Girl Who Is Going To Be Okay

GOSE EP. 93 - ROCK, SCISSORS, PAPER #1

jun and his emotional support kitten vs mingyu

pretty girls who stalk / defend / refuse to abandon their boyfriends >>>

ANNABETH CHASE from Percy Jackson & The Olympians (2023) MICHELLE JONES-WATSON from MCU's Spider-man (2017-2021)

I don’t like being told what to do but I like being told what to do

ot13 : april shower live clip

JUN (WEIBO LIVE) - 230517

the death of me

Thunderbolts* (2025) dir. Jake Schreier

The Salt

Had to write this because I am captivated by Sally Jackson and her lover (the Sea god). Please enjoy.

A man.

More than that.

A dream.

She’d been dreaming for weeks of the sea. Of waves, crashing against the cliffs with foam and spray. The salt that would linger on her skin, on her lips. How her hair would move, how her feet would tread in the sand.

But more than that.

Green eyes, the color of seawater when it rushes over the sand. Dark curly hair, tanned skin that she somehow knew. A presence, a knowing, a voice.

Find me.

It was lunacy, insanity. The fantasies of a college grad knee deep in debt, dreaming in her tiny Manhattan apartment, of the sea and a kiss that tasted like saltwater. But it was easy, so easy to scrape her money together, to push her yelling boyfriend aside, and just go. Go far, far away from the noise and the job and the debt.

The sea would wash everything away.

For hours, she sat in that cabin on the dunes, watching the sun get low, just thinking. The boyfriend. The arguments. The broken plate, her favorite blue plate, shattered on the floor. The blue and violet bruise on her ribs. She turned over her shoulder and gazed at the dusty mirror.

Wavy brown hair, a few white hairs here and there. Gray eyes, the color of thunderstorms. A white dress she’d bought at a tiny shop, embroidered in gold thread. She didn’t wear sandals, she wanted to feel the sand beneath her, to let the waves wash over her.

The sun made the sky a thousand shades, the clouds like splotches of paint on an indigo sky. The sand was soft beneath her, and she picked up her dress as the water lapped at her feet. Quiet. Calm. Her eyes closed, and she began to smile, soft and slow.

“The sea has a way of bringing things back to us.” A voice said, deep and gentle as the water beneath her.

She opened her eyes, and she saw a man. A dream.

He stood, knee deep in the surf, smiling at her. When he saw she was looking at him, his smile widened and she saw brilliant white teeth, the lines around his eyes creasing. She thought, blushing as she did, that he looked like something from the old movies she watched when she was younger.

The line of his jaw was terribly romantic. His nose was straight from the Greek busts she’d seen in her college textbooks. His eyes, a brilliant shade of sea-green, even from where she stood. His dark hair, messy and rather gorgeous. But it wasn’t just how he looked.

“What?” She managed.

He laughed, a rich sound that made her consider collapsing into the ocean and never coming up again. “You’re smiling.” He said, “Smiling in a way that only the sea can bring out of people.”

She smiled back at him, “Oh? And you know the sea?”

He grinned in a way that seemed he had a secret, “I know it well.”

She let her dress drop into the water, holding out her hand, “I’m Sally. Sally Jackson.”

He walked up to her and even though she held his gaze, she felt her head tilting back. He was taller than she’d thought, a head taller than her, maybe more. Oh, don’t you dare, she said to herself, don’t you dare Sally Jackson. Don’t. You. Dare.

He took her hand, and rather than shake it, gently pressed his lips to it.

Well, that’s just over the top, she thought somewhat faintly.

She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, “Won’t you introduce yourself?”

He tilted his head, “I have many names. Which one would you like?”

She bit her lip, tapping her finger to her chin, “Hmm. John?”

He shook his head.

“James?” No. “Harry?” No.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think we’ll just stick with nothing.” She said, “I don’t see why you can’t be mysterious.”

“I’m not mysterious.” He said simply, “But you’ll have to ask me to get an answer. And maybe I’ll ask you one.”

She walked slowly with him through the waves, “What do you do?”

“I’m a fisherman by trade. Always at sea. And where are you, Sally Jackson, when the sun rises?”

“Me? Oh, I live in Manhattan. I’m a waitress, but I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”

“Ah, a writer. What do you want to write?”

She blushed, looked away. He struggled not to laugh.

“You’re going to laugh. Everyone does.”

“I’m not laughing, but then again, I’m not everyone.”

“Oh, fine.” She turned to him, “Just once, before I write anything serious and important, I’d like to write one of those little romance novels that people buy to read at the beach or on a plane.”

He had promised not to laugh, but he did smile, from ear to ear. The sight made her a little drunk and she pushed lightly on his shoulder, “Oh come on!”

He laughed out loud, a sound that echoed across the water, “In my entire life, I’ve never met someone who wanted to write the little romance novels people read on a weekend.”

