#thank you SO MUCH for the ask!! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[ann-lol]

I see you are a Keefe fan

Are you a "omg my baby I love him I want to hold him forever" type

Or are you a "omg my baby I love him I want to watch him suffer" type

I'm type 2

I show my love for him in different ways :3

100000% type 2…

The scenarios I put Keefe through in my head- yeah ummm pretty dark stuff ngl.

He pretty much just suffers and is never actually happy. There are only a few things in his life that give him hope and gives him a reason to stay, iykwim 😭

I’m not sure if you saw one of my posts about how I have a headcanon that after Legacy he gained permanent Neverseen marks on his arms. I imagine him losing his mind and literally ripping at his skin to get it off and even going so far as to melt off his skin multiple times, even though he’s literally traumatized from that.

This is like moderate scenarios though…the ones that play out in my head… should really just stay in my head, it’s too much misery 😭

[leavingautumn13]

For the WIP title asks:

Rising Tide (which is also a song by Sunny Day Real Estate)!

Tell me, do Kyogre and Groudon meet at the shore to enjoy a nice playdate while Maxie and Archie fight over land/water property lines like the suburban dads they are?

this ask is sending me, oh my lord. thank you--i laughed pretty hard at this :D

and this song is within the time frame of songs i'm referencing in the fic, so that's just perfect! thank you!

"color your skin with gold, and the violence remains cover your eyes with rose, but the stain remains will you repair your life with all the holes you fill? smother your will and drain you of your passion..."

oh yeah, that's going on the playlist.

as for our beloved suburban dads, i can't say too much without spoiling the last quarter or so of the fic--though i guess i have been pretty transparent about maxie actually succeeding in catching groudon. that's a thing that happens. gonna be mum about the circumstances and implications and fallout of that, though. i'm sure it turns out fine.

as for the wip itself, it's the first chapter of eye of the storm. the title refers to the circumstances that drive may to leave home in the first place--things get to be too much for her.

for a little context about my may, she's 22 at the start of the fic, and had moved out of her parents' house at 18, back when they still lived in johto. she opted to move back in with them temporarily when they moved to hoenn (instead of staying in johto by herself), and it's a choice she starts regretting very quickly. snippet under the cut. i feel like i should add a trigger warning for this as well--it's a bad situation if you've ever been in it before but pretty vague if you don't know what you're looking at. tw for implied emotional abuse, i suppose.

This was bad.

May sat on the carpeted top stair and gripped her empty mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. A faint “godsdammit” floated around the corner that led into the living room and up to her ears. Whatever her mother was fussing with down there had her, to be incredibly mild, extremely pissed off.

This was bad, but it had probably been worse at some point before. Not that May could put a finger on when, exactly; the last four years of solitude had papered over the memory of her mother’s moods with a series of perfectly pleasant lunches and borderline enjoyable outings to the movies. The tone of voice May was catching now, in snippets from the ground floor, was a knife widening the old wound of the six years before that, during their time in Olivine, after their last big move. The first time this had happened, May had been thirteen and stupidly hopeful.

She didn’t have age as an excuse this time.

Did she really need another cup of coffee? She could turn around, tail between her legs, and head back to her room. This one locked, though that might cause her more problems in the long run. She’d already endured the years of formless suspicion about why she kept her door closed all the time, and even that particularly bad summer where the door had been removed entirely. She didn’t need, didn’t want a repeat of that. Something told her the offense her mother would suffer over a locked door would be far greater than over a closed one. Teenagers were just like that, after all. From an adult it would be an insult.

Moving back in had been a massive fucking mistake.

[thesymphonytrue]

For the writer ask:

11.  What’s something you have learned as a writer?

3.   Name a fanfic/story you are particularly proud of writing.

11. What's something you have learned as a writer?

hmm!! Well, I wish I could learn MORE--I'd love to take a writing class again now that I've starting writing more! But...I guess I have learned to accept that my writing may always be more on the simple side...but that doesn't make it *bad*. Just because it isn't full of flowery language all the time doesn't mean I'm not communicating the message of the fic or portraying the characters well.

Also, just write the draft. I tend to be a perfectionist, but I have learned to just. write. the. draft. Once you get it all out, it's so much easier!!

