#it’s tragic and heartbreakingly beautiful

[lorstone]

I am genuinely baffled that anyone could possibly think that Extraordinary Things is about anyone other than Geralt.

[kyouka-supremacy]

do u like skk?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I don't really have any strong feeling for skk. It's far from being my favorite ship for both Dazai and Chuuya. I'm still mostly positive towards it and low-key root for them, but that pretty much exclusively comes from the fact that skk shippers (or at least skk shippers on Tumblr? I don't use any other social) look very chill and have always been supportive so like. I'm rooting for the people more than the characters ahah, I hope they can have what they want.

I feel like if you are very into ss/kk you can't truly like skk, and the other way around– they're just two very different brands of enemies to lovers, and if one is your cup of tea, it'll be hard you'll have strong feelings for the other as well, you know? In the end it's just a matter of tastes, I don't really think about it. Ss/kk is more of a very very long slowburn, skk is more of everything is burning! from the very start. Ss/kk is a more or less linear growing together and growing closer, while skk is a neverending back-and-forth no one can really tell how is going to end. There's also the fact that I honestly dislike Dazai too much to get truly invested in any ship involving him– I've jokingly said my main argument against skk is that Chuuya deserves better, but honestly I still stand by that. I can see the appeal in skk like this constant back-and-forth push-and-pull and I can totally see why people are into it! It's just not my cup of tea.

As for my personal perception of skk Dazai and Chuuya do love, romantically, each other, but they've betrayed each other's trust so many times, it's really hard to imagine them being happy together– and that's what I ultimately look for in a ship. (Well, Dazai betrayed Chuuya's trust. God, so many times now that I think about it. Uh. What was I saying?) The thing is, I can't see the characters doing anything but hurt each other EVEN when they don't want to, so isn't it ultimately better for both of them to go their separate ways? It may hurt, but that's probably what's best for both of them. And I also think that although Dazai has some kind of romantic feelings for Chuuya, he will never love anyone as much as he loved Oda. Sorry but uh. yeah

I do wish skk would become canon tbh– I don't think they ever will, but if I could pick one bsd ship to become canon I would still chose them, which after everything I've said is a fun thing to write down. But that's just because I find queerbating as a practice straight up cruel, and there's far too much of it in this franchise.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Would you be willing to write a Miguel x Spider!Reader oneshot where they’re arguing over something the reader did on a mission. And in the heat of an argument, Miguel yells “Because I love you!” at the perfectly wrong time, revealing why he cares about the reader’s safety.

‘What the hell was that back there. You could’ve jeopardised the whole mission with that reckless stunt you pulled back there!’ Miguel barked, ripping off mask the first moment moment he could; Hellfire were setting ablaze to his beautiful scarlet eyes that were zeroed in on you as the anger, the frustration upon his face became prominent the more he closed the distance between you.

‘When will you let this go, Miguel. When we became Spider-Man we knew the risks that we were running with-‘ ‘so you thought it’d be better to take a running head start by taking the leap and then diving headfirst into them?!’ Miguel cuts you off and with an indignant huff he adds, ‘you don’t get extra points for being reckless, this isn’t some little game that you can just come back to when you feel like it. No, what we do is a full time commitment with no room for last minute deviations just because you were feeling more heroic.’

You grit your teeth. You respected Miguel, you truly did and at one point in time you wanted to do right by his little rule book of how to be a great hero. However you soon learned that it’s better to play by your own rules rather then it was to play by those made by others and slowly but surly found a method that worked for you. For no two methods were the same when it came to protecting and saving people but if they both end in the same conclusion, then no one should be able to raise an issue with it. At the end of the day you and Miguel saved people from a much bigger problem if left unchecked; so why was it that all of a sudden he had an issue with your methods?

It never upset him this much before, so why now. Did he think you as incapable? As unreliable? As untrustworthy to fully let you handle a situation on your own? Whatever it was it only proved in pissing you off despite your semi-injured state; you didn’t care that you’ve gotten hurt, you’ve gotten hurt plenty of times before and he never once batted an eye or exemplified his emotions as he did as of right now. You could barely get a read on the guy as he stood mere feet away, chest heaving even though he wasn’t out of breath, eyes wide and his hair slightly disheveled from the way he had torn off his mask earlier.

And yet you couldn’t help but find him beautiful in his anger, for it was like witnessing the makings of a Greek tragedy; beautifully written, yet so heartbreakingly tragic.

‘Why does it matter?’ You spat, getting up, despite your injured leg’s desire to buckle beneath the weight of not only you but the situation at hand. You saw the briefest movements of Miguel’s arms almost stretch out to instinctively catch you but stopping midway through the motion before going slack at his sides once more; as though remembering why he was mad at you in the first place. ‘It never mattered before, so why does it matter now? You don’t hound the others for doing it so why is it me that’s getting shit on for doing the same when I ain’t the first to do so!’

‘Because I love you!’ Miguel exclaimed.

The silence afterwards was almost deafening. Miguel’s outburst quieted you quickly as a thousand and one thoughts raced in your head; how long? why now? Was this merely a ruse to silence you so he could badger on at you for your supposed mistake? You didn’t know what to make of anything anymore now that he said that. You didn’t want to believe it for starters on the basis that not once had he ever shown interest in you, if anything he made it apparent to push you away or avoid you entirely from any and all interaction, and even when he did it was comprised of short responses that left the attempts at conversation to die as an overwhelming awkwardness forced you into leaving him be.

‘What?’

‘I love you.’ Miguel repeated, softer this time.

‘I get that but why-‘ ‘haven’t I shown it until now? As stupid as it sounds but I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me and look where you are,’ he gestured to your injured state, ‘hurt because of me.’ He adds defeatedly. You were about to open your mouth when Miguel raised a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished, ‘I know I haven’t given you any reason to believe me when I say that I love you. I avoid you like the plague and I push you away whenever I see you starting to get too close and respond in a clipped tone of voice so that you’d loose interest and move on to talk to someone else.’

He stopped talking to move in closer to you, grasping you by arms with a firm grip as all the anger in his face seemingly having been melted away. The raging hellfire that once consumed his scarlet eyes in their entirety had been diminished to that of dying ambers, unveiling his admiration, his worry, his guilt and most importantly, his love; the sneer now long gone was replaced by a softer more tender expression that didn’t hide away the worry lines that were deeply etched into his skin. ‘I don’t deserve you, I’m not worth having you because sooner or later you’ll see me the way I’ve always seen myself and I’d rather you be as far away as possible when that happens.’ Miguel said, making sure he was maintaining eye contact with you the entire time to prove that he was being wholeheartedly genuine, not wanting to lie to you about something as personal as his feelings; He’s done that for long enough, Miguel knew his breaking point was upon the incline and seeing you act the way you did during the mission only fast forward it.

‘Yet for some inexplicable reason I can’t stop myself for wanting to protect you, to make sure you’re safe, to make sure that you never come to harm. At first I thought it was because I was looking out for a teammate, making sure you didn’t slip up and cause more potential problems for the rest of us, making sure that you didn’t let a single perpetrator slip but soon I learnt it was far more then just simply looking after a teammate...’ Miguel paused to blink away the images regarding of the nightmares he’d get concerning you, which were few and far between but those times were enough to suffocate him with fear. ‘It was something more and I grew scared, I grew scared because I know what it’s like to loose it all but for some reason I also knew that loosing you would just be the nail in the coffin for me.’

Miguel admits as he presses his forehead against your own, his hands trailing from up your arms until they’re caressing the skin of either side of your neck between calloused thumbs. He closing his eyes and allows himself to breath you in, reminding himself that you were here and that he managed to get to you before anything else could, that he kept you safe, not from all harm but at least from some of it and that was good enough but he knew deep down that he needed the do better. ‘Don’t make me imagine a life without you,’ he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours just that tiny bit harder as his fingertips found their home where your pulse points were to remind him that you weren’t gone completely from his grasp, ‘for I don’t think I’m strong enough to withstand that reality.’

‘You don’t have to.’ You told him softly, lifting your hands to caresses the skin of his cheeks and feeling him effectively melt within your hold. ‘Not anymore.’

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 015 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. modern royal au. angst. physical violence (not to the reader.) manipulation. lying. angst. hurt and a little bit of comfort ig??

notes. feedbacks / reblogs/ comments are appreciated <3

wc. 10.4k

series masterlist 

[ FIFTEEN ] scattered ‘cross my family line, i’m so good at telling lies – that came from my mother’s side, told a million to survive. . . i can’t forget, i can’t forgive you. ‘cause now i’m scared that everyone i love will leave me

“This was a mistake. We should get divorced.”

The tranquil song of the sea was deceptive. A vast expanse of silver under the soft glow of the full moon caressed Rintaro’s face, his handsome face heartbreakingly heartbroken. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a serene, almost ethereal light upon the two of you. On the distant coast, a lighthouse flickered, its beam briefly piercing the darkness before vanishing. The momentary light was enough to let you see – the truth, the split-second show of vulnerability within his eyes before it left only the memory of its glow.

Rintaro stood in front of you, at an arm’s length away but your heart worlds apart. The long line of spray marked where the sea met the land, its boundary evident. There, where the moon’s loght turned the sand into a luminous carpet beneath your feet, the waves lulled your racing hearts into quiet murmurs swallowed by the breeze.

You listened to his words – words that carried the weight of an ending unforeseen. Disbelief clouded your mind. You refused to accept what you just heard. Turning your head the other way, you bit down on your lip, hard enough you tasted the coppery tang of blood.

The rhythm of the sea was like the lilt of your heartbeat, steady yet trembling. It began, ceased, and began again, each cycle mirroring this endless round of circles you and Rintaro ran in – to loving, to hurting, to forgiving. Was this how ended? In a poorly-timed farewell?

You always knew this moment would come. Someone would have had to say goodbye. You just never thought the words would come from his mouth.

Your feet rooted deep in the sand, you listened to the melancholy refrain of waves crashing against each other. The moonlight reflected in the water, a silver path stretching into the unknown. You stood there, letting the sea speak the emotions too deep to be said out loud.

And what a moment it was – with the beauty of the night, the serene majesty of the sea, and bittersweet flicker of candles behind you.

It would’ve been easier if the sea held your sadness, with the moon as your witness in your quiet despair, the cliffs holding onto their stone each memory you knew you’d keep for many years to come. The night air, sweet and cool, carried away and brought with the wind your unshed tears.

This was a mistake. We should get divorced.

Rintaro’s words echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder that some stories, no matter how beautiful or tragic, all had its end.

“What did you say?” you licked your lips, forcing a smile despite the wobbliness of your knees. It couldn’t be, right? The night was going well. Fate couldn’t be so cruel – he’d just begun to love you. “I must have heard you wrong.”

Your husband turned away from you, his grip on the bouquet tightening. You watched as the flowers crushed between its force, its beauty drained with one just hand.

“You didn’t. I meant what I said – we should end this.”

“Why?”

His head snapped your way. “What do you mean, why?” he hissed, the bouquet slammed on the ground as he gestured to the air. His eyes were blown wide, frantic and desperate. “Look around you. Don’t you realize none of this feels right? Let’s drop the act, Princess. Neither of us truly want each other, and don’t tell me I’m wrong when I see the way you look at me.”

