#heal my anger and sadness with warmth and love

[i5uckersblog]

When It Hurt

Summary: Logan cares for Wade during a painful episode, showing him he’s not alone.

Wade was slipping.

The pain felt different this time—worse. It crawled under his skin, dug into his bones, and wouldn’t let go. He had stopped keeping track of the days, the hours. Time blurred into one endless stream of hurt, and the only constant was the hollow ache deep in his body as it rebelled against him. His healing factor, usually his greatest weapon, was failing him tonight. Every cell felt like it was tearing itself apart.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He was cold. So cold that his teeth chattered, even as sweat dripped down his scarred face. His body lay sprawled on the floor of his dingy apartment, too weak to rise, too stubborn to call anyone for help. Not that anyone would care, right?

The door creaked open, but Wade didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t muster the strength to react, not even when the familiar heavy footsteps approached. A low sigh cut through the silence, and then that voice, rough as gravel.

“Wade.”

Logan.

Wade’s breath hitched, his body convulsing in a painful shiver. He wanted to say something, crack a joke, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “Logey…? Thought you… swore off visiting my… beautiful face.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he knelt beside Wade, his gruff demeanor softening for a moment as he took in the sight of the man lying before him—pale, trembling, and looking more fragile than Logan had ever seen him. Wade was always larger than life, hiding behind endless wisecracks and masks, but now… now he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Christ, Wade. What’ve you done to yourself?” Logan muttered, his brows furrowing. His hands were steady as he gently touched Wade’s face, checking for fever. Cold as ice. “You’re freezing.”

Wade let out a weak laugh, the sound hollow and brittle. “Yeah… I’m a walking popsicle… catch me while you can.” His lips quivered, his voice breaking at the end. He hated this—hated being weak in front of anyone, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t bite at the joke this time. His focus was on getting Wade off the floor, his hands moving with surprising gentleness as he hooked them under Wade’s arms. “C’mon. We gotta get you warmed up,” Logan grumbled, lifting him with ease. Wade’s body was limp, too drained to protest.

The mercenary let out a faint groan as Logan guided him toward the couch, his muscles spasming with every step. It hurt. It all hurt. But he didn’t want Logan to see it—didn’t want to let anyone see how much it hurt.

“Logey, if you wanted to… cuddle, you could’ve… asked,” Wade slurred, trying desperately to keep up the act.

Logan just shook his head, his jaw tight. He laid Wade down on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much. Wade could feel the warmth of Logan’s hands lingering on him even after he pulled away. A shiver wracked his body, and his teeth chattered violently.

Logan grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, covering Wade with it. “You’re a goddamn idiot,” Logan muttered, but there was no anger in his voice—just something that sounded almost… sad.

Wade stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his vision blurry. “Yeah, but you… you love me,” he whispered, his breath catching on the last word.

Logan froze for a second, his expression flickering with something unreadable. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Wade could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, water running. His body ached, the pain throbbing in every limb, but for the first time in days, he wasn’t completely alone.

Logan returned a few minutes later, kneeling beside the couch with a steaming mug in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He pressed the glass to Wade’s lips, helping him drink. Wade gulped down the cool liquid, grateful for the relief it brought to his parched throat.

Logan watched him, his brow furrowed with concern. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

Wade blinked, trying to remember. The days had bled together, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anything besides a few sips of water. “Who needs food when you’ve got… cancer couture?” he rasped, but the joke fell flat, the usual spark missing from his voice.

Logan’s hand tightened around the mug, and for a moment, Wade thought he was going to snap. But instead, Logan held the mug up to Wade’s mouth, his touch so gentle it almost felt like a dream. Wade sipped slowly, the warmth of the broth spreading through his chest, taking the edge off the freezing cold that had settled deep in his bones.

“You’re not invincible,” Logan said quietly, his voice rough but soft. “I know you act like you are, but… this? This ain’t a joke, Wade.”

Wade’s breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. Logan didn’t talk like this. Logan didn’t do feelings. But here he was, sitting beside Wade like a goddamn guardian angel, watching over him with that stubborn look of his.

“Hey… don’t… don’t get all mushy on me, Wolvie,” Wade whispered, but the usual sarcasm was gone. His voice cracked, betraying him. “I’m fine… always fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Logan snapped, but then his tone softened again. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That hit Wade harder than any bullet or blade ever had. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the sudden wave of emotion that rose in his chest. The pain was still there, sharp and all-consuming, but so was something else—something warmer, something that cut through the icy numbness that had settled over him.

“Why do you care?” Wade asked, his voice barely a whisper now. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s steady gaze. “Why… do you always come back?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His expression was stoic, but Wade could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the edge of the couch like he was holding something back. Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and raw.

“Because you’re not alone in this,” he said, his eyes never leaving Wade’s. “No matter how much you act like you wanna be.”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat, and for once, he didn’t have a joke. Didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he just let the words settle, let the warmth of Logan’s presence wrap around him like the blanket tucked over his shaking form.

Logan stayed by his side, not moving, not saying another word. He didn’t have to. Wade closed his eyes, feeling the heaviness in his chest start to loosen, just a little.

It still hurt—God, it hurt so much—but with Logan there, it was bearable. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

[aelithart]

Move over, I’m drawing subtly queer art and OCs. Robin is Nonbinary, Ralph is Ace, and they are both silly.

[veronicaphoenix]

to hold you, to heal you | n.s.

Summary: Noah is exhausted. It feels as if he's failing at everything, including at being the boyfriend his girl deserves. She's there to reassure him that that couldn't be further from the truth.

Tags & trigger warnings: angst, implied poor mental health (self-doubt, anxiety, depression), mentions of sex, fluff, comfort, just pretend live 2024.

words: 1.9k | my works

to hold you, to heal you — noah sebastian x fem. reader

The house was shrouded in quietness, the calming fragance of incense lit half an hour ago still lingering in the air. 

            Noah had gone to bed an hour earlier; he was exhausted. 

            Silently, she made her way to the bedroom, careful not to disturb him.

            He lay on his side of the bed as she entered, back turned to her, the covers barely draped over his bare torso.

            The temperatures had risen in the past two weeks, making the house uncomfortably warm. They should've swapped the covers for summer sheets, but neither could muster the energy to change them just yet.

            She tiptoed to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers, nestling herself right behind Noah, wrapping an arm around his stomach and pressing her chest to his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder. 

            It was often that they found each other like this: her spooning him. They loved to intertwine their legs beneath the sheets, and he loved to drag her hand to his chest, right where his heart beat. He wanted her to feel it, to feel how his heart’s rhythm transformed from a relentless dance to a gentle pulse at her touch. 

            She nuzzled the tip of her nose against the nape of his neck, delighting in the feel of his soft locks, growing longer by the day. His hand found hers and guided it to the spot where his heart resided. She focused on his heartbeat for a while, on his breathing. She let the warmth of his body transfer to hers, despite the heat already filling the room. 

            Cooconing him like that felt like a promise that would eventually break. When he was in her arms, she felt as though she could shield him from anything, everything. She could just keep him caged, safe and sound tucked against her body, much smaller than his yet capable of safeguarding him. She so desperately wanted to keep that promise… 

            Yet, she was aware that those we love eventually slip, one way or another, no matter how much we try to ease their fall. 

            Nobody is extempt from hurting. 

            And now Noah was hurting. Her promise hadn’t lasted.

            She tightened her grip unconsciously when a wave of anger and sadness washed over her, her muscles pressing against Noah’s, her heart wanting —needing— to break through the skin and find Noah’s, merge with his, beat as one. 

            Love is always a constant battle of trying, trying, failing, trying, trying again, and sometimes, making it right. 

            Tonight, she would make it right. She would heal him one way or another; take some of his pain and store it in her own chest, in her veins, in her bones. 

            Blinking away the tears, she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his back. It was dark, but the moonlight filtering through the curtains revealed the faint lines of his tattoos. Unable to stop herself, she traced the designs with a gentle finger, following every curve and sharp edge. 

            Noah shivered beneath her touch, his muscles tensing. 

            In less than a minute, he turned onto his back, his hands seeking her. He grasped her and positioned her astride his lap, his hands resting on her hips while hers landed on his chest. He wore nothing but black boxers, and she was clad in his t-shirt and cotton panties. 

            Under the moonlight, she found his October eyes. 

            “Hi,” she said softly. 

            “Hi,” Noah replied.

            “Did I wake you?”

            “No,” he answered, their voices mere whispers in the night. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, a hint of resignation in his voice. 

            It was soft now, not the rough, visceral one he used on stage for some of Bad Omens’s songs. This was the voice she loved the most, the deep raw timbre that was yet so delicate, both tender and masculine, holding harmony within a quiet power. Every time she heard her name uttered with that voice, that tone so soft yet demanding, she melted in his hands.  

            “The voices?” she guessed.

            Noah nodded, letting out a heavy sight that he’d tried to contain, his gaze falling. She hated seeing him so conflicted, but there was only so much she could do. She didn’t know what else to do beside be by his side, engulfed in the dark of the after hours and surrounded by white noise. 

