#the raw emotion... the heartache... the anger...

[gr-ogu]

“What I'm about to do, I do because I have to. Not because I want to.” Tom Holland as Arvin Russell in The Devil All The Time (2020)

[wistfulnightingale]

Loss & Safety & Taking Sides (Is it still Grief when you mask & swallow your tears?)

- A Bit of GO Philosophy with Real World Impacts -

[I began this ages ago, and was further inspired by this post and reblog that compelled me to get it neurosparkly, honest and finally out there.]

Is it still Grief even if you must swallow your tears?

Of course it is.

We know this. We feel it deeply.

It's human to compare. It's natural to feel drawn to take sides. It's understandable to make assumptions.

But that never guarantees that those feelings and assumptions are actually fact-based truths. We want them to be, because we don't mean to wrongly judge anyone. It gets complicated though...

When we get caught up in comparing Aziraphale and Crowley, in taking sides, Aziraphale inevitably loses. It seems too convincing, too obvious. Crowley grieves, we've seen it. Aziraphale doesn't. The fandom has spoken.

We saw Crowley weep once. When he lost Aziraphale in S1, he believed it was forever. His grief was heart-rending to witness, raw and exposed. There was an innocence in its openness. Heaven and hell were poised for battle, and the world was ending. There would never again be quiet time together in old bookshops drinking Châteauneuf-du-Pape, or laughing in fascinating little restaurants where they know you.

Crowley masks. Usually he hides his real emotions until finally it's only the anger that comes bursting out of him. But grief is powerful, and this time Crowley knew that no one was watching his movements anymore -- they were all too busy preparing to destroy each other. And if Someone was? Well, he just didn't care. He would only be risking himself this time. Aziraphale was already gone.

Grief can do that. Make you forget to care about your own well-being.

It gave Crowley a sort of freedom. Freedom to feel the heartbreak. To weep as long and as deeply as his heartbreak reached. That freedom carried forward, so tears weren't so far away when he needed them.

When the Metatron forced Aziraphale and Crowley apart in his deadly chess game, Aziraphale didn't cry. He came close -- his voice cracked as he begged Crowley, his eyes filled with tears as his best friend, his beloved, left. But Aziraphale didn't weep. Not a single tear escaped. He quickly blinked them back. Why?

In our hearts, our intuition, we know why. But when Crowley's grief is often so visible, so easy to empathize with, it can be very difficult to stop ourselves from taking sides.

Our own memories and heartaches rise in empathy -- it's both gift and curse.

Some feel angry, believing that Aziraphale abandoned his beloved to improve his own life with a promotion. Some wonder if he simply does not feel loss as deeply as Crowley. Is it somehow easier for him to let it go and walk away? Like how people have hurt us by walking away?

We've all seen these ideas proposed and argued. And in the trailer, we can finally see that these were not true. Look at Aziraphale's eyes. Bleak. Defeated. Filled with quiet despair and loss...

(Gratitude to @depraveddame for the brilliantly heartwrenching gif - my new favorite!)

The burdens we each carry can make it easier for us to believe negative assumptions, even when it means ignoring the proofs we've seen over and over of their devotion to each other. To forget that Aziraphale literally was willing to face eternal imprisonment in hell to save Crowley.

Why do we compare and measure and quantify their visible signs of grief, when the two situations -- Crowley's loss, and Aziraphale's leaving -- were so entirely different...?

Aziraphale wasn't safe to grieve. Crowley wouldn't be safe if he did. The Metatron was literally watching and listening, and about to return. Aziraphale stuffed down his emotions and put on his Mask. Just as he'd done since Before the Beginning, just as he'd been trained by heaven's cruelty to do... He'd used to do it to protect himself. For quite a long time now, he's been doing it to protect Crowley too.

He has to stuff it down. It's part of why he's leaving, after all. He will always, Always protect Crowley. Whatever it costs.

*****

Crowley and Aziraphale are so relatable and beloved because they connect with all of us. Their experiences and emotions are so very, very human. And almost all humans have hidden behind emotional masks at one time or another. Masks help us feel safe.

Some of us have hidden -- or still hide -- more than others, for many reasons. From trauma, from neurodivergence, from living in a dangerous space, from living without acceptance, from being trained to emotionally repress and internalize... And you craft a mask.

I know that mask. I spent most of my life unidentified autistic. One of the "labels" for that is literally high-masking. I was generally seen as pretty emotionally open, empathetic and "sweet" and fun. But few people realized how shy I felt, or the chronic anxiety I was drowning in. And almost no one ever saw me cry. I heard their questions, overheard their assumptions, sensed their judgments, deeply felt their rejections. At best, people often assumed I was far more easygoing than I actually am. At worst (and not uncommonly), some assumed I was distant, or playing headgames, or a dozen other negative things it would hurt too much to write here.

It's why I relate so much to Azi. He's obviously a very emotional being, yet he still hides so much behind his mask. That makes him confusing to a lot of folks.

