#╳┊: — carry me far into the tide. •「 texts. 」

[pseudowho]

Resolute

The reader helps Nanami Kento to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of character death, alcoholism, post traumatic stress

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The day was long; your evening together was too short. You hadn't seen each other all day, carried apart by the tide of work, and had communicated only in staccato bursts of text messages, single sentences back and forth.

Can't wait to see you. Today has been shit! Cheese, milk, bread, laundry detergent. A short video that made him laugh. A short video that made you laugh. A photo of you teaching the First Years. A photo of Ijichi making a shy 'peace' sign to the camera, Kento barely visible in the reflection on his glasses. Nearly finished! Believe me, I'm counting down the seconds. I'll collect the shopping. I love you more than you know.

One.

Finally released from the dull corset of gainful employment, Kento flopped to the sofa beside you, carefully stopping his glass from sloshing over himself. You undid his tie. He untucked his shirt. You snuggled your pyjama'd self under his heavy, strong arm; he groaned in satisfaction, slipping warm fingers under your top to stroke the soft plush of your waist. You basked in the quiet warmth of each others' company, each of you being the home of the other. No need to talk.

Two.

You heard the faint shhhhhk-clink of bottles being closed, and put away. Kento returned this time in check pyjama bottoms, wearing nothing else but a glass of whiskey. He swirled it at you. Ugh, nail polish remover, you teased. Uncultured swine, Kento teased back, all but finishing his glass in one thirsty swallow. You smiled, hesitating only briefly. Come on, you need food more than drink, you joked lightly, the truth leaving a bitter aftertaste. I wouldn't be so sure, he retaliated, too far down the path to see from where he had entered.

Three. Four.

Cheese, bread and charcuterie; the lazy dinner of two people who were too tired to question the expense, washed down far too easily by more whiskey. You had nursed one glass of wine all evening; the whiskey bottle now sat beside the crackers, easier than getting up and down to the kitchen again, and again, and again.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Kento was pliable, made supple and languid by his amber tonic. His kisses grew deep and earthy, lips hot with rising fumes, blessedly relieved as divine relaxation thrummed through his body, revelling in the Dionysian pleasure he had craved all day. God, you're so beautiful, he whispered, mead-sweet and intoxicating against your throat. You squirmed beneath his tongue, your arousal wildly overridden by concern, the words you needed to say stuck to the roof of your mouth. Kento mistook your squirming as the result of his successful advances, and he leaned into you, caging you down against the sofa pillows as he pressed against you, hardening against your leg through the thin fabric of his check pyjamas, hand creeping up to idly squeeze the pebbling peak of your breast. The pleasure darted through you, toxic, unwelcome--

"Stop, Kento-- I-- I can't--" Kento stopped immediately, unfazed by your refusal, but concerned by the anxiety seeping out of you. He kissed you softly on the forehead, carefully releasing you from under his arms, wordlessly reassuring you he loved you no less.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, sincere, affectionate, "we don't have to do any--"

"No, we do," you stuttered, sitting up, determined but twisting inside with the foul taste of approaching confrontation, "I mean, I-- I do. I need to. There's-- something I need to talk to you about," you finished weakly. Kento was all patience, his silence inviting, ready to be your therapist.

"Do you...are you...have you noticed quite how much you drink?"

Half a heartbeat passed with the barest flick of antagonism across Kento's eyes, and he smiled, handsome and disarming.

"I wouldn't say it's all that much," he laughed softly, plaiting his fingers through yours, raising your hand to kiss against his lips, "Far less than--"

"Eight. This evening alone."

Kento flinched, shoulders tensing, body turning slightly away from you as his lips curled in disgust.

"I'm not drunk," he spat, on-the-spot. He swallowed, hand squeezing yours, smiling again to steer the ship another way, any way other than this, and repeated, calmer, "I'm not drunk. I'm...I'm just having a couple, it's been a long day and I--"

"But you should be drunk," you cried, the dam breaking now as tears pricked in your eyes, "eight drinks Kento. And not small drinks. That bottle was full, and now-- now..."

You saw Kento's eyes flick to the bottle, almost empty, shame swirling behind the furious glaze of his usually warm brown eyes, now cold, angry. He had let go of your hand, distancing himself from you as he turned, elbows set heavily on his knees as he leaned away. The lump in your throat thickened, and you moved quickly to him, hands gripping his forearm in desperate reassurance, trying to bring him to you.

"Look I-- it's not your fault," you pressed, sensing him drifting further away as his forearm tensed under your fingers, his eyes still a maelstrom of denial, shame, anger, disgust, "It's easy to let it get on top of you, I can help you--"

Kento stood, throwing your hands off his arm, beginning to tidy the remnants of dinner with shaking hands, trying and failing to remove himself from the conversation as you followed, still impeaching him to listen--

"How about you back off and mind your own business?" Kento spat, spinning and turning on you suddenly, and you felt a flash of fear as you stepped back, involuntarily raising your hands up. Kento stepped back sharply, eyes softening in tearful apology, his shame now rising like bile in his chest. He struggled for words, unable to process the deep exposure of you noticing his failings.

"You're right," you stuttered, tears pouring down your cheeks and raising your hands to placate Kento, who felt his heart breaking, silently listening to you reassure him, "I shouldn't have-- I didn't mean to--"

Kento was trapped, alone on his little island now. He watched his ship drift away as he slowly backed down, walking away to the bathroom. You implored him to come to bed; he took himself to the sofa, overwhelmed in his certainty that you deserved better than some pathetic drunk who frightened her.

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You barely functioned the next day. You and Kento never went to bed on an argument. Kento never raised his voice at you. Kento never shied away from resolving issues between you. You caught yourself performing your chores and tasks on autopilot, the events of the night before flickering across your vision like old film reel left to run, and you burst into quiet tears in soft sobbing patches throughout the day.

Yet, despite your regret for the argument, you could not regret acting in Kento's best interests. You reached the morbid conclusion that his health was more important to you than the sanctity of your relationship.

Curling on the sofa, phone in hand, you began to research, pausing tearfully to make scribbles in a notepad every few minutes.

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Nanami Kento never asked for help. Nanami Kento never offloaded his own issues to someone else. Nanami Kento never outsourced his duties.

He surprised himself, that day, by doing all three.

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When the door clicked open again that evening, you were taut as a coiled spring, adrenaline thumping through you, and you held your notepad like a shield. Kento's voice called, but the noise glossed past your ears that pulsed, hot, with the whoosh of your own heartbeat. Your spit was thick in your mouth as Kento came into the kitchen. Your eyes caught; you opened your mouth wordlessly, your meticulously planned speech snagging on doubt. As Kento opened his mouth to talk, you interrupted in a frantic flurry.

"I know you don't think that your drinking is a problem, and I know you want me to stop, but you're so much more important to me than that, and if you hate me after this then that's fine but--" you approached him, notebook outstretched, all carefully written details of support groups, therapists, specialist doctors--

"You're right."

You faltered, notebook lowering, as Kento stood in front of you, suddenly shrinking, small, exposed. Your heart tugged painfully as his gentle smile tried to reassure you through the thickets.

Kento gulped, forcing down the viscerally angry reaction to his shame, "I...I think it started after-- after Yuu was killed-- or possibly even before that. A few drinks...helped me to sleep. We all self-medicated in one way or another. It was normal, honestly, considering the shit we had to--" Kento stopped, catching himself before he fell into the trap of excuses. His lip curled again, awash in mortification and vulnerability and--

-- and before him, still, there you were. You, who had loved him enough to risk your own happiness for his health. You, who had spent your day, even after his abhorrent behaviour, looking for ways to help him. You, who looked up at him now with so much love and sadness that he felt his grief and stress and shame and desperation rise up in him all at once, and he coughed, gulping as tears slid down his cheeks, staring at the floor, feeling so stranded in these strange woods.

"I'm so sorry I-- I scared you, and I-- I..."

"Oh no, Kento, no, it's okay, it's okay, we'll be okay, we can get you through this--" You pulled him to you, holding him as he wept quietly into your neck, and you stroked the weight of the world off his broad shoulders. We. Kento hiccuped, crying harder as his hands shook against you, holding onto you, his lifeline.

"Please help me," he begged, hiding his face in your neck, "I don't know where to-- I dont know how to--" You nodded against him, already prepared, and sickeningly relieved that he would let you help, and you stroked his hair, shushing him as his tears slowed, his irregular breaths heavy and hot against you.

Pulling away, you swiped your thumbs across his face, wiping away tears, holding his cheeks tenderly as you planted a wet kiss to his lips. Kento chuckled, sniffing and tear-stained, letting you sprinkle kisses over his cheeks.

"I couldn't...I couldn't face work today," Kento sniffed, leading you to the sofa where you made him lay his head on your lap, your fingers still inching tender trails through his hair, "I asked Ino to take my missions." Kento's voice was tight, embarrassed at having asked for a friend to relieve him of his duties.

"Which I'm sure he was delighted to do, Kento," you pressed, "you don't know how loved you are...not only by me." Kento gulped again, grumbling at you as you shushed him.

"Your life can be better than anything you can find at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, Kento," you promised, to his uncertain frown, "you'll be able to sleep without it, cope without it, and live happily without it."

Kento nodded, sighing, gripped with writhing fear at the journey ahead-- but, you had come to his island, fearless in your little boat, and he climbed aboard with the sweet relief of a castaway finally able to sail for home.

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[ff-rtp]

Ballet in blood

Part1 , Part2 , Part3, Part4, Part5, Part6,

Disclaimer : hello guys ! I finally got brave and find the courage to post . Please be patient with me and also excuse any texting mistakes! 💕 hope you will like it !

Summary: N/a, a brilliant and determined ballet dancer, has spent her life focused on her dream of performing on the grandest stages, earning a prestigious scholarship to the Korean National Ballet Academy. But her world collides with Chanyeol, a ruthless and powerful figure in Seoul’s underworld. Cold, calculated, and violent, Chanyeol is a man feared by many, yet inexplicably drawn to N/a’s purity and grace. Despite knowing she doesn’t belong in his dangerous world, Chanyeol becomes obsessed with protecting her, even as enemies close in, threatening to tear them apart.

Genre : angst ,fluff , some smut? Mafia!AU

Pairing : Chanyeol x fem!reader

Warnings⚠️: mentions of violence ,shouting,guns ,drugs alcool and some spicy scenes .

Count :2.2k

Chapter 1

The night was alive with the pulse of neon lights, the darkened streets of Seoul hiding the sins of the powerful and the weak alike. Hidden behind tinted windows, in a sleek black car, Chanyeol watched the city with eyes that missed nothing. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze cold and unfeeling as he surveyed the streets that belonged to him. His business dealings had made him wealthy beyond imagination, but his heart—if it existed—was encased in ice.

Tonight, a new shipment had arrived, one that required his personal touch. He ran the city’s underworld with precision, and any threat to his empire was swiftly and brutally eliminated. His phone buzzed.

"It's done, boss. The new line is moving fast," Sehun’s voice came through, calm but carrying the weight of the underground dealings.

"Good," Chanyeol replied, his tone as chilling as the night air. "Make sure no one screws it up."

Meanwhile, on the other side of Seoul, n/a was living in a completely different world. She was focused, her body moving with elegance and grace as she rehearsed in the empty ballet studio. Her dedication to her craft had always been her way of escaping the chaos around her. Tonight was no different. The strains of classical music echoed in the dimly lit room as she practiced, her mind far from the dangers of the city. She had no idea that her world was about to collide with Chanyeol’s.

Outside, Sunny waited, her foot tapping impatiently as she checked her phone for the time. "Hurry up, we’re going to be late for the party!" she called from the door, a grin spreading across her face. She had always been the spontaneous one, dragging n/a into the wildest situations, parties with shady figures and unknown guests.

"I'm coming," n/a replied, wiping the sweat from her brow, finishing her final pirouette. She was the complete opposite of her best friend—calm, poised, and always in control. But tonight, she would step outside her world of ballet into a life she knew nothing about.

The party, hosted in a luxurious penthouse, was filled with the elite of Seoul. The air was thick with tension and danger, but that didn’t scare Sunny. It was her playground. As they entered, Sunny greeted people with ease, but n/a kept to herself, feeling out of place in the glamorous crowd.

Chanyeol was already there, standing at the top of a private staircase overlooking the main floor. He didn’t attend events like these for fun—he came for business, connections, and control. His cold eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on a figure that didn’t belong.

Her.

The penthouse was a display of opulence—floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of Seoul’s glittering skyline, while chandeliers cast a soft glow over the room. The crowd moved like a slow tide, expensive perfumes mixing with the scent of alcohol. Conversations hummed, laughter echoed, but behind it all was an unspoken tension. These weren’t just the wealthy and the elite,these were people with influence, people who moved in the shadows.

Chanyeol leaned against the railing, one hand resting on the glass of whiskey he hadn’t yet touched, the other casually tucked into the pocket of his tailored suit. His broad shoulders and tall frame made him impossible to miss, and though he wasn’t looking for attention, it naturally followed him. Whispers followed in his wake some in awe, others in fear but he never paid them any mind. He had worked hard to maintain his reputation: ruthless, untouchable, and cold.

From his vantage point, he watched as guests mingled below, his sharp eyes noticing everything, the way alliances formed and broke with a simple conversation, the way secrets were traded like currency. He thrived in this world. But just as he was about to turn away, something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

A girl.

She stood out not because of her beauty,though that was undeniable but because she didn’t seem to fit the mold of the people who surrounded her. She wasn’t flaunting her wealth or power. Her simple but elegant black dress clung to her graceful frame, her posture poised in a way that only someone trained in the art of movement could possess. There was something about her… something calm, controlled, like the eye of a storm in the chaos of the room.

She stood beside another girl, a lively one who was clearly more comfortable in this environment, chatting and laughing with people they both seemed to barely know. But this quiet girl… she was different.

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He had seen countless women in these circles, some drawn to his wealth, others to his power. But this one… she didn’t seem like she belonged here. She looked more like someone who should be performing on stage, not mingling with the corrupt.

N/a could feel the weight of someone’s gaze on her, and it unsettled her. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Her life had been a carefully crafted routine: ballet, studies, and nothing else. Tonight, Sunny had begged her to come out, promising it would be fun. But n/a wasn’t so sure anymore. She didn’t belong in a place like this, surrounded by people who spoke in low voices about things she didn’t understand.

“Hey, you okay?” Sunny’s voice cut through her thoughts, her tone light and teasing. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

N/a forced a smile. “I’m fine. It’s just… I don’t think this is my kind of scene.”

Sunny rolled her eyes, a playful grin on her lips. “Come on, loosen up! You’ve been cooped up in the studio all week. You need this.”

Before n/a could respond, someone approached them. It was a tall man, his suit impeccably tailored, his smile just a bit too charming. “Ladies, care for a drink?”

Sunny’s eyes sparkled with interest, but n/a immediately shook her head. “No, thank you.”