            With nothing more than a hmm, she brushed some hairs away from his face, and spent the next few minutes tracing her thumb along his forehead and then down his left eyebrow, trying to push some of his worries away. His eyes closed momentarily, and his own fingers began to move in a soothing rhythm where they touched the skin of her thighs. The weight of her on top of him always felt delightful, a comforting pressure.

            But the sensation lasted only a few seconds. He grasped her wrist, holding her hand away from him. 

            “You deserve someone better than me.”

            His words caught her off ward, making her frown and shift back a little, trying to discern his expression in the dark. 

            But he looked resolute, no ounce of doubt on his face as the words seemed to fill the space they were in, threatening to suffocate them. 

            “Noah—”

            “You should be with someone that doesn’t spend most of the time away,” he began, “someone who isn’t locked in the studio whenever he’s home. Someone who doesn’t take time off to get his mind straight instead of choosing time off to be with his girl.”

            She was tempted to snort. He was being silly. Yet, she knew it wasn’t the time to take his confessions lightly. He was suffering, and her job was to ease that pain, even if it meant going through the same conversation they’d had many times before.

            “Is that what the voices told you?” she inquired softly.

            She was met with silence, the room charging up with his unspoken words.

            “Noah,” she said, her tone determined as she tried to capture his full attention. She freed herself from his grasp and leaned forward, resting her forearms on his chest and reaching the sides of his face with her hands. He hadn’t shaved in the last three days and a little stubble was growing. “I love watching you work,” she said. “It’s what makes you happy, and I’d never do anything to keep your happiness away. Same goes for your health. You need this. There’s no arguing about it.”

            He didn’t seem convinced by her words, his hands falling to the sides of her body, resting apathetically on the mattress. He felt defeated. 

            “Noah, baby,” she insisted, calling his name softly and touching his chin with two fingers. Look at me. Listen to me. “You’re driven by passion, and that same passion is the one that led you to me, so please, don’t say that I don’t deserve you. I deserve no one but you.”

            She waited for her words to sink in. There was a little crease between his eyebrows now. He was still doubtful, torturing himself needlessly. 

            “I want you happy and healthy, and taking time off isn’t something you should feel guilty for. I’m proud of you for it. And I’ll be happy if you decide to stay locked up in the house for a month. I’ll stay here with you because a healthy Noah is my favorite Noah.”

            Under other circumstance, he would have made a joke about that, probably a dirty one about her favorite Noah. But that night, the truth was that he didn’t feel like laughing. As much as he loved her smile and her little laughs, there was a demon on his shoulder reminding him of all his failures and all his weaknessses. 

            She was so sweet to him, though. Always making an effort to knock off that demon and step on the devilish creature, turn it to dust with her fierceless light. 

            His hand instinctively rose to her cheek, his thumb moving in a slow, almost reverent motion that stirred her heart. She leaned into his touch, her own hands cradling his face and keeping him safe, enveloped in her embrace. 

            She missed him. She had missed him terribly over the last few months. The entire year, in fact. But she was stronger than her own demons. She watched from afar as her boy made his way up, as his band grew, as their artistry gained recognition beyond the walls of their homemade studio with each passing day. She watched Noah’s tireless dedication to reaching out to the world with his music, his stories, the worlds capable of creating on his own. She watched as he poured his heart and soul into it, and how time began to consume him, both day and night. 

            Until he could bear it no longer. 

            She touched her lips to his. She kissed him for a brief moment. Soft and slow, emphasizing her presence, her connection to his very soul. And he responded delightfully, breaking the contact just for a few seconds, keeping the kiss a ghost, his lips hovering over hers beyond touch. 

            Inhaling his fresh breath, she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to let herself drown in the kiss. 

            When he did kiss her, it was the most achingly slow kiss he had ever given her. It was a kiss that said, “I’m tired. I need slow. I need time to stop. Please, hold me.” 

            And she would hold him. Any time. Always.

            As her body relaxed on top of his, he cupped her entire face in his hands, keeping their mouths locked together. She tasted divine, and he cursed every second he had to pause to take a breath before diving back in with a little sigh.  

            When she shifted on top of him and he felt her core hovering right where he should’ve had an erection, he felt instead another failing.  

            “I’m sorry,” he murmured, withdrawing from her, his hands slipping away, turning his head so that his cheek pressed to the pillow. He exhaled with defeat. 

            “Sorry for what?” she asked, disconcerted.

            “I’m not… I’m not in the mood for sex right now. I’m sorry.”

            “Why do you have to be sorry for that?” she questioned, her confusion deepening. “I’m not here to demand that from you,” she added. Far from it. It pained her that he thought she needed that every time he kissed her. It pained her to see him punishing himself again for simply not feeling up to it, as if there was something wrong with it. “In fact, I just hoped I could just hold you all night.” 

            Noah looked back at her, somewhat taken aback. Not the reply he had expected. 

            He was definitely not his usual self. 

            “Would you let me?” she pleaded, blinking. 

            It took him a moment, but finally he relented, placing a hand behind her head to pull her down so that she rested against his chest. With each steady rise and fall, she smiled through watery eyes, hoping that tonight she could keep her promise: to hold him, to heal him, if only until the sun rose again. 

            She had just closed her eyes when his voice filled her ears again, soft, delicate, vulnerable.

            “I’m so afraid, that the walls that I have made have locked me in. I’m not okay. But I can try my best to just pretend…”

            He was singing to her.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health & well-being, you are not alone and there is always someone willing to listen and help. Reach out and keep fighting. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (1) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

next chapter

prequel

warnings: ANGST, allusions to death/mental problems as a result of the games/trafficking, arguments, finnick had a savior complex, but reader also low-key has one, unedited, maybe ooc!finnick it's how I interpret him but maybe you don't, mentions of past breakups, may be more I didn't catch, no use of y/n, terms of endearment like my love, angel, sweet boy

1.6k words

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Snuggled up to his side on the couch is where you felt safest, even with the pit in your stomach as you waited for whatever cruel twist Snow would announce for the Third Quarter Quell. You could tell Finnick had been anxious too, even if he would never want to verbalize it. He'd spent the day finding an activity to keep his mind busy at every second, little home renovations he'd never spoken of before, catching more fish then you could possibly eat, bossing you around as he did each thing all of which was so him, but there wasn't a moment of peace. He didn't stop to just hold you or stare out at the waters, there was no time when he knew that this year being a mentor would be much more difficult.

You knew that too, you'd been doing it for less time then he had, but it was eating you up inside. Even though the day was nearly barren of sweet nothings or the usual honey of his voice, him holding you as you stared at the screen made all the difference. But then your world stopped.

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this Third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each District.” Snow’s voice was exactly that, cold and icy. You felt nauseous and dizzy the moment the words left his cocky, freezing lips. Then the warmth from Finnick was gone, leaving you just as frozen.

“Finnick-" You began almost robotically as he stood, exiting the room. He said something incoherently and you knew better than to follow him. Both of you dealt with things differently. It was a thought true and tested that he would pull away to handle and you would cling closer. You hoped that being with him for so long would remind him of the happy medium.

Feeling consumed by sadness, anger, and a tinge of selfishness for even wanting Finnick’s comfort when he had so much to process you rose from your position on the couch as you mechanically walked towards the bedroom. Hearing the front door slam shut you knew Finnick was long gone, off to seek the refuge of the oceans currents. The warmth of a singular tear straying from your eyelids brought a stark contrast to how you felt.

They say everyone deals with grief differently, so maybe that explained why you’d just continued with your might as normal. Nearly burning your skin off with the warmth of the shower, stiffly moving through your nightly skincare routine, doing the dishes Finnick usually insisted upon working on, and finally when you'd sat down at your vanity for the final steps of your bedtime routine Finnick had reappeared. 

“You can't go back." Was all he said and you stared at him somberly in the mirror.

“That's not your decision to make." It wasn't angry or malicious, it was just a sad truth. There was no control over any of it and quietly you cursed Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire for ever daring to defy the Capitol's rules. Even if you knew it wasn't her fault that Snow was harsh and cruel, maybe if she'd played safely like everyone else had you and Finnick could be still curled up on the couch chatting mindlessly.

“It can be, I can ask people to volunteer, you need to be safe.” He was like a flighty bird as he knelt down besides where you sat. You could tell he'd been crying by the bloodshot look of his eyes.

"My life isn't more valuable then anyone else's Finnick. That's not fair and you know it.”

"I don't care."

“Mags is too old, she deserves to be in peace when she goes, Annie wouldn't be able to handle that, and Ondine would say no and I wouldn't blame her.”

"You can't volunteer. You have to promise me that, I need you to promise me that.” His eyes were so desperate, so pleading and his hands clung to your knees. You felt your eyes brimming with tears as you shook your head.

"You know I can't do that.” It was true you wouldn't put poor, unstable Annie through that, Mags wouldn't survive, and Ondine probably could, but you'd be eaten by guilt if you let her. You doubted that you could be the victor once again, but it would be better than making any of them face it. 

Finnick hit the top of your table as he stood, “Goddammit, don't be stubborn about this, angel. I need you to stay here, you can't go back!" He was trying to hold back his own storm of tears which he was gulping down.

“Finnick, could you promise me the same thing? Could you swear to me that you wouldn't volunteer either?" He was silent and simply stared back at you. So you nodded and rose to your feet as well.

