#why... why write a letter in the same way i do

[heedeungism]

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.  he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze. 

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years. 

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.” 

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

#enhypen #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #niki x reader #ni-ki #niki x y/n #bridgerton au #historical au #friends to implied lovers #ni-ki enhypen #niki drabbles #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #niki bridgerton au #romance #bridgerton #riki 🩷

[vickyvicarious]

I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do with myself. [...] You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one, except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. [...] Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. [...] It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. [...] I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet. [...] Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free—only I don't want to be free. My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

Lucy and Arthur are super cute together collection. It's clear throughout her letter that she wants to tell Mina everything in order, and give proper due to the two men whose proposals she rejected. But throughout, her excitement at having Arthur's feelings for her confirmed keeps bubbling up. She's at her most playful at the start of the letter, jokingly superior about how she and Mina are practically old married women above such things already. She comes back multiple times to the idea of her married life with Arthur, when she will tell him everything, when she'll learn if he likes slang (continuity error there, but she's anticipating using the same kind of language as him). Later on she emphasizes that she doesn't want to be free, has been trying her best to help Arthur get a chance to propose, she doesn't want to talk about him until she can do so with all her focus on how happy she is with him.

When she stops the letter for a while, she mentions Arthur has just left. This gives us a couple options. First: he's been there since his proposal, just hanging out. This is super cute because it suggest that he wants to spend as much time with her as he can right away. Also super cute because it means Lucy was so excited to share her news with Mina that she started writing the letter while he was still there (perhaps once he got pulled into a conversation with her mother?). And then she felt she needed to go through it all in the proper order, and when she got caught up in her sadness about Seward, Arthur returned to cheer her up again enough that she was ready to continue the letter when he finally had to leave. Adorable. Second: Arthur left after his successful proposal, and Lucy began writing to Mina. But then he was so happy that he came back again to spend more time with her. Maybe even this time was an anticipated/official visit that her mother knew about, and he snuck in first to propose because he'd been trying and kept missing his chance. Either way it's so so cute. Imagine him showing up for a formal visit and just constantly looking to Lucy so excitedly before he drops the news that he has asked for and been granted her hand. Or she's writing her letter, gets sad, takes a break, then gets surprised with another unexpected visitor - but it's Arthur again, too giddy to stay away for long. And then he sees she is upset and helps her to feel better before he has to leave again. Adorable.

And, of course, the pinnacle:

P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

The excitement, too jumbled to even talk about clearly! The deep affection and feeling so happy she doesn't know how she could deserve it. That ending, where she loves his friendship, his romantic affection, and the domestic life together she anticipates with him. The fact that she was going to leave this to another letter because she didn't want to be sad when she wrote it. But then she couldn't not gush about him at least a little and came back to add it in a PS.

They're super duper cute together, I love them.

#dracula daily #lucy/arthur #*smushes them*

[hunnysnoops]

White Teeth Teens

Chapter Six: Sweater Weather

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.

Premise: It may be possible that hatred is beginning to dissolve. Peace ensues or at least something similar to friendship.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury / crude humour

MASTERLIST

It felt weird sitting next to Kyle willingly on your sofa but you hadn't had much of a choice when the due date for your final project was cutting so close. You were in too much pain to fill the static silence of the room with mindless chatter that would grate in his head, so you stuck asking him which parts of the assignment were already done before settling back into silence.

He wanted to say something, he just couldn't figure out what. It was unnatural to the both of you.

Kyle was still wearing the same thing he had gone to school in, a simple t-shirt, flannel, and jeans- you had resorted to poaching clothes from your dad's closet while he was out of town for a concert. The second you and Kyle got to your place you ran upstairs to slip into a pair of well-worn sweats and one of your dad's old t-shirts from when he was on his college rowing team. His clothes were just about the only thing that didn't irritate your turf burn further than the red segments where your skin had been scraped off.

You had slathered some type of aloe vera ointment all over the burn on your shins and elbows which scent strongly resembled eucalyptus and florals, leaving you and Kyle to work on your Biology project in a living room that smelled like a Bath & Body Works.

"Do you wanna write about the genetic basis of behaviour or should I do that?" You had broken the fifteen-minute silence which seemed like a record for the both of you. Your parents would've been astonished if they were there to see the pair of you sit without insulting the other. The only sounds that filled the room were the rain beating heavily outside like it wanted to be let in.

"I got it, don't worry," He said absentmindedly, focused on making the slide show look presentable.

"I'm not worried," You answer. As much as you liked to complain to your friends about having Kyle as a partner, he was one of the few who actually did their portion of the work instead of texting you last minute that it wasn't finished. You were still suffering PTSD from having to work in a group with Cylde.

There were some beats when the stillness was growing so unbearable that it almost made you squirm, you fought the urge to put on a sitcom as background noise, knowing that you would get distracted and veer off from the task at hand.

You were disrupted by heavy thumps making their way down the stairs "Hey, Kyle," Weston said, making his way to plop himself between the two of you on the couch, a backpack in his lap.

"Hey," Kyle gives your brother a quick glance paired with a smile before his eyes shift back to the screen of his laptop.

"What are you wearing?" You squint your eyes while trying to read the text on his shirt "The worst day of fishing beats the best day of forcefully withdrawing in jail," The shirt had the graphic of a bass splashing around in a lake beneath the lettering "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it."

"With what money? You don't work."

Weston shrugs and there's the glint of a smile on his face. You stare at him blankly until he answers "Okay, fine, Uncle Richie bought it for me, it's an early birthday gift."

"Dad will kill you and Richie if he finds you wearing that."

"Good thing he's in Vegas seeing Doodle mood," Weston leans back, wedging himself deeper between the two of you in a silent attempt to separate you.

"Depeche Mode," You correct and Kyle huffs the briefest of laughs, a grin lingering on his face while he rakes through paragraphs to find spelling errors. He didn't look in your direction but you could see the slight curve of his lips and the smile lines forming around his straight nose "Why are you down here anyway?"

"To see my sister," He raises his chin, tilting his head in your direction to see the screen of your laptop "What the hell is Pathophysiology?"

"I think it's too big of a concept for you to grasp," You say. While Weston's heart was usually in the right place, his head certainly was not.

"Huh?" He furrows his eyebrows "What?"

"You're dumb, shrimp."

"Hey, I'm not above hitting an old woman," He points at you, finger almost touching the bandage over your nose.

"And I'm not above hitting a toddler," You push his accusatory finger down and away from you. Kyle tended to stay out of bickering between you and your brother, the same way you let him and Ike fight it out without interfering. It would be like disrupting the intricate ecosystem that was siblings "What do you actually want?" You look down at the backpack in his lap, it was dirty from all the places he dragged it to. Both of your parents had begged him to wash it for months and when he finally got around to it, it did nothing, like the grime had set into the navy blue cloth.

"Can you drive me to Dustin's?" His face morphed into a tight-lipped smile, feigning innocence.

You let out a long, exaggerated groan and throw your head back into the plush sofa. The rainy atmosphere didn't help you to stay energized, halfway through the school day you decided that you would take painkillers and not leave the couch. You should've predicted that your brother would make plans on the one night when your parents weren't there to drive him and you were lethargic from pain meds. "Dude, I have so much work to do," You really didn't, all that was left on your part was a couple of passages and a statistics graph, you still had a week until you had to turn the project in.

"Why do I even have an older sister if you won't drive me places? I wish I was a lonely child," He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in the slightest.

"It's only child, Wes, a lonely child is what you'll be when I sell you."

"Can you please drive me? We're having a hurricane party and I'm sleeping over."

"We live in Colorado, there aren't hurricanes, just wine-drunk tourists," You turn your focus back to your laptop, turning it away from Weston so he can't see you open a Wordle tab.

"Don't be lazy," He grabs your bicep and begins to shake it back and forth.

You pull your arm out of Weston's grasp "I'm injured, you should be waiting on me and nursing me back to health like a good brother."

"And you should drive me to my friend's house, like a good sister."

"I can take him," Kyle peeps up and Weston swerves his head to look at him.

"For real?" Weston asks.

"Yeah, I need to fill up on gas anyways, I can drive him down and swing back to finish the project."

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Usually, these conversations ended with Weston shaking you down and getting what he wanted, whether it was you buying him v bucks or taking him to the movies.

"Yeah, I don't mind," Kyle shut his laptop and gingerly placed it on the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch.

"Sweet," Weston slinked off the couch, hopping over your legs and making his way towards the door but not before slapping the exposed turf burn on your forearm. He hadn't intended to hit you as hard as he did but the skin contact made an audible sound that echoed in the room. A hand flung over his mouth as he watched you jolt forward, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide while you gently held your forearm. The look on your face alone made him grab a pair of sandals and run out the door before he could even put them on or close the door behind him.

"Oh my god," You turn back to look at Kyle who was slipping into a pair of your dad's hiking boots since it was quicker than the century it took to lace up his Converse "Please drive him off a cliff."

"That would make your life too easy," Kyle looks up at you through a mop of red curls, hazel eyes imploring; they tended to look like different colours depending on the light source, at that moment with the dim living room light and dark skies looming outside they sparkled with the rich colours of autumn, a beautiful medley of amber, green, and gold, like fallen leaves swirling in the crisp, cool breeze "Nicer," He says.

"What?"

"For your wordle," He points at the screen of your laptop.

"Oh," You look at your screen where 'river' had been the last guess, you type in 'nicer' and surely all letters flip to green. "Thanks," You say "Uh, do you want money for gas or-

"No, I'm good," Kyle dismisses immediately "My cab services are free, you've done it for Ike more than I can count."

"Okay," You scrape the walls of your brain for something else to say "Drive safe, don't actually drive my brother off a cliff."

"Got it," He shuts the door behind him, shutting out the roar of a heavy downpour. The rain was powerful, a relentless cascade, each drop hitting the ground with force, creating a thunderous choir that drowns out all other sounds, evoking a sense of calm within you, albeit muffled by the walls.