You reeled back, unknowingly clutching at your chest. “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re thinking of ways to get rid of me,” he spat out with a laugh, “Like-like you’re looking for the man who courted you two years ago, the one you truly wanted to marry. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, because you’re not going to find him. He never existed in the first place. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it in me,” his eyes blazed with fury, but then, as if the fire within him had been doused, his hands fell limply at his sides. “But you may find him in someone else.”

Rintaro’s gaze dropped to the floor. Sorrow filled his eyes, his expression softened before he spun on his heel. Turning away, your husband stepped forward.

“Take one more step–” you threatened him, hands balled into fists. “–and I will make you regret it.”

“Do your worst,” came his tired reply, his shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t care less.”

His steps were quick, as if he couldn’t waste any more time in getting away from you. It made blood boil within your veins. Before you could notice, you’d already crossed the distance in one breath, furiously grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him to face you. You were certain you look crazed – your face flushed, your cheeks damp with tears rolling down. He must’ve seen it too, his face falling at the sight of you.

“No! You think you can walk away from me? You think you can do all this–” you gestured to the beach around you, finding it harder to breathe with each word you spoke. “–buy me a house, tell me you envisioned a future with me, made love to me, and even prepared this dinner–”

“I didn’t do it for you. It was Kiyoomi who came up with this idea because he wanted to make you happy.”

Shaking your head, you shoved at his chest. “He wouldn’t do that. Kiyoomi wouldn’t be so cruel!”

“Oh, but I am for going along with it?” he snapped, closing the distance until his wrath enveloped you. “Get out of your head. Just because I did all those things for you, doesn’t mean they meant something. Are you forgetting I spent two years of my life trying to win you over, and I never once felt something for you other than tolerance?” When your face fell, triumph washed over his features. “That’s right. You remember now, don’t you? She’s the one I want. Everything I do is for her. Don’t forget your place.”

“My place? I am your wife. It’s my ring that you have on your finger. What place should I be forgetting? All of this is for me, you did this for me–”

“Oh, wake the fuck up, Y/N!” he bellowed, grabbing at his hair before he turned to glare at you. “I’m so tired of you going around acting like everything I do meant something. Has it never crossed your mind I could have just been bored? It didn’t, did it? Because you’re honestly foolish enough to let your guard down and believe that I wanted you!”

“Then why do all this if you didn’t?” you retorted, “You could become King as long as you married me and I gave you a son. You didn’t have to buy me a house, o-or act like you cared behind the cameras–”

“Well, are you? Are you with child?”

“No, but why does–”

“Then you have no hold over me. Marriage means nothing. This ring? This stupid fucking thing?” You glanced at the gold band at his finger, the one you watched roll over the floor on that day you gave it back to him. Rintaro hadn’t taken it off since, but now he looked at with resentment – like it suffocated him, choked him. “It means nothing. You cannot make me King if you don’t give me a child. And as long as you’re walking around without a baby in your belly, then you mean nothing to me. You have no purpose in my life.”

“So that’s what this is, then? Because she’s pregnant and I’m not?”

Rintaro’s face morphed into despair for a fleeting moment, so quick you questioned if you saw it at all. But almost as quickly, Rintaro’s posture straightened, his eyes hardening with steely resolve. Your breath caught in your throat – your suspicions confirmed.

So it was true. He knew.

And all of this – this house, that mocking conversation of building a family with you – it had been nothing but a cruel joke.

A strangled gasp escaped your lips. Stumbling back, your hands instinctively clutched at your chest as if desperately holding together the pieces of your shattered heart. The attempt was all for naught. The weight of betrayal crashed over you like a thundering wave. Each thought was a daggered stabbed to your soul as the pieces fit together – your husband, the one you loved, and his true love, now carrying his child.

Tears welled up, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, refusing to let him have the satisfaction that he’d succeeded in hurting you.

And it had been so easy, wasn’t it? He knew you so well, knew you like the back of his hand, that it came without too much effort that it was so easy to have you wrapped around his finger. One kiss, one tender touch, one proclamation of his so-called affections, and you would’ve broken your back bending to his will. He knew. He knew how easy it would be to win you over, and time and time again, you fell for it like the fool you were.

Everything burned. The pain was too raw, too overwhelming.

“You are cruel, Suna Rintaro. I regret the day I danced with you,” you gritted your teeth, digging your nails into your palm. Hard. “Perhaps you are right. We should get divorced.”

Rintaro sighed. “It’s for the best, even if it’s not what you think.”

“Because you can finally be with her, right? Your dream life is already coming true. You’re going to be a father, you’re going to spend a future with the one you love, and I’m hopelessly in love with you enough that I’ll just let it happen,” you smiled for him, clapping your hands together slowly and mockingly. “Congratulations. It’s everything you wanted. Things are finally going accordingly to plan. Should we open a wine to celebrate?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Stop acting like a child. You knew what you were getting into when you caught us together and still proceeded with the wedding.”

“You still blame me for that after everything I did for you?”

The silence hung in the air. Somehow, his lack of response already spoke a thousand words.

Unable to help yourself, you glanced at the beach house behind Rintaro. It stood proudly against the backdrop of the setting sun, its white walls glowing warmly in the fading light.

The memories came flooding all at once – the laughter you shared, the stolen kisses when he thought no one was looking, the whispered promises of a life you’d never life. You could almost see them dancing in front of you, like ghosts of the past, lingering in the shadows of the porch and taunting you with the fact it had been too good to be true. So many dreams built, so many dreams shattered.

Your heart ached in ways it shattered you bone-deep. It echoed from your chest and reverberated down to your feet as you recalled the nights you spent wrapped in his arms. His hands on your cheeks, a small smile on his face – when he still looked at you like he loved you and meant it.

But now? Now, that love felt like a cruel illusion – a beautiful dream turned into a living nightmare. The betrayal cut deep, deep enough it left behind the harsh hand prints on your soul. The wounds stinging hard that it might never heal. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it – from the swing on the porch swaying gently on the evening breeze, the window that once framed your silhouettes when you welcomed the sunrise together. Each detail was a stab to your already broken heart.

A stray tear fell on your cheek. Brushing it away, hands trembling, you took a deep breath – forcing the salty air to fill your lungs. “Was… was any of it real?”

Turning away from the house was the hardest part. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of your memories were trying to pull you back. You cast one last, longing glance over your shoulder, your heart silently breaking anew.

Deep down, you already knew his answer. Still, it did not soften the blow when the words left his lips. It didn’t hurt any less when regret crossed his features, like somehow; a part of him wished it had been. “No. None of it was.”

“Okay,” you resigned, your body turned away from him, so he wouldn’t have to see be so pathetic anymore. When you finally spoke again, your voice came out as a breathy whisper. “You should go.”

You heard a slight shuffling behind you, followed by his mumbled words. “I never wanted to stay, anyway.”

When Rintaro walked away from you, each step he took was daunting, final. You didn’t know what hurt you more – the fact he never looked back, or the fact he never hesitated. But there was one thing that was made crystal clear to you now: it was never going to be you. How deeply unfair it was, that a man could say things he did not mean, do things he did not want to. How he could marry you and buy a house, and then turn you away at the next moment.

Love truly was a dangerous thing. It made you break down your walls, hopelessly and blindly handing your heart in the hands of someone, all while silently hoping they wouldn’t break it. And when it did, who would pick up the fallen pieces? Who would gather the shattered shards of your soul as it spilled like blood through his fingertips?

You didn’t have an answer for any of these.

Knees buckling, you fell into the sand, your palms sinking on it with its weight. You cried your heart out – the skies hearing your anguish as it echoed in the dead of the night. You screamed, begged, and called out for a God who never listened. The betrayal left a bitter taste on your tongue, a relentless ache that gnawed at your insides until it felt like nothing was left. As if you’d been hollowed out, bled out to dry, and discarded to the side.

You laid there for who knew how long. The flames of the candle had gone out, the food forgotten and cold. Sand had made its way into your joints and your hair. Your cheek felt crusty and hard from the dried tears. You cried and cried until there were no more tears left – watching from the horizon as the skies deepened into a darker shade.

Just then, a jacket fell on your bare shoulders. Stiffening, you raised your head from where you rested it on your drawn knees – blearily blinking at the figure before you. The man stood tall even with his legs bent, the faintest hint of spice mixing with the breeze.

Behind you, the Second Prince stood, his face devoid of any emotion. Yet, his eyes said it all. You are briefly shocked by how much you saw of yourself within him at that moment. The longing, the sadness – Kiyoomi wore his grief proudly. At the sight of you, his face softened. He offered his hands, one you took with no hesitance, and allowed him to pull you up to your feet. You two stood like that for a few minutes – unspeaking, and just staring at each other.

Kiyoomi was the first to look away.

“You’re cold. You shouldn’t stay out here,” tightening his jacket around you, the Prince suddenly pulled you in for an embrace. It happened too fast, faster than you could react. Before you knew it, your face was pressed against his chest, his heartbeat – strong and mighty – the only sound audible aside from the howling breeze. And you sunk into his hold as your tears stained his shirt, realizing a little too late how much you needed this – to be held so tightly like he feared letting you, like he could squeeze you hard enough and it would hopefully – eventually – piece back together the heart his brother had broken.

“Shhh. I got you, Princess. I’ll always be here for you.”

You’ve gone past the point of believing such flowery words. But when it came from Kiyoomi, you never doubted he’d keep the promises he’d made.

The once-vibrant beach house, filled with laughter and endless conversations, now stood in silence. Its walls held the unspoken truth that forever was not going to last. The gentle breeze that had always carried a promise of endless days spent in joy now whispered farewells through the rustling palms.

Rintaro had begun his farewells. Now, it was your turn to leave everything behind.

The Princes and their companions moved with quiet efficiency. Ever since that dreadful night, things hadn’t been the same anymore. No one spoke about what happened, but it didn’t take a fool to understand that romantic dinners weren’t supposed to end with you and Rintaro returning to the house hours apart – both miserable and mum. One quick look at you two, and the Princes began packing up.

Everyone knew their time had run up.

Casting a final, longing glance at the house, you breathed in the salty breeze one last time. The memories clung to you, each step you took feeling like a betrayal to the woman you could’ve been – the wife he could’ve had, and the mother you would’ve been. With a heavy heart, you watched as everyone loaded their luggage back to their respective vehicles, each one of them driving off. Their movements – along with yours – had been mechanical, as if the finality of their departure had numbed everyone to their core.

You looked out the window. The sun had began to greet the world with its morning kiss. The sea, once shimmering and glistening with spark-like waves, now seemed to mourn with you. The beach, scattered with the footprints of a happier time you’d said goodbye to, would soon be swept clean by the tides.

Any traces of the memories you made would be wiped clean by the world itself. If only it could give you a new beginning, too.

The journey back to the palace was somber. The rolling hills and distant forests passed by in a blur of muted colors – the world passed you by, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. If anything, the ride back felt like walking into your own death. A death march of duty and purpose. Speaking of duty… your hands cradled your belly. You weren’t pregnant, nor were you experiencing any symptoms. Rintaro knew this, too, otherwise he wouldn’t have thrown it in your face that you were merely nothing but a breeding mare for him – and a failed one, at that.

