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lialuvsaven · 1 month ago

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Pairing: Aventurine x Reader

Tags: 2.3k word vomit, fluff , you two celebrate New years together (even tho it's like, Halloween rn lol) I very very loosely referenced omikuji here, because the idea of drawing fortune slips with Mr luck is very tempting to me.

It is the evening of the first day of the trailblaze year when you and Aventurine make your way into the New Year fair in Outerland, walking hand in hand as you pull him along whatever catches your fancy.

Today's events unfolded as a result of a previous conversation you shared with Aventurine a couple of months back. According to you, Qlipoth may have saved the cosmos, but one area where THEY fell short was in establishing a reliable calendar system. Seriously, how come Amber eras are this long? You had a feeling that the IPC deliberately promoted the amber era calendar system to avoid granting too many holidays to their employees.

However, when you presented this "absurd" idea to Aventurine, he laughed at you. "Qlipoth has bigger priorities than worrying about the average salarymen at the IPC taking a day off," he remarked, thoroughly amused. And while you do agree with him, Amber era is still a crazy system to you. It doesn't even have a fixed length, for Aeon's sake!!

Honestly, you much preferred the trailblaze calendar system. It was concise, precise and dare you say— better suited for short-lived species. Your grandmother did not live one complete amber era, but she did live 90 trailblaze years. You'd definitely prefer to speak of her as a 90 years old rather than, well, 1.5 amber era old.

(Or perhaps, you're just accustomed to following the trailblaze calendar like everyone else on your home planet. You still thank every stars that Akivilli decided to visit your planet.)

Regardless of your efforts, you couldn't get your completely logical argument through your boyfriend. Maybe the next step is to create a holographic presentation to demonstrate how the Amber era is an irrational and unsuitable system. But no matter, you can save this debate for another time. Aventurine will still be here, as will your personal conflict with THEM. What's really important is convincing your boyfriend to celebrate the upcoming New Year (trailblaze calendar) with you. You are determined to make him take a day off for that, no matter what. (The idea of enjoying a festival with Aventurine is very appealing.)

Fortunately, he has always been rather weak to you.

And so, You find yourself on a planet you've never been to before, accompanied by your boyfriend who's on the same boat, simply because it's closer than your home planet, and they observe New Year's in a similar way to your customs. you're always a little nervous about visiting new planets, but luckily your boyfriend is reliable enough for you to not have to worry about anything.

Dressed in the customary attire of Outerland, you and your partner stroll hand in hand through the bustling crowd, filled with laughter and conversation, making it, in your opinion, one of the most enjoyable experiences you've shared with Aventurine in at least a year (or, 0.00416 Amber Eras).

....See, Amber era is faaaaaar less romantic. It's evident that Qlipoth has little regard for romance (THEY have none whatsoever.)

The majority of the stalls feature wooden structures adorned with vibrant fabrics and intricate patterns, creating a lively and colorful atmosphere. The scent of the crisp night air mingles with the aromas of spices and grilled foods from the various shops, blending into one harmonious aroma. This scent is accompanied by the lively chatter, laughter, bargaining, and sporadic calls of Outerland names, presumably from their friends and family. Aventurine feels incredibly out of place in this vibrant setting, and he would probably feel even more— if it weren't for your firm grip on his hand. Amidst the lively atmosphere full of love and warmth, he cannot help but hold on to your hand tightly, lest he's forced to confront the depths of his loneliness.

You've already taken him to experience every game at the fair (he's won them all, and you've lost half of them), try a variety of sweet and savory foods (he wonders who you'd have given your half-eaten grilled squid to if he hadn't been there), and choose colorful (and silly) masks to wear together (he rather likes these— people won't recognize him by his eyes this way. For now.)

At the end of the seemingly never-ending line of stalls, right next to the open field, stands a rather unique-looking stall. Your eyes immediately light up in newfound curiousity, tugging him by the cuffs oh his shirt along (he's more focused on switching to lace his fingers with yours to properly look at where you're taking him.)

The stall is bright and lacks the smell of roasted nuts or alcohol, being far away from the food section. Instead of displaying jewelry, clothing, or anything else, the only items on the counter are two similar cylindrical black boxes. Each box has a small hole, indicating that this is likely some sort of lottery device. The shopkeeper greets the two of you with a smile, and Aventurine notices the wooden boxes numbered up to a hundred behind him.

Apparently, this is an Izumo tradition, where people draw lots to learn about their luck for the next year. Aventurine doesn't need a paper slip to tell him how his luck will be next year, he can somewhat predict it.

Within the next twelve trailblaze months, he'll embark on at least two challenging missions, frequent your new favorite sightseeing spot until you're both tired of it, get paired with Ratio in a few missions again, take a trip to your home planet just because you missed your friends (and he'll miss you if you're gone too long), attempt to get Topaz investing in another loss project just for amusement (it's worked twice so far), spend most nights hugging you to sleep, earn at least 5 trillion credits, and fall in love with you more (because it seems ∞ is not the end, not when it comes to his love for you. And he's now got solid proof of why infinity is expandable. Hilbert's infinite hotel paradox makes much more sense now.)

(Cheesy, you'd say. And he'd agree, had it not been him being genuine)

You turn to face Aventurine, adorning a smile on your face. Aventurine recognizes that look, those faux pleading eyes you make when you want him to do something with you. (He doesn't quite understand the purpose because he'd indulge you even without it, but you look cute so he's more than fine with it.)

Your eyes shine, failing the puppy eyes look you're trying so hard to pull off. "Aventurine, can we also check our fortune?" He could have mentioned that he doesn't believe in fortune telling and therefore doesn't see it as worthwhile, but—

It's you. So naturally, he agrees.

You each grab one of the two cylindrical wooden boxes and give them a shake. No, Aventurine gives it a shake, while you shake yours like your life depends on it.

Aventurine laughs before quipping, "I don't think shaking it harder is going to make your draw better, love."

Your shoot him a pout, before shaking the box harder "I know, but i don't care"

If you hadn't been so focused on shaking the wooden box, you would have noticed the affectionate smile on Aventurine's face. Nevertheless, his fondness is evident in his tone when he says, "I really hope this works in your favor."

(You feel a silly, affectionate grin spread across your face, and warmth envelops you.)

Finally, both of you draw a stick and hand it to the storekeeper. He matches the numbers and retrieves a paper slip for each of you. You thank him before leaving to find a quieter spot to check your luck.

Aventurine expects to get good luck, so he's not surprised when the slip reveals 「The highest, excellent fortune」 The subsequent description contains several amusing sentences about what he can expect this year. Phrases like "your wish will be fulfilled", "the person you want to meet the most will come meet you" and "never change your mindset" elicit a slight chuckle from him. He doesn't bother finishing the entire slip because it doesn't apply to him either way.

Wish fulfilled? Fulfilling his wish would signify the end of his luck, and as far as he knows, dead people can't come back to life.

Nevertheless, he proudly displays his slip in front of your eyes, blocking your view of your own slip. You neatly tuck yours away and then glance at his with widened eyes before responding in a deadpan tone, "Why am I even surprised?" The exaggerated monotone voice you're using right now is the funniest thing Aventurine has encountered all day.

"Surprise no surprise~ I told you, I didn't need a paper slip to tell me I'll already have good luck this year"

You huff, folding your arms. "Yeah, right. Good for you, Mr. Lucky," you say, and Aventurine responds with a playful wink.

"What about you? Did all that shaking pay off for you?"

At that, You glance at him and offer a smile, but aventurine is perceptive; he notices the brief hesitation before your smile.

He's known you long enough to know when you're trying to hide something.

"Let me see the slip," he requests, and you uncomfortably avert your gaze. Aventurine appreciates how you never lie to him, but he wishes that meant you were always forthcoming instead of becoming completely silent whenever a situation makes you want to lie. He tries again, and you hesitantly place the little piece of folded paper in his hand.

「Bad fortune」

Even if you attempt to get along with others, it won't succeed.

Try to avoid trouble, as you may end up in peril.

Negative occurrences will happen repeatedly.

*Your desires will not be fulfilled. *Requests you make of others will most likely be denied. *Your future looks bleak, and the bright moon of fortune is obscured by dark clouds.

You try to awkwardly laugh to placate his grim expression. "Come on, it's just a little slip! Neither of us believes this seriously."

However, Aventurine is not willing to take any chances. He'd have laughed it off if he were the one to get bad luck, but it's you. It's you, so he feels somewhat resentful towards the shopkeeper for even putting a bad luck slip there in the first place.

"I won't allow any of that to happen to you," he says firmly, and you blink in surprise before bursting into laughter.

"Haha! You're so adorable! Thank you, I feel very reassured now."

You smile at him, but Aventurine knows you better than you think. Although your spirits may have been lifted for now, you're bound to remember this little piece of paper every time something goes wrong for you in the next year, even if you don't realize it yet. And not like he's particularly happy about this, either.

"Let's swap," he says— no, declares, and hands you his slip. "I have enough luck to handle whatever this slip predicts for me, so you can take it."

"W-what?"

"You can take it. My good luck, and all that comes with it."

Your heart flutters foolishly at that, and a blush inevitably spreads across your face despite the frown on your face. Though Aventurine can't see the blush under the colorful lighting, the look in your eyes is enough for his eyes to light up with delight. But that momentary joy is taken away from him when you try to pull your (now his) slip away from him.

"No- no!! You can't take this!!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're the one who needs it more???" You exclaim, like he's saying the most ridiculous thing ever.

Aventurine scoffs, "You didn't just say that to me. You know my luck never fails me"

"Maybe so," you say as your gaze shifts from his face to his hands, and you gently intertwine your fingers with his. (Aventurine wonders what it would be like to have you do this with him forever.)

"But a bad day for me insinuates like, getting to work late or spilling my drink. But a bad day for you….the stakes are much higher, and I don't want to take that risk. Plus, I'm sure your good fortune will rub on me enough to soften whatever blows life throws at me!"

Ah. You really have a way of making yourself even more lovable, don't you? Aventurine's heart tightens in his chest, and briefly drifts into a daydream, imagining how he would have loved to share today's events with his late sister.

("Can you believe it?" He'd tell his sister, "they told me that my luck would improve theirs too, just like you.")

(His sister would have laughed in response, and advised him how he needs to stop telling her about every little thing you do. But she'd be happy too, he knows she would.)