"Is she mad?" Weston stood at the edge of the lawn, waiting by Kyle's car for him to unlock it. He held his backpack over his head in a feeble attempt to keep himself dry though it didn't work, his shirt was soaked and his hair was so full of the droplets that he had to shake them off like a dog at the beach.

"Super mad." Kyle pressed the button to unlock his car, the moment Weston heard the locks shift, he dove into the passenger seat "She's waiting by the door with a shotgun for when you come home."

"Is she actually?" His voice was one hundred percent serious, he fully believed Kyle despite your family not even owning a shotgun.

Kyle ducked into the white Nissan, he prided himself on keeping his car tidy so it was the exact same every time he entered aside from the air fresheners that he swapped out. "Nah, you're fine."

"Phew," He dropped the backpack to his feet "I like your car way more than my sisters, hers always smells like cigarettes and girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?"

"Yeah like deodorant," Weston scoffs.

"You should be wearing deodorant."

"That's what my mom says," He reclines back in the chair, taking in a deep whiff of the air freshener that smelled of Jolly Ranchers "I wish I had a brother but I guess you and Ike are kinda like brothers." It was one of those rainy days that came to mind when someone mentioned a storm brewing.

The skies were grey as cracked pepper, a steady, rhythmic pattern of rain creates a continuous murmur, a comforting white noise that enveloped the surroundings, each drop merging into a flow that washes over the earth. Overhead he could hear thunder rumbling like an angry god was stomping around in the clouds. Cozied up in Kyle's car, safe from the elements, Weston thought that would've been the perfect environment to fall asleep.

"Brothers are overrated," Kyle casually gripped the steering wheel as the rain hammered down on the windshield, the wipers working furiously but barely managing to keep up.

"So are sisters, you're so lucky that you don't have one."

"You're actually pretty lucky that you do have one," His eyes were fixed on the road, a blur of grey and blue on the pavement and his voice was flat "Especially yours, she really loves you."

Weston cast him a sideways glance like he didn't believe him but he didn't prod the topic any further "What are you guys gonna do tonight?"

"Finish our project then I'm headed home," He answers, what he thought to be truthfully.

The younger boy nods, turning his attention to the world outside of his window. He wasn't used to seeing you spend so much time around Kyle or share mutual stories from track or biology, he had always hoped the two of you would get closer and now that it was finally happening he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Kyle cast a look down to your brother, realizing that the talking was over for the time being, he cranked up the radio until Nirvana filled up the car. The trees lining the road swayed and shuddered under the weight of the wind and rain, their leaves rustling like whispers in the night. Kyle could feel the tension in the air, the electricity of the storm to come.

As they drove on in relative silence, the rain seemed to intensify, each drop striking the car with a force like bullets beating down on the roof of his car. He squinted through the windshield, the headlights carving out a narrow path through the darkness, revealing the familiar road ahead.

"I'm just gonna grab some gas up ahead."

"Where do gas stations get their gas?" Weston asked, a crease forming between his brows at the thought.

"Do you actually not know the answer?" Kyle instinctively looked at him with eyebrows furrowed with confusion despite the urge to keep his focus on the road.

"Like did they just find a spot where gas magically comes out of the ground or do they build it over a gas mine?"

"Weston," Kyle said, flat.

"Or is it from a gas pipe that runs underground?" Weston leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped together like he was deep in thought.

"No, they build gas storage tanks under the pumps, there aren't gasoline pipes or mines or whatever else you just said," He was utterly perplexed by your brother and it wasn't the first time Weston asked a question that left someone shocked with its absurdity.

"What happens when they run out of gas?" He asks like an interrogation "Do they tear the gas station down?"

"No, they refill the gas tanks."

"How?"

"Tanker trucks deliver it and they just fill the tanks up when they run out."

"Okay, okay," Weston rubs his chin, humming "So where do tanker trucks get their gas?"

Kyle's hands go flat on the wheel for a brief moment "From gas stations."

"And they all get their gas the same way? would it be illegal if they got their gas in another way?"

Kyle maneuvered the car off the road and into the gas station. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting a cold glow over the puddle-filled lot. He was quick to bring the car to a pump and step out, Weston's questions were becoming a little too much.

"Stay here, I'll run in quick then you can show me to your friend's house," he said, pulling up his tighter before stepping out into the downpour.

"Can you get me some beef jerky?" Weston sweetened his voice "Please." He watched Kyle shut the door and raise his voice slightly so the ginger could hear him "Teriyaki flavour?"

The cold rain immediately soaked through his shirt, Kyle wished he had worn a hoodie to keep some of the rain off his head as he stepped out of his car and into the stormy night. He glanced at the neon glow of the gas station sign, a small beacon of light amidst the darkness and the swirling tempest. The wind howled, pushing him sideways as he made his way to the pump.

He fumbled with his wallet, hands slick with rain, and managed to slide his debit card into the slot. The machine beeped, and he selected his grade of fuel, gripping the pump handle tightly as he began to fill his tank. The rhythmic sound of gasoline pouring into the car was almost drowned out by the rain hammering on the roof of the gas station canopy.

Kyle squinted through the downpour, seeing the lights inside the convenience store flickering. With a sigh, he replaced the pump handle, pocketed his receipt, and jogged towards the entrance, each step splashing water up onto his jeans. The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh, and he was greeted by the bright, fluorescent lights and the comforting hum of refrigerators lining the back wall.

The smell of coffee and hot dogs greeted him, a stark contrast to the cold, wet night outside. Kyle wiped dribbles of water off his brow and ran a hand through his damp hair, making his way to the 'Jack's Jerky' stand he grabbed a bag of the teriyaki as per Weston's request, and he grabbed one for the boy and a little baggie of sickly sweet gummies to give to Ike when he got home.

That was all he had intended to buy but his feet had carried him to the back of the rest stop to the coolers. He opened one, the chill air a refreshing break from the humidity outside. He thought back to which flavour of Powerade was your favourite and silently prayed it was still the same from three years prior when you went camping and stocked up on solely green apple Powerade. As he closed the cooler door, he heard the rattle of thunder outside, the storm intensifying.

He walked up to the counter, the clerk giving him a weary smile. "Rough night, huh?" the clerk said, scanning the drink. Kyle had expected that he would see Kenny behind the counter that night since he had informed him that he would be busy and he tended to take the graveyard shift over weekends for some extra cash.

"Yeah, I don't plan to be out long," Kyle reached into his pocket for his wallet, sifting through it until he found his debit card.

The man nods, typing something into the computer "This is everything tonight?" He looked up at Kyle.

"Yup," He offered a tight-lipped smile, swiping his card through before snatching the green apple Powerade off the counter.

"Stay safe out there," His voice was gruff like he had been smoking for decades and singing folk songs around a campfire.

"Thanks, you too," He walks back out through the doors faster than he entered, rushing to the car like he was trying to race the rain.

Weston peered through the foggy window, watching the rivulets of water race each other down the glass. The interior of the car felt warm and safe compared to the bleak, wet world outside. He glanced at Kyle, who was bracing himself against the wind, his silhouette blurred by the rain.

The doors slid open, and he dashed back to his car, rain soaking through his clothes almost instantly. He slid into the driver's seat, shaking off the water, and turned the key in the ignition. Kyle placed the Powerade into the cupholder, tossed the beef jerky over to Weston and tucked the gummies into his pocket, buckling himself in and readjusting himself until his hands had thawed enough to grip the wheel. "Okay, what's Dustin's address?"

Weston took one look at the green drink sitting between the two of them and looked back up at Kyle "Do you like my sister?"

Kyle nearly laughed, but he caught himself, recognizing the seriousness in Weston's voice. "What?" The tone his voice carried was utterly perplexed "I think there's something in that jerky."

"I'm serious, don't get any funny ideas," Weston spoke through a mouth of beef jerky, words muffled.

"I promise all of my ideas are very unfunny," Kyle shook his head, trying to focus on driving through the storm.

"Yeah, sure," Weston's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Kyle felt his face flush, thankful for the darkness that hid his reaction. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, the storm raging outside, the only sound inside the car being the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the occasional rumble of thunder. Finally, the headlights illuminated the house where Weston's friend lived. His eyes weren't on Weston as he walked into the house but on the green bottle sitting in his cup holder.

By the time Kyle got back to your house, he was soaking wet, curls defined by dampness and clothes clinging to his body. "Is Kyle back? Is that him?" Your dad asked through Facetime to which you nodded "Turn me around I want to say hi."

Kyle squinted his eyes before recognizing it was your dad on the phone "Hey," He smiled "How's Vegas?"

"It is awesome," Your dad said "I got Ike and Weston these trucker hats," he held his phone away from him while he held up the merch "And I got you this hoodie, made me think of you," Your dad flipped the camera around to show the hotel bed where a black hoodie was sprawled out with the album cover of 'Violater' on the front.

"What did you get me?" You ask, turning your phone screen back to face you where you were bundled up and tucked into a corner of the sofa.

"Erm," He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, turns his head and goes out of frame while he shuffles through some things. Your dad places his phone down, thinking that he has muted himself "Honey, what did we get for our daughter?"

"I dunno, we can buy her something at the airport." You hear your mom say "Can you tell her that I bought her ticket for the lock-in?"

"Oh my god," you can't bite back the smile you have purely from how ridiculous they are, looking at Kyle who has his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Gimme that, I wanna talk to her and Kyle," The phone shifts, and the view of the ceiling is replaced with your mother's face, she's holding the phone far out "Hi, guys."

"Hi," Kyle says half-heartedly.

"Did you guys read the storm warnings?" Your mom asks and continues before either of you has the chance to answer "There is a storm outside."

"Yeah, we know, we're in it," You say blankly.

