#and what is a writer's work if not the purest expression of their soul

[lvsifer]

Anne Rice on transgender people

Writer, actor and activist Phaylen Fairchild wrote a Medium post calling Rice her friend and “first LGBTQ ally,” recalling when she reached out to Rice in the early 2000s via the email address listed on the author’s website. Not only did Rice respond, she encouraged Fairchild’s newfound writing aspirations. 

“At the time I was a navigating difficult territory of gender and sexuality, and she was the first person I came out to as gay,” Fairchild said in the piece. 

“Anne, although I never heard her voice, felt like a safe place. … She gave me confidence to live authentically, telling me ‘Your life is a story, every day is a new page. Live a story worthy of telling again and again.’”

In 2009, Fairchild came out to Rice again, this time as transgender.   

“In typical Anne fashion, she thought it was fabulous,” Fairchild remembered. 

“She told me at the time that she believed transgender people were sacred, that we possessed a unique gift of life experience that few ever would, which would allow us to see the world from ‘a view from the greatest height.’ She shared with me stories of trans figures in history that she had learned about in her own extensive studies. ‘The most fascinating figures in mythology were always transgender or genderless’ she once told me. ‘And in so many cultures reaching back thousands of years, transgender and intersex people were deified, perceived as wise and powerful.’”

“Anne Rice was the first person who made me feel that it was OK to be comfortable in my skin, and that my journey as a transgender woman was special — not because I was by any means odd, weird or different — but that I was worthy of celebrating because my very existence was ‘a remark on the magic of the complex human condition,’” she continued.

from this article.

[monocotyledons]

sorry to rant but this is bothering me so bad: while i think the current versions of generative ai are unethical & harmful to artists, i absolutely hate it when people use arguments about "passion" and "soul" against it.

two points why i hate this argument are

we never actually perceive the artist's "passion" and "soul," only what we looks passionate and soulful to us, which isn't always an accurate assessment. as a writer i can definitely tell you that i've had fics written in an hour or so without much thought get waaaayy more attention and praise than a fic i poured so much into over weeks. some time ago i saw a tweet about an artist getting attacked for passing off ai-generated art as their own... except that they really did make the art and had the drafts to prove it. the art style in that work was very smooth and soft, aka the style common in ai-generated work at the time, the kind that people perceive as "soulless." because grittiness = soul, apparently.

basing the value of art on how much "passion" it supposedly has is a recipe for burnout. if a piece of art only has worth based on how much humanity it reflects (as if people make art as a kind of turing test), then artists will have to perform their humanity to show that their art is worthy. and i imagine that it gets really exhausting.

admittedly i hate this argument for personal reasons - i was also told when i was younger that writing is valuable because it's deep and reflects the writer's humanity etc etc... and after a few years of that i stopped writing because i felt like i couldn't make anything "worthy" of writing. like if writing is supposed to be this deep holy thing and the purest expression of myself, and all i wanted to do was write fun little ideas based from a prompt list on the internet, then maybe i wasn't worthy of being a writer.

there are already plenty of arguments against the ethicality and legality of our current ai tools, we really don't need "but artists are full of passion!!" as another one, i really don't want to perform my humanity again to prove the value of my low-stakes fun hobby

[yostresswritinggirl]

Hey Exiled. I wanted to say that your fics are super amazing and as an aspiring writer, I want to be as good as you. Hope you are doing well.

Possible Trigger Warning(?)

This is for if/when your requests open up again, but imagine Xiao or Albedo with an s/o that’s being tortured and they’re forced to watch. Like they can’t do anything to save them and end up losing their s/o. (I mean for this to inflict pain as this is my favorite troupe. It can honestly work with anyone; I just chose these two boys because they are my favorites)

Today we woke up and we chose violence 🤝finally got around to working on this, I think it's about time I seriously manifest Hu Tao even tho I'm all fluffy lately ywy I love this community, you all give me the best brain juice ehehh Edit: Also also awww thank you for your kind words, sweetie, I'm sure you're already good in your own way!

Blood Money

Albedo and Xiao witness their S/O getting tortured... Blood, violence, the obvious stuff. And also death warning, read at your own risk. (masterlist)

With every punch sends nothing but painful regret into his gut.

His fragile and weak body was beaten into submission, and Albedo comes to spite himself over realizing just how useless he is without his Vision, how useless he would be with it either way. Maybe if he knew the things that would transpire, he would have taken great consideration into mastering his element.

The cloaked man pulls harshly at his ruined braid, forcing him to watch now in full attention.

He almost vomits at the sound of your bone grinding and snapping as they pull it back, your grazed throat able to let out a choked scream that sends shivers to his own body. For the first time in his whole life, tears threatened to spill as it forms at the brim of his eyes.

"Please..." the sword embedded in your side twists to deliver a seering pain, another scream forcing its way through your senseless whimpers, "Please... let them go..."

Your face was smacked flat against the floor, breathing heavy but barely there as a foot presses at the nape of your neck, placing a dangerous weight at your spine/throat as your oxygen supply starts to fade.

"That person right there is the reason your research has been stagnant," the one holding him down spoke in held fury as he chooses his words through grinded teeth, "Khaenri'ah needs its cure and you're here playing house. You ought to learn your lesson."

You're awfully silent and still. Albedo's sedated body struggles helplessly, breathe quickening as fear in its purest form bubbles within him. He gingerly calls out your name; no response, it only made the man put more pressure on your neck.

"No, please, stop. I was- I was on an expedition, in Dragonspine. I was sent by the Knights- I-I couldn't refuse..."

A swift, muffled crack makes him scream. Horrified and shocked. The tears are now that of a waterfall, sobs and cries for your name in hopes that you would respond. You didn't.

"Wrong answer."

Ever since the day Albedo comes walking into Mondstadt with your corpse cradled in his arms, not even the Knights had seen him walk out of his laboratory, dead eyes never meeting anyone's stare. The Alchemist is in grief and denial, that's what they theorized, for the reason that Albedo never once muttered anything else under his breath besides his research.

Timaeus and Sucrose, despite being apprentices and assistants, never stepped foot into his laboratory either. Banned, even. Klee too never had the chance to see him again, his laboratory was permanently locked. Perhaps he just needed time, something all the Knights thought.

"I'm almost done," and time is exactly what he wants. Even if you're nothing but a rotting corpse in his lab, he'll get to you soon enough. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I'll defy those laws for you, my love."

Xiao and the constant plague of his built up karma haunts him whether he has his eyes closed or not.

The problem with it is the fact that when it manifests, it's usually a vivid phenomenon that only he is witness to. It alarms him more than anyone of its recent manifestations, corrupting nearby Hilichurls and whole cavern of monsters, his debt is sipping and he's not sure what else it could hurt, because it can hurt anything at this point.

So when he lifts his head from his usual shackles of karmic binds, he was more than horrified to see you, his ray of hope entangled the same way. "What are you doing here-" his sudden question halts upon your pained grunt, the binds wrapped around your arms pulling in opposite directions.

The pain is slow and daunting, Xiao realized at the way your face scrunches up as it pulls more. Desperate to stop your hurting, he struggles against his own karmic binds. Yet the thousand years of burden do not relent so easily.

"Our lives are cut off because of your slaughter. What makes you think you deserve reconciliation with life after taking thousands of others?"

A bind finds its way around your throat and tightens, your grunts muffled into choking desperately for air, body writhing in an effort to pull away from all your shackles. Xiao doesn't like it, not one bit of how he struggles to break free, how powerless he feels at the current situation when he should be protecting you from harm.

"Xi..." He tugs at his left arm to angle his leg, hoping to latch it around the upper bind to pull it. What was of his composure now when his desperation and alarm is evident on his face? "X-Xiao ngh-"

Distracted from his own struggles, Xiao peels his stare away and onto your form, eye widening and moistening at the sight of red and blood forming by the junction of your arms and torso. A manifestation of the consumed festered souls summons behind your form with a wicked smile, long nails of jet black traces your flexed body while piercing at your skin as it passes.

Your struggles for air mixes in with pain raised tenfold, breathless screams for every puncture. You couldn't even look at him anymore. "Please," the Yaksha cries out in his most vulnerable, "Stop hurting them. Please... This is between you and me..."

"If you want us to stop,

then you'll have to stop too."

In the domain of his mind, only those that lingers, that should linger are the thousands of devoured, demonic souls that make up his debt. There is no room for anything else. Xiao hangs his head low and there he weeps in silence in a place where he is not a weapon, only a man reminiscent of his youngness and naivety.

Here he is no Xiao.

Here he is Alatus.

They smile.

"Xiao?" You wave your hand by his face, snapping your fingers (and failed miserably) enough times for him to finally zone out of his sudden trance in the middle of your comversation. "Is something wrong?" Your confused expression is different from his steeled, yet wide eyed one.

And without a word, he vanished from your sight. A look over his shoulder, of regret and hurt, was the last of your memory of him. In his eyes you are dead to him; in his mind your light has no place in it.

I have realized I do not want to scar you that much. Ironically. Asks spam after this so turn your notifs off after.

@primogenshin @xiaophilia @bunniesrorange @anormalguyreader @scarletroseneko @albaedhoe @xiaophilia @heisenwurst @childe-simp-exe @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @director-boo-tao @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop @tartuu

[dicksoutformtl]

A prosciutto daydream I had while listening to this song

|| I’m in no way a writer. I really struggle with repeating myself a lot, correct grammar, and punctuation but I really hope you guys enjoy this c:

(( this is pretty much 1,300 of word vomit. This song doesn’t “technically” take place until towards the end but aa definitely give it a listen to when you read this ))

Imagine you have one of prosciutto’s records quietly playing in the background, you’re resting comfortably in the little fancy emerald green armchair you helped him thrift awhile ago. Prosciutto is in the room adjacent to where your settled in the living room, you can see him swaying to the music while whisper singing to himself as he finishes cleaning what’s left of the dishes. As you’re watching him you can’t help but get this warm overwhelming feeling of love and adoration for the wonderful man not that far from you. You can’t stop the silly little smile that crosses your face as you think to yourself “ todays the day, todays that you’ll ask him to marry you.”

You’ve known prosciutto for five years and been together for two of those five years, the years of knowing him have been an exciting whirlwind an your thoughts always keep going back to one thing. That there’s nothing in this world you wanted more then to be married to him. But you know he can be pretty old fashioned with things and you worry he’ll take offense or something like that. It’s a silly to think that you know this but something about this man, this.. incredible, stubborn, yet passionate man just envelops you like the sun. Blinding yet warm and comforting all at the same time—

You’ve gotten so caught up in your thoughts from somewhere about him for, some silly reason taking offense about your proposal, to you’re complete and utter devotion to him that you hadn’t noticed he come into the room. You blink eyes wide for a moment before you give an breathy laugh as prosciutto tilts your chin upwards pressing his for head to yours. He pulls back placing a little kiss to your nose as he settles next you on the couch that’s next to the armchair. He’ll ask what you were thinking so hard while he’s getting ready to light his cigarette his hands busy with trying to get the lighter to work. You turn from your forward facing position to be facing him with a quiet inhale to calm your nerves you think to yourself “ it’s now or never.”

You grab his hands pulling the lighter from his hold and the cigarette that hanged from lips, you place them to the side on the end table, he raises a brow asking you what your doing instead of answering you only shake your head squeezing his hands in your own.

“ Prosciutto,” you pause a moment “ Emilio,” you start again catching his attention with the way you say his real name, his expression turns to one of worry as you stare at downward fidgeting with his fingers.

Stealing your nerves while trying quieting your heart that’s beating a mile a’ minute, your turn your gaze from his hands to look into his eyes that seem to hold he sky in them with flecks of yellow and green that’s blends into the blue, you give a sweet smile and letting out the breathe you hadn’t know you’ve been holding.

The words that come out your mouth next are so tender and spoken straight from your soul as you lament on all the things you’ve noticed about him from the bigger more noticeable ones down to the little details he hadn’t or noticed. But you saw them all and as you continued your heartfelt speech or more so rambling at this point you pull the little velvet box from where you stuffed in the chair. The ring that’s inside is incredibly special for it’s one you had your friend help you make specifically for prosciutto. You end your long winded declaration with a sparkling eyes that hold nothing but the purest of adoration for him “ Emilio, you are everything I could have wanted ever wanted and more, will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Prosciutto doesn’t answer right away. He sits there still and silent while he processes all that you’ve said, his mouth slightly agape his mind repeating your words over and over again as he’s overcome with emotions of how much you mean to him. How human you make him feel and how he never once since getting into a relationship with you had to question or doubt how much you truly loved and cared for him.

You’re starting to worry with how silent prosciutto’s being… Maybe you had been wrong… Maybe now wasn’t the time or may—

Before you could spiral down into your one thoughts of worry and despair you hear this quiet little choked sob coming from him. It startled you, he’s rarely cried around you let alone sob.

Your head quickly raises to look up towards him, when did you cast your gaze downward you had barley thought trialing off as you noticed tears bubbling and spilling over his cheeks. His lip quivers slightly as he gives a little giddy half laugh-half sob “ yes.. yes! I’ll marry you” the small crack in his voice full of emotions as he gives you that smile, god that smile that could melt ice caps, that shows off his slight overbite gapped teeth the one he’s overly self conscious about. The smile you have and will always cherish more then anything, you give a just as giddy laugh as you move to hold his face in your hands pulling him closer to you while you cover his face with tiny kisses all over his face before leaving a deep kiss on his lips.

This couldn’t have gone better and to think you were worried even for a moment as you two are washes over with this euphoric feeling foreheads pressed against each another’s you slip the ring onto his finger, you nearly missed the song that’s come onto the record player it was one that always made you think of yourself and prosciutto. You smile wider if possible letting out another joyous laugh while prosciutto gazes adoringly at you while you stood from your seated position pulling on his hands to come up with you. Pulling him into a tender embrace you begin to sway slowly around the living room careful not to bump into any of furniture or various potted plants.

You’re leading the dance with him leaning into the embrace while you two slowly do that sweet little sway spin that’s not a quiet full dance movement. Never more content basking in each other’s presence, you begin to pull away a bit from the close hold to fondly gaze into his eyes as you softly whisper-sing

“ You and I, we go together Like birds and the sky From the moment that you caught my eye Knew that I was falling in love, ”

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he gives you another heart stopping smile, his hand moves to the side of your face as he kisses you deeply before parting and pulling you back into another tight embrace. You continue to do the soft whisper-singing only stopping when the person on the record did.. As the music played you step up your dancing a bit, pulling away at times holding his hand close in yours as you give him a spin before rejoining in a warm embrace as you slow dance around the room. When the music begins to swell you two part for a moment doing your own little dance moves before you spin toward him you rejoin to finish your slow dance together. You both end your little impromptu dance session with I love you’s and sickly sweet kisses.

[maybe-your-left]

THOUGHT ABOUT IT, needs to happen.

Professor Ren x Professor Reader ONESHOT

“Good morning Professor (Y/N),” your students called out, filing into their seats. Today you had them set up in a half circle. All of them on some big pillows, with their canvases at their feet. It was all about getting to feel the inspiration flow through you this morning.