3. Name a fanfic/story you are particularly proud of writing.

Oh this is hard for me. This is why I am in therapy LOL jk but for real, it's very difficult for me to take pride in things I create or do...but I will try.

I guess I am proud of my fic, A Light in the Darkness ---I worked on this a long time perfecting the language and cadence of the fic and was pleased with the result.

I also am particularly fond of A Sky Full of Stars---everything sort of fell into place naturally with this fic...the dialogue, the scenery, the pre-canon and post canon goodness. I dunno, it just worked.

And last but not least, I am actually proud of my chapter fic, Pulchrae Alis (Beautiful Wings) due to the world-building and just all the stuff that came out of my head to mix with the white collar crew. It also took a lot of editing and re-working and plotting and work in general LOL so I'm proud of that!

[smallblueandloud]

1 & 28 for the ao3 wrapped ask meme!

ao3 wrapped! (writer’s edition)

1. how many words have you written this year?

106k so far! 67k of which was for fanfic

(i am really really proud of this number! i wrote like 22k of fanfic in 2021 and i didn't even keep track in 2022, so this year was really a comeback for me)

28. favorite work you wrote this year?

oh, i have to say but the verse is sweet, aka bail organa time travels. i think this is the best story i've ever written, and probably the best thing i've ever made. i am very proud of it and it makes me so, so happy to go back and reread it.

[thiswasinevitable-rwrb]

I'm loving your FirstPrince Vampire AU I've binged all 14 chapters and I can't wait for the next chapter. When do you usually update?

Thank you so much!!! I don't upload on a schedule but I have been lucky enough to have a lot of brain rot creative energy for this story so chapters have been coming every 1 to 3 days. Don't count on it to last, though lol

For anyone curious, my FirstPrince vampire!au is here ~

[threeeyedharemp3]

Hello!! What is the weather like where you are?

hello Eli!!

here in aotearoa it's spring, not autumn, so all the fun autumn stuff i've been seeing doesn't really apply - though i do love the vibes of it hehe - it's around 6am as i answer this and out my window it's a little cloudy, the sky a sort of ultramarine colour but still a few stars, quite cool and a little bit of wind, i think it's going to be a warm day which is nice :)

[rosemirmir]

random numbers for fandom ask: 10, 18, 3, 8

a blog (mutual or one you follow) that has made your fandom experience brighter

@chancellorxofxtrash! 💖

a fandom tag that you track

I track the Kamen Rider OOO tag as just one example of the handful I track.

a character that fandom has helped you appreciate

Yama/Logan from the 2013 Harlock CGI movie.

you hope more people will come to appreciate ___ (a ship, a trope, an episode, etc)

It would be awesome to see more English speaking Spamina shippers out there!

[smoky-moka]

Hello there! First off, I absolutely love your depiction of Spideypool! Second, how does Ellie get along with Peter? Does she even know he’s with her dad?

Ellie thinks Peter is awesome!!! He always helps with her homework, even when Dad's enemies are coming after her and they have to leave on one of their fun road trips, yaaay.

But don’t get it twisted— Dad’s dating Spider-Man, not Peter (She figured out they’re the same guy ages ago, but everyone's trying really hard to hide it so she plays along).

[bellafarallones2]

I’m such a sucker for library AUs, tell me more 👀

(responding to the WIP game)

oh man!! yes. i work in a library right now so i am absolutely going to bring some niche career knowledge to this one. the only thing about a terror library au that's going to require suspension of disbelief is the idea of a library with a 100% male staff. and also why these people from the british isles are working at an american public library (i have no idea how british libraries work).

franklin is the library director, fitzjames is director of technical services, and crozier is director of user services and shockingly good at working with the public considering how disagreeable he is in staff meetings. blanky is the building manager. silna is a prominent local author who does events at the library sometimes and goodsir, who does interlibrary loan and is also Keeper of the First Aid Kit, is kind of in love with her. i also love thinking about crozier and jopson hanging out while they're staffing the circulation desk. and the plot idea i have is that fitzjames and crozier don't get along but then franklin assigns them to work on a special project together and they get to know each other a little better 👀

i already have over 5k words of this written lol so. possibly coming soon to an ao3 tag near you!

