sweetstrawberry17

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seventeen as textposts [part 2/∞]

tee hee these are so fun to make

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I think about Hoshi too much today. I love Hoshi. I miss Hoshi. I hope Hoshi is having a nice day because Hoshi deserves everything.

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Two very different reactions to getting picked

I liked this episode alot, especially when they all kept getting flinged into the pool

Art requests open

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his fucking arms. I feel dizzy. credit

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What Remains Of Love? - Jeon Wonwoo. (One shot)

He always carried his camera.

Not for work. Not for projects.

Just for her.

Ha-yul.

She had the kind of smile that made the light adjust itself. The kind of voice that lingered even after she left a room. And Wonwoo—quiet, observant, deliberate—had fallen for her the only way he knew how.

By capturing her.

They met on an overcast day.

She was balancing a cup of coffee on top of a book as she ran to catch a bus. The cup tipped. Wonwoo, watching from across the street with a Leica in his hand, moved before he thought.

"Careful," he said, catching the cup as it wobbled off the book's edge.

She blinked at him, breathless. "You caught that?"

"I catch things," he replied, lifting the camera. "It's what I do."

She smiled—and it was so sudden, so dazzling, that he missed his own heartbeat.

He started photographing her almost immediately.

She never posed. She didn't have to.

He caught her through café windows, her chin tilted as she read. He captured her twirling barefoot across their apartment floor, laughing in his hoodie. On rooftops at sunset. In bed, drowsy, sunlight pouring across her collarbone.

"Why do you always take pictures of me when I'm not looking?" she teased, eyes still closed one morning.

"Because you're real then," he said.

"Don't you want posed ones?"

"No," he said softly. "I want you."

Their days were made of soft chaos.

Lazy mornings with toast she always burned. Impromptu walks to the convenience store. Her complaining about how his photos made her look "too dreamy." Him replying, "That's just how I see you."

She liked his silence. He liked her noise.

She painted little stars above their bed.

He framed a candid of her asleep under them.

They had their fights.

About nothing. About everything.

Her scattered socks. His tendency to disappear into editing for hours. Her habit of stealing the blanket. His inability to say "I love you" out loud.

But he said it in photos.

Every. Single. Day.

One night, they lay on the floor of their small apartment, limbs tangled.

She was tracing a constellation across his chest.

"Promise me something?" she whispered.

"Anything."

"If I go first... don't forget me."

He blinked. "Why would you say that?"

"I'm serious. You'll keep the photos, right?"

He turned to face her.

"I'm not losing you."

Her voice was quiet. "Promise me."

"I promise," he said.

And he meant it.

The story continues.

It moves through quiet scenes.

A night market—her licking honey off her thumb and laughing.

A beach trip—her chasing birds with her sandals in hand.

Their anniversary—him gifting her a polaroid book, and her crying over it for fifteen minutes straight.

Everything feels alive.

Because in these moments... she is.

But then...

The scenes grow softer.

Quieter.

More still.

He's in the darkroom, developing film.

A photo slides into view: her, smiling at a bus stop, light haloing her hair.

Another photo: her asleep with an open book on her chest.

And another: her hands reaching for him, blurred with motion.

He hangs them carefully, one by one.

And then... he sits.

Just sits.

Camera in his lap.

No new photos.

Just memories, rewinding.

The apartment is quieter now.

Too clean.

Too still.

Her coffee mug hasn't moved from the shelf in weeks.

Her toothbrush still sits by the sink.

And her shoes... are by the door.

Like she might come back any minute.

Wonwoo doesn't speak much anymore.

Not to friends. Not to family.

He just walks.

With his camera.

Photographing places she loved.

Trees she used to hum under.

Streets they kissed on.

Benches she once napped against.

People think he's still working.

But he's not.

He's remembering.

One evening, he visits the small hill near the city's edge.

He kneels in front of a grave.

The headstone reads:

Kang Ha-yul

Beloved daughter, friend, and light.

His fingers tremble as he places a fresh photo against the base.

Her smile looks brighter in black and white.

He touches it like it might still be warm.

"She died instantly," they had told him.

"A drunk driver. No time to react. She didn't suffer."

But he did.

He still does.

Wonwoo sits by her grave for hours.

Sometimes whispering. Sometimes silent.

He tells her about the weather. About the film he developed. About the new ramen shop she would've loved.

And then... he pulls out his camera.

Points it at the sky.

Click.

"It's still yours," he murmurs.

"My lens. My light. My love."

He never photographs anyone else.

Can't.

No one fits in his frame the way she did.

No one ever will.

What remains of love?

A cup on a shelf.

A laugh in a photo.

A man in mourning.

And a thousand pictures

of the girl who never left his heart.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙣𝙙.

🍓.

[sweetstrawberry17]

[sweetstrawberry17]

hello beautiful magical wonderful carat!!! i'm trying to find more seventeen people to get to know on here , would u possibly like to be mutuals ? ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ no pressure ofc , i just love ur blog and think that u seem like a very joyful person 💖💎

Hii 💎 thank you so much for your sweet message, it honestly made me smile 🥺💖 I’d love to be mutuals with you!! Always happy to meet another Carat ✨💎 let’s get along well 💕!

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Sitting in the corner of my room and eating glass

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dino drawing

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🩵🩷

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I have the biggest crush on pre-debut Seungcheol 🙏🏾

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😭

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seventeen as tumblr posts i found on pinterest