You smiled from the floor, brushing back your hair to tie into a loose bun. Some paint from your hand smeared on your cheek but that’s okay, it’s art! Art can be anything and anywhere!

“Good morning everyone! There’s coffee and fresh tea in the back! I had my husband go grab some from your favorite shop so we could all relax this morning!”

One of your students yawned, “Thank you professors husband.”

“Oh it was no trouble,” you mused, “It was he and I’s coffee date this morning, we were already there and I thought of all of you.”

Once everyone was settled you told them the plan for the day. Working to connect with the early morning spirits, their souls, how they were feeling today and using the colors to express that. No brushes, no pencils, just the hand to create.

“Oh,” a student piped up, “Professor how was your weekend? Wasn’t it your anniversary?”

You smiled, letting out a sigh as you thought about your wonderful husband. He was so loving, caring, gentle, understanding.... and tall.

“It was fantastic,” you squealed, “We spent the weekend cleaning out the outdoor patio, I used to horde all my art supplies in there. And Ben set it up to be a nice seating area, so many colors and plants and flowers.”

“What did you do for your anniversary?”

You dropped the canvas, thinking intently on what you actually did for your celebration, you knew your students loved to hear about your life. As the textbook oversharing professor, they were thrilled to hear about how eccentric your partner was, calling you ‘true love’ in the purest sense.

“Well, we had a wedding for our cat, you all remember Finn.”

Everyone nodded, “He met some other cat down the street, a stray, and we named him Poe. They had a lovely wedding, both of us cried. Ben loves his cat so much, it was tough for him to realize he had grown up...”

You dabbed at the corner of your eye, wiping away a stray tear from the memories. Ben had Finn before he met you, such a sweet kitty. He loved his cat, which was strange for a man who was so distant at first, but you understood the bond. And now he was all grown up, with a husband!

“What did you guys do though,” they asked once more, “Since it was your 10th anniversary.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, “Ben does things for me all the time, he doesn’t have to ham it up for one day. We spent the morning doing our couples yoga, al-fresco as nature intended, had some nice quiche that I made the evening before.”

“After that, you all remember the bathroom Ben redid for me, the one with the claw foot tub and the living eucalyptus plants lining the windows, we took a wonderful bath together. I don’t want to go into any intimate details, but yoga really makes that man,” you shivered, “Limber.”

Your class laughed, “Professor, you’ve told us stuff about your husband that’s way worse.”

“True.”

“Anyway, after our morning rounds, we went for a walk outside. Our dog Chewie needed some exercise and we both felt like walking the hills behind the house. It was very beautiful. I think I have pictures...”

You moved to get up, wiping the excess paint from your hand on your apron. Scrambling behind your desk for your bag, practically dumping out the contents to find your phone. You frowned when you couldn’t find it, instead finding your husbands phone, “I’m sorry class, I guess I don’t have it today...”

“Oh well, moving on. After that we had a nice dinner downtown, some dancing. My Ben can be quite the romantic when it comes to that, hes an excellent dancer aside from his ginormous feet. And once we got home,” you winked, “Let’s just say we didn’t rest for too long.”

Everyone laughed, congratulating you on your anniversary. How wonderful your life was, how much they love hearing about you and Ben. They so desperately wanted to meet him... but that wouldn’t happen.

Unfortunately, Ben was another professor at the university. In a completely different department, under the English Literature studies branch. Teaching the effects and influences mid century writers have on society today, he was a mean and strict man. Didn’t enjoy loud noises, food, drinks, or phones in his class. He also didn’t go by Ben for his professional name, he went by Kylo Ren. No one knew he was your husband, the same one who helped you rescue a baby bird, or the one who crushes you at chess, or the one who sings while showering, and sleeps with a teddy bear when you’re away.

It would be devastating to his reputation if he knew how much you shared of your personal lives.

However... he did marry you.

Fully knowing how loud mouthed you were, so sharing and compassionate with your students. Even calling them by their first names when he likes to seperate them from himself by using their last names. He doesn’t share anything with them, they barely know that he’s married. All they know is that Professor Ren is mean, and probably eats babies for breakfast.

You moved back to your seat, waving your hand for everyone to focus back on their paintings. Things were getting a little out of control and you did want them to finish these before class was over.

After about ten minutes of quiet murmuring, the door to your room flew open.

“Lovely,” your husband burst in, “I think we swapped phones this morning, yours kept playing that ridiculous shark song whenever someone messaged you.”

“Professor Ren?”

He stopped at your desk, scanning your classroom for the face that had recognized him. You repeated the action, zeroing in on one of your students.

“Good morning Miss Johnson,” Ben cleared his throat, his face dropping into a stone frown. “I was unaware you were in art courses.”

“Um,” she cleared her throat, looking as uncomfortable as you felt, “I’m double majoring.”

“Oh.”

Ben swiftly swapped phones from behind your desk, moving towards you. Cringing at all the paint on the floors and how messy everyone was. He squatted down next to you, his shiny black oxfords creasing slightly. Dressed from head to toe in a black suit, looking the complete opposite from you. His harsh, pale face frowning at all your students. The scar that slashed across his cheek red from his embarrassment, he finally looked at you. “I’ll see you for lunch my love.”

He kissed your lips, quickly standing as if to reverse the action. Over his shoulder he yelled at your mutual student, “Not a peep Miss Johnson, not a peep!”

After he slammed the door shut everyone’s gaze fell to you. Eyes wide and mouths popped open in awe, how was that supposed to be the same man you had told them about?

“Professor?” Rey piped up.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat, “Yes sweetie?”

“Professor Ren, the one who made that girl cry in front of the entire class, is your Ben?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh,” she swallowed, “Professor?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m switching majors.”

———

HAHAHHAA yes. Gotta love a hard ass in the streets and a big lover in the sheets.

i ❤️ kylo ren

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @onlykyloscenes​ @candycanes19​ @desiraypark​ @historyandfandoms50​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​ @ghoulian13​ @mrs-kylo-ren​ @millenialcatlady​ @emeraldsiren20​ @dancingmicrobes​ @relationshipwithmybed​ @wayward-rose​ @safarigirlsp​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ @daydreamsofren​ @caillea​ @insufferablelust​ @ohdamnadamm​ @mariesackler​ @jalexunderthestars​ @shesakillerkween​ @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch

[scriptaed]

Ink Nemesis Finale

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 9.1k;

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret. 

A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone who read/reads this series. This may not be my most “popular” work, but it’s one that I will always be proud of. If it weren’t for you guys who always encouraged me to write whatever I wanted to write, I would most certainly not be here writing today. A whole two years since I started this series and there are still some of you patiently waiting for an update. I’m floored. This message and this finale are all that I can give you but I hope you know your care for me as a human and not a robot who happens to write means more to me than words can express. Whenever I feel myself straying from my real reasons for writing, I will recall this fic and all the messages of support you guys sent me... and for those who have no idea what I’m saying: the feelings the mc goes through in this fic is a reflection of my own. Words were my only way of spilling my heart when I went through a hard time last year, so this series is my form of an open book that explains why I took a break. If you still have no idea what I’m saying: enjoy the finale! c:

 Life has its own twisted ways with irony. One minute, allies would swear allegiance to your fickle heart; and in another minute, you would be trembling in horror, for your arch nemesis had infiltrated your walls under their own wicked disguise. For better or for worse, the most betraying and hard-hitting realization dawns upon you one storm too late… maybe, and just perhaps maybe, friends and foes are merely two sides of the same coin, plotting and pulling the strings behind the scenes that would prove to be your final downfall; and if there’s anything you’ve despised the most in life, it would be the eerily identical lessons both your greatest allies and enemies have incessantly and irrevocably ingrained within you.

One, time can heal even the deepest of wounds and the nastiest of scars. 

...but they don’t know the depth and length of which your gaping wounds run. Enemies don’t know the scars that transcend through time and the way it lurks at every corner and creeps into your veins, until the time when you finally notice is one epiphany too late and the trauma has already rooted itself into your daily life for perpetuity. No one but you can really gauge how long it would take for you to recover from your falls—or if you ever would, that is. Because right now, sitting here with a flesh wound in a gaping heart, you could only attest to this: pain ages like fine wine.

Two, people can recognize their mistakes and change for the better. 

…or at least that’s what optimists like to tell themselves; but the reality is, in your cold albeit truthful experience, people can only change to an extent. You were still bitter, you were still self-serving, you were still every bit of that wicked woman whom had spoiled your relationships and woken you with cold sweat in the middle of your nightmares-come-reality. Surely, the woman had been forcefully tranquilized under your hands, but her tracks remain like crimson stains on the purest of snowfalls. You can feel it every so often. From time to time, you can feel her peeping one of those bewitched, scarlet eyes of hers, threatening to awaken if it weren’t for your honed abilities to quell the scorching fire. She remains in you, an innate and inevitable part of you, but your chains around her neck keep her tethered and you from another episode. 

So how exactly, you would like to inquire from both friends and foes, have you changed? 

Evidently not much—that, you can answer, for your days of woe remain painfully prevalent even as you sit here, one year into a nightmare that you just can’t seem to awake from, mulling over how differently things would have played out between you and him, wondering what he was doing and what he had immersed himself into this time around, and pondering for days over whether he ever sat down in a chair and stared off into the distance as you do now, wondering over you? 

Because you can still see the glaring television screen reflecting off your bloodshot, strained eyes in the midst of the pitch black bedroom, even as your head rolls back onto the chair and your stare meets the grotesque white-blue lights lining the office ceiling. You can still feel your heart wince—once at the sight of him and twice at the mention of his name. His cold hands that once brushed against yours and the serenity of his dark eyes that once gazed into your soul still manage to warm you, even from this distance, even after all this time. His absence is like a gaping wound, looming over you like vengeful apparitions that taunt you throughout the day. The ache in your chest is sheer proof of the truth you’ve always denied but can’t seem to let go. 

Recently, you’ve found yourself dubious over the disguise of your next enemy. The twisting pain you had once suffered had long submerged into a pool of longing, a bittersweet melody that has you reminiscing over the past that you could never relive. He made you face your deepest fears. He was the aftermath of your own reflection, a living proof that you could survive the hellish consequences that came with the search and capture of success. He assumed the guardian he wished he could have had during his own struggles, shielding you from paths that would lead to dead ends amidst the forks in the road. His curt methods were burdensome and grueling to your heart, but in retrospect and even during that moment in time, something in you knew he meant well. He always did. 

Because even through all the struggle he had put you through, be it unwanted fame, attention, and self-reflection, you could only remember the magical days when sparks flew between you two and your heart raced itself into trouble as you swore to yourself he was the one. Because even now, you still long for his touch, for his voice, for anything that could convey to you that he was still here.

Even if he isn’t.

In the mean time, Solji has been the sole remaining connection you’ve had to the outside world. Only a week had passed after your downfall, when you were so sure no one would return and no one cared enough for your wellbeing, when your self-proclaimed friends proved to be merely colleagues by obligation and your short-lived rocky friendship with Xiao Lin became one beyond salvation, when your heart crushed and your soul shattered in the silence of the one whomst should have been the one brewing the loudest storms, the one you had once declared your lover, Solji was the one to demolish the locks to your gates, even as you so incessantly refused to comply. 

Weeks into the aftermath, Solji brought you food and water, but most crucially, a shoulder to cry on. You had initially denied her aiding hand out of utter shame. Who were you to ask for help from the very person whose trust you had broken? Who were you, after pointing an accusing finger at for betraying your trust, to accept her help? Solji was the last person you should have questioned. Moreover, she never should have been in the list in the first place and her unconditional loyalty, even as you lifelessly watched her clean your room as you lay in your stench of a bed, was clear proof to that attestment—and that glaring truth only humiliates you further. 

It took weeks, nearly two months, for you to willingly begin recuperation. The process was slow and damn difficult. Your motivation was lacking, because at that point you figured what was the point when everyone hated you including yourself? But the one person who held the last glimmer of hope in a time when you could no longer see the end of the tunnel was Solji. 

Day by day, you found one more reason to get up in the morning. Week by week, you found yourself longing for self-indulgence, whether it be channeled through food or hobbies. It took well over two months for the time to arrive when you finally find yourself seated at your desk, staring at your favorite fountain pen and piles of paper that you recognize the reflection in the mirror. 

A writer—your identity, your passion, your reason for being. 

But even if you longed for the day when you could write to your heart’s desire, when you relish in the strikes and crosses and strokes of the pen scraping with certainty and conviction against the paper, and when you could heave a sigh of content at the universe you created in the palms of your head after hours upon hours of concentration whilst in an unbreakable zone, you could no longer relive those days without the clouds that loomed over your conscience. 

Guilt—writing was your ally turned foe, what had once been your media for self expression had manifested into a ruthless weapon for retaliation against those who wronged you. 

Fear—writing brought you the highest joys, but the thought of having to relive the experience of its loss once again freezes your soul. 

Shame—writing was your knife, words were your blades, and before you knew it, you were the villain of your greatest tales, sneering in satisfaction at your beloved’s blood that stains your hands and salivating wickedly at the gaping hole left in his heart as he gazes at you in utter betrayal under the hands of his own love. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to write anymore. 

You just couldn’t write anymore.

Solji had suggested fleeing the barred prison that was your apartment, where every corner laid a fragment of a cherished memory that only furthered your pain, and taking refuge elsewhere. As expected in hindsight and surprisingly in your previously hazed mindset, Solji’s advice was just one more step toward recovery. Nine months away from home were enough for your getaway where you would no longer clutch your chest at every reminder and thought of the incident. Nine months away were enough for you to finally reflect on your mistakes head on. Nine months were enough for you to lock yourself in your apartment and dive head-first into your long-lived passion for the remainder of the year.

...but even after all the trials and tribulations, nine months weren’t enough to forget him.

Drowned by your recollection of the whirlwind that was last year, your mind finally shrieks for help as you rise to the water’s surface only to find yourself twirling around and around in a dizzying cycle. The cold white lights of the office was blinding, freezing even. The soul of every living being in the room must have been drained to power these accursed lights, you surmise so surely, willing to bet your life on it… not that it’s exactly a bad thing. 

For one, at least you could revel in the fact that you were no longer subject to the torture that your fake colleagues are at the moment. And for another, said colleagues had left you unscathed as you had ventured into the depths of the building. Maybe they had forgotten you. Maybe they never really cared for you unless they could instigate some reaction from you that they once so cruelly found amusement in. Or maybe you just didn’t give enough of a damn anymore to care what they thought—that… that brings a smile to your face. 

Just one more fucking sign of liberation. 

Heels come tapping against the floor and you whip upright to face your beloved friend. You hadn’t seen Solji in over a month since you had last locked yourself in your room in the name of literature. Blood rushes from your head under the hands of gravity and a sense of queasy twirls descend into your stomach. 