"Yeah, big storm tonight," Your dad crams himself next to your mom so he can squish in frame "I got a notification from my weather app."

Your mom nods like this tame fact needed confirmation "He did."

In his damp pocket, Kyle feels his phone vibrate, his mother is on the other end waiting for him to pick up the call "Mom?"

"Kyle," Sheila says, she's on Facetime as well, wearing a blue silk heatless on the top of her head, red hair braided around it. It was the one you had gifted her for Secret Santa "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah?" He furrows his eyebrows, looking up at you though you were just as clueless as he was.

"I want you guys to stay inside until this storm is over, there's gonna be hail and the last hail storm his not go well for you," This was very much true. The last hail storm was a year prior in early September, huge chunks of ice had plummeted from the sky in excruciating force. Kyle was at Stan's house when it happened, Sparky had gotten out and the two boys were desperate to chase him back outside but the hail only startled the dog further causing him to dash around the streets in a panic, not even resting for a moment. By the time Sparky was back inside safely, both boys had bruises cascading down their backs in an array of deep purples and reds.

Others weren't so lucky to get away with bruises. Butters had been hit smack in his head and had bled into Cartman's white headrest while being driven to the hospital. The poor guy ended up with five staples in a jagged line on the back of his scalp and a wicked scar to show for it.

"Is that Sheila?" Your mom asked, "I want to see her."

Both you and Kyle had turned the phone screens to face each other, trying to ignore the weirdness of doing so. "Hey," Sheila said, "I was just telling the kids to stay inside, there's a big storm down here."

"And hail," your dad added, matter-of-factly.

"There's going to be hail the size of tennis balls," Gerald hadn't heard your dad through the phone, you could hear him sink into the bed beside his wife.

"What?" Your dad asked "Gerald?"

Gerald peeped over at his wife's phone "How was the concert?"

"I know, crazy storm right," Your dad had taken his phone back from your mother and pretended that he could understand what was being said 562 miles away in the Broflovski household. "Kyle, why are you so wet?" He turned his attention to the boy awkwardly holding his screen out.

"He was driving Weston, you know this." You answer for him.

"In the storm?" Sheila asked.

"Don't go out in the storm," Your mom called from somewhere else in the room.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up, we will stay inside you have my word," You wait for your dad to answer before hanging up.

"Okay, love you Jellybean, save me that gouda in the cheese drawer," His eyes shoot around the screen, in search of the exit button though, he taps around for a minute, muting then unmuting himself before finally hanging up.

Kyle had wandered off, slowly pacing around by the front door while nodding along to the things his mom was rattling off. It took eight minutes until Sheila finally let him go with one last goodbye "Okay, love you too, Mom."

"Uh," You look at Kyle, who was quite literally dripping on the floor, the white shirt beneath his flannel had turned translucent, clinging to the muscle of his stomach "Do you wanna shower or something?"

He looks down at himself his jeans wet and heavy before he looks back up at you "Yeah, I do."

You pry yourself off the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape while you lead Kyle upstairs. You were forbidden from touching the thermostat without your father's permission and even though he was in another state entirely, you had a sinking feeling that some way he would find how so you thought it better to bundle up instead.

"Use whatever products, I don't really care," You open the door to the bathroom even though Kyle knew where everything in your house was and would've been fine on his own. To you, it felt like he was more of a formal guest than a friend and you had to show some form of courtesy. "I'll find you something from my dad's closet."

"Alright," Kyle says as you turn away, pushing the door to your parent's room open. You b-lined for the wardrobe, rifling through until you found plaid pyjama pants and one of his well-worn t-shirts that you had seen in pictures from his college years.

On your way back to the bathroom you stopped in your room to shove your feet into your cow slippers since the storm was quickly cooling your house down. Your knuckles wrapped on the door "Are you naked?"

"No," He answers. "Why are-

You push the door open and find him standing shirtless by the sink, looking at something on his phone while his wet shirt and flannel are hanging over the shower rod. Your eyes catch to the glucose monitor patch stuck onto his toned bicep before you catch your eyes shifting down towards the well-defined ab muscles, catching yourself within seconds and plopping the clothes onto the counter. "Taking mirror pictures?" You joke halfheartedly.

He turns his phone around to show you his 'mySugr' app where he had been checking his glucose levels "Yeah, something like that."

"It's just a shirt and pants, I don't want you sharing underwear with my dad," You say abruptly, giving the folded clothes a little pat.

"I don't want that either, so thank you," He presses his lips into a thin smile.

"Okay," You say, glancing around the bathroom to see if you were missing anything before you left, closing the door behind you.

You kept listening for the hail but all you heard was a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet house, Kyle's shower blending seamlessly in with the rain. You stood at the kitchen counter, wincing slightly as you adjusted the bag of shredded cheese in your hand. Your broken nose, swollen and tender, throbbed dully, while the turf burns on your leg stung every time you shifted your weight. The painkillers you'd taken earlier had dulled the edges of your discomfort, but they left you feeling groggy and disconnected.

With slow, deliberate movements, you laid a tortilla on the skillet, the soft sizzle of the heating pan. You sprinkled a generous handful of cheese onto the tortilla, your fingers fumbling slightly as the drowsiness made even simple tasks a challenge. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the counter, trying to focus through the haze of the medication.

The rain grew heavier, a steady drumming that matched the dull ache in your body. You reached for the second tortilla, placing it carefully on top of the melting cheese. Your reflection in the window caught your eye—a girl with tousled hair, a bandaged nose, and dark circles under her eyes. The bruising was beginning to ebb away and by the time of the junior lock-in, you would be able to take the bandage off for good. Eventually, you would be left with no more than a scar on the bridge of your nose and mark this down as your most tormenting injury yet

The smell of melting cheese filled the kitchen, a small comfort amidst your discomfort. You flipped the quesadilla, the action sending a sharp pain through your wrist, making you gasp. You clenched your teeth, riding out the wave of pain until it subsided to a more manageable level. The medication dulled the pain but didn't erase it, leaving you in a strange limbo between relief and awareness.

As the quesadilla finished cooking, you carefully slid it onto a plate. You cut it into quarters, each movement slow and deliberate, then carry the plate to the table. Sitting down, you gingerly touched your swollen nose, wincing at the contact, then picked up a piece of the quesadilla.

The first bite was heavenly, the warm, gooey cheese a small relief against the storm raging both outside and within your body. You chewed slowly, savouring the simple pleasure of a hot meal on a rainy day. Each bite eased a bit of your tension, the repetitive motion meditative in its simplicity.

You heard the familiar thumps signalling someone was coming down the hardwood stairs and didn't need to turn your head to know that it was Kyle. "Quesadilla?" He sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table from the exact spot he had left it.

Silence stretches between you as you wait to chew your bite thoroughly and swallow before answering him "Yeah, do you want one?"

"No, I'm good," He opens the tab with the presentation, picking up right where he left off. He would be stuck with you until the hail hit, and then he would leave. Like he told Weston, he was going to finish the project and go home.

"That's good, I wouldn't have made it anyway."

"Why would you ask me then?"

"Courtesy?" Your answer comes out sounding like a question.

While Kyle was dropping your brother off, you had finished your portion of the assignment, leaving you to scroll through your timeline, tuning out to the constant sound of rain and Kyle's quick typing. With a small groan from the soreness of every inch of your body, you grabbed the remote off the table and began to flip through thumbnails of shows and movies.

You had flipped your phone face down on the table and put on Do Not Disturb. You were the kind who didn't pick up the phone when they didn't want to speak and in that moment you had been forgetting that Kyle was even there until you heard him shift.

"Are you going to the lock-in?" You lift your head the slightest to look at Kyle.

"Maybe," He hadn't entirely wanted to go to a school event where nearly everyone in his grade would be locked in the school's gym overnight, it sounded similar to the nightmares that kept him awake though he was being coerced not only by his mother but Kenny who had been the first of his friends who paid for a ticket. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I was gonna stay at Red's and just tell my mom I went but she's going so," You blow a raspberry "I guess I am, I'll probably wanna shoot myself in the head though."

"Huh," He utters simply in acknowledgment.

Settling on watching a reality show where everyone was yelling at everything all of the time, you pulled your blanket higher, letting your head rest on the arm of the couch. Kyle would claim to hate trash reality but you always caught him sneaking glances at the screen whenever it was on.

The soft glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room. The wind howls and rain lashes against the windows, creating a constant noise that only heightens your sense of isolation.

The reality TV show you're watching is a mindless distraction, a parade of drama and superficiality that you shamelessly indulge in. It's a welcome escape from the throbbing pain in your nose and the raw sting of the turf burn consistently stinging. You shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn't exacerbate your injuries, wincing as the movement sends fresh waves of pain through your body.

"How's it going?" you ask, your voice thick from the congestion caused by your broken nose. Speaking still hurts, but the silence is becoming unbearable. You had to say something, anything. It was like there had been a shift, where once you happily accepted ignoring Kyle in silence, now you felt like you were being smothered. You needed to talk even if your conversations were stiff and awkward like they had been all night and would only continue to be.

Kyle looks up. "Getting there. How's your nose?"

"It's chill right now." You lie through your teeth, it was hurting badly. "How's your eye?"

His hand absentmindedly moved upward to gently touch the bruised area. There were a few days when it looked like it was healing nicely but it quickly went downhill, he woke one morning to find splotchy colours over his eye and all he could do was accept the fact. "Better than your- well, everything I'm guessing," He gestured to the burn on your arm.

You glance down as well, moving your arm to inspect the injury "Yeah, it feels like a million miniature humans are stabbing me and kicking me like all the time."

He nods, a sympathetic look crossing his face. "Do you need another painkiller or something?"

You shake your head, regretting the motion almost immediately as it sends a sharp ache through your skull. "No, I'm okay, I have so many painkillers in me that I'm rattling like a maraca."