“That's different and you know it! There's been whispers amongst different Victors about rebellion and with this happening there has to be more imminent plans. I can be on top of them, angel, I can help end this." Your sweet, sweet boy who so vehemently needed to rid the world of the system that had hurt him so badly and so many others like him before it could do more damage.

“If you do that, if any of that happens. I need to be with you, Finnick. We can do that together, you don't get to just cut me out because you want to protect me. We're a team!” You made sure to keep your voice even, although all the built up emotions made you want to yell it all, to cry it out, and scream so gutturally that everyone would know what was happening.

"That's not fair." He repeated back at you, blinking away his oncoming tears. “I need you to be safe, to know you're gonna be okay. If I'm thinking about the future of the Rebellion then I can't be worrying about keeping you alive too.” His voice was harsher and louder, then suddenly you couldn't stop yourself from raising your voice to the same tone as his.

"I've won these before, Finnick, I'm not helpless! You have left me stranded before and I have dealt with it, and I won. I'm not some damsel you need to save.” The rational side of you knew that you were being unreasonable, but so was he. You did need him, you needed him so desperately that thinking of him is what had kept you fighting the first time around. You loved the fact that he didn't make you pretend to be all the things you were spouting out, you didn't have to act strong when you weren't feeling it and he would take care of you. But now, when it would be life or death, you didn't need that used against you.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I know you can take care of yourself, but that won't stop the fear of you getting hurt from eating me up inside.” Suddenly his forehead was pressed to you're, it was so intimate and so soothing it was already balancing you out. You forced your voice back to the soft tone it had once held.

"Finnick if I'm here and the Rebellion you're planning happens, they'll come for me. Snow will make sure that I'm not safe, he could have me killed for being with Finnick the rebel. I would be safer with you then in the palms of the Capitol.” His hands caressed your face with heat that relaxed your tense muscles simply on impact. 

“I just want to come home to you." His muscular arms were wrapped around you as he whispered his confession and let himself fully break down with you. Sobbing down your back and suddenly you didn't feel your own tears. All of you just wanted to help him, to absorb with warmth and give it back to his tortured soul. Your sweet boy.

“I know." You said it so lightly it could have been lost in the breeze, but Finnick was tucked into you so tightly that he heard. “Can we just go to bed, please? I just want to be with you."

Finnick reluctantly pulled himself away from you only because he knew he could envelop you in the further safety of your blankets. “Of course, my love." He muttered as he pressed his salty lips to your forehead. The dilemma would be left here for now, but he would convince you. His brain and heart were still scrambling for any loophole to keep you out of the arena, as distanced from the rebel plans as possible, and as protected as need be from any and all who could pose harm. 

Even if you were strong, charming, and smart, the Capitol's Princess. He knew you were all he needed, you accepted him and his flaws so fully, so blatantly shared each crevice of your soul with him that none of that mattered because it was the domestic bliss that you were really built for, that you deserved. The life with the house on the beach, where kids could run around and you would garden that he would fight to give you, but couldn't allow any chance that could prevent you from getting there.

But it broke you knowing that he wanted to protect you so bad he didn't open up, that there was a lack of trust in what he said simply in omission. You wanted to protect him just as badly in a way he couldn't understand, you wanted to be consumed by his every moment. To be two halves of one whole in any way you could and you feared your own instability would show if he was gone. You'd hidden it so well when he was there to calm you, but as you held each other so tightly both of your thoughts were silly consumed with the threats of what was to come. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

more of this series to come because I have a lot of thoughts even though this part was shorter. thank you for reading and so many of you for the support! if you enjoyed them let me know by liking, reblogging, commenting, or any type of feedback. feel free to fill my asks with thoughts lmao because it's consuming my thoughts. love you guys 💋

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore

[alyrasturnz]

Your hcs are my everything! Pls write matt hcs after a super heated fight

 ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎IN THE WAKE OF TEMPESTS

❐ summary » in the aftermath of a tempestuous clash, matt found himself standing on the precipice of a profound realization. the gravity of what he was jeopardizing struck him with the force of a thousand regrets. with a heart heavy with remorse and determination, he embarked on a relentless quest to mend the rift, employing every ounce of his being to restore your wounded spirit and rekindle the fragile flame of your connection.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » none i think

❐ a/n && w/c » i wasnt supposed to just post hcs today but im way too sick for this shit bro • 576

during the argument

bf!matt who feels his heart racing, words spilling out faster than he can control, each one sharper than the last.

bf!matt who sees the hurt in your eyes but can't seem to stop himself, frustration clouding his judgment.

bf!matt who raises his voice, the room filled with the echoes of anger and misunderstanding.

bf!matt who feels a pang of regret with every harsh word, knowing deep down he's only pushing you further away.

bf!matt who clenches his fists, not in anger at you, but at his own inability to communicate his feelings clearly.

bf!matt who watches as the distance between you grows, the emotional chasm widening with each passing second.

bf!matt who wants to reach out and hold you, but his pride keeps him rooted in place, unable to bridge the gap.

bf!matt who feels the weight of his words hanging in the air, heavy and irreversible, as the argument reaches its peak.

bf!matt who feels the sting of his own tears welling up, but refuses to let them fall, not wanting to show his vulnerability.

bf!matt who notices the way your hands tremble, and it breaks his heart even more, knowing he's the cause.

bf!matt who tries to remember the love that brought you two together, but it's drowned out by the heat of the moment.

bf!matt who feels the room grow colder, the warmth of your connection slipping through his fingers like sand.

bf!matt who hears the silence that follows each outburst, louder and more deafening than the shouting.

bf!matt who catches a glimpse of a photo of you two in happier times, and it feels like a punch to the gut, a reminder of what he's risking.

bf!matt who wants to apologize, to take it all back, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by pride and fear.

bf!matt who finally sees the tears in your eyes, and it feels like a dagger to his heart, realizing the depth of the hurt he's caused.

»--•--«

the aftermath

bf!matt who paces back and forth, replaying the argument in his mind, trying to find the right words to make it right.

bf!matt who knows he messed up, and the weight of his words feels like an anchor pulling him down.

bf!matt who can't stand the silence between you two and wishes he could rewind time to take back the hurtful things he said.

bf!matt whosends you a heartfelt text, pouring out his feelings, hoping you'll understand and forgive him.

bf!matt who shows up at your door with your favorite flowers, a silent apology in his eyes.

bf!matt who wraps you in a tight hug, whispering how much he loves you and how sorry he is for everything.

bf!matt who promises to communicate better, to listen more, and to never let a fight come between you two again.

bf!matt who spends the night holding you close, cherishing every moment and vowing to make things right.

bf!matt who thinks about the little things he can do to make you smile again, like leaving sweet notes or making your favorite breakfast.

bf!matt who feels the sting of regret every time he sees you looking sad, and it fuels his determination to be a better partner.

bf!matt who spends time reflecting on his actions, trying to understand your perspective and learn from his mistakes.

bf!matt who cherishes the moments when you start to open up again, feeling relieved that the connection between you two is healing.

bf!matt who silently vows to never let his temper get the best of him again, knowing that your love is worth more than any argument.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @bandanamatt @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @sturniolo0bsessed @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike

[sh1-n0bu]

scara’s electro mark on the back of his neck would totally be an erogeneous/sensitive spot and no one can change my mind<3

✿ 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 ✿

characters: scaramouche/wanderer x nb!reader

warnings: fluff, light angst, reverse comfort, takes place after scara’s defeat, slight body dysmorphia and mentions of self harm, soft scara🥹

notes: honestly same tho. and as someone who has a very sensitive neck, i absolutely know how he would feel like lmao

scaramouche hated the mark.

it’s hideous, disgusting, wrongly shaped to signify his failure as a puppet, the reason for him to get disregarded but moreover an eternal reminder of his mo- no. his creator.

wanderer hated the mark on the back of his neck.

no matter what happens, he always tries to keep in hidden, away from prying curious eyes. buried deep under layers upon layers of clothes to at least pretend that the mark is non-existent.

sometimes he would even end up clawing, scratching or even cutting at the small part on the back of his neck as if trying to cut out the electro symbol, carved deeply into his flesh since his creation. but the bloody marks, bruises and scars would end up healing faster than than normal due to him being a puppet of a god.

never leaving a scar. never leaving a mark. just the damned, cursed motherfucking purple electro symbol left behind. shining proudly and perfectly as if trying to mock him.

and this time it was no different. the young puppet sitting on the edge of your shared bed with a frown and a glare. hands twitching, waiting, wanting, wishing to reach out and claw at the symbol again.

taking a deep breath in and letting it out after a while, wanderer slightly shook his head. no. he shouldn’t harm himself any further. you would be sad once you find his neck angry, bleeding red with scratch marks and dried blood under his fingernails. he would hate to make you sad.

letting out a heavy sigh, the young man laid down on the bed, facing away from you- feeling ashamed about thinking of harming himself and breaking your promise.

sucking in a short breath, jolting harshly when arms came to wrap around his middle suddenly, pulling his smaller frame closer to cuddle with his back to your chest.

wanderer loved this feeling. being wrapped securely around you, feeling your warmth seep into his own cold skin, warming his body, warming his heart. the feeling of your heartbeat thrumming in a repeated rhythmic way against your ribcages, the feeling of the thumps against your chest soothing his pain, easing his own non-existent empty heart, pouring into the hollowness of his chest and filling it to the brim with your own.

wanderer loves you.

but sometimes he can’t help but scowl at you- more of a pouting- when you lean down and place a small peck against his electro symbol. face flushing in embarrassment, eyes narrowing back at you in a faux anger- a poor attempt to hide the small glimmer in his eyes- pouted lips twitching to try and control his muscles from forming a smile.

fortunately he always loses in this silent battle between you two. letting out a huff with mutterings of “you’re so clingy” or “you’re hopeless” slipping out from his lips which is already starting to curve up into a smile.

yes, the puppet loves you. hopelessly so.

shuddering with a suppressed groan when the short man felt your lips against the back of his neck once again, pressing on the electro symbol. a quiet, poorly attempted muffled chuckle falling from his mouth when you continue to press kisses against his neck, one hand coming up to rest on your hair- slightly tussling them in the process.