“Oh, Y/N, you’re here,” Solji coos, smiling as she spins you around on her chair, “how are you doing? And yes, I already know your answer after all these years of witnessing your bad writing habits, but I’m still going to ask out of courtesy. Are you eating well? Sleeping enough?”

“Well, as you know, I’m somewhat sleep deprived, somewhat self-gratified, not nearly satisfied, but…  at the very least I’m alive, even if my eyes burn and my lips chap,” you pause after the two of you share a short-lived laugh, eyes sinking to the floor before you muster the courage to point a thumb over your shoulder and at the computer screen behind you, “so, um, what’s this about?”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air when Solji arches a brow only to let in an inaudible gasp as she peers at the computer screen behind you.  

“Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I called you over to tell you properly, but I guess you beat me to the chase,” Solji prims lopsidedly. 

Her hesitation to proceed manifests in the hitch of her intaking breaths, probably mulling over her next words as she observes every emotion that flickers across your face—a tinge of betrayal, mostly disappointment, perhaps even a bit belligerent, but most of all, hopeful. A puff of air leaves her when she notices the light at the end of your tunnel vision eyes, eyes widening as she crosses her chest. That being said, it still amuses you how often she’d tip-toe around the incident last year, for fear of catalyzing another mental breakdown. 

“You see, after seeing how much... negativity the SS brought you last year… and after realizing how far this site has strayed from my initial intentions of supporting an upcoming boy group and how it’s turned into this monster of a toxic tabloid, just hunting down these poor boys like they’re animals at a zoo, I made the final decision to close it down.”

After you had treated Yoongi like an animal for your own gain—the thought still stings you with guilt. Solji had advised you that time would heal the pain just a month in the aftermath of the storm, but now that you’re finally here, one year later, you find yourself caged in the eye of the storm. 

“Oh, no. It’s toxic, no doubt about that,” you nod absentmindedly just as you’ve always done, disregarding the split second of a wince. Numbness has been the only effective coping mechanism since he left. “It was a good decision.”

This is your fault. Solji’s first piece of work, first treasures she had the gratification of grooming and growing into prized jewels envied by all, like the children that were your every written work, now put to eternal slumber because of your mishandled outbreak. 

“This decision was inevitable, Y/N,” she speaks softly but firmly, reminding you like she has dozens of times in the past year, “the SS is innately toxic and I’m going to put an end to it. It’s not your fault. Remember that, Y/N.”

Blinking blankly at her, you take a deep breath and sigh heavily—but the weights on your shoulder remain ever the more prevalent. “It’s hard to tell myself that when the person I need to hear it from the most despises my guts, but yeah, I’ll try.”

“Don’t say that…” Solji murmurs, swiftly striding forward to take your hands into her own soft ones. Squatting down, she meets you at eye-level. “Has—” she hesitates in the midst of her tracks “—he, not contacted you at all?” 

She avoids his name at all costs but that only makes you more aware of the pain that gnaws at your chest.

“Who? Oh, Yoongi? No, he’s probably too busy doing what celebrities do, you know? TV appearances, award ceremonies, and all that... ” you feign nonchalance that elicits a look of concern from your motherly friend. Shaking your head, you shrug; but just as quickly as your shoulders rise, your shoulders descend, seemingly monumentally heavier, as dejection dawns upon every inch of you. A familiar feeling of despair returns and all purpose to compose yourself leaks from the fading smile stitched to your lips… because what’s the point of pretending anymore? Swallowing the smidge of pride you had left, you let your eyes fall to the floor just as your spirit has. Your words come out meekly—you’re not even sure if you were speaking, for all you could sense is the slight slur of your tongue and tips of your grazing lips. “No… he hasn’t, no.” 

“He hasn’t called you since he left? Or even texted you?” 

Her voice crescendos under the hands of her wrath; but to you, her anger is an afterthought, a shadow to her deduction, because hearing her put your worst realizations into words, as if forcing you to acknowledge the harsh reality, hurts you the most. You don’t want to give up. It’s foolish. You don’t even deserve this privilege. But still. You don’t want to let go. 

After all, despite all the harassment and bombardment from feverish fans and news outlets, isn���t that the reason why you begrudgingly kept your phone number? Foolishly and helplessly waiting for his and his name to light up your screen someday? 

Clutching your phone tightly in your grips until it turns a numbish white, it takes all the strength in you to shake your head, “no, I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

You knew this would happen. What else did you deserve after betraying him. He already had trouble expressing himself outside the music realm; and yet, after he had so faithfully entrusted you with his secrets and vulnerability, you reminded him of all the reasons why he had hid from the world in the first place. This is what you deserve: radio silence.

But you just don’t think you can voice it out to Solji. 

Not without cracking your voice and tumbling into an unstable mess, that is. 

Observing your slow descent, Solji hastily squeezes your hand with a voice that rings of the only cheer you’ve heard in months. “Hey, what about that message we worked on putting together?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “I’m too scared to check.”

“...Y/N, I’m sure he’ll come around,” she finally manages to say after a long pause. 

The more she says that, the harder it becomes to believe. At this point, you find no resolve to refute her utterly gullible implications. Pressing your lips into a thin line and routinely nodding your head, you look off into the distance beside you, waiting uncomfortably for her to untether you from her vigilance. As a seasoned professional around you, your lack of eye contact speaks volumes to her and the looming clouds seemingly spread its wings onto your friend. How cruel is it that happiness is limited, yet guilt seems to be boundless? You know you’re being a drag to your friend, so why does she even bother? It only makes you guiltier. 

Her smile, on the other hand, has other plans, as it shoos the gray shadows away and out of her cubicle just as her hand on your shoulder brings light to your vision—and suddenly, as you peer up to find those vibrant, orange locks and cheek-raised smile of hers, it’s almost as if someone had swapped your icy cold, blue filters for a warmer, more welcoming gold. It’s relieving, really, to have someone there for you unconditionally. 

“And if he doesn’t, then I guess it’s his loss and my gain. I get to have you all to myself!” she chimes likened to a kid with her favorite toy, and before you know it, she has you by the hands and pulls you to your feet as wind is knocked from your lungs. “C’mon, let’s go get something from your favorite coffee shop down the street, yeah?”

Your mind runs blank for a second but your lips return her smile, as if by second nature. 

“...yeah,” you hum as she guides you through the labyrinth of cubicles and a gust of wind refreshes your hazy state. 

The familiar irking honks and running engines blast you back into reality, a reality in which you had once lived on the daily just a year ago. Writing was your hobby, your everything, and yet, it crippled you, pained you, betrayed you. Sometimes the things you hold closest are the most dangerous of all and you learned that the hard way; but as Solji squeezes your hand and tosses her head back to check that you were in fact still present and somewhat well, her hair twirling in the wind and her eyes forming crescents, your heart welcomes you home once again. If holding her close would endanger you to further heartbreak down the road, you know she’s worth every ache. 

“Hey, Solji?”

“Hm?” she twirls around once you two reach the crosswalk and await for the green light. After noticing the glimmer in your softened eyes that watch her with utter admiration, she shudders with a scoff. “What now? You want me to pay for you drink, too?”

“No,” you pout, hooking your arms to her own crossed ones and swaying her side to side. “I just wanted to thank you.” 

“What is this about?” you can feel her cringing through her titters. “Why are you suddenly acting like this? I thought you were still in the dumps!” 

“I am! But not as much now that you’re with me,” you coo, clearly amused enough by her reaction that you almost convince yourself to rub a cheek against her face; but instead, you choose to cradle your head into the crook of her neck. 

“You silly girl,” she scolds, slapping the top of your head before settling into a soothing pat. “I’ll always be there for you.”

“Really?” you lift your head like a pleasantly surprised child and she frowns amusedly at the smile on your face. “You promise?”

“Promise? I need to promise you?” she gapes, baffled enough to slap you once again on the head. “Who else stayed by your side even after you abandoned them? Huh? I don’t see anyone! Tell me where—”

“—oh, there is one!” you exclaim and Solji whips her neck only to find you pointing at her right between her eyes. “She’s right here!” 

Your usual antics elicits a groan and a roll of the eyes from her. The lights turn green and you nearly trip over your feet trying to catch up to her sudden acceleration as she attempts to flee your side, ironically contrary to her latest proclamations. “Well,” she scolds lightly akin to a lecturing friend who worries over you like a mother, striding confidently and pridefully through the streets with your arms hooked around hers, “as long as you know who’s really there for you and who’s not.”

“I know, I know,” your remarks exude of sheer blissful gratitude as you lay your head against her shoulders and smile giddily to yourself. “Looove you, mom.”

“Ugh,” she scrunches her shoulders, “please don’t do that ever again.”

Hands buried in your pocket and bare face exposed to the cold winds of winter, the thumps of your fuzzied heart is enough for you to acknowledge that you are alive. 

“Do what?” you quip. “Love you?”

Arm in arm with the widest smile that stretches from ear to ear, you swear your heart has at long last awakened once again; for at this very moment, you can finally feel. 

“Stop!” 

Perhaps you aren’t completely well. 

But you are alive and you know you still will be far down the road.

And for now? 

That’s more than enough.

-

The stirring of the alcohol settles in the back of your throat, your mind still slightly hazed as your friend plops you onto the couch and you could do nothing but flash a goofy grin at her frown.

“Soljiii, let’s get another drink,” you drawl. “You promised we would go bar hopping!” 

“Yes, you somehow convinced stupid me into taking you to a bar instead of a cafe, we bought you one drink, and now we hopped back to your apartment! See? Bar hopping,” she perks both hands up like a bunny, laughing at the scowl on your face. “You’re finally starting to feel better. I don’t want you to drink too much too soon. Ease your way back into it, alright?”

“I-I’m not even,” you pause because what exactly were you trying to say again—oh, right, “I’m not even that tipsy.”

Your friend narrows her eyes at you as she gathers her purse and coat. “...uhuh, well I prepped a bottle of water for you in the kitchen just in case. I’m almost late for my meeting, so I gotta go now. Call me if you need anything!” she shuffles to your door, throwing one last glance over her shoulder before departing. “And don’t go out on your own until you feel better, okay?” 

“Psh—” the door slams “—what am I? A baby?”  

Perhaps it’s the alcohol that runs through your veins or perhaps it’s the adrenaline after the first girl’s night out in a year, but nothing in you agrees to being locked within the confines of your cramped apartment. You need to distract yourself from wallowing in the dark, especially in your apartment, otherwise you’d face an all-too-predictable spiral into an abyss of self-pity. Jumping to your feet and stumbling toward the door, you hum a familiar tune that soothes the heart which aches in the wake of a high stuck in the deafening silence. You haven’t been able to pinpoint the origins of the tune that had pulled you through the sleepless nights and nightmarish days, but as you draw the door closed until just a crack between your doorframe and its lock remains, just enough for you to peak through at the disarranged sheets of your bed, and just long enough for you to gaze longingly at the two figures that lay in your bed eye-to-eye and arm-in-arm in a comfortable silence, an answer arrives and your heart is left with an unsettling stir.

The melancholic stain remains deeply rooted in tonight’s atmosphere and its intention to stay cements throughout the torturously lengthy night. You don’t realize it until you enter your elevator and press for the first floor that you notice the wall you had braced your heart with at every corner of your life. At some point in the last year, you had subconsciously defended yourself from the doleful memories that would reign your next few weeping nights. 

Because as you stand here in the elevator, eyes stuck to the closed gray doors and thoughts feigned to be preoccupied elsewhere, it’s impossible not to notice the couple that had once stood by you. With your hands tangled in his hair and his arms wrapped over your waist, pushing you against the wall before pressing for the doors to close and returning his hands to slide to the small of your back, you can still feel his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. The electricity that sparked like fire between his lips and yours, the hastiness of his every touch that begged for the privacy of your room, and the worrying ache over spotting the daughter of a CEO that was drowned out by the waves of yearning and buried into the back of your mind like an extended dynamite persists to haunt you to this day. 

Because as you make your way out of the apartment and down the streets of the neighborhood, the gray hues of a sky shrouded by gloomy clouds on a winter evening seeps into the backdrop, fading into nonexistence just as quickly as speckles of sapphire blue bedazzled by gleaming stars paint night as day. There, just a block down from your apartment, the steps of your foot patter against the sidewalk, slowly and reluctantly, as if to prolong a moment beyond time’s capabilities. Your surroundings whirl around you in a blur and before you could desperately grasp for a break, you’re brought back into a fragment in time when he had taken initiative and held your hands in his for the first time, intertwining your fingers and guiding you home. Silently under the starry night, he declared his love for you. Electrified by the spur of the magical moment, you had confessed your greatest epiphany of falling in love. 

Because as you pass by your neighborhood and night returns to day, you can’t help but stare through the windows of a closed restaurant where Yoongi had once taken you on that one revisited night. You can still remember how he had insisted on taking you out, despite its risks and the potential dent in his career that you had ultimately caused in the end. You can recall staring at his hands on the table and hesitating to touch them but remaining curious nonetheless. There, next to that specific table in the corner of the store, he had lowered his walls and entrusted you with his heart. Music was his passion just as ink was your companion, but on that one fateful night, he was willing to share his greatest friend likened to handing the ultimate weapon to who would turn out to be his greatest foe—you. 

It seems as though the omnipotent universe finds amusement in your pain, for every corner down the street, you find it screaming at you to remember… to reminisce… to wallow in the pain that incessantly evolves and somehow paves its way into existence once again, just as you had nearly ridden yourself of the parasite. 

“Hey, isn’t that Y/N?”

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear someone whispering about. 

“Y/N, who?”

“You know,” a pair of girls point at you with masks over their lips, joining a frenzied crowd down the street, “the girl who dated Yoongi right before news broke out over him and that CEO’s daughter!”

The girl’s next reply is like a punch to the gut, “they broke up though, right?”

“Oh,” her friend scoffs, hooking an arm over the other and pulling her toward the havoc that was the crowd, “definitely.”

Right, you recall to yourself as you pull the neckline of your sweater over your nose, this was why you never walked outside anymore. The spotlight Yoongi’s fame had put on you never seemed to fade after all these months. You aren’t exactly surprised, though; because as a black car pulls up the sidewalk and the crowd descends into chaos, time slows, air stills, and you’re warped back in another episode of deja vu. Watching people scream by the grand entry of the boys, standing afar off to the side of the mayhem with a garment to conceal your identity, it’s almost as if you’re just another character in a tape put on replay. 

Not all fans are what they claim to be. 

They don’t care for your well-being. They only care if your actions served them under the right conditions set by their own selfish demands.

One day, you could be their whole world. 

Another day, you could be no one. 

His fans are no exception, a fact all too evident as you stare off into the distance where people collided and thrashed violently against one another all in hopes of screaming incomprehensible strings of words at the glamorous idols that suffered from the chaos that ensues. Cameras flashing, questions flying, and microphones shoved into their personal space, the scene is all too familiar to the night when you first met Yoongi and the news of your dating scandal shook the entire universe. 