Aventurine's daydream is interrupted as your fingers attempt to open his clenched fist to retrieve the slip. He quickly hides his fist behind his back and gives you a charming smile. "No matter how hard you try, I will never, and I mean never, let you have this,"

After several more failed attempts, you give up. "Alright," you reluctantly concede. "Since you're willing to bear my share of misfortune, let me express my gratitude properly." Aventurine blinks, before he's met with your intense eyes. "Aventurine, thank you for being so kind to me," you say, almost causing him to look away, anything to avoid seeing that sincere and fond expression directed at him.

(He'd gladly take away all your sufferings so long as you continue to smile.)

But your earnest gratitude needs to be met with a proper response, so he smiles and ruffles your hair. "Think I'm gonna need a little more than a thank you." You huff, but pull him closer to your lips.

He had never thought that cotton candy was the sweetest thing in the world until he tasted them on your lips.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #my writing

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butchcarmy · 9 months ago

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.

tags for this ch: alcohol use, throwing up, semi-permanent lipstick, accidentally embarrassing carmy in front of all his coworkers

Chapter 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick (8k)

He doesn’t get to see them for a couple days after that night on the couch.

This is more the rhythm he’s used to—early mornings and late nights, out of the house so long he never sees them. The next several days blur together into what feels like one very, very long day. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. It often feels as if he didn’t sleep at all.

Their past exchange haunts him. He catches himself slipping, lost in thoughts as he watches the pot simmer. They’ve never had any sort of conversation like that before. Sure, they didn’t really talk about anything, but…

But in that same vein, Carmy can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if they’re thinking about it, too. The thought feels like a tangled ball of yarn in the pit of his stomach, writhing and messy. He shouldn’t be thinking about it—they’re just roommates, after all.

He’s restlessly worried about that moment on the couch, and yet, he can’t even muster up the words as to why.

Because if you finally say it, it’ll all be real, he thinks vaguely, somewhat hysterically to himself, and that’s where it always ends.

Wednesday evening, he comes in from home exhausted as ever. Nothing new. He feels the strain in his wrist when he shoves his shitty front door open—obviously overdid it in the kitchen. After shoving his sneakers off, he flicks the lights on in the kitchen, and he spots a bright pink sticky note on the counter.

Now that’s new.

He walks up to it, squinting at the pink that’s almost neon under the fluorescents. It’s a note from his roommate.

hey carmy, it reads, scribbled on in pen. im going out with friends tonight, so I won’t be back until later + leftovers in the fridge if you want any :)

Carmy makes a small noise of acknowledgement to himself. Picks up the note, puts it back down.

Running a hand through sweaty hair, he opens the fridge. It’s full of ingredients, perhaps far too many for a guy who barely cooks for himself. Ironically enough, it’s the one who doesn’t cook for a living who keeps the fridge stocked. There's a lot of miscellaneous sauces, near empty coffee creamers, and mysterious tupperwares.

He spots a new tupperware that has another pink sticky note on it, so he grabs that one out of the fridge.

He pops it open. There’s condensation on the inside of the lid, and it drips onto the floor. Inside sits pasta, potatoes, chicken, onions, and peppers, all cooked into a cheap, yet harmonious meal. It’s a familiar instant pot recipe.

It tastes familiar, too. The ingredients together taste like home. He’s not sure if it even tastes like his home, although surely his mom cooked something like this. As he stews over the flavors in his mouth, Italian seasoning, garlic, and black pepper, he wonders if maybe this apartment is starting to feel like home.

The thought is so ridiculous he shakes his head to himself, but…

It feels warm coming home to someone. He can’t deny that he likes that feeling. Maybe he’s settling into this place more than he thought. Maybe he’s…getting more used to having a roommate than he expected.

Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow, he thinks as he stares at his dark bedroom ceiling. He’s so sleepy he can’t even help himself from thinking about them. The lethargy always goes full blast as soon as his back hits the mattress.

Graciously, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps. Unfortunately, he wakes back up again in only a matter of hours.

When he reluctantly wakes up and squints at his phone, he sighs. 1:14 am. Slapping his phone back down on his side table, he stubbornly shuts his eyes in an attempt to go back to bed. It would’ve been too nice if his body let him sleep throughout the night.

Then, there’s the sound of the door opening.

He listens to the familiar sound of their footsteps against their old hardwood floor. It’s admittedly a little strange—it’s usually the other way around, with Carmy coming back home so late they’re already asleep. Except for this time.

They’re in the kitchen, he deduces, carefully listening. It’s easy to hear everything, especially in the quiet of night. As he closes his eyes again, listening, he imagines them.

The sound of the fridge opening. No, the freezer—it always squeaks when it opens. It shuts. Yes, now that’s the fridge door. He imagines them looking into the fridge just like he was a couple of hours ago, tilting their head thoughtfully to the side. He’s not sure if they know that they do that.

By all means, it should be disruptive, the way they’re opening and shutting cabinets in the kitchen. And yet, as he lays there, snuggled drowsily into his sheets, it starts to sound like a lullaby. He listens to them, thinking of them cooking, and he begins to drift to sleep.

“Fuck—fuck! Shit shit shit—”

There’s a sharp yelp, and Carmy’s jumping out of bed.

If he’s being honest, he probably wasn’t actually going to fall back asleep so easily anyway. He rarely ever does.

He stumbles into the brightly lit kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. The lights are so bright that he’s squinting, struggling to adjust.

“Sorry if I woke you up, there was a roach,” they explain meekly before he can think of what to say. They’re standing there, bottle of roach killer in their hand.

Carmy looks down. As expected, there’s a big dead roach, sitting in a pale pool of roach killer.

“I…see.” He yawns, a big one that makes the corners of his eyes tear up. “You didn’t wake me up, I was already awake. You just got back?”

“Mhm,” they reply, reaching for some paper towels, and that’s when Carmy really notices their outfit. Black, flashy, clearly meant for a night out at a bar. Dark colors always looked good on them. Their makeup matches, dark and smudged around their eyes. Seeing them dressed up like this makes it nearly impossible to deny how much he likes looking at them.

He in particular likes the plunging neckline on their thin shirt, dipping right down their chest.

Stop stop stop, he thinks suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He’s lucky they’re not looking at him, instead preoccupied with throwing away the roach corpse on the floor. He looks around almost a little frantically to find something, anything else to talk about.

“What’s this?” Carmy asks, peering into the pan on the stovetop.

“I, like, really want garlic bread right now.” They lean onto the counter, looking at the pan with him. “So I was making garlic bread. But then that fucking roach came and killed my vibe.”

This is when Carmy notices that they’re rather drunk.

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t this, uh, just a piece of bread?”

“Oh.” They pause, lifting the bread gingerly with one finger. “Um, this is so totally a piece of bread. No butter. No nothing.” They start laughing then, leaning harder onto the counter and covering their face. “Fuck, that is so dumb.”

“You were getting there,” he comments, unable to resist an amused smile.

“I couldn’t find the garlic powder,” they admit, face turning into a frown. “Or, like, anything else. But I need garlic bread, Carmy. I need this.”

“We have garlic cloves,” he points out.

“You cannot expect me to mince a fuckin’ garlic right now,” they retort, motioning at him with their arms so aggressively they stumble towards him. Instinctively, he puts his hands on their shoulders, and tries not to think too hard about it.

They’re warm, and they smell like perfume, weed, and alcohol.

“I think you should sit.” Carmy suggests, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t think he’s seen them this drunk before.

“Hm. Yeah. Imma do that.” They trudge over to one of their bar stools at the kitchen island, slumping onto it. Their shirt droops, revealing more skin, and Carmy pointedly looks away. There’s the sound of their forehead smacking against the counter, and then a groan.

“Uh, you ok?”

“I’m drunk and I want garlic bread,” they whine, flopping their arms across the counter. “But I can’t find the garlic—the garlic powder, and…I’m too stupid to make it right now,” they end in a miserable mumble.

“I could make you some,” Carmy hears himself saying.

“...Really?” They tilt their head up to look at him, eyes big and full of wonder. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s just garlic bread,” he tries, instantly stricken with embarrassment. He hopes he’s hiding it well enough.

“But you’re making it!” They make a contented noise. “Imagine getting the best chef in the world to make you garlic bread.”

“I can do a lot better than garlic bread. Just so you know,” he says, entirely in an attempt to hide the way their praise makes him feel giddy.

“I know.” His attempt backfires—their response is so genuine it makes him feel worse. “You could definitely do a million times better than garlic bread.”

“Maybe not quite a million, but somewhere around there,” he says, and then he starts working.

He starts with a clove of garlic, mincing it quickly on their small wooden cutting board. He stands at the kitchen island with them, eyes flickering between the garlic and their watchful gaze. They’re still strewn across the counter, cheek pressed against the surface.

“You literally mince garlic so good,” they mumble, eyes glued to his knife. “I wanna do it like you.”

“I could teach you.” The garlic is chopped thin, and then scraped against the edge of his knife. “Just takes a lot of practice, really.”

“Teacher Carmy,” they say, almost like a song. They’ve got this big, dopey smile on their face that makes Carmy’s heart hurt. “Mr. Berzattooo,” they add, their smile growing more mischievous.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he admits, words tinged with amusement, and they laugh. “I think we should just stick to chef.”

“Yes, chef!” They salute unnecessarily, and he chuckles.

He takes out the butter—their nice butter, not the spread stuff. Heats it over their pan, scrapes the minced garlic into the hot butter, creating a delicious sizzle.

“You, uh, go out to a bar?” He asks, because he’s curious. It’s easier talking to them with his back turned to them, forced to face the pan.

“Yeah, just went with a couple of friends. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought a little fun would be nice. But I must say, bars are not exciting on Wednesday nights.”

“Seems like you got to have a good time anyway.”

“Mhm, yeah. They had cheap drinks. I got so many.” They laugh. “They honestly didn’t taste that good.”

“And you kept getting them?”

“It’s just ‘cause they were strong. Sometimes you just wanna get fucked up, y’know? Oh my god, it smells so fuckin’ good right now. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s just butter and garlic,” he answers honestly.

“This is the best thing ever. You are literally so nice.” The sincerity in their words is so palpable that Carmy feels his stomach twist. “Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.”

Fuck, Carmy thinks distantly. He adamantly refuses to acknowledge how this comment makes him feel.

“I dunno about that,” he replies, a safe neutral even though he can’t help the embarrassment.

“Really?” They blow a raspberry at him. “Well, I like having you as my roommate. That’s something, right?”

Carmy’s glad he’s not facing them. He’s not sure what his expression looks like right now.