“yours. not hers” when wanderer heard that phrase muttered from you, he felt himself softly smiling. eyes crinkling upwards, lips forming a smile with his cheeks turning even more red.

yes. wanderer loves you so.

[suuuupernovaaa]

Too Young (Part 2) - ft Aemond Targaryen

Part 1

Maybe loving you is dangerous.

Sitting by her beside became too quiet and still, after a time. The killing rage flowing through Aemond Targaryan’s veins was powerful, and could not be ignored for long.

The maesters had sewn her wounds, cleaned her cuts, and given her all the tonics they could, but there was not much to do about her bruised ribs but wait.

Every time he glanced down at her, watching to ensure her chest was still rising and falling, he felt a painful mix of relief and fury.

They must pay, he told himself, over and over. He must hunt down who betrayed her, and by extension, the crown, and they must pay.

—

Upon first waking, a strange but not terrible tingling sensation was awash over your entire body.

Milk of the poppy, probably, wearing off slowly. You lay still, taking in deep breaths, feeling every part of your body to assess the damage. Surely, being alive and awake meant you were yet to survive.

There were deep cuts, now sewn, that began to throb as the milk wore off. On your arms, chest, stomach, neck and thighs. They would leave scars, you were sure, as a reminder of the three days of torture you’d endured.

The most painful was your ribs. They were back and blue, surely, and every breath was painful.

You winced as you inhaled deeply, and opened your eyes. Surprisingly, the Dowager Queen sat at your bedside, staring down with watery eyes.

“Your Highness,” you said in a strained whisper. Your voice had not yet returned, tired from the screaming.

“My dear girl,” she said, reaching for your hand. This warmth from your lover’s mother was surprising. You’d spoken in passing only, seated near to each other at dinners and banquets, but there was no love there.

The kindness in her eyes now, was new.

“I see what you’ve endured, for my family,” she said in the rushed, quiet tone she usually used. “It will not go unpaid.”

You tried to shake your cloudy head. “No, please. I want of nothing.”

She released your hand and sat back in her chair, her hands atop her green skirts. Her lips pursed, she looked away and sighed, then back to you. “A match, then. To my son.”

The sharp intake of breath caused such a violent pain in your abdomen that you let out a hiss.

“Aemond?”

She smirked. “The King is already married.”

Your cheeks flushed and you lay your head back on the pillow.

“I will admit that I hoped for a more advantageous match for my second son. Your house cannot offer that many men and those it can are already pledged to us. We stand to gain nothing from this marriage… but I would like to see my son marched with someone who displays the kind of courage and loyalty that you have.”

Her eyes were softer again, and you let her words wash over you like a healing salve.

“Will you accept?”

“Yes,” you replied eagerly.

She stood, adjusting her emerald dress. “Very well, daughter. Once you are well, I will see to the arrangements.”

Without another word, the Queen turned and left.

—

Despite the excitement of your conversation with Aemond’s mother and all the questions it left you with, you were unable to hold on to consciousness for much longer.

You drifted in and out over the course of the night and in the morning, woke with just as much pain but considerably less fog in your mind.

A handmaiden helped you use the chamber pot and very carefully bathed you, without submerging you, and dressed you before helping you slip back into clean sheets in a more upright position.

Being clean helped tremendously, and you were grateful for it when soon after, Aemond strode through the door.

He strode quickly to your bedside, perching on the fine red duvet, and took your hand in his.

“I came last night but you were thankfully asleep. How are you feeling this morn?”

You signed. “To be honest, terrible, but better than yesterday. Are my ribs broken?”

“Bruised, they say.”

“It hurts to breathe.”

Something flashed in Aemond’s eye. Anger, rage, and sadness, perhaps.

“It will heal. You look much better this morning.” He paused, his usual swagger slipping away. “I hear my mother paid you a visit.”

Though your face was sore and bruised, your lips still managed to upturn in a smile. “I am sure I dreamed it.”

“Not unless we all shared the same dream. She asked what we could do for you, in return for your loyalty. I asked for your hand. It’s been granted. We will be wed once you are well.”

“I’m well,” you said, and Aemond chuckled, a deep sound of joy that so few were allowed to hear.

He caressed the back of your hand and smiled. “Soon, you will be, my brave girl.” His expression darkened. “They’ve been punished, those who betrayed you.”

“Is it someone I knew?”

He shook his head. “No, not well. Members of the court who sought to use you for your own advantage. But from now on, my dove, I won’t be keeping you in the dark. We’ll be married, one flesh, and you’ll know all I know. This will never happen again.”

You squeezed his hand. “Let us not discuss it now, Aemond. Lay with me. Hold me while I rest.”

With considerable effort, you moved over on the bed just enough to make room for your groom to be. He hesitated, unwilling to cause you any harm, but then removed his sword, and then his coat and eye patch, and slid in next to you, gently pulling you to him.

Safe and secure in his arms, you closed your eyes and began to drift into a healing sleep.

“The moment you are well, we will be wed,” Aemond promised, and placed a kiss behind your ear.

“I am well,” you replied again, and his laugh was the last thing you heard before sleep took you again.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Magic for magic. 2552 words.

1986

Aeschylus, often considered the father of Greek tragedy, once said that, “He who learns must suffer.” In your experience, learning was a good and pure thing. Though, since coming to Hawkins, all you had learned only served to cause you pain. Aeschylus continued, “And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forgot falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”

So, sleep you did.

Once the grieving teens had left the trailer, you were left alone with your thoughts. Eddie hadn’t come out of the bedroom, and you suspected he wouldn’t until he was invited to. You curled up on the couch, felt the warmth left in the wake of Steve Harrington’s ghost dissipate, and napped.

From the bedroom, Eddie listened to your breathing even out. He smiled at the small snores and sounds of your sleep; those, he remembered, he knew well. He remembered how you slept and how you woke. How you walked and talked. Thought and felt. He remembered falling in love with you then, and now. He’d stay in that bedroom for as long as you needed him to.

An hour later, you woke hungry and sad. Sleep, though, did as Aeschylus had said. It allowed what you had learned and all your pain to be distilled into a strange sort of wisdom. There was only one question that mattered in the moment. Did you want Eddie to tell the story of your history, or did you want to recover your memories first through magic?

With your plate piled with fruit and cheese, you made your way down the hall and into the bedroom. It was still equipped to block out the sun. Dark as dark could be.

“I’m turning the light on.”

Eddie was sitting on the floor next to the bed, on the opposite side to you. He’d picked up your copy of The Lord of the Rings and was making good progress. He stood up.

“Didn’t know vampires like to read,”

“I don’t know about the others. But I do. It slows time down. I can’t read any faster than a human can.”

He was different. He held himself different now that he knew who he was.

You sat cross-legged on the bed and began to eat.

“It was the blood from your lip,” he told. You still tasted how you did then, on the banks of the stream.

You nodded. “I figured. I didn’t think it would be that easy though,”

“I would not call any of this easy.” There was an innocence or naivety that came with having no memories, and it had often manifested in Eddie’s tone and speech pattern. It was gone now.

“Were we right? All our guesses about what happened?”

Eddie sat on the bed, his back to the wall and legs stretched out in front of him. He clasped his hands together and blinked slowly. When he looked at you, you were overwhelmed by the expression. You crumpled, lost under the weight of Eddie’s gaze.

“My love,” he murmured, reaching out to move your plate and pull you into his lap.

You curled your arms between your body and his, letting him hold you, enclosing you entirely. When you cried, it wasn’t just out of frustration at Eddie keeping the truth from you. It was a release of all the tension. It was grief for Steve and the teenage soldiers. It was anger on behalf of Hawkins, the decades it had spent suffering with the plagues unleashed by the lab. The horror of knowing your memories had been tinkered with by the people who were meant to protect you. The loneliness in that. And, the pain of betrayal.

The shame of being a bad witch and wrong on some deep subatomic level. The longing for love. The fear of everything to come.

Your emotions were making you feel claustrophobic. Paranoid. Disorientated.

“My little witch. My love…” Eddie struggled with what to say, for he knew that whatever picture you were painting in your mind, the truth was worse. Although he didn’t know what happened to you after he sunk to the bottom of the stream, transformed into the bat, it did not take much thought to finish your story. Sally, Gillian, and Penelope, stripping you of your memories.