The man’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she liked, and it made her stomach twist. There was something about the way these people looked at her, like they saw something they could take advantage of. It made her uncomfortable. She shifted on her feet, wishing she had stayed home. But Sunny was already chatting with the man, completely at ease, leaving n/a feeling more isolated by the second.

From his position above, Chanyeol watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. He didn’t know her, but something about the way she reacted to the men around her intrigued him. She wasn’t easily swayed by charm or power. She was different.

“Who is that?” Chanyeol’s attention was drawn away by a voice at his side—Baekhyun, ever the curious one, with a mischievous grin on his face. His eyes followed Chanyeol’s line of sight to where n/a stood. “You’ve been staring for a while now.”

“No one,” Chanyeol replied coolly, though his eyes betrayed his interest.

Baekhyun chuckled. “Sure. No one.” He clapped Chanyeol on the back before moving off to join the party, leaving Chanyeol alone with his thoughts.

Chanyeol took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the burn of the alcohol ground him. He wasn’t the type to get distracted by women. His focus was always on his business, on maintaining control. But there was something about this girl that he couldn’t quite shake.

Down below, n/a’s discomfort was growing. The party was becoming more suffocating by the minute. She turned to Sunny, who was still engaged in conversation with the charming man, and tugged on her arm. “Sunny, I think I’m going to head out.”

Sunny blinked at her, confused. “What? Why? We just got here!”

“I just… I don’t feel right here,” n/a said softly, her eyes scanning the room nervously.

Sunny’s expression softened, and she sighed. “Okay, okay. Let me just finish this drink, and we can leave.”

N/a nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. She moved to the edge of the room, away from the crowd, trying to find a quiet corner where she could breathe.

But even there, she wasn’t alone.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice was deep, smooth, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She turned slowly and found herself face-to-face with the man who had been watching her all night. His presence was overwhelming—tall, imposing, with eyes so dark they seemed to pierce through her.

Chanyeol.

N/a swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know who he was, but there was something about him that both terrified and intrigued her.

“I…” She struggled for words, feeling his intense gaze on her. “I don’t belong here.”

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Chanyeol’s presence was overwhelming, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the space around him. N/a felt her breath catch in her throat as his cold eyes stayed locked on hers. He was impossibly close, and yet there was a distance between them that felt unbridgeable. She wasn’t sure if it was the sheer intensity of his gaze or the realization that he was someone far more dangerous than the other guests. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the night outside.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chanyeol tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “You’re not wrong.” His words were blunt, and yet there was something almost… amused in his tone, as if he were toying with the idea of her discomfort.

N/a shifted her weight, feeling the tension in her body growing with every second he stood in front of her. She should walk away—no, she should run. Something about him screamed danger, and not the kind she was prepared to handle. Yet, she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to break away from his gaze.

“What’s your name?” His question caught her off guard, the smoothness of his voice sending another shiver down her spine.

“N-n/a,” she stammered, mentally kicking herself for sounding so nervous.

His eyes flickered with mild interest. “N/a.” He repeated it slowly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. “Pretty name.”

“Thank you,” she managed, though her voice still felt small compared to the towering figure in front of her.

Before either of them could say more, there was a sudden burst of laughter from across the room. Sunny, always the social butterfly, had attracted a group of people who were now hanging onto her every word. N/a glanced over, relieved for the distraction, but when she turned back, Chanyeol’s gaze hadn’t left her.

“You should leave,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “This isn’t a place for someone like you.”

The warning in his tone was unmistakable. He wasn’t being kind or protective, he was stating a fact, and it sent a wave of unease through her. But there was also something that stirred within her, a curiosity about why he cared at all.

N/a nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I was just waiting for my friend.”

Chanyeol’s eyes flickered briefly toward Sunny, who was now the center of attention, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, almost in exasperation. “You might be waiting a while.”

N/a glanced at Sunny, who was laughing and leaning into the conversation, clearly in no hurry to leave. She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

Chanyeol’s expression hardened slightly, his patience with this conversation thinning. “No, you won’t.” He stepped even closer, his presence a dark cloud that seemed to wrap around her. “This isn’t your world, and you don’t know the rules here.”

There was a warning hidden beneath the surface of his words, and it made n/a’s stomach churn. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but the way he was looking at her made it clear that he wasn’t someone to defy.

“Remember what I said,” Chanyeol added before turning and walking away, leaving n/a standing alone, feeling like she had just stepped into something far bigger than she could comprehend.

As soon as his back was turned, the tension that had been coiling in her chest finally eased. She exhaled shakily, her fingers brushing over her purse where the card rested. A lifeline? She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it was clear that this man held power—too much of it.

“N/a! There you are!” Sunny’s voice broke through her thoughts as she bounced over, a little tipsy but glowing with excitement. “Sorry, I got carried away. Are you ready to go?”

N/a forced a smile, trying to push the unease to the back of her mind. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

As they left the penthouse, n/a couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight. Chanyeol’s cold gaze, his cryptic words, the card he had given her, it all felt like a warning of things to come. She told herself she would never need to use it, that their lives would never cross paths again.

But deep down, she wasn’t so sure.

Part1 , Part2 , Part3, Part4, Part5, Part6, Part7.

[spiriteddreams]

I Know the End

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader Warnings: angst Word Count: ~2k A/N: season 2 is out who's ready to cry with me :D

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was all red. But it’s easy to be selfish when you are in love. You hold onto the concept like a lifeline and become strung alone in this clothesline of hearts. Your emotions are spread thin, clipped at the edges at the result of a strained relationship.

A love with Gojo Satoru was never one for the books. It was whispered words when no one was looking and lingering touches when you pass by one another. How many years have you played this cruel game with him? The memories bleed together as do the years and yet you hold on selfishly. To him, the world did not need to know of the way his crystal eyes lingered a second too long on your figure, or the way he swore upon empty promises to no one but you. He loves so easily, sly with his words and so eager to be around you. His touch is a brand, his words a blunt knife, driving in, digging deep, dismantling you bit by bit. But the worst comes when the overwhelming weight of it all feels heaviest whilst you are alone. If there’s one thing that becomes clear the longer you’re around him, it’s that Gojo Satoru is far too good at pushing people away. He’s so easy to get along with and you find yourself falling for him before you even realize it. But he keeps people at a distance. No matter how close you may be, physically and emotionally, it’s like you run into Infinity everytime. 

And yet you glorify it in your head, pretend that sickly sweet words and phantom touches are real. You cling to the memories in the worst way possible, because everyone leaves you before Gojo does. And when he finally does, he does it so casually cruel that you think you feel his technique shoot through your chest and leave a gaping hole as you bleed. You tell yourself that you have parted on good terms, because in your head, it is easiest to remember the good rather than the bad. 

You remember high school days, hand clasped around Shoko’s as you chased after two boys who wobbled on a bike together. The blissful ignorance of childhood is one that you wish you would have treasured longer. Because a mission gone wrong turned the course of fate and you could only watch as both Gojo and Geto stumbled down their separate paths. Only that Gojo’s led towards you and your open arms. The guilt for not reaching out far enough for Geto still eats at you and you wonder if perhaps Gojo holds that against you.

But when you recall the memories and bury yourself under sheets and stare at picture frames that collect dust and his text messages you’ve chosen to ignore, you are selective about your memories. Because the good is warm and comfortable and loving and oh so cruel. But the good is followed by the bad in a tidal wave that crashes upon the shore during high tide. It pulls you into the deep, that freezing painful deep that stings your skin and shocks you to your core. And then you are drowning in hurt, in tears, in unrelenting sadness as you mourn over a relationship held together by cobwebs. 

But forever will you believe that Gojo Satoru is deserving of highest praise. His name carries across the stories of the legendary holder of the Six Eyes who, when he was born, shook the world. And he knows it. You relish the days when your friends, your family would tease you both. Words of appraisal cooing over the two of you even as Gojo looked away with a blush on his face and grumbled for everyone to “stop making a big deal out of nothing.” But even as he said those words, he didn’t pull away from your touch, instead leaning closer, as if chasing the brush of your fingertips against his skin.

Then it ends. It ends on a day you least expect it the most, when the sun is warm and caresses your face and you think that it is just another day of rest, basking in the sun. Despite that, the heavy feeling in your chest that had been building for the past few days has seemed to fester, ready to spill over. Something is near and you know it, can feel it and no matter how much you try to push away the growing anxiety, it sits heavy in your chest. You wonder if Gojo’s noticed. And as if he was reading your thoughts, he appears, calling your name with a tone that douses you in cold. Peeking through his sunglasses, his blue eyes look duller than usual.

“Are you okay?” you sit up, watching as Gojo looks down at you for a moment, then looks away. He is silent and you wish you could read what was going on in his head. Perhaps that’s always been one of the hardest things about loving someone who’s walls have been built up for so long that even when he allows you to peek through one crack, it becomes smoothed over in an instant, blocking you right back out.

He sighs, “I’m fine.” His words are far too clipped for comfort and you straighten up, staring up at him in confusion. You don’t prod him to speak, knowing that when he wants to, he will. Gojo likes to choose his words slowly, precise and careful with everything he says. He dislikes rushing into things, and gods knows how much he spends in his head mulling over his thoughts. It scares you, more than you’ll admit, to know that there are a million things that Gojo has, and will always, keep from you.

“I think we should end things.” The words take a moment to register, but when they do, you’re snapping your head up, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock. “Before you argue about it, I’ve already thought it over,” Gojo says bluntly. He still refuses to look at you. “I don’t think beneficial for us to see each other.”

You stare at him in shock. “Beneficial? You act as if this is just a romance of convenience.” The cold seeps into your tone before you register it. But Gojo looks unfazed, as if he was prepared for this. It scares you. It’s just another one of those things he’s kept to himself. “Satoru, what’s going on?” He hates the way you say his name, so breathy and concerned. Sometimes he feels as if you can see right through him. He wonders if you’ve caught onto his own lies that have begun to wrap around his own throat.

“The distance between us has grown too far, I don’t think it’s fair for us to continue to pretend that we feel the same,” Gojo shakes his head. You push yourself to your feet, gathering your composure before fixing him with a glare, the same defiant glare that drew him in. He takes a shaky breath and reminds himself that this is necessary in the long run. You will be safer if you are farther away from him and this path that he’s chosen to follow. The sacrifices that are sure to come will put you both in a precarious position where you will have to choose between one another and the greater need of Jujutsu society. And if Gojo can make that decision before it tears you apart on the spot, it’s a risk he’s willing to take. The apologies can come later, he’ll grovel at your feet if he has to, put aside his ego and swear up and down that he’ll never deceive you like this again. But for now, please, he begs, please just let him do what he needs to do before someone else forces your hand.

“No,” you shake your head, eyes narrowed as you take a step towards him and jab a finger at his chest. Your eyes widen momentarily when you make contact with the hard plane of his clothed chest; he let down Infinity. “No, you don’t get to pull this on me. One week ago you were telling me how I was yours for the rest of your life and now you’re trying to break up with me? Cut the bullshit, Satoru.” He hears the tremble in your voice and he’s not sure who you’re trying to convince more: you or him.

“Look, I’ve been thinking—”

“Then stop thinking!” you shout. You sound irrational and you know it. The tears gathering in your eyes are a clear sign of it. “You’re making it sound like this is all some thought out, self-sacrificing, selfish plan and—” You both stare at one another. Gojo hates that you know him so well because you come to the right conclusion far too quickly and he knows that you’re not going to back down now. 

“This is your plan isn’t it,” you say quietly, voice tinged with disbelief. Gojo was known for his plans, well thought out and well executed to success. So careful and thoughtful in the process and you’ve watched him time and time again commit to things without a second thought. So to hear that you’re part of this next selfish plan, placed in this position, ready to be swallowed up on his chessboard is a slap in the face. You can play dirty too and in this moment, with anger and disbelief clouding your thoughts and vision, you strike faster than him.

“Fine. You want to break up, then we break up. But we’re doing it on my terms,” your words are all bark and no bite but you refuse to let him see. You hold back the tears and push through your watery words as you step back.

“If you want to call it off, then it’s off for good. When all this shit is over I’m going back to Kyoto and I don’t ever want to see your stupid, pretty, face again!” you stumble over your words and Gojo only watches behind his glasses, mouth pressed into a thin line. You want to rip them off his face and force him to look you in the eyes and tell the truth. Far too cocky for his own good, you hate that Gojo Satoru is so effortlessly cruel and fuck does it make you angry. The words spill and you take low jabs, both verbally and physically and Gojo just takes it. He takes the watery calls of his name and the cursing, your gasps of breath and your own selfish cruelty that he knows damn well that you don’t mean.

By the time he disappears, you’re left with nothing but the crisp air of Autumn. Sharp and stinging in the back of your throat, you inhale sharply as you whip your head in the direction you know he’s gone in: your shared home. The worst part is that you had both kept things a secret, a little game where you both sat at other ends of a glass table and now that it's shattered, where do you turn to, who do you turn to?It is then that you finally realize that despite your own attempts to twist the game, you had fallen right in. Blinded by the sudden rush of anger and the overflow of anxiety from the past few days you had done exactly what he had wanted. A breakup is a breakup, whether or not it is on his terms or your terms. And you know that now the words have been said, it’ll be hell to try to find him and talk it back over.

If only he was still around to hear your cries of his name as you run towards him, bloodied and battered, voice hoarse as you frantically search for him in Shibuya. You catch wind of the words “prison realm” and your blood runs cold.

On October 31, Gojo Satoru feels his limbs stiffen and his mind races. You’re still out there, still fighting, still angry, still cursing his name with love disguised as hatred. You’re still out there but so long as you stay out there, stay alive then things are all going according to plan. And when he finds a way to escape, to destroy those cursed fingers once and for all, he’ll grovel at your feet and promise to love you to whatever end. 

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 Bonus: @shiinleaf and gojo kiss and make up and there was no official breakup and all is well

[juiceortizprospect34]

Ghosts We Carry

Juan Carlos "Juice" Ortiz stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, fingers tracing the tribal tattoos that adorned his scalp. The crow-eater from last night had called them beautiful. If only she knew the weight they carried.

The clubhouse was quiet this early in the morning. Most of the Sons were still passed out from the previous night's celebration—another successful gun run with the Irish. Juice splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the heaviness that seemed to follow him lately.

His burner phone vibrated in his pocket. Roosevelt. Again.

"Shit," he muttered, ignoring the call. The sheriff had been relentless since discovering Juice's father was Black. A secret that could get him stripped of his patch—or worse.

The bathroom door swung open, and Chibs appeared, his Scottish accent thick with concern.

"You alright, lad? Been in here for ages."

Juice forced a smile. "Yeah, brother. Just... thinking."

Chibs studied him, the scars on his face deepening as he frowned. "Thinking's dangerous business in this club." He clapped a hand on Juice's shoulder. "Come on. Jax called church in an hour."

Left alone again, Juice pulled out the orange pill bottle from his cut. Two left. Not enough to keep the panic at bay, not with what Roosevelt was asking him to do.

He'd joined SAMCRO looking for family, for belonging. Now every day felt like walking a tightrope between loyalty and survival.