“Well. Lucky for me, I guess.” He pauses, listening to the sizzle of the garlic. for a moment. “You’re a good roommate, too. I…didn’t know if I would like having one at all.”

“Oh yeah? You never had one before?”

“Not since culinary school, and they weren’t good.” He sighs at the memory. “But this…I like this.”

“I like it too,” they agree, almost a bit dreamily. “It’s nice not having to be by yourself all the time.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

He turns around then, garlic bread plated and in his hand, and they gasp, hands over their mouth.

“Carmy,” they whisper. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, smiling in endearment.

“Um, yeah. And you just made me garlic bread. To a drunk person, garlic bread is the next coming of Christ.” They slide the plate towards them, staring at it with big eyes. “And you put cheese on it!”

“Should I not have?”

“Of course you should have!” They exclaim. “You could’ve put some shit on this I’ve never heard of and I would still eat it. You’re a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Well.” He laughs. Shakes his head. “I’m flattered?”

“You should be,” they whisper. They take a huge bite of it, resounding with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck.” They shake their head from side to side as they eat. “This is so fuckin’ yummy.”

“Good, good.” He nods, pleased. He props his elbows up on the counter, gauging their reaction.

“You are so talented,” they gush, continuing to eat urgently. “And so nice.”

Carmy knows he can’t hide the way his ears go pink.

“Well.” He gives them a shrug he knows looks as half-hearted as it feels. “I do nice things for nice people,” he says finally, mostly because he can't just take the damned compliment.

“I'm nice people?” They repeat, so genuinely earnest that Carmy almost laughs. “That's a relief. I’m, like, so glad you think that, because I can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes.”

“Annoying?” The self deprecation surprises him. They don’t usually talk like this. “I don’t—I don’t think you’re annoying. Have I ever, uh, seemed like I—?”

“Nonono, it has nothing to do with you,” they interrupt with a hiccup, waving their hands. “I just, like, have issues.” They laugh, although Carmy’s positive there’s nothing funny about this. “And I really like you as a, as a roommate,” they stutter clumsily. “So I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I, I don’t think you would fuck it up.” There’s something a little unsettling about all this, something that’s putting Carmy on edge.

“I always find a way! I just do, because, I’m—I’m not good at being a person,” they blurt out, and then there’s tears spilling all over their cheeks, streaked with black mascara.

Shit, Carmy thinks.

“Hey,” Carmy says softly, gentle and careful. He looks up at them, concerned eyes searching their watery ones. He wishes he had the words, but they're talking again.

“I just can’t do anything right,” they sob, bottom lip wobbling. He’s also not sure if he’s ever seen them crying so hard. Their face is scrunched in pain, skin drenched in tears. “I, I, I can't even fucking make garlic bread!”

“You're drunk,” he reminds them, carefully. “Very drunk.”

“I'm drunk, too,” they wail, and Carmy wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I'm a drunk fuck-up! I, I'm too damaged…”

“Damaged?” He echoes. Their own brutality towards themself takes his words away, and all he can do is repeat their cruelty in disbelief.

“My whole life, I've just,” they whisper, and something about it nestles into his chest and stays there. The feeling of it is familiar. “My—my whole life, I—oh, god—”

They stop with a sharp inhale, slapping their hand on their mouth. It’s a movement that Carmy would recognize just about anywhere.

“Shit,” he curses, and he rushes them to the bathroom.

They’re still crying as they throw up into the toilet, apologizing profusely. Carmy tries not to look, just focusing on holding up their hair.

“I’m sorry,” they apologize again before shoving their face back into the toilet.

“It’s okay. It happens.” He absentmindedly notices that he’s never touched their hair before. It’s soft—must be well taken care of. “You’re doing great right now, okay?”

“Thank you,” they sob, tilting their head to the side to rest their cheek on the toilet seat. He lets their hair fall behind them, instead just keeping one hand on their back. “I’m really s-sorry,” they say again, eyes watery and red.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, because it's all he can say. They seem grateful enough.

I haven’t thrown up like this since college,” they tell him miserably. “I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes throwing up,” he reasons, and they make a weak noise of agreement.

“Last time, I threw up in my roommate’s bathroom—” they pause, as if fighting a wave of nausea, but it seems to pass. “And I barely missed the toilet,” they whisper, like it’s some sort of dark secret.

“Damn.” Carmy’s not sure if he should be smiling, but he is, just a little bit. “Sounds like you were shitfaced.”

“So shitfaced,” they echo. At least they’re smiling back at him. That’s a good sign. “It was such a mess. I felt so bad.”

“Were they mad?”

“No, they weren’t. They even cleaned it up for me.” They groan. “I felt soooo bad, Carmy. So bad. I was worried they would forever hate me for that.”

“Well, if they weren’t mad at you, I’m sure they wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“I just really didn’t want them to hate me,” they say, and they’re looking so intently into Carmy eyes that it feels like he’s bearing his soul to them. “Are you gonna hate me?”

“I'm not gonna hate you because you're throwing up.” Their hair’s falling into their face, and he moves to tuck it behind their ear before he can think about it. Their cheeks are hot to the touch.�� “Would I be doing this for someone I hate?”

“Good point,” they mumble. Carmy’s hand lingers behind their ear before moving back to the middle of their back, rubbing little circles. The touch is guiltily electric on his end. “Sometimes I just…think people are waiting for a chance to hate me.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to find an excuse to dislike you,” Carmy says. “But…I get it.”

“...You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure what else to say. They’re still looking at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I’m not used to anyone caring much about me.”

“I care about you,” they whisper. “I care about you a lot.”

Silence settles between them as any words Carmy had disappear on the tip of his tongue. They just keep looking at him, their eyes gentle and searching, and he can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t tear his hand off their back, either.

“You shouldn't,” he whispers, strangely honest. “I'm not worth it.”

“Too bad.” He can't look away from their gaze, their eyes that are infinitely knowledgeable. “If I can't care about you, you have to stop being nice to me.”

Carmy opens his mouth to protest, but he can't. They seem to know it, too, with the way a knowing smile creeps up their face.

“I don't wanna do that,” he replies finally.

“Thought so.” Their face glows brilliantly with a smile, and it should be infuriating, but it's not. “So deal with it. Me caring about you.”

He laughs at that, because it's so stupid.

“Stupid,” he laughs, and they laugh back, their giggles echoing into the ring of the toilet. “Y'know, I fucked up today at work.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I was cutting onions. I've done it a million times, but for some reason, I fucked it all up. Onions got all over the floor, and I had to redo it all. Well, my sous had to redo ‘em.”

He's not sure why he's mentioning this to them, or why he's even mentioning it for a second time, but he is.

“I haven't fucked up like that in forever,” he continues, reliving the memory in the back of his brain. The knife hitting the floor, metal against linoleum. “It was stupid. I hadn't done something so fucking, stupid like that in—god knows how long.”

That can't be the point, he thinks to himself. He can't just bring up him messing up onions just to complain about messing up onions. That's not worth anything, to him or to them. They're drunk, anyhow. Why is he bringing up his issues like this, right now?

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” they say with surprisingly clarity. Their words carry a measured gentleness that doesn't seem possible from a drunk. “It would be crazy if you never messed up, y'know. Like, ever.”

“But it's been years,” he protests. There's a pressure building. “Years since I messed up like that. And someone had to clean up after my shit. They shouldn't have had to do that.”

“Hm…” They make a thoughtful noise. “It's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“Of course not.”

“That's what friends are for,” they murmur. “And coworkers. Sometimes. It's ok that you messed up.”

“...” A part of Carmy wants to continue protesting, but it feels futile. “I shouldn't have brought it up, you're still drunk anyway,” he says, mostly to himself, but also because he can't stand to acknowledge it anymore.

“I don't care,” they whisper. “I like it when people talk to me about things.” Carmy feels something twist in his stomach, palpable and physical.

“I’m probably being annoying,” he mutters, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he wants to bash his head in for saying something so childish.

“No. You’re not.” They respond before he has a chance to take it back. “I want to know you, Carmy.”

“You already know me.”

“Not as much as I would like,” they mutter, eyes fluttering shut, and Carmy has no choice but to swallow the heavy truth.

“You shouldn't fall asleep here. If you're feeling better, we need to get you into your bed.” He knows it's unfair, changing the subject like this. But he can't bear to look at it anymore than he already has.

Luckily for him, they relent without any protest. They lean up against him as he helps them to their room. It's a bit difficult to wade through the piles of clothes on the floor, but Carmy's no better.

“I really didn't mean to get this fucked up,” they mumble once they're laid back in bed.

“No one does.”

“Maybe not no one,” they mutter, mostly to themself. No comment. They sigh. “What time is it?”

“Uh…2:35,” he says after a beat, searching eyes landing on their bedside analog clock.

“Motherfucker. I'm sorry. Don't you have work tomorrow?”

“I do. But…it's fine.” It's very much not fine, he has to wake up in a couple hours, and yet. Here he is, at the end of it.

“You're sweet. You really are.”

“I'm…not sweet,” is all he can get out, voice quiet.

“Well, I think you're sweet to me. Taking care of me like this.” They outstretch their arms all of a sudden. “Come here? Please?”

He knows what they're asking. They've never hugged before. He’s only a hugger when it comes to family. He's seen them hug friends before, maybe, but him? Never.

He shouldn't get closer, he really shouldn't. But he ends up doing it anyway, because he tells himself he likes the way they say please.

“Can I hug you?” They ask.

“Um,” he says. He nods.

They smile again, as brilliant as ever, and bring him into a tight hug. They smell like the mint mouthwash they insisted Carmy retrieve for them, along with their perfume.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” they say. He’s never heard their voice in his ear like this before. They wrap their arms around his neck then, and Carmy’s heart feels like it’s in his throat.

“No problem,” he gets out, feeling a bit breathless.

Before he can even form the next thought, they’re pressing a sleepy kiss on their cheek before flipping back down on their bed.

Carmy feels like throwing up, but…not in a bad way.

“Good night,” they mumble, so sweet. “And thank you.”

Something in his brain shuts off after that. He walks to his room like a zombie, and he falls asleep nearly instantly.

It turns out that going to bed at 2:30 am the night before work is not so fine at all.

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t sleep,” Carmy says groggily when he comes in, and everyone’s eyes are on him. They’re staring so intently like there’s something on his face. “What?”

“It’s, uh,” Sydney starts, but Richie swiftly cuts her off.

“Must’ve been a long night, eh?” Richie says with such a shit eating grin that makes Carmy pinch his eyebrows.