“Whoa!” a girl yelps and you whip your head up only to find yourself collapsing onto the floor. Wind knocks out of your lungs and you heave for air, wincing at the stinging pain that vibrates from your bottom up. The girl, standing above you, spits, “hey, can you stand here in the middle of everything? You’re blocking our way.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re—”

“—oh, it’s you,” the girl gasps and a group of surrounding girls turn to stare at you in bewilderment. “Why are you here? Didn’t Yoongi dump your ass years ago? Or are you here to beg for him back?” 

“Wha—

—it’s okay, take a deep breath, you tell yourself even as you can feel yourself gradually descending into relapse. The darkness that settles into your grim composure and the bitterness that looms over you escapes your grasp as the enemy in you broke free. You have to control yourself. You can’t cause a commotion after all the trouble you’ve brought to Yoongi. The media had seemed to have finally forgotten his scandal between you and him, despite the numerous times his agency refuted the claims. How much unwanted attention would your presence here divert from what truly matters: his music? 

You’re ashamed of your actions. You’re ashamed of your feelings. Really, you’re ashamed of you.

Head hanging low and teeth gritting tight, you keep your glare to the ground and out of sight. The girls only snicker at you as others looked back with pity written over their faces before turning their backs on you once again and actively choosing to ignore the situation. One breath in, one breath out. It’s almost as if you have to remind yourself the simplest things, otherwise you’d freeze in motion and cause unnecessary attention.

But is it too late?

A series of gasps ripple throughout the crowd just as you dust the rubble off your hands. A hushed silence befalls your surroundings, as if by the crafts of magic. A familiar pace of footsteps echo in your riveting heart. 

One step. Thump. Don’t walk toward me. 

Hesitantly lifting your inspecting eyes form the red scratches against your palm, your heart stills by the boy who makes his way toward you. 

Another step. Thump. Don’t save me. 

Akin to flowers that bloom along a wizard’s path, the crowd parts amidst the silence as he walks with confident, swift strides, head down, and eyes locked on you. The power of his gaze is enough to fade the stinging pain and your liberated heart feels as light as the clouds of which your mind remains hazed by. No one mattered at this point, for tunnel vision had overtaken the both of you and everyone except you and him was but a blur. 

One final step. Thump. I don’t deserve to be saved. 

And it’s at this moment that an epiphany dawns upon you. You still long for his enigmatic mien, a stark contrast to his delicate touch and his gentle words that he had so curtly and unabashedly spoken with truth. He had always known what was best for you, for he, too, had undergone the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. You always knew that, even if you denied his help and went through the effort to voice your refusal in an attempt to aggravate the man. And despite all your tantrums and flails and screams, he remains here, patient and forgiving and understanding, waiting for the day you realize he was indeed nothing but a loyal friend betrothed to your heart. 

Because here you are, wounded and tossed aside. Having hurt and been hurt, this was nothing but fair play. You deserve this… but justice isn’t a matter of concern to him. You were his utmost concern. You hurt him, more so than anyone else in this crowd, but the look in those ocean-like eyes that painted more words than those who would simply undermine it as apathetic told you his love is unconditional. 

You were ashamed of yourself. 

He should have been ashamed of you. 

Yet here he is, holding his hand out for you and you only; and before you know it, you’re grasping onto the light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Y/N, are you—”

“—sorry,” you blurt, yanking your hand back and hastily turning around. Shuffling forward, the ruckus that ensues behind you drowns underwater. You’re not even sure if Yoongi hears you mumble, “I have to go.”

“Y/N! Wait, Y/N!” you hear Yoongi call out several times but your feet remain persistent on its trek elsewhere, that is, until your heart melts at the familiar touch of a cold hand that clutches your wrist. Freezing in your tracks, you gulp. He pants in between his words, “Y/N, where are you going?” 

“What are you doing?” you ask with your back on him. 

“Following my heart,” he answers plainly. “What else have I ever done—”

“—I mean,” you cut, biting your bottom lip, “I mean, why are you here? Why did you do that in front of all your fans? What’re they going to say?” 

“They can say whatever they want.”

Shutting your eyes, you take a shaky breath in and retract your hands from his, though not too roughly as to retain your frail heartstrings. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this.” 

“You know damn well why,” he deadpans. “Y/N, please, at least look at me.” 

You can hear the hissing crowd encroaching from afar. 

“I don’t want to—”

“—I’ve missed you damn it.”

You wish he wouldn’t say that, it only makes it harder on you.

“Well,” you muster the courage to utter, even if your heart shatters as you do so, “I don’t.” 

Every step forward plucks at your strings. Every distance furthered between you and him subtracted from the ticking bomb within you. It’s only a matter of time until you could no longer uphold your lie. So you make a run for it. 

Forward, you chant to yourself, keep running until he’s forced to give up and return to the world where he truly belongs… and that’s exactly what you do. You run and you run and eventually you find yourself falling into yet another inevitable trap of the universe. Standing in front of the doors to a concert hall, a place you used to call home before the memories of the night shared between you and him haunted its every corner, you scan around for any passersby. 

You should return home. It’s your safest bet. Plus, did the janitor really not change the lock after all these years? 

Click.

The key slides perfectly into the lock; and even through all the protests your defense mechanism puts on, it’s only inevitable that your heart overtakes your body and you’re already slipping through the slit and leaving the world shut outside behind you. 

Alas, the rows upon rows of burgundy velvet chairs, balconies upon balconies that line the walls, and the dim lighting across the room that plays a stark contrast to the golden lights focused on the stage, everything screams home to you. Even if you can still see him sitting down beside you on the front row, turning to smile that damn half-smile of his, your heart is content over a dream nearly turned reality just minutes prior. The boy of the past beckons for you and you follow him up the stage with a smile on your face. His ghost leads you before the piano, seating yourself onto a cushioned black bench and a set of white keys streaked with black. 

Here, on the stage, the lights are blinding. The audience is blacked out and you can no longer see too far off into the distance. From here, you figure you must appear dazzling—perfect, even; but you know you’re flawed, maybe the golden glow that reflects against the polished wooden floor and onto you makes it hard to believe, but you know you’re human. Up here, the grand piano is the only thing that keeps you focused on the task at hand. 

Is this the sight Yoongi faces every day?

Is this the mundane sight he faced on that night? Or did he see you watching him with those sparkles in your eyes that reflected the star on stage? Did he smile that night, performing whilst observing his sole audience member with utter adoration and a heart on his sleeves? 

The sparks of that night makes its grand entrance, even as an unsettling realization dawns upon you—because the thing is, you don’t remember, you can’t remember if you were busy taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Three notes—you play the familiar notes that had lulled you to sleep throughout the trying year. The tune brings a bittersweet smile to your lips that tugs at your chest. The truth is, you miss him. You didn’t want to turn him away but you couldn’t be selfish any longer. Even so, you miss him. You want to hold him right here, right now. 

“I see you still remember that little performance I put on for you.”

Whipping around, your eyes widen when you find him standing before you. Decked out in a classic black and white suit, with a loosened tie, tousled hair, and hands buried in his pockets, as if he wasn’t sprinting just a minute before, he approaches you slowly. 

“I don’t,” you mumble a lie, turning your back on him and lowering your eyes to the keys in shame, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi chuckles and you can feel his vibrations against your back as he leans forward to hold your hands in a delicate grasp. “I see you’re also still not very honest with yourself,” he muses when you relax under his touch. His hands guide you to the keys—and you don’t know why, but you let him. 

With his fingertips over yours and the top of your hands grazing against his rough palms, the complete song is like an entire symphony compared to the three notes you played earlier. Everything is almost a carbon copy of that magical night, except here he is, holding you in his arms, and here you are, head against his chest as you count the rhythm of his quickening heart. The tune, too, has evolved from the melancholic melody from before.

“...is this the same song?” you can barely utter.

“Oh, so you do remember,” he remarks and you can practically hear him smirk. “The song I played for you was supposed to be the hook for one of my tracks.”

“It sounds different though. It sounds… happier.”

“Does it?” he chortles, still gliding your hands across the piano. “I revised it after that night. I wanted it to be an accurate reflection of me. Simply put, it was too sad, too lonesome. This is more fitting.” 

And now…? How is this an accurate reflection of him? If anything, your betrayal should have been the most lonesome act of all… unless he found someone new. 

The thought has something gnawing in you as your hands fall from the keys and back into your lap. The music stops and silence follows. The deafening confessions exchanged between his heart and yours are all you can hear echoing in the vast room. 

“...why are you still treating me so well?” you finally mutter. His silence only spurs you further into an unexplained fury as you raise your voice. “Don’t you hate me...? Don’t you hate me for lying to you, for taking advantage of you, for breaking your trust when you had so meticulously told me not to?!”

Even in a time like this, Yoongi remains composed as he always does, silently putting his thoughts into words that would eventually quell your fire. 

“I didn’t hate you. I was mad and it hurt like hell for months on end, but I don’t hate you,” he states firmly. “You know I’ve never been one with words, but hell, Y/N, I’ve missed you.”

“Why did your company tell everyone we were through without giving me a single warning, then?” you shake your head in a fruitless attempt to still your racing heart. “Why didn’t you text me back? Why didn’t you call?”

“I did text,” he confesses and you freeze. “I didn’t text you, but I told Solji to take care of you. That’s the most I could do while retaining our break. It was for the better... but if you were waiting for my call, then why didn’t you call?” 

“Well,” you pause, taken aback, “you said you wanted a break. I knew I hurt you too much. I couldn’t just be selfish again and force you to be reminded of me after you had requested me not to.” 

“...is that why you never told anyone Ink Nemesis was really just an aspiring writer in disguise?” 

Silence.

How does he know that? 

No one would have arrived at that conclusion. It just doesn’t make sense.

How does he always read right through you?

“No,” you shake your head profusely. “That doesn’t even make sense. I’m a selfish person, you know that. I didn’t tell anyone so that I wouldn’t tarnish my reputation. I could still go out in public if no one knew I was the one who released those photos. I could still establish my career as a writer if no one knew I was Ink Nemesis—”

“—because you were selfless and because you changed after recognizing how much you hurt me, you decided your confession would only tarnish my reputation,” he surmises a little too accurately, “even if that meant you would have to be plagued with guilt that you’re still trying to carry to your grave.” 

Bulls-eye.

“It… it doesn’t matter anymore,” you bite your bottom lip, hoping anything would stop you from speaking the truth. “Everything happened so long ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. I don’t want it to hurt anymore,” he places both hands on you and you comply as he turns you around to face him. Bangs hanging over his eyes as he leans downwards, your heart jumps at the soft edges of his that you had so yearned to see in flesh again. He speaks lowly but surely, “but isn’t there anything still left from back then?”

You still love him.

Meekly answering, you utter, “...no.” 

“Really? I’m the only one reliving this hellish nightmare on replay, reminiscing over our undeniable chemistry because—and I swear on my life—I would never be able to find someone who understood me like you?” he lays his heart out on the table. “Am I really the only one who feels these sparks?”

Peering up at him to meet his gaze, you can make out the sincerity of his face where the shadows of the blinding lights above falls gracefully. The surrealism of it all takes you out of the race. Even if you were to lie, he would see right through you. 

“...no,” you gulp, lowering your head to conceal the waterworks that make its way to your eyes, “no, you’re not.” 

“I never trusted anyone more than you, Y/N. You know I gave you my entire heart, right?” he speaks sternly. “So is there anything else you want to say to me?” 

“I’m... sorry, Yoongi. I never wanted to hurt you—” the words you’ve been wanting to say come to you naturally, as if rehearsed thousands of times “—I know it doesn’t matter now, but I won’t ever hurt you again. Ever.”

“Why?” he utters, fingers on your chin and tilting your head back until your gaze meets his. Yoongi’s eyes soften for a second at the sight of the warm tears streaming down your cheeks, lifting another hand to gently wipe the drops away. His touch is electricity against your bare skin. 

“Because I love you.”

Yoongi smiles that lopsided smile of his, fruitlessly stifling the chortles that escape before uttering one last time “then it does matter, love” and locking his lips with yours. 

That, in itself, is enough to tell you he’s forgiven you.

And now, you can finally forgive yourself.

-

“First of all,” you clear your throat hesitantly, leaning forward into the microphone that squeaks, “I would like to thank you all for coming to this press conference. Although Yoongi and I have already settled things privately, I would like to publicly apologize for my malicious actions against Min Yoongi of BTS. Two years ago I was in an unstable position and I was willing to accept any job just to make a living and persist to chase my goals as an aspiring writer. I know me coming out as Ink Nemesis is not enough of a rectification for my actions, and I understand why certain networks have refused to attend tonight’s press conference, so I want to take this time to thank those who have. I promise I will do my best to answer any question with utmost truth.” 

Dozens of cameras flash in the room filled with reporters and previous fans of the works on your blog. Surprisingly, you can’t even count the number of heads in the cramped room, even if certain fans, both his and yours, had boycotted the press for your first upcoming novel. It takes everything in you not to squint at the blinding lights, because if there’s anything your relationship with Min Yoongi has taught you in the past year, it would be that the media tears you apart over the most trifling matters.

“So, um…” you mumble, shifting in your seat, “we can begin the Q&A.” 

No one speaks but the flashes and clicks persist throughout the silence. Your eyes flicker across the crowd only to find Yoongi’s intent gaze under the rim of his bucket hat with ease. His eyes widen slightly at your call for help before he blinks blankly, looks around, and kicks the chair of the closest reporter to him. 

“Oh!” the bespectacled man raises his hand, jumping at the sudden vibration. 

You lean into the microphone, “yes?”

“Seeing as you have mentioned your humble beginnings as a blog writer, could you explain why you took pleasure in writing via a blog and not through an agency?” 

“Ah, that’s a good question,” you purse your lips. “Actually, I think there are many perks to writing on a blog that many don’t consider, both readers and writers alike. Through a blog, readers can comment on any part of a chapter. Specific feedback, especially the ones that quote certain excerpts of my work, can be really helpful in my progression as a writer. Not to mention, their reception helps motivate me as I write later chapters in the series. I think it’s pretty cool that readers can send messages to their favorite writers and writers can have a personal connection with the very people who support their livelihood.” 

Another man raises his hand, “and what about the cons to running an online blog?”

“Hm, where do I start?” you laugh along with the crowd. “First off, I have to figure out how to even run a blog. I have to design my website, I have to edit my own work, I have to create a cover that looks somewhat presentable, and most of all, I don’t even get paid! The algorithm always changes, so the attention your works receive might not be an accurate representation of its quality.”

“Can you elaborate on how to assess the quality of your work?”

“Well, that’s a difficult one to answer. Sometimes numbers such as likes, reblogs, and comments are a good indication of how many people have read your work, but not everyone leaves any notes. Sometimes people are busy on the days you post and sometimes people just don’t see or aren’t interested in your cover or synopsis.” 

“How does it feel when your work is not received well in terms of numbers and what do you do to proceed? Does the reception change the direction of your work?”

“Honestly, it’s pretty dejecting when you spend hours on something and no one responds. That’s how it is in life, though,” you shrug. “In fact, there was a time on my blog when one of my works received all the attention, whereas another one of my works went completely under the radar. It was pretty despairing to see the stark contrast.”