The room falls silent again, save for the drone of the TV and the relentless battering of the storm outside. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, wishing you could fast-forward through the next few days of recovery. Your eyes drift back to the TV screen, where contestants are arguing over something trivial.

Kyle's fingers tap away at the keyboard, a steady stream of clicks. Finally, he sits back, stretching his arms and letting out a sigh of relief. "It's done," he announces, closing the laptop. "The project is finished."

"Woohoo," You bring your hands together to give him a weak round of applause. Still facing the TV you hadn't noticed the small smile that Kyle cracked, it wasn't the sheepish thin-lipped ones you had grown accustomed to but one that showed his perfect rows of teeth.

He leans back onto the couch, arms crossed while he lets himself tune into the awful show. Feeling a slight chill, he tugged on the blanket sprawled over you until it covered his lap. You hadn't minded when Kyle came under the blanket, giving him leeway so he wouldn't freeze.

You lay on your side, reaching to scratch an itch on your upper lip but instead being met with warm liquid on your fingers. Immediately you shoot up your hand out in front of you, the TV shifts scenes and the room is illuminated, the blood on your hand illuminated.

"Mother fucker," You hiss pushing yourself off the couch to rush to the bathroom before blood from your nose could trickle onto your dad's shirt.

Kyle wasn't sure what had you storming off, he partially thought you were upset about him tucking himself under the blanket but he didn't say anything, he just watched you usher off and up the stairs with perplexing eyes.

You slap the light switch to the bathroom, hands bracing on the bathroom sink while you assess the situation on your face. Sometime while you and Kyle were sitting in darkness lit only by a TV screen you must've irritated the laceration on your nose as it was nose gushing blood and soaking the bandage lying over top.

Despite the pain, you muster the courage to attempt changing the bandage on your own. With trembling hands, you carefully begin to peel away the old bandage, wincing as the adhesive pulls at your tender skin. You grit your teeth, determined to see this through, but as you try to pull the bandage away, you shudder, it is clinging to your nose from the blood soaking in and binding it.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up inside you. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the sight of your bruised under eyes and the trickle of blood making you feel even more helpless. Pounding on the bathroom window you could pinpoint the exact sound that the hail had begun, the patterns of rain turned into a harsh banging noise that crashed over the roof.

 Sticky blood gripped onto your skin and the more effort you put into clearing it away, the harder you were pushing on your broken nose. Taking a deep breath, you grab hold of one end of the bandage then rip it off at record speed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through you and how it had tugged on the stitches but it was impossible.

"Fuck, ow!" You shout, throwing the soiled bandage into the sink in anger "I'm not fucking doing this."

Looking up and into the mirror, you see the gash over your nose, the blood dripping from it and pooling around the area, slinking its way into the crevices of your under eyes and knowing that you didn't have much choice. Dabbing a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, you brought it up to your nose and winced on instinct, body shuddering from the sting.

You put the cotton pad down, chewing your lip in an attempt to bite back the tears and the array of colourful words you wanted to scream. Tears were brimming in your eyes purely from the sensation. "Kyle!" You call out, hands cupping your mouth.

It took him a minute to reach you but when he did he paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of you "Are you taking out your stitches?" His voice bordered somewhere between panic and intrigue.

"No, but it's bleeding and I need to fix it and it really fucking hurts so can you please do it?"

He spends a moment just staring at you, drinking in the request before it finally rendered "You definitely can't do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And it's not one of those wait-it-out things?"

"Don't be a dick, are you helping me or not?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of pressing too hard on your nose or making the stitches bleed even more "What if I hurt you?"

"I'm already hurt." 

"Yeah, okay, fine." Kyle pulls his phone from the pocket of his flannel pants and begins searching for guidance.

You propped yourself to sit up on the bathroom counter, eye level with Kyle as he bent down just the slightest. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Uh, yup," Beside you, he placed his phone, it was open to a wikiHow article on bandaging a broken nose. He carefully soaked a cotton pad and began to clear away the blood, revealing the raw, stitched wound beneath. You clenched your teeth,  eyes watering from the sharp, stinging pain that accompanied the exposure of the wound. "Sorry," Kyle murmured, his voice bordering somewhere between concentration and sympathy. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay," You cast your gaze to the side, trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with Kyle when he was so close to you and studying your face with such intensity.

He dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, wiping away the fresh blood with gentle, meticulous strokes. The antiseptic came next, its cool sting causing you to flinch despite your best efforts to stay still. Kyle couldn't help the face he made at the sight of the bruising swallowing up your nose and the irritation surrounding the wound itself.

You were quick to catch onto this "I know I look gross."

"No, you don't look gross," He shook his head slightly, his hands moved to bring your head upwards, chin between his index and thumb while he wiped away the last of the blood. You held your breath, The strength in his hands and forearms was evident though each movement was slow and benign as a feather-stroke.

He looked like honey and you couldn't ignore that. His ginger hair was streaked with gold from sun exposure, and his hazel eyes were flecked with brown. He remained sweet as honey too, and as gentle as the wings that made it.

He placed the gauze on your nose for padding very meticulously and followed the guide on his phone while taping it.  "Done," Kyle said finally, pressing a new, clean bandage over the stitches. He secured it with tender, precise fingers, then looked into your eyes for reassurance "How does that feel?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the snug, secure fit of the new bandage. With a gentle touch, you tapped around at the freshly bandaged area "It's good, thanks."

Kyle nodded, quickly backing up, throwing out the soiled medical supplies and tucking the first aid kit back underneath the sink. He cleared his thought, looking at the window where the hail was slowing down, it was back to the heavy rain "Hails passed, I'll grab my stuff and head out."

"Um, okay," You stayed on the counter, watching him fumble around to his clothes that had been drying on the shower curtain rod. In one minute a million thoughts were mauling at your mind but there was one that stood out from the rest "Or we could watch a movie?"

Abruptly his head swerved to look at you. He had assumed this to be mocking but you just stared at him and waited for an answer, as cool as he wanted to play it he broke into a small small with furrowed brows "Yeah, okay." Suddenly he was wishing he had given you the powerade that he bought for you.

A/N: oml I meant to post this days ago, it’s just been chilling in my drafts

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovlofski #south park hcs #south park kyle #sp kyle

[dokries]

goldleaf

pairing: hong jisoo (joshua) x gender neutral reader

genre: angst, hanahaki au

word count: 1.1k

warnings: no happy ending, mentions of death + implied main character death…eventually, One mention of swearing, unrequited love, the normal hanahaki au things (blood, throwing up, etc.)

author note: um so guess who found out she can actually write angst! it’s written in joshua’s pov the entire time and reader is just kinda in the background (they’re still important though!) also, if you want a lil more info about how i wrote this, check out my reblog! lots of love ♡

masterlist

when joshua sees you with them, he can’t deny that he feels…more than he wishes he did.

he’s sick and tired of the hollowness in his chest but it’s fine. it’ll all be fine once he sees you happy, right? that's what he says to convince himself before looking up at the sky and seeing you in the shape of the clouds and the way the sun hits them and himself.

fuck, he’s in too deep to continue to believe the sorry excuse he’s made up for himself to feel a little better. it never helps anyway, so why keep using it? he lets it go, imagining it fluttering away on a breeze that reminds him way too much of the person always on his mind.

so when the tingling in his throat comes out as petals the same golden like the colour he imagines your soul to be, he isn’t surprised. as he exits the bathroom, he avoids jeonghan’s gaze, promises that he’ll be fine; after all, it’s just a cold—whatever it takes to keep his best friend from worrying. at least he knows his promises won’t be worth much anyway.

he sees you often, your smile as cheery as the flowers haunting him in his dreams and the ones sticking to his lungs, trapped in his chest. he’s alright, he tells himself. he’ll be fine.

he doesn’t go to the doctor. he’s read and seen enough of what’s happening to him, and he knows the choice he’ll have to make if he goes. he knows that the only solution is to forget, but he would never do that. he can’t let go of wandering around in the wheat fields that one summer you two were in the countryside, or the time you laughed and laughed at a joke that wasn’t funny, or when he lost all hope and you were there, making sure he could get back up again and live. if the price of keeping the memories he holds close is death, he’s okay with it.

joshua doesn’t tell his roommates. he knows that jeonghan and seungcheol would drag him to the emergency room against his will, and force him to take the option he’s already decided against. he wouldn’t let them sway him anyway, but it’s easier if they don’t know. however, time seems to choose to leave the bathroom—even when it seems to be going too fast for joshua’s liking these days—when jeonghan finds him hovering over the sink, bloody tissues in his hand and washed petals placed carefully on the side.

the two of them say nothing.

jeonghan leaves, and joshua turns to the mirror above the sink, taking a good look at himself. he wipes off the dried blood on his top lip, noticing nothing else wrong. he doesn’t realize that after he leaves, jeonghan is horrified by the lack of light in his friend’s eyes, the spark he thought would never go out.

jeonghan hasn’t said anything since, lost in his thoughts every time he’s home. seungcheol is freaked out, not understanding the dead silence in the house. he doesn’t know that he’ll have to pay more for rent in…well, however long it takes for joshua’s lungs to finally fill up with your flowers. joshua knows he’s being cruel, but can’t he be allowed to be selfish in his last moments? is that too much to ask for after everything?

he doesn’t approach jeonghan, and instead writes. he writes journal entries in that notebook you got him a few years back, but he never used it because he was too scared to mess up in something you gave him; letters to those he’ll miss. he revises the one for his mother over and over again, crumpling paper like his lungs.

joshua doesn’t try to hide anything from seungcheol. he knows that his housemate’s blank expression means more than what he says. in fact, there is nothing said; their house is a place to rest and eat and nothing else. it’s as if there’s three ghosts, not just a single potential one. joshua sighs, wheezing out more petals. he grabs them hastily, making sure they don’t fall to the ground or worse, onto your letter. he carries them gently in his bloodied hands to the bathroom sink once again, the only companion he seems to have in the past few weeks.