People like Crowley are easier. Crowley is extremely skilled at masking, but he's grown into someone who only masks by choice, when necessary, when danger is afoot. Throughout both S1 and S2, he is often emotionally open and vulnerable, especially with his Angel. It's sweet and relatable and comfortable. Easy.

Aziraphale, especially as we first got to know him in S1, is complicated. We see him peek out, genuine and real, then duck back in again.

He's afraid of heaven (with absolutely good reason, tbf!), he's afraid of his own anger, he's afraid to communicate openly...

There's so much in S1 that he messes up. Miscommunications and misunderstandings, over and over again, so often that we might miss the subplot. Azi overcoming his automatic need to hide himself, at least with Crowley, is actually Aziraphale's character arc in S1. We see him grow, see more genuine moments -- usually intellect-centered moments, or silly, playful ones.

He starts to believe in himself and trusts his own courage. Just before this gorgeous and genuine interaction, Aziraphale was planning to intercept Hell's most vicious and hell-i-est hellhound!

Our angel's character arc was resolved perhaps a little too subtly in E6 when he lets go of restraints and takes Crowley's hand on the bus -- it's the moment we can't quite see, but were assured of later! That resolution propels his actions in the final conflict. After that moment, the Azi we see is quite brave. Whether he's protecting Crowley in hell and asking Michael for a towel, deciding that Jimbriel needs their protection in S2E1, or letting Crowley know how hurt he was so that they can resolve their Jimbriel-induced quarrel, Aziraphale isn't living in fear anymore.

It's a large part of why they look like an Old Married Couple in S2, relaxed and natural with each other. It's because they are.

Azi is finally at ease with himself and his own intensity. Heaven is still dangerous, hell may still be lurking, but our Angel isn't afraid of his own emotions anymore. He's allowed himself to feel totally safe with Crowley.

From a narrative perspective, that aspect of his character arc is complete. He still struggles with managing anxiety, he still doesn't express every emotion smoothly under pressure or during conflict, but that's so very human too, isn't it? We continue to grow.

And when we have to sacrifice, to leave what and whom we love most, we most definitely Grieve.

*****

Our Ineffables are sometimes mirrors of ourselves more than we realize. It's why we love them so much.

What everyone behind a mask wishes for is to feel safe enough to finally come out. I was finally able to. Even if sometimes, like Azi, I still decide I need my mask once in a while, when the world isn't quite safe enough.

Let's all help make it a little safer for each other. 💖

To Our World! 🥂✨

*****

(This musing was partially inspired by @shohji666 's Ineffably beautiful drawing, seen here!)

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi, my lovelies. I’m not sure why this is labelled as ‘mature’ content. There’s nothing explicit or anything in it. I have requested a review for it so we shall see. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed.

Toxic (18+)

Leah Williamson x Reader

Description: You and Leah are in a toxic cycle.

TW: Toxic situationship. No outward sex but certainly alluding too it. Bad relationship in general. Leah’s a bitch ngl

The room smelled like sex. Pillows thrown haphazardly on the floor. The duvet crumpled up in a pile at the end of the bed. One corner of the sheet had come loose. 

Your memories bounced around your mind. Warmth above you. Cold beneath. Lips against your skin. Fire coursing through your veins. Salty sweet tang on your tongue. A symphony of echoes just for you. Laughter. Joy. Sweetness. 

Was it love? Or just lust? You never were very good at telling those 2 apart. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Not like this. 

Not again. 

You weren’t supposed to read her text. You weren’t supposed to reply. You weren’t supposed to open the door or invite her inside. You weren’t supposed to let her kiss you. You weren’t supposed to bring her upstairs.

The last time you had done what you weren’t supposed to do was messy and painful. 

The time before that was raw and complicated.

The time before that was chaotic and disastrous. 

The time before that you had told yourself it would be the last. 

You had promised yourself more. To break the cycle. To stop the heartache. To stop it all. You weren’t going to be one of those cliches. You had promised you weren’t going to be the person that could never get over their ex-that-wasn’t-really-an-ex.

Evidently, you weren’t very good at keeping your promises. 

But how could you not? Not when she looked at you with those bright blue eyes and crinkle in her brow. The signature frown. Words perfectly crafted to draw you in. Quick, soft, slow, harsh. Push and pull. Give and take. A sandstorm of emotions. A whirlwind of feelings. 

How could you ever resist?

It was typical really. Once, the world was bright, colourful, happy. You had her and she had you. But like a match, you had fizzled and burned all too quickly. A sudden, intense flash only to be left smoking moments later. 

You could’ve blamed the alcohol. But you weren’t even tipsy. You hadn’t even finished three sips before she kissed you. 

You could’ve blamed the lack of others. Someone who was actually looking your way. Someone who wanted you. Even for a minute. Even for just a heartbeat. 