“Fuck’s your deal?” Carmy bites back, gesturing at him. The length of his fuse matches the amount of sleep he got—slim to none.

“Nothing, cousin,” Richie replies, even though he’s still grinning like a mad man. “You better be telling me about it later though, got it?”

“Whatever,” Carmy mutters. It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this shit. “Just catch me up on what I missed.”

The day starts off rough, but he gets through it because he has to. Throughout the day, though, he can’t help but get the feeling that people keep looking at him when he’s not looking. Maybe it’s just his typical paranoia, but…

“These look good,” Carmy praises. “Really good,” he reiterates, turning the delicate dessert around on its circular plate. Marcus beams, clearly pleased. It’s a small matcha cake with carefully placed layers of ganache and fruit. Carmy takes a bit of it with a fork, rolling the earthy and tangy flavors around on his tongue.

“How is it?” Marcus asks, eyes firm on him.

“A little crumbly,” Carmy answers honestly. “Did you take my advice from last time?”

“I did,” he replies, frustration evident in his voice. “Think it’s the oven?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Carmy takes another bite. “Try a lower temp. Other than that, though, it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, chef,” Marcus says. “Means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He claps Marcus on the back, short and quick. “You’ve been working hard. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He pauses then, staring at Carmy. Just like how everyone has been all damn day. “Uh, Chef?”

“What?” He feels the impatience bubbling up in him, frustrated and confused. “People have been staring at my goddamn face all day like I got some shit on it.”

“You do,” Marcus says. “It’s not shit, though. Looks like…lipstick,” he says after a beat.

“Lipstick?” A rock drops in his stomach. Carmy raises his hand to his face, searching.

“On your left,” he clarifies. “By your ear.”

He rubs aggressively there, but he pulls his fingers back without any color on it.

“Did I get it?”

“Well, I thought you did.” Marcus makes a noise, thoughtful. “Guess it’s one of those permanent ones.”

“Permanent?” Carmy repeats, a little hysterical.

“Semi permanent,” Marcus clarifies. He seems amused.

Carmy rushes into their small, shitty bathroom, getting close to the streaked mirror. He angles his head to find the stain. Sure enough, it’s right here on his cheek. It’s a dark, reddish color, in the smeared but recognizable shape of a kiss mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His head feels hot. It must’ve happened last night, when they kissed him right before falling asleep.

Semi-permanent, he hears Marcus say in the back of his head. Of course it is.

With a wet paper towel, he scrubs at the mark so hard it hurts. Even so, it remains, still clear on his pale, reddened skin. He wishes his hair was long enough to hide it.

“It’s not coming off,” he says, stressed upon returning to Marcus’ station. He hopes he doesn’t sound as hysterical as he feels. Sydney’s there too, chewing on the matcha pastry Carmy had earlier. “Why the fuck isn’t it coming off?”

“You’ll probably need a makeup wipe. I think I have some in my bag if you want one,” Sydney offers. Carmy swears she has a halo around her head. “Just a warning, though, they’re old as fuck. I haven’t worn makeup in a long time.”

“It’s fine. Can I take one?” Carmy runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Can’t believe no one fuckin’ told me. I—I fucking greeted customers like this!”

“It’s cool, Carm. At least it wasn’t a hickey,” Marcus reasons, and Carmy thinks his ears go hot.

“Thank god,” he replies, sarcastic, and they have the nerve to laugh at him. “Shut up,” he tries, but there’s no real heat behind it. Sydney leaves and comes back with a semi-dried up makeup a minute later.

“Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work,” Sydney states, a cautionary disclaimer. “It might be one of those that has a specific remover.”

“Are you serious?” The sigh that comes out is full of disdain. “Fuck me.”

“Day’s already almost done, if it makes it any better,” Marcus notes with a cheeky smile, and Carmy just shakes his head.

The makeup wipe doesn’t work. Carmy tries not to get mad, but maybe he does. Maybe just a little bit.

“It’ll come off with enough washes,” Sydney reassures him. Tina’s standing with her now, too, eyeing him like a spectacle. Everyone seems to be enjoying his misery.

“Just ask your girl to get rid of it for you,” Tina says, an eyebrow raised. She raises a thumb to his cheek, rubs at the mark like a mom. “Damn. Shit’s on there.”

“They’re not—it’s not like that,” he sputters. He’s been trying to get through the day without anyone asking about it, but now that there’s some down time, there’s no stopping anyone.

“A one night stand?” Tina guesses, eyes widening. She laughs and smacks him on the arm. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”

“It’s not that, either,” Carmy stresses. He knows he’s getting overly flustered about it, but he can’t help it. His eyes flicker towards the clock. They’re closing soon. “Just forget it, okay? Please.”

He can tell from their expressions that neither of them want to forget about it, but by some stroke of luck, they’re considering letting it go. Just for now. That’s enough of a victory for now, so he’ll take it.

At least, it would’ve been a victory if Richie didn’t take that very opportunity to step into the kitchen.

“Been trying to find you all day, bastard!” Richie hollers, slinging an arm over Carmy’s hunched shoulder. Carmy sighs, expressive in his annoyance. “Looks like this baby’s finally growing up, huh?”

“I’m 30, asshole,” Carmy says, tiredly, but that never works. Richie’s still talking, anyhow.

“So? Do I know the chick?” Richie’s grin makes Carmy want to punch him.

“No,” he replies, flatly. He’s so tired. “And it’s not what you think. It was just, they’re, uh…”

“Oh shit, cousin!” Richie’s laughing, obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Didn’t think you were capable of—“

“It’s not a one night stand. Already guessed that,” Tina interrupts him.

“What?” He sounds annoyed, like he has the right to be more irritated than Carmy himself. “Then what’s the secret third option? Or are you lying to my face?”

“They’re my roommate,” Carmy explains, finally.

There’s a beat of silence. And then, uproarious noise.

“You have a roommate?” Is Richie’s first question. The second: “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Is, like, dating a roommate a good idea? No offense,” Sydney says, hands raised in defense. “Just wondering.”

“It’s not,” Tina answers for her, sharp eyes narrowed at him. But strangely enough, she’s smiling nonetheless.

“They’re my roommate, we’re not dating, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be weird about it!” He shouts over the noise, directing the last one at Richie. “Look—they were just drunk, and I was helping them because they were fucking throwing up. Happy now?”

“And they kissed you,” Richie points out. He’s grinning like he knows some big secret.

“Fuck, okay, can we stop fucking talking about this now? It was just an accident, it’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’re never gonna mention this shit again!”

Carmy gets saved by some distant catastrophic noise in the back, somewhere around the freezer. He leaves without a word. Behind him, he hears raucous laughter mostly to Richie’s tune.

Before he leaves for the night, he stops by the bathroom one more to try and get it off. Predictably, it remains stubborn and stalwart through soap, hot water, and scrubbing. The skin under it is red with irritation, and Carmy knows that he's getting nowhere. If anything, he's making it worse.

His eyes linger on the blotted lipstick on his face. It's smudged, but he can see the cracks and the shape of their lips. His gaze follows the lines of it.

The memory burns bright in his head for a split second. It bursts in like a flashbang, intense and unavoidable. There's a phantom sensation of their lips on his cheek, the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their embrace, and it's, it's just—

Carmy shuts the lights off and heads out. He needs this lipstick mark gone by morning.

When he gets home, the apartment is dark. Unoccupied. As he flicks on the lights, he searches for them. They're usually home before him most nights. However, it seems tonight is an anomaly. He walks down the hallway past his room to theirs, and their ajar door reveals an empty bedroom.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Just his luck.

He opens his phone then, a last resort. He has his messages pulled up, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard and stay there.

How the hell does he even word this?

Hey, I need lipstick remover.

No, that isn't enough information. Who knows how many types of remover there could be? What if it isn't the right one? He needs to be more specific.

Hey, I need lipstick remover for the lipstick you were wearing last night.

That sounds even stranger. Too specific, although it's the truth. That's what he needs. But he can't just…type that, can he? No, there's no way.

Is there any way he can get out of saying that there's lipstick on his face from last night and not make it weird? He wishes they were here so he could just show them. Words have never been his forte. There's little hope for him now.

Please come home right now, he briefly considers typing. It's by far the worst one out of all of them.

After pacing for a solid five minutes, he decides to send a hopefully neutral message.

Hey, you out for the night?

It's still pretty weird. Carmy is not a texter. There's not much he needs to talk about that can't wait until he sees them next. They're usually the one texting him, and it's usually only about groceries or bills. However, he tells himself it's fine because there's no note left on the counter. They always leave a note when they go out.

…They always leave a note when they go out.

This thought resets his pacing around the apartment, frantically looking for the square shape and vivid color of a sticky note. That's how they usually do it, and it's typically on the kitchen counter. So, it's honestly a futile effort to be looking around the whole place, but he does so anyway.

He looks at his phone. It's been almost 10 minutes, and still no response.

This isn't unnatural by any means. They always end up responding eventually, but the prickling anxiety is getting pricklier by the second.

They've got to be so hungover. There's no way they're out again tonight, he thinks to himself, and he's positive it has to be true.

They're missing, and you're not ever gonna get this shit off your face, his brain adds helpfully.

That's what finally kicks him into gear and forces him to press the call button.

It rings for a long time. The more it rings, the longer he stands there in the kitchen, the stupider and more anxious he feels. It's a pitiful feeling to be consumed by, but here he is, unable to resist.

However, when they finally pick up, he's not sure if he feels completely relieved. A different part of his anxiety is spiking now.

“Carmy?” Their voice carries a trace of static through the phone speaker.

“Yeah, hey. You see my text?”

“Oh, oops. Sorry, I missed it. Is everything ok?”

“Where are you?” He asks instead.

“I'm just gettin’ a drink from the corner store. Why? You want me to grab something for you?”

The absolute nonchalance in their voice humbles him, reducing him to complete embarrassment.

“Uh, no, I don't need anything. I mean, uh, I do actually need something from you, though,” he amends hastily.

“Sure, what's up? I guess it must be important if you're calling, right?”

“I, um—yeah, kinda important,” he says with attempted tranquility, completely ignoring how much he was freaking out earlier. “So…you got, uh, lipstick remover?”

“Lipstick remover?” Their surprise makes him shrivel. “Well, I have a couple types of makeup remover…”

“I think it needs to be specific?”

“You think it needs to be specific? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Their voice carries bewildered amusement.

“It's, uh…” He swallows. He can't tiptoe around it anymore. “It's…yours?”