“And why is that?”

“Why?” you pause. “Well, I have to say I’m a very competitive person. I’ve always wanted to be the best at what I do and I hated that my own work was stifling my growth. I wanted to grow as a writer, and somewhere along the way, numbers became my definition of success and quality. When I noticed that the numbers were falling on something that I was so proud of, I was disappointed. Relying on numbers is a realistic but grave mistake. Nowadays, I could care less about the numbers. Of course, a part of me still cares and I still would love a reasonable amount of notes—” you laugh “—but getting over the misconception that numbers are equivalent to quality helped me in my return to fiction. Honestly, people who rely on numbers are missing out on a lot of amazing works. Trust me.”

“What would you tell your past self right before you shut down your blog?” 

“I guess,” you have to pause and think, “I guess I would tell her to go ahead and do it. I would tell her she had so much to live, so much that she was missing out on life because she gave so much of her time and heart on her blog. I would tell her that when the time comes, inevitably, she would write again because she wants to and not because of anything else.” 

“Why did you really take down your works?” 

“Ah—” how should you go about this topic that even you want to avoid “—it has to do with my reasoning before. I’m a competitive person and I was disappointed in myself. Certain readers only responded when I updated one of my works, some people even unfollowed me whenever I posted something else, but they were never there when I voiced my struggles or needed help from public disputes. I know it sounds silly and I really shouldn’t hold it against them, but it felt like no one cared about me until I served them. My creativity was stifled. Everything added up and I just didn’t want to have anything to do with my blog. Honestly, I was putting too much pressure on myself. I was conceited and it was dumb of me to have such a toxic perspective. Other writers wrote beautiful works, regardless of whether they had higher and lower number of notes, but I couldn’t help comparing myself to them. It’s embarrassing to say this out loud now, really, but that’s the truth. I think it’s a truth that echoes with many online writers.” 

The crowd nods their heads and people start scribbling onto their notepad. Several hands raised in the crowd but you can barely see anyone amidst the flashes, so you toss a finger up somewhere in the air. 

“How are you and Yoongi doing right now and how did he respond when you posted the picture of him on his affair?” 

An audible gasp echoes in the room as you frown, brows furrowed and mouth hung agape at the unrelated question. The reporters stiffen, because surely, it’s a question they’ve all thought of asking but had the decency to refrain from. Trying your best to retain Yoongi’s hidden spot amongst the crowd, you keep your eyes on the reporter. 

“I’m sorry but that’s something only him and I should be concerned over. Him and I are doing just fine, thank you,” you smile when you spot Yoongi giving you a nod with an affirmative smile that says that’s my girl. 

A loud series of coughs saves the tense silence that follows. Everyone’s eyes dart to the very front right row, and when a light focuses on the reporter and their identity is revealed amidst the blackened platform below your stage, you can’t help but smile fondly at her. 

After years of silence, it seems the grudge has finally been settled by her attendance, and thereby support, of your first press conference. 

“Moving onto more important and relevant topics,” Xiao Lin settles the notepad into her lap, devoting all of her attention to you with a grin, “will you ever return to your writing blog? In other words, will you post your old works again?”

“Well, I have returned to my writing blog every once in a while,” you hum. “I’m no longer the same person as I was before, but I’m also not ashamed of who I was and the works that I wrote in the past. When I return, I will return on my own accord and my own terms. I’ll leave you with that.” 

“And…” she scribbles something onto her notepad before looking up, “what will be the name of your upcoming novel?”

A stagnant silence floods the room that waits with bated breath as you lean into the desk and prolong the suspension. Smiling to Yoongi, head lifted and chin high, you speak proudly into the microphone. Alas, when the answer leaves your lips, a hushed gasp intermixed with a collective plaudit arises, for your proclamation is merely the first signal for the end of a beginning.

“Ink Nemesis.” 

-

are you ready for it?

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Hi! I'm 14 years old straight (I think) girl! I have wavy black hair and black eyes, I wear glasses and I'm 5’6. I really like drawing and I'm aspiring to be a writer in the future! I can come off really meek and Awkward at first but later on I open up Abit and can come off Abit goofy sometimes. I like dresses and I think I'm pretty feminine with the way dress, all pink and try to make it cute. I always try to be there for my friends and I in courage anyone I care about to speak to me about their problems as I can and will lend an ear if they needs it, and I always comfort them with the best I can do. I have trouble standing up for myself as I have many insecurities. I have A really thick accent that can sometimes be hard to understand as English isn't my first language. I try to avoid conflicts at all causes because I hate feeling like the people I care about are mad at me, and I be the first one to apologise if things got out of hand. (Hope this is enough, And Thank you! ^^)

I match you with...

Michelangelo!!  The awkwardness doesn’t put him off at all when you guys first meet: in fact, he thinks it’s kind of cute! He definitely puts in a lot of effort in bringing you out of your shell (pun 100% intended askjfsk), and gosh, he melts when you do. he thought you were gorgeous from the very beginning, but your personality really made him fall for you <3  He loves your caring and sweet nature, and he’s always here to stand up for you! You might shy away from confrontation, but just know that he’ll always be by your side!  He loves to read what you write! If he really loves a concept that you have, you can bet that he’ll be drawing it later. It’s really incredible. You can tell that he put a lot of effort into drawing it exactly like you wrote it. Comics, concepts, anything! He also really likes to see your art. He’s a firm believer that art is the purest form of expression, so seeing your art is kind of like seeing a part of your soul! Plus, he really likes your style.  He’s a great ear if you ever wanna talk about your issues, too. He knows that you put yourself out there a lot for your friends, so he works hard to make sure you have that same luxury! In the same branch of talking, tt’s really easy to talk with him, no matter what the medium is. He loves to stay up on the phone at night, but it’s even better when you two are together! Late night movie sessions are plentiful, and almost always end in incoherent giggling. If you still know what you’re laughing about, it isn’t late enough.  Loves how cute your style is!! He loves to play with your hair and braid it. His braids are super complex, so honestly, you don’t even want to take them out! He also loves to paint your nails. Not only does he get to hold your hands, but he also gets to flex his artistic skills. It’s a win-win! Your hands fit perfectly together, it’s wonderful.  Speaking of, he loves to hold your hand. It’s a small gesture, but a sweet one. Something about it just makes his heart flutter. Every now and then he’ll squeeze your hand back, like a reminder that he’s right at your side, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel that same feeling in your heart.  He’s a huge fan of hugs, too. Expect a hug whenever you enter the lair! His hugs are comforting, kind of like being wrapped in a blanket on a winter day. It also helps that he’s so strong. You feel the safest when he’s holding you like that. Of course, he always parts by doing something silly. Either way, you can’t help but smile!  He also draws little hearts and stars on the temples of your glasses. They wash off, though, so there’s no worry about them getting ruined. (You might find little marker stains on your actual temples, though.)  He’s a huge fan of picnic dates. Whether it’s at midnight in New York, or somewhere in the Hidden City, it’s always a fun time. He makes really good food, and it’s something different every time. He also brings a couple of other things, like paper & watercolor. It’s a roulette wheel of what the activity for the day will be, honestly.  Hope you’re fine with sharpie, because he loves to draw on you!! Pink and blue doodles litter the back of your hands, often taking the form of rabbits or cats. (He also doodles a little green turtle on the back of your left thumb, every time and without fail.) He loves to make you laugh!! He thinks your laugh is really cute, and he’ll do the stupidest stuff to make you giggle. 

[seperatestyle]

Random and PERSONAL Astrological Opinions

-Your Tropical (Western) astrology chart should be assessed IN CONJUNCTION with your sidereal chart. Tropical astrology is “man-made” in a sense, and even though I think it’s applicable and makes sense to me personally (especially in relations to the physical manifestations of our reality) I think sidereal is just as accurate and important, being as it is the truest study of the constellations themselves. Do your own research and study at your own risk versus according to popular opinion.

- Cancer, Virgo, Libra, and Taurus are the liberators of Divine Feminine energy.

Cancer - The Mother. To be a nurturer, you need to be in tune with divine instinct. To communicate through intuition, to read between the lines, to be energetically and psychically receptive is the primal instinct of a Cancerian. These natives are creators. Cancers create in harmony with the moon. They emulate the moon’s energy from the powerful glow and intoxicating energy they withhold down to the way their emotions wax and wane in alignment with the moon’s tides. To balance all this heavy and often turbulent energy, it is essential for Cancers to have a creative outlet. These are powerful natives who only need to feel to create. Through feeling, the body naturally flows in rhythm with the soul. Spirit communicates to this receptive sign through creativity. To healthily express and release deep expressions of the Dark Mother, these people must have some form of expression to channel their rich inner world. Like the mother, Cancerian natives will nurture and protect their creations at all costs.

Virgo - The Uncorrupted Woman. The only sign represented by a woman as the sign’s astrological symbol (and one of two human symbols, the other being the Gemini twins). Virgo is the purest embodiment of Divine Feminine energy. Here we have the liberated woman. Not devoted to man, but devoted entirely to herself and her responsibility. She has never endured male corruption in her primal state. Virgo is femininity in her most free form. Being not only human but a virgin woman at that, she is naturally dedicated to her development and nourishment. She must create a home for and within herself, as she relies solely on herself. She must provide food to survive, which involves spending a lot of time in nature and creating from scratch. Nature speaks to Virgo and offers it’s gift of food and medicine as she follows the strong intuition and discernment she’s been blessed with and further strengthens. She heals herself and others come to her in need of her healing hands. Ruled by Mercury the planet of divine creativity, these natives spend a lot of time creating. As she is so often alone in her thoughts, she develops a real gift of indulging in and perfecting her many creative expressions. Virgo is a creative writer/messenger, and portrays her mercurial and earthly nature through her swift, graceful, and sensual movement. She is in tune with her sensuality and sexuality as she’s had time to explore her independent pleasure. Virgo is a powerful, creative, and healing presence and is fully aware of it.

Libra and Taurus - Divine Feminine in all her Glory. They want it? They got it. Librans and Taureans are both ruled by the planet of Venus which represents beauty, value, pleasure, reflection, creativity, relationships, and Divine Feminine energy. Venus is a planet of magnetism. It rules the number 6 in numerology, which is a number that has been quite demonized over time. Venusian power being so strong that threatened masculinity has felt the need to demean and demise it in hopes to bury it from their life and from our mind. When you take a deeper look at the planet’s astrological symbol, you see that it is a representation of a mirror. More specifically, reflection. Taurus and Libra are creators that not only channel Divine Feminine energy through their artistic abilities, but also their ability to create their reality with the reflective and magnetic power of Venus.

Libra is originally the divider of the signs Virgo and Scorpio at a time where the two signs were once one. That requires a huge amount of balance, fairness, and justice to be put into play on Libra’s part from the beginning. These natives have a strong sense of doing what’s fair and a gift for balancing energy. Libra has taken on natural abilities of the two signs and uses the power of manipulation and sexuality along with charm and persuasion to achieve what’s desired. Libra has an intuitive knack for knowing what a situation is missing and the best way to fulfill that missing piece and turn it into a situation that they desire, if need be. As long as this native holds the vibration of feeling worthy of what they are trying to attract, the reflection and magnetism of Venus will bring whatever it is they wish for. They know this and they are extremely receptive of abundance: a big component of allowing divine feminine energy to flow naturally. They are the embodiment of living on the Venus frequency and often unknowingly (and knowingly) use their feminine power to get what they want because the energy is so effortless for Libras.

Taurus knows what they want, and at their pace they’re going to get it. Taureans place a high value on their self-worth, and what happens when you know you’re worth something and you know you want it? You get it. It’s that simple and Taurus knows it. So these natives demand it. They work for it, but they work for it when and how they want to. These earth signs are persevering and know that they’re going to get whatever it is they want, which is why they know they can take their time if they so please. Taureans love beautiful and luxurious items, as they tend to reflect their worth through physical manifestations. These natives love indulging in pleasure, being sensual/ in touch with their senses, being surrounded by and/or creating beautiful things, as well as financial freedom and security. Taurus attracts these things because they are tied to value and worth, and through their high self-worth and Venusian magnetism, it is delivered to them.

[honey-piggy]

happy (i think?) 1 year

Ok so it’s been a year y’all and I have been on a crazy ride this last year. I’ve met some amazing people, some shitty people, some lovely people and some really questionable people 🤔 I have so many wonderful mutuals who I’ve shared so many memes, moments, gifs, fics, recs, pictures and videos with and I’m grateful for the amazing friendships I’ve built on this absolute shit-hole of a website/app. 

Below is a mix of the mutuals I talk to, mutuals whose blogs I love and mutuals who I follow who always post amazing content and bless my dash with diversity, happiness, inspiration, love and colourful things. Even if we don’t talk, just know that following you has been a pleasure so far! This journey’s been great so far so thank you to everyone! Here’s to another year! (If your name is in bold, check below for a special message 💕)

A-C

@afiwashere / @afroarmy94 / @angeljimiin / @awildblackkpopperappears / @dabaddestb-tch / @beekkul / @blksunflowergrl / @canadian-honey / @candiedmingyu / @cherry-bangtan / @cloudyera

D-F

@dearlytea / @emotiadouche

G-I

@gijitae / @gukgalore/ @guksheart / @heinekyun / @icasseopeia  

J-L

@jango-tango / @jour-de-printemps / @juniorgunners / @kainks / @kittenfran / @kuromatoki / @kwkwknsn / @lumochii

M-O

@magiic-shop / @minnpd / @mitaesoroo / @myleejooheon / @nanders-sk / @natazite / @noona-clock

P-R

@polaritae

S-U

@shininjjongg / @soft-hoseokkie / @softstancyj / @some-people-have-lives / @sunflowersinmyafro / @submissive-bangtan / @sunnychims / @sweetheartwonho / @tae-kun / @theangelcafe

V-Y

@wheneverythingslipped / @wonhoneybun / @wonhosflower 

✨ @afiwashere you’re kind and caring and loving, soft and empathetic but that doesn’t lessen your ferocity nor your sassiness. You’re one of the strongest people I know and I hope to always be blessed by your witty words, excellent humour and gentle soul.

✨@cherry-bangtan I had the pleasure of working with you to produce some headers for your amazing works and it’s something I’ll always remember. You were one of the first authors I followed on here and I thoroughly enjoy everything you’ve written. You’re always kind and patient with the people you interact with and such traits are difficult to uphold in such a hostile environment these days. I hope you continue writing masterpieces and I look forward to reading them!