His laptop sat open on his bed when he returned to his room. The intelligence he'd gathered on the cartel—information Jax had requested—glowed on the screen. At least his tech skills were still valued. At least he could still be useful.

The Reaper on his cut seemed to be watching him, judging his divided loyalties.

"I'm still a Son," he whispered to no one. "I'm still a Son."

The roar of Harleys filled the afternoon air as the club rode in formation down Highway 18. Juice felt the familiar rush of freedom, the wind against his face temporarily blowing away the clouds in his mind.

Clay led the pack, with Jax at his right. Tig, Bobby, Opie, Happy, Chibs—brothers in everything but blood. And him. The outsider who never quite fit in, no matter how hard he tried.

They pulled into Teller-Morrow, and the real world crashed back. Gemma stood by the office, arms crossed, that look on her face that meant trouble was brewing.

"Juice," Jax called as they dismounted. "Need those files before we meet with Galindo."

"Got them ready, VP," Juice replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

As the others headed inside, Chibs lingered.

"What's eating at you, Juicy? And don't give me that 'nothing' shite."

Something in the Scotsman's eyes—concern, genuine brotherhood—almost broke Juice's resolve. For a moment, he considered telling Chibs everything. The blackmail. Roosevelt. His father.

Instead, he shrugged. "Just haven't been sleeping well."

Chibs didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. "You know you can come to me, right? Whatever it is."

"I know, brother." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

---

Later that night, Juice sat alone at the bar, nursing a beer while chaos erupted around him. Another party. Another night of pretending everything was fine.

His phone buzzed. A text from Roosevelt: *Tomorrow. 10 AM. Or I go to the club with what I know.*

The panic rose like a tide in his chest. He slipped out to the lot, needing air, needing space to think.

The stars above Charming seemed unusually bright tonight, indifferent to the turmoil below. Juice leaned against his bike, wondering how his life had spiraled so far from his control.

"Planning a midnight ride?"

He startled at the voice. Jax approached, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes sharp and assessing.

"No, just... getting some air."

Jax studied him with that look that made Juice feel transparent. "Club needs to be tight right now, Juice. Whatever's going on with you—handle it."

"I will," Juice promised, though he had no idea how.

As Jax walked away, Juice gazed at the reaper on his VP's back. Loyalty above all else. Family above all else.

But what happened when those loyalties collided? When the family you chose demanded sacrifices you weren't sure you could make?

Tomorrow would force his hand. Tonight, under Charming's stars, he was still a Son of Anarchy. Still part of something bigger than himself.

For now, that would have to be enough.

---

The apartment was small but clean, tucked away in a quiet corner of Lodi where SAMCRO rarely ventured. Juice knocked softly, eyes darting up and down the hallway. No one could know he was here.

The door opened to reveal Elena, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, concern etched across her face.

"Jesus, Juice. You look terrible."

She pulled him inside, checking the hallway before closing the door. Elena Martinez wasn't just any woman—she was a nurse at St. Thomas, smart as hell, and the only person outside the club who knew the real Juan Carlos Ortiz. They'd been seeing each other in secret for nearly six months, stealing moments between club runs and her hospital shifts.

"You said it was urgent," she said, leading him to her small living room. "What happened?"

Juice collapsed onto her couch, the weight of the past weeks crushing down on him. Elena sat beside him, her hand finding his, those fingers that patched up wounds now trying to hold his breaking pieces together.

"I'm in trouble, El. Bad trouble."

She waited, patient as always. That was what he loved about her—she never pushed, never demanded. Just offered silent strength when his was failing.

"This sheriff, Roosevelt, he found out something about me. Something that could get me kicked out of the club." The words felt like glass in his throat. "He knows who my father is."

Elena's brow furrowed. "Your father? I thought you never knew him."

"I didn't. But Roosevelt dug him up. He's Black, El." The words hung in the air between them. "SAMCRO doesn't patch in Black members. It's in the bylaws. If the club finds out..."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. Elena knew enough about MC politics to grasp the severity.

"He's making me inform on the club. Get dirt on the drug running with the cartel."

"Or what?"

"Or he tells Clay. And then..." Juice drew a finger across his throat.

Elena stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "This is insane. It's the 21st century. They wouldn't kill you over your father's race."

"You don't know the club like I do." Juice's voice was hollow. "Brotherhood, loyalty—it's everything. Breaking club rules, lying about who you are... that's unforgivable."

She knelt before him, taking his face in her hands. "Then leave. We could go, start over somewhere. I've got family in Colorado—"

"And spend my life looking over my shoulder? SAMCRO doesn't let members just walk away."

"Then what are you going to do?"

The question hung between them, heavy with implications. What could he do? Betray the club and live with that shame? Refuse Roosevelt and lose everything? Run and wait for the reaper to find him?

"I don't know," he admitted, the words barely a whisper.

Elena pulled him close, and for a moment, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her embrace, pushed back the darkness. But only for a moment.

"Whatever you decide," she said against his ear, "I'm with you. But Juice—" She pulled back, her gaze intense. "Don't let them make you into something you're not. You're a good man. Better than this life."

Was he, though? The things he'd done for the club. The things he might still do.

"Roosevelt wants me to steal a sample of the cocaine. Tomorrow." The admission felt like a weight lifting and settling elsewhere. "I don't have a choice."

Elena was quiet for a long moment. "There's always a choice, Juice. Sometimes all the options are shit, but there's always a choice."

She moved to the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. As she poured, her hands were steady, practical—the hands of someone who dealt with life and death daily.

"What would happen if you went to Clay? Or Jax? Told them about Roosevelt before he can tell them about your father?"

Juice took a long swallow of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat. "Clay would see it as weakness. A liability."

"And Jax?"

The question gave him pause. Jax was different. More forward-thinking. But also fiercely protective of the club.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"What about Chibs? He seems to care about you."

Juice remembered the Scotsman's concerned eyes earlier that day. *You know you can come to me, right?*

"Maybe," he said softly. "Maybe Chibs."

Elena took his hand again, her fingers intertwining with his. "Whatever you decide, don't do it alone. That's what they want—to isolate you, make you feel like you have no options."

He nodded, the panic that had been clawing at his chest all day finally subsiding into something manageable. He wasn't alone. Not completely.

As the night deepened around them, they moved to her bedroom, seeking comfort in each other's arms. Tomorrow would come with its impossible choices. Tonight, he could pretend there was a way out, a future where he wasn't torn between two loyalties, where his past didn't hang over him like a guillotine.

In the darkness, Elena's voice came soft against his skin. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," he whispered back, not knowing if it was a promise he could keep.

---

Dawn broke over Charming, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Juice sat on his bike outside TM, watching as the garage came to life. The stolen burner phone felt like a brick in his pocket—Roosevelt's number programmed in, waiting for his call.

Chibs arrived, giving him a nod as he dismounted his Harley. Juice thought of Elena's words. *Don't do it alone.*

Maybe there was another way. Maybe truth could save him where lies would only dig him deeper.

"Hey, Chibs," he called, decision made. "Got a minute to talk?"

*To be continued...*

[springbudeyes]

Please enjoy the first installment of a new series I'd like to call Gamemode 0!

If you're waiting for Mianite Season Four (ha), this will hopefully tide you over. Gamemode 0 is a highly produced mini-series that tells a story through text, dramatic audio narration, a musical score, and images. It stars a villain who was an edgy Grim Reaper in 2015 and it poses the question—how much has Kikoku Botan really changed since 2015?

That question will be answered over the course of – I'm guessing – seven-ish chapters? The first chapter, which you're about to read and hear, is based on a Minecraft RP session held in a single night. Those present for the session include World Historian's original writer (me) and a group of talented role-players. More info under the cut!

Here's the cast:

Moth @robotmothpie as Ginkgo Belshem

CloudF11 @silent-moons-camp as Cloud Endernatus

Metal @mx-metal as Omu Vulcan

Honor @cult-of-athar as Fateshaper (the Big Bad)

Matthew (me) as World Historian

(All characters are voiced by me.)

Background:

The project was Mianite Etherealis. We played on a private 1.12 server for two years, ending in early 2023. The chapter you're about to read (titled Session One) covers the RP session that brought World Historian into the narrative.

I would almost go so far as to say that you're about to experience a canon World Historian mini-series with implications for all World Historian content in existence.

Is it actually canon? I don't know. It's as authentic as you'll ever get for WH, that's for sure. I've spent the last nine years developing the cosmology being used here. I planted the seeds for it when I created World Historian in 2015.

But no, Gamemode 0 isn't Dec-and-Tom-approved canon. And my astounding co-writers aren't offical Mianite writers. And Etherealis isn't a piece of lost Mianite media, though you can think of it that way if you'd like.

Vision:

Gamemode 0 will follow the plot of Mianite Etherealis for one more session, then embark on its own original plot centered on World Historian.

That being said, my aim with Gamemode 0 is to dig up a piece of the past and link it to the future. This series is one of many projects that could result from that effort. If it sees enough support, it could grow beyond text, images, and audio. We have endless headroom here.

If you're looking for Botan's history in Ruxomar, you'll find it. If you're hoping for a glimpse into Akemi and Mina's lives, you'll get it. If you seek all manner of strange World Historian lore, consider it yours.

We have plenty of chapters to take us from the past, to the future, and back again. I could just list the plain facts about World Historian in a lore post, but as a storyteller, I could never be satisfied with that.

Disclaimer:

The players own their characters. Most of the dialogue and actions in Session One come straight from the corresponding RP session. I'm just putting it all to a narrative and making readability tweaks for first-timers.

Shout-outs:

Happy birthday yesterday, Honor! We love you!! I guess this is one of your presents. Thanks for letting World Historian take over as the big scary dude for a session. And sorry for writing out our best boy, Oleander. We should co-write something someday.

Cloud, thanks for going back to our defunct Minecraft world to set everything up and take the awesome shadered screenshots for Session One. Also thanks for making c!Cloud such a great POV character. He carries Gamemode 0.

Thank you, Moth, for the un-shadered screenies, for being my PR person, and for supporting me generally all the time. PDA PDA aaaaa!

And thanks, Metal, for being the cool one. B)

Calls to action:

Mianitees, shower love upon my friends. I know Moth and Cloud would jump at the opportunity to answer asks about their passionately crafted OCs. And so would Honor and Metal, I suspect. With the right motivation, who knows what they could create?

The link will send you to my Substack blog, where you'll be able to read, listen, like, and subscribe to my newsletter. The paid subscription has no advantage over the free one; most of you will pick free, but if anyone would like to support me financially, that would be super appreciated. (If we get some traction with subs, I'll set up sub goals and a budget for upgrades to my production.) I plan to release Gamemode 0 chapters as frequently as I can, but I will post something to my Substack every month—Mianite related or not.

Also please like and reblog this Tumblr post if you dig it and want to see more.

Now go and enjoy your food.

[ffxivtranslations]

Translation of Flow from FFXIV

Translator's note: The English that the song is sung in was translated from the original Japanese text that was later posted on one of the official blogs. I translated the original without having to worry about rhyming to give it a more obvious meaning.

やっと会えた、勇敢で小さな命 星のように燃えて輝き、長い旅を終えてきたのね 私はこの瞬間までじっと、あなたを待っていた すべての道のりの果てで さあ、もう一度ともに謳って、あなたの歩みを聞かせて 思い出しきれないほどの、言葉にできない寂しさや愛を 無数の物語が満ちあふれて やがて海を輝かせるまで

We have finally met, brave little life. At the end of a long journey where you sparkled as brightly as a star. Until this moment I have been motionlessly waiting for you, At the end of all your journeys. Now let us once more sing together, tell me of your course- Of loneliness and love that you cannot possibly put all into words. Overflowing with countless stories, Until finally you make the sea sparkle.

忘れないで、その雨はあちこちに歓びをもたらした 一滴一滴が天の恵んだ命 時を経て、ひとつの流れに注ぎ 河となり湖となった 地平線と、さらなる彼方を目指し続けるの 刹那に過ぎゆく風景を映し、 陽の色に染まりながら 嵐に見舞われても、淀むことなく 優しい海に迎えられるまで

Do not forget, that rain has brought happiness to many places, Each drop a life blessed by the heavens. As time flowed on, they flowed together, Became a river and then a lake, That aims to the horizon and further away. Reflecting the scenery that passes it every moment, dyed in the colours of the sun, Without suffering storms or stagnating, Until welcomed into the gentle ocean.

穏やかさに包まれて、深く深く沈んでいく 慈しむような潮流���、あなたを底へと運んでいく 水面に昇る魂とすれ違い 鼓動の止まった心いっぱいに、その幸せを願う

Wrapped in gentleness, sinking deeper and deeper, The tides tenderly carry you down to the bottom. When you pass by a soul floating to the top of the water, Pray with all your heart that has already stopped for their happiness.

深く冥き水底で、私はあなたの声を聞く、その選択を受け止める 今、繋いだ手に探していた答えがあるわ その涙を拭い、震えているなら歓びを謳いましょう すべてが希望へと新生する岸辺に、いつの日か辿りつくまで

Deep at the bottom of that dark water I heard your voice, and accepted your choices. Now, in our entwined hands there is the answer you searched for. I will wipe your tears and if you are shaking, let’s sing of happiness. Until the day that everything is reborn as hope on the shore.

さあ愛しい子、その目を閉じて、静かな眠りのうちで待って 遠い水面から差す光は、夢の底まで届き渡るわ 目覚めのときには、もう一度、風があなたを舞い上げるでしょう この旅の終わりは、明日への一歩なのだから――

Now my precious child, close your eyes, and wait in a silent sleep. The rays of light from the far water’s surface will even reach the bottom of your dream. When you open your eyes, the wind will lift you upwards once more. Because the end of this journey is just one step towards tomorrow…

Translator's note 2: This song probably gives a better explanation of the aetherial sea/sea of stars than the game does, especially for how their cycle of rebirth works. People either sink to the bottom of the sea and sleep or float to the top and get reborn.

[marvelishmanda]

Review: Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz

There are books that don’t just enter the bloodstream—they become it. Not text, but tide: a push and pull, dense with undertow. Postcolonial Love Poem is one of those. Natalie Diaz writes in a tongue heavy with sediment and blood, syllables formed by muscle and scraped from memory. The rhythms here are heartbeat, floodplain, oxygen, and drift. These poems don’t stand still at the water’s edge, waiting. River-strong and river-strange, they lurch forward, sweeping the reader into depths beyond the limits of language.

I read with breath snagged somewhere beneath the ribs, caught in the pause between reach and retreat, haunted by distance—the kind that arrives before you're born. The kind you feel in the marrow. What was lost before I knew to look for it—what still mutters in the bone? I wasn’t reading to know. I was reading to find out what knowing might feel like. And in Diaz’s hands, it is not soft. It cuts. It glows. It governs. Her landscapes aren’t metaphor—they're anatomy. Sacred cartographies stitched into tendons, breath caught from basins and ranges, each word a stone burnished by mouths that would not forget.