You could’ve blamed your friends. For not forcing you to block her. For not demanding you delete her number and delete the photos. 

You could’ve blamed a lot of things. But you didn’t. 

You should have felt guilty. You should have felt anger. At her. At the world. At yourself. You should have felt pain. Loss. Heartbreak. But you didn’t. 

Not when the taste of her was still on your lips or the scent of her perfume lingering on your pillow. 

“That was fun.” Her voice was smooth and silky. Like a river of liquid gold. Her jeans were already back on, shirt in her hands. Looking like that stupid magazine shoot. That stupid magazine shoot you had spent far too long looking at. 

You didn’t dignify her with a response. She was standing there smirking. Looking effortlessly good. Like this had meant nothing to her. Like you meant nothing. 

“The girls were asking about you.” Lies. You knew no one was checking on you. They had your number. They could’ve checked. 

“It be nice to see you at the game on Saturday…” Would it? Despite your best efforts, your heart started to lift. Maybe this time would be better? Different? 

“…Maybe we could do something after.” Like a rollercoaster, your heart plummeted. What goes up, must always come down … right? 

“And do what?” You asked, voice full of fake un-interest. 

She just shrugged. Casual. Nonchalant. “Whatever you like. You could come back to mine.” 

And there it was. The invitation. The carrot dangling in front of you. 

You looked at her. She looked at you. Sizing you up. Testing you out. Who would blink first? 

You shouldn’t. Not again. 

“I can’t make the match. But I’ll be around to yours for 7.” 

“Great.” She licked her lips, a slow smile dancing on her features. “I best be off then.” 

You tried not to watch as she shrugged on a hoodie. The big warm one she left once. It smelled like her. You would know. You wore it a few times. And maybe hand you hand curled around it during those long sleepless nights when all your thoughts were of her.

“Bye, Leah.” You said quietly as the front door clicked shut. 

She didn’t even bother saying goodbye. 

——

Leah hated herself. She hated herself for leaving. For texting you. For continuing the cycle. For letting you go on the first place.

You were good. You were everything right in the world. Kind and honest. Sweet and caring. Perfect in every way imaginable. 

And she wasn’t. 

She was the stereotype. The playboy. The one-night-stand. The lesbian with commitment issues. Scorned by an ex so the walls went up in self-defence. 

You were the light and she was the darkness. The angel and the devil. The good and the bad. 

But who doesn’t love a little grey. 

You were on Leah’s mind constantly. When she woke up. When she was getting ready. When she was training. When she was on top of someone else. When she was supposed to be sleeping. Hell, she was even thinking about you in her dreams. 

Reminiscing on those magical moments. That night in the bar when she first saw you. The cup of coffee you sat on her bedside table before you slipped out unnoticed by her neighbours. The message you sent on Instagram. The second date. The third. The fourth. 

The shouting. The tears. The silence. 

The terror. 

This wasn’t Leah. She didn’t do this. She had done it once and been badly burned. She was the burner now.

But she couldn’t deny the facts. 

She felt her heart flutter when she was the three dots appear under her text. 

She felt the butterflies as she walked up to your flat. 

She felt the warmth tingle as her lips met yours. 

No. She couldn’t. Not again. Never again. 

Leah was half way across London by now. Her body taking her there before her mind caught up with it. She was dialling the number without realising. She was waiting for the answer without knowing what she was doing. 

She just needed to forget. 

Even just for a few precious moments. 

“Hey Leah,” 

“Hi, Elle.” 

[shy9-29]

── just the two of us, moonstruck ☾ (l.hs)

๑ After Heeseung finally breaks off his manipulative relationship, he storms out of the house late at night without an umbrella as it’s pouring rain, then running into you. He’s never been happier after he experiences what real love is with you.

a/n: this is actually so sad but I hope you enjoy it! Heeseung’s ex goes by the name Karina | wc: 2.6k | warning: not proofread! toxic relationship, angst, manipulation, minor flirting | song: moonstruck - enhypen 🎵

—

"Break up with me?!"

Karina sneered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her gaze bore into Heeseung, her words laced with anger.

The raw intensity of her expression conveyed the depth of her pain, begging him to reconsider.

“Why are you even acting surprised? You knew this was coming.” Heeseung’s response was cold and void of any sympathy. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t expect it.”

Karina's eyes widened, frustration etched on her face as she spoke, “All I did was treat you well like the loving girlfriend I am!”

Her voice wavered with hurt, her arms crossing defensively in front of her chest.

The accusation stung, her resentment evident as she tried to convey the effort she had put into their relationship.

“Loving girlfriend? You call manipulating me, constantly gaslighting me, and never giving me space ‘loving?’” his voice rising with each word.

“You were trying too hard to be ‘loving.’ I felt suffocated and trapped.” Heeseung’s voice grew more forceful. “It was like you were constantly hovering over me, trying to control every aspect of my life. I couldn’t breathe!”

Karina's lower lip trembled, her face flushed with anger.