“Well, maybe you don’t read them, but people do.” She said determinedly, “People need romance. It’s like the sea, it’s this thing that connects everything and everyone, and it’s powerful and beautiful and it’ll sweep you off your feet if you’re not looking.”

“Have you fallen yet?” He asked, “Has the sea already swept you away?”

She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. She shook her head, “No, no, I-“ She looked at the setting sun, “I think that I’m not made for the romance I write.”

“Why’s that?” He asked softly.

She turned to him, trying to make the conversation lighter. “Come on!” She said, “I’m reckless. I mean, I just grabbed some cash and left. Who does that?”

He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled.

She looked down, “I got my brand new dress wet, you know that?” She sighed and then winked.

His eyes were the last thing she saw as she fell back into the surf.

The water was gentle, caressing her skin. She stood, dripping wet and laughing. The look on his face made her stop.

He was looking at her. Staring at her. Like she was something else. Something more. It’s as if his eyes were hers and hers only, for this moment and the next.

She felt embarrassed. Standing in a dress clinging to her skin, in front of a man she just met. She knew what her boyfriend would think, and she wondered how many plates it would take for him to calm down.

“Sally.”

Her eyes flicked up to him. He looked…different. More powerful. His brows were knit together, his eyes dark and unreadable. “What?” She walked up to him, “What did I?”

He reached out, his large hands featherlight, and touched the side of her ribs. He did it incredibly gently, but she knew what he saw. Indigo and violet and sickly yellow, the massive bruise on her side.

“Oh.” She said lightly, “Oh, I must have fallen.”

His eyes practically burned her, “Sally, I know what makes marks like these.”

As carefully as he could, he curled his hand around her ribs. His fingers were longer and wider, but the marks were identical. “Don’t tell me I’m overstepping.” He said quietly, “Not when you’re owed better than this.”

She pushed him hard, but he barely moved.

“Sally.” She kept walking, pushing her hair from her face, gasping for breath. What was she doing, on a beach in Montauk? Letting a man touch her, look at her like-like that? Her boyfriend would be waiting at home, with a beer bottle and a fist. A broken plate, her favorite plate.

“Sally-“ His hand closed around her wrist and she turned to him, face streaked with tears.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I am owed.” She said, her body shaking, “It’s none of your business what me and my-“

“Your what?” He said sharply, “Your lover? Tell me, Sally Jackson, do they write that in your romance books? Black and blue bruises, screaming fights, broken plates?”

She hesitated, “Broken plates? How did you-“

“Because I do.” He said simply, “Because when you’ve lived a life like I have, you know many women with bruises. The sea washes away many things, Sally, but it won’t help you forget.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Who are you?”

His eyes were sad, noble.

“Poseidon.” He replied, “God of the sea. The sea that washes away many things.” He took her hand and pressed it to her side. Her eyes widened. She looked down.

Her bruise had vanished.

“My dreams.” She said softly, “You. You called to me.”

He smiled gently, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “You came. The sea has always been your home, as it’s been mine.”

“I don’t understand.” She whispered, looking up at him, “Why? Why did you want me? When I’m-when I’m-“

His hands cradled her face, “Sally Jackson, you are worthy of the Manhattan skyline. Of every romance in the world. No man can diminish that, no matter what he tells you.”

She touched his face and he leaned into her hand. “In every dream, you were kind. In every memory of the sea, the sea has always been gentle to me.” She ran her thumb gently over his lips and he kissed her palm, “I knew you before I met you. And before I knew you, I wished I did.”

There were tears in his eyes. What power she must have, she thought to herself, to make the god of the sea weep saltwater tears. But she learned there were many kinds of salt.

The rough calluses of his hand in hers, skin hardened by years of salt. The way the sea water seemed to dance around them as he carried her through the higher tides. The salt of the air that made his hair ruffle in the winds, his eyes forever on her.

For days, she read out her stories and he laid on the sand and listened. He would hum in a quiet baritone, and for once, the waves hushed just so she could hear him sing. They swam until she got tired and he would wrap her in his arms and hold her until the stars came up.

He told her secrets, things no mortal ever knew. Scars on his body, and the memories from a thousand years ago. She could stare at him for hours, just to listen to his laugh or to see how his eyes gleamed when he looked at her.

One night, he gave her a pearl and she gave him a kiss. A kiss on salty lips, so tender that he swore to wear it on his mouth forever. But she knew and he knew, it couldn’t last.

The tide was going out and she stood in the sand. Holding her hand was a young boy, with sea green eyes and black hair. She wore the dress she wore the day they met. On her neck was a pearl.

He stood in the water, looking at her. She had hardly aged, but he felt as if he had lived a lifetime, captivated in her eyes. When he would return to the sea, it would be like it never happened. Except for a pearl, forever concealed in a band around his finger.

He could have made her a queen. He begged her, pleaded on his knees, but she just shook her head. She asked him to stay, and he knew he couldn’t. It was how things should be, would be, forever.

But still, when they both turned away, there was a little more saltwater in the sea.

THE AVENGERS - dir. Joss Whedon (2012)