✨ @dearlytea Rea! We haven’t really had the time to speak since you’ve been away on your hiatus but I genuinely love everything about you! You’re funny and talented and write some of the best smut I’ve ever read. Love love 💗

✨ @emotiadouche LEY WHERE DO I EVEN STARTTTTT. I remember following each other really early on and you’ve always rooted for me. You’re a fuckin comedian, brilliant writer and best friend! From whoring out over our favs to asking each other for advice on writing, you’re always there for me, my lil yeetling. Might I also mention your mind is just as filthy as mine and I adore it 😔🙏🏾 needless to say, you’re also a fucking great author and I love you works, I would love to write a collab piece with u. also thanks for ruining my life by introducing me to ATEEZ, I belong to one (1) woman and one (1) woman only. I love you big time, my bbg💘💋

✨ @gijitae minha querida, you’ve been so kind to me and so loving. I love our mutual passion for languages and writing and I absolutely adore the knowledge of cinema you bring to me. You teach me so much and support me so much more, I do not deserve an angel like you. 👼🏾

✨ @gukgalore Rayan, you write some of the best content out there and honestly, you’re so creative. So talented and open-minded and willing to listen to others. Never change, you’re absolutely perfect!

✨ @guksheart Cait, omg :( we’ve been through so much shit, but I can always count on you to listen in times of need and can always rely on you to give great advice. Honestly, you’re a queen and I look up to you so much, you’ve inspired me in so many ways and encouraged me in my writing. From our shared passion for tea and lofi to our undying love for bts and kpop, we clicked from the very moment we messaged. I hope that life is kinder to you than it has been and I hope you find the happiness you undoubtedly deserve. I love you so much! 💕

✨ @mitaesoroo  Bebe! Your timidness and softness is impossible not to like! I know you’re away on a hiatus but I hope you eventually see this. You’re back and I’m so happy! I always have you to thank for sharing amazing tunes with me (your taste in music is impeccable) and for always being there to cry about Monsta x together. I wish you all the best, mon amour 💗

✨ @jour-de-printemps we’ve been mutuals for only a little while but the similarities and things we have in common with each other are absolutely crazy! We’ve ranted together and I’ve enjoyed listening to your stories about the work you do. I also love your writing, you’ve written one of the most heartbreaking stories I’ll never forget and I hope you continue to write more!

✨ @kuromatoki I literally have no words that can express. You were my first follower and the first person I followed and ever since you’ve messaged me asking about CoD, we’ve pretty much been inseparable. Your undying, burning love for B.A.P and dark aes is what I love most about you, along with your soft personality and loyalty to your friends. You are the most amazing person and if it weren’t for the fact we live in different countries, I’d be by your side 25/8. You’ve always been there for me, even when I think I’m undeserving and I hope life grants you eternal happiness. I love you dearly 💗

✨ @minnpd Nova :( I know you left tumblr a while back but you remain one of the most cherished people in my heart. Your writing is absolutely phenomenal and I’ve pretty much read your entire masterlist. I’ll always remember our first interactions and me being intimidated by your status and I’ll never forget the excitement I felt knowing you were about to release a new work. I hope you’ve found happiness and solidarity in life and I wish you the best for the future. I love you! 💗

✨ @nanders-sk you’re such a talented young writer. Your words transport me to the worlds you create and I’m completely lost in every piece. Your writing is magical and although we don’t really speak, I know you have a kind soul. Please never stop writing and doing what you do best. The world deserves to see what an amazing author you are and you deserve such recognition.

✨ @shininjjongg RI LMFJSNS I LOVE OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER, ITS ABSOLUTELY UNFORGETTABLE; who knew two opposing opinions on Dragonball (a.k.a. The Best anime out there) would form such a solid friendship. My Pisces Partner in Crime who never fails to crack me up. You’re always bursting with knowledge about history and it’s so beautiful, your passion. You’re a fierce, determined, take-shit-from-no-one kinda gal and I love that about you. Not to mention you’re really hot too 🤧 I hope your exams went/are going well and I hope to speak to you again soon 💗

✨ @soft-hoseokkie​ Jo! We’ve interacted a bit more recently and I really appreciate the fact you stan underground/rookie/underrated groups who really deserve more recognition for their phenomenal efforts 😔✊🏾 It broadens my horizons and always piques my interest. But! You’re always kind and calm and I love that you’re so open minded. You’re also adorable 🥰

✨ @submissive-bangtan Miss Caro, I’m a little nervous writing this bc you’re one of my biggest role models. You opened my eyes to the domme lifestyle and while I think I’m not really a domme, I can appreciate that aspect a lot more than before. Your writing is sensual and sharp-cutting; thought-provoking and extremely sexy. You’re firm and take shit from no one yet still kind and patient with the people you speak to. You have the perfect balance. Interacting with you has always been a pleasure and I hope to do so more in the future 💗

✨ @theangelcafe Honey, you were my first anon and the way we spoke pretty much everyday was amazing! I know we’ve both been so busy and don’t talk as much now, we still remain close and I always love hearing about your day and your interests! 👼🏾

✨ @wheneverythingslipped Kat, i just, like, love you so much. I remember sobbing over how beautiful you are, your beauty is legit breathtaking. You’re always quick to tag me in things you think interest me and share your passions with me and for that I’m so so grateful. You’re one of the purest souls I’ve ever encountered, you’re so special ✨💕

✨ @wonhoneybun RAE ☀️ We’ve spoken a lot more recently and I think we’ve grown closer. You’re kind, sweet, loving and talented and we share a lot of things and experiences in common. You’ve always been kind to me and always take time out of your day to make sure I’m ok, I appreciate that more than words can ever convey 💌

✨ @wonhosflower Silvia :( you’re so beautiful it intimidates me bshsjsnshhs your passion for cakes and baking is so cute and inspires me to get in the kitchen more often! (Not to mention your love for Wonho & jikook) Whoever gets to wife you one day, will be awfully lucky to have such a gorgeous and talented girl like you 💕

I’m currently away so this is queued but know that I love and cherish you all! 💕✨💕✨💕✨💕✨💕

that’s enough emotion for one day, adeus y’all 👋🏾💗

[kzesl]

So I saw a random post about Merlin, and it reminded me how much I loved that show, and now I want to read fic again. Arthur-centric fic, because he was my fave. The trouble is that I rarely find the type of fic I want to read, because Merlin is a fandom fave, or at least that’s the impression I always got. Where are all the Arthur-centric writers? I already wrote two fics in this fandom when I couldn’t find what I wanted to read, and I don’t feel like writing another. I want to read it, not write it.

Anyone have any recs?

A reincarnation fic would be nice. 

But not one where Arthur is a spoiled businessman that behaves the same way as he did in the first episode of the show, as if he had never learned anything in his previous life and is doomed to always repeat the same mistakes. And Merlin showing up will automatically make him remember, and change his behavior to how it was at the end of his previous life. No. Not that. 

I want Arthur who is an old soul, but not like Merlin who is immortal and has been alive for all this time. I want Arthur who has been reborn many times, has lived many lives since Camelot and now. I want Merlin who keeps not meeting Arthur because he has certain expectations, and the new Arthur never meets them. I want Merlin who passes by Arthur on the street and does not recognize him. Because he is still Arthur, but he is not that spoiled prince form episode one. (Arthur doesn’t always look like Arthur we know. Sometimes he does, and those lives are hard.). I want Arthur who remembers, but not from the moment he was born, but he always remembers when he reaches the age he was when he died, that first time. Arthur was made by magic, originally, and Albion never forgets that he is hers. I want Albion that cries for its King and I want Arthur who can hear it, even before he remembers.

I want knights who are sometimes there and sometimes not. Morgana, who is always his sister, in every life, and Mordred who is sometimes his brother, sometimes his son/friend/grandson/uncle, always there (sometimes a frenemy, but never an enemy, not a mortal one, not after that first time Arthur was reincarnated and Mordred turned out to be his son). Imagine Arthur waking up, after remembering everything in a dream, when being mortally wounded by Mordred is still fresh in his mind, only to find his son, standing in the doorway and clutching a teddy bear, because he is afraid of the monsters in the dark. His son, who looks like Mordred did, when he was a child. Not exactly, because genetics, duh, but enough for a terrible expression to appear on Arthur’s face, one that makes his son flinch away in fear (Arthur never forgives himself, despite it being completely understandable). 

I want Uther and Ygraine, sometimes happy, sometimes divorced, and sometime they never meet. I want Uther who is not bitter and angry and murderous. Not in every life, at least. Not in most of them, either. Give me a very kind Uther, for a change.

I want magic. More subtle, different, but still there. Maybe just in traces, or maybe as strong as it ever was. I don’t know. Both options are good.

I want a fic that focuses on the life when Arthur and Merlin finally meet again, but I want subtle hints at what happened in previous ones. They don’t always have to be explained. 

I want Arthur to see Merlin first. 

I want some drama. Because it’s been a long time, but some betrayals run deep. Merlin is a manipulator. He has his reasons for doing things, but that doesn't change the fact that he is a liar. The road to hell etc.

Give me Gwen, who is sometimes his wife and they never meet Lancelot and they are ridiculously happy.  And sometimes she is already married to Lancelot when they meet. Sometimes she leaves Arthur for him. Gwen always loves Lancelot more, if she ends up meeting him. In one particular life Arthur meets her, falls in love with her again and she falls in love with him and he never does anything because Lancelot might show up, and it will hurt too much when she leaves. But Lancelot doesn’t show up in that life, and they are both miserably in love with each other, until the day they die. She asks him why, once, and he doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing. 

Lancelot is a bad man in one of his lives, just because he is the purest cinnamon roll of them all and him being actually bad (not under-the-spell bad, but bad) would be fun to explore. Or maybe not horrifically bad, but still a criminal with dubious morality. An art thief, maybe. And Gwen works at a gallery. Ta-da.

Modern jobs for everyone. Gwaine being an accountant, doing an office job, and living for the pub nights. He is actually some sort of spy undercover (still lives for the pub nights). Elyan being a pub quiz master, during the weekends, and Percival a kindergarten teacher, maybe.

Leon, a detective, and Gaius a drug dealer (okay, maybe just make him really young and a gamer). Ugh, I don't know, there are just so many options. Maybe someone gets reincarnated as a really famous person. Leon as Ed Sheeran. Or Adele. They don’t have to stay the same gender in every life.

Morgana remembers sometimes. That first life, or them all, Arthur doesn’t know. (One night he wakes up and cracks an eye open to see her standing in his room, with a knife glinting in her hand. He closes his eyes and waits.) 

She never says anything. Not until Merlin comes back into their lives)

Kilgarrah in some form, because the Dragon needs to be there to cryptically annoy everyone.

Some villains, the spice of life. 

Gen or any pairing. I love gen, but I also think that the show was incredibly slashy and Arthur/Merlin was really strong. But whatever. Rare pairings can be fun and delightful. 

In this life, they all remember, whether on their own, or because Merlin has waltzed back in. Dynamics are a bit weird at first. People calling each other the old names, using old titles, court etiquette, round table at the pub, speaking an old language, outsiders being freaked out and wtf. They need to be expelled from a pub at least once. Bring back the Merlin is in the tavern, Sire. Just because. Arthur being kingly, but in a good way.

Happy ending, because they all need it, and I need it, okay?

I’m going to stop now, because this is too long as it is. It was not meant to be this long. Or go in this direction. Sigh.

[vividlytalentless]

The Yielding.

When I first decided to write, I wrote solely with the use of my mind. I spent restless hours, strenuously choosing each word, trying to perfect so hard, that I always ended up with a white page instead. I reached the point where I wondered why am I even doing this? A true writer would never be this burdened.

Now I stand corrected, almost all writers struggle to write sometimes. However, I wasn't writing properly, look writing isn't just about enlightening, sharing ideas or raising debates. Writing itself is a primitive sacred craft, an art made for empathy, to convey the emotions of one heart to another. Thus I've learned to bleed what my broken soul has failed to utter, I've let blank pages absorb my sentiments, encapsulating them for my small circle to read.

So maybe now when I can truly write with my soul and mind, I'll be able to speak with the never-existing you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've never felt that it's my right to choose your name, however, a day might come when my heart gets a human form; a day when I'm obliged to name you, I'll then call you Athena. After the Greek goddess of strategic war, wisdom and poetry, a goddess born wearing a battle armor, Just as the one your graceful soul will have on; you'll learn as tomorrows passes by that life can't wait to break you down, but I'm certain that you, my sweet little angel, you'll be born beautifully prepared.

I promise that I'll always be your Mediterranean, cause no Alexandrian is really ever lost by the sea. As Mays fade into Junes, I'll be by your side, watching with pride, as your baby steps grow into the choices that'll form who you truly are. I'll help you forge a spirit so irregular, that the world could never fit you in its mold. When your heart is so heavy it could form a black hole, sucking all the expressions on the tip of your tongue, I'll bring you my very first fountain pen, and show you how it's done.

If the time arrives, when you come to me with those winsome wide eyes, that just can't get enough of the world asking me, daddy where's Atlantis? I'll take this question as a symbol of acceptance, an allowance to reach out for your psyche, grabbing it closer to mine.

Baby, I'll tell you, your father spent years exploring minds, learning how to perfectly accept and understand. Trust me I'll always be a judge-free zone, forever ready to hear and love whatever thoughts you throw at me. I'll come knocking on your door, showing you that no mood late-night talks can't improve; we'll watch the stars, talking about philosophy and poetry, discussing our existential crises and dilemmas.

I'll teach you everything I've learned about life and humans.

This world is like a bag of sour candy, its bitterness is just an emphasis on the sweetness underneath, so don't you ever fear grabbing a handful. Listen every story in life come in threes, a beginning, a middle and an end, and your story will be a bestseller. Just promise me that you'll never run away from the endings, cause everything that'll pass by no matter how painful it is, is an experience worth living; endings are the water to your soil, ensuring you embark on growing with wisdom and strength.

Sweetheart never stop observing the world, watch caterpillars turn into butterflies, learn that the periphery of a phase, is far away from your demise.

Also keep in mind that solitude is a sweet poison, a toxic desire lurking in every tainted system. You should know that we humans are social creatures, we're most comfortable connected, sharing genuine strong emotions and stories.

Always cherish the holy miracle of true friendship, I'll be honest not all friendships will last forever, and losing friends are the worst type of heartbreaks. However, there's nothing time and ice-cream won't heal. Live your life wearing this big mellow heart on your sleeves, unshackle your soul from your overthinking brain, take risks and don't ever feel afraid from falling in love with people's minds.

My young Amazonian, I know that you'll be born a warrior, a superheroine trying to fix everyone's world. Believe me, I know how hard it is to watch the hearts you care for aching, but there's pain that your hugs just can't fix; sometimes no matter what you do, you cant catch all the pain you want to mend, and you'll only end up with grievous wounds exactly like the ones on my chest.

Yet I know that nothing I'm going to say, will ever stop you from doing what feels right, so here are a few tips. The secret of gaining trust is for you to actually trust first, but never EVER give anyone leverage, it's foolish to assume that all mangos are sweet. Also, don't be wasteful with your words, repetition murders the resolution in your voice, all your heartening will morph into disheartening; think of one's heart as a bucket of water, each word is a drop till it's completely full, and from there each extra word is just a meaningless spill.

My perfect storm, listen to me no matter what they'll tell you our religion is, says or enforce, don't believe it, our religion states nothing against humanity. Following our religion exclusively means that we are a work in progress towards the greater good, and that should forever be your only conviction.