"Is that all I did?!" Her voice escalated in volume. "I just wanted to be close to you! Is that a crime!?"

Heeseung furrowed his brow, his frustration evident.

"It was more than that," he retorted. "You smothered me. You didn't trust me. You made me question every interaction, every decision. You controlled everything. It was like I lost myself in the relationship."

As Karina was about to speak, Heeseung interrupted, his voice firm, "We're over, Karina."

The finality in his tone left no room for negotiation, the harsh reality hitting Karina like a wave as Heeseung stormed out of her apartment.

It was pouring rain as Heeseung stepped outside without an umbrella. His shoes splashed in the puddles, his face drenched as he walked away, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, the rain a fittingly melancholic companion to his heartbreak.

Heeseung found himself drawn to the nearby river, the moon shining brightly overhead.

Lost in thought, he reached the riverbank and gazed at the water's surface, reflecting the celestial light.

The gentle lapping of the waves was soothing, but the pang of heartache was still ever-present.

It was well past midnight. The once bustling streets lay silent, the moon casting its silvery glow on the empty cobblestones.

Most of the city was asleep, except for the occasional insomniac or late-night worker.

The rain continued to shower down, creating a melancholic atmosphere as Heeseung stood there, soaking wet, his gaze fixed on the shimmering river.

The silence was broken only by the soft sounds of raindrops hitting the water's surface and the occasional distant sound of a passing car.

It was as if the world had come to a pause for Heeseung, his emotions swirling like the eddies in the river.

Heeseung took a deep, shaky breath as a rush of emotions washed over him. It was like the rain was washing away the remnants of his relationship, leaving behind only the memory of the moon's ethereal beauty and the cold, comforting presence of the night.

Heeseung couldn't help but dwell on the moments leading up to the breakup, replaying the harsh words exchanged. The words he'd said to Karina haunted him, but deep down, he knew they were true. He needed space, freedom, a chance to rediscover himself without the stifling grip of a controlling partner.

As the rain continued to fall, Heeseung ran a hand through his wet hair, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering water. It was then that he noticed you standing silently behind him, quietly holding an umbrella over his head.

"You’re going to get sick if you keep standing in the rain, sir," you remarked, offering a friendly reminder to the man drenched in the pouring rain. Concern etched on your face, you chuckled lightly at the scene before you.

Heeseung startled, quickly turning around to see you standing there. A mixture of surprise and relief crossed his features as he recognized your kind gesture.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I got lost in thought..." he admitted sheepishly.

He took in your appearance for a moment, taking notice of your kind expression. There was something comforting about having someone show genuine concern.

Your concern grew as you stepped closer, shielding both of you from the rain with your umbrella. "Are you lost?" you inquired softly, your gaze filled with genuine concern.

Heeseung shook his head in response, his eyes meeting yours.

"No, not lost...just trying to clear my head," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

His drenched hair clung to his forehead as he ran a hand through it again, trying to regain his composure.

With you standing close, Heeseung felt a strange sense of comfort, despite the circumstances. The umbrella provided a welcome shelter and the act of sharing it with a stranger was oddly comforting.

His mind was still swirling with the events leading up to this moment, but the presence of someone caring enough to stand in the rain with him made his heart feel a little less heavy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked as the words slipped from your lips. The tilt of your head indicated your genuine interest, an invitation to share what burdened him.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering with contemplation. The weight of everything he'd been through felt raw and vulnerable.

"It's just...my relationship. It ended tonight," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with the lingering pain of the breakup.

You nodded understandingly, your heart going out to him.

"Breakups are tough," you responded, your voice soft and compassionate. "But sometimes, they lead us to better things."

You could see the heaviness in his expression, the way his shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of his heartache.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" you asked with a hint of concern.

Heeseung shook his head, his gaze remaining fixed on the water.

"No, not really. I don't really feel like going back to my apartment right now."

There was a trace of sadness in his voice, as if he knew he should go back, but the thought of being alone in his empty, silence-filled home didn't appeal to him at all.

You studied his face for a moment, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, and the rain running down his face. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that tugged at your heartstrings.

"Would you like to come to mine? Just for the night," you suddenly offered, surprising yourself as much as him.

Heeseung's eyes widened in surprise, clearly taken aback by your unexpected invitation. He looked at you, disbelief and a hint of gratitude etched across his face.

"Really?" he asked, his voice soft. The rain continued to fall, the sound of droplets hitting the umbrella growing louder.

You nodded, a reassuring smile on your lips.

"Yeah, really. I have a spare room at my place. You can stay there tonight. Beats being out here in the rain."

Heeseung seemed both grateful and hesitant, the weight of his emotions still heavy in his eyes.

"I...I don't want to be a bother," he muttered, clearly torn between accepting your offer and not wanting to impose on you.

You shook your head, your smile gentle and understanding.