[abyssyby]

what are your opinions on syslus getting jealous? like i usually don't consider him as someone who would get jealous, but i do eat those fics up and wonder in what circumstances he might actually experience jealousy (as in romantic ofc)

wanted to know your opinions because i love your characterization of him the most (you could write something with that too if you're comfortable, id be very grateful)

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi anon! dw, i eat those jealousy fics up too— love it when he gets all huffy n puffy over someone else getting your attention ngl.

i personally think, given his draconic qualities of wanting and needing to hoard, claim and possess, sylus is inclined to be one to get jealous. not simply because he’s petty and he doesn’t like others looking at or touching what is his (though i see him disliking that very much too)—but because he will always have the wounds of isolation in his heart. Though he portrays himself to be incredibly secure and collected, he still hoards each ill-gotten memory of abandonment and rejection like etchings in his bones. 

and now that he has you— who chose to be with him, to belong with him, to bind your soul to him so that he would never live or die alone—he bears the incredible weight of being unworthy of the one who loves him. 

so to me, his jealousy is rooted in this: this belief that no one has wanted him before you, and so why now? the pain of not being all you need, because you should be able to lean on him, rely on him on anything your heart desires. the trauma of being seen as a monster; when will you snap out of it and find someone easier to love? 

and though he tries to keep himself in check, communicate as much of the things that shake his heart and wound his loyalty, sometimes in can get a little much for him too

sylus x reader | angst, comfort, fluff, jealous!sylus, clingy!sylus, exploring a few deeper wounds of his jealousy!

“You like him—your partner.” he points out one evening as he walks beside you beneath the canopy of falling golden leaves. dried foliage crunch beneath your feet as you stroll down the paved path between the rows of overarching trees. 

He’d come to pick you up at the association, one hand occupied with a canvas holder with two tall cups of boba tea. 

He waited on a bench across the street, mindful of how people perceive him. Considering how you’ve stressed about your colleagues seeing him out in the open and fraternizing with you. 

So he wears his cap to hide his hair and his sunglasses despite the sunset to hide his eyes, changed his leather coat into a long, brown velvet one. He waits until you notice his presence, instead of ambushing you into their territory, as you so colorfully put. 

There, as he waited, he saw you emerge from the double doors speaking lightly to another man he recognized as the one you are paired off with often. One you’d mentioned was your hunting partner— assigned, designated, and in someways, chosen. 

You slurp at the straw, boba congealed into a mutated blob restricting any airflow into your mouth. “Hm?” 

He knows you’re listening, he resumes his musings. Needs to keep speaking, fueled by the bubbling bile in the base of his throat he absolutely despises feeling. “You seem comfortable.” 

The tone is unmistakable— it wasn’t accusing or a jab, but a mindful observation drenched in a distant dismalness. Giving your lungs a rest at trying to inhale your drink, you look up at him. His eyes are far off, the smoothness between his brows are crumpled, so minuscule only you could have caught it. And his soul, intertwined with yours, flickers like a candle disrupted by a breeze. 

“We’re friends,” you tell him, preferring his warm hand now to the cup, lending an icy one to his searing touch. His shoulders melt, fingers close in on yours like he’d been dangling from the edge of a cliff, now relieved to have found leverage. 

You continue. “He’s very kind.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie.” he says, although it comes out monotonous. Words from a script he simply read on cue. Your brows furrow, and you feel that flicker again. 

You dig your heels into the dirt and tug him to a stop with you. With a sigh, he parallels you and meets your gaze. 

“Sylus—,” 

“Your day is the most important of all the reports I listen to, your gossip, your rants, your rambles.” he knows he might be talking too much now, that it might be overdoing his sorrow, but… 

When he saw you exiting with your partner, laughing hysterically at just a single word from him. So simple, so basic. Likely taken out of context, an inside joke or a tail end to the rest of an unheard story. 

But when he heard such a laugh for the first time from you and he was far from the cause of it. When he saw how much you actually talked with your hands and your face more than your words, how you spoke and spoke and spoke to your partner in those few moments more than you ever did to him. 

He felt it in his chest—muscle tearing open fiber by fiber. In his lungs that fill with smoke. And in his mind, the beast, snarling at him to take you away. 

And to what? back to him who could never make you do the same? to him who grates on your nerves? to him who is so difficult to remember, however more to love? 

His face is a mixture of anguish and disappointment, a storm raging behind his carmine eyes that focus on your face. Eyes that search yours for any confirmation, any indication that you want to go—leave. Because you should prefer ease, you should prefer comfort and security. 