The palace loomed ahead, its grand spires and imposing walls reminding you of your reality.

Back at the beach house, your emotions were valid. There, you were a brokenhearted person who longed for true love. Here, though? None of that mattered. The Palace was not a place for emotions. It was a pillar, the foundation of what the Crown held – power, victory, wealth, control. Here, you were a Princess, and a Princess should always hold her head high.

You couldn’t do it. Bile rose up your throat each time you pictured yourself walking down its grand hallways, the gold shimmering and blinding you. Just the mere thought of the Queen studying you with her observant gaze made you squeamish.

You turned to Rintaro. “Can we please head to my parents instead?”

He looked at you like you’d grown two heads. The Palace was already in view. Still, his gaze darted at you, and back at the Palace, as if seriously considering it. Then, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped against his seat. “If you are doing this as an act of revenge–”

“I’m not. My parents truly did want to see us.”

Rintaro contemplated. Absentmindedly, he spun the ring on his finger, gazing down at it with an unreadable expression. His voice was light, and whisper-like as he said, “You cannot tell them about the affair.”

You pursed your lips. You never planned on doing so in the first place. Crossing your arms against your chest, you huffed. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. I never planned on ruining your perfect image.”

Rintaro didn’t bother with responding. Instead, he asked the driver to head back to the Yuzuru Estate, and quickly informed Her Majesty on the detour. It didn’t take long enough before you were surrounded by the familiar grove of trees that led to your place. The sound of wheels on cobblestone mingled with the soft murmur of the midday breeze. Outside, the manicured gardens and stately mansions blurred into a comforting embrace, their elegant silhouettes nostalgic. You couldn’t help but feel the need to reach out, to run your fingertips over the freshly mowed grass, or admire the shapely bushes designed to perfection.

You missed your home very much – one of the few places you felt solace in before your life turned upside down.

Pulling up into the driveway, your butler immediately opened the doors for you. There was a round of warm welcomes and joyful smiles. You’d missed them, too – all the loyal staff who took turns watching over you, even when they remained hesitant to properly acquaint themselves. Nevertheless, it was home. You greedily breathed the fresh air in, letting it fill up your lungs as you breathed out the darkness pooling at your chest.

The double doors opened, and the two of you were ushered in. A few minutes later, your mother came rushing past – a shawl drawled at the curves of her arms. A smile instantaneously, rising up from your seat to meet her halfway.

“My daughter, oh, how I missed you!” she laughed, the sound of it light and coloring up the room. Pulling back from the embrace, she cupped your face with her gloved hands – all her previous smiles slowly wavering. “My goodness, have you been eating well? Sleeping well? You look… different.”

You winced. It would be hard to hide things from her, but you had to try.

Leaning into her palm, you gave her the biggest smile you could muster – teeth flashed and all. “I’m okay, Mother. The Palace can just get a little exhausting sometimes.”

“Does your husband not help you with your duties?”

It was your father who spoke this time. He must’ve come straight from trimming the bushes; a sunhat covered his head, and he wore gardening gloves that were stained with grass and a miniscule of dirt. You didn’t miss the way his gaze leered at your husband. Rintaro was stiff behind you, having stood up as well as soon as your mother entered. “He does most of them, so I believe he is more tired than I am,” you supplied, pointedly ignoring Rintaro’s relieved sigh. Clapping your hands together, you walked towards your father with open arms. “But let’s not discuss any of that – how is everyone doing? I feel like it’s been forever since I last stepped in here.”

“Ah, no,” your father complained as he held you at an arm’s length away, “My clothes are soiled, and you are pristine. Do not bother yourself with getting dirtied.”

You pouted; your mother giggling behind you.

Being back at home was an instant medication. You hadn’t been here in months, yet the effect was evident – your shoulders felt lighter, your smile more natural. You’d stopped trying to think of Iris, too, yet you remained warily aware of your husband. And it was clear Rintaro was unsure of himself. He lingered longer on the doorways, his interactions with your parents more formal than it had been compared to the first time he called upon you. You couldn’t blame him for his discomfort – the question of his affair lingered on the air.

It was only a matter of time before someone addressed it.

A few hours later, with your stomachs filled with warm, homemade meals, you all moved out towards the back gardens. The garden stretched out in a lush expanse beneath the golden glow of the setting sun, each corner rich with the memories of your precious childhood.

Winding stone paths meandered through vibrant displays of blooming flowers – roses in shades of crimson and blush, peonies in soft pastels, and clusters of fragrant lavender. Elegant statues and an ornate fountain stood in the middle of it, their waters cascading beautifully. Majestic oak trees, their branches spreading wide in a serene embrace, provided cool, dappled shade – your signature reading spot from your teenage years.

You’d made many memories here; time spent with your father chasing you and your mother around as your gurgled giggles echoed through the air. It was also where your father taught you to use weapons (much to your mother’s distaste), and eventually, even a date spot when Rintaro wanted a reprieve from the public eye.

Rintaro and your father went ahead. Your father claimed he hadn’t properly worked out in a while, and that perhaps your husband could help him warm up. Beside you, you and your mother watched as the two men rolled their sleeves up to practice sparring. It’s a silly thing, but one you knew Rintaro enjoyed. He often spent time with your father like this when he was still courting you. They toyed with weapons, hunted birds, and sparred with one another. It was your father’s way of gauging Rintaro’s strength at first. Now, they simply did it as a way of bonding.

You smiled despite yourself.

You could still remember those times vividly, where warmth crept up your neck upon the knowledge your parents liked this boy you adored. You appreciated all his efforts, never once backing down from an absurd request from your mother, or another challenge from your father. Rintaro had proven to them, without fail, that he was dedicated in winning your heart.

He’d succeeded. It would be impossible if he didn’t.

He came every day, always at seven in the morning, with a bouquet of flowers that led you into reserving a room just to turn it into an indoor garden. He’d brought flowers for your mother, too, and you knew the moment she shed a tear at his sweetness, that he’d also won their hearts. The sweet ‘yes’ he’d been working hard finally came a year during the courtship. It was on that memorable night he’d driven you out for dinner – no drivers, no servants, no anything. Just you and I, he’d said with a smile, placing a kiss upon your knuckles.

It was the first night you’d kissed him, and the first night you stayed up awake as you lost the battle of trying to calm your racing heart.

If you’d known that early that his heart had already been occupied… No.

Even if you knew, even after you knew, it was too late. You were doomed from the moment he’d picked you out from the crowd. You’d resigned yourself to your fate when the throng of people parted for him as he made his way to you, wearing the most dazzling, lazy smile befitting for a Crown Prince.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You might’ve fallen in love the moment you stepped on his toes, and all he did was laugh.

“My dear,” your mother’s silken voice pulled you out of your trance. Smiling at her, you turned her way, silently sipping on the tea the servants had prepared. Before you, your mother twitched, playing with her fingers splayed on her lap. “I don’t mean to suddenly spring this up on you, but surely you’ll understand a mother’s curiosity and concern. So, tell me. Is it real? Is it true the Crown Prince is cheating on you?”

Your body froze. You’d seen this coming – known she would’ve asked one way or another.

“No, Mother,” you shook your head, dropping your gaze onto your lap in the hopes she wouldn’t see right through you. “His Highness would never. That article was already proven to be a hoax.”

“I see…”

You shared an uneasy silence. Seated across from each other, you stirred your tea absentmindedly, gaze drifting over the manicured hedges that framed the secluded nook. Your mother, poised and composed, sipper her tea with deliberate slowness. You could tell without looking at her that her inquisitive gaze searched for answers on your face. For signs of the truth you struggled to conceal with each passing minute.

The gentle clinking of porcelain and the soft rustling of leaves did little to alleviate the tension, the silence between you two growing heavier with each unspoken word.

Finally, your mother set her cup down and sighed. “I still remember the day the Crown Prince came to call on you,” she began, her words delicate and careful. Her gaze flitted to the two men before you, still elbow-deep in their sparring. “Your father and I didn’t want to believe it at first. You were always beautiful, of course, but you were such a shy, little thing. We worried you might grow old without striking a conversation with any man, but a Prince? A Crown Prince, no less? We were over the moon,” she shook her head at the memory, a small smile playing on her lips. “But then your father and I both agreed you didn’t deserve any lesser man. There couldn’t have been anyone else for you. The Crown Prince was perfect.”

He was, you wanted to agree, he used to be.

“I remember that day, too,” you mused, the image of the Prince with his slicked-back hair and three piece suit flashing in your mind.

You’d expected he would look out of your place in the Estate, whatnot with the royal crest on his chest, yet he never looked more fitting – surrounded by your family portraits and delicately gazing at your childhood photos.

“He was especially handsome – I’d say even more so than when he showed up for the Palace’s royal events.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. It was clear he wanted to impress us, and you, especially,” teased your mother with a slight poke of her elbow, her face softening. “I remember it all, my dear. How he would always share with us his plans for the dates he’d take you on, how he always took you home at the exact time he promised he would. He was a perfect son, the perfect addition to our small family. And I could never, ever forget how you changed when you met him.”

“I changed?” your brows furrowed, before you shrugged in agreement. “I suppose I have. Being with someone like him… I had to be conscious and aware of everything I did. Do you remember that, Mother? When I begged you to come shopping for clothes for me when you knew I never was interested in any of it?”

Your mother giggled behind her hands.

“I was so happy that day when you asked me to come with you! I thought my sweet girl was finally growing into a mature woman. But that wasn’t the change I was talking about,” she continued, sliding her chair closer to yours. Her palm landed on top of your knee, and she slowly caressed there – just like how she did when you first scraped your knees. And how healing it was, a mother’s tender touch on top of your wounds. It made you want to rip your heart out and shove it between her fingers, to silently beg her to make it all okay.

“…When you met him, you became radiant. In love. You smiled more often, and you opened up a whole new world that the Prince showed you. There wasn’t a day you didn’t speak fondly of him. And you had that look on your face, sweetheart–” she ran a finger down the side of your face, her eyes glistening with tears. You couldn’t understand why she looked so broken. “–it was in your eyes. Everyone could tell how much you loved the Prince.”

You swallowed, the smiles you wore becoming more and more faded. “Mother, I still love him.”

“I know, sweetheart, I can tell,” she cooed. Prying the cup from your hands, she immediately held your hands in hers, her warmth soothing as it seeped through her gloves. “But I also know you’re not happy anymore.”

Your resolve began to crumble.

“Mother…”

Your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears that you struggled to keep at bay. Despite your best effort, the façade of composure slipped. A single tear escaped, trailing a path down your cheek – and just like that – a dam had opened. The door holding your secrets unlocked. It was hard – painfully so – to pretend everything was okay when it was not. You felt like a little child again. A little girl craving her mother’s soothing embrace, and you couldn’t help it – you launched yourself into her arms, burying your face in the crook of her shoulder as your body shook with each sob.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother patted your back. Judging by the way her body quivered under you, she’d been crying, too. “It’s okay, I promise. Please, tell me what’s wrong. I can’t handle seeing you like this.”