Eddie held you tighter, let you sob until you ran dry. Dehydrated and with a pounding headache, you sat up with a blurry expression.

“My apple’s gone brown,” you pouted.

Eddie laughed, feeling himself come alive with love.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you said, rubbing your face with your hands.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… a little mewling kitten… or… I don’t know…”

He knew what you meant. He was looking at you like he knew you and was devastatingly in love with you and could watch you pout about apples forever.

“Sorry,” Eddie replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re not sorry,”

“No,” he agreed. “But I will try not to think of you as a mewling kitten. Would you prefer to be an ally cat or-” He was cut off when you threw a piece of brie at him. Eddie laughed again.

You shuffled around to sit cross-legged again. Breathing in deeply, you let it out and decided. “I don’t want you to tell me everything. I don’t want to feel like it’s all just… theory… You know? I’m real. I’m here. But I was there and that was real, and I need to feel it. I need to remember it for myself.”

Eddie nodded. “I understand,”

“Do you know anything specific about how the memories were taken? Like, the spell?”

“No. Just that… I believe they were taken against your will,”

“Yeah. They were. A witch would never give up a part of herself like that…”

It was a solemn conclusion, but the conversation had a glimmer of hope. You were a spell away from your memories, so close to that pain falling drop by drop into your heart until it turned to wisdom.

…

“You can send me away,” Eddie offered from where he sat on the kitchen bench, his legs swinging. “I won’t be offended,”

“Mmm. Because not offending you is at the top of my list of concerns right now.”

He held in a smirk. Even without your memories and with a new name, you were still his little witch.

“I was simply offering privacy,”

“I’d prefer if you’d offer to go and pick some chicory flowers. They’re the blue-”

“Blue flowers on long stems. I know. Not native to this area but grow where it is hot and dry.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his knowledge of wildflowers.

He liked the surprised look on your face. “Shall I continue? The plant can be used for a variety of magic purposes. European folklore claims it can open locked doors. This belief has also been traced to Ancient Egypt. Chicory root can be used as an amplifier, while the rest of the plant has its uses in spells relating to time, curses, and invisibility.”

Eddie watched your lips part as you breathed out. The craft was your love language, and your blown pupils were evidence that he was fluent enough.  

“Forgive me for revealing this, but you used to teach me things. Not everything. Nothing that could be dangerous for a vampire to know. But when you did teach, I listened.” He slid from the bench and moved towards the door. “Chicory awaits.”

You stood for a moment, unsure how to disentangle all the emotions, waiting for one of them to dominate and guide your mood. Grief. It was always grief. And the knowledge that memories like teaching Eddie about the natural world had been taken from you was sharpening that grief into a blade.

Eddie had left just as the sun had set, returning within the hour. You had expected him to be back in the blink of an eye, but he’d moved slowly, giving you some time in private, regardless of what you’d said about needing it.

As he came to sit at the alter opposite you, he frowned. The bowl of syrupy black liquid looked evil. You ignored his expression and took the chicory from him.

“What are you to do with that?” he asked when you didn’t volunteer the information.

You quirked an eyebrow. “I’m to drink it.”

He nodded. “As I feared.”

Laughing at his intensity, you shook your head and began to weave a crown from the chicory. “This spell will put me to sleep. Not long. I don’t think,”

“You don’t think?!”

“Magic is not an exact science,”

“Yes, but still… Can you not find a way to be more sure?” He just got you back; he could not fathom losing you again.

“No. Now if you don’t mind-”

“What’s in it?” Eddie interrupted.

While you agreed the potion did not look safe, let alone appetising, it was the only way forward. You had consulted the grimoires and had done your best work. Maybe the coven would have a better spell, but you were on your own.

“Rosemary,” you answered.

“Black… sludge… rosemary?”

“Do you really want one of your special lessons right now?”

“I want you to remember the special lessons,”

“Okay, then stop-” You waved your hand around. “-all this and be quiet. Please.”

Eddie put his hands up in surrender and moved away from the altar. You looked from him back to the chicory crown you were making.

“In our memories,

Our magic is stored.

And of mine,

An act abhorred.

Petals blue.

Night new.

Remember me,

As I remember you.”

Shaking hands held the completed crown but you mustered as much bravery as possible and put it on your head. You took the potion bowl and held it to your lips.

“In our memories,

Our self is forged.

And of mine,

Let them be restored.

Rosemary green.

Witch blood clean.

What has come to pass,

Let it now be seen.”

The blackness tasted of nothing. It coated your mouth the nothingness. It pulled you into a void by the teeth and within seconds, you’d fallen into a magically induced sleep, Eddie moving to catch your head from hitting the floor. He placed a pillow in his lap, then rested your head on top. By what alchemy your memories were taken, Eddie didn’t know, but he hoped it had been as peaceful a process as this.

…

The apple almost sparkled as it flew through the air. You watched mesmerised by the red as it spun and hit its peak. It followed the laws of gravity down, down, and into the hands of a man.

“I do not agree to that.”

Your voice had changed since 1836. Small tweaks in accent and enunciation. Just enough to continue to blend in with an ever-changing society. You wondered if you still had that righteous tone.

“Then name your price.”

Eddie. Eddie, remarkable from the very first moment you met him.

From across the stream, you saw Eddie watching you. You looked so small, hunched by the water, cleansing crystals like it was of epic importance. He emerged from the darkness and spoke in a lowered voice. Then, milkweed silk and doe with soft fur and long lashes. Building a forest gate.

You witnessed it all as if you were a fly on the wall, a ghost in the memory.

“This comes with warning, Amabel. What you have done is beyond comprehension and reason. You are escaping due punishment. This is mercy at best. Nepotism at worst. The creature will be taken now and you will not see it again.”

The claustrophobia of Penelope’s hut made you ache and itch. It all played out before your eyes, a replication of 1836. It was agony. First, the horror of what happened. Then, having to bear witness. Finally, the recollection firing in your brain, all your emotions and muscles searing with re-traumatisation.

There was doubt written on Sally’s face that you could not see then but could now. She poured the potion into your mouth, believing that regardless of whether cursing the vampire was the right thing to do or not, taking your heartache away was as much mercy as a mother could show.

As your recovered memories aligned with what you remembered, you saw yourself sitting by Penelope’s fire, an emptiness opening up inside you. You would try to fill it with the bloody and sacred duty of protecting humans from vampires. You’d try to fill it with magic and music and everything the twentieth century had to offer. It never went away. It was a dark thing that hibernated until destiny saw Henry Creel. Saw the potential in a hexed creature sitting in the treetops of Hawkins. Saw the love in your heart sealed over by what you’d forgotten.

Destiny saw you, and you… you saw it all.

…

In the Catskills, the cold had claws. Gillian had pulled on her thickest pair of socks that morning, before brewing a fresh pot of tea. She could feel it coming, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit that she didn’t know what exactly ‘it’ was.

Sally emerged from her bedroom not long after her sister. She wore the same sad expression she had ever since you packed up and left for Hawkins. Gillian tracked her slow movements to the tea, and then the small round kitchen table they shared.

“I haven’t seen Kelsey around in a little while. Do you think she’s avoiding us?”

Sally sighed and looked at her sister with weary. “I would think after this many lifetimes, you would just state your business.”

Gillian smiled. It wasn’t just you and Kelsey who were changed in 1836. Sally never fully recovered from what had happened. She was more inclined to being blunt, and often it walked over the line into the realm of callousness. Gillian though, forgave her sister. She owed her at least that.

“Fine. She is avoiding us. She is the only one in contact with-”

“I know,” Sally interrupted on cue – she hated hearing your name out loud. “So?”

“So… They are up to something. Or, at least, one of them is… And we know which one.”

Sally considered her sister’s theory. She’d grown tired of her sister’s theories though. Really, she’d grown tired of a lot of things. When they left Hawkins, she wouldn’t bother with another lustrating ritual and didn’t argue when Gillian kept her own name too. Sally hardly got involved with the coven’s comings and goings. She simply set up her cabin in the mountains and let everyone buzz around her like happy little bees.

“Let them be up to something,” Sally finally said.

Gillian had known the reply would be worth waiting for. She smiled at her sister again and nodded.

They would go about their day as usual. They would tend to their garden and the patches of magical herbs and flowers they had planted all around the forest. They would brew potions and read books. Talk to bobcats and watch the sun set. They would go about their day as usual, but both sisters felt it coming.

The day of judgment was upon them.  

End Note: This one is for @chestylarouxx, who helped me find a home for the coven.

Aeschylus lived in fear of a prophecy that foretold his death would come at the hands of a falling object. He figured something heavy falling from a shelf or a roof caving in. So, he spent much time outdoors in the countryside. Legend goes, he died when an eagle mistook his bald head for a rock, and dropped a turtle on him from a great height. Can you fucking imagine if this is true? That the father of the Greek tragedy died like this? I hope it is.

As always, super keen to hear your thoughts and feelings!