"You won't be a bother. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it." You moved closer, the umbrella sheltering both of you from the relentless rain. "Come on, it's pouring. You're already soaked."

Heeseung looked at you for a moment, seemingly weighing the proposition. When he finally nodded, it was with a mixture of relief and appreciation.

"Okay. I'll come with you," he said, his voice still tinged with the raw remnants of the night's heartbreak.

With that, you both braved the rain, walking to your apartment. The rhythmic tapping of the rain on the umbrella accompanied your steps, the darkness surrounding you only occasionally broken by streetlights along the way.

Heeseung followed silently next to you, the weight of his emotions still heavy on his shoulders. He found comfort in your presence, though, a stranger who had shown such kindness to him in a moment of vulnerability.

"What's your name, sir?" You asked, breaking the silence with a gentle question. The rhythmic sound of your footsteps hitting the rain-soaked puddles echoed in the air.

Heeseung turned to look at you, realizing he hadn't introduced himself. He gave you a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Oh, right. I'm Heeseung. And just call me by my name, please. The 'sir' thing makes me feel old."

A soft laugh escaped your lips, his remark putting you at ease.

"Alright, Heeseung it is," you responded, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue comfortably.

Heeseung looked at you, curiousity in his eyes.

"And what's your name?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know the name of the person who saved him from standing in the rain.

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your heart that he cared to ask.

"I'm Yn," you introduced, the simplicity of your name contrasting with the depth of your actions.

"Yn," Heeseung repeated, the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue with a gentle lilt.

He found comfort in the way it sounded, like a soft melody that made his heart feel a little less heavy.

The rain continued to fall around you both as you reached your apartment building. Heeseung followed you into the lobby, feeling a mix of gratitude and relief at the thought of being out of the rain and surrounded by warmth.

You pulled out your keys, unlocking the door to your apartment and ushering Heeseung inside. The warmth of the apartment immediately enveloped them, offering a stark contrast to the cold, damp exterior.

Heeseung walked in, feeling the transition from the rainy atmosphere outside to the comforting shelter inside. He looked around the apartment, noticing the cozy, homey vibe, and he found himself relaxing a bit.

You gestured towards a door down the hallway. "You can hang your jacket in there." You pointed to the door next to it. "The bathroom's there. I'll get you a dry change of clean clothes that my older brother left behind. Make yourself at home, alright?"

Heeseung nodded, grateful for your hospitality.

"Thank you so much, Yn. I really appreciate this," he said heartfelt, his voice sincere.

He followed your directions, hanging up his damp jacket and taking off his shoes before heading into the bathroom.

As you headed to the bedroom to find something dry for Heeseung to wear, Heeseung entered the bathroom, the sound of the rain outside providing a calming white noise.

The warm glow from the bathroom light created a soothing atmosphere as he stepped inside. He turned on the shower and began washing the cold rain off, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over him.

He let the warm water run down his body, the sound of the shower mixing with his own thoughts.

He found himself reflecting on the events of the evening, the breakup, the rain, and your sudden presence in his life.

Heeseung stayed in the shower for a bit longer than usual, finding comfort in the warmth and solitude.

When he finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist, he felt refreshed and a little more calm.

Heeseung walked out of the bathroom, finding a fresh set of clothes laid out for him. He quickly changed into them, appreciating the simple gesture more than you could possibly know.

The clothes felt soft against his skin, the scent of fabric softener a comforting whiff of familiarity. Heeseung ran a hand through his damp hair and stepped out of the room, feeling a bit more at ease now.

As he re-entered the main living area, he saw you making hot tea. You glanced over your shoulder and smiled, seeing that he looked much more comfortable in the dry clothes.

"I hope those clothes fit okay," you stated, a hint of concern in your voice.

"And I made some tea. Chamomile, to help you relax," you said as you offered a teacup to him.

You urged gently, your words tinged with concern, "After you drink this, you should go to sleep. It's almost 2 AM."

The late hour and the worry in your words conveyed your genuine concern for his well-being.

Heeseung looked at you, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in his eyes.

"You're right," he admitted, taking the teacup from you. The warmth of the cup felt pleasant against his cold hands.

"I don't think I could stay awake for much longer anyway," he said, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

Heeseung, feeling the weight of exhaustion, takes a sip of the chamomile tea you had made for him.

The warmth of the cup and the soothing fragrance of the tea comforted him, and he set it down on the table.

"Thank you," he said with gratitude, his voice sincere and heartfelt. "For everything. Letting me stay over, providing me with dry clothes... You've been incredibly kind, Yn."

You chuckled lightly, revealing the soft spot in your heart. "I guess I just have a soft spot for cute lonely souls who happen to be soaked by the rain past midnight," you teased, observing him delicately as he sipped his tea.

A hint of color rose to Heeseung's cheeks as he realized your teasing remark. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, not used to such unexpected compliments.

"I guess that means I'm the luckiest, then," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness.