“Mother, it’s…” you bit at your lip, trying to muffle the whimpers that passed your lips. “I’m sorry, it’s true. I didn’t want to lie, or have to hide it from you, but Rintaro loves you both a lot and I was afraid you’d hate him–”

“Oh! Oh, my poor baby. Never apologize, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

You clutched her tight, her dress balled into your fists. A part of you told you that you should feel pathetic, that your actions weren’t Princess-like. That Her Majesty would frown at the sight of you and tell you to act your age. But you couldn’t muster the strength, not when your mother’s embrace was the only thing keeping you together – the only thing that told you it was safe enough to fall apart. And so you cried, your tears soaking her dress and the fabric wrinkling under your grip.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your mother’s sniffles was the last thing you heard before the sound of a fist connecting with skin resounded in the area. Pulling back, you gasped at what you saw.

Rintaro was lying on the ground, your father on top of him. Your father grasped Rintaro by the collar, delivering blow by blow to his face until blood spattered to the grass. Somehow, you managed to scream. The sound was ear-splitting as your heels hit the ground, clutching the ends of your dress as you ran for him. Rintaro wasn’t putting up a fight – his arms limp by his side, his head swaying with each merciless punch on his face.

“Stop!”

“You cheating bastard,” your father glowered, rearing his arm back for one final blow. “How could you do that to my daughter?”

“Father! Please, stop!”

The commotion caused servants to pour from every corner. The guards arrived, pulling your father back by the elbow as he struggled to free from their restraints. Meanwhile, your mother stood beside him – crying and dabbing her handkerchief at his blood knuckles. And you? You fell on the ground, uncaring that the grass had stained your dress, and loomed over your husband. “Rin,” you called out. A low groan was all you received, but it was enough. You breathed out a sigh of relief, immediately calling for the servants to bring some ice and towels.

“Get out of here! You aren’t welcome here anymore!” your father kept kicking and screaming, the sounds of your mother’s pleas falling on deaf ears. “I swear by the Gods your title won’t keep you safe, boy, you will regret it–”

“Get up,” hooking your arm around Rintaro’s elbow, you grunted at his weight. “Rin. Come on. Let’s go.”

Still dazed from being beaten, Rintaro’s legs wobbled underneath him. He groaned, finally wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you limped back to the house. Your father was still a screaming mess, but you knew your mother would calm him down eventually. For now, you needed to tend to his cuts.

You brought Rintaro up to your room. A servant had left an ice pack and some towels there already. Making Rintaro get rid of his bloodied shirt, he changed into one of your father’s – his wince displeased yet left with no choice. Once he’d changed into something clean, he sat at the edge of your bed, shoulders slumped and his handsome face bloodied and bruised.

The air was thick with uneasiness in the dimly lit confines of your room.

The soft glow of your candlelight flickered across the ornate furnishings and Rintaro’s wounds. You worked quietly before him, finding there was no need to speak. His face, usually lacking in interest and graced with slow, lackadaisical smiles, was marred by a collection of bruises and cuts.

Your hand trembled slightly as you carefully dabbed a cloth soaked in cool water against a swollen cheek. The Crown Prince, despite his physical pain, looked even more vulnerable under the soft lights – his usual demeanor replaced by quiet resignation.

With delicate movements, you applied salves, ensuring your touch remained tender and soothing. It wouldn’t erase the hurt from his body, but maybe your care would make it ache less. Each gentle stroke of your fingers served as a silent apology for the pain he endured. And the room, filled with the faint scent of healing balms and the soft rustle of fabric, suddenly felt all too intimate.

The silence between you was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of the bandages and the soft sighs coming from him. As you finished tending to his wounds, your eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like he was that young man from two years ago – fresh-faced, and red-cheeked upon entering a maiden’s room for the first time. He’d been so nervous back then, his hands clammy and drenched with sweat. In reality, that man was just a fragment of who he truly was now – your poor, bruised husband who winced at every tender, caring touch. As if your love wounded him, and cut him in ways he couldn’t heal from.

As if he just waited for that finishing blow to come from you instead, to be his final damnation.

But it never came.

In that fragile moment, Rintaro closed his eyes, leaning into the caress of your palm as it hovered beside his face. This gesture you remembered – of him accidentally cutting his palm open with a letter opener years ago, and when you’d wrapped bandages around his wound. He did the same thing and leaned into your touch, only to kiss the insides of your wrist. He’d looked up at you from under his lashes, his lips full and ready to be kissed. And kiss him you did, because then he’d been yours, and you’d been his.

You didn’t pull away then. You couldn’t pull away now.

Using your thumb to stroke his swollen cheek, you sighed, the sound tired and heavy. “Did you tell my father? Is that why he beat you up?”

“No. We barely spoke during the spar,” he informed, tongue darting out to lick the dried blood off his lips. “But he kept looking over at you and your mother. I reckon he was just waiting for you to reveal the truth eventually,” just then, Rintaro chuckled, wincing when the motion made his cuts split further apart. His smile remained, however, and you drunk his features in – the way he tipped his head to the side, his eyes hooded, with just the barest hint of a playful smile. “You were never a good liar, you know that?”

“Is that so?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “On our second date, you told me you didn’t want to watch the movies because you were worried people might crowd us. But it was written all over your face how much you wanted to.”

That, you remembered, as well. You found it impossible how a Prince – a Crown Prince – could simply saunter to the theaters like he was any regular man. He was right; you did want to. You’d never been to the theaters since it was always crowded, and you never did well in the dark. But you soon learned the dark wasn’t so scary when he had his arms wrapped around you. If anything, it felt elating – having the Prince play with your fingers, his gaze never really focusing on the movie.

Rintaro’s jaw clenched, more so in thought. “You always kept things to yourself, always did things for me even when it made you uncomfortable. Was it because I’m the Crown Prince that you felt you couldn’t be honest with me?”

“Not entirely. I guess I was just afraid that if I didn’t do what you liked, then you would lose interest in me.”

“That would never happen,” he interjected, “The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were the one I wanted to marry.”

The realization dawned on him a little too late. His words carried weight with its double meaning, and he winced. The moment was broken. The thread snapped right in front of your eyes. Pulling away from him, you quickly gathered the bloodied towels and set it aside. You made yourself busy, fully aware of his eyes on you, but you wouldn’t dare look back. You had a feeling that if you did, your mind would run rampant again on the last time he’d been here in your room, when your sheets still smelled like him, and he’d fucked you hard enough on your bed that your bodies left an imprint.

You wouldn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“I’m sorry about what my father did.”

“It’s fine. I deserved every punch,” he shrugged it off, then smirked. “Although I’m probably less appealing in your eyes now. Bruised and all. I don’t look very Prince Charming-like.”

You snorted. “Since you wish for my honesty, then I’ll tell you now the whole Prince Charming act never suited you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I liked you better when you finally became more comfortable around me. You weren’t as poetic as when you first started courting me, but you were more… yourself. You were funnier, and a lot more charming when you weren’t trying so hard,” you broke that rule all too easily, and you did look at him. You looked at him, even if you could never see through him. “To me, it felt like I wasn’t dating the Crown Prince at all. I liked the unfiltered version of Suna Rintaro better. The one who enjoyed silences, instead of filling it with flowery words to get my heart fluttering. The one who preferred phone calls over texts because you wanted to hear my voice before going to sleep. The one who I considered my closest friend, the one I knew I wanted to marry, too.”

He was beautiful like this – his shirt hanging loosely at his broad shoulders, his arms slightly leaning back as it dipped with his weight on the mattress. His hair was tousled, the dark locks beautifully framing his face. And his eyes – hazel and more brown than green as the orange ember glows kissed him – were something you could lose yourself in for hours. For forever, even.

Suddenly, you wanted the world to end this way. You wanted time to stop if it meant picturing him like this, frozen and unguarded, beautiful and smelling like your perfume. You would’ve died a happy man if it meant this would be your last moment. With him on your bed, his clothes on your floor, and your ring on his finger.

You yearned for him so badly your body ached.

“Princess,” he mumbled after a pregnant pause, his voice coming out small as he said, “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Who says I don’t?”

The smile you pulled from him is lighthearted; unresevered. “Let me rephrase my question. Why do you still love me?”

Because isn’t that what love is? To know someone’s flaws, and to accept them as who they are? To see all your bad mornings and watch you stumble into the bathroom, clumsy and hazy. To see you at your worst, to choose arguments with you than silence with you. I thought that’s what love meant – to see the ugliness in another and to defy the impulse to turn the other way in search of another, the ‘someone better.’

You don’t tell him that. Instead, you offer another truth. “I wish I knew how to answer that myself.”

“I’m afraid,” Rintaro admitted, voice vulnerable and small. “I fear that one day, your hatred of me will consume you, and you will forget why you ever loved me.”

The candles cast soft shadows off his face, flickering like the fleeting time of the time you had with him. Each flame pulsed with the restless ache in your heart as you recalled the moments of closeness and intimacy that was half-heartedly reciprocated.

Your gaze drifted toward the space where he’d once lain beside you, the indentation in the sheets a painful reminder of the absence that now filled the void. You wanted to tell him you hadn’t changed the sheets since he last slept here. The scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, he still had his own pair of socks in your drawer, he’d left a wristwatch or two behind. He was here everywhere in your room, even if his heart wasn’t.

And it was so hard – so fucking hard – to accept that he didn’t love you.

Want me, you pleaded silently, at least want me. Just a little bit.

With slow, deliberate steps, your hand rested lightly on the bed’s edge, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric, as if permanently pushing the warmth of his presence back to the bed. Your heart ached with a bittersweet yearning for a heart that was never fully yours, a yearning that clung to you until it wrapped its fingers around your throat.

He was here now, wasn’t he? He wasn’t leaving. He said he would divorce you, he said it was always going to be her, but he was here – in front of you, in your room. If you dared to reach out a hand and crawl close enough, you could fall into his lap and cradle his head to your chest. And it was exactly that passionate longing that would ruin you – because you couldn’t resist. You couldn’t resist from trailing your fingers up his arm, all the way to his face. His eyes were unreadable; his pupils dilated and his lips pulled apart.

God, you wanted to kiss him.

So you pulled him close. Grabbed him by the collar, and slid yourself into his lap until Rintaro was forced to scoot backwards to balance you both, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. You breathed hard, shaking your head at yourself before your forehead knocked with his.

“Rin… Your Highness,” you corrected, rasping out the words. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong, and I know I could never have your heart but could you just – could you please hold me? Just for a minute, please. Pretend that you’re in love with me, I just–” your breath hitched when he squeezed your hips, to stop you or encourage you, you couldn’t tell. “–I just want to feel it again. That happiness I had with you.”

Rintaro hitched you up higher on his lap. Your chest crashed with his, and his lips followed. He tasted of blood and sugary biscuits. His taste, and his scent, flooded your senses until there was nothing to perceive but him.

And the kiss? It isn’t gentle. It isn’t soft. It’s desperate – lips bruising lips, teeth knocking with teeth, and tongues passionately grasping at one another. Your hands fly everywhere after that. Tugging at his hair, grabbing him harder by the collar to deepen the kiss. He swallows every sound you make, breathes them in like he needs them to live. So you give all you can and moan out his name – not Your Highness – and revel in the way he keens. He melts like snowflakes in the heat of your palm, like your touch burns him. You’re seconds away from dragging him back up on the bed when Rintaro suddenly shoves you off him. He flings himself upright and crosses the other side of the room in quick strides, the quick rise and fall of his back facing you the only thing visible from the dimly-lit room.