While he can give you all of that, he can give you anything you wish for and all it takes is for you to say it out loud— it will always come with a cost. 

His life is danger. His being is monstrous. His love is scorching. 

Your cold boba-tea frozen hand is a balm to the world in his mind that alights itself in flames as you cradle his face. His hand comes up to hold yours, press it closer to his skin. He shuts his eyes, breathes in the scent of your wrist— pulse and perfume. “Do you wish more from me?” 

“Oh, Sylus.” you frown, quick to pull him down and plant a cold kiss on his cheek. A grumble escapes his throat as he leans into you, fully lets his head fall onto your shoulder. Closer, closer, closer. “No.”

“I want to claim all your laughter. Have my ears be the only one that hears it.” his words rumble in his chest, rough and aching—like it hurts him to admit.

His voice is reminiscent of a tremble of thunder, rattling stained windows of a cathedral; such power in a whisper.

“I want to be all you need. All you want.” he grounds out into your ear. Your knees buckle at the weight of his confession. He holds you to him by your waist, positioning you in a firm cage of his arms.

Outside, you are a picture of two bundled up lovers sharing an innocent embrace, caressed by the autumnal breeze. Seeking warmth in each other. 

But beyond appearances, you are a raft Sylus is desperately clinging to as he is cast out to an angry sea. Inside, he fights the battle between making sure you are his and being a reasonable, rational partner. 

He nuzzles his nose into your neck, uses your scent to keep himself from causing a scene or saying something that might scare you off more. He only wants to do right by you, only wants to be what you deserve. 

And he’s stronger than this petty jealousy that courses through his veins at the sight of you giving someone else a smile he wants to have too— like the morning sun he wants to usher into the darkness. He wants it, like a deprived child, he wants it to be mine, mine, mine.

“What did he say to you?” he asks plainly, resolve slipping from his fingers at the memory of your laughter. Growls it. Cringes as he says it, but his head is too filled with smoke that he can’t find his filter.

Your throat dries. His voice is entirely different now, a caving of the earth, lightning striking a tree open in a forest. For a moment, fear grips your heart, but it dissipates just as quickly as it comes when you see his eyes.

Red rubies, a diamond slit of obsidian right in their centers. His brows knit painfully together, like he’s warring with something. Holding it back and keeping it from attacking you. 

“Nothing.” you say, and immediately you know it’s the wrong answer.

He looks away. Not because he dislikes your answer, although he very much does, but because of the way you say it. 

Whispered, careful, guarded. 

Proving his fears to be true. How can he ask you to love a monster? He isn’t easy, he’s far from it, he can be meticulous and cold and absent—all of which you don’t deserve. It’s not a choice he’d make for you, so why would you choose him? 

“Nothing I can remember now, Sylus.” your voice cuts through his thoughts like bullet in cold air. He finds you catching his gaze, begging him to look back at you. Your fingers catch his chin, like he does to you so many times, and guide him back home. “Not now that I’m with you.” 

His heart swells thrice its size at your reassurance. At how your careful fingers remove his hat and brush away the matted down hair by his ears. How you kiss his cheeks, his nose, his mouth—uncaring of who might see or catch you. Uncaring of getting caught. So willing to show the world he is yours. 

How you see right through him. That despite his humiliating show of possession, you pinpoint its exact origins. 

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.” you’re so calm and he is filled with gratitude. You lead him to a nearby bench and he practically curls himself around you as you sit. His arm wounds around your shoulders, slips his knee beneath your thigh so your one leg dangles off of his, and his nose is buried back into the junction between your jaw and your throat. 

“I want you to be happy.” he says, hesitant. His mouth moves, opens like he needs to say more— but no other words follow. 

“I am happy.” you nudge him gently. “My boyfriend picked me up from work today, and he looked handsome in his new coat. And he gave me boba tea.” 

He snorts, fingers splaying out on yours as you begin to play with the ring on his middle. He’s keenly aware of the wind that blows your hair in your face, his other hand comes up to shield your eyes and hold some bundles back behind your ear. Painfully honest, he whispers, “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”

You lean your cheek onto the top of his head. You feel his lungs draw breath, even and slow, but know his heart is racing. He seems to fixate on the ring you spin on his finger, brushing his thumb over the nail of yours as if to encourage you to keep doing it. 