Diaz writes the body the way flood writes canyon—force, patience, time, and pressure into curve. It's absence made visible, passion worn down to a shine. Her poems render desire not as ornament but architecture. Defiance in the shape of want. A kind of touch that refuses to be erased. Each line spills past its margins, ignoring the usual fences. Her syntax sprawls like a river shedding its channel—defiant, necessary, alive. Every poem carries tension at its seam: beauty snagged on brutality, taking braided with being taken, resistance humming under grace like a wire under water.

Reading, I felt myself on the bank of a river I’ve never seen, yet somehow recognise it—something stirring under the skin, a current curling around the ankles of memory. I don’t have any claim to this language, or this land, or this lineage, but still, the ache was real. It rang true in my chest, like the sound that an absence makes when it passes where it used to dwell. Her water doesn’t cleanse here—it doesn’t try. It presses in and leaves salt and sediment. It's a water that remembers the shape of every mouth that tried to silence it.

What most stunned me was how Diaz can turn contradiction into a cradle. She keep it steady without smoothing it down. Over and over, love is both a wound and a weapon. Again and again, the colonised body house both divinity and desecration. It's an unresolvable friction that exists between the experiences of being seen and feeling safe, between being witnessed and being spared. In "American Arithmetic," the concept of flesh transforms into fraction, protest, and ghost—sometimes all at once. “The First Water Is the Body” is not a metaphor—it’s an assertion, an equation, and an invocation. There's no way to coast through this book, where every sentence costs something. Every line demands our breath, our blood, and our presence.

I reached the end of the book feeling both hollowed out and heavier. Something passed close in the current—close enough to feel, too far to catch. These poems didn’t give me inheritance, but they offered a a rhythm. Perhaps I don’t remember the river. But maybe—just maybe— the river remembers me, and maybe that’s enough. Or maybe it isn’t. Diaz doesn’t offer closure—only space. She lets the ache put down roots, unresolved and unashamed, and the longing is allowed to linger.

This isn’t merely poetry. It’s a pressure system. A body of water with its own gravity. Grit, grief, grace—all flowing from one mouth. The map is marked by salt. I’ll return to it—not for clarity. For contact. To brush up again against the thing I can’t name. To listen, maybe, for that thin, familiar note I've been straining toward all along.

[aspecsolstice]

Analysis of Clues to What Likely Caused Flan's Exile

Hi all! This post is in response to a question from the NDM Discord server that I got very carried away with answering. Instead of posting yet another lengthy wall of text on there (which I often can't help from doing, haha), I decided this was worth making into a post and trying out in the tumblr format! Especially since I'd been considering making a casual blog on here anyway. Without further ado:

Just like my dear friend Laura, I've always thought that Keagan was the reason for Flan's exile, and there are definitely strong clues in certain asks that I'd like to point to in support of that idea, even if they don't directly confirm anything.

Before I really dive into those specific clues, let me first provide my understanding of the timeline, since I might be off on a thing or two but this is how I've interpreted it:

1). For what seems to be most of the 200-year-long war, Flan acted very differently

(confirmed change by Maeve and Robin, the latter giving a timeline to it by saying he was “apparently kind of a jackass during the war”, and this is something I'll get to later, but it's worth noting this was specifically a response to a question about how he used to flirt)

2). Flan and Keagan get involved and subsequently get each other hurt in different ways sometime prior to the end of the War

(not confirmed events of course, but if true, I think the implications are that they were nearing the end and had a lot to do with it, but still prior, due to the state Flan was in:

First, Keagan was said to have “distinguished himself during the War of the Courts as someone with a knack for intrigue and espionage” with whispers of him having been involved with “the end of the War,” which can reasonably be interpreted as him having deceived and betrayed Flan to get the info he needed to help him turn the tides

And second, it was specifically said that “before the conclusion of the War,” Flan technically did cross the border into Finias, but only when “time was of the essence, and he… Well. Let’s just say he wasn’t quite in the right state of mind to take in the surroundings,” which to me speaks not only of his understandable PTSD from the horrors of such a long war but a specific state that resulted from a recent event, such as a fresh betrayal, as well as whatever wolf-form-related damage was implied to be done to Keagan in return potentially also weighing on him)

3). Then after the conclusion of the War, Flan is either formally exiled or otherwise forced by circumstance to spend time away from the new Unseelie capital

I tried to keep the above to just establishing the timeline of the events I'd like to discuss, but with that done, I'm ready to get more into the meat of the evidence heavily implying that not only did Flan change as a result of betrayal by a lover during the War, but that he was publicly shamed in some way over the relationship, supporting the idea that it had far more impactful repercussions than a broken heart alone and led to his exile.

The strongest implications are found in three responses to asks about how Flan used to flirt, starting with the one where Maeve acknowledges his change and says, “I’m not happy about how he ended up learning some of the lessons he did, but it’s best to leave the past in the past, in some cases.” I touched on Robin's response earlier, but I'd like to pull a later quote from that same ask where they caution, “This is going to sound a little strange coming from me, but I’d avoid giving the guy a hard time over it, if I were you.” The echo and weight of these two responses, especially considering the latter to be such an uncharacteristically serious one from Robin, imply that these “lessons” Flan learned in regards to his flirting involved pretty severe consequences.

Then there's the glaring fact that Robin isn't even speaking from firsthand experience here (given how she wasn't around during the War), and Flan is not really the kind of person to confide in him about such personal matters willingly (nor would Maeve be the one to spill Flan's secrets if he confided them in her), raising the important question of how Robin came to be so knowledgeable about it in the first place. However, I believe this is answered in a third such ask about Flan's past flirting, where the dev statement to me suggests that not just Robin, but the public as a whole is at least partially aware of the situation.

They might not know the details, but something appears to be known based on the statement that, “Most folks are too intimidated to flirt with the Unseelie King, especially given… Well, never mind. Let’s just say Flannán was not always so austere nor hesitant to trust affection. For better or worse, he’s changed quite a bit since the War.” In addition to further supporting the idea of Flan having been betrayed by a lover during that time (specifically being left unable to “trust” the way he could before), this quote speaks volumes about what's being left unsaid when it intentionally trails off, especially when paired with tags on a different post that again emphasize how Flan is “#man's not as willing to display vulnerability these days #particularly so to the public.”

When you combine all the clues, these are clear indications to me that whatever changed Flan was not only traumatic and romance-related but somehow a relatively well-known affair (i.e. to the point that Robin finds out post-war and treats it seriously, that it apparently makes “most folks” even more hesitant to flirt with him, and that Flan is now painfully mindful of the public's perception of him as a result), implying that at least some degree of public shame over the relationship was involved.

Under the KeaFlan interpretation, there are many different possibilities for how this could have played out (no way to know whether it took place when Keagan's betrayal was first discovered or later near the time of Flan's exile, what person or situation actually outed Flan in the public eye, how much was revealed, how many were actually there to witness it vs how much was spread by word of mouth, etc.). Regardless, the bottom line is that it would make perfect sense as the kind of affair he might be publicly shamed over and face consequences for, due to the betrayal impacting far more than just Flan on a personal level by granting the Seelie a turning point in the War.

This situation thus lines up with the timing and all of the beats of what's been established or implied, as well as naturally providing a case for why Lugaid would go to such an extreme as exile to punish his chosen successor:

From his perspective, not only did Flan's “weakness” give the Seelie the edge in the first place, but he then failed to redeem himself by turning things back in the Unseelie's favor before the War ended. On top of that, Lugaid might see fit to distance himself from Flan due to the latter bringing public disgrace depending on how that played out (though I'm not discounting the possibility of Lugaid himself being the one to shame him in the interest of “teaching him a lesson,” it just seems likely he'd want to handle it privately if possible, to keep from publicly undermining his legacy).

-

Also, for fun as a quick added bonus, I did find what I believe to be another clue relating to Flan's exile, but this one relates to his life post-exile. I don't have any particularly strong leanings on exact location (though I loved reading the ideas people had on Discord!), but after this find, I'm definitely of the belief that Maeve was with him, if not for the entire exile then at least for some amount of time right before his return. As we know, Robin was not around for the war, and it's said that they “'joined' the Unseelie Court prior to Maeve and Flannán returning to the capital.”

“Returning to the capital” is vague enough that it wouldn't have to mean returning together from Flan's exile, such as if the two had been on a short trip away. Even so, I think it's likely, given how this particular return to the capital is being framed as something significant to the timeline.

[obsidianphotog]

I hiked Amanda's trail recently and wanted to share the history of the trail. I think it is a good lesson/reminder on why we have reservations for the native peoples in the US and part of the history behind creating the reservations. (Image text below cut)

[Image Text:]

Amanda's Trail of Sorrow

Indians ran away from the Coast Reservation on a regular basis, longing for their home and fleeing starvation and abuse by Indian Agents. The military was called upon to round up these run-away Indians and return them to the reservation. Lieutenant Louis Herzer of Company D, Fourth California Infantry, led a detachment to Coos Bay in the spring of 1864 to retrieve runaways.

Sub-Agent Amos Harvey accompanied the Lieutenant and his men in order to "arrest the Indians" that for a long time had been "infesting the settlement of Coos Bay." Stealth was a required element for successfully catching their "game- squaws, bucks, and half breeds born out of wedlock.'

Corporal Royal Bensell was on that mission. He kept a detailed journal relating the story of Amanda De-Cuys, a blind Coos woman living with a white settler. Excerpts from his journal tell a compelling story.

May 1, 1864

Up Coos River 25 miles to-day after some Indians. Find at the head of tide water a small ranch owned by one De-Cuys. He had a pretty little girl, some 8 years old. We got two Squaws and a Buck. After getting in the boat I was surprised to hear one of the Squaws (old and blind) ask me, "Nika ika nanage nika tenas Julia [Let me see my little Julia]." I complied with this parental demand and was shocked to see this little girl throw her arms about old Amanda De-Cuys neck and cry "clihime Ma Ma [dear mama]." De-Cuys refused to marry Amanda, which would have saved her from internment. He promised Bensell to school Julia.

May 3, 1864

We have taken among the rest several infirm Squaws which the Agent proposes leaving behind to die because he says, "it will cost so far to transportation." Lieutenant Herzer informed the Agent if the Squaws were left he [Herzer] would report him.

[Painting of a Native elder and a younger adult walking with two male soldiers on the coastline towards and soldier on horseback as two other native people, one with a child, lie in the sand.]

May 5, 1864

Lower Umpqua Artist Pam Stoehsler's portrayal of Amanda and other Indians being forcibly marched back to the sub-reservation north of Yachats

[End inserted image]

Break camp and strike directly across the sand hills. One Squaw, (Polly) carries all her "icktus [belongings]" and two children. Harvey furnishes one horse when we need four. This horse packs t[w]o old Squaws. By 4 o'clock the advance reached Winchester Bay and from that time 'till dark they came in by twos & threes, the rear guard bringing in Old Fatty and Amanda.

May 7, 1864

Only made ten miles today. The whole days travel reminded me of a funeral procession, so slow and solemn did we go. First one old "Lama [old woman]" would curl up in the sand, then another, then a general halt, during which the mothers would suckle their children.... Finally out of patience, I would cry "Hyac, clatwa [hurry, go]." It generally took twenty minutes to get started. Some of the Guard, more irritable than me, swore terrifically.

May 10, 1864

This coast along our route today seems volcanic, rough ragged, burnt rock, here and there a light rock which I called pumice-stone. Amanda, who is blind, tore her feet horribly over these ragged rock, leaving blood sufficient to track her by. One of the Boys led her around the dangerous places. I cursed Indian Agents generally, Harvey particularly. By 12 we reached the Agency. The great gate swung open, and I counted the Indians as they filed in, turned them over to the Agent, and, God Knows, we all left relieved.

During the first twelve years of the fifteen years of the Alsea Sub- Agency's existence half of the native population died of starvation, exposure, disease, and abuse. The Alsea Sub- Agency was closed in 1875.

No further information is known about Amanda or if she ever was able to be with her daughter, Julia, again.

[Inserted image of carved Amanda statue, with beads and adornments.]

FOR MORE INFORMATION: www.yachatstrails.org

The first statue at the grotto was washed away in a landslide. The current statue, created at the same time by artist Sy Meadow, was generously donated

[End inserted image]

[End image text]

[Image Text:]

Broken Promises; Forced Internment

The story of Amanda is part of a larger saga of stolen lands, broken promises, inhumane treatment, and forced internment under severe conditions.

In 1855 Central and Southern Oregon Coast tribes signed a treaty ceding their lands in exchange for what they thought would be a peaceful life on a reservation if the treaty was ratified.

In April of 1855, General Joel Palmer, superintendent of Indian affairs for the Oregon Territory, wrote a letter urging the creation of a reservation on the coast of the Oregon Territory to inter Native Americans. In November of 1855 President Franklin Pierce created, by executive order, the Coast Reservation. The new reservation was 1.1 million acres bounded by Siltcoos in the south, Cape Lookout in the north, and the Pacific Ocean to a ridge 20 miles to the east. This rugged land was considered of no value to settlers.

[Inserted image showing Oregon Coast from Lincoln City to Yachats]

Original Coast Reservation

Pacific Ocean

Legend Blue Outliner Original Coast Reservation Red Lines: Highways

[End inserted image]

[Inserted image showing native Alsea people near the water, with canoes, baskets, bags, and carrying items towards canoes]

Alsea Indians on Alsea Bay

[End inserted image]

Three agencies were created to manage the Indians who were held there: the Siletz and Grand Ronde agencies (1856) in the north and the Alsea Sub-Agency (1859) in the south located in present-day Yachats near the Adobe Resort. The reservations prevented the Indians from re-establishing their villages on that land.

Coos and Lower Umpqua Tribes were forcibly marched to the Alsea Sub-agency in 1860, and the Alsea Tribe from the immediate north was forced from their homeland in 1865 when the reservation land was cut in half to allow for non- Indian homesteading.

The treaty was never ratified by Congress, which meant that the lands were never legally ceded, and funds for supplies and resources promised for this displaced population were not appropriated. Genocidal policies* were carried out resulting in the death of many from the imposed harsh treatment and conditions. Since the tribes were denied the weapons needed to hunt, they were forced to survive by farming the wind-swept salty coastal environment. Crops failed, and tribal members starved.

[Inserted images showing a middle aged Coos woman named Lottie Evanoff from the early 20th century and an unknown Umpqua man from possibly the late 19th century:]

Lottie Evanoff (1), Coos, born in 1868; Umpqua man's reservation photo (r)

[End inserted images]

In 1872, tribal members were able to return to their more traditional hunting and gathering practices and successfully farm several miles up the Yachats River. When the U.S.

Government found that the Yachats area was fertile for farming, it violated federal law, forcibly removing tribal members to remaining, agencies. Many Coos and Lower Umpqua travelled south staying with their Siuslaw cousins or back to the Coos Bay area where they found their villages gone and became refugees in their own homeland.