The warmth of the apartment, the comfort of the clothes you had provided, and the soothing tea in his hand made him feel at ease.

Despite the emotional turmoil of the night, there was a sense of peace settling in his heart, thanks to your compassionate presence.

His voice grew solemn, gratitude evident as he spoke, "But really—thank you, y/n. I felt something I haven’t felt from a long time, and I think you’re a really good person…" The weight of his words hung in the air, his genuine appreciation for you becoming apparent.

You felt your heart warm, a mix of emotions welling up within you.

"You don't have to thank me," you responded softly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I'm just glad I was there to help you when you needed it."

There was a moment of silent understanding between you both, the weight of his words settling in.

The late hour, the weary exhaustion, and the vulnerability of the situation created a fragile connection, an invisible bond that seemed to grow stronger the longer you shared this quiet moment.

As the silence between you two stretched on, Heeseung broke it with a question that hinted at his growing curiosity about you.

"To be honest, I don't really want our night to end here," he confessed, his voice quiet but sincere.

"I know we just met, but I'd really like to get to know you better."

The vulnerability in his voice echoed in the room. Heeseung had been through an emotional rollercoaster of a night, and in this moment of vulnerability and weary exhaustion, he was opening up to you, a stranger who had shown him nothing but kindness.

The desire for connection, for something beyond the shared moment of late-night solace, was evident in his words.

Heeseung hoped that you wouldn't dismiss his invitation, that you would give him a chance to learn more about you.

You met his gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"I'd like that, Heeseung," you responded, your voice carrying a note of warm honesty.

"I don't mind getting to know you better either."

thx for reading

[emmabirb8]

I've been thinking about this for days now and man, Stanley Pines had a raw fucking deal.

He was doomed for a life of turmoil from the start. Not only did he suffer emotional (and implied physical) abuse from his father from childhood, he was kicked out of his own home at 17 for a legitimate mistake that he never intended to affect his brother's future. He struggled on the streets for ten years feeling like he'd lost his best friend when he and Ford stopped talking during that time, AND THEN received a metaphorical slap in the face when he found out that Ford did not in fact call him out to Gravity Falls to reconcile -- he only wanted a way to protect his research.

THEN, after rightfully getting his feelings hurt and reacting in anger to Ford making clear what his intentions really were, he lost his brother, the one person he'd felt closest to throughout his life, through the portal. He was left with only a third of the required information to reactivate the portal just for the chance to get Ford back -- it was never guaranteed that Ford would even be alive, let alone be able to be located and returned to his home dimension.

But Stanley fucking Pines is no quitter. He stayed focused and worked his ass off learning concepts he had absolutely no education or experience in, all the while blaming himself and hating himself and pushing through the worst kind of heartache every goddamn day for 30 years for that chance. (And honestly, God bless Mabel for betting it all on her Grunkle and allowing him that chance when the time finally came.) And it fucking worked. Just like that, he got his brother back. All that hard work and grief was worth it.

And then he was greeted with an angry outburst and a punch to the face.

This man went through hell and back for his brother, and he was met with a knee-jerk reaction and confirmation that Stanford still seemingly resented him for his past mistakes. Like, I understand Ford's perspective and where he was coming from at the time, but damn it, Stan did NOT deserve that.

He didn't end up getting a proper hug from his brother either until after Bill had been defeated, and by that time, he didn't even know who Stanford was because, once again, he sacrificed everything to save his family. (He was under the impression that his memories would be lost forever and STILL chose to do it).

I am positively beside myself over this man. And this doesn't even touch on the things he did for people outside his family. (Like, he could have easily holed himself up in the shack alone during Weirdmaggedon, but instead, he took in anyone who needed shelter, offered his food supply, and provided a safe place, I'M SORRY BUT FORD WOULD NEVERRRR)

Stanley Pines deserved better. Stanley Pines deserves the whole entire WORLD. He has the biggest heart out of ANYONE and Ford is damn lucky to have him as his brother.

STANLEY PINES MY BELOVED AAAAOOOOOUUUUGGHHHHH

[ambiguous-avery]

When It Refused To Rain

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 917

Summary: The sky wouldn’t cry and neither would Dean. That was the deal Dean made with himself after everything. After losing Bobby. But when you’re hurt on a hunt, the weight of what he almost lost hits harder than what’s already gone.

Tags/Warnings: Dealing with grief, poor coping mechanisms, hurt/comfort, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: My submission for @impala-dreamer’s Through His Eyes challenge! My prompt was the title "When It Refused To Rain." I’m so awful with summaries, my apologies, and I was a dumb-dumb and didn’t realize this challenge had a deadline, so this is me hastily putting my idea together.

The sky had been threatening to rain for three damn days. The entire duration of the last case. Every time he glanced out the window, Dean expected to see it. Heavy raindrops breaking on the window. Dark clouds opening up and drenching the earth. But instead, they just lingered. Grey and swollen and looming over everything like a loaded gun just waiting to go off. 