“...Huh?”

“You got some lipstick on me last night, and it's not coming off,” he says finally, mortifyingly, and the line goes silent.

“Fucking—I'm so sorry, my memory is spotty from last night and I, I thought I imagined that, and, uh—” They awkwardly clear their throat. “I'm sorry, I really am. It's not supposed to transfer like that, but I guess it just…”

“It's okay,” he says, despite how hysterical it made him earlier. That part isn't their fault. “It's just, uh, really staying on there.”

“Shit. Of course. It's this super resilient lipstick I use for when I go out drinking, because it's not supposed to come off like, at all, so it comes with this specific remover—I'm sorry, I don’t need to be rambling like this.” They laugh nervously. “I'm on my way home now, but it should be on my desk if you wanna look at it. It's a black tube, which…isn't very specific, I guess. And my desk is really messy…”

“I'll start looking,” Carmy decides.

“I'm sorry,” they reply miserably.

“It's okay. You said you were coming home now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Cool. See you.”

The call ends. Carmy just stands there for a minute. It's like a tidal wave just rushed over him, and now the water is slowly settling to a stand still.

Black tube, he thinks. How hard can that be?

Very hard, it seems.

Their room is comfortably messy. Definitely not as messy as his. There's some clothes on the floor, jackets on chairs, underwear he turns his gaze away from (don't imagine them in that lace one lying in the corner or the flowery one or the fucking thong he didn't see anything), but that's about it. Nothing outside of typical clutter, in his opinion.

The desk, though. The desk.

He doesn't think he can even see the surface of it. There's just lots of little things scattered across it, from piles of jewelry to stacks of papers and books. It's like an ispy book.

He stares at it, trying to find a black tube. He quickly realizes how much of a futile effort it's going to be.

In this moment, he thinks about how he's never spent much time in their room. The two of them usually hang out in the living room. Besides, he's not one to go snooping around in someone's personal space. Until being pushed to his limits and being given explicit permission, that is.

He leans in, peering closer at the scattered items. There's a little bit of everything. Receipts, make-up brushes, scissors, paper scraps, empty water cups, hair ties, empty candy wrappers, lipsticks…none of which are black tubes.

Maybe it's not on their desk. Maybe it's on a different shelf.

They said it was on their desk, a voice in his head says, but he’s not listening.

The next closest thing is their nightstand. It's a little messy, but nowhere near as bad as their desk. There's a melatonin bottle, some lip balm, a bedside lamp. He squints, seeing what might be more pills or maybe skincare until a dark tube catches his eye.

When he picks it up, he realizes it's not black, instead being a dark blue. Also, it's not a tube, it's more of a bottle.

The text on it also reads as lube, not lipstick remover.

…Lube?

It's lube, his brain repeats, helpful as ever.

I can see that, he thinks back.

“Hello? Carmy?”

A familiar voice has him scrambling to put the lube back. He moves it back to the night stand more quickly than he could have ever expected of himself.

“Hey, I'm in your room,” he calls back, hoping that his fabricated nonchalance comes off as believable. He steps out of their room into the hallway, and they appear at the end of it.

The first he notices is how much better they look when he saw them last. To be fair, the last time he saw them, they were sobbing and throwing up into the toilet, drunk out of their mind, but still. It's still an improvement. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold, and their hair is mussed from being outside.

“Hey. Did you find it?”

“I couldn't find it,” he admits. He steps out of the way to let them through, and then he follows them back into their room.

“Yeah, sorry, my desk is a fucking nightmare,” they mutter darkly, making a beeline for their desk. “I swear I took it out and put it right here…Ah, yes!”

Miraculously, they pull it out. It looks like a lipstick in itself, and when they uncap it, it just looks like a white lip balm.

“So, do I just…rub it on?”

“Well—yeah, you should, but it emulsifies with water, so you just use water and then use a cotton pad…” Carmy supposes the confusion isn't too well masked on his face. “Can I see where it is?” They ask tentatively.

Wordlessly, Carmy turns his head. He supposes they're just glad they didn't see it immediately.

“Oh.” When he turns to face them again, their cheeks are dark with color. It's not a look he's used to seeing on them. “I'm sorry,” they say again with a downturned head.

“It's okay,” Carmy says again, and he means it. He brings a hand to his cheek subconsciously. “I just…”

“Let me take it off,” they insist, guilt knitted in their expression, and that's how Carmy ends up seated on the toilet seat.

“Now I'm the one getting patched up on the toilet,” he says quietly. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but it makes them laugh.

“So, um, when did you notice?” They ask. The tube uncaps with a small pop.

“A couple hours ago,” he admits. The balm feels smooth and oily against his cheek. “I had no idea, but my coworkers, uh…”

“Oh my god,” they mutter under their breath. “I just don't think I'm ever gonna stop apologizing for this.”

“It's fine, really,” he insists, even though he was manically scrubbing at his skin earlier. “It was sorta funny,” he adds, even though he was freaking out while everyone else was laughing. They don't need to know.

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah. It was—uh…”

He feels their thumb rubbing circles into his cheek, and the words disintegrate like sand in the wind.

“Sorry, this is just one of those things that takes a little bit of work to get off.” Their tone projects a casual indifference to it, but their voice is so quiet that it feels unfairly intimate.

“I didn't know lipstick could be this…intense,” Carmy hears himself say. He's far away, still trapped in the feeling of their hand on his face.

“It's what you need for an intense night out,” they reply with a small smile. He looks up at them then, meeting their dark eyes, but they're concentrated on the spot on his cheek. When they catch him looking, though, they don't look away.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly. He can’t stop looking.

“A lot better. Yesterday was rough, but I'm feeling okay now.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. Um…” They lean back, breaking eye contact, and Carmy feels a pressure releasing. They grab a wet paper towel and carefully drag it across his cheek. “Thanks again, by the way. For putting up with me last night. I mean, it was more than just putting up, but…y'know.”

“Sure,” he says, much softer than intended. ��It happens.”

“I think you're just nice,” they tease, fully intended to be light-hearted, but because Carmy's the way that he is, it weighs heavily in his chest.

“Sometimes,” he mumbles, because that's all he can bear to say.

Because last night, they looked him in the eyes and whispered that they wanted to know him. That they thought he was sweet, he was kind. They spoke with such earnestness that for a split second, Carmy considered believing them about everything, even though that’s always the wrong thing to do.

Because once he believes them a little bit, he’ll start acting like he’s a good person. He’ll fool everyone around him, even himself.

Then, the inevitability that is his self-destruction will arrive like it’s always promised. He will mess everything up like he always does, sharp-edged flaws unfurling from the inside out. They’ll slice everyone he was able to fool into getting close enough.

The least he can do is try and give some kindness back before it happens.

“Just take the compliment,” they say with a small grin. “Y'know, I don't remember everything from last night. There's bits and pieces I know that're missing. But from what I do remember…” They make one final wipe at his cheek. “You have to let me be nice to you.”

He remembers, too.

So deal with it, they had said. Me caring about you.

“How could I forget,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes out sounding far too breathless. Luckily for him, their laugh, much more tangible and believable, joins his own.

“I said some crazy shit last night, I know.” They take a seat next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “But I meant it. I like being your friend, Carmy. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“You didn't say too much. You were just drunk.” He feels a bit stunned.

“Okay,” they accept after a beat. “I mean, you're right. I was just drunk. Um…” They gesture towards his face. “I got the mark off, by the way.”

Carmy stands up and checks his face in the mirror. Sure enough, it's gone. He feels relief wash over him like a breeze, and another feeling he can't place. It's…It's…

“Thanks,” he says, and they nod.

“It's the least I could do.” They stand up, too, and walk out of the bathroom. They stand in the doorway for a moment before looking at him. “I'm gonna smoke. You wanna join?”

It's…

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be just a sec.”

Then it's just him in the bathroom, the door shut as he stares at his reflection. The harsh fluorescent bathroom light casts harshly down the planes of his face, creating dark shapes on his face. He stares at the spot where the lipstick mark used to be. The longer he stares, the more the unnamed feeling stretches outwards.

When it drops in his stomach, that’s when he realizes.

The feeling is disappointment.

@zorrasucia

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #WHEEEEE CHAPTER 2 LETS GO!!!!!! thanks everyone for the kind words on ch 1.... it made me very happy..... i love carmy so much. so very muc #this chapter is all over the place but that's just whats up #my stuff #my writing #also hello zs i hope that's what u meant by tagging u LOL i'm a newbie to this #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

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domm1etae · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! I’m not sure if this is the type of suggestions you’re looking for, so feel free to ignore if it’s not

Ateez member of your choice x idol!reader, dealing with jealousy and regret after finding out you’re marrying another idol of your choice

Ending is up to you 💙

Behind Closed Doors

hongjoong x f!reader

fluff ig?

4.2k

The moment Hongjoong found out, his world seemed to shatter. You, the person he’d shared so many secret smiles, stolen moments, and late-night phone calls with, were suddenly no longer his. The headlines had announced it first. You were getting married. To Jungkook.

It was all over the news: “Idol Power Couple: Y/N and Jungkook Announce Engagement!” The media praised the union of two of the biggest stars in the industry, painting a perfect picture of love and harmony. But Hongjoong knew better. He knew this wasn’t real, just another move by your agency to protect your image, to keep your popularity soaring. Still, the knowledge didn’t dull the sharp edge of jealousy that cut through him.

tags under

m/f, wedding, jealousy, drama, celebrity life, jungkook from bts mentoined, seonghwa helping because he is just like that (pookie), regret, kissing

author's note: this was very difficult to write, which is why it’s a bit short, but I hope you like it guys!

Hongjoong had just finished a long day of practice, his muscles aching as he sank onto the couch in the dorm’s living room. The familiar buzz of notifications on his phone barely registered in his mind, until he caught a glimpse of your name lighting up his screen. His tired eyes immediately brightened. He hadn’t heard from you all day, and he missed your voice.

As he reached for his phone, he saw it wasn’t a message from you—it was an article notification. Normally, he’d swipe away these news alerts without a second thought, but this one had your name in bold, accompanied by the name of another idol he knew all too well: Jungkook.

Confused, Hongjoong clicked on the headline: “Breaking News: K-pop Power Couple Y/N and Jungkook Announce Engagement!”

He froze. His heart skipped a beat, then pounded faster, echoing in his ears. The words felt surreal, like a nightmare, but no matter how many times he blinked or reread the headline, it didn’t change. You were getting married.