joshua rinses each souvenir of his love one by one, clearing the dark red off before drying them and taking them back to the pile he’s made ever since this started. at first, they were hidden away in a small box on the corner of his desk, so no one would wander in and see them. now, he puts them on his nightstand haphazardly, the dark wood no longer visible under the various shades of yellow and red.

joshua picks up his pen—the expensive one his mom gifted him when he moved away so long ago; he never used it until now. the ink glides smoothly over the clean paper he had taken out earlier. he writes once again.

the only thing he knows how to say now is sorry. he writes it over and over again, signing each letter with the sounds he can barely make in real life, his voice hoarse from the damage done on his throat, and the lack of use.

maybe it’s time for something different? after all, this is for you, and he wants the news to be broken softly. he racks his head for something, anything that he finds good enough to become something real. he drinks the day-old water from the plastic bottle beside him, the familiar taste of blood accompanying it.

he glances at the clock he’s kept beside him since the start, and counts down two seconds; he has no time to waste.

he puts down the words he’s said so often to you that they’ve become a habit but seem to have changed ever since he started throwing up marigolds—a literal reminder of his unrequited love.

it’ll be a bit hard to be there for you when he’s dead, won’t it? joshua doesn’t mind. he never will.

he chuckles dryly, a whole flower falling out. he gets up and repeats his process for the petals before sitting back down.

joshua looks at his handiwork, pausing and adding a few more words before moving his paper to the side, and starting on another letter for his mother.

he stares blearily at the clock again, the red blinking numbers the only comfort he allows himself. it’s a new day.

joshua hopes it’ll finally be his last.

#dokries works #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #hong joshua x reader #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo scenarios #hong joshua imagines #hong jisoo imagines #hong joshua scenarios #hong jisoo angst #hong joshua angst #joshua x reader #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #joshua angst

[superdupersunny420]

A Little Visit - Sam (Stardew Valley) x GN Reader

wk - 1.6k

Blurb - Poor farmer hasn’t had a lot of motivation to do… anything really. A certain blonde skater wanted to check up on them.

Sam is such a cutie and he’s all over my tiktok right now so, first fic had to be him <3

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You hadn’t written a letter to your parents in a while. Your mom made sure to write often and your dad often put little messages into her letters for you. The motivation to get up to a desk or table never really hit, at least that was at the start.

No motivation to write a letter moved to no motivation to plant any seeds for the season and when it hit the 11th day of summer, you had no motivation to get up and go to the Luau. Spending all day in bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat, felt better than having to get up and ready for the day. If someone of Pelican Town were to ask why you have been hiding away in your little home on the farm, you wouldn’t have much of an answer for them, a shrug of your shoulders at most. As much as it sucks for you to not have an answer, it’s just the way it’s always been. Periods of time where even the simplest of tasks would be so difficult for you, where even simply getting out of bed is such a chore that you can hardly achieve it.

‘Maybe that’s why my parents have been sending me letters more often.’ They probably realise that you’re in one of your… moods.

However, your mopping around was interrupted by a knock on the door. Debating on whether you actually wanted to get up and answer, the knock progressively got louder until you flung the blanket off you and waddled your way over. You didn’t know what you were expecting but it definitely wasn’t the blonde hair boy you’ve been crushing on practically since you’ve come to pelican town.

Sam stood at your door, a sheepish smile on his face scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey.”

You quickly shut the door in his face. You knew you looked a mess; in the same clothes you’ve been sleeping in for… who knows how many days. Your hair greasy and messy from doing nothing except lying in bed in the heat. He couldn’t see you like this and oh god, the farm. You haven’t been out to tidy the farm in a while and your lack of crops must have been a pathetic sight.

“Um… you okay?”

But that’s also when you realise you can’t just leave Sam standing outside. He was obviously here for a reason, one of which you weren’t even willing to hear him out on before rudely slamming a door in his face. So after a few seconds of peptalk and mentally preparing for socialising, you opened the door once again.

“Sorry bout’ that. Um, ignore the appearance, I… haven’t got ready today?”

It sounded a lot more like you were trying to convince yourself than him, but Sam didn’t point it out, he just smiled. The same cute grin he always has on his face, the one that brought butterflies to your stomach and made your heart skip a beat. It was a weird thing to think about, the fact that whether you’re fully presentably or looking the messiest, he still has the same look in his eyes.

“Ha, no problem! I just thought I would swing by, see how things are.”

Oh. Well, guess he must have noticed you haven’t been out much.

You pushed open your door to allow him to come in and offered him a Joja Cola (knowing he liked them) all the while getting yourself a drink and trying to make yourself look at least a little more presentable. After grabbing drinks, you both take a seat at the small table. Sam looked around, feeling a bit awkward with what to do. He’s come over to the farmers house but doesn’t really know what to do now. ‘Hey, I’ve noticed you’ve not left your house in like 11 days? What’s up with that? Also, I lowkey miss our chats and you so where have you been?’ wouldn’t really be the way to go about this all.

“So is everything okay? Did you need something?”

No time for him to think though, Sam looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Uh, yeah- no. But…”

He took a second, taking a sip of his Joja Cola and putting the can down, looking at his hands for a second before looking back at you with a face of concern.

“I don’t want to be nosey or be pushing you in anyway, but I’ve noticed you’ve not really been, out? You weren’t at the Luau either. I just… I don’t know, I was worried for you. You’re always about the town, it’s weird not seeing you around anymore.”

You stare at Sam for a second, processing what he just said. You never really realised that other people would care, or even realise that you weren’t up and about. You really didn’t really know what to say, only having it in you to look at him with a frown on your face.

“Obviously, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine! But, I’ve got no plans today and I’m not at work so if you’re wanting some company?”

Sam smiles, the same stupid grin on his face and you can’t help the small smile on yours as tears well up in your eyes.

“Sam, I- You’re too sweet.”

Pink rushes to Sam’s checks and he waves one of his hands in the air.

“Hey! What friend would I be if I left you in here all alone.”

You shuffle a bit in your seat and look down at your hands, knowing that Sam was still waiting for an answer to his original question (are you okay?). You’ve never really opened up too many people before, only your mom and dad knowing about your problems, it’s hard for you to be honest. But, Sam sits, a small reassuring smile on his face, one hand holding his can of Joja Cola, and his other being used as a head rest. His eyes help no judgment, and he gave no indication that you were in a rush. He was willing to sit there for as long as you needed.

“I don’t know, I just… I always have periods where I just, lose all my motivation. It sounds stupid I know.”

Sam shakes his head and goes to butt in; however, you don’t let him. If you don’t get it all out now you don’t think you’ll be able to push yourself to get it out later.

“And I know it’s not that simple. I can’t just stop being a functioning human being but its’s so, so hard. I can hardly get out of bed, which means I’ve just let the farm handle itself and I couldn’t even push myself to go to the Luau. God, I haven’t even written to my family in ages. I just… can’t. Everything feels like such a chore, and I- “

You stop to take a deep breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You’d been looking down at the table since the start of your rambling, not having it in you to look at Sam.

“Woah, man. Seems like a lot you’ve been dealing with.”

Sam’s smile is gone, instead it’s replaced with a face of concern. He doesn’t push you to look at him or anything, he just continues with what he’s saying.

“It’s okay to feel down in the dumps, you’re human it’s bound to happen. And you’ve done so much since you’ve first moved to pelican town, if I’m being honest, I’m amazed you’ve only just reached the burnout stage. But you don’t have to deal with this all alone, you’ve got the whole town to help you with things! And you can always come to me if you ever need anything, I’m happy to help.”

You look up at Sam, eyes red from crying, face looking puffy and messy, but Sam says nothing. He just smiles at you, looking at you with a face of compassion.

“I know me saying all this isn’t just gonna cure your problems but, I hope it helps. And as I said, I’ve got no plans today so I’m happy to help or keep you company!”

You stand up and walk over to Sam’s side of the table, instinctively he stands up at well, and you wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to crush you into a hug back.

“Also, I’ve missed our talks, I have new music to show you AND I beat my high score on my game!”

Sam quietly whispers and you let out a little laugh and smile, even though you know it’ll take a little bit more for you to break out your habits, you’re happy you’ve got a friend there to help you along the way.

“So! What should we do, farmer?”

Sam grins at you and puts a thumbs up. You laugh at the nickname and take a second to think.

“I need to write a letter to my parents, and maybe if I have the effort, I’ll plant some seeds tomorrow.”

Sam nods and puts up an okay sign.

“If you want, I can go to Pierre’s and buy the seeds you need while you get busy writing?”

You smile at Sam and nod, quickly scribbling down a list of the summer seeds you need and handing over the money he’ll need. You walk to the door and see him pick up his skateboard as he turns to wave.

“Be back soon! You better get writing!”

You turn into your house with a smile, grabbing a pen and paper before sitting at the table. You’re thankful for your visit from Sam, and even more thankful for everything that he’s willing to do for you, his friend.

#superdupersunny420Writes #sam x reader #sam x male reader #sam x female reader #sam x gender neutral reader #stardew valley x reader #stardew x reader #x reader #sam x you #sam x farmer #stardew x you #stardew valley x you #stardew valley sam x reader #stardew valley sam x you #stardew valley #stardew #stardew valley x farmer #stardew x farmer #stardew valley sam x farmer #stardew valley reader #stardew valley farmer #hurt/comfort #stardew valley fanfic #x reader fic #stardew valley fic #stardew fanfic #stardew fic #fan fiction #fanfic #fluff

[im-tempted]

Gotta love parasocial relationships <3 (seriously what the fuck though)

I... I think I may have manic pixie dream girled to close to the sun pick me up mom I'm scared help

I won't like them more if they try and act like me I already fucking hate them and we don't even live in the same country go AWAY

#fan behavior FRFR #(please help how to block someone irl they have my adress ghosting them as we speak) #i don't even know how to feel about it im just very... confused? #why... why write a letter in the same way i do #why do ANY of this #go home and leave me alone #what. is. my. life. get. me. OUT OF HERE #crow #adam fucking around

[secretmellowblog]

For me the ‘canon homoerotic subtext’ between brick!Valjean and Javert is really more about the parallels between Javert and Eponine, who are explicitly set up as character foils.