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

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[pinkydevil16]

Aemond targaryen x targaryen reader: part 20

18+ smut

Aemond placed Y/n softly onto a chair as servants poured water into the bath, her hands refusing to let him leave her. Crouching by her he held her tightly, her head in his shoulder, he felt like a new man. All the anger dissipating as he held her, his heart filling his content, this is all he'd wanted. Her to want him, to need him as he felt he needed her. The servants rushing to leave, Aemond peeled her hands from him, her hands shaking as he did.

"No please don't leave me." She cried reaching for him. Pulling her to stand he slowly undressed her, pulling her into him as she sobbed.

"I won't leave you again my love." Whispering to her as he placed a kiss on her forehead, in his anger he hadn't noticed how much of Casmir's blood was on her, stained red from her knees down as well as her finger tips which still had some of his own on. He slowly lowered her into the bath, a hand on hers as he stripped himself. Climbing in next to her, Y/n turning into him to crawl into his lap, much like she would her mothers when she was a young child, seeking the warmth and comfort he could give her. His large body covering hers as he submerged them, their heads above water as he grabbed a cloth and began washing her. Kissing the bruises and small cuts along her arms and chest, kissing her palms as he scrubbed the blood from her nails. 

"You are doing so well, so good for me." He whispered against her skin, wiping over her face, his heart broke as he looked in her eyes. The fire gone replaced by a deep sadness, he had truly broken her. He had wanted it so badly but now he wasn't sure, he hoped she would return to herself once she was fed and she drank but worried he had taken her too far. Y/n sadly smiled at him as she curled into his chest, her legs spreading to sit in his lap. Aemond kept her on his stomach, he couldn't help his reaction to her wet body against his. He felt himself hardening as she moved backwards until she rested her heat against him, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please, i want you to love me." She spoke softly, pushing her breasts against him as she kissed his jaw, he wanted to be strong and tell her no. That she needed time to heal from her time in the cell.

"Need you so badly, need to feel protected." She continued, rubbing herself along him as she begged, tears in her eyes as she placed his hand on her hip. 

"Love me." She said once more as she kissed him, Aemond cracked, lifting her slightly before letting her slip onto him. He moaned at the contact, finally feeling whole again as he rocked her, Y/n babbling the same words over and over.

"Please, need you, love me." She spoke against his mouth, his thrusts gentle, it felt like hours as they stayed there, Aemond praising her.

"Such a good girl for me, you're perfect, love you, love you so much." The two the most gentle they had been to each other, his hand in her hair as they kissed, barely parting to speak the same words. Her eyes looking at him with such innocent he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. As the water began to cool the two clung to each other, Aemond carrying them both out and onto the warm bed. Aemond praising her more as she came, the two not parting as they carried on. 

"Love me please, never leave me." She spoke against him as she came a second time, Aemond never wanting it to end as he told her he loved her. All he ever wanted coming true, he wished to lock this moment away and live in it. Aemond and Y/n made love the sun came up, everytime he tried to pull from her trying to get her to rest she would wrap her legs around him and beg. As the sun rose Aemond slowed as he released once more, he didn't want to admit it but he was spent, he kept himself inside her as he rolled them to lay down. Her body on top of his as he kept her close.

"Promise you'll never leave me again." Y/n said as she started to sleep, Aemond promised her as he rested. His head laying on hers as they bathed in the sun.

broken and vulnerable aemond AND reader? How do we feel!

[lil-diggory]

writer!remus x sirius’ twin sister, Procyon ⭐️

Remus knew exactly what to write when given the prompt; personify an object. The answer was simple, already laying in his lap. You.

Procyon.

The most luminous star in the Canis Minor constellation, tied to her brother Sirius. The eighth most luminous star in the entire night sky. Bright and independent and yet here she lays, fast asleep in my bed. She is peaceful and kind, bringing ease and joy to those around her. The kind of comfort you only feel with someone truly special. The light in the darkness, listening to those who need it most. She lays still; eyes closed, nose whistling slightly. Her thoughts swarmed with the weight of the world, taking on everything for everyone to lighten their loads. She is the protecter of all and yet she trusts me to watch her rest. I get to protect the guiding light in the night sky.

Me, the moon, and her, a star.

Me, a boy, and her, a girl.

As the sun spills through the window, the birds chirping in the life of the sunlight; Procyon rests. Her nose twitches, her body clung to mine as she sleeps off her long night. She watches me in the dark and I her in the light. When she wakes she will kiss my forehead and return to her place in the sky, taking on what happens while mortals sleep. Soaking up all sadness and anger from the tortured, filling them instead with love and warmth. Her kindness goes unsung. But not by me. I know how hard she works to take care of everyone, leaving little to no time for herself. That’s my job. I patch her up from the wounds of the world that she graciously takes onto her aching body. I am the comfort she seeks after a long lonely night. I am where she rests, where she heals. I watch her sleep.

Procyon. The eighth brightest star. The greatest love of my life.

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

I've been reading a lot of Cryptid Batfamily recently and I just couldn't get this idea out of my head, what if Gotham had something like a soul? So, I started writing small WIPs on my phone notes and decided to just go ahead and post some of them (I already have like seven chapters half written). Someone should find them interesting right?

Tittle: Gotham Possesses

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood (let me know if I should add more tags)

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 1 - Gotham Wept

It let out a wail that broke the sky and lightning illuminated the still bodies of the only two who ever cared for it. In the downpour, it washed away the warmth that seeped into its soil. It washed away the tear stained cheeks of the boy that was left behind.

It tried to bring the boy back with a loud crack that echoed through the alley, but the boy stood unmoving, uncaring, staring at the two he also had held dear. It did something it didn’t know possible, it gathered its shadows to caress the boy and realized the boy still carried warmth. He took a a shaky breath and the shadow went with it. It buried deep and made itself a home within the boy. It settled in their shared grief; in their abandonment.

Through his eyes it saw.

It watched as the alley filled with red and blue lights. It watched as men in uniform spoke to the unresponsive boy. It watched as through the crowd a frazzled looking man came running, falling to his knees and hugging the boy. It could feel grief from the man but love as well, a connection to the boy.

In the early hours of the morning before the sun could even break the sky, the boy lay in a giant bed, hugging a pair of clothes tightly to his chest. It embraced him, darkening the shadows to help the boy sleep. Outside the skies stayed dark with heavy clouds.

Throughout the years it followed the boy. His grief was all consuming, his anger prevalent. He lashed out and he suffered. With the man who cared for him he learned to fight. In the dark its shadows embraced him, but nothing it nor the old man did could heal the boy. Eventually, the boy left. It could still feel its connection to the boy, weak and strained, but it held on.

During that time it watched the people who lived on top of its soil. It watched as those who were meant to protect looked the other way or even aided the madness. It watched as its people fought and gave up. Many grieved, many were angry, many were sad, but there was happiness as well; something it felt sparingly from the boy.

It learned its name, Gotham, its people called it. Its buildings reached the sky like fingers trying to blot out the sky. Stone sentinels guarded the skies looking down at the people living their lives. Dark and foreboding and filled with misdeeds. It could see why the boy left and Gotham wept.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞 - Part 16

Dean x Fem/Reader

Part 16🥰🐞

A/N: This is heartbreaking, and beautiful, fluffy, fluffy and more fluff😋

Side Note: Thank you all so much for the support. Much love, my bugsies 🥰🐞

Warnings: anger, raised voices, sexual content 🙈

......

Opening your eyes, tilting your head upwards, lifting a little of his chest, admiring the brown, beard fading into a slight whitish gray, he looks so peaceful, he might be a giant, but his a gentle giant.

Snuggling closer to him, the cinnamon, woody with just a touch of orange blossom scent coming from him awakens her senses. Tracing little circular movements on his chest, thoughts wandering off too last night, a smile tugging at her lips, remembering ever little detail, the way he cherished her, made her feel loved, and wanted, desirable even, sent an electric sensation through her body.

Somehow this man with his sky blue, heart melting eyes, took a hold of your heart, there was a softness in his masculinity, a protective warmth in his strong arms and a soul that whispers, I know you don't need me, but I'll always be here.

His voice sounded husky, when he said morning darling, hearing him call her that, in his tone of voice, with that deep southern accent of his, was enough to send her over the edge.

Morning, her voice sounded almost musical. Their eyes met again, and so did their lips, she knew in that very moment, if she didn't start making her way home today, she'll probably never leave his warmth.

....

Studying the room one last time, remembering the pain, healing, laughter and then finally the love and intimacy these walls came to recognize, she took out her sketch pad, not the one Benny gave her, but a new one she bought, for capturing the moments the two of them shared, the first page was a pencil sketch of the three of them sitting at the dinner table, laughing about the cat who stole the drumstick, the last two pages was filled with rough sketches about the cherry blossom tree and then the two of them all tangled up underneath the covers.

Putting it on the bed, with a note attached "saying thank you Benny for looking after me and helping me to get better and trust again, in here you'll find all the memories we made, I will cherish you in my heart forever. Much love , your ladybug darling " signing the letter with a little heart, and a lipstick stain from her pouting lips.

...

Looking at the woman with her lively eyes and short brownish hair, she could see tears shimmering, trying to keep your own voice steady, I'm going to miss you Judy, thank you for everything, I literally would not have been here if it weren't for you.