*GENOCIDE: a coordinated plan of different actions aimed at the destruction of essential foundations of the life of national groups, with the aim of annihilating the groups themselves. The objectives of such a plan would be disintegration of the political and social institutions, of culture, language, national feelings, religion, and the economic existence of national groups, and the destruction of the personal security, liberty, health, dignity, and even the lives of the individuals belonging to such groups

THANK YOU TO: Confederated Tribes of Coos, Lower Umpqua, and Siuslaw Indians; Three Rivers Foundation; City of Yachats; View the Future; family and friends of Ben Christensen; Angell Job Corps

[End image text]

The conservation group in charge of the private land around the trail:

[riddlerlesbian]

stay in touch

a relaxing day at the beach takes a surprising turn when isis notices something off about mai.

rating: G ship: visionshipping (isis ishtar/mai kujaku) word count: 1142 read on ao3 @5daysofygofemslash day one: beach

It should be an easy invitation to accept. Mai loves the ocean. It’s the only thing she really misses from working on a cruise ship. The rhythmic crashing of the waves is soothing, the warmth of the sun is comforting… And Isis knows a place where there won’t be other people. “You should stop by while you’re in the area; I’ll show you around.”

Since Battle City, Mai’s gone back to what she knows. The professional duel circuit takes her all over the world. Which is for the best. It distances her from all of the… she feels crazy when she calls it magic. Or rather, it would distance her, if she hadn’t stayed in touch with Isis. She wasn’t sure why she did, at first. After what Yami Malik did to her– But Mai couldn’t fault the entire family for it. She couldn’t even hate Malik.

And Isis agreed to teach her to read hieratic text. There shouldn’t ever be a time when Mai needs it, but it’s the principle of the thing. Learn from losing. Keep going. It’s worked out pretty well so far, after all.

“You’re wearing makeup?” Isis blinks when she sees Mai, dressed to go to the beach. Her wide brimmed hat, the tied-on skirt, the halter top bikini. Purple eye shadow and mascara that makes her eyes sparkle. “Are you not planning to swim…?” Isis herself wears a wrap skirt as well and a loose cover, hair braided.

It’s the first time Mai has seen her without makeup, incidentally.

Mai laughs. “It’s waterproof. If you swim, I’ll swim. At least a little while.”

“It won’t get messed up at all? When I’ve tried waterproof, it doesn’t work that well.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to experiment with what works best. Come back to my hotel with me after and I’ll show you what I’ve got, if you’re interested.”

They walk side-by-side down to the beach, empty as Isis had promised. The light dances from the water and the glare hits Mai’s eyes. For a split second, she sees people, laughing together, and her skin crawls.

Isis only gets a few steps ahead before she slows, turning back. “Mai?”

Mai shields her eyes from the glare and the memory fades. “Light got in my eyes,” she says, shrugging it off. Keep it together.

Isis gazes at her, like she can see right through the facade. Her brows knit together briefly, but she continues walking, letting Mai keep her pride for now.

Mai lingers for a long moment, watching her, before she follows. Finding a good spot to set up, Mai lays out towels and umbrellas. “Do you you want to start with swimming, then lounge a bit to dry off?”

Isis nods. “That sounds good.” Truth be told, she doesn’t go to the beach in such intimate settings often–or ever. She’s been on the beach for work-related events before, but it wasn’t the sort of thing where you swim and lounge and apply sun screen to each other. She invited Mai because it seemed like the sort of thing Mai would enjoy, more than anything else.

Swimming, at least, proves easier for Mai. She races Isis out to the buoys that mark the end of the safer areas to swim, then lets the tide carry her back to the shore. The constant rhythm of the water all around her drowns out the feelings she remembers. It drowns out the loneliness of her life. Drowns out the guilt over being affected by this when she’s out here with Malik’s sister.

But it can’t last forever. She gets tired eventually and retreats back to the towels with Isis.

“Let me help you reapply sunscreen,” Isis offers. “It’s less effective after swimming for a while.”

“I can do it myself,” Mai snaps.

Isis doesn’t flinch, but she stares, expression blank.

Mai rubs sunscreen onto the back of her neck, trying to act like nothing had happened.

“You don’t like beaches, do you…” Isis says, after a long quiet moment.

Mai winces, staring out at the water. “I love beaches,” she counters. “I love the ocean.”

“Then…” Isis trails off. It was easier to know these things for sure when she had the necklace. She has her guess, but she doesn’t want to offend Mai by being wrong.

Mai draws one knee up to her chest, staring out at the water. “You don’t want to know, Isis,” she says firmly. “I’ll be fine. I just reacted more than I thought I would.”

Isis wraps her arms around her knees. “You saw something… after your duel.”

Mai’s gaze flickers. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry… if I had known…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mai scoffs. “I’ve always handled this sort of thing on my own. You don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“But…” Isis sighs. “At least tell me what it was, so I don’t accidentally make things uncomfortable again.”

Mai glances at her. “Just Yugi and his friends, playing on the beach. I wanted to join them, but I couldn’t.” Isis doesn’t need all the details. “I’ve been alone for most of my life, Isis. No friends, no family. It usually doesn’t bother me, except… I do get jealous. I see other people and they’ll be best friends until they die, but me? I’ve never had anyone like that. I don’t think I ever will. But I’m more successful than they’ll ever be, so I can’t really be that heartbroken by it, can I?”

Isis listens, eyes cast down. What could she have done differently…? Maybe there was a way to save Malik without the tournament being put on. That would have avoided the casualties. No, don’t dwell on that. She can’t change what’s already happened. “I’m sorry… I should go.”

“Go?” Mai crosses her arms. “Why?”

“It’s my fault. All of it.” If she hadn’t let Malik out that day… She hastily grabs her wrap and turns to go.

Mai grabs her hand. “I didn’t say I want you to go.”

Isis stares back at her.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But he is my brother.”

“I’ll need time before I can handle family dinners, then.” Mai sighs, pulling away. “But I don’t know how you think leaving is doing me a favor.”

“You… don’t want to be alone.” Of course. Isis knew that, but the guilt…

Mai laughs at the painfully obvious statement. “I wanted to stay in touch for a reason.”

“Mai…” Her hand touches her collar, an old reflex. How did she not see this coming?

Mai rests one hand over Isis’ and cups her cheek with the other. “You don’t want to be alone, either,” she says. “Close your eyes. Trust me.”

Isis gazes at Mai wordlessly for a long moment before closing her eyes.

Mai brushes their lips together, barely touching at first, then gently all at once.

[ashleysingermfablog]

Wk 17, 5th of July, 2024 Research

⭐️ A Gleewoman's notes- Sylvia Victor Linsteadt

The Gleewoman inspecting seaweed, 2017, photographic image by Sylvia Victor Linsteadt

From the text: Tidal Ruins by writer, artist and naturalist Sylvia Victor Linsteadt...

Writer, artist and naturalist Sylvia Victor Linsteadt is author of Tatterdemalion (Unbound, 2017), The Lost Worlds of the Bay Area (Heyday, 2017), The Wonderments of the East Bay (Heyday, 2014), and creatrix of all stories associated with Wild Talewort. 

A Note About the Name: "Gleeman" is the Old English word for a minstrel or a bard, the wandering, wild-hemmed sort who ambled from town to town with stories and songs in his pockets to share in exchange for bed and food and wine. The "glee" part of the word originally meant entertainment and mirth inspired by music, connected to the Old Norse gly for joy, which had its feet in the words for shining, smooth and radiant. I've taken some liberties with the word, feminizing it in a way that makes sense to me. So here you will find my notes and musings about words, tales, old myths, plants, animals, stones, skies, languages, human cultures, new dreams, handcrafts—all the stuff of old minstrel tales— and how we might re-story our relationship to this fraught and beautiful world through old ways and old magics.

There is a language the world speaks, and I think I have been listening for it my whole life. For a long time I thought it was only something that existed in the fantasy novels so beloved to me as a girl, where women spoke with birds and knew the whisperings of plants and the medicine they carried. But I know it for something real now, of this world, the one I live in, the one my body moves through every day and every starry night, the one that feeds and sustains me in every way. I know it for something we humans once knew how to understand, and still can. I know that the books I read as a girl preserved, under the guise of magic, what all of our ancestors knew, if you follow the rivers of your blood back far enough. 

Now, the voice of the thrush in the hazel tree, the spotted towhee rooting in the huckleberry, the patterns left by kelp on the shore, have started to become deeply familiar. Kin, and beloved. I do not know what they are saying, but I know that what they are speaking, and that their meaning is one of the most precious things in this world. 

The Gleewoman's scatter of seashore driftwood, 2017, photographic image

The Gleewoman's seashore, 2017, photographic image

That originally, oracles like those who prophesied by the rustling leaves of the oaks of Dodona, were translating a non-human language into human terms; that what it said was not about our affairs at all, but rather about our relationship to the oak, to the wooddove, to the mountain or the sea, and theirs to earth herself.

I began to suspect that those old sibyls were attuned to what the ocean or the oak said, on their own terms. Kings might come and ask about the fates of wars, and the sibyls did their best to prophecy them, but what the tidal runes speak of is not the destiny of men but the destiny of oceans, and the lives of kelp and sea snail, seal, oystercatcher, bladderwrack and loon. 

Gutted sandcrab, moonbead of jellyfish, cross of saltgrass, stone and dulse, green moss marbles and coiled calligraphy of rotting kelp; what word does the solstice tide spell through you, cast upon the shore? 

I think it is a lifetime's work, to understand the first word of such incantations. 

Ashley Singer, incantations poems i, 2024, poem

Ashley Singer, wishing poem, 2024, poem

Ashley Singer, incantations poems ii, 2024, poem

[adickaboutspoons]

For dorks like me who are interested in the metatext, I've (tried) to transcribe the front page of the newspaper. Typos (and run-on sentences) have been preserved from the original, and best guesses were made in the Opinion Piece where the text got smaller and smudgier:

PYRACY RECORD SHATTERED Blackbeard, pyrate captain of great notoriety, has surpassed the Reknowned highest record of plunder, a bar set by the Feared and Revered Ned Low. The record - once decreed insurmountable by those many enterprising fellows common to our shores that seek to carve a destiny of their own, free from the tyrannical grip of monarches and self serving mynisters of office both, whom tread with well-heeled boots upon the free will of men and women thusly, frequently and with an absence of justice punish those whose seek solely a lyfe of independence, who tarry not in the doldrums of work-a-day servitude, whose relentless spirit draws only upon their self-possessed gumption and daring; a lyife defined with singular clarity by an oft swyft and merciful (or merciless) encounter (dependant entirely upon the date of the week), with such mewling cattle of the treachyrous oceans whom should remain at once acutely aware of bothe their immediate surroundings and the value of such goods they may carry - was resoundingly surpassed in a season of triumphantly vigorous plunder. Ship After Ship This bold undertaking, inferred to have commenced with such bluster and intensity as to have caught the oft slumberous prey of the Neptunian hunting grounds in even deeper repose, has marked a streak of dates that are both alarming in number, and consistent of effect. Few if any ships are said to have escaped the unwavering eye of Blackbeard, they that would flee or fend having been shown no quarter in that fiery and crimson transaction of such import to the economic status of our citizens. Seasonal traders have borne the brunt of Blackbeards plunder, with tally being higher for outgoing goods and payments.

Losses by the feared pirate are said to be slym. Crewing opportunities may arise for those seeking to join future endevaours, and possessed of the requisite investigatory nouse essential to locate the usurper of the plunderous recorde. H.R.H Naval Incompetence Blackbeard’s tryumph has further made mockery of that most  tyrannical of institutions, the Royal Navy. Under the sleeping eye of the ocean’s pettiest bullies, the pirate Blackbeard has pulled off a string of victories in local waters with little resistance. Sightings of the royal dogs have been few and far between on said outing. Seasonally there are hopes this will continue. Faustian Dealings Source of Plunderous Tryumfe? (~opinion piece) What means or ends does one feel compelled to take to ensure greatness? Surely a treasure earned in a day is but naught to a life, and indeed afterlife of infamy. For every word agreed through gossip and tidings of the most recent plunder of an entrepreneur of note, a thousand more are called forth daily in the halls of ill repute, and upon the dark and briny sea, of the tales of legends long past. With such base desire shown by Blackbeard, our new record holder, and indeed, Ned Lowe, who’s triumphs preceded him, for [     ] and [    ] - surely an even greater desire must be for that prize that alludes all of humanity; a lyfe eternal. And as Blackbeard gains infamy with the heaping of laurels and the telling of tales, so a legend is enshrined(?) in our society, and an eternal life in tales secured. But as we see only the wealth at first, only seeing the legend is in completion, so too are we focused on today’s triumph, without knowing this Legend’s greater vision? For what can a lyfe eternal be if one is not there to [      ]? So it is proposed to you, dear reader, that Blackbeard, most cunning and villainous pirate of our current age, has his eye on an even greater prize, and one that can be granted through only the most fell and foul of deals. For what skilled and masterful acts have been willingly exacted to attain today’s highest prize of plunderous record? Might there be some fouler deals which have been made, pacts(?) to rarities(?) beyond our daily [      ] that may grant exceptional power(?) to a most(?) exceptional plan? Before this position(?) is dismissed as the spiteful [   ]ings of a wounded contender - who was no slouch in his own heyday, and indeed paved the way for many pirates(?) that have [     ] hence and, without exaggeration(?) of the truth, actually issued many of these newcomers, as many of whom have swabbed deck and [               ] and blade with today’s two(?) men of reknown(?) in-so-much and without taking steps outside the bounds of [           ] humility, it can be strongly implied, if not wholly said to be true, has therefore greatly influenced the [       ] of today and should justly be included in the {     ] of Both records of plunder, perhaps not so much in a personal capacity, but in the role of instructor or coach, and is therefore deserving of a place upon the podium of piracy, not asking any physical gift of course, but just at least if you guys can mention me when you’re down at the pub, let it be known that it is not outside the bounds of reason that this Druid(?) of the Sea may indeed, be, a Devil of the Sea. Therefore are his deeds and accomplishments his own? Or the accomplishments of a [   ] devil? And are we elevating one of our own?Or [              ] to a pact most foule?

I leave this here for your [           ] consideration. B.T.R. Oldman Southern Islands Put To The Torch Those at sail are not the only prize or bounty recorded of late, and not merely by Blackbeard - this seayson bounty has been procured from both boat and beach, with a string of success in the South. Report has been made of plunder from along the Southern Isles of our Carribean, with summon goodes of worthe, such as sugar and salt in vast quantity making a great share of the largesse. Household goods of note also include an abundance of silverware, ivory and bronze art goods, jewellery of average to medium dazzlement, and an assorted collection of postcards, most of sentimental value, but some possessing ransomable information or with a resale value heightened by the vantage the posesser may have in imitating both the handwriting of a named and living individual, and indeed the nuances and countenances of said sir or madam, not to mention historical information and emotive anecdotes with which to develop a plausible bond with a wealthy relative or partner in business that may be ripe for future and continued exploitation. Perhaps a prize of more noteworthy status than a singular chest of gold, or a necklace of diamondes most splendoured (please contact the EDITOR if you wish to purchase such postcards). Not to overshadow the exploits of the day and the doings of the great Blackbeard, but it would be folly, also, to forsake the value the other mentioned common goods would have in a demanding market, none-the-less for one’s personal constitution, or the savings in the provisioning of a crew, through the generous discount of these plundered goods. Again, contact the EDITOR if you wish to enjoy the immediate ownership of this domestick plunder for a sharp price. The palms of the South Isles tremble still, bereft of small goods for the time being. MONSTROUS SIGHTINGS INVESTIGATED A being composed of parts equal goat, eagle, and bat has been sighted by more than one saylor aboard a rum transport ship in the waters south of the Leeward Passage. Large quantities of rum were also discovered missing upon delivery. The two incidences are being investigated.

