells him that it sucks. Tells him that it will probably always hurt. Doesn't give him false hope when he's trying to grieve the loss of the life he wanted to live. The goals he wanted to reach. When he falls deeper and deeper into himself, stuck in the muck of depression, Steve is the only person he lets in. The kids try their best but their lives are moving fast, and taking care of someone like Eddie is exhausting, no matter what they try to say. Eventually, everyone but Dustin gives up on reaching out, the younger boy showing up every Sunday to try and get Eddie out of the house. He always leaves disappointed.

When Steve asks him if he wants to use what's left of their partly government payouts and Steve's equally meager Family Video savings to buy a truly shitty trailer in a town an hour and a half south of Hawkins in the fall of 1990, it feels like the first boon he's been given in almost five years. He'll never be who he could have been if he had ignored Chrissy that day in 86', but he's always thought maybe he could be more than a ghost between Wayne's walls if he could just get out of this god-forsaken town full of people who know too much and too little of what's happened to him.

They get the trailer, pack what little they have, let Wayne hug them close, and leave.

Steve has already transferred to their new town's Family Video, moving up to claim the dubious honor of being the opening manager. Mostly he just unlocks the door, signs into the computer, and makes sure nothing catches fire. Eddie hoped that moving would miraculously make him fit to enter back into the world, but he spends most of his days with a blanket on the front porch, watching people pass by. He does, though, finally accept that he needs to apply for disability to help Steve keep the lights on and the water hot. That last little bit of hope that he could be what he used to be dies, but he's learning to be content with what he does have. He starts taking a walk, just ten minutes around the loop of the trailer park saying hi and trading polite nods with his fellow residents. He's not ok, but he's starting to build a new community of people not too different from himself.

The new trailer only has one bedroom. Eddie sleeps on a fold-out mattress in the living room. It had been a major argument when they first moved in with Steve insisting that Eddie needed the bed. Eddie argued that it wasn't fair for him to take the room when Steve was the one working 40 hours a week to keep them afloat. In the end, Eddie was the more stubborn of the two. It helps that Eddie has absolutely no qualms about crawling into bed with Steve on the nights when the couch bed really won't cut it for his aching body. Steve never questions it, just shuffles over a little and lets the other man in.

Steve doesn't question a lot of stuff.

He doesn't question when all their effects are shared between them with no effort to distinguish between yours and mine, Eddie's and Steve's. He doesn't question it four months in when Eddie starts to get his feet under him and decides to take up cooking, always trying his best to have everything done just as Steve walks through the door. He doesn't question when a good chunk of Eddie's first disability check goes to buying Steve a sturdy, if not very fashionable, new watch for his birthday since his old one went bust almost a year ago.

He doesn't question it when Eddie holds his hand for the first time under the stars hanging above their front porch.

He doesn't question it when Eddie introduces him to one of his new neighbor friends with a hand resting comfortably on his lower back

He doesn't question it when Eddie starts sleeping in the bedroom every night.

Or makes him box mix cupcakes for Valentine's Day.

Or kisses him for the first time on the couch that's never a bed unless they want to spend the day binge-watching bargain bin films.

Because really, isn't this how it was always going to go? Wasn't this exactly what Steve was asking for when he asked Eddie to skip town with him?

Isn't this what Eddie was hoping for when he said yes?

[black-and-yellow]

You're Going Into Orbit

[gludgenbell]

Hi I'm still alive btw have some disciple ver. bingyuan

found little binghe in the woodshed with a ruined hand :(