He didn’t need to say it out loud.

He’d regretted that kiss. Your heart broke once more as you sat at the edge of your bed. His rejection stung, even more so when he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Rintaro was shivering now as his head knocked against the window. Each breath he took seemed labored, as if even the act of drawing air was a struggle against the overwhelming sorrow that enveloped him. The air around him felt dense with the gravity of his internal torment, and your heart sank as you finally voiced out what he could never say out loud –

“…You really don’t love me.”

The silence falling over the room wrapped around the space like a heavy, suffocating shroud. the absence of sound was deafening. It pressed in on the walls and made each breath feel louder. Every creak of the floorboards or distant murmur from the outside was amplified, heavily echoed in the thick air. And when Rintaro finally spoke, it came with a tone of finality and unconcealed regret.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, blinking back the tears as you fixed your appearance. “Pardon me for a moment,” you began to exit the room, your hands hovering on the handle before you you’re your decision. “Your Highness… is it okay if I stay here at my parents? It’s just for a few days. I don’t think I can handle returning to the Palace anytime soon.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Rintaro did one final sweep of your room with his eyes. Something unreadable passed over his face. In the next moment, he cleared his throat, and opened the door himself. “I should leave. Goodnight, Princess. Please tell your parents that I left already, and I truly am sorry for the mess I caused.”

Rintaro was gone before you could say anything.

Just before his back disappeared from your line of sight, you saw something you thought you would never witness – Rintaro took two steps at a time on his way down, his frown pronounced as he wiped the tears off his face.

It unfolds like a badly written tragedy.

One moment, Rintaro is standing in the confines of your room, his heart racing with a desperate urgency that pulsed through every fiber of his being. He’d wanted to keep kissing you. Pulling away, and resisting his desire had to be one of the greatest pains he’d experienced, but he had to. He couldn’t keep doing this to you. His conscience wouldn’t let him.

That’s why he had to resort to doing the only thing he could think of in that moment – to run away and leave you behind.

Storming through the stately halls and out the grand doors of your estate, Rintaro pushed through. The weight of his regrets made each step harder to take, a burden that dragged him toward the waiting car parked outside the chill beginning to settle.

He jumped into the vehicle, ignoring his driver’s confused queries before slamming the door shut behind him. Inside, the car felt like a confining cell, its leather seats and polished surface now an inescapable prison of his own making. His hands, trembling with a mix of frustration and despair, gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity.

In a sudden, raw burst of emotion, his fist struck the steering wheel with a deafening thud. The impact reverberated through the car and sent a shiver down his spine.

Still, he kept going – each strike of his fist minimal in comparison to his anguish. He reveled in it, the sharp pain in his knuckles a fleeting distraction from the deeper, more consuming agony that began to eat away at him.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhalation a struggle. The air inside the car felt stifling, thick with the heavy scent of leather and the acrid tang of the remnants of blood at his face. His tears began to flow uncontrollably, streaming down his face and mingling with the sweat that dampened his brow. In the suffocating silence, his mind raced through a myriad of memories – from when he’d first kissed you, when he first held your hand, and the tender embraces he held you in.  Each memory served to remind him of what he had now – nothing but a fractured connection, a strained marriage, and your fragile heart which he couldn’t protect.

Each image passing through his mind were tinged with bitterness. He recalled the warmth of your presence, the way your smile could light up the room, and the feeling of your hand in his.

He wished he could take it all back – to start from the beginning, to re-introduce himself to who he truly was. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. It was too late.

He’d gotten Iris pregnant.

Rintaro hadn’t mean to. Sure, he was careless and never used protection, but he thought little of it. Iris’ cycles were irregular and they never worried if she missed her period. She was always on the pill – all because of him, since Kiyoomi wouldn’t have touched her anyway. In another lifetime, Rintaro might’ve felt happy. Instead, he was filled with crushing dread. He couldn’t be a father, he didn’t want to be like his father.

And why hadn’t she told him? All this time… he foolishly thought she’d began ignoring him because it was a mutual, unspoken feeling that they’d just gotten tired. He never handled the media’s criticism well, and Iris wasn’t any better. She cared about her image and reputation more than anything – so why hide this from him? If he had known sooner…

What? his mind taunted, What would you do if you knew sooner?

Rintaro’s head dropped to the steering wheel. The voice in his head was right. He wouldn’t have done anything. Had he known four months ago, he would’ve celebrated. Had he known two months ago, he would’ve been upset, but choose to take responsibility in the end. But now? Now his decision was clear. Without giving it a second thought, Rintaro pulled out of your driveway and headed straight for the palace, dialing Iris on his way.

She picked up on the third ring.

“So it’s true,” he spoke to the phone, driving past the other cars on the highway in full speed. He should drive more carefully, but his blood was pumping loud in his veins – your touch lit a fire in him, and he needed that fire stoked. “You’re pregnant.”

A pause came from the other line. “How did you know?”

Rintaro gripped the steering wheel tighter, glaring at the phone even if she couldn’t see. “You’re heartless, Iris. How could you let my wife find out about it first before I did? Why did she have to tell me?”

“She told you – what? I never planned on letting you know about it, Rintaro. I don’t even know how she found out!”

“What, you were going to use that baby against me? Is that what you planned?” he growled at her, “You’re not keeping that damned baby – you’re getting rid of it right now. I’m not letting you fuck up my marriage.”

“I wasn’t going to keep it anyway! You’re absolutely insane if you think I’m planning to give birth to your filthy child–”

“Shut up!”

Rintaro ended the call. He’d had enough of her and her greediness. How dare she keep something like that from him, aborting his child before he even knew of its existence?

He stepped harder on the gas.

The engine roared in defiant response to his intense, almost reckless driving, its powerful growl a stark contrast to the stifling silence that enveloped the car. The air inside the car was thick with the acrid scent of tension and frustration, each breath he took feeling heavier and more labored as he fought to keep his rage contained.

His thoughts raced with the echoes of the argument, each harsh word and biting remark replaying in his mind like a relentless loop. The sting of her anger gnawed at him, fueling the fire of his own resentment. The images of her face, twisted in frustration, seemed to haunt the darkened windows of the car. Iris seemed to do that often – haunting him both in his dreams and a nightmare.

Rintaro couldn’t fathom why it was too late when he realized she’d never been a good person to begin with.

She was never his friend.

She only approached him because Rintaro was malleable. He was a blank canvas of a man, a lost Prince. He was nothing but an experimental toy for her. She’d kissed him, stolen his heart, and fed him lies that she’d give him what he wanted if he did what she liked. And he did – every fucking time. He drunk himself wasted, because Iris didn’t like drinking alone. He smoked packs of cigarettes for her even when he hated the taste of nicotine, because Iris got antsy without smoking. He fucked her hard and deep, and spent countless nights in her bed, because her husband never wanted to touch her. And what did he get in return?

Fake smiles. Sarcastic, mocking comments. A dry reply from his enthusiastic texts. A quick, good fuck if they were bored enough.

Iris never wanted him. She only ever wanted one thing: security. And when she was married to a Prince, and had another wrapped around her finger? She could do no wrong in the eyes of the throne.

As he drove, the powerful beams of the headlights cast fleeting shadows across the road.

The palace loomed ahead, its silhouette a distant promise of refuge that seemed increasingly out of reach. The anger that coursed through him was a force unto itself, a seething urge that refused to be quelled.

As he approached the grand gates of the palace, his emotions were spilling all over the place. He only had one place in mind: Belleview Manor.

Rounding a corner in the dimly lit hallway of the palace, Rintaro came to an abrupt halt. The reaction of his body was instantaneous: his breath caught in his throat, his muscles locking into place. Before him stood the Queen, her regal presence magnified by the soft, flickering light of the sconces lining the walls. Her silhouette, framed by the rich, opulent draped and the gleaming marble floors, seemed almost otherworldly.

She stood there, unmoving, like she’d somehow known he would be coming any minute now.

Rintaro’s head pounded in his chest. Cold dread washed over him, an icy hand clutching at his insides. The Queen’s serene yet inscrutable expression was nothing but an act, that he knew. In reality, her expressions were alien and foreboding. Her eyes, deceptively warm and reassuring, stared back at him like dark abysses, their depth hinting at the hidden complexities and secrets Rintaro had never cared to consider before.

He felt as if the ground beneath him had shifted, his already unstable world rocked by the revelation of a hidden side to his mother that he never perceived.

He stood frozen, a tangible sense of fear and anger enveloping him as he confronted the unsettling truth: the queen, his mother, was a mystery he had never fully unraveled.

The secrets she harbored, once a vague notion in the back of his mind, now loomed large and menacing, casting a long shadow over his perception of her. The fear that gripped him was profound and disorienting, a jarring contrast to the reverence he had always felt. His whole life, he’d only wanted one thing – to please his mother, to make her proud, to be a Queen’s son worthy of becoming the next King. His whole life he’d only done what he was told.

But in that moment, he was consumed by the chilling realization that the mother he had known and loved was a stranger, and the weight of her concealed truths left him trembling with a profound, unsettling fear.

“You,” he breathed out, his fear now overtaken by his sight going red. He felt mocked, humiliated, used. “Why did you never tell me?”

The memory of that night on the beach was seared into his mind.

He could never forget it – Iris’ sneer, the way her lips curled in contempt, as though he were something beneath her. Her words had cut deep, bleeding into his every being until the truth pounded at his veins. She had looked at him with disdain, her eyes cold and unfeeling, as she spat out how she’d never wanted to be with him, how she’d used him to cure her loneliness. A rejection born from a sick, twisted confession.

And now that he’d fulfilled his purpose in the bleakness of her world, he was nothing more than a disposable distraction. She’d called him worthless, a joke, someone unworthy of her attention – a prince in name but never in her eyes. The wind had whipped around him, cloaked around him like a glacial storm, but it was her biting words that had left him feeling exposed and small.

She’d delivered a stab to his heart that no amount of time could erase.

I never wanted to be with someone like you in the first place.

Didn’t you know, Rin?

You were never the King’s son.

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Sunday Affection hc's

I have now played 2.2, no spoilers though

If you're the kind of person that really likes spontaneity, Sunday probably isn't the person for you...

He's got about five itineraries going at once

What meals are being prepared, the clothing you'll wear through the week, exactly what days chores need to be done on, all on top of his meetings and other droning work

So, pretty much all dates and outings are preplanned down to the most insignificant details, ensuring everything runs perfectly

Sunday needs control of his environment

Any little hitch could be a potential threat to your safety!

Chances are, most of the outings and time spent together outside of your shared home, is done in the dreamscape, where he has complete control

Lovely little picnics with the most exquisite view of the beautiful dreamscape sky, or any view you want really, will be off limits to everyone else (except maybe a few trusted dreamweavers, in order to ensure nothing happens)

He's an anxious mess, though he hides it well, every time anyone else approaches you for any reason, his arm around you always, pulling you right into him so he's prepared

That being said, he does truly enjoy going out with you

Walking around the dreamscape, holding your hand or linking arms as he watches all of your perfect reactions with a soft smile, tightening his hold a little when he worries you might run off...