Don't you ever blindly trust what you're told, at no time ever accept that ignorance is a blessing. Wander to the deepest parts of your mind, craft your ideologies, form your own identity. Become your intellect's epitome, weaponize the way you think, love and accept the person hiding at the very back of your mind.

Yet take care, our brain is too smart for our own good. Going through life with chronic overthinking only paves the road to desolation; sometimes all you need is to just lose inhibition, letting your heart get carried away, for the tip of your tongue to taste some of the sweetness of life.

So always approach your thoughts with a big sturdy heart, and that's exactly where you should place your soul, on the fine borderline between your heart and mind. Not detained and tormented by your thoughts, neither fragile and irrational under your emotions command. Your soul should be the intertwining of your feelings and thoughts, creating the heavenly relative being that is you!

My youthful goddess of wisdom, If the time comes when you're here, and you're nothing like my words, nothing like how my mind personified you; even if our hugs screamed disparity, each glimpse of you would still fill my tongue with endearments. No matter who you'll turn out to be, you'll always dwell in the deepest parts of my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

To the purest soul that'll never to exist.

Our society is a parasitic blight that feeds on idiocy; grows on corruption; breeds indifference and defies simple peculiarities.

It'll savagely deny your orientation, identity and ideologies, in the name of its own false religion. It has mastered the art of deception for so long now, It'll herd us like a flock of sheep, carving each one of us into the embodiment of ignorance.

Yet, most importantly our society is also a tainted he, an irrational spoiled male that fear equality, repudiating your rights in the challenge of life. He'll claim possession over your own virginity, he'll cut and modify your very own body, as if ruination is his birthright. He'll harras the life out of the one organ system different body, that your soul didn't even choose to live in. Crimes committed against you, will simply be absolved, cause your screams just weren't loud enough.