Oh honey, take care of yourself she said while pulling you into a hug, I'll always be here if you need me okay! Now I have to go before I cuff you the house so that you never leave, a little laugh escaping her lips.

Walking closer to where Benny were standing you could see his forehead furrowed and he's brows drew together, his bright blue eyes became a greyish colour, revealing the sadness, your lips parched to say something, he leaned in, tasting your lips, one last time, still holding you close, a sad smile forming on his face,

I'll be back Benny, your voice sounded breathy, his raspy, voice washed over you saying no you won't darling now go and be free but remember you'll never be unloved by me, you are too well tangled in my soul and therefore I will always be there whenever you need me.

Her eyes swam with tears, she sighed while digging her head in his chest, I love you Benny.

"I love you too Darling he said while kissing the crown of her head.

With wide eyes she said I should stay.

No! Go be brave, be free darling. I'll be here, he purred.

Getting into your car sending one last glance over your shoulder before driving through the rusty gates. You wondered if you'll ever see him again.

You just drove, you were so tempted to turn back, your heart was torn, on the one side there's Dean who you'll always love and then the other side Benny, who captured your heart. Damnit I'm confused, whispering to yourself. Making a promise to no-one really, that you were just going to focus on making amends its the final step, and for the rest, you'll figure it out as you go.

..

She drove into her old hometown first stop Bobby she inhaled, this is going to be hard isn't it!

She knocked on the door, hearing the old man's rough voice coming through the door, - what the hell, get off my property, I will shoot, door screeched open.

Noticing the shotgun and him standing upright, made her laugh.

He sounded overjoyed, babygirl, tears shown in his deep blue eyes. He grabbed ahold of her, so happy to see you, you look better than ever.

Laughter overtook her, so glad to see you too Bobby.

Inviting her in, they talked, she apologized, he did the same, telling eachother everything.

She got up promising she'll come by and drink coffee, but she had a few people she needed to see.

Before heading out the door Bobby stopped you, his voice sounded heavy, babygirl, just a heads up, Dean took your leaving hard, he can tell you everything himself, but his better now, he went back to his old ways though, different woman every week.

One of his one night stands from back in the day showed up in town, and they started to see eachother again. not sure how that's going, but I just wanted to let you know.

Oh! Thanks Bobby, her words sounded more brittle than she intended. She gave Bobby one last hug, walking towards her car, thinking about how much she hurt him, her glossy eyes revealed the throbbing pain in her chest.

Inhaling some air into her lungs she drove towards the house she grew up in.

Recalling one of the quotes Benny used to say from JK Rowling "Anything's possible if you got enough nerve" , her mouth curving into a smile. That man and his quotes.

She pulled into the driveway shaking just a bit. She just stood there making sure she looked good, knocking on the door.

Seeing her mom open the door, the emotion welling up in her eyes, Hi mom, her lower lip trembling.

Honey your home, Caroline sobbed. Pulling her daughter into a heartfelt hug.

I'm so sorry about everything mom, I..I.. was just so broken, I'm so sorry for causing all this pain.

Looking into her daughter's eyes, seeing the light in them again, is the only apology she ever needed.

The two of them spend the rest of the day, catching up, crying, holding eachother.

...

When Bill came home, he acknowledged the joy gleaming from his wife, sweetie?

"Sweetheart look in the living room, she insisted.

He just stood there, hearing his daughter's sweet voice, hello daddy. His eyes glistening, babygirl he exclaimed!

She ran towards him, Hugging him, apologising and telling him everything.

Glancing at your parents, realising you had no idea how much you missed them, that night after dinner you lend your mom's phone to video call your brother.

The shocked look on Joe's face revealing he expected his mother, not you. Sis! He expressed. They talked till the early morning hours, mocking him a bit, about the grey in his now longer beard. They laughed and cried. After making plans to go and visit him in Chicago the two of you said your goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Exhaustion over took you and you drifted off.

...

When you went to make amends with Cas, he didn't judge you, he just listened to you, expressing his gratitude towards the two people who took care off you. You also learned that day , that Dean were out of town, on some case his working on, And Sam and Eileen went on a three month cruise so you could not get in contact with them.

...

You spent the next two months working on your new novel, creating new paintings and joining a yoga class, you and the yoga instructor, just clicked, she was an amazing soft kind hearted woman with her luscious dark hair and friendly eyes. You and Lisa became good friends very quickly.

....

Breathe in, through your nose and out through your mouth, that's it, she soothed to the class. Thank you all for being here, Namaste.

While rolling up your yoga mat, you see Lisa coming closer, hey there, her voice sung.

Aren't you chipper. You betcha ya, she giggled. Why would that be Lis? My boyfriend is coming back tonight or tomorrow.

Aww really, I would love to meet this mysterious man! You exclaimed.

Lisa laughed, oh you will, but first we are spending our weekend under the covers. I've missed him so much.

You let out a giggle, you should enjoy it, we'll meet up, after your weekend of pleasure.

...

Pulling your car in the garage, walking into your house, grabbing a previously prepped green juice out of the fridge, falling to the couch.

Jikes! Feeling a little woozy after the morning yoga, and staying up till 3 , writing, thinking maybe you'll take a short nap, you snuggled into the couch a bit deeper.

Your eyes flung open when you heard the familiar sound of the impala's engine purring down the street. He's back!

....

Seeing his phone receiving a message from Lisa while driving past her house made him winch. Of course it doesn't make him exactly a good man, being with Lisa and thinking about her, but hell that's the situation his in.

After getting home and taking a shower, throwing on some joggers, headed straight for the bedroom, to sleep, falling flat on his stomach, arms stretched out wide over the mattress letting out a sigh, finally some sleep.

The knocking of the door, made him flinch uttering, what the hell, go away, the knocking silenced, but then started back up again.

I swear, I'll shoot you, he growled, the wooden floor creaking underneath his bare feet. Turning the door knob, what! he commanded!

His brows knitted, his jaw line tightened, his face seemed cold and hard but his heart was rapidly beating. She stood there, in a white sundress, her hair much longer than before, her complexion as beautiful as ever, there was a sense of lightness radiating from her.

Her voice sounded like a symphony, Hello Dean.

Hello Dean, hello Dean that's what you have to say, his words sounded tight.

I.. I didn't come to fight, I came to make amends, to say I'm sorry, about everything.

He gritted his teeth, yeah if only it was so damn easy!

Her voice sounded soft, and low, listen Dean, I just wanted to let you know that I don't blame you, for anything and I'm truly sorry for what I said, and how I just left, I truly hope one day you'll be able to forgive me.

Noticing her shaking, her eyes glancing over with the wetness of the tears she's trying to fight back, all he wanted to do is pull her close, make her feel his love, but for some reason his words was brutal, how the hell do you expect me to just forgive and forget.

I hate you, I hate what you did, I hate what you said, I hate the way you just left, like I didn't matter to you.

Her jaw dropped, her eyes wide, brittleness in her voice, this was a mistake, she turned around, fleeing to her car.

You, us, were a mistake, he growled. Taking in the sight of her leaving again, made him realise, he didn't hate her, he loved her.

Sprinting, cathing up with her, grabbing ahold of her body, hands on her hips, throwing her over his shoulder, he hissed, want to talk, sweetheart, lets talk...

Put me down Dean she demanded. Closing the door with the back of his leg, placing her down, her back now against the door, he stood there in front of her, his voice thick, I'm sorry for what I just said , searching her eyes, she didn't make a sound, running his hand down her arms, the friction it caused made his heart rate go faster, grabbing ahold of her hands, pinning it above her head, she whimpered, he crashed his lips against her tasting the sweetness he remembered, breathy he told her you have any idea how much I craved you, her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but he didn't want words, he want their bodies to speak for them, and their hearts to listen, the two of them was starved for each other, his hands lingered over her body, removing the sundress, she's digging her nails into his back, pulling him closer, wanting him more and more. Ravishing eachother, exploring one another, he remembered all her little weak spots, making the sweetest moans escapes her lips. He groaned knowing she wanted him as much as he did. Panting and out of breath they lay in eachother's other arms, knowing their home again...

[bloomstudioart]

Thoughts part 1:

They are just thoughts, nothing big, vents, desires and points of view.

Robertsky peachman and Bloom

Sometimes there is this thought, that we are selfish, things go badly for all of us and others do well, when things go well for others, things go badly, Even if they are not connected to us, or really have a good opinion of us, we see that they suffer, they do not stop holding on to it.

Sometimes I see that, I feel bad about myself for it, like I don't deserve that happiness and I would love to give it to those who need it, but, at the same time, I start thinking about how ephemeral that is.

Pain can be as ephemeral as the blizzard in autumn, just like sadness and anger, people sometimes tend to think "why me? Why do I have to suffer all this?"

But they don't see their surroundings, they don't stop sometimes to think, stop their minds and breathe, accept what is happening and stop for a moment, Yes, things may be bad, but is everything really like that?

Sometimes we are so immersed in that pain or we get so used to suffering that when it is not there we feel restless because nothing is happening, We reach a point where we are in automatic and alert mode that does not leave us alone

And we tend to harm others because of it, distancing ourselves from others, pushing them away so as not to suffer, because we are afraid of doing harm or being harmed more.