His eyes rarely leave your face in those moments, as if trying to memorize every little micro expression

"I'm merely curious on what you find most pleasing. We're always looking for guest feedback, love." He'll tell you with a reassuring little quirk of his lips, as if his eyes don't soften every time you smile

He's partly true to his word, taking mental notes of everything you like to implement it further, and maybe even make a particular little slice of the dreamscape all for you

One where you can live happily forever, with every little thing you could ever want... It consumes his mind most waking hours

Affection wise he's always very reserved in public, and even embarrassed easily in private at the beginning

That fades soon enough, with him happily taking every opportunity to remind you how much he loves your sweet smile

He unconsciously covers the two of you kissing with his wings, as if creating a little shield, even in private

His wings in particular are known to show his emotions far more than his practiced expressions, twitching and fluttering and even flapping right in front of his face when surprised

When annoyed they'll fluff a little, and when really angry they look as sharp as blades

In public he usually kisses your hand, looking up into your eyes while doing so in a way that feels far too intimate

A lot of his public acts are subtle, adopting your walking pace, keeping a close eyes on your heart rate, gently guiding you when you stray a bit, glaring at anyone who gets too close

He'll probably always default to big spoon, to holding you and comforting you and dote on you

He just wants your happiness, your satisfaction, your safety...

Everything he does is for you

During the beginning of your relationship, he tenses at every little unexpected noise

Being the partner of a powerful figure can be dangerous!

It's not his fault he lays awake at night, watching your breath with unblinking eyes, grappling with these horribly overwhelming feeling of desperation

You need to be safe. You need to be safe.

He's not particularly fond of having his eyes off of you, but the eyes of trusted bodyguards will have to suffice for when he has no choice...

This is especially true with the fear of "death" in the dreamscape at it's peak... You won't spend a single second out of his sight, if he lets you enter the dreamscape at all

The strong should protect the weak, it's his responsible to protect you, in every way possible, no matter what, forever...

He loves you, an overwhelming amount, a truly heartbreakingly tragic amount

No matter what, he hopes you'll love him too

[weeewooobitsfallout]

Positive rant!!

I love far harbor. I love the fog and the green and the pine trees. I love the creatures and how beautiful they are. I love all of the lakes and rivers and weird boundaries in the middle of the map. I love DiMA and faraday and they are in love and it makes me happy. I love the blind faith of the children of atom and the glow of the bottles and the comforting sound of the Geiger counter. I love the music, fearful and optimistic and real. I love the people of far harbor, stubborn and cold, yet also close knitted and caring . I love the campsites and the pre war remains

I love the themes of it all, the struggle between preserving nature and using it as a tourist attraction. I love the motif of loss, appearing in the very first scene all the way to the last. I love the way it adds a level of depth to everything in the commonwealth. Nick mourns for the life he had but can’t remember, yet also is afraid of not finding the answers. The sole survivor learns that, no matter how hard you try, no good deed goes unpunished. That they can’t save everyone. That hope is a blessing for the masses but a grave for the few. That the world is unpredictable and cruel, yet that is what makes it so lovely to being with. it plays out like a noir novella, well written and painfully, heartbreakingly tragic. What is a add-on to a video game franchise re-evaluates what it means to be alive, and who we are in our own stories.

I love this world so, so much.

[rosanna-writer]

Karma Is My Boyfriend (1/?)

Summary: Elain Archeron saved countless lives by vanquishing Graysen Nolan, her literal demon of a fiancé. She's a hero, but it's just not fair that being a good witch destined to rid the world of evil has left her tragically, painfully single. Enter Lucien Vanserra, the best cupid in the business, who's been sent by the universe to balance the karmic scales and find Elain the perfect new partner…

Happy Elucien Week! A huge thank you to @popjunkie42 for beta-reading, and my playlist for this fic can be found here. I'm so excited to participate in @elucienweekofficial; we're so lucky to have such a dedicated team of event runners!

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

The new energy in Elain's shop was too sweet to be demonic. It set her teeth on edge—artificial strawberry, discount chocolate, cards fashioned out of glitter glue and construction paper. Nothing at all like the gentle, soothing aura created by the plants lining the aisles of Roots 'n Shoots. Elain felt it following her like a bad smell as she repotted new shipments, packaged online orders, and upsold premium fertilizer to customers who'd wandered in.

By lunchtime, she'd resolved to get rid of it.

Whatever magic was hanging around didn't seem to be a threat, but she hadn't survived three years of fighting evil by taking chances.

She had half a mind to call her sisters for backup; even though Elain was a powerful witch, her premonitions of the future weren't nearly as effective for self-defense as Nesta's telekinesis or Feyre's ability to cause explosions with her mind. But whatever was hanging around didn't seem malicious. Just…cloying.

Elain let her intuition guide her and followed the strange feeling to its source. She walked slowly down an aisle of tall, leafy ferns and kept her eyes peeled.

There—through the leaves, a flash of red. Every molecule in her body seemed drawn right to it, like a compass and a magnetic pole. She hurried towards it.

The flash of red turned out to be long auburn hair pulled into a messy bun. Elain couldn't help but notice the way it gleamed in the sun as she gently pushed a fern leaf to the side to get a better look at the culprit…

And found a mechanical eye staring back.

She squeaked in surprise and jumped backward. The leaf rustled gently as it fell back into place. On instinct, Elain reached deep into her well of power, the same way she did just before vanquishing a demon.

"Well, hello there," the man purred from the other side of the fern.

"Can I help you find something?" Elain said.

He smiled at her in a way that could only be described as radiant. He was gorgeous, and the jagged scar running down the side of his face only seemed to enhance his beauty. Before Graysen, Elain would already have been fluttering her lashes at him.

Now, she just glared in suspicion.

"I think I've found exactly what I'm looking for," he said, which did nothing to set her at ease, even though his expression had gone heartbreakingly soft.

Before Elain could demand answers, he winnowed over to the aisle where she was standing. A risky move—he was lucky there were no mortal customers while the store was closed for her lunch hour.

"Not a single butterfly in that stomach of yours. This is going to be a tough case," he said thoughtfully. He cocked his head, staring at Elain like she was a particularly difficult puzzle he was trying to solve.

"I beg your pardon?" Elain said tightly.

He began circling her like a predator, mechanical eye clicking and whirring. Elain huffed in frustration as her hands settled on her hips. Her strange visitor might not have been a demon, but she didn't have time for anything supernatural with so many orders to fill by the afternoon.

"The meet-cute I engineered just now was some of my best work, but it didn't get your heart fluttering at all. That ex-fiancé left you with quite the wound, didn't he?"

For the last year, Elain walked around with a ragged hole in her heart that refused to close, and to add insult to injury, the entire magical world knew everything about her literal ex from hell. "If you're here to discuss Graysen Nolan, get out of my shop," she said with all the venom she could muster.

"I'm here for you, Elain."

"If you're not an innocent in need of protection, it has to wait."

"Put me to work while we talk, then. I can multitask," he said with an elegant shrug.

She hesitated. The smartest course of action still seemed to be ordering this stranger out of her store, but...she could use the help. And at least he wasn't evil.

Gods, had her standards really sunk that low?

"At least tell me your name." It was irritating that he already seemed to know hers.

He sketched a bow. "Lucien Vanserra, at your service."

"The only service I require at the moment is someone to water my pothos," Elain said with a meaningful nod towards a watering can and row of plants towards the back of the room.

To her surprise, Lucien began filling the watering can without a single complaint. For a moment, Elain watched, telling herself it was to make sure he was doing it correctly—and not at all because he was absurdly beautiful.

She forced herself to turn her attention back to organizing the cards with handwritten care instructions that Roots 'n Shoots included with every houseplant they sold. She could have saved herself time and printed them, but the personal touch was exactly the sort of thing that kept customers coming back to her instead of the big box garden supply store down the road. As she worked, they lapsed into a silence that was almost companionable.

But just as Elain started to relax, Lucien went and opened his mouth again."I thought there might have been an error when the file they gave me said you hadn't had any new partners since Graysen, but now I can see why."

She stilled. "What file?"

"The file that every cupid gets when they're assigned a new charge."

A cupid. Well, that certainly explained why his aura didn't feel demonic, just sickly sweet. Elain had never crossed paths with a cupid before, and she'd been under the impression they were supposed to be a bit more…cute .

"I'm one of your charges?" Technically, Elain was already someone's charge—even after Cassian had broken the rules and married Nesta, he'd remained the guardian angel assigned to protect the Archeron sisters after they'd learned they were witches tasked with ridding the world of evil.

"My only charge, actually. The elders insisted I focus on you and only you, Elain."

"And to what do I owe that honor?"

"You saved the world, and what goes around comes around, sweetie. Offing your demonic fiancé earned you the best and brightest cupid's help with finding a doting new partner."

Lucien said it as if she were supposed to fall over herself in gratitude. But she had half a mind to slap him for the audacity to think he could just waltz into her place of business and treat her like a charity case he'd magnanimously offered to take on.

"A partner is the last thing I need." Elain and her sisters had spent the last several nights rounding up a rogue band of crossroads demons that had been plaguing Velaris's intersections. Casting the vanquishing spells on each street had taken hours, leaving her with precious little time to eat, sleep, and run her store.

It had been the same with the succubi last week, the rabid werewolves the week before, and the banshees they'd spent a whole month rooting out. These days, going on a date was unthinkable.

Lucien rolled his eyes. "You're certainly not going to attract one with that attitude."

That, Elain decided, would be the end of the conversation. She was an Archeron, one of the three most powerful witches ever to walk the earth—not someone who'd allow herself to be condescended to.

All it took was one half-hearted wave of her hand, as if she were brushing away a fly, to activate the wards she'd placed around the shop. Twin vines of pure magic grew from the ceiling, hoisted Lucien up by the armpits, yanked him across the room, and dropped him unceremoniously onto the sidewalk outside. The spell wouldn't let him back in until she changed her mind.

Hopefully, that would be the last she'd hear from Lucien Vanserra.

***

As soon as she got home, Elain marched straight up the stairs of the Archeron manor. She and her sisters had inherited the house—along with their powers and mandate to protect the innocent—three years prior, and the Book of Shadows that never left the attic had guided them through all of it. Instructions for spell casting, potion recipes, taxonomies of every magical creature they might possibly come across…the Book contained it all.

The worn leather bindings creaked as Elain opened it and began searching for the entry on cupids. There wasn't an index; the ancient book was a work in progress by generations of Archeron witches, which meant it was a disorganized mess on a good day. Sometimes, wind would gust from nowhere and just so happen to flip the book to the correct page, but today, she had no such luck.

Hello, Elain.

She jumped, nearly dropping the Book. In her rush to find the entry on cupids, she hadn't noticed the bat hanging upside down from a rafter.

Rhysand—her other, non-angelic brother-in-law. He was a bat shifter that roosted in the attic while the manor had been empty, and though Nesta had been fully prepared to call animal control the night they'd discovered him, Elain had felt horrible throwing him out of his home. But since their family had lost their fortune, the manor was badly in need of expensive repairs, so Feyre struck a bargain: Rhys could stay as long as he paid rent and kept quiet.