Leaning deeper into his frustrations, you ask, “Does it sound different?” 

He snuffs, a dragon puffing smoke out his nostrils. “It was radiant.” he says, breaking your heart even more. 

You pause, scooting that little bit closer to him as the dimming sky turns the air into a nipping chill. You huddle close and lend him your undivided attention. 

“I hate that it was for someone else.” he confesses quietly. 

You brush his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t make me happy, sylus.” 

His eyes squeeze shut as you ask, “You’ve made me laugh plenty of times, my love, help me understand why this shook you so much?” 

You’re lost. After everything you’ve been through, all you’ve shared, you can’t help but feel the sting of distrust as he worries for your loyalty. And rarely is he like this, aside from the times he acts on his jealousy— pulling you close, making sure whoever tries his or her hand at claiming you knows who they would be up against by a press of his lips to your temple or a caress of his hardened fingers to the soft curve of your jaw. 

But the way he is now—genuinely upset, wary and at the verge of a quiet surrender he struggles not to make a show of—makes you mourn something that looms in the distance. What if he thinks you’ve but put a mask on before him? or does he not believe that who you are with him is the barest form of you there is? You believe firmly he does not think so little of you that you would prefer someone else over him, but… 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing to push his anxiety down. You’re relieved to see him so open to share, at least. Look forward to him bringing you some clarity. But you don’t expect clarity to come in the form of jagged shards of broken glass. 

“In the worst of my nightmares, there is one thing that truly petrifies me.” slowly, he takes your fingers in his and brings them up to his lips to cool them with his breath. thawing the freeze, keeping you comfortable. “And that’s when you look at me, turn and walk away.”

You hold your breath, because you’re sure that the next one you let out will usher with it the tears that burn behind your eyes. 

“When you see—truly see—the fiend I was. the monster I am.” he mutters, a muscle in his jaw feathering at how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. “How shameless and greedy I am—how proud I am to be. 

“And you, my dove. Beautiful, brilliant sun. Why burn to ashes when you can burn in light?” 

It’s silent.

Whether it was the cold or the tension, you don’t have time to figure it out before you’re trembling. Ribs rattling, muscles tensing. It is your turn to use him as a raft as you drown in his devotion. For now, you see—that as much as he loves you, he thinks he is poisoning you. Knowing that, his fears then lie there: that his poison has begun to spread and will be the cause of his loss of you. 

“Stupid.” you choke, squeezing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your tear-streaked face into his neck. Then, you laugh, grim and wet and raw—a laugh you yourself had never heard before. “Idiot dragon.” 

He wraps you in his coat and rubs circles on your lower back. The park has cleared, a single streetlamp illuminates the pair of you. There is no sound but the rustle of leaves and the thrumming of your hearts. 

“I burn where I want to.” you grit—not angrily, just through the uncontrollable rattling of your jaw. “I burn with you.” 

He stares. To say he was taken aback by your words would be an understatement. He is dizzy, knocked back and shattered into a wall. He could crumple at your feet, he could kiss you until you both see stars. 

“We were talking about some dumb lunch thing where another hunter took the last empanada right before his eyes and before he could cuss her out, it turned out to be the captain and I thought it was funny because it happened to me last week and now it’s all so trivial and it’s not even funny—“ you ramble, words stuttered and stumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall. explaining yourself, doing everything you think will soothe the earthquakes in his mind. 

As you speak, Sylus watches you with the softest of looks. wiping stray tears away with light fingers, brushing more of your hair back from your eyes, placing his palms over your cold cheeks, your frozen ears—you barely notice, too engrossed in telling him everything. Anything, really, to show him that he will always be ground zero. He will always be the only one ever to witness you as your purest self. 

and you doing so means worlds to him. 

“And this afternoon, Tara was supposed to—don’t, don’t kiss me! I have snot!” you shriek as he leans to press his warm lips to your freezing face. he chuckles as you scream, drawing you closer, closer, closer. Saying I don’t care with his actions as he kisses you anyway. Slow, warm and consuming. I love you.

And so easily, he forgets why he ever doubted you, feared you’d love him any less than what you already show him. When you so simply complete his day with your voice, when you so effortlessly choose to love him then and now. He places his heart back in your hands, unconscious how he’d clutched it tight in his, and feels the weightless joy you wash over him once more. 