Just like him.

You were stretched out on the couch behind him, breaths shallow and eyes screwed shut in a perpetual grimace. The blood – your blood – had been washed down the drain hours ago, but he still felt like he could feel it. Could feel the way it pooled in the creases of his hands and clung to his skin no matter how many times he scrubbed them.

You shouldn’t have gone in alone, but that's beside the point. The point was that you almost didn’t make it back out.

And he couldn’t bear to lose you. Not you, too.

“You gonna keep staring out the window all night?” you asked, your voice soft and raw.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Not when he was hanging on by a breath. Instead, he brought the bottle to his lips, the whiskey burning its way down his throat and falling into the abyss inside him where his panic lived. If he turned around, if he faced you, he knew he would break.

“You could keep me company. Or... just say something. Anything.”

He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face like the motion alone would be enough to calm every emotion running through him. His hand settled onto the windowsill, grounding him.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone,” he finally managed, grinding his teeth together as he carefully tucked everything away. He would be fine. He was always fine.

“I had to. That thing was about to kill–”

“You could’ve died!” His words came out too sharp. Too loud. Too angry. He turned to look at you just in time to catch the shock in your expression. You blinked, taken aback, then blinked again as if holding back tears.

And God that nearly undid him.

You shifted slightly, grimacing as you moved to sit up.

“I didn’t, though. I’m still right here.”

Yeah. Barely. And he wasn’t sure what he would do if you weren’t. Dean finally stepped away from the window and sank down onto the floor next to the couch, his back to you. The whiskey sloshed around in the bottle, and the glass clinked against the floor. He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t look at you.

“I keep waiting for it to rain,” he murmured after a long pause. You made a soft noise of acknowledgement. “Feels like it should, right? Like the sky’s about to let loose. It has to.” You remained silent, just listening to him. You’re so good at that. Listening to him and hearing him ramble about the things he can’t always find the words for. “I thought when it finally did, I would feel like I could breathe again. Like maybe the world was mourning him too.”

He turned to look at you finally.

“Cause then maybe I could too.”

The look you gave him said everything. Gentle. Hurt. Loving. He didn’t deserve that look. Not after everything he’s put you through. All the yelling and arguing and stubbornness. He deserved your anger. Your wrath. The moment when you decided that he wasn’t worth all the heartache. But you still gave him that look. The one that said he was everything in the world you had ever wanted.

You reached a hand out to him, your fingers gently brushing along the shoulder of his jacket, and he covered your hand with his. You were warm. You were always warm. And you always shared that warmth with him.

“You don’t have to wait for the rain, Dean.” Your voice was quiet but steady, grounding him like a rock in the hurricane that was his grief. “You can let go if you need to.”

He squeezed your hand, harder than he meant to, but you didn't pull away. You never did.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, the words scraping his throat raw. "Not after–" He couldn't finish. Couldn't say his name.

The silence stretched between you, filled with all the things he couldn't say. All the grief he couldn't let himself feel because if he started, he might never stop.

"Come here," you murmured, tugging at his hand.

Dean hesitated, then shifted to face you fully. His eyes stung. His throat constricted. He didn’t let the tears fall, but he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours like he was hanging on a precipice and you were the only thing keeping him from falling.

The kiss happened before he could stop it. Soft at first, like an apology, then deeper, more urgent. Like everything he had been holding back was rushing out of him all at once.

And you’re kissing him as if he meant the world. As if you truly wanted him. As if his fractures weren’t the kind that people would run from. Dean had never been good with emotions. His expertise was in slamming doors and burning corpses. But here you were, quivering against him, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his flannel like he was your anchor instead of the other way around.

Outside, the sky never shattered. The storm never broke.

But something inside of him did.

---

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[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

there's a translated scrap of plato that eventually found its way into a letter sent by emily dickinson: "i wish you a kinder sea."

seascape scenes in k-dramas can often be so trite — but love next door's characterization was beautiful. seunghyo pitching seokryu into the water might seem like an act of anger — but it's actually liberation. it's a rebirth; a re-emergence — a place of salt that can settle her tears. water is renewal: a washing place for wounds. a tincture to clear away the bitter and broken; and allow the touch of tenderness.

though seokryu is scared of water; in the sea she is safe: the waves hold the weight of her hurt and desperation as she screams at seungyo. he knows what she needs — he has always known what she needs. he stands still — takes the tips of her fingers striking him as what it is — finally, a surrender to all the emotions she refused to succumb to. a clearing of the air. an opening into a freer intimacy.

there were so many beautiful moments during this episode: the power of a simple "we'll hit rock bottom together." seokryu's ex was heartbreakingly right — what she needed wasn't someone to lift her up, but someone to fall down with her. when someone is in pain you sit with them in the dark; and look up at the impossibility of light together.

this is what seungyo has always understood so effortlessly about seokryu — that this is love: to climb down into the ravine of regret and raw hurt where the person you love has fallen — not to pull them out; but give them company. when people are in agony you must give them the dignity of their deep hurt — you must nurture the narrow, serrated edges of their sorrow. seunghyo taking seokryu to see off her ex — folding his coat around her to create a private hollow to express her heartache: it speaks of a man who understands that grief is not meant to be overcome; but gathered in the hands and given respect. attention. understanding.

this is love: to say "when you cry, it is my eyes that fill with salt. when you scream, it is my throat that burns. when you fall down, it is my knees that bruise in the color of your eyes."

this is love: to wish someone a kinder sea. a clearer day. a warmer hug.

this is seunghyo.