Even if you think so, it's not true, we just... We hurt ourselves.

It is difficult to get out of that well, that well where you see nothing but water, darkness and a very distant light that slowly goes out every day.... But at the same time.... When you flow with the water you feel something, you learn from that pain, anything else that makes you feel drowned, it no longer feels like that, it feels light, although it is just covering the sun with your finger...

Sometimes I felt in that sea, tied, not knowing where to cling, there was nowhere, I was alone as if I were a flag in that dark sea

I didn't know what to do, alone, I floated, I sank so many times, I touched the bottom of the sand as if it were my old friend, but, I saw above, that light, and I did what I could to breathe, even if it was just for a moment.... Even if it's just an instant....

I focused more on seeing the darkness of the sea than seeing what was tied, I was afraid, since that tie on my leg was my comfort zone, If I untied myself, I would be in the open sea, but if I stayed, I would drown so much that I would lose my life when I touched the sand again....

But... If I didn't untie myself, how would I get to an island to get help? How would I find a way to get back home?

I wanted to live... I wanted to love... I wanted to feel alive again... I saw something floating.... Something sharp, I had two options... I was killing myself, ending all the misery and cold in this sea.... Or did I untie myself and scream for help?.... Take courage, cut the rope on my leg and scream... I screamed like never before... I cried, I cried like a child, I let out all that pain, my tears became one with the sea, I screamed like never before until I got tired and lost my voice... When I finished... I wait.... I thought no one had heard me...

But...

Someone came...

They found me....

They put me on the boat...

They sheltered me and gave me warmth, they hugged me like never before, I cried, I cried like never before, it was so painful, I felt like I was making a fuss, but no, they wanted to help me, help me heal that pain...

There I realized something, not everything was as I thought, in reality, they didn't know I was suffering, and when they did, They wanted to do their best to help me, they took me for a check-up, they checked my wounds, they checked my heart, it was broken...

But, i was no longer alone...

Maybe I still have scars.... I remember that pain.... But... Even with that, I'm still here

I'm still alive...

Sometimes it's hard, but I really can handle this... I believe in myself, I believe I can get ahead, this pain is part of living and learning

After that pain, nothing looks scary anymore

Maybe things aren't the best, but I can handle that, maybe not everything is the best, but, I really believe in you, I think you can do it, I think you can overcome that sea...

I want to sees you happy... Alive...

Feeling love...

If no one tells you before...

I believe in you....

I love you.... With all my life...

Thanks for exiting

You are strong, you are brave, you are a survivor, you can with this, you are the most beautiful thing in this life... Please, let me love you, and let love yourself

Thanks for everything

[lucyfrostblade]

🪢 A headcanon about their family, 📓 A headcanon about their hobbies, 👗 A headcanon about their clothes, 🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence (for both ivy and lucy please i love your takes)

headcanon ask game !!

Lucy:

🪢 A headcanon about their family

one of lucy's parents (i say she has two moms but that's unrelated to the current headcanon) was born in the mountains of chaos and moved to elmville with her own parents when she was an older teen, around 16 or 17. the official reasoning was that it was safer to raise a family in elmville and a desire to live a life less rooted in survival and more in living, but the real reason but that lucy's grandparents had gotten some vague communications from ruvina that some time in the coming decades that a frostblade would be needed in elmville.

📓 A headcanon about their hobbies

credit to @vortahoney for starting this conversation with the other day !! lucy reads sad girl books, be it weird sad girl or hot sad girl. an absolutely remarkable thing by hank green, severence by ling ma, our wives under the sea by julia armfield, my heart is a chainsaw by stephen graham jones, olga dies dreaming by xochitl gonzalez, gods of want by k-ming chang, bad cree by jessica johns, the secret lives of church ladies by deesha philyaw.

i think i said to spence that i don't think she would read horror or the weirder books yesterday but i have changed my mind. she doesn't read the goreriest stuff or even truly weird stuff, but she doesn't shy away from it either.

👗 A headcanon about their clothes

lucy dresses like it's winter every single day. every since she became a frost gensasi, it's been hard for her to stay warm. it doesn't exactly bother her, it's comfortable, but she misses it, you know? so she's always wearing sweaters even on the hottest summer day, trying to chase the warmth she remembers from early childhood.

🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence (for both ivy and lucy please i love your takes)

she's depicted in the official art as having a morning star and i am a little bit obsessed with that. it implies either a strength that isn't necessarily evident in her character design, or that she's just carrying around a weapon that she can't really use. i lean more towards the former, and that she has a tendency to be more involved in combat than any of the other rat grinders are completely comfortable with. she'll always try and keep combat from breaking out but once it does she can wack people with her morning star and then cast healing word as a bonus action. it's fine guys, she promises. of course if someone gets badly hurt she'll focus on that but let my girl hit people in between. especially post-resurrection it's one of the only ways she feels comfortable expressing anger.

Ivy:

🪢 A headcanon about their family

ivy moved to elmville shortly before freshman year with her mom. her parents divorced during the last year of middle school. it was messy, and they absolutely had the worst fights right in front of ivy for most of her childhood. in the end, ivy was made to chose between staying in fallinel with her dad or moving to elmville with her mom, and she chose the latter. she sees her dad a couple times a year now, but her mom isn't much more present despite the fact that they live under the same roof.

📓 A headcanon about their hobbies & 👗 A headcanon about their clothes

archery itself could be considered a hobby, i don't know if you have any experience with it. personally i am pretty shit at it but i am getting back into it anyway. back to ivy though, i imagine it started out as a hobby before it became who she was. summers spent shooting at targets instead of playing with the other kids, and after school time was spent more on practice than her homework.

i imagine that once she starts aguefort she's similarly intense about it but picks up an actual hobby or two now that she has time in school to be intense about it. something tactile, maybe knitting or crochet? i lean knitting for ivy bc it's simpler and more practical but she could still use it to make crop tops and tank tops. i think she'd have fun with it. and she makes oisin count her rounds for her. it's hard, okay?

🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence

ivy's an archer which creates a certain distance from the violence she enacts. the first thing she kills is a deer while on a hunting trip with her parents. for a while it's just game, then when she starts aguefort it's rats and monsters. even in battle against other people (against lucy) it's easy enough for her to keep her distance from the reality of violence against another person. she didn't touch lucy when they killed her, just stood by the treeline and aimed. the distance doesn't help with the guilt, doesn't stop the nightmares.

[third-arch]

Law Rambling-Melancholic Melodies

I don’t know why I’m talking about this. I just did. It’s incomplete, and steers of track and goes nowhere. But oh well.

I was listening to “day 30” by Matt Maltese, one of my favorite music artists.

I like imagine autumn leaves, myself dancing with my boyfriend.

The sunlight kissing our skin and peaking through our hair.

Ghosts under a gray sky,

The cold pavement,

Kanna and Law in a dreary park, walking over cobblestone hand in hand.

Things like that.

Anyways, I realized that “Maybe Law would like this song, too.”

I’d always liked imagining that he could play the piano. Maybe that was it.

But, something else,

Is it weird that I think Law would enjoy artists that are more melancholic than things like metal and punk rock?

Sure, growing up, I think it’d make sense.

And I think he’d love those artists.

But, he grew to be someone who didn’t like wishful thinking. He wanted to move on. Not forget, but not wallow, either.

His gentleness, his “in and out” and cautious behavior told me that he was someone who’d rather be in control of his emotions. Which is obvious.

He seems like someone who’d want things to make him happy, make him feel at peace, grounded, and familiar with his emotions.

Something healing, not stimulating.

It’s why I think he’d like Deemo, BTS, Radiohead, Phoebe Bridgers, The Beatles, things like that.

He’d want something that could make him think. Just relax, even.

Maybe it’s me doing the wishful thinking. I’ve always unintentially written him as being much softer than he should be.

Perhaps too soft at times, like these.

Maybe I think too much, like I always do. I always love too greatly. It’s frustrating sometimes.

Back to what I was saying, what about his aggression?

What about $uicideboy$? I’ve always said he’d like that too.

He’s a nerd.

And I think he did, and he probably does

A guilty pleasure that he and Kanna indulge in. Something they enjoyed deeply at some point or another before finding each-other’s company.

Even in my writing, he’s more reserved about it.

You have to recognize the shift he had from before, during and after Corazon

As someone online once wrote,

“In like a lion, out like a lamb”

Something that hasn’t changed is that I’d always liked to write Law as someone who needs warmth.

And perhaps, in these melancholic melodies, he finds that.

A strange, faded warmth.

A familiarity.

Something that doesn’t confuse him, or cause his emotions to stir, but rather feel comfort.

He was born to be a lover, made to be a fighter.

Ironic for the Surgeon of Death you’d think.

Or maybe not.

In Law’s words,

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I try to look past his appearance.

When I study him, I don’t study what he’s saying, I study how and why he’s saying it, and then what he’s saying.

His thought process, and all that.

And I guess, after spending time with him, just seeing him as someone who likes melodies with themes of love and sadness just seems right to me.

He’s surrounded by death and haunted by ghosts.

The quiescent graveyard of his heart wouldn’t call for anger, he already has enough of that.

Just solitude and longing, I suppose.