Sexists exist throughout my gender's history, and they still do, causing nothing but pain and agony; like an anaconda holding its prey, they'll squeeze the youth out of the virtuous souls.

~~~~~~~~~~

To the never-existing you.

As long as I can remember, I was a two-headed coin that'll never balance on its side. Gray was the abomination my eyes were never able to see. Genuineness was always my primary emotion. I've always lived in the certitude of the edges, no almosts no maybes, go hard or go home.

I also learned to love living this way, a being that loathes intermediates. Yet something as majestic as you are, is a might, an if, a beautiful wavering thought afar from absolute.

They say:

" " فاقد الشيء لا يعطيه

Maybe in a physical world this saying is correct, however, on the psychological level, I believe it's quite the opposite. For so long now I had a fatherly soul in me, a psyche well recognized and experienced by everyone I've loved.

But going through life, I've grown distant from this spirit. I became a perfect blend of failures that I'm too weak to endure, my mind became a horrid mess, I'm a wretched lunatic embodying lucidity. I've grown inwards, my hands can only form fists, I can't shake hands through life anymore. I've accepted frustration, it turned into anger, then I foolishly revered anger; now my soul is on fire, my heart morphed into a furnace, fueled by fury, forging impulsiveness.

My sweet never-will-be-born daughter, my legs just can't walk the road leading to you anymore. I might just be covered by the society's dust, a tarnished male denying your opportunity to live. However, I surely know that what I became, isn't good enough for you; my heart is now an atheist, incapable of worshipping the goddess you are.

I'm well aware that I'm still young, but right now you're so far away from approaching certainty.

My yielding fatherly soul.

[starfaring-princelotor]

I really liked the headcanons for an artist s/o, it was so sweet! I'm a writer though - or aspiring one - so what about Lotor with an s/o who loves to write stories and such?

Dear anon, do you know how powerful words can be? They are the strongest weapon which can topple even the greatest empires, bring a man to his knees for his lover, and plant the seeds of doubt to spread like the worst kind of plague. To have that power and convey it through writing is a gift, a talent, that not many would understand its binding curse. 

Pairings: Lotor x Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Here is the thing about writing.

Lotor is more inclined to writing than drawing.

He finds writing so calming.

Yeah, the man has a journal.

For scientific purposes only.

He did not have a lot of self-expression when he was younger, alright?

Lotor did read a lot of books, ranging from romance to poetry to fantasy.

But as for writing any of that himself?

Sorry. He really is that boring when he scribbles in his journal.

Data this, analyze that, conclude what ever.

Dayak tried, but this kid used the other side of his brain too much.

He is articulated in a different way than you.

But if you read him a line from your work.

Especially when the two of you are simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“The warrior, fatigue with distraught and choking grief, twisted the blade lodged in his lover’s chest. Gone, she would fade from his life, and he cursed the cruel fates spitting on his existence.”

It would hold his interest that maybe

Just maybe.

He would ask you to read again the next night.

“For she loved him more than all the stars and moons in space, and her heart burned hotter than a thousand suns, but in his cold embrace, she found only vast loneliness.”

The poetry is what gets him to pick up a pen and try, regardless of his stunted emotional growth.

He can surely conquer this.

Even a child can write “I love you.”

He has a huge vocabulary list, but organizing them to align with his feelings?

That’s hard for him.

Especially for something so…intimate. 

Love. He has a hard time with love. 

So maybe it takes him like a week or so just to write ONE line of his emotions.

That muse does not come to him easily, unfortunately.

But one day, it DOES come kicking down his heart’s steely walls.

YOU come to him 

Excited, practically a skip in your step, grinning ear to ear.

Then you present your book, completed and finally finished!

And you look so proud, so happy, it makes his stomach warm at the sight.

“Here, read the first page.”

So he does, he gently opens the book as if holding an ancient, delicate tome lost to time.

Then his brows rise as he reads out loud.

“Dedicated to Prince Lotor, the celestial diamond of my life, my love, my inspiration.”

And just like that, Lotor is inspired.

He may not be able to write an entire book on poetic verses.

May not be able to say those three little words for your ears alone

BUT

Allow him to bare his heart in another way, yes?

He writes one liners then hides them around your room discreetly.

“Your hair must be weaved from the purest starlight.”

It’s not all that good, but he tucks that slip of paper under your pillow anyways, and keeps his facade up like nothing has changed.

“When the darkness creeps in my mind, I see your face, and stars, I feel safe.”

He tucks that one in your pocket when you weren’t looking.

“Our souls are made out of the same cosmic dust.”

Perhaps he slips that one in the book you’re reading.

Then, one day, he just straight up hands you a piece of paper.

“I love you, my light, now and forever. I love you and this I know is true.”

Lotor can try to be romantic with his words written on paper.

 He definitely needs time to hone in on his skills. 

But this line? 

This one line?

The rare, soft look in his face when he gives you this?

You can feel it shake your soul because you know he means every

Last

Word

He may not be the best when expressing his emotions, through speech or the written word, but give him time and he will finish a complete journal written just for you.

“Dedicated to my light in the dark.”

[ragnarssons]

what are your favourite bellamy and clarke scenes?

Ok, sorry anon it took me so long to answer this, because eh, I needed to collect my thoughts. PSA, I won’t include some Bellarke scenes from s5 even tho I’ll give a shout out to my favorites. Considering I haven’t seen the entire context of Bellarke this season, I cannot really “put them” in my order of favorite scenes yet. 1) My favorite scene ever is the Head and Heart talk on 413It’s basically, to me, a big conclusion to a long, long Bellarke journey that JRoth was “closing” at the end of s4, knowing he’d engage in a big time jump after that. It’s the epithome, the “all in all” of everything Bellamy and Clarke have become to each other, and the fact that CLARKE was the one expressing it, is… so everything. We know Bellamy was “heart” until that point, but to me, ep413 is pure Heart Clarke episode. And she was literally dedicating her heart to her friends, to everyone she loved, and especially Bellamy (during the speech AND AFTER (and that’s so important) the time jump). Ep413 is the epithome of Bellarke in my eyes, it’s literally JRoth showing us in little ways, intimate ways, how close and unique Bellamy and Clarke have become to each other. How he heals her when she cries, with one embrace. How she talks him into surviving for the “Greater Good” (their people, their friends). How they support each other, how they are the leaders of the Space Squad as a whole. Wow, I love this episode so much. I love their hug on this episode but it won’t be on that list and it’s not my favorite hug. But I really love it because it’s a very caring hug, intimate and just… a hug for the sake of giving someone a hug to erase their pain/loneliness. It’s a pure selfless act and it’s everything Bellamy and Clarke have been to each other.Also Clarke’s speech literally shut everyone up when they were saying that Clarke was “manipulative” towards Bellamy on s1 saying “you’re not a killer” or “all you do is for your sister”. No, it was PURE Clarke, honest Clarke, real Clarke believing there is good in Bellamy, ever since the beginning! 2) Next is the Hakeldama Fight I just LOVE this scene. I think both Bellamy and Clarke really needed it, and on a show where big things are never talked over intensely, I’m really happy Bellarke are this relationship that the writers put a lot of time and effort on. In retrospective, I think it’s one of the most honest scenes ever between Bellamy and Clarke coming to that point, a scene where they really are shown as equals to the audience, in a very undeniable way. Bellamy is not Clarke’s “knight”, he’s someone she cares about, someone she also thought she was helping when she left. And it didn’t work, and he expressed it. And I think that fight really engaged a change in Clarke’s behavior of “taking care” of Bellamy. I feel like she knew from that moment that they were TOGETHER for real. And that was important for a traumatized/PTSDed Clarke. (or used to be Together because then there is this ultimate breach caused by the handcuffing scene. Which I think works in the scene, even tho it’s not a good move from Bellamy. It was important to show a breaking point in their relationship, and building back from that several episodes later). 3) My third favorite scene is The List SceneIt’s basically their “Together or Not At All” which is basically, the epithome of Romance, forreal, the most beautiful love gesture I saw on tv and it broke me and it’s one of the most beautiful scenes of Doctor Who. (watch it!!!) IT’S CALLED MARRIAGE BITCHES. I mean, do I need to develop? Both Bellamy and Clarke love and value each other for who they are as a person, both think the other deserves of surviving. But the strenght of their relationship is how they forgive each other when the other doesn’t. Clarke thought Bellamy was worth saving, even tho he didn’t think he was (he literally said so on the same episode) and same goes for Bellamy thinking Clarke deserves to live. Not to mention the “If I’m on that list, you’re on that list” which is literally I WON’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU ah-hum I mean? 4) Fourth is the Bellarke 313 Beach SceneWatch Ms Mojo’s videos about the Top Ten Bellarke Moments, they describe perfectly the scene and what I took from it. Also it’s my favorite Bellarke hug. It’s a healing hug after the betrayals, the pain, the mistakes, the losses. That whole scene is literally each other, taking time to heal the other from their own guilt, Clarke because she told Bellamy she was forgiving him for the Massacre, that his mistakes were forgiven. And Bellamy for forgiving Clarke for her - probably - worst guilt regarding him - leaving him behind at the end of s2 and provoking that mix of emotions she took in her face on 305. She hurt the person who really helped her the most at that moment, and she hadn’t realized it until he expressed it, and we did see a very hesitant Clarke until that moment. And then Bellarke falling back into sync with the “Together” scene and everything that followed. 5) Fifth is The Day Trip SceneI always saw this as a very honest and emotional scene (again, Ms Mojo agrees with me, suck it haters!). I really can’t understand people who say Clarke was manipulative, because she literally talks about her own fears and worries to Bellamy on that very same scene. The first, FIRST scene where they really connect around the burden they both and each on their own carry. It’s the purest, rawest Bellarke scene on s1, it’s literally the cement on Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship. And I love Bellamy’s breakdown on that scene, and the vulnerability of both characters, and the fact that they confided all that in each other - even tho, narratively, they were supposed to have other “close ones” Finn for Clarke and Octavia for Bellamy. Both relationships which were crumbling down at that point. And Bellamy and Clarke found each other, understood each other even tho they were really brought to the Ground having nothing in common (at least, at first sight). 6) I’ll give a shoutout to the Bellarke Campfire DiscussionsI love s2′s discussion and I loved s5′s campfire scene as well. The lightning is super romantic - fire is super romantic tbh, and I MEAN BOTH SCENES, THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER, the discussions. “Had to be done” and wow I love these quiet moments and to me s5′s scene was a big door opening on Clarke’s confession that, I think, will come and be very important at some point on the season.My favorite Bellarke scenes/episode so far on s5 is episode 3. I love how we see them slowly converging towards the other, how their actions just brought them back together, to the most beautiful conclusion ever “she must be pretty important to you” “SHE IS”. And Bellamy automatically loving and taking care of Madi, knowing that she’s probably the person Clarke cares about the most, and how it just seems like FATE that Bellamy and Clarke see each other again, as soon as he comes back to Earth. TRUE NORTH PEOPLE. SOUL MAGNETS, SOUL MAGNETS. Favorite hugs are, 313, 413, 504, 205 and 216. (I know everyone loves 205 hug but I think the others were more intimate, full of emotions, while ep5′s was settling them as friends, and important people to each other. It’s still super interesting to see how much the hugs have changed and evolved and became more and more intimate- in the camera frame, the length, their faces, and all). I started shipping them on ep4, with Charlotte and I was super happy Ms Mojo included this episode on their list, because I do think it was a big bridge building up between Bellamy and Clarke. There you go, anon, I think I gave you a lot of stuff even tho you waited so long :)) Thanks for the ask!

[reifromrfa]

I Love You, Goodbye: Unrequited Love Series, Jihyun x MC

Hey guys!

This is an hc submitted by @aisheeteiru​! :)

I absolutely love it and it made me tear up ;A; i feel terrible now is this how my writings make u guys feel i am so sorry Please check it out!!!

This is part of the Unrequited Love hc :) I’m not writing for the other guys anymore and was surprised to get this submission but I sincerely love it <3 

After waiting for him to come back from his two years of soul searching, you decided to live together with Jihyun while you figuring things out in your lives—including your relationship.

Unfortunately, it never came to the latter part as you received a life-changing phone call.

It was from a psychiatrist who had been working with Rika. They believed that reconciling with Jihyun may be the most effective treatment to help Rika heal and recover.

Jihyun did not give an answer right away, but you saw him constantly brood and struggle to keep himself from being involved with her again.

And you already knew, you knew how much he wanted to say yes.

Despite everything, even being stabbed close to death by that woman, you knew that Rika will always have a special place in his heart.

Abandoning Rika was a part of his guilt that he never really got rid of.

You still see the regret in his eyes that tortured him whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

Joke’s on him since even from the start, your eyes have always been on him—this kind and selfless gentleman who’s wanted nothing but the safety and happiness of the RFA members.

You wished from the bottom of your heart that he’d want a fraction of that happiness for himself too. But he didn’t, he never did.

And so you decided to give it to him, even if that meant exchanging your happiness for his. You’re willing to shatter your heart and give him the pieces to rebuild his own.

You offered him a brave smile when you encouraged him to accept the offer and even accompanied Jihyun to the first few therapy sessions to meet with Rika.

Fifteen-minute sessions turned into one hour, until it eventually started occupying most of Jihyun’s days.

It was last week’s session that made you decide to stop accompanying him during these visits.

Walking a few paces behind Jihyun and Rika in the psychiatric hospital garden, you froze when you saw the perfect picture of the couple in front of you.

“Aren’t they so perfect for each other? I’m so jealous! I wish I had a boyfriend like him.” You heard a nurse whisper to a coworker as they were passing by.

Perfect…

Just in time, you saw Jihyun turn to Rika, giving her the gentlest and most peaceful smile you’ve ever seen on his face. It almost seemed like it was reflecting the purest form of his soul.

And for some reason, it hurt like no other.

Perfect, indeed.

They were in their own world, looking at each other.

You felt out of place. To begin with, you never really had a place. Not here. Not in his heart. Not when he obviously still loved Rika.

Oh god, it hurt like hell. It even hurt to breathe. You even had to physically stifle your mouth, afraid that you’d cry out from the intense pain. You ran away from the scene so they wouldn’t see your heartbreaking expression.

Since then, you’ve forced a smile and tried to act unaffected when you’re with Jihyun, while at the same time, making flimsy excuses why you suddenly decided to stop coming with him to the therapy sessions.

You can’t possibly tell him that it’s because you had to bite back your tears every time you even remember that scene. There’s no way you could stand seeing them together again.

And after a week, you’ve decided.

You have to let him go, even if it kills you inside.

You wanted nothing more than for Jihyun to be truly happy. And you’ve finally realized, it wasn’t you who could give that to him. No matter what you did. No matter how much you love him. It’s not enough. You’re not who he really loved and he can’t keep forcing himself to stay with you out of obligation.

Blinking tears away, you left the goodbye letter on the top of your shared bed. You know you couldn’t bear to say goodbye to him in person as he would see you would break apart in front of him.

You’ve only been living with Jihyun in this temporary condo for three months, but you’ve definitely felt more at home here than you did at Rika’s apartment—heck, even your own house.

Most of the furniture and appliances were simple and inexpensive, but you and Jihyun had picked them together like newlyweds. It felt like home because you built this place with the person you love.

But now, you have to say goodbye—it’s for Jihyun’s sake. And you would do anything for that man, even give up your life.

You were long gone by the time Jihyun returned to your shared condo.

He had a gentle smile on his face as he called out for you from the door.

His first clue that something was wrong was the absence of your usual “welcome home” and your sweet smile, which never failed to greet him whenever he returned.

“MC?” he called out again, this time a little louder.

“Are you in the kitchen?”

His instinct kicked in and he felt himself starting to panic.

“MC, where are you?”

He checked the other areas of the condo.

He was almost running by the time he reached the bedroom.

It was when he checked the closet that he noticed how it looked half-empty. All of your clothes, your belongings—all traces of you had been removed from the place.

It was as if you never existed.

Trying his best to remain calm, he took out his phone and tried to call you—only to find that you had left your phone on top of the bed, next to a folded-up piece of paper.

With a heavy heart, he picked up the letter. He already knew what was in it before reading its content.

In it, you told him about how you found a job at a far away city so you decided to move away, but you’d contact them once you’re settled at your new place.

It didn’t make sense…it didn’t make sense at all because it was an obvious white lie to spare his feelings, so he wouldn’t feel guilty about you leaving.

Looking down, he belatedly realized that there was another object left beside your phone on the bed.

It was a polaroid photograph—a candid shot of him that you had taken two months ago, when you were still unpacking things you bought for your condominium.

In the photo, Jihyun had an embarrassed look, but his eyes were clearly laughing at the camera—one of his rare smiles forever caught in that one polaroid.

Below it, as if written as a caption, were your last loving words to him.

“It was only a short time, but I was really happy. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. Now it’s your turn, Jihyun. Please be happy  -MC.”

The picture in front of him gradually blurred as his vision became obscured by tears.

Jihyun clenched his fist and closed his eyes in agony, finally letting the unshed tears to freely fall down his cheeks.

Once again, he screwed up. Once again, he failed to hold on to the most important thing in his life.

How did he not realize that the one last thing he’s doing to really free himself from the burden of his past was going to destroy the future he’s been working toward?

Rika had finally truly forgiven him and today was his final visit to her. They had finally parted on good terms.  

He was doing these therapy sessions with Rika as a way to atone for the past. In that way, he can truly forgive himself and give you his everything. So he can love you the way he really wanted to. So he can love you the way you deserve.

Unfortunately, he lost you before he can get to do that.

Follow @aisheeteiru for more mysme-related content! :) <3 She wrote this hc, i own none of this!!! She’s an amazing writer and I hope we can do a collab soon! :)

[paraclete0407]

['And I Will Give You Rest]

- ‘People determined to keep their inner lives’

- 'All Milwaukee started to hunker down for or toward Delta'

- 'The magic of Half Price Books was gone but so were the racists'

- 'The visions of turkeys - "appreciate me," their insouciant defiance"

- '"Hyper moron" meaning sth approximating to "going too far"'

- 'That the few things which had caught his eye in past were still the things which counted in his heart, ghosts or otherwise.  The strange sermon from Christ Church about ghosts not being alive but a love nevertheless but what was that supposed to mean?  Magdalen took the Risen Lord for a ghost in the garden but was that just my self-aggrandizing-Christ-Complex-ing retort to a pinpoint criticism of my trivial existence?  Moreover were my demons gone or were they battling each other more than ever ‘Parliament of Devils / Fallens Angels’-style out of Paradise Lost or one vice / sin trying to compensate or counter-balance for another and if so & there again was Putin going to nuke Milwaukee just to put an end to the push-me-pull-you I-know-ha-ha know-you-are-but-what-am-I I-have-heart-failure-meaning-you-have-heart-failure Shadowplay Mirror Stage monstrosity and abandonment?

 - 'They were trying to get life right for the first time for the first time in a long time, and for a time he ventured in to or in any event towards a space "beyond irony" in which he had a positive or living wish and could perhaps meet someone new.  He wasn't keeping secrets or rather was not centrally defined by these secrets, by his past.  JEP had quoted inadvertently or otherwise from 'The Great Gatsby' as did General Mattis although it was hard to tell if either of them understood the part about young men's personal testimonies being marred by redactions or self-censorship.  His mother had quoted from Got saying that winter was coming; Shanghai-1 had quoted from Confucius saying, 'I hope that my future child will not hesitate to abandon [sex]'s faults.'  I was working on 'My First Major Mistake' and postponing or 'bracketing' my 'little stories' about amatory failure.  At the height of the self or self-system a 'Sospira' happened - a flight up of sighing or prayer in which borrowed or received - rather inherited or patrimonial words came to override accustomed 'messaging.'  Future King Edgar said, 'Speak what we feel / not what we ought to say,' but I'd been trying for basically a decade to say what was right to say, spurred or overdetermined by Colossians 4:6.  I was disappointed by the 'genocide-monkeys' on Amazon.com who hawked General Mattis memorabilia as though the conscientious leader of men (boys / lads) and female youths as well had been an exponent of massacre for massacre's sake like the Call of Duty game in which they mowed down airport-travelers in order to ingratiate themselves with Russian terrorists.  But I didn't think the children of tomorrow wanted spies or infiltrations and my 'John le Carre / J. Alfred Prufrock Jr.' hyper-fanfictions were only theoretical invetsment-options; what they wanted were literal "Spaceships to Venus" whilst I had long since contented myself with IZ*ONE's "Spaceship" and pictures of tender shadows covering journeyers in airports.  "Our Souls at Night" was fundamentally about failures, vanities, cruel reversals, 'Harvests of Sorrow,' lingering bemusements of schooling as well - the man perhaps feeling at life's end pace Augustine 'one's body is one's wife,' that he had no other flesh.. Why had I told myself that love-stories like "A Walk To Remember" were less toxic than my premarital-but-expecting-practically-predestined-to-get-married military counter-terrorism fictions in which people acted ethically almost 100% of the time instead of comporting themselves as 'principle monkeys,' who'd said in their hearts, 'I have to do this; I do this - therefore, I rain chaos and "War without Mercy" on everything and everyone else & why would I follow one rule unless to blow apart another.'   My ex-boss had said, 'What do couples talk about?'  IT's your kids stupid!  Except Jewish couples talked about non-Jews - everyone were tribal hacks going Gr. "hyper moron."  But, with him and her, I had had an atheist's heart and an 'expressive-individualist-Milleniial-complaint-self-consciousness-JZM-O-Sole-Mio-CCP-revenge-Faustian-Pact-monkey''s tongue.'  Atheism, Satanism, demon-summons + infections, metatstatic death-cult Scientism, blasphemy of Spirit, sons and daughter of destruction.  B. and I had kept quoting Moshe Rabbenu, 'Heaven and Earth as witnesses AGAINST you - that ye shall surely die!'  And they totally massively desperately loved Mao; adored 'Parasite,' - an ecstatic orgasmic rapturous 'yes' to WW3  

'A Final Love'

'That do'st prefer the upright heart and pure... sing Heav’nly Muse' - and I remembered Penn Station New York in view of CS Lewis on 'Home' - the angel said, 'Divide, divide, divide' - I wanted to abandon PhiEd and attempts to change some minds forever; my own heart was here with a dream of there.  [German submachinegun] made me feel secure but in this apostolic-revelatory new century the naked or dove-silvered dreamers hesitate through fraught cold forests searching for an Eastern Empire & I remembered 'Crowns of Glory,' wanting to be the First Gentleman of the United States by 2056.  Tender shadows + the pleasure of helping people like the pleasure of thinking that you know the truth.  We consecrate sometimes and sometimes merely symbolize or indicate or theorize; 'maybe mine.'  

I am crossing the bridge - the mountain-divide - Chinese rocket with the guy-wire 'That's not even it' - the Gothic spire went straight up; was I tempting God like 'Paradise Regained?' - the little children had moved me to simplify my language then I happened across 'may reticulate "nay come on take the chance of anger..'"  I discussed the anguish of King Hezekiah and forgot again; I canceled my parents, fathered my brother.  Isaiah 38:15.  Shadows in Madison WI and a dream of 2 angels over mountain; Uchida Mitsuko's D-960, sobbing, ‘why already do I have to die; have I taken the Westward path; why did I ot get married; why did I not move out; why am I still writing music instead of living a life of love in material and physical and marital and domestic and all other respects?’  His anguish in a distant way I see now is like that of Cui Jian in ‘Yi wuo suo yo’ - ‘I have nothing.’  At the moment of peak creativity or ‘spiritual productive power’ he confronted the end of his life on this Earth, rather than the lodestone or seed of a future which would allow him to ‘make it big.’

I had left behind sacred professions esp. jurisprudence; possibly because my underlying vocation had been for the priesthood or at least my most basic identity was Christian and I had attempted to bypass this, preoccupied with ‘getting established,’ as if one had to be a man in full before making the simplest purest decision.  

I imagined eating bread with honey and an egg for breakfast at Memorial Union and then studying all day but I could not determine my mind to be filled with the details of the legal code instead of bringing forth something out of myself or in the end succeeding as a writer.  My experiences at law school orientations had been discouraging; I had no idea what my prospective future classmates really stood for or meant by their words or ‘speech-acts’ except that they were utterly intent on making much of themselves and their lives or their time on this Earth; they seemed to be ‘capering; jet-set kiddies.’  A Dept. of State spouse seemed to brag or revel in her international experience / exposure.  I met a Korean who was married to a Japanese and who had experienced a stroke at a comparatively young age (due, I can only infer in retrospect and after 11 years, to extreme militation of one soul or spirit against another); I perceived that his habit of telling the same story to everyone he met might have been unconscious, as if he kept forgetting that he already said or had lost track of the fact that he was being artificial.  After receiving the first and the second Pfizer jabs I started to perceive the blood in my own brain and several times became severely concerned of an impending stroke or other failure of the circulatory system.  I worried too that fasting had thinned my skull and rendered my brain over-sensitive to external electric fields.

We talked for a little while and walked out in the night together; it was a sacred experience; however, I had no expectation we would really become friends or meet again.

I had read 'The Executioner's Song' and seen 'Michael Clayton' about getting out of Milwaukee and pure blonde Charity-receptive girls of 2007 seemed to be gone though I could've made some listen in '16...

[stereotypicali]

05/17/2012

This blog has always been my solace. My safe space. I think it's been the platform that has allowed my most raw form of expression, especially regarding my writing. I have always found such comfort and ease in writing, and it's about time I start embracing that. Since early school years, I wanted to be a writer. It was the only artistic gift of mine that was valued by the adults in my life. People loved my writing, and I loved to write, so naturally, I wanted to grow up to be a writer. And then there were all of these rules, all of these complications in form that came up specifically in my high school years. I don't think I have ever seen MLA format outside of my high school environment. The fiery passion I had for writing began to dwindle as the logistics and technicalities continued to flow in. I don't remember a lot from my classes in high school. I found it difficult to focus and unnecessary to learn the majority of the material I was being taught. I've always had my priorities in check, in a weird way. Those priorities required me to be, for lack of a better word, "checked-out" in class. Except in Mrs. Schrock's class. She was the first teacher who saw me for who I really was and showed kindness, understanding, and decided to nurture my gifts rather than force me into a uniform agenda. Rather than my parent's going to conferences with my teachers and hearing about how hard it is to get me to do my work or how much of a pain I was, Mrs Schrock expressed that I was a light in her day. "Hannah lives in her own little world, and I wish I could be a part of that world," she would say. Mrs. Schrock, you were a very important, core piece of that world and I cannot express enough gratitude for the love and nurturing you showed me as a child. I kept her close to my heart as I continued school. Although I didn't find another like her until I was 16 years old. I fell out of love with writing with the English teacher before her who insisted I couldn't write worth a damn. Nancy Nott was vibrant, fun, and incredibly intelligent. Not only did she academically excel, but she understood people. She understood people to a degree in which I entrusted her to understand me. She did, and I had no doubts that she was placed into my life at that exact time for a very important reason. She reminded me that although I was growing up, being an adult didn't mean that I had to abandon that sense of magic and childlike joy in my soul. I could express it through art and writing, and maybe one day, I could just express myself. Well, I'm getting there, Ms. Nott. I know I am just a background character in your story, but you were an important building block in mine. This one goes out to the teachers who don't just read and assign. Thank you for everything that you do to nurture your students as individuals and leading them to find their passions in life. Thank you to the adults in my life who accepted me in my purest form and loved what they saw. I'm starting to see, and I'm starting to love what I started to think that I lost. Thank you to the teachers who care. My father, my biggest fan and one of my ultimate role models, is retiring in a week from 30 years of teaching middle school math. Bless his heart. The patience and care he has always had with me and my sister, he expressed to all of his students. I applaud the chaos of teenage hormones he had to endure and the endless days and nights he spent teaching and coaching to make sure his students received the best care possible. I used to think I would die if I had to attend the school district he taught at. Now, I would consider myself lucky. My father is one of the ones who cares. To some, it is second nature. To others, standing in the shoes of another is difficult, and our selfish thoughts and ego can blind us. The best we can do, every day, is just try to be the one who cares.