Source (Season 2 - October 24th 2023)

Alex Sherman: Some bad and beautiful things happened inside this lighthouse.

[blipblooopp]

Let It Be Me

Summary: Choi San is many things. The most talented man you have ever seen. Be it on the dance floor or in front of a mic during a gig. He was the kindest person, always holding the door for the people behind him, helping the elderly carry things, even paying for strangers randomly. He got along famously with your parents and even better with your grandparents. He was charming like that, capturing the attention of anyone and everyone who even looked his way. He’s the love of your life, you’re sure of it but he’s also your best friend. Pairing: Boy Band AU!Choi San x F!Reader Words: 5.6k Genre: Angst/Smut

You’ve heard of a thing called platonic soulmates but it’s taken you years and years of watching Choi San grow to realize you weren’t. Well, you hoped you weren’t. Everything about him made your body erupt into a fire.

San looked at everything with adoration, finding all the good in life, including you. It was a double-edged sword, really. It made you feel special… important. But you could barely concentrate when his eyes were on you.

It didn’t help that he was gifted in pretty much everything; it made you nervous beyond belief. He’s pretty much perfect and as much as you wanted to be with him, you knew the odds of him liking you back were slim to none.

You’ve come to terms with it for the most part. It hurt to see him flirt with girls in front of you, hurt even worse when he started dating this awful girl named Areum. She didn’t give a fuck about him, actually. She barely responded to his calls and texts, going as far as blocking him one time. They fought nonstop. Every time you two hung out, San had a new dilemma to talk about. For some reason, San wouldn’t break up with her.

You had asked him after a night of you two getting drunk together, after another night of listening to his relationship problems. He laughed dryly, taking another sip of his beer, “I love her so much.”

Apparently, it was his “slow-motion” moment. He and his band had been wrapping up the night with their last song, soaking up every second they could have. Halfway through the song, San had noticed Areum in the front row. You were there too so you noticed the look on his face. A look you had never seen him make before. It basically tore your heart out when he told you that he couldn’t get “that beautiful girl” out of his head. She ended up becoming a dedicated face in the crowd so San asked her out.

You would’ve thought they were soulmates from the way they looked in the beginning. Lord only knows how they got to this point. How you got to this point, with San crying in your lap.

It was 10:00 pm when someone started banging on your door. You were enjoying a cup of coffee but you almost had a heart attack at that moment. You opened the door with shaking hands, hoping that whatever killer was on the side wasn’t actually a killer. Instead, you saw your best friend, with swollen red eyes, sniffling.

“Oh my god, San! You scared— what’s wrong?” You immediately dragged him in, locking the door behind you. He sniffled again as he slumped into your couch. You took a seat next to him and took his hand in yours. “Was it another fight?” You knew it wasn’t. In all the fights you had heard, San never cried.

“She was cheating on me… this whole time.” He hiccuped as he talked.

“That bitch.” You said under your breath. You held onto his hand a little tighter, trying to contain your anger.

“I went to her house tonight because she wasn’t responding to me again. I wanted to talk it out with her but she opened her front door in her underwear with some motherfucker sitting on her couch!” Although you had many words to say with Areum, you were speechless in front of San. What were you supposed to say? All you could do was scoot back on the couch and guide San's head onto a pillow in your lap.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You ran your fingers through his hair, “You can cry for as long as you want.”

And cry he did.

____

The next morning was hard. You woke up on your couch sitting up-right with a terrible case of stiff-neck. That’s not the only reason it was hard. No, it was worse seeing San still laying on your lap. He was wide-awake, dark eye bags contrasting against his face. His eyes stared deep into the ceiling.

“What’re you thinking about, Sannie?” You started to run your fingers through his hair again and watched as his eyes fluttered shut, his body instantly relaxing.

His eyes opened again, “Why didn’t she love me?” You couldn’t respond, not that he let you. “I knew we weren’t perfect, knew she wasn’t perfect… but we always made it through the end of the day. I can’t believe she would do this to me.”

“It’s her loss.” You finally said. “You don’t need her anyway. It was her decision to cheat and you had nothing to do with it.”

San didn’t say anything after that, just continued to stare at your ceiling.

___

The first few weeks were the hardest for sure. San had spent most of them at your place, barely leaving even for band practice. When he did practice with the guys he would leave early, only strumming a few chords on his guitar before deciding that it reminded him too much of Areum.

“He’s been really out of it.” Yunho, the bassist commented one time. San hadn’t even played that day. He just sat in the corner for an hour. You stayed behind for a few minutes and told San to wait in the car. You wanted to catch up with the other band members.

“Can you blame him? That bitch was… well, a bitch.” Wooyoung shot back, setting his drum sticks down.

“How has he been holding up?” Hongjoong asked.

You scoffed, “Have you seen the man? I don’t even think San’s there anymore! God, if I see her, it’s on sight!”

You did your best to help him through those weeks. You had been through a few hard breakups in the past so you understood that the early stages were the worst. You even used up all of your sick time to stay home with him. You had never seen him this gloomy. At one point, he went through five pints of ice cream in three days.

____

It took three months for San to be even remotely okay. He started going to practice more and this time, he actually played. You couldn't say you were surprised. San loved playing with the band and you knew it was probably the only thing that would bring him out of his funk.

"You look good, man!" Hongjoong slapped his hand on San's back playfully and for the first time in months, San had his usual dimpled smile.

"I feel good." He replied, setting down his guitar and taking a seat next to you on the beat-up couch. "It's thanks to you, y/n"

Your eyes widened. "Me?"

He nodded. "You stayed up with me, didn't go to work, even made me breakfast when you knew I didn't have the energy to get off your couch."

You couldn't lie; your heart was racing. All you could do was stare back into his eyes with a goofy smile painted on your face. San put his hand on your thigh, skinship being normal between you two, especially within these past months.

Your friendship remained just that, a friendship, for the next month. You were okay with this, though. At least you had a small sliver of hope now that he was single. That tiny bit of hope that he'd love you back was able to tide you over.

Until one night.

San had come over for your weekly movie nights, an event you had been doing since high school but stopped doing because his ex got jealous easily. You tried calming your nerves as you sat next to each other, his arm wrapped around you.

You were so close you could smell his cologne. It was intoxicating. Maybe it was the fact that he was newly single now, filling up your thoughts even more recently, but his entire presence was overwhelming tonight.

“You alright, beautiful?” Since San was single now, his usual playful flirty side was coming out again. Just like everything else about him, you had a love-hate relationship with it. It doesn't mean anything. You had to remind yourself. He talked like this with everyone, especially when he wanted to get a rise out of his bandmates.

You gulped when you looked up at him. How could a man have this effect on you? You would think that after years of unrequited love, you'd be able to at least contain yourself. “Yeah.”

San gave you a dimpled smile, shifting his gaze to a piece of your hair, moving it behind your ear. Your mouth parts, probably to say something but you can't be too sure right now. If someone walked in, they would think you guys are about to kiss. Maybe you are... you want to kiss him.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you slowly lean forward, keeping your eyes on his lips. They look too good not to look at but you're also scared of seeing the look in his eyes, the potential disgust that might be taking over at the thought of your lips touching his.

Everything is moving in slow motion. From your hand caressing his cheek to the moment your lips make contact. He's stiff against you and you can only imagine that it's because he's uncomfortable. You start to pull away, dreading the awkward conversation you're about to have but San is quick. His hand grips your thigh and he's kissing you back with fervor.

Your head is spinning, Is this really happening? These sparks you're feeling all over your body, does he feel the same way? You push away any thoughts you're having, trying to focus on keeping up with San. You needed to enjoy this moment. Without realizing it, you swing your leg and straddle San's lap. He groans underneath you but before you can question it, he's giving you a reassuring squeeze on your waist.

You don't want to take the initiative of going further, but man, your hands are burning to touch his bare skin. Your hands, instead, rest on his shoulders, gripping and releasing every few seconds. As if he was reading your mind, San's hands move to the hem of your shirt and for the first time, you break the kiss.

The second your shirt passes your head, San's moving to kiss your neck, occasionally sucking to leave hickies that are sure to last a whole week. You're breathless, taking this as a sign to take off San's shirt. Your hands are all over each other, San's going from your cheek to unbuttoning your jeans, your fingers feeling his abs contract under your touch.

It feels like a flash. San suddenly laying you down on your bed, both of your clothes littered behind you on the floor, his lips still on your neck. It's only when he's about to insert himself does he stop and look at you with dark eyes. He doesn't give you enough time to question it, pushing himself inside you. You both gasp at the feeling.

"Fuck, you're so tight!" He grips your hip with one hand, the other holding the headboard like his life depends on it. He feels like he'll burst any second.

You're right there with him though, the mere feelings of this moment making you sensitive. "You're just big. Holy shit!"

It takes him a second, taking a moment to give both of you a moment to adjust before he moves inside you. You can't contain the sounds coming out of you as he hits all the right spots with ease. You couldn't have pegged San to have this big of a dick, yet here he was.

Before you can realize it, your hands are finding purchase on his back and your nails are sinking into his skin. He hisses above you but his thrusts get harsher and the moaning in your ear doesn't get any quieter.

"You feel so good... so warm and tight for me." He's practically whimpering into your neck. You try to keep your cool, trying not to cum so fast but he's hitting that spot inside you with ease.

Your nails dig into him deeper, "S-san," You stutter out. "Close... so close."

"I know... but you gotta wait for me. Can you do that?" His thrusts get faster and deeper, you don't even comprehend his words properly.

"Can you do that for me, pretty girl? Be a good girl for me?" He's using both hands to clench onto the headboard now, the force making it harder to not cum. You just nod and wrap your legs around his waist. San is drilling into you with so much force and he's hoping that the bed isn't going to break. After a few more thrusts, he starts to get sloppy, and your vision's crossing.

"Alright, beautiful. Cum for me." He grunts out, trying not to cum at the feeling of you clenching around him. You finally let the waves of pleasure course through you, seeing stars. If you were lucid, you most definitely would have been embarrassed by the noises coming out of your mouth and your pussy.

With a loud sigh, San pulls out of you and releases onto your stomach. Almost immediately, he’s up and cleaning you, you’re body’s too tired to do anything but lay there. You’re surprised, because instead of leaving, San lays next to you, even going as far as pulling you close to him.

You have so much on your mind but you're too tired now.

____

This goes on for weeks. Sometimes you would hang out. Sometimes do other things. Everything happened so fast. The friendship that you held so dear had become a muddled mess of lust and confusion. You obviously still had feelings for San but you had no idea where he stood.

You'd never even talked about the first time you guys had sex. When you woke up he was gone and when you saw each other again, he acted like nothing had happened. You didn't want to be that clingy girl who expected a relationship so you never brought it up. Now you're in this endless cycle of sleeping with each other and never addressing the elephant in the room.

What didn't help was how San was acting differently. He was much more touchy with you, always having to touch you in some way whenever you were together. His hand on your thigh, holding your hand, arm around your shoulder, he did it all. Before the incident, you would have considered him touchy but that's nothing compared to him now.

Your hangouts started to become more elaborate as well. You guys were actually going out to movies instead of watching Netflix at your house. Small coffee shop hangouts started becoming intimate dinners. It was like you guys were dating. These dates gave you hope that he would eventually open up and ask you out properly but you didn't want to force it out of him. So, you just decided to go with whatever he wanted.

"Let's go ice-skating." The handsome man suggested his left-hand steering and his right hand on your thigh.

"You know I can't ice-skate." You deadpan, getting distracted by your fingers playing with his.

He glances at you with a honey-sweet smile before bringing his eyes back to the road. "I can teach you, ya know."

"Please, you just want to see me fall so you can laugh at me."

"That too."

San taught you how to ice-skate for maybe ten minutes. After that, he decided that it would be best to let you learn through trial and error.

"San, I'm literally gonna fall on my face!" You cried, your legs shaking as you attempted to walk on the ice.

"You're doing great. Just try skating to me." He held out his hand for you. Every time you got even remotely close to him, however, he would slowly start backing up. You were struggling around the rink but he made sure to sprinkle in encouragements so you wouldn't be too mad at him.

Just when you thought you were doing good, you got too cocky and propelled yourself towards San, wanting so desperately to close that gap. Your feet weren't pointed straight enough causing your left skate to hit your right, tripping you onto the ice.

"Holy shit, y/n! Are you alright?" San appears in front of you with seconds. Helping you up with ease. Your knees ache and you could feel the bruise forming on your hip.

“Did you not see me eat shit?” You bark out, now gripping his arm for dead life.

“I did but it’s always polite to ask.” You slap his arm playfully as he guides you off the ice and onto the benches. “Are you actually okay?”

You shook your head and pouted like a child. San chuckled to himself, seeing right through you. Instead of saying anything, he pecked your lips innocently and took a seat next to you. It was the first time he’s kissed you in public which only confused you further. Is he doing this on purpose? You really had to ask him.

You’re too lost in your thoughts to see San staring at you. It’s not until he’s moving a piece of hair out of your face that you’re snapped out of your thoughts. You jolt slightly and hum at him in response. He just shakes his head and returns his gaze to the people skating.

It was your turn to stare at him, to memorize his features for the nth time. He’s just as beautiful as he was two seconds ago and the butterflies are still strong. You open your mouth to question him about your relationship, finally building up the courage just when…—

“San? Is that you?” You freeze. Her, you think. That manipulative bitch.

“Areum?” San stands as if he’s been caught doing something bad like a child. She offers him a warm smile, completely disregarding you as always. You feel like you did during the concert. His eyes are no longer on you… but trained on her. You feel that distance he created on the ice growing bigger and bigger.

“What’re you doing here?” The man asks, still shocked to see her.

“Ah, I was just walking around.” The nerve of this girl to act like she didn’t do anything wrong. “What’re you doing here?” Her eyes land on you but she quickly looks back at him.

You stand this time. “We’re…” Don’t say it. Don’t be petty. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “On a date.” You entwine your arm with San’s.

Areum’s lip twitches in annoyance. “Oh?” She quirks a brow and glances at San. “Is this true?”

San freaks out without thinking and shakes his arm from yours. “No!— I mean like a friendly date, sure. We’re just hanging out like old times.”

There’s your answer.

His ex smiles with victory at your defeated state. “Well, we should catch up, San. I know we ended things on a bad note but I think we should talk.”