Brick!Javert isn’t obsessed with Valjean like he is in adaptations. He’s not psychosexually obsessed with hunting him down; he really doesn’t seem to think of him as being any different than any other criminal—- he doesn’t think about Jean Valjean much at all until after Jean Valjean saves his life.

But after the barricades, Javert’s sudden weird desperate emotions about Jean Valjean are like a twisted mirror of his character foil Eponine’s weird desperate emotions for Marius.

Some guy takes pity on them, and extends them a bit of basic impersonal kindness— and they react by descending into this violently self-destructive suicidal admiration built on self-loathing. They’re both described as making themselves the “dogs” of Marius/Valjean, the dogs of people who barely remember they exist.

And anyway! I think there is potential to explore things there in analysis and fanfiction

#les mis #les mis letters #ANYWAY #this is why my post-seine fanfic is like that #and why i tag it so strangely #how do you tag ‘javert has whatever Eponine had. but for Jean Valjean’ #but yeah I keep saying I’m gonna write a full length post about this parallel #but then I don’t #the Valjean/javert and Eponine/Marius parallels are real though #I feel like before I write and overlong masterpost on that #id have to put one together that’s just about the javert-Eponine parallels alone #and yeeg #so much to write #idk if this is coherent I’m typing late and tired 😂 #I feel like this is why I often don’t feel the same way as other valvert fans tho

[ladyalicentshightower]

I think people overestimate how feminist team black is. If someone brings up how Baela should be the heir to Driftmark, it's always "she would've been Queen if not for the Greens!", ignoring that 1, she would be Queen consort, not a Queen in her own right, and 2 she has a legitimate claim in her own right to Driftmark. Team Black's goal is to crown Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra becoming Queen isn't a win for feminism because it does nothing to dismantle the rest of the patriarchal system that exists in Westeros. From what we've gotten so far, it reads that Rhaenyra wants to be the exception and not the rule. Rhaenyra has made a lot of bad political decisions, which means she can't acknowledge Baela's claim because it would weaken her own claim (blatantly admitting her eldest sons are illegitimate would not end well for her to say the least). So she betrothes Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena to kind of atone for that, like as a consolation prize Baela will be Queen and Rhaena will be lady of Driftmark, neither of them would hold either title in their own right. It's good matches because the kids like each other and will treat each other well, but it's not a feminist win or a feministic liberation. It's usurpation, usurpation that takes place because Rhaenyra has to do damage control after having illegitimate children and after a serious of bad political decisions (both hers and her fathers, Viserys is the arbiter of this entire mess). To me, Rhaenyra is very reminiscent of Mary Queen of Scots, I can see a lot of elements drawn from Mary's history in Rhaenyra's story and character, down to their sons eventually taking the crown they failed to claim/keep.

#hotd #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon #house of the dragon spoilers #Rhaenyra targaryen critical #I'm going to do a rewatch prior to season 2 & I'm going to analyse the bad political decisions from vis & Rhaenyra that lead to the dance #like by no means the only factors at play lets not forget otto daemon larys etc #but it's an interesting factor that the fandom doesn't really acknowledge #and a lot of Rhaenyra's bad political decisions are understandable because of her youth and because viserys does fuck all to prepare her #like even if she wasn't who he choose as heir she should've been given a better political education as a princess #but vis fails his most of his other four kids in that regard to #i mean he also fails to acknowledge them or remember them but anyways #he is a huge part of the reason aegon and aemond became he they did #props to whoever probably alicent for sending daeron to oldtown so he could grow up well adjusted #alicent: i'm writing a letter to daeron is there anything you would like to say to him? #viserys: daemon? why are you writing to daemon? #alicent: daeron? #viserys: who? #alicent: our son? the one you sent to squire in oldtown? #viserys: i think i'd remember if we had a son who's name was one letter different to my brothers #viserys: in fact i do alicent do you mean the one who lost an eye? #alicent: *screaming internally* #viserys targaryen #king viserys #rhaenyra is such an interesting character but i hate how the fandom sanctified her because how dare characters be complex and have flaws #like you dont have to justify their actions or bend over backwards to deny their faults to like a character you know 😭 #and the same thing is done to daemon who is far more fucked up and far more flawed in the show than the fandom allows #i hate the team stuff tho i get hbo going for it as a marketing move that was genius but my god are certain stans insufferable #the entire point of the dance is that its a pointless tragedy there's no good or bad side theyre both awful in their own ways #but thats a longer rant for another time outside of the tags

[izzyspussy]

honestly my real opinion on ai is not even from an ethical standpoint. my opinion on ai is that because it isn't actually artificial intelligence that is a misnomer it's not intelligent and it doesn't think it is therefore just plain not good at most of what we're currently using it for outside of like hyperspecific applications that i know nothing about and never will. it simply can't do the job man.

#jack facts #and this isn't an argument about what constitutes ''real'' art either it's about technical skill #the ability to self correct; improve; make requested changes; do something that hasn't already been done before or do it in a new way; etc #it just. it can't do it. it can't do the job. #and like laymen using it to make fanart or oc art or whatever like i don't really care that much #like i absolutely think you're tacky and a big whiner and i don't respect you but i don't think you're A Bad Person #unless you're dishonest about it and trying to pass off ai as self-made in which case you're the same as someone who reposts imo #but like as far as like industry ai. like the ethics of usage are complicated but i honestly don't care because the stuff is garbage anyway #whether it's ''art'' or not it will never be skillful and it will never innovate. it is low quality and it is boring. #it can't not be low quality and boring. skilled and interesting are literally beyond its parameters that's just the facts. #so truly there is absolutely no point in using it for anything that requires skill or interest. #or like. representing concepts. expressing an idea etc. those things can't be replicated only shapes/color/letters can. #which is honestly part of the reason why i don't even have any interest in caring more about the ethical aspect #it's not going to last for very long because it doesn't work. it just doesn't work! it can't do that! #anyway. #reading process #writing process #soc

[phoenixkaptain]

Although on the topic of Red Dragon and the things they changed between the book and the tv show, I think it’s really, really funny how they recontextualize all of Dr. Bloom’s lines in regards to Will. Because it was Alan Bloom, in the book, but Alana said a lot of the same lines, nearly word for word! And when Alana said it, most of it could be interpreted in a romantic sense.

When Alan said it, it was just weird that he didn’t like to be in the same room as Will if ut was just the two of them. Will is his friend. He is Will’s friend. They’re pretty comfortable around each other. If Will is ever alone with him, Alan will die. And like, Will is aware of this, so-

They also changed Freddy Lounds from a guy into a girl, which is funny because honestly, you could read both Freddy’s interactions with Will the exact same way. As in, they’re both honestly amazed that Will says the shit he does. And both of them leave the audience craving to see them set on fire, but only one of them delivers.

Will is, perhaps, the most different character of all. Which makes sense. I think the idea is that Will in the show is younger, he’s uncomfortable with himself and others, he’s especially uncomfortable around people with pushy personalities because they tend to use him.

Will in the novel, on the other hand, is my dear beloved. He is exhausted. Jack Crawford comes in and says “one more time, Will, please” and Will says “no, fuck off.” Crawford weasels him into it, but Will is having none of anyone’s shit for approximately the entire time. Will calls Dolarhyde gay to piss him off (this leads to Freddy Lounds being set on fire). Dolarhyde sends him a literal voice recording of Freddy Lounds telling Will that the Red Dragon is going to kill him-

“”Reach behind you, Will Graham… and feel for the small… knobs on the top of your pelvis. Feel your spine between them… that is the precise spot… where the Dragon will snap your spine.””

-and his response is-

“Graham kepts his hands on the railing. Damn if I feel. Did the Dragon not know the nomenclature of the iliac spine, or did he choose not to use it?”

Which is very funny to me because it reads to me as Will going “pssh, amateur.”

(Will has a few moments of being very uncaring about threats against his own person. This is why it’s more effective when Dolarhyde goes after his family.)

Crawford is both different and similar in many ways. In the novel, he is a lot more clear with how he’s pushing Will. He knows that he’s pushing him to the limits, he knows he’s basically holding Will over a cliff with nothing to catch him, but he thinks it’ll ultimately be fine. Even if Will does break, if he catches the Dragon first, it will have been worth it.

It’s difficult to explain Hannibal in this book. Of all the portrayals, I feel this one is… the funniest? Like, he is a little bit obsessed. He wants Will to hang out with him. He wants Will to commit murder. He thinks Will is fascinating. Will refuses to give a serial killer (one who stabbed Will in the side) his phone number or address and Hannibal sends a fucking murderer after him. Hannibal’s actions directly lead to Will being stabbed in the face, and he sends a letter (that Will doesn’t read, but Crawford does) that ends with the lines: “I wish you a speedy convalescence and hope you won’t be too ugly. I think of you often.”

I’ve said this many, many times in the past, but there’s a reason NBC Hannibal portrays Hannibal as in love with Will. I want to use Silence of the Lambs as an example. He talks very casually with Clarice for a little while, then abruptly: “How is Will Graham?”

For this one, I think I’ll just take a picture, because it amuses me.