He'd married the youngest Archeron sister within a year.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Elain said aloud. Even after years of wielding magic of her own, she'd never gotten used to Rhys's way of speaking mind-to-mind, a power that allowed him to communicate even when he wasn't in a form with proper vocal cords.

He shifted, wings and fur disappearing as he turned back into a man. The claws stayed in place so Rhys could remain inverted—he claimed it did wonders for his back pain.

"You didn't," he said, "and if there's something urgent, I can call Feyre for you."

"It's nothing demonic. At least, I don't think. Do you know anything about cupids?"

Rhys cocked his head, violet eyes sparking with interest. "I've crossed paths with a few over the centuries. They're harmless."

"Are they all that arrogant?"

"Not in my experience."

Elain bit back a frustrated sigh and turned the Book's pages a little more forcefully than necessary. It was bad enough that the Powers That Be had decided that after Graysen, she was so tragically, painfully single that it required divine intervention, but they'd gone the extra mile and sent their biggest asshole of a cupid to "fix" her, too.

"Hopefully there's still a spell I can cast to keep him away."

"Did someone bother you?" Rhys's voice went cold, and suddenly he sounded less like the brother-in-law she badgered about remembering to recycle and more like the terrifying Lord of Nightmares he also was. Elain smiled; it was sweet, in a way—Rhys was fiercely protective of the people he loved.

"Yes, but not like that. Don't go crushing minds on my account."

"What happened?"

"A cupid named Lucien came to my shop today and said he'd been sent to help me find a new partner."

"And I assume you didn't take him up on the offer?"

Elain shook her head. She'd finally found the entry on cupids, which was barely a paragraph long: Benevolent. Responsible for connecting the worthy with their true love.

The worthy. Elain certainly didn't feel worthy, not after her love for Graysen had deluded her into thinking a demon could change. In the end, she'd done the right thing and vanquished him, but…making that choice had nearly torn her apart. She'd come so close to letting him live.

It had been nearly a year, and the sight of Graysen pleading for his life still haunted in her dreams.

"If you hated him that much, I'm sure the cupid elders could always send you another," Rhys said with a wry smile.

"I don't need a cupid. Business is booming at Roots 'n Shoots, and I have my hands full with protecting innocents and corralling you, Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta. That's more than enough for me."

"Being busy is all the more reason to accept expert help."

Elain closed the Book of Shadows and glowered at her meddling bastard of a brother-in-law. Rhys smirked back.

She started to go, but a pair of massive, membranous wings erupted from Rhys's back, allowing him to release his talons from the rafter, glide upwards, then land on his feet in one smooth movement. Elain crossed her arms, waiting for him to get out of her way once he'd shifted completely back into his human form.

Despite the irritation that was probably rippling off her in waves, Rhys's expression softened. "More than anyone else I know, you deserve to be happy, Elain. Even if you don't feel like you do."

A lump formed in Elain's throat. That meant a lot, coming from Rhys, who was always staring at Feyre like he couldn't believe his luck. "Love you," she said.

"Love you, too."

Despite all that love, he still didn't move, continuing to block her path to the attic's only exit. "I'm sensing a 'but,' though," Elain said.

"I should warn you that if you don't give things with that cupid a shot, Feyre might try matchmaking you herself. And if Feyre does, then so will Nesta…" He trailed off, letting the implications of her sisters teaming up hang in the air.

"Blackmail is immoral." She felt obligated to point it out, though pesky little things like ethics rarely stopped Rhys.

"Immoral and effective," he said, flashing her one last grin before disappearing into the shadows with a gentle gust of night-kissed wind.

[slytherinshua]

EVEN YOUR IMPERFECT LOVE IS ENOUGH

genre. fluff. this is more just descriptive word vomit than an actual fic. warnings. mention of crying and not feeling good enough. pairing. taehyun x reader. wc. 638. request. no. a/n. it's been so long since i wrote for tae :( my love for him is still astronomical ���

Taehyun was heartbreakingly beautiful.

His perfectly sculpted face lived in your memory every day; the slope of his nose, his perfectly rosy and plush lips, his smooth soft cheeks that would tinge a shade of red whenever you kissed him, and, your favourite— his big wondering eyes that held more knowledge and care and love than you could ever possess.

He was heartbreaking because you knew that he was the only one for you, and you lived every day wishing you had realized that earlier and simultaneously feeling eternally grateful that you could call him yours until the day you died. There were no words to describe Taehyun. He was too beautiful for language’s flaws and discrepancies. 

He looked the most beautiful when he smiled; when those pretty lips would upturn into the loveliest of smiles and the sweet sound of laughter would escape from them. He smiled before he kissed you, and before confessing his love for you. He smiled whenever he thought you looked pretty, and also when you looked dishevelled with your hair a mess and the sleepiest look on your face. Taehyun smiled because you were his.

Just as much as he looked beautiful when he smiled, Taehyun looked beautiful when he cried. It was a weird thing to say, but after years of observing him, you knew it was the truth. He didn’t know how to cry ugly, and even if he did, you would still think he was the most gorgeous man to ever walk the Earth.

His tears rarely reflected pain and sadness, but most often vulnerability and even more love. They resembled glistening diamonds falling from those deep mysterious eyes that were your favourite thing in the entire world. And though your heart ached every time you saw the alluringly tragic teardrops streaming down his cheeks, you knew that once you kissed them away, all would be well again.

To think that you even had that power— the power to make things just a little better by simply being by his side was almost hard to fully comprehend. You knew it was true for you. Whenever you so much as looked in his direction, you could find it in yourself to let a smile breakthrough the sadness. 

You supposed it was just a testament to how deep your love was; how completely inseparable and irreplaceable you were to each other. Your life wouldn’t be worth living if Taehyun was not in it, because no one else could effortlessly give you the experience of every pure and pleasing emotion known to mankind. 

Joy and gratitude and affection and compassion and pride and amusement and fulfilment and hope and empathy and bliss and contentment and trust and acceptance and love. 

Each moment with Taehyun was a silent promise to continue writing the story of life together— to include each other in every chapter, every page. Each new experience and obstacle felt just a little easier to tackle because you had him by your side. He was steadfast and reliable, and even when you doubted your very existence, he would be able to find your meaning again.

He was too good for words and too precious for your imperfect love. You could never love him as much as he deserved. You loved him with every fibre of your being, yet it still felt minute to the amount of love he deserved. 

But he wouldn’t accept the type of love you gave him from anyone else. There was no one else he would allow to kiss away his tears, hug him to sleep, or kiss him awake when the morning came. Those precious tasks were reserved for you and only you. Despite your faults and flaws, the more he loved you, the more you started to believe that somehow you were enough for him.

↳ txt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @minholing,, @delcakoo, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @amara-mars

[minniiaa]

I feel like Gundam: Iron Blooded Orphans doesn’t get enough love. I could never put into words how heartbreakingly beautiful this show is. Its characters are complex and broken. They are children forced to become soldiers. They fight hard for what they believe in until the bitter end even if it’s hopeless.

If you like darker adult stories I highly recommend giving it a chance even if you aren’t into mecha. It’s not a mecha show really, it’s a war drama that happens to have robots.

Amazing characters, a tragic story, found family, complex political plot lines, what’s not to like?

[imjustwritingg]

At least I'll always have the comfort of knowing that Tracy and Jesse's last scene together was heartbreakingly beautiful yet had hope. The kiss, the comfort, the tears, the promises.

THIS!! Their last scene together was perfect honestly. As tragic as it was, that kiss is one of my favorites for the very reasons you mentioned. It was so damn good.

[speakincodes]

In this essay I will be explaining why the song Crutch by Match Box Twenty is the most hilson song to exist.

Well, I don't want to be the crutch

One step away from down

Well, I don't want to be the crutch

One step away from

So I imagine this song mostly from Wilson's perspective. It's a telling of how Wilson is holding house up, how houses cane holds him up physically but Wilson is his emotional crutch. Every time house has a problem he goes to Wilson and every once in a while Wilson becomes fed up with it, therefore he doesn't want to be the crutch one step away from falling apart.

Man I feel like hell, so come on over

Be a love machine and I could be your friend

Ain't no shame, feel strong for one another

Make a real true color come end to end, then

Goddamn, change of pace

I think you've got a piece of my heart on your face

It's a shame to let it waste

How does it taste?

How does it taste?

The first too lines just express what hilson is, two friends that are literally a love machine feeling like hell. House and Wilson bring out another side of each other and more specifically Wilson brings out the color and empathy in house. I interpret the next few lines as the change of pace being from being friends, some sort of boarder-line homoerotic relationship to anger, jealousy, self sabotage, and all the words in between. Yet through that, house has a part of Wilson's heart, his empathy.

Break it down in pieces, make it simple

'Cause you know damn well that I'm a simple man

All these things go changing like the weather

And they stay that way until the weather man says

One down, gone to waste

I think there's still a piece of that smile on your face

And I would like it erased

There ain't no two ways about it, no

Okay this verse to me says once again their relationship changing constantly from best friends to anger real fast. You can also interpret the first line more like breaking Wilson down, a man who is so weirdly normal. Similar to the heart line, the smile on houses face come from being with Wilson but in cases like ambers death, Wilson wants all that back thinking it's all a waste.

Bring it on then gone, use a lover

Like a cigarette the way that lovers do

One sweet song that starts a little slow and

Then goes on and on and makes you want to

Move around the room in circles

Everybody wants to be you

Try to find my place up on the map

Of all the men you've been through

Dig a little deeper and you'll realize

All I'm building up you're tearing down

First two lines express how house uses and manipulates Wilson. Uses him to feel good then tosses him to the side like a cigarette. Then it shows how Wilson is trying to find a place in houses life considering all his own wives and then all the people house dated or hooked up with. Everything Wilson create for himself or for house is quickly taken down by houses self destructive tendencies.

All you needed was a crutch

One step away from down

And I could never be your crutch

I could break you down

And I don't want to be the crutch

Hey, I don't want to be the crutch

No, I don't want to be the crutch

One step away from

The outro of the song changes from the chorus saying "all you needed was a crutch" and "I could never be your crutch" which is a lie. Wilson to be frank loves being houses crutch. He loves feeling needed and he loves house being needy, they feed into each other is the most tragic and heartbreakingly beautiful way.

And to conclude this lecture, if any of you have any hilson playlists I would love to see them and I'm probably gonna do more if this because no one else wants to hear about this.

My hilson playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2dMOuxvPZS3ydf9Cwbu5za?si=djkPuhrVQgS87IW7LeGMvw&pi=u-NzdGYAGnSnWB

[moonlit-rivers]

“Me llamo Numa, morí el 11 de Deciembre de 1972, mientras dormía.”

What if THAT was my last straw? Then what?

I truly respect the cast and crew that made this movie happen. They portrayed that story beautifully and so tragically. They, not only showed the survivors, but the people who didn’t make it. You can tell everyone truly cared about how the story was portrayed, they poured their everything into this movie and it was heartbreakingly beautiful. merece todo el amor que le están dando

[saingirl101]

NeverAfter ep 18 spoilers: Honestly Ylfa's trial was so intense

I dont know if it was on purpose or not because ylfa has already gotten a big dose of horror with the reveal that baba yaga destroyed the Wolf. But something about Brennan telling a soft, somber but not quite horror section for Ylfa, after its clear how affected Wmily was getting.