The car ride home was awfully silent. Usually, they were filled with laughter and off-key singing but tonight, you gave San short answers in his poor attempt to talk. When you entered your apartment, you told him you were going to bed early and that he should lock up when he leaves.

Instead, you feel his warm body climb into your bed and hold you at 12 am. As always, you didn’t tell him to leave. Because, as always, you couldn’t say no to Choi San.

____

You wake up and San's not next to you but there is a text.

San : Sorry I didn't want to wake you but I left to go to practice. It'll probably end late today so if you feel up to it, come hang out. :)

Should you? Maybe it's just better if you pretend like nothing happened. Obviously, that's what he's doing. Besides, it’s not like his bandmates gave you false hope just to reject you in front of their ex. You end up going to the practice, a huge lump in your throat. If you brought up the situation, you're sure that whatever you guys had would be over the second you said anything.

Jongho, the lead singer, greets you with a smile and a nod in your direction as he warms up.

"y/n!" Wooyoung calls out, getting off of his drum stool and engulfing you in a hug.

You giggle on command, loving his enthusiasm. “Wooyoung, why do you always act like we haven’t seen each other for years!”

He smiles and whispers, “Don’t tell the guys I told you, but you’re like… our muse!”

You roll your eyes and pull away from his chest just to look at him, “I think you’re the only one crazy enough to even consider that.”

Wooyoung lets you go completely and returns to his drum set, you follow suit. “Maybe but you’ve been our number one supporter since day one! Plus you’re beautiful and beauty inspires art, does it not?”

Laughter erupts from you again at his cheesiness and your feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. You didn’t have to look to know who it was, the signature cologne giving him away.

“What’s so funny?” San’s smiling but you can tell there’s something different in his tone.

“Just exposing how important y/n is to the band.” Wooyoung sends you a playful wink, your cheeks burning slightly. San forces a laugh, something you don’t notice, before sitting you down on the couch.

After practice was over, you waited outside of the room for San so you could go back to your place. That wasn't the original plan but San insisted. The chilly air made you wrap your arms around yourself, internally scolding yourself over not bringing a jacket.

Wooyoung was the first to come out, fishing his lighter out of his pocket. He wasn't the only cigarette smoker in the group but he was definitely the one that smoked the most. He grinned at the sight of you, resting his hand in his pocket instead.

"Why're you waiting out here? It's cold as hell."

"Yeah... But I didn't want to get in your guys' way." You rubbed your hands up and down your arms trying to create heat. Wooyoung took off his jacket and wrapped it around you without hesitation. "A true gentleman." You remarked.

He put his hand on his chest, his face contorting to look hurt. "I've always been a gentleman. Even when I'm freezing my ass off."

Your eyes widened, ready to give the jacket back. "Woah there, missy. I gave it to you for a reason. We don't want our muse to die of hypothermia." The joke makes you laugh lightly. "You waiting on San?"

You nod, staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “It’s been a lot of waiting recently.” You accidentally confess.

“Uh oh.” He leans against the wall. "I noticed something was different."

"What do you mean?" You hear your heartbeat through your ears and you find it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

"You guys are a lot closer... You guys are best friends, sure, but the air's been different between you two. He still doesn't notice how you look at him."

You scoff, "That obvious, huh?"

"To everyone but him, it seems. Can I be honest?" Wooyoung rolls to face you. You nod, now looking at him. "Unless you tell him how you feel, you'll be doing nothing but waiting on him."

"But our friendship-"

"If you're about to tell me that it's enough for you, so help me God, y/n, I will kick your ass." You laugh for the first time since the conversation started. You understand what you have to do. You guys have already crossed so many boundaries and clearly, he feels something for you, right?

The door to the practice room swings open and this time it's Yeosang and San. San's bright smile seems to falter as his eyes instantly land on the jacket that's wrapped around you. His eyes shift between you and the drummer then he strides to you, grabbing your wrist.

"Let's go?" You don't have time to answer. San's practically ripping the jacket off of you and throwing it at Wooyoung who barely catches it. This time, you don't miss the change in his tone. He replaces Wooyoung's jacket with his hoodie, not saying a word as he puts it on you.

Just like the night before, the tension in the car is thick but unlike last night, it's you who's trying to spark a conversation. San's knuckles are turning white as he drives and it's starting to worry you. You've never seen San this upset before and you're still trying to place the reasoning. Was it jealousy?

You pull up to the house, expecting him to follow you like he always does but he doesn't. Instead, he leaves the engine running and his eyes on the street. For some reason, this sets you off. This man had the audacity to pull away from you, act like you were just a friend in front of the ex that cheated on him, but gets jealous over you casually talking to another guy?

You scoff and unbuckle your seatbelt, stepped out of the car, and slammed the door shut. San was feeling extra temperamental tonight. He couldn't understand why he felt like this either. Maybe he was looking for a fight. He turned off the engine and followed you inside. Before you could close and lock the door, he stepped into your house.

"What is your problem?" You asked venomously.

"What is your problem?"

"I didn't have any problem until you decided to get all confusing!" You dropped your tote bag on the floor, turning to face him fully.

"I'm confusing? Are kidding me?" He huffs out, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Actually, I'm not. You've been driving me nuts since we started hooking up. I'm over it!" His lip twitches into a sarcastic smile. "What the fuck was that with your ex? You completely pushed me aside. She treated you like shit, remember? She cheated, she lied, and she manipulated you. Do you want to get back to-"

"You're not my girlfriend, y/n!" He cut you off. "God, it's like you don't know your place." Tears pricked your eyes but you felt more angry than sad. Angry, you've never felt this way with San before. You're experiencing a lot of firsts tonight. San immediately realizes what he said, how hurt you were. He took a step closer to you but you put up your hands, putting up your boundaries for the first time.

"No, you're right. It's not like you hold my hand wherever we go or put your hands on my waist in public. You don't smile at me sweetly during dates. We're not completely vulnerable with each other, telling each other things we'd never breathe to others. It's not like we fuck almost every day! Do friends do what we do? Please, enlighten me. What's my place?"

"I'm sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have-" You're full-on bawling now, sucking in breaths where you can.

"I can't believe I've loved you for so long. I've torn my heart out for you and you just... you just throw it back at me like it's nothing!" His mouth opens but nothing comes out, instead he wraps his arms around you. You react once you feel him, trying to fight him off but he's stronger, trying to calm you down by hugging you.

You're screaming, all the feelings you've held inside bursting out of you, "Why can't you let me in?" You start to pound on your chest even though you know you shouldn't. You don't even notice that he's crying too. "Why can't it be me for once? Let it be me!"

"I'm sorry," He coos. You couldn't hold yourself up anymore, your feelings making it hard to focus. San catches you though, guiding you to sit on the floor.

San does his best to understand what you're saying through your sobs. He wants to understand what he's feeling. He thought he was doing this to get over Areum but why was he doing all the other things? He could've just stuck to the bare minimum but he didn't. Better question, how had he not noticed your feelings?

San was so caught in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed you had cried yourself to sleep. He was holding your head to his chest and he sighed, finally relaxing a bit. He couldn't really relax though, his mind still processing what you had said. He carried you bridal style to your room and thanking God that you had exhausted yourself.

San tucked you in and, after some hard debating, decided to lay in bed with you. He made sure that he wasn't touching you even though he knew he was going to leave before you woke up. He sighed to himself.

Even as you slept you were beautiful and he beat himself up for only now noticing how exhausted you looked. The man never understood why he was so willing and ready to sleep with you. He could acknowledge that there was steaming sexual tension but he never thought it would get this far. Nevertheless, you guys were in this situation; the very foggy area between friends and more.

Is this how you felt, absolutely terrified? You guys certainly couldn't go back to being friends after everything that's happened between you two. San's body started to shake as he silently cried. He couldn't even comprehend how much pain he's put you through these last few months.

____

You're not surprised to find your bed empty the next day; you wouldn't be surprised if San had sent you a message ending your friendship and promptly blocking you. You stare at your ceiling with tears already prickling your eyes. You weren't going to check your phone for texts. You just went to work.

The day went by fast, your boss giving you plenty of work to distract yourself. You were doing just fine until you pulled up to your apartment to find Wooyoung waiting to knock on your door.

"Wooyoung?" The man turned around, almost like a deer in headlights.

"Oh- Hey!" He quickly put his hands in his jean pockets. You walked to your door silently, unlocking the front door and inviting him in.

“What can I help you with?” You try to be casual even though all you’re thinking about is San and how you know Wooyoung’s here to soothe whatever problem you guys are having.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase. Talk to San. It’s only been a day of you two fighting and all of us are tired of him sulking.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“He came into practice looking all down and he didn’t talk to any of us. He just went through practice barely saying ten words throughout the whole thing.”

"How do you know this has something to do with me?"

“… Do I look blind to you? Everyone knows something’s going on between you two.” Wooyoung sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what happened but I’m sure it was probably his fault. I’m not saying you should forgive him right away but just talk to him. Please?”

——

So now, here you are, outside his door. You took in a deep breath before knocking hard on his door. You couldn’t muster the courage to ask if he was home but there was no practice so you hoped for the best.

The door unlocked within a few minutes. “y/n?”

“H-Hi,” You stuttered out, feeling the weight on your shoulders get heavier. “Can I come in?”

San gestures you inside and you take a seat on his couch. There’s an awkward silence when he joins you and you can’t recall any other time it’s been like this. It was so easy to talk to San before but now you can’t even form a sentence.

“So—“

“What’d—“

You said at the same time.

“You first.” San breathed.

“I just figured we had a lot to talk about.”

"Right..." He brushed off his legs with a sigh.

"I like you, San- actually, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for so long and we slept together and it got messy. We've never talked about what we were after that night. You just made me a rebound and I turned the other way..."

His eyes burnt into your face and you were too scared to meet them. "I'm sorry. I never meant to put you in that kind of situation. I shouldn't have been so selfish. I didn't think about the way you were feeling."

San's warm hand grabs yours. "I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to see how you feel about me. I'm so sorry I said that you didn't know where your place was. Your place..." He takes a big deep breath, making you look at him, "Your place is right next to me. I lost you for one day and in that one day, I've realized what you really mean to me. I'm in love with you, y/n."

He places his hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even notice. You're falling apart at his touch but you were so happy that he felt the same way and- Oh my god! Choi San was in love with you!

"You just said you were in love with me." You breathed, a smile breaking out on your lips.

"I did, didn't I?" He chuckles, closing the distance between your faces. Your breath hitches. "Are you going to give me a chance to love you for real this time?"

Your heart is going to burst and you don't really give it much thought.

"Yes."

[garden-ghoul]

Happy Gushiwensday Monday! Today we translated Li Xun’s fog poem.

fog erases the edges of things. the rain is unending and cold. the shore is scattered with fallen flowers, and somewhere a partridge cries. a traveller's boat comes into view at the wide part of the river--- lingering like it's homesick--- and the white tide retreats to lie low. ah: evening washes over spring.

notes and original text under the cut.

南乡子·烟漠漠

烟漠漠，雨凄凄，岸花零落鹧鸪啼。远客扁舟临野渡，思乡处，潮退水平春色暮。

This poem is so... vague. That is, there are a lot of images but it’s hard to know what to do with them because the relation between them isn’t explicit. We had to do a lot of interpretation here! I also don’t know much of anything about Li Xun, except that it seems he was also a pharmacist? Cool!

fog erases the edges of things --- 烟漠漠 mist foggy/quiet/vast. This is also given as the title of the poem. So atmospheric, so very difficult to translate! I tried to give the sense that there are a lot of things around but we can’t see them.

a partridge cries --- I just wanted to share these bird noises with you.

comes into view at the wide part of the river --- 临野渡 arrive open space cross. 临 also carries the valence of “something is about to happen,” which is why in the next line I have the boat lingering. This is also the only line where I’ve added anything about the point of view character, the fact that they’re looking over the river. I was thinking that they must be on shore because they can see the fallen flowers through the fog.

lingering like it’s homesick --- 思乡处 homesick place or homesick residing. I’m not sure what Li Xun meant by it!

the white tide retreats to lie low --- the poet does not say that the tide is fog, but (not knowing anything about river tides) I thought it made more sense for the fog to sort of condense itself into a near-liquid as the planetary boundary layer settles down for the night. It also says here that the tide retreats 水平, which can be read as “flat as water” or “perfectly level.” In an earlier draft I had it as a mirror.

ah: evening washes over spring --- “ah” is there to give us the moment of seeing clear and far after all-day rain and mist. Then we have a phrase that puzzles me terribly: 春色暮 spring colors sunset. 春色 can also be the scenery of spring, but it struck me as interesting that at sunset you can’t really see the spring colors. Sunset dyes everything in its own hue. Since red is a youthful vigorous color and this poem is quite melancholy, I went with an image of a more purpley twilight.

[etherrreal]

“when you pass out at practice”

Pairing: tsukishima x reader ; kyotani x reader ; aone x reader Genre: comfort-fluff ; drabbles & headcanons Summary: the reader hasn’t been taking care of herself which leads to her passing out at practice  Word Count: 2295 Warnings: fainting, or passing out, from sleep deprivation/not eating/heat exhaustion, some explicit language because i’m an adult A/N: thanks for the fun request! i took a little bit of artistic liberties with the scenario to keep it from being so repetitive so I hope you don’t mind! -Luna

it was rare that you had a beautiful sunny day on a weekend with no chores to attend to or work to complete

so when your boyfriend Tsukishima texted you and asked you to come join him for casual volleyball practice outside, you decided to take him up on that opportunity

however, not even a cap and some cold water could stave off heat exhaustion

Despite it being 95°F and so humid that the air feels thick when you breathe, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is completely clear of clouds; the sun is shining directly on you as you, your boyfriend, and Yamaguchi head out to practice at the open field nearby Karasuno. The change of scenery was refreshing and even with it feeling just as hot as it usually does inside the school gym, the occasional breeze and lack of sweaty stench was a huge welcomed change. 

There’s very little shade provided by the trees, but you lay out a small blanket under the nearest one anyway. You become the bag and bottle keeper when Tsukishima and Yamaguchi hand you their items, your boyfriend dropping it haphazardly onto the blanket while Yamaguchi delicately places it down with a ‘thank you.’ 

You usually don’t get to see Tsukishima practice, seeing as his normal practices run until the dead of night, so it was fun watching them set and serve the ball back and forth. When the occasional ball lands by your feet, you get the chance to enjoy setting it back to them, even if it often falls short or misses the target completely. 

“Thank god you’re not on our team,” Tsukishima teases, as he watches the ball you set fall 6 feet away from him.

“Yeah, because I’d kick your ass. I know I’m a threat, and you should fear me,” you retort sarcastically. Before he turns away to retrieve the ball, you see him crack a small smile at your tomfoolery. 

However, after a few hours of getting up and down repeatedly to send the balls back under the beating sun, your head starts to pound. Your body is radiating so much heat it makes you want to remove your skin. You know it’s just a matter of time before you start feeling physically ill, as well. You loosen your cap and drink some cold water in hopes that it will relieve some of the tension, but you just feel the same.