Of course, Hannibal also brings up Alan and Frederick Chilton (I forgot to mention earlier, Freddy C.’s been here the whole goddamn time and had the gall to try and explain Hannibal Lecter to the man who caught Hannibal Lecter), but him bringing up Will has always been funny to me. His last letter to Will says “I hope you aren’t too ugly.” It’s been a few years now, and his question is basically: “Is Will ugly?” It is…

I mean, I understand on a cannibalistic-serial-killer-from-the-80s level that Hannibal wants Will to look a certain way because he likes the way Will looks. Not on a queer level at all, it’s probably moreso because he wants Will to fit his aesthetics. Like I said, he wants to spend time with Will, and part of that requires Will’s appearance to fit. It totally makes sense in a horror novel that a character would be creepily obsessed with appearance, and Hannibal’s insistence on Will was probably discomfiting to a lot of the readers at the time.

But on the other hand, Hannibal’s obsession with Will in the modern day is really funny. Like, he just needs to know. Tell the man what he wants to know, Starling. You know Will Graham, everyone knows Will Graham, come on, tell me. It’s incredibly amusing, especially the jump in their conversation from classical paintings to Will’s appearance.

Now, the correlation could be a few things. Hannibal could be implying that Will mocked him in some way and that his punishment would be the scarring of his face. But, that would make Hannibal have a bit of a god-complex, and that’s boring. Another option is that he found Will to be reminiscent of a man in a painting. Specifically, the man in the painting they’re talking about, which is a painting Hannibal did on the wall of his cell with crayons and magic marker (yes, that is what he said he used), which makes it kind of funny because wouldn’t that be like Hannibal painting Will on the wall? If the painting reminds him of Will, then he only painted it because he knew Chilton would get the wrong idea if he painted Will. Which, maybe he did paint Will! It’s not like Clarice knows what Will looks like, and Hannibal wouldn’t just tell her.

Anyway, as I’ve said countless times, Hannibal in the books is only a bit less obsessed with Will Graham than he is in the show. Why is he obsessed with Will? The show’s idea that Hannibal was in love with Will and didn’t realize it is a very clean answer. Even if one doesn’t believe that Hannibal Lecter has the capability to love, which I would argue against since it’s disputed in the books and the tv show, his obsession with Will, an obsession akin to love, that he himself doesn’t realize until it’s too late… that’s fun.

Why is Hannibal obsessed with Will in the books? I don’t know. Will thinks it’s because Hannibal wants him to be just like Hannibal, but I don’t know if I would be so hung up on a guy for multiple years who just will not come visit or commit murder. If the books ever off an alternative, I’ve not seen it.

But, I think Hannibal wants to kill Will. I think he is a bit upset that Will saw through him and turned him in, but he’s also fascinated that Will saw through him. Will is fascinating to him. Will is afraid of himself, and that’s fascinating too. Hannibal wants to kill Will, not out of hatred, but out of a sort of grudging respect. He wants to be the reason Will Graham dies. He wants to be there as Will Graham dies. Even when he sent a serial killer after Will, Hannibal didn’t doubt that Will would live. And he wants Will to live, until he can wrap his hands around Will’s throat and watch the life drain away.

All this to say, I still have more thoughts on the Hannibal tetralogy than I previously thought.

#the inane ramblings of a madman #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #clarice starling #i’m not tagging all the characters #some of them would have two tags for the same guy #lookin at you alan #it is a bit disappointing to me at times #that there isn’t a lot of fanwork #contemplating will’s and hannibal’s relationship in the books #i think people take it as a given that hannibal just hates will and then move on with their day #but i just can’t see it that way #why did hannibal write a love letter to the guy he hates #like yeah he would totally do that #but still #also just want to comment #on the male character’s who have an absurd fascination with will’s back #it is… kinda gay ngl #dolarhyde kills freddy for calling him gay #but he’s the one daydreaming about breaking will’s back so #okay i’ll stop now #long post #very long post

[twistedappletree]

i’ve written a fic from jin ling’s pov about his crush on lan sizhui but now i kind of wanna write one from LSZ’s pov since i tend to favor JL’s 👀🩵💛

#I’ve been exploring LSZ’s POV and studying his character a tonnnn in letters never sent #but since it’s more mature bc both him and JL are adults in that fic #it would be cute to do another junior ficlet before I start posting my first chapter monstrosity lmao #it’s over 30k words rn and not nearly done 😭 #WHATS THIS BOY THINKING #let’s find out #hehehehhehe #tbh he’s such a nerd his thoughts are probably super cheesy and a little poetic #while also being frustrated by JL’s attitude at times #but wanting to understand it at the same time #gonna study him like a lab rat ahahahAHAHAHA #apple babble 🍎 #fic musings #zhuiling musings #‘why are you the way that you are?’ *falls in love* #P L S #also 30k fic is still aspec btw #I mean mature as in emotionally #i do not partaketh in the smut writing not my thing sorrryyyyy 🤷‍♀️

[whynotimtired]

Thinking about Finn calling the mike monologue "notebook-ey, in the best way" when- and I haven't seen it in a long time so correct me if I'm wrong- that man wrote letters to her every single day for a year. And she didn't know about it for even a second because her mom kept every one of them away from her. She thought he was ignoring her, or didn't care anymore. And he thought the exact same. Until she confronted him about it and he told her it wasn't true. And that it's not over.

Now who was the one who didn't get any letters? Who didn't get any calls? Who was the one who said "that's just not true." to "you've made it super clear you don't want to hear anything I have to say." Who complains constantly, to the point his friends are annoyed, that Joyce is always clogging up the line? Who thought he was ignoring him, that he didn't care anymore? And who felt exactly the same way?

"You called maybe a couple times. It's been a year, Mike."

-

"Maybe you should've reached out more, I don't know. Why is this on me? Why am I the bad guy?"

#CAUSE WHY DO THEY PARALLEL SO MUCH #EVEN THE MOM GETTING IN THE WAY OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP (albeit unknowingly on joyces end) #mike has yet to kiss him in the rain but at the rate we're going..... #i mean. he said it wasnt over for him. he asked will to be best friends again. #the couple in the notebook has one thing that byler doesnt. and thats knowing the other loves them. #that is the ONLY thing holding them back #i think if mike knew will was in love with him he would start speedrunning un-repression #ALSO THEY NEVER ACTUALLY RESOLVED THIS FIGHT #not the parts where will didnt contact mike cause mike couldnt contact him. #we just need a book of letters. a flashback to mike calling over and over and over again until he gave up. #their relationship has this way of being so strained but still so easy #what rlly gets me is that will doesnt care that he didnt get a letter. he cares that mike stopped CALLING him. #effectively making the romantic parallel between the movies not actually letters. just communication in general. #mike sent el letters. and she got them. thats not 'notebook-ey' #he thought she would choose her fiance. a man she didnt actually love. who does that sound like? #'Meanwhile El has like a book of letters from you' 'Thats because shes my girlfriend Will!' 'And us?' 'We're FRIENDS! We're friends!' #mike being the only person making the conversation romantic until will clarifies that he didnt mean it like that #quick to jump to conclusions michael? has something been on your mind? #he specifically didnt send will letters cause it felt 'too romantic' and at the same time couldnt write romance into his letters to El #I WONDER WHY #mike wheeler #byeler #byler #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler is gay #byler st5 #i mean the fact that theres a love triangle at all in the notebook. its so crazy that he said that cause when you rlly look at it- #its clear whos who. the couple with history and a good run of miscommunication vs 1 party stuck in an engagement w/ someone they dont love #'its like theyre married with no option for divorce' vs byler. why would you compare them to the notebook finn. why do you keep doing this

[dmclemblems]

Just some examples below of characters at camp in GW not being okay with what Claude does (mainly to reiterate past points I’ve made about him/the route):

Mind you, the game forces all characters to cooperate with Claude in GW, even though a lot of them disagree (Marianne adamantly is against everything Claude is doing and expresses it regularly. Her excuse for not leaving or doing anything about is that she hopes the war ends quickly, but she still repeatedly expresses that she doesn’t believe what they’re doing is the right thing to do).

Lorenz repeatedly questions Claude’s decisions, as he should, but due to it being the GW route, all the characters have to follow what he does and just deal with it. There’s no “hey this is bullshit I’m out”, when realistically at this point a good handful of characters would’ve walked out.

This proves the writer’s are totally aware of what they’re writing and know the nuance to it! It’s just that... because Claude is the main character of this route, he’s swept up in the story and has to be adjusted to fit the story accordingly.

There’s no happy ending for the Kingdom and Alliance unless Sylvain (who is a major player in Faerghus politics) can agree to it, which is highly unlikely after he openly expresses his hatred for Claude/the Alliance (as he puts it, the “invaders”, which... were Claude/the Alliance).

Also, I have another post with the camp part of Hapi saying that it’s scummy of the Alliance/Federation that the only reason she and Constance are alive is because they surrendered. In other words, she finds the “surrender or die” thing to be scummy. Then we have Yuri, who notices the same issue:

This point proves that Claude is pretty cold hearted in this route. He not only forces Ashe to surrender (or die, as is implied by his dialogue when he says “Dimitri would be sad if you died” and thus urging him to surrender), but then he even has Ashe fight against his own people.

While this is a recruit mechanic issue and is a problem in all routes generally speaking, it’s not highlighted upon by other characters about other characters. That is to say, Petra for example in AG will express relief that they didn’t have to kill Dorothea, but she doesn’t mention anything about Dimitri forcing them to fight the Empire (which Petra decides to do entirely by her own will). Dorothea expresses some reluctance at first in her own camp dialogue, but it’s never mentioned that Dimitri is forcing anyone to fight against their will.

The fact that other characters are commenting on it means other characters are seeing and understanding what’s going on (which is more than a lot of players can say apparently, like the ones who blindly send hate to people who didn’t enjoy GW/SB lol). They recognize that everything Claude is doing is just shitty and shouldn’t be what they’re doing.