It was tragic yes and sad. But not really horrific like the other sections?

I dunno i just appreciate Brennan's levity and knowing when to pull back in a scene because shit can get very intense. In any case we got a heartbreakingly beautiful scene in which Ylfa became the new death and I am so interested to see what her powerup was.

[toomanylegos]

MAG Episode 200

I decided to write down my thoughts on the final episode in a completely separate post. I felt like I would have lot to say and analyze after the episode was done and it would've been too much for the reblog chain I made.

I was right.

So, I started listening to this podcast ages ago. Like I mean sometime early last year and then stopped; forgot everything that happened and restarted from the beginning then proceeded to take long breaks in-between more upsetting episodes to keep me sane.

I went into this as someone who doesn't really listen to podcasts and doesn't have much interest in tragedies. I'm more likely to pick an animated film or an action anime or a fantasy novel or a short hurt/comfort fic than a 200 episode horror tragedy podcast.

Buuuuuuut my dearest Eggo had introduced me to the characters and the story. They talked about how much they loved the horror elements, the characters, the world; she encouraged me to give it a listen and reassured me that it was completely worth it. Obviously, she convinced me.

Despite the fact that my soul is shattered due to the emotional series finale, I'm so glad I gave this podcast a chance and I'm glad Eggo rambled about it to me. If they didn't, I wouldn't have come to a wonderful realization...

Tragedies are heartbreakingly beautiful.

I loved learning about these characters and seeing how they dealt with these horrible situations and impossible odds; I had to take so many breaks because if I binged MAG for too long I would become completely miserable due to the pure agony that Jon and everyone around him goes through.

However, there were always these little moments in between the agony. These small conversations between characters; a private reflection; a light joke. A pressure release for the audience that reminded me what, I believe, tragedies are meant to do -- highlight the beauty in the painful and be a cathartic outlet as well as a lesson.

I still don't like angst very much. I don't see the appeal of going into a piece of media that has no sense of comfort in it. Funnily enough, despite the genre space it sits in, MAG is comforting to me.

It brought me the love story of Jon and Martin -- together til the very end and learning to communicate and be with each other. Something that came to me at a point where I am considering pursuing a relationship myself and fear the hurdles I may face. Their story put my own worries just a tad at ease. The way I related to them and the way their fears are handled in the story helped -- are still helping me -- handle my own.

It brought me themes of humanity and monstrosity and how thin of line that can be. It brought me into worlds of flesh, and dark, and sky, and twisting corridors that made my head spin and my heart race.

Most of all, it brought me hope -- something I only realized in episode 199. The hope that even when your world is ending there is something that can be done. The faith in a chance that things can be better if you decide to take that leap.

That good old saying...

"It's always darkest before the dawn."

Now, after finishing The Magnus Archives, I can move on.

So, as I type this with teary eyes and a scattered brain, I would like to say that I loved The Magnus Archives; I have a better appreciation for the tragic and horrible.

I can seek out The Mechanisms and experience more of Jonny Sims' wonderful work.

I can start listening to Rusty Quill Gaming and listen to Alex's DM style and all of the team's adventures.

I can seek out more works produced by the wonderful people over at Rusty Quill.

And most of all, I can catch up with The Magnus Protocol and I can finally say...

They put my bois in the fuckin' 'puter

[popculturebuffet]

Next up for Cartoon Network era of shows, who is your favorite character from each of the mid-2000s CN City-era shows you've seen like: Megas XLR, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi, Life & Times of Juniper Lee, Camp Lazlo, My Gym Partner's a Monkey, Ben 10 2005, Squirrel Boy, and Class of 3000?

Okay since I didn't fuckup last time we can jump straight in

Megas XLR: Coop. He's a fun walking disaster and voice acted amazingly. As for the show itself.. it's pure gold to me. A classic. A fun, nonsensical mech show with a clever premise and beautiful animation. It could use a tweak or two if it was revivied, but I dig it.

Fosters Home for IMaginary Friends; Wilt. He's one of Phil Lamar's best rolls, has a great design and the good wilt hunting special fleshed him out heartbreakingly. As for the show itself it's pretty good: it does suffer from that issue the earlier cn shows had where sometimes it's a bit too mean spirited, but it's not nearly as frequent and the colorful character design, wonderful premise, and truly outstanding cast from Frankie, everyone who was into women's crush as a kid, to Herriman who I hated as a kid (and still do at times, he's a prick), but now respect as a more complicated genltemanly prick who simply need to ease up a bit, but you get WHY he's like this as he's running a pretty wacky boarding house and madam foster while kind isn't really doing the day to day stuff. A truly great cartoon.

Hi HI Puffy AmiYumi: I like yumi. As for the series itself..ehhh. Besides the obvious of "You shoudln't of had two american women, even really talented ones, play two japanese women', it's just kinda .. there? the music's good, the character design is great, but it's got no real substance. Maybe on a rewatch i'd be wrong, but it's just kinda eh.

Life and Times of Juniper Lee: Out of the regular cast, Dennis, who evolved from "just kinda being there" to "a fun addition to the main cast". Supporting it's Kai Yee, as most of June's rogue's gallery is weak (Aunti Roo and Loki accepted), but he was the shot in the arm the series needed and had the series stuck around I wouldn't be suprised if we saw him again. The show itself is solid though: Judd WInnick copied Buffy's notes well, while adding his own spin to things, and the tragic idea of June being stuck is heartbreaking but intresting. IT has a good mythology, a solid lead and it's only weakness was June's friends being locked out, which is something they WERE going to work on but got canclled. Not in the highest tier of the animated superhero shows at the time (Jake Long eats it's lunch), but still worthy of being part of them all the same.

Camp Lazlo: Hard choice as everyone is pretty great, but I have to go with Edward who started as just a generic bully but evolved into this petty dick who can't accept no one likes him for good reason that just stands out to me. I do mean it when I say I love pretty much everyone though. This show is a fond part of my childhood, one I wish was streaming on max and given hbo's current practices, will hopefully land on Tubi as it's underated. Admiteely I love a good summer camp story, and this series might be why, so i'm biased.. but my love for Joe Murray's other big work helps me see it was also just THAT good, a fun summer camp adventure. Ignore the finale I haven't seen and don't intend to, but enjoy everything else. This series is a treasure that's on rocko's level, at least from memory and deserves all the praise.

My Gym Partner's A Monkey: MONKEY MONKEY MONKEY. I like Ingrid for her having to lean down and crush on Adam and I like Principal Bulfrog for both being hilarous and being at the center of the only episode I really loved so let's call this a tie. Their both great. And as you can tell by that last part yeah.. I hate this one. It has a decent if stupid premise, but it leans way too heavily on kafka comedy: adam tends to get buffeted around for no reason, jake is an asshole, and most of the cast follows suit. Even Bullfrog is a dick, he's just at least you know.. funny. The episode with the robot teachers is the one I like.. because it's just wacky nonsense and ends with a wizard for some reason. The show had chaotic energy but squandred it on making adam miserable when he'd done nothing wrong.

Ben 10: Vilgax. Max was close, he's a great mentor.. but Vilgax is such a memorable villian despite only showing up as an ominous guy in a tube for most of season one and only in his full glory four times, one of which I haven't seen. But Steve Blum leaves an impression for him, this unstoppable MONSTER who easily tears through Bens creatures. Ghostfreak is also close, but Vilgax has more personalitY: While his goals are simple, to conquer you get a sense of arrogance and superiority he ENTIRELY backs up. The series made their own thanos or darkseid and it was glorious. He suffers a bit in the sequels as the mouth thing was a BAD design choice, but man is he great. As for the series itself.. also great. Really need to rewatch it at some point, but it's a solid superhero show and sets itself apart from the other kid sueprhero works of the time.. by having it be a child instead of a teen, with all the impulsivness, over the top names and enthusasim that entails. Ben's a brat, but he's not a bad kid and his childish impulsivness lets the series go more places. The concept of taking dial h for hero and applying truly awesome alien designs to it is fucking brilliant and improves on the original idea amazingly. Add in tons of lore, great villians 3/4 seasons, and you can see why Cartoon Network milked this series as long as it did and why it'll probably return some day after some cooling off.

Squirrel Boy: Kurtwood Smith dad only for virtue of being voiced by Kurtwood Smith. I almost picked no one. This show wasn't good, it was boring and I don't like it. A waste of everyone involved and not one I really care to revisit. It's probably not bad as my memory but lord it isn't good.

Class of 3000: SING, NA NA NA NA NA. Principal Luna both for being consitantly funny and his awesome music number. And I only didn't see season 2 because I wasn't aware it happened till it was too late. I need to rewatch this one. A true cult classic that deserved better: Andre 3000 was clearly all in and game for whatever, the series itself had a great cast, and the musical numbers are all bangers all the time.

So that ends this one. Next I see a LOT more superhero shows coming, robots in disguise and more. I actually love doing this as it givces me a chance to talk about great shows I simply haven't yet.

[ebbarights]

beach reads 2024

this year i didn't read as much as the previous holidays but in exchange all my choices were absolutely lovely, so much so that i want to recommend them all. no summaries because those are available everywhere i want to do OPINIONS

the first book was the bone people by keri hulme. probably to blame for the shortness of this list because while it is very very good, it is also sloooow. beautiful prose, fascinating characters, lovely new zealand atmosphere but also not very much happens. and then everything does. reminded me of what i have heard people say about a little life, frequently caught myself thinking how many bad things can happen to one person without it being ridiculous, but the relationship between the characters pulled me back in. the very graphic description of domestic abuse and how it is. well. not excused but definitely rationalized left me with feelings too fuzzy to put into words. maybe this issue is simply too complex to unpack in a few sentences. i also think that this is a kind of book that would be lovely to read in a book club, especially with other readers who know more about maori culture. feel like i missed a lot of subtext there

second one was kala by colin walsh. loveditloveditlovedit. reminded me of the love of my life tana french so much, and not just because it's irish. the deeply complex and heartbreakingly tragic relationships between its three main characters and their three friends who (excuse my tumblrspeak) haunt the narrative, the blink-and-you-miss-it elements of the supernatural, the feeling that the story is hurtling towards something big and you can do nothing to prevent it, just sit in your lounger and watch. i want to recommend this to all my friends but i'm worried they'll just see it as a fun crime novel

this one is kind of a cheat because i haven't technically finished it yet, but i'm really enjoying perfect sound whatever by james acaster. it's so evident that james loves music, and loves this music specifically, and while the book is funny at times i think its central premise which isn't all that funny is its strongest aspect. it's such a great idea to take a look at all albums published in a singular year, and i think it's effective to start off with the big hitters first (bowie, cohen, beyoncé) to show that 2016 really was an exceptional year for music. but inevitably, the artists become smaller and smaller, and i have found so much great music because of this book that i would never have heard of otherwise. i think this one might not be for fans of *comedian* james acaster, but it definitely is a great read for people who like music