You decide to lay down on the blanket, cap laid over your face to block out the sun. You don’t know if you passed out or if you simply tuned out everything around you for a bit, but you jump when you suddenly feel something wet and cold touching your neck.

You reach up to swat it away, thinking it was a bug when you hear Tsukishima’s voice. “Stop that. I’m trying to help you, dummy.” 

Relief washed over you to know that it wasn’t a beetle crawling up your neck but instead your stoic boyfriend pressing his plastic water bottle there to cool you down.

“Yamaguchi thought you died,” he brought up suddenly. “He actually ran to the store to get some more water after I told him to stop overreacting.”

You chuckle, picturing Yamaguchi already mourning over your body just because you were lying down with a cap over your face. “It’s sweet that he cares though, in his own weird way.”

Suddenly, the sky and Tsukishima’s crouching figure are in full view as he flicks the hat off of your face, feeling annoyed that you praised his friend and not him. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?” 

“Aww, do you want me to tell you how you’re the bestest, sweetest, most handsome boyfriend I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and that I’m so grateful that you’ve graced me with your help?” you whine in a sarcastic tone, making grabby hands at the tall blond hovering over you.

He slaps your hands away, knowing that if you get your hands on him, you’d squeeze his cheeks and ruffle his hair like you always do. “Well, that’s the last time I ever take care of you.” 

You know he doesn’t mean it and that, if you were ever in some form of peril, he would casually stroll rush to your rescue to make sure you’re okay. You hope that when you look up at him he can see how much you appreciate his efforts.

“Thank you, Kei,” you say sincerely.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sounds dismissive, but you can tell by the scrunched eyebrows and soft look in his eyes as he gazes down at you how much he worries about your well-being, and you’re genuinely grateful to have him be your unofficial nurse. 

you heard from some classmates that your math teacher was seen printing out math quizzes

*cue studious panic*

 you decided to completely skip lunch and use that time in the library to hit the books hard

your stomach was rumbling, your head was hurting, and your vision would become spotty if you stood up too quickly

you completed your quiz at the end of the day, but by then, you were starving and ready to get something to eat

in your panic, you forgot that you were supposed to meet kyotani after school so you could force him to go to practice that day (or else Iwaizumi would have your ass)

he heard your stomach make monstrous noises and when you let him know you hadn’t eaten, he looked more upset than usual to see you not taking care of yourself

“Let’s skip practice and get some food,” he suggests.

“What? So you can skip out on one of the few practices you go to? Absolutely not!” you reprimand.

“But you need to eat.”

“Look at you being a sweet boyfriend who cares,” you tease, watching him roll his eyes like he’s annoyed, but the pink hue dusting his cheeks says otherwise. “I’ll be fine. I should have an extra granola bar in my bag somewhere.” 

"Whatever, if you say so." He turns his body diagonally, a gesture you know means 'walk with me.' Kyotani has never been keen on PDA, but one thing you have noticed is that he prefers for you to walk directly by his side at all times. To others, it may look like he’s uninterested in you, but you can tell by how often his arm brushes yours that it’s his way of showing affection. 

You stroll across campus together, enjoying a quiet conversation with Kyotani about your day thus far. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the gym entrance, already hearing the balls slamming against the ground inside. You both switch out your shoes before walking in, him going to join his teammates and you finding a seat on the sidelines, seeing Iwaizumi give you a thumbs up for your job well done. 

You take a moment to search through your bag for that granola bar you mentioned earlier. After sifting through books, loose notes, and forgotten pencils and pens, you realize you have no snack to tide you over until the end of practice. 

The market is just down the road. I could probably go pick something up and be back quickly.

You wave Iwaizumi over, figuring you’ll tell him your plans while Kyotani is distracted so he won’t follow you out. You see his back turned to you as Oikawa speaks to the rest of the team, gesturing wildly with a volleyball in hand. 

As Iwaizumi gets closer, you stand up and immediately begin to sway. Your vision grows spotted, and your head feels like it’s floating. 

You hear Kyotani yell out your name before everything goes black.

When you wake up, the lights are beaming overhead as you lay in some sort of bed. Once you’re coherent enough, you sit up, looking around to see that you’re in the school nurse’s office. You pick up your hand to hold your still aching head when you notice a very angry Kyotani attached to it, already glaring at you.

Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, not quite knowing what to say after you just passed out in the middle of practice.

"I told you that we should've gotten something to eat," he starts, growling out each word.

You shrink into yourself, feeling embarrassed that you've upset him and couldn’t even take care of yourself properly. "I'm sorry, Kentaro.”

He notices you plucking the lint off your shirt to avoid direct eye contact with him. His eyes close as he collects himself, realizing that now’s not the time to lecture you for something you couldn’t have predicted.

He sighs, standing up slightly to lean over your slumped figure, laying a kiss on your temple. He mumbles a quiet apology against your skin, feeling bad for snapping at you when he should’ve been more kind. He’s working on that, slowly but surely.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says, holding your hand while you stand slowly from the bed. You wobble slightly, Kyotani quickly wrapping his arm around your waist to stabilize you. You give him a nod when you’re firmly on your two feet.

“From now on, if you’re hungry, tell me.”

You agreed reluctantly, not exactly wanting him to worry so much but knowing he wouldn’t let you leave without your compliance. 

From then on, he always makes sure to check on you to check if you've eaten or if you need one of the many granola bars he now carries, and while sometimes it's annoying to have him acting like a mother hen, it's also very heartwarming to know that he cares about you that much. Not to mention, he’s saved your ass many times when you have to study overtime for another intense math quiz. 

the end of the semester was coming to a close and you were scrambling to get everything done on time

there weren't enough hours in the day to study for finals, finish projects, complete homework, and also take care of your human needs, like eating and sleeping

so, you just didn't sleep one night, opting to stay up with some caffeine to power through all of your work

at the beginning of the next day, you felt energetic and peppy, but as it went on, the sluggish feeling started to settle in

by the end, you were feeling absolutely exhausted and ready to drop at any moment

however, you still wanted to accompany Aone to practice that day, as it was your favorite part of your week

aone initially insisted that you head home without him, but he realized it might be safer to go with him after practice, just in case you fell asleep on the train

It feels like it takes ages, but eventually, practice begins to wind down, soreness seeping into each and every team member’s muscles after hours on their feet. A few of them are still practicing quick attacks with each other, but Aone is one more move away from passing out from exhaustion.

He walks over to you sitting on the sidelines, watching you take longer and longer between each blink. Yet, when he gets close enough, you still manage to give him a small smile that kicks his heart into overdrive, his face, no doubt, resembling a tomato because of the gesture.

He sits on the creaky folding chair beside you, taking gulps of his water to try to cool himself down. He almost chokes when he feels your head press up against his shoulder, hand resting on his forearm gently. Sitting still as a rock, he tries to take his mind off his cute partner cuddling up next to him.

"We should stop somewhere and pick up some food on the way to the train,” he suggests, doing his best to ignore the warmth filling his cheeks. “Do you want anything specific?"

You're silent beside him. At first, he thinks you're contemplating what to eat, seeing as you're very particular with your cravings. But when two minutes pass, and there's not even a peep from you, he looks down carefully to find you knocked out against his shoulder, face squished uncomfortably and mouth parting with each deep breath you take.

Aone never pictured this happening to him –mostly because he didn't think he'd ever have a partner who'd feel comfortable enough around him– so he didn't quite know where to go from here. He could wake you up to at least bring you home, but if this is the first time you've slept in over 24 hours, he didn't want to deprive you of more necessary sleep.

The only way Aone can think of bringing you home is to carry you all the way to the train station and... Well, that's as far as he manages to get, but future Aone will figure the rest out.

He asks Futakuchi to gather his things for him because he doesn't want to risk waking you. After some light teasing, he hands Aone his packed duffle and helps put on his jacket with minimal stirring from you.

Aone thanks his friend with a nod before turning to you and slipping his arms under you, one beneath your knees and the other behind your back. He freezes when you begin shifting around, but relaxes once you settle into him.

Aone waves at his team on the way out, with what movement he is allowed, and begins his trek to the train station nearby. 

His arms are aching after hours of practice, but it doesn’t matter, because you nuzzling into his neck with an adorable sigh gives him enough strength to carry you halfway across the country if he needs to. 

Written by: Luna

[naritaren]

Remember how I said my wallet is going to hurt because of this shop hop? Well, it's not hit too bad after my first day. I visited 7 of the 12 stores for the shop hop. I didn't plan on hitting a ton, so I didn't bring my card with me to buy stuff. I only purchased things at two of the first 5 stores I hit because they were the only ones that did tap to pay. Details on my day under the cut. The theme for the shop hop was "Under The Sea". If you read it all, you'll get a sneak peek at a pattern I'm releasing on Monday as well ;)

Here is my passport so far:

I'm going to go in order of each store I hit with my thoughts on them. Each shop offered one free knitting pattern and they also had the choice to also do a crochet pattern. I'll get to that in a bit. First place I went, and where I started, was Muse2320 Fiber. I have never been here before, but my partner has and he has purchased yarn for me from here. This place is unique because it's very narrow, but in the back of the shop they spin and hand dye most of the yarn they carry. They took the tap to pay, thank god, because I had to pay for my passport. The shop went with the theme shipwrecked and they had a crochet pattern! The theme was pirates and the pattern is a double sided skull and crossbones cowl/bandana. They had run out of the neon blue yarn so I only got some of the brown/white/black stuff. That was a DK weight yarn and I also picked up a hank of worsted yarn that is super cool and speckled and white. I also got a super cool sticker that is a skull with yarn and crochet hooks. Second place I hit up was Knitting From The Heart. This shop was nice and large, but in a major shopping center so it was super busy. They had a knitting and crochet pattern. The crochet pattern was a lacy shoulder cozy (aka, cowl). It uses beads and sport weight yarn. This store didn't have tap to pay so I didn't purchase anything. The theme for them was sea glass! It was a nice and large space but no social stitching area. I'll probably go back to this one because it's near where I have to go for work every Thursday. Third place was darn. knit. (anyway). This shop also didn't take tap to pay, but I probably won't go back this weekend because parking was a fucking NIGHTMARE at 11am on a Friday. That being said, I also have a house I supervise near this shop so I might swing by one afternoon. The store was very large and had a ton of options. They has a massive cozy social stitching area filled with oversized chairs and nice soft music playing. They had both a knit and crochet pattern available and had tunisian crochet samples sitting out! That's a first! The crochet pattern was for a cowl using DK weight yarn. Fourth place I went to was Sheepy Yarn Shop. This place only had knitting patterns. Parking was a nightmare. The shop was well lit and had a small area where you could sit and stitch. The downside was they didn't even sell crochet hooks or notions. I didn't spend any money because no tap to pay and they don't support crocheters so I don't feel comfortable supporting them. Cute name though! Next up (and by this point I really had to fucking pee), was Amazing Threads. Now I'm going to be biased here, but please understand I'm also being truthful. This store is massive and well organized. They have an entire upstairs area for classes and social stitching. They sell crochet items and fully support crocheters. Trust me on this one. They also had both a knit and crochet pattern. The theme for this story was jellyfish...which I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW WHEN I WROTE MY PATTERN. (sorry). This is the yarn store I teach classes at and I was the one who wrote the crochet pattern being given away for free. The High Tide Texting Gloves will release on Monday. If you live in the Twin Cities, you can go there and get the pattern for free this weekend ;)

These are the gloves using the special yarn! This is also the only store with a crochet pattern that isn't a fucking cowl apparently. Because I like to be practical. Anyway. I've been hiding this information for over a month. Ta-da! Oh yeah. I bought three hanks of sport weight yarn to make more of these mitts (and a super cute sticker) because they absolutely take tap to pay. I use it all the time lmao Then a brief interlude as I went home to get my card and to eat lunch (which I didn't fucking do....) Armed with my actual credit card and a slight plan of action of where to go next, and in what order, I head back out. I also changed into shorts because it was 87 fucking degrees out. This is also when I realized I missed a store over by where I started and I'll have to go there tomorrow.

Store number six! I went to Needle & Skein. I about died in traffic on my way there because by the time I left from getting gas and a car wash, it was almost 3pm. It's Friday. I live in a major metro area. This was a Bad Idea. Anyway. This store was smaller, but parking was easy and they had options for both knitters and crocheters. They had kits for both the knitting and crochet patterns, and you had a few options for main color and contrasting color. Again, it was another fucking cowl. I took the pattern though and debated on grabbing the kit until I realized it uses sport weight yarn and a 3mm hook. I don't do projects with hooks smaller than 4mm because of my poor fucked up hands. They had a whole wall of crochet items, including some really nice hooks and the yarn was organized very very well and labeled for what weight it was. Prices were also very reasonable. I will be visiting this one again FOR SURE. I purchased two balls of a blue yarn made 100% from recycled materials.

The last store I hit for today was Harriet & Alice. So, the location is nice and the prices were pretty reasonable, considering the fact it's in fucking Edina. (iykyk) Parking for this area of Edina is all in parking garages, so it's a bit of walking. By this point I still haven't eaten since breakfast and my neck is hurting. I walked the very long way around the building. The store was nice and large and they had multiple places to sit and stitch. The organization of the store was a downright nightmare though. There was no real organization and the yarn was in different cutesy bins or on weird shelves or on hooks. They did have both a knitting and crochet pattern, but it uses fingering weight yarn so fuuuuuuck that shit. The yarn was really pretty though. That's the sucky part. It would never get used. That being said, I did buy two hanks of DK weight yarn from the brand Emma's Yarn. I haven't been able to find that brand since my trip to Florida in 2021. Apparently this store is the only one that carries her stuff in all of MN. I also learned that the store I bought it from while in Florida is where she is based out of, so super cool! The yarn I got was greens and blues and those will become one of these cowl patterns I picked up. Oh yeah. The pattern here was also a cowl. The plan for tomorrow: I have 5 stores left to hit, but three of them are all within like 10 minutes of each other and I've been to all of the three that are near each other. I plan on dragging my partner with me so I don't have to try and street park in Minneapolis. I value my sanity. One of the other two stores is about an hour south of the Twin Cities so I will be heading there first thing in the morning and then hitting the store I missed today on my way back because it's kinda that direction. I think the last store I'll hit is my own store again, just to drop off my card and to hang out and chat with customers about the pattern. I kept it pretty reasonable and you can see my haul from today below. The really egregious purchase was the 40 dollars worth of bread I bought from a bakery as I left Edina. Forget the yarn. I'm living off bread and cheese this weekend lmao

The blue, red, and light pink on the left are sport weight and are merino wool and I got them at Amazing Threads. I also got the sticker with the balls of yarn and hook there. The blue balls of yarn propped up is the stuff that is recycled and was the cheapest yarn purchase all day at a whopping 20 bucks. That's a DK weight that is really nifty. The two in the front are what I got from Muse, the brown one being a DK weight and the white speckled one is worsted. The skull sticker is the one I also got from Muse. The pastel green/blue/pink yarn is DK weight and is from Harriet & Alice.