He quickly scrolled through the article, his eyes skimming the paragraphs, looking for some sign this wasn’t real. His breath caught in his throat as he saw photos—you and Jungkook. The two of you walking hand-in-hand, smiling at each other. You looked perfect together, like something out of a romantic drama. His thumb hovered over one of the photos, zooming in on your face. The smile you wore was beautiful, but it wasn’t the one he knew. It wasn’t the smile you gave him when you were alone, when you felt safe and unguarded.

“No…” Hongjoong whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “This can’t be happening.”

He could feel the panic rising in his chest, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. His hands trembled as he tossed his phone onto the couch beside him, trying to distance himself from the cruel reality it had just revealed. But it was no use. The image was burned into his mind—you and Jungkook together, the engagement, the smiles for the cameras.

His mind raced with questions. Why hadn’t you told him? You had been together for months now, secretly meeting whenever your schedules allowed it, cherishing every stolen moment like it was a lifeline in the whirlwind of your busy lives. But now, all he could feel was the sting of betrayal. He had trusted you, and yet, here you were, announcing to the world that you were marrying someone else.

Hongjoong’s phone buzzed again, and this time it was a text from you. His breath hitched as he unlocked his phone to read the message.

Y/N: Can we talk?

His jaw clenched as he stared at the message, the words so simple yet loaded with meaning. Can we talk? That was all you had to say after blindsiding him with the news of your engagement to another man? His fingers hovered over the screen, torn between anger and confusion. He wanted to demand answers, to call you and ask why. Why Jungkook? Why hadn't you told him? Why now? But he was afraid of what your answers might be. Afraid that this wasn’t something you could explain away.

Before he could stop himself, he texted back:

Hongjoong: What’s there to talk about?

The seconds ticked by as he waited for your reply, each one stretching longer than the last. His mind swirled with memories of you—your secret dates, the way you’d laugh when he made a joke, how you always listened to the demos he was working on, offering quiet encouragement with a soft smile. It had felt real. But maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it had never meant as much to you as it did to him.

His phone buzzed again, your response lighting up the screen:

Y/N: It’s not what you think. Please… meet me at the studio.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, frustration knotting in his chest. Not what I think? He couldn’t even process what that meant right now. The studio had always been their safe place, a haven where they could be together without prying eyes. But now, the thought of seeing you there felt tainted. Could he really face you, knowing that the rest of the world believed you belonged to someone else?

Still, against his better judgment, he found himself grabbing his keys and jacket, heading out into the night. The cool air did nothing to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. Every step toward the studio felt heavier than the last. He didn’t know what he was going to say, or if he could even bear to hear your explanation. But he had to know. He had to understand why you hadn’t told him.

When he arrived at the studio, the familiar hum of the city outside faded away, replaced by the quiet tension that filled the space. You were already there, sitting on one of the chairs near the mixing console. You looked up as soon as he entered, your face pale and your eyes wide with worry.

“Hongjoong…” Your voice was soft, tentative, as if you were afraid he might turn around and walk out before you had the chance to explain.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he stared at you. His heart was still racing, his mind still struggling to piece together how things had gone so wrong so quickly.

“How long?” he asked finally, his voice low and strained. “How long have you known about this… this marriage?”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “A few weeks,” you admitted quietly.

“A few weeks?” Hongjoong echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. “You’ve known for weeks, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to tell you,” you said quickly, standing up, “but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, guess what? You did.” His words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. “You think finding out through some news article was better? You should have told me, Y/N.”

You took a step toward him, your eyes pleading with him to understand. “It’s not real, Hongjoong. The marriage, it’s just for the public. My agency… they’re forcing me to do this. They said it’s to protect my image, to stop the rumors. It’s all fake.”

Hongjoong laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Fake? It doesn’t look fake. The pictures, the smiles, the engagement—none of that looks fake.”

“It’s all for show,” you insisted, desperation creeping into your voice. “I don’t love him. I love you. I’m with you.”

“But no one knows that, do they?” His voice cracked, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. “We’re a secret. Always in the shadows, always hiding. And now the whole world thinks you belong to him.”

You swallowed hard, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want this, Hongjoong. I never wanted this.”

“Then why didn’t you fight it?” His question hung in the air, filled with hurt and frustration. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

“I tried,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you know how this industry is. They don’t care about what I want. They only care about what sells, what keeps me relevant.”

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, his emotions warring inside him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to tell you that he understood—but the jealousy gnawed at him, twisting his heart. The thought of you standing next to Jungkook, even if it was fake, made him sick.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle watching you be with someone else, even if it’s all pretend.”

You closed the distance between you, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Please, don’t give up on us,” you begged, your voice trembling. “We can make it through this. We just have to keep pretending. Once the media moves on, we’ll figure something out. But I need you, Hongjoong. I need you to trust me.”

He looked down at your hand on his arm, then up into your tear-filled eyes. He wanted to trust you, he really did. But the hurt was still too raw, the jealousy still too strong.

“I need some time,” he said quietly, pulling away from your touch. “I need to figure out if I can live like this.”

Before you could respond, he turned and left the studio, leaving you standing alone in the place that had once felt like home to both of you. Now, it felt cold and empty, just like the space between you and him.

The days that followed were a blur for Hongjoong. He threw himself into work, burying his emotions under endless hours in the studio, long rehearsals, and late-night songwriting sessions. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, you were always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Every song he wrote seemed to echo with the words he couldn’t say to you. Every melody reminded him of the nights you’d spent together, curled up in the quiet of the studio, sharing secrets and dreams that now felt out of reach.

He would open his phone sometimes, scrolling mindlessly through social media, only to be slapped with another reminder of you and Jungkook. Every entertainment site was buzzing about the "golden couple." The photos of your fake smiles, the ones that were meant for the public, stabbed him every time. Even though he knew it was all a show, it didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him. It looks too real.

He found himself on a fan site one night, something he rarely did. His fingers hesitated on the keyboard before he typed your name into the search bar, his heart sinking as he saw how quickly the site filled with posts about you and Jungkook.

“Y/N and Jungkook spotted at dinner together! Couple goals!” “Y/N talks about wedding plans in new interview!” “Fans are obsessed with Y/N and Jungkook’s chemistry!”

He scrolled through the photos—the two of you laughing at some fancy restaurant, walking together through the airport, attending an event in matching outfits. It made him sick. When did it get this far?

His phone buzzed with a notification from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa: You good? We haven't seen you much lately.

Hongjoong let out a sigh. The other members had noticed his absence, but he didn’t know how to explain what was going on. He didn’t want to dump his personal issues on them, especially when he hadn’t even figured out how to process them himself. Instead, he texted back something vague:

Hongjoong: Just working on music. Be back soon.

But even the music wasn’t helping anymore. Normally, he could pour his heart into a song and find some sense of release, but lately, everything felt empty. He kept replaying that night at the studio, the look on your face when he told you he needed time. He remembered the way your voice had trembled when you said you didn’t want this marriage, how you had begged him not to give up on you. And yet, he had walked away.

Now, sitting alone in the darkened dorm room, Hongjoong couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right choice. The regret was heavy, weighing him down more with each passing day. Maybe he should have fought harder. Maybe he should have trusted you when you said the marriage was fake. But seeing you with Jungkook, day after day, smiling and playing the role of the perfect couple, had twisted something inside him. It wasn’t your fault, and he knew that deep down. But the jealousy was like a poison, clouding his judgment and making it impossible to think clearly.

He glanced at his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. It had been over a week since you last spoke. You hadn’t tried to contact him since that night, and he wondered if that meant you had finally given up on him. The thought made his chest tighten. What if I lose her for real? The idea of you slipping away, of choosing to stay in this fake marriage because he had pushed you too far, terrified him.

But then, almost like a cruel twist of fate, another article popped up on his screen: “Jungkook and Y/N to Announce Wedding Date Soon!”

He blinked at the headline, his stomach flipping. Wedding date? Already? He clicked the article, quickly scanning through the words, his mind racing.

The agencies confirm that the highly anticipated wedding between Y/N and Jungkook will be taking place next spring. Fans are thrilled at the news and can’t wait to see the stunning couple tie the knot…

Hongjoong sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. The announcement of your wedding date with Jungkook had hit him like a tidal wave. Each headline was a painful reminder of what he had lost. He tried to focus on work, but the melodies that usually inspired him now felt hollow and empty.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret swirling in his mind. The studio, where you had shared so many intimate moments, now seemed like a relic of a past he couldn’t reclaim. Why didn’t I fight for us? The question echoed in his head, mixing with the guilt that had taken root ever since he walked away from you.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen, seeing a message from Seonghwa. Hongjoong’s heart sank. Seonghwa had always been perceptive, often the first to notice when something was off with him. And Hongjoong knew that his absence and recent behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Seonghwa: Hey, Hongjoong. We need to talk. Can you meet up?

Hongjoong hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t know if he was ready to discuss the mess he was in, especially when it came to his feelings about you and the situation with Jungkook. But he knew he couldn’t avoid this forever. He needed to face the consequences of his actions and, perhaps, get some clarity.

Hongjoong: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

The response was quick.

Seonghwa: How about the café near the studio? I’ll be there in 30 minutes.

Hongjoong agreed and got ready, trying to push away the dread he felt about the upcoming conversation. He needed to talk to Seonghwa, but he was afraid of how much he would reveal. Would Seonghwa confront him about what he knew? And how would he react?

The café was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered around. Seonghwa was already there, sitting at a corner table with a cup of coffee. His expression was unreadable as Hongjoong approached and took a seat across from him.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said, trying to sound casual but feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him.

“Hey,” Seonghwa replied, studying him closely. “You’ve been MIA lately. What’s going on? We’ve all noticed you’re not yourself.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s been… a rough few weeks. Things with Y/N and Jungkook… it’s been hard to process.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened slightly, but he didn’t press further about the details of your relationship. Instead, he leaned in, his tone gentle but insistent. “I know you’re going through a lot, and I can see how much this is affecting you. But you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re here for you, you know?”

Hongjoong nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I messed up, Seonghwa. I walked away when I should have stayed. I should have supported Y/N, but I let my own fears and insecurities get in the way.”

Seonghwa’s expression remained sympathetic, but there was an edge of frustration in his voice. “You’re not alone in this, Hongjoong. But you also need to confront what’s happening. Running away or hiding won’t fix things.”

Hongjoong’s eyes dropped to his coffee cup, his hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t know it would get this bad. I thought I was doing the right thing by stepping back, but now I see that I only made everything worse. The wedding… it’s all happening so fast.”