He tucks your squeals into the chest of treasures in his mind, along with the atrocious laugh you gifted him as you called him stupid. Never mind the one you gave your hunting partner now, his is much better.

Your light is his to hold, keep and hoard for eternity—and you, yourself, offered it to him as you burn.

✧˚ ⋆｡ more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for sending in this ask & for reading! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[ann-lol]

can I ask you about your stance on Hethen

Elwin x Gethen

specifically when they were in foxfire (like elite levels)

The angst potential

I was first introduced to Hethen by @lemontarto

Their art of Hethen is just *chefs kiss*

Honestly I would like to think they were academic rivals during their elite levels. Constantly competing in every possible way. But obvi secretly having feelings for each other. And frrr the angst potential there is through the roof.

Headcanon: During either the midterm or final exam celebration Gethen anonymously gifted Elwin a baby banshee during their elite levels. That banshee is now Bullhorn :)

I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you! I’ve never really thought much of this ship but your ask has motivated me to obsess over them now!

[lgbtqtext]

Requested by leahspinkhair

[commsroom]

peace and (relative) quiet 🌌 (by @kalidels)

[httyd-art-requests]

There is a surprising lack of toothless asks on this blog I didnt think it possible. Anyways I LOVE Your art and the style its so soft and like… gen tle. Its so nice. The kind of painted feel is like my fav ever. And all the pride dragons are so sweet ehehe. The way you pick colors is like so magnificent. And I love how you color in things. And the textures of your arts…. AND THE EXPRESSIONS you are Very! good at expressions and I love the big eyess and ahhhh. Very adorable art >:3

You know what, you're so right. This blog needs more Toothlesses. I'm remedying that immediately

Let's give our boy some love and attention <3

[zu-is-here]

Dream do you like flowers?

note to self | happy ♡alentine's day! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)❀

[heyimkana]

kana are u just making a multiverse of jinwoo's at this point?? how many do you have???? - 💸

Literally what I listed in the last ask you sent me LMFAOOO maybe around 20???

There’s also Homewrecker!Jinwoo actually, though not in the way you think 😏

It’s about reader who’s married and has a four year old daughter, but both of them are being abused by her husband.

One night, when her daughter got sick, she took her to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Coincidentally, that was the same night Jinwoo visited the hospital to give the Elixir of Life to Jinho’s dad.

Jinwoo, reader, and her little girl stepped into the elevator together. But then, the lights flickered and suddenly everything went dark. They were trapped inside the elevator.

The little girl started crying, scared of the dark. Let's say her father (reader’s husband) used to lock her in the bathroom whenever she misbehaved. She kept sobbing, “Mama, please! I’m scared! I was good, Mama, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Reader tried to calm her down (she was close to crying herself from watching her little girl broke down like that), but her daughter wouldn’t listen. She was too scared.

Then, Jinwoo suddenly did something with his magic (maybe he created a little orb of light with his mana) and crouched down to show it to her. He smiled, so gently, and asked, “Hey, you wanna hear a funny story?”

The girl sniffled and nodded.

“I have a friend who used to be a giant ant. Really scary. Sharp claws. Big wings. Thought he was the king of the world.”

The little girl looked at him, eyes still watery, but now curious. "Giant ant..?"

“Mm-hmm. But now he wears a tiny cape and thinks he’s a stage actor.”

Then Beru appeared—floating in the air, small enough to fit in Jinwoo’s palm—and dramatically declared: “Verily, ’tis I! Destined from the womb to smite all foes, conquer dungeons, and rule o’er all creation! And yet—oh, cruel twist!—I now spend mine hours painting yon royal sister’s fingernails! What devilry is this? From dark lord to dainty manicurist—fie, what a fall!”

The little girl giggled. “He talks funny.”

Jinwoo rolled his eyes. “He thinks he’s in a drama. But honestly, I think he just likes attention.”

The girl stepped closer, wide-eyed. “Is he your friend?”

“One of the best ones I’ve got.” He held out his fist. “Wanna bump?”

She did, bumping her small knuckles against his and Jinwoo smiled, gently patting her head. “And now you’re one of my best friends too.”

The girl smiled—like genuinely smiled—and reader wanted to cry because it had been months since she’d seen her little girl smile like that.