So... why do they keep fighting with him? Because... bad writing. That’s honestly it. Because they’re all forced, by the writing and route’s story, to keep fighting for Claude even though probably a good half of his camp doesn’t agree with his actions. Even though, if this were a better story even somewhat, and if Claude still did what he’s been doing here in this somewhat better story, the story would be made better by the disagreeing characters defecting to the Kingdom. Mind you, three background lords did try to defect to the Kingdom... and were promptly shut down from defecting.

If this were a good story, Claude wouldn’t have had his morals flipped on their head. If this were a decentish story, Claude would have lost a good chunk of his allies who defected after being fed up with his behavior and decisions. If this were a bad and lazily written story, it would look like it does.

ALSO I ran out of tags to explain my last point BUT

the irony of all this is that when he killed Shahid, he was trying not to cry and got drunk over it. This guy who had been trying to kill him and would’ve done so without batting an eye (and probably would’ve told everyone and bragged about it), this guy who has been presumably among his siblings trying to kill him his entire life, and this is who he feels guilty about killing. Then he goes marching to Faerghus, invades them and says he just wants to talk while forcing one of their royal knights to surrender or die.

Apparently Claude would rather feel sad about the brother of his that tried to murder him than the innocent people who never wronged him.

#Three Hopes #Three Hopes Spoilers #and the thing is it's hard for Claude fans to stomach this in general like #this isn't dominantly Claude haters who hate GW. it's people who love Claude who don't like the story #it's people who loved the guy they knew in Houses being like wtf is this writing #why is Claude so different when Dimitri and Edelgard aren't different #Dimitri is just the same as he'd be post Gronder in AM but a bit younger and with more supportive friends #and didn't have to be on the run for five years all by himself with a super bad mental illness #like... it's the same Dimitri at his core. Edelgard is the same person at her core and she strives for the same goals #Claude has some personality alterations that make sense in that he didn't attend school for the whole year #so his friendships weren't formed the same way and he spent less time with Dimitri to get to know him #so when he says ''I still have no idea what's going on in Dimitri's head'' that's a 180 contrast from AM Claude #who Byleth can point out Claude knows/understands very well #so yeah his general uncertainty about people he didn't know as well makes sense #but changing his morality and his views on war and bloodshed and how far he's willing to go isn't the same #Claude would take any available means to resolve something peacefully. if this were happening with Houses Claude #he would have sent a letter to Dimitri asking to meet with him to talk first so they could figure things out #because WHAT DO YOU KNOW in the secret chapter when they talk it proves that's all he even needed to do to get some answers #it just makes Claude look dumb despite Houses pointing out that he's very intelligent and the opposite of a typical #person raised in Almyra because they're similar to Faerghus in that they value strength #Claude isn't super powerful and instead has a good head on his shoulders which makes him feel even more different and an outsider in Almyra #GW Claude is just swept along and molded to fit the story as needed and not allowed to be his own character properly #even though VW and SS were practically the same thing Claude was still Claude you know? #this just feels like they didn't know what to do with Claude bc they wanted to try something new with him #like since they didn't get to utilize a less casual/relaxed Claude in Houses they did it in Hopes #they didn't get to make him as cynical as they wanted to... and so they did it in Hopes. they just... went overboard and didn't do it right? #bc I can easily see Claude being more cynical and stuff /to the right people and to his enemies/ #which would mean in a direct way Thales and co and the Empire/Edelgard. not Faerghus just minding their business #As a Lorenz fan I ate like a god in this route. As a Claude fan... I lost about 180 years on my life from his 180!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#the more i learn about the history of life. the more alien it seems to me #thats how i want to start my letter of intent #but i dont remember how im supposed to write one. ur supposed to talk about all ur qualifications. i think. y ur the right person for the #position. but i dont want to do that. i just want to chase down the words to make the ideas in my head make sense #bc its true. life to me has become increasingly alien. and i mean that in only the best of ways. #astrobiology has always been my focus but im not quite sure its an accurate descriptor anymore #i mean. it is the way i understand it. for understanding life we have a sample size of 1. we have to start here #until we find something else. so i want to study and understand the life on this planet. how it came to be. how its changed. whats pushing #those changes. but thats not what people think when they hear astrobiology. nobody else seems to get it #like the way i see plants has completely changed. a plant is a very strange thing. it is a body with many cells reaching up to capture #light from a far off star. making sugar from starlight. and plants have a history having been something soft bodied. green goo #but they developed structure. they consumed another small gooey body and crept across the barren surface of the early earth #a biome is dicated by the plant life in a given location. plants have helped to sculpture the ecology of the world #making a landscape of green hands reaching higher and high toward the light #its weird. alien. and i never thought about that before. there r so many things i want to know. im streched in a million directions. i want #to read papers but i cant hold the words long enough to make them make sense. i want to listen to people talk about life but i know they #generalize. they miss the finer details. i want narratives and poetry. i want stories that make me think about the world differently. but i #want to listen to the same things over and over and over until ive felt out every detail and every contour of why its wonderful. until i #understand. but i can only occupy one place at a time. so ive been laying here for 3 hours. thinking about all the things i want to do and #not doing any of them. but its not all terrible bc at least i have things i want to do. and the way i feel abt these things is so different #from how i feel abt what im paid to do. my interests have diverged too much. im not having fun there anymore. i havent been for a while. #all my good will burned away and now theres nothing but the guilt of no longer being invested. but i only have to be here until the end of #spring. so not much longer. and then ill b somwhere else. doing something more interesting. hopefully #that's all. i just put too much pressure on things and then i cant do anything bc im crushing myself #hm i should stop that #unrelated #lol welcome to my blog where i draw ninjas while being unironically haunted by the mysteries of life in the universe

[sukunasun]

hElp i haven't been able to stop thinking about how breedable nanami kento looks since about may 2021..any advice??? pls dont enable me - or do. I'm at his/your mercy (also i feel like im gonna regret sending this ask in but oh wellllll)

this is how i know im getting old because i had to google what breedable meant haha...but yeah, we're in the same boat tbh, the man has that effect on everyone, no one can ever just leave the silent aloof types alone and ive never been more desperate to figure him out...tbh i've been putting him off, we're in the middle of a break up right now in the kitchen, it's silent except for the bubbling stew and his back is turned to me...

he's just so infuriating, i can't make him love in a way he doesn't know how to, i can't change him, and as a writer sometimes im unable to find that missing piece, what exactly does it mean to be loved by him, how would i know when im not used to his version of affection, maybe i don't care about acts of service or telltale signs im forced to pick out of his ever impassive face..

..sometimes of course majority=validity in fandom so now nanami has become husbando material but would actually Suck as a husband in my opinion, and no, he isn't perfect, not in my eyes, and we can dream and we can write him in all the ways he could be but i'd prefer to bring him closer to the light; that even a man who would choose to stay in the shadows can't escape the scrutiny and the scalpel of a surgeon like me, wanting to peel him open just to see what goes on in there, never touching or moving his pain around, tied up in knots, seeping into the crevices of his heart, rather than to fix him or heal him, i'd sew him back up with everything still intact, as if my job was to give him a diagnosis, tell him all the ways he's perfectly healthy except for all that repression and grief he's holding onto—"you should talk to someone," i say, "opening up isn't going to hurt you," forgetting that he's placed that privilege into my hands, the same hands that pulls the bandage up and over the scars...all i do is hurt him and make him suffer lmao... i can't remember the last time i gave him a happy ending and i feel bad (im sorry nanami, you deserve a writer who could give you the words and the main character to help you through it) i would suggest thinking of him for his flaws and maybe that would bring him down to earth a little but then i realize it makes him more attractive? because he becomes real, ive done the analyzing and the overthinking and it's still not enough, i wish to know him more, to never assume, but don't take my advice tbh....go wild, love every version of him, whether he's a househusband, competent nerd who uses microsoft excel like a pro, a gentleman who bakes bread and makes the best bentos, a father figure or a simp who chases after the cute, bubbly girls, a corruption kink, a praise kink, a breeding kink, however he's presented—lust for him, for the body that's built like a tree, thighs that could crush yet, he's so gentle when he places you in between them, straddling or mounting whichever you prefer, his weight atop you like tons of water, and just...burrow deeper, take him as he is, ride the wave or sink below it, if anything—love him, nanami is meant to be loved patiently, and without the need for it to be grandiose, extreme, radical, violent, no need for posession, obsession, or the world burning around him because he'd want to live and enjoy it's every texture and phenomenon with you, enjoying the still water and sun, the view of them meeting at the end of that horizon, reflected also in your eyes when he kisses you, tasting like release, like hope, and maybe then, it'll click, it'll make sense, what it's like to be at his mercy.

#why is this written like im his ex and im writing a letter to his new gf...idk anon pls take him from me and love him in ways i could not.. #i want to write about loving him and him loving me back but i dont know why he isnt enough sometimes... #'i want you to fight for me' is so hard to say #(quietly dodges the fact that i left his bday piece in the drafts ...) im sorry ... #but just like his tenacity for making good bread i try to be the same with the writing #^not true im actually very sloppy and i procrastinate too much nanami wouldnt be proud #who are you nanami...why do make me sigh heavily...why is it i see your face all the time...haunting me...forcing me to see you #ask #anon

[hecksupremechips]

Kinda homophobic that they gave Zach and Rebecca alternate deaths to account for the possessed Hannah route but they didn’t do the same for Marianne 🤨

#the klock keeps ticking #the letter #shhhh im aware why im fully aware alskla #but yo we were robbed can you IMAGINE #like ive gushed over the zach death scene with possessed hannah how sexy it fucking is when she like flirts with him in that cheeky way she #does and she talks about how pretty his eyes are before stealing them #id love to see the same with marianne like a scene where hannah is just like ‘i know you think about me in a filthy way’ #like how she does in the nightmares #and they do the homoerotic throat slitting scene and have gay sex #ahahaha anyways im totally ahahha. totally not thinking of a fic im gonna write