Seonghwa’s gaze was steady. “You’ve always been good at taking charge and leading the group, but this is different. This is about your personal life and feelings. You need to make a decision about how to move forward. It’s not just about what happened with Y/N and Jungkook; it’s also about how you handle your own regrets and actions.”

“I know,” Hongjoong said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. I realize now that I should have been there for Y/N, and now I’m paying the price for it. I don’t know if I can fix it, but I want to try.”

Seonghwa nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s good that you’re recognizing that. But remember, you can’t change the past. All you can do is try to make things right moving forward. If you want to reach out to Y/N, if you want to make amends, you need to be prepared for whatever comes next.”

Hongjoong’s heart ached at the thought. He wanted to reach out, but he was scared of how you might react—or if it was already too late. The idea of you being with Jungkook, even if it was for the public, was a heavy burden to bear. And the thought of confronting it made him feel vulnerable in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“I just don’t know where to start,” Hongjoong admitted. “It feels like everything is out of control.”

Seonghwa’s voice was calm but firm. “Start by being honest with yourself. Then, if you’re ready, be honest with Y/N. Apologize, explain your feelings, and see if there’s a way forward. It won’t be easy, and it might not work out the way you hope. But at least you’ll know you tried.”

Hongjoong looked up, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Seonghwa gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re welcome. And remember, whatever happens, we’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

As they finished their coffee and prepared to leave, Hongjoong felt a glimmer of hope amidst his regret. The conversation with Seonghwa hadn’t resolved everything, but it had given him a clearer path forward. He knew that confronting his feelings and trying to make amends with you was the only way to find some closure.

He left the café with a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face the difficult conversations and the possibility of a future that might still hold a chance for reconciliation.

The day had come. Hongjoong sat in his dimly lit apartment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. Every ticking second on the clock seemed to intensify the anxiety coiling in his chest. He had spent weeks grappling with the weight of regret and the impact of his decision to step back. Today, he was finally going to confront the tangled mess of his emotions and the consequences of their actions.

His phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen to see a message from you: “Can I come over? I need to talk.”

Hongjoong’s heart pounded. Is this it? he wondered. Is this the moment everything changes? He quickly typed a reply: “Of course. Anytime.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

When the doorbell rang, Hongjoong’s breath hitched. He stood up, his legs feeling like lead, and walked to the door. He opened it to find you standing there, looking weary and emotionally drained. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and the weight of your exhaustion was visible in every line of your face.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Come in.”

You nodded, stepping inside with a sigh. “Thanks.” The fatigue in your voice was palpable. “I’m so tired, Hongjoong. This whole pretending to be happy, this fake engagement with Jungkook… it’s draining me.”

Hongjoong guided you to the living room, his heart aching at the sight of you struggling. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” he said, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m really sorry for everything. I should have been there for you, not walking away when you needed me most.”

You sat down next to him, your shoulders slumped as you tried to hold back tears. “It’s not just about you leaving. It’s the entire situation. I never wanted any of this. I didn’t want to be part of this charade. I just wanted us to be together, without all the lies.”

Hongjoong reached out, gently taking your hand. “I know. I know now how much I hurt you by stepping away. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was push you further into a situation that was never fair to you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. “I needed you to understand that I wasn’t just a part of this public display. I was struggling too, and I needed your support. But instead, I felt like I was fighting this battle alone.”

Hongjoong’s heart clenched as he listened to you. The pain in your voice was a stark reminder of how far apart you had grown. He took a deep breath, his thoughts racing. How could I have been so blind? How did I not see that I was making things worse instead of better?

He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “I’m sorry. I should have fought for us, not let my fears drive me away. Seeing you with Jungkook, even if it’s just for show, made me realize how much I’ve lost.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands comforting you. “I don’t want this fake life anymore. I want to be with you, Hongjoong. Even if it means facing the world’s judgment, I’d rather face it with you by my side.”

Hongjoong’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and resolve. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “We’ll get through this,” he promised, his voice full of conviction. “We’ll face whatever comes our way together. I’m not going anywhere.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the noise of the outside world fading into the background. Hongjoong’s gaze was steady, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of clarity and calm. The enormity of your situation still loomed, but in this moment, all that mattered was the truth you both shared.

Hongjoong’s lips brushed against yours, a gentle, tentative kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words and emotions between you. It was a kiss full of apology and longing, a promise of a future where you both could be true to yourselves. Your lips moved together in a rhythm of mutual understanding, a silent vow to confront whatever lay ahead.

When you pulled back, your eyes met his, and you saw the sincerity in his gaze. “We’ll keep up the public act,” Hongjoong said, his voice steady. “We’ll do what we need to do for now. But behind closed doors, we’ll be honest with each other. We’ll find our own moments of truth and love.”

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. “Yes. It won’t be easy, and there will be sacrifices. But I’m willing to make them if it means being with you.”

Hongjoong held you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “We’ll figure this out, one step at a time. We’ve been through so much already. This is just another challenge we’ll face together.”

As you both sat together, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only slightly. You knew that the path ahead would be fraught with difficulties, but you also knew that you were no longer facing them alone. The world might continue to judge and speculate, but the bond you shared was real, and that was what mattered most.

In the quiet of the apartment, away from the prying eyes of the public and the pressure of the industry, you found solace in each other’s presence. It was a bittersweet reality, but it was one you were both willing to navigate. The love you held for one another was a precious truth, and as long as you could cherish it in secret, you were prepared to face whatever came your way.

With a renewed sense of commitment, Hongjoong and you embraced the challenge of balancing the public façade with your private truth. As you both held each other close, you knew that no matter how difficult the journey ahead might be, you would face it together, bound by a love that was strong enough to endure even the harshest scrutiny.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #kpop #atz #kim hongjoong #hongjoong fanfic #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong fluff #ateez fluff #kpop fluff #fluff #x reader #hongjoong x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #female reader

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aroyallybigbangrwrb · 10 months ago

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A Call to Join the Royal Court 📯

A decree to everyone in the kingdom of the Red, White and Royal Blue fandom to join us for A Royally Big Bang - an event where we welcome all of you, but first:

What is a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is a fandom wide event in which authors and artists are paired up. Authors will write a work within the parameters of the timeline proposed and the Artists will transform said work into a pairing piece of some kind within the timeline as well. The works are then posted together in harmonious union.

Who can participate?

We invite all authors and artists and betas over 18 to be a part of the festivities. We welcome all forms of transformative work here. As an artist, paired pieces are only limited by your imagination, let it be a podfic, a gifset, a playlist, a moodboard, visual art, etc!

When is this happening?

👑A ROYALLY BIG BANG STARTS RIGHT NOW!!! 👑

AUTHORS: Sign ups for Authors start (today!) February 1st and will close on February 22nd.

You can sign up in three tiers according to minimum word counts and posting dates. This “Big Bang” has three different tiers (see below) for all authors' creative needs. The bigger the size, the longer the timeframe you have to write.

ARTISTS: Sign up will start on February 23rd and run until March 8th. You will be able to rank your top choices based on summary and tier.

BETAS: Sign up dates will start on February 23rd and run until March 8th. You will be able to share what you are and aren’t comfortable to beta based on tag restrictions and tier.

What do tiers mean?

🎂Tier 1 - Mini Bang: 10k+ words. Posts May- June

🎂Tier 2 - Medium Bang: 30k+ words. Posts July - September

🎂Tier 3 - Big Bang: 50k+ words. Posts October - December

Works within Tier 1 are expected to be a minimum of 10K words leading up to 30K words. If your work is over 30K words it is within Tier 2, and so on and so forth.

SO… ARE YOU READY?

✍️AUTHOR SIGN UP FORM IS HERE

ARTIST SIGN UP FORM (coming Feb 23rd)

BETA SIGN UP FORM (coming Feb 23rd)

But what if I have more questions?

You can check out our original FAQ here and our new Live FAQ here and if that doesn’t answer your questions you can send us an ask here on Tumblr, A DM on Twitter, or an email at [email protected] and we will get back to you as quickly as we can!

P.S. Once signups are completed and pairings created all authors and artists and betas will be invited to the RBB Discord server for easier direct communication with the mods, support from other participants and to make this a royally good time!

#rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue movie #red white and royal blue #rwrb book #rwrb film #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb fanart #rwrb fandom #fandom event #big bang #a royally big bang #arwrbb #rwrbrbb

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yujo-nishimura · 8 months ago

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Shambles (Working title)

Took a creative break from my master thesis and had an idea about a devil fruit eater who could communicate with the dead. I also loved the Dressrosa Arc, let´s face it - Doffy and Law are hot and actually I have no idea where writing this will get me to - so this is a journey for all of us. ;)

Warnings: none at this point ;)

Note: English is not my native language, mistakes can occur

You had realized that you had become very valuable for a lot of people after eating the Talk-Talk-Fruit. This devil fruit made it possible for you to communicate with the dead, the deceased people who lived on as memories in other people's minds. The revelation of this power occurred during an encounter with your friend in the small village where you grew up. While playing a game of tag, you finally tagged your friend, and in that moment, both of your minds were flooded with memories of his deceased mother. Overwhelmed by emotions, you paused, witnessing your friend's tears as he desperately questioned why you had subjected him to such a sad memory.

Mastering this extraordinary skill took several years, beginning with the discovery of the fruit in the nearby forest, followed by its collection and consumption. The fruit's unpleasant taste compelled you to spit out half of it, marking the day where your arduous journey would start.

Now you were sailing the seas, you had left your home village where half of the population did not understand your talent and called you an evil witch or a sorcerer.

You felt like you never fit in anywhere and you set out on your small boat to explore the Grand Line. In order to find not only people who could make use of your power and accept you as you are, but also the possibility of finding genuine friendship.

You had been sailing for several days as you arrived on an island with a beautiful town filled with citizens living together in harmony with toys who were able to speak and walk around.

You had seen many things in your life - such as speaking animals or the sad and sometimes comforting memories of the dead, however the sight of walking and speaking toys in this town amazed you.

The country you had arrived at was called Dressrosa and their king, Donquixote Doflamingo was known as a war lord and savior of this country.

Though you were too young to personally witness the event, historical accounts and books informed you that the previous king of Dressrosa had descended into madness one fateful day, mercilessly slaughtering his own citizens. It was during this crisis that the pirate Doflamingo and his family appeared, rescuing the town and embodying a sense of righteousness. This event instilled in you the belief that pirates, despite their reputation, could be inherently noble, protecting the vulnerable when necessary.