[maddix-cxntral]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 .⭑꒷꒦

⭑.ᐟ_ title : my lungs consist of blue roses

─── ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ivan could feel his body deteriorating with each day becoming more difficult. he knew that he was going to die soon and, albeit selfishly or rashly, he wanted till to look at him one last time.

(high school au + hanahaki disease au)

─── ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

contains; angst, implied character death, mentions of blood, and implied non-con kissing.

─── ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

im not a top-tier writer in any shape or form, but here we are! nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <3

word count : 782

It has been so long since Ivan could breathe clearly. So long, in fact, he wonders if that time truly existed. A time, in which, he didn't harbor this vast love for Till.

Each day Ivan has to hunch over, blood and blue roses clawing up his throat and spewing from his lips in various clumps. Each day, hoping for this heaviness to go away and constantly being left to wonder if Till would ever love him back.

But then again, who could ever love someone like Ivan? More so, Till for that matter…

Blue roses; a symbol of the unattainable, mysterious, and impossible. A representation of a rare love that can also be perceived as something unique, profound, or unrequited.

Blue roses, what a fitting flower for someone like Ivan… 'So, fitting', Ivan couldn't help but think as his lungs burned; his senses overwhelmed as the wind whipped around him and rain pounded against his skin; and as Till looked up at him. 

Disgust. Confusion. Surprise. Resignation?

There were so many emotions he expressed that Ivan had yet to identify. Emotions always being an enigma he had yet to solve; but even though, he didn't understand them he knew they took part in his reckless decisions.

Similarly, to now.

Ivan had felt his body breaking down for awhile; his lungs filled to the brim with thorns, roots, and royal blue petals. All of which, ready to bloom and suffocate him to death. 

Ivan has long accepted his fate, ever since he first laid his eyes on Till's teal green irises. He doesn't know how he survived this long, or how he was able to hide it as well as he did; but he knew that his time has come.

Ivan didn't know why he followed Till outside of Anakt High. Nor, did Ivan know why he felt the need to kiss Till so abruptly; but, he did notice how his heart churned as soon as he felt Till shove him off.

Till's eyes lingered on Ivan; sporadic, as his hand lingered in the area around his lips. Though his face circulated with emotions, one dominated all the rest; one that Ivan was beyond familiar with.

Anger.

Till's breathing started to become quick and shallow, eyes fixed on Ivan through the soaked tresses of his light gray hair.

But that was what Ivan wanted, what he needed to feel like he mattered. To feel like he meant something to Till even if that was through hate or love. Ivan's heart yearned in regret more than sorrow. Enveloped by a searing pain more than the branches tearing him apart.

This tumultuous endeavor of chasing for love, one that abused him and left him in heartache was long and possibly insignificant. But as Ivan stared into teal green eyes, he wouldn't be anywhere else. Even though, Till didn't love him, he was glad to be able to love Till.

No matter how shallow or parasitic his love was he would experience this and every moment beforehand a thousand-times over.

Ivan clutched his throat as he collapsed to the ground. His knees hitting the wet pavement, throat scratchy and raw as he let out a wet cough. Blood splattered below as its crimson essence started to drip from his mouth.

"Ivan!"

He glanced up to see that any ounce of anger left his face, replaced by worry. Till reached out towards him, but was still cemented in place, as if hesitant to be any closer towards him.

Ivan hacked up more blood, his ears were ringing, as his hands started to feel clammy. He felt the branches creeping up his throat before vomiting a small puddle of reds and blues. With blurry eyes he looked down, witnessing a complete blue rose. Wobbly hands clutched the blood-soaked blossom to his chest. 

Till's voice was drowned out by the rain as Ivan started to feel more lightheaded. The branches were limiting his breathing as his lungs felt like they were going to burst. Black spots were sprouting in his vision, yet he still held the flower gently.

For the blooms that kills him, he cherishes. As they are symbolic of the relationship between him and Till, a reminder of what Ivan could never have. Looking up, Ivan could see the panic in Till's eyes as he yelled desperately; however, his words did not register. Their eyes met and Ivan couldn't help but smile; the motion being unnatural and awkward to enact. Even so, it didn't stop it from being genuine compared to the performative ones he uses among his peers.

As Ivan's lungs filled with blue roses he finally closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him.

─── ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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