If you just could make friends, maybe you could also have a crew and call yourself a pirate… You were deep in thoughts as you walked through the city, taking in the new scenery around you while contemplating your next steps. As you were not aware of your surroundings you accidently bumped into a young guy, he was standing in the middle of the street, holding a sword, his face half covered by a white hat.

As you accidently touched him, pictures of a tall blonde man with a black feather coat flashed in front of your eyes. You saw this man lying in the snow, coughing blood. You immediately knew this man was not alive anymore.

The man you unintentionally collided with spun around, his expression a mix of astonishment and anger. Despite his initial shock, he emitted an air of confidence and composure. His intense blue eyes peered out from beneath his hat, framed by his disheveled black hair.

Finally finding his voice, he mustered the question, "Who are you?"

You recognized the emotions playing across his face—the sheer disbelief and wonder of a memory, encountering someone dear to him, someone who had already departed from this world - you knew this reaction so well by now.

"I apologize," you responded, striving to maintain a sense of calm and composure. "My name is Y/n, and I believe my devil fruit powers accidentally stirred up an unpleasant memory within you."

He cast his gaze downward, concealing his eyes from your view. "It's alright," he uttered, his voice tinged with a note of caution. "Be careful in this town. Things are not as they seem to be." With those words, he turned around once more, gradually walking away. His movements betrayed signs of injury, but you hesitated to address it, not daring to provoke those icy eyes that had, for now, granted you forgiveness.

Shaking off the unpleasant vibes that lingered, you resolved to press on with your journey. You had made up your mind to meet the king and see if he had any use for your power. Being hailed as the savior of the country, he seemed like the appropriate individual to approach an outcast such as yourself.

#one piece #long fanfic #yujowriting #long reads #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar op #dressrosa #donquixote doflamingo #op doflamingo #doffy one piece

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bp-zb1fics · 2 years ago

Note

hi! I love your stories! <3 do you think you could do a suggestive taerae fic?

Thinking about

pairing: taerae x reader

pronouns: none used

genre: fluff, suggestive themes

tw/tags: not much plot or dialogue sorry, music metaphors, introspection, very sentimental, kisses, making out, non-explicit descriptions, taerae slight demisexual implications (this in no way reflects on the real person, fiction is fiction)

wc: 871

summary: in this game called love, taerae trusts you with his heart

a/n last req done before i focus on checklist reqs! thanks so much anon, i really hope you like it! i got a little poetic with this one and played around with italics so its very soft hours but not much happens, idk if that works or not so feel free to lmk!

Check my pinned for more fics~

“What are you thinking about, Taerae-ah?”

You’re sitting on the couch, his guitar on his lap, your hands in his as he traced over dip, curve and line. Pressing your palms together, skin against skin, stretching his fingers out to see if his hand is larger than yours.

“Hmmm, how your hands look next to mine.”

Being with you is never boring, in Taerae’s opinion. Because even when it seems boring to other people, there’s always something new and interesting for you or him or for both of you. He can spend afternoons with you and his guitar, strumming and singing for you until you join him. And maybe you’re not the best singer but he’ll still listen to your voice like it’s a dream he doesn’t want to wake from. (Sometimes love isn’t just blind but deaf too)

And the best part wasn’t you getting the harmony right or him hitting those impressive vocal riffs, no, it was the silly little songs you made up together, nonsensical lyrics and ridiculous ad libs that you end up laughing over. Because that’s what Taerae thinks about sometimes, when he’s about to go to bed, when he’s too tired to think of anything else. He’ll think about the way you laugh, the sheer joy of that tiny moment. There are some moments that he wished he could save in a time loop and live in.

“I love your songs.”

You tell him the day he gathered enough courage to play you something from the little notebook he keeps, lyrics and chords in his handwriting. He treasures that memory just like he treasures those days when you have enough time to sit down and talk for hours. Long conversations that stretch time so thin that it feels just like seconds ticking away.

“Play something for me, please?”

Play with my heart, Taerae thinks, because I’ve given it to you to take joy in, to keep you company on lonely days, to make you smile and laugh and remember only the innocence of life. I’ve given you my hand to hold in the playground that we call love and I trust you not to let go, not to abandon me, just as I make a promise to never leave you, to play the game of hearts until ours stop beating.

You two have a million playlists together. Each of them are a carefully curated, specifically arranged set of songs that Taerae and you create for every occasion. Birthdays, anniversaries, long drives, short drives, walks by the river, all saved to preserve the moments you spend loving each other.

There are also playlists for moments like this. Soft, sultry, dreamlike beats in the background as he lifts his guitar off his lap, places it carefully to the side and pulls you closer. His hands leave yours only to glide up your neck and cup your cheeks.

Gentle kisses. His lips fit over yours like a missing puzzle piece. Pulling away only for a force stronger than gravity pulling them back in. Your hands holding the back of his neck. It’s a haze as he presses your back into the couch, his legs bracketing yours in between them. He only pulls away once your lips are swollen, when the need for oxygen overpowers his need to kiss you until you both feel like you're floating. Your eyes meet his and you laugh breathlessly as he smiles at you, so, so enamoured.

If he could write a song about you, it would be about love.

You tug him back down, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers in between strands. He shivers, bending down to press his lips below your ear, mapping out a path down your neck as you get a little more restless. Taerae is almost too warm and so are you. He stops at the base between you neck and shoulder, the press of his mouth a little firmer, teeth scraping over skin, tongue following as if to soothe. Your fingers are laced in his hair, your back arching just a little at the sensation. Then he pulls back, pressing kisses along your collarbones. Your hips jump just a little, brushing against him and he exhales slowly.

Taerae wasn’t really interested in girls. Or boys. Just you.

He’s interested in the way you shakily undo another button of his shirt between kisses, the way you tremble a little when his hands slide under the hem of yours, skin against skin, fingers stroking the sides of your waist. Nothing becomes more interesting than the sounds he can pull from you, the kind of music that sends jolts of heat down his spine. His favourite song is the way you call his name, sweet and wholly addictive.

In the afterglow, he can only look at you. He can only watch the way you watch him, with so much unbridled affection that his heart is bursting, spilling out the seams to show you how he feels about you. To keep showing you everyday until your heart decides to give out. And he hopes that when that day comes, that the way he chose to love you was enough. Because you were more than enough for him.

__________________________________________

“What are you thinking about, Taerae-ah?”

“I don’t know…”

“...You mostly.”

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miss-hyoko · 2 years ago

Text

Our Love Is True

Character(s): Malleus

Summary: You're about to die and Malleus wasn't ready to let you go

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, angst, romantic, reader is Yuu, established relationship, death, and 1.9k words

Note: This fic was inspired by Habibie & Ainun, a famous romance movie in my country. Their OST is the one I translated for the later part of this fic. If you're interested, you can hear the song here (Official MV) or here (English Translation)

P.S: I translated this in the middle of the night when my brain wasn't quite right. If you found something wrong, please let me know 👉👈

Since the beginning of your relationship, Malleus already knew he wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his life with you.

For he a fae and you a human; one is a creature destined to live a long life, while the other is just a mere mortal with a short life span.

Malleus was well aware of this fact, more than anyone else. Even so, he still wants to be with you, his most beloved person.

If he can’t spend the rest of his life with you, then at least let him accompany you until the end of your life.

***

Many people think that Malleus’ feelings for you are nothing but a temporary attraction and that the relationship between you two won’t last long. So, they patiently await the news about your breakup with the crown prince of Briar Valley.

Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and months turn to years. Time goes by so fast, yet there is still no breakup news from you and Malleus.

Instead, they got news about your marriage with Malleus; and how you both worked together to lead the Briar Valley.

Even though your appearance has changed drastically with the passage of time, the relationship between you and Malleus still continues in harmony. He doesn’t seem to mind about the changes your body is going through; often seen gently kissing your wrinkled face when appearing together in public.

At this point, almost everyone believes that Malleus really loves you and is serious about his relationship with you.

All of that is further proven true when one day, you fall seriously ill.

Doctors and healers throughout the Twisted Wonderland were called to check upon you. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do much because your body is already weak from aging. It’s only a matter of time before you breathe your last breath.

They told Malleus that he needed to prepare himself for the worst-case scenario. But he doesn’t want to; he’s still not ready to lose you.

Frantically, he tried to find a way to extend your life. From reading through all the ancient records in the palace library to even sending some of his knights out to find a way to save you, he had tried it all. Alas, no matter how hard he searched, he found nothing to help you.

Devastated, Malleus dejectedly accepts the fact that you will soon leave him forever.

And ever since that, except for some rare occasions where his presence is absolutely required, Malleus stopped appearing in public, wanting nothing more than to be by your side in the remaining time of your life.

***

Today, unlike usual, you slept very soundly and woke up feeling refreshed. It was the most comfortable sleep you’ve ever had since you got bedridden a year ago due to your illness worsening. Your old body feels full of energy, just like when you were young. But instead of feeling happy, all you can feel is just melancholy.

Today is the day, huh?

Suddenly, there was a rhythmic knock on your door.

“Are you awake, sweetheart?” Malleus entered your room carrying a bowl of warm porridge.

“Good morning, Hornton.”

A subtle smile you gave to him when your eyes met with his. You can no longer see clearly because your eyesight is getting worse; still, you can faintly see the sorrow hidden behind those emerald-green eyes of his that you love the most.

Ah, so he already knows…

Placing the porridge on the bedside table, Malleus walked over to the window and drew back the curtains, showing you the morning sky of Briar Valley.

“Such a great weather we have for today,” he commented in a barely audible voice, trying to sound calm in your presence.

From your position, you can see how the morning sun hits Malleus’ handsome face while a gentle breeze slowly blows his dark hair strands. No matter how many decades have passed, he still looks the same as the first time you met him near Ramshackle Dorm; breathtakingly handsome.

“Today’s breakfast is your favorite porridge, sweetheart. Here, let me help you.”

Taking the porridge earlier, Malleus took a spoonful of its contents and blew on it briefly before bringing it down to your mouth.

You stared alternately between the spoon and Malleus’ face for a few moments. He, The Mighty Fae King who was feared and respected by many, now humbles himself to serve your daily needs; doing the menial work that should be done by the servants.

Your heart suddenly hurts. Whether out of joy or sadness, you also don’t know.

“I don’t want to eat…” you say rather weakly.

Malleus didn’t insist. He just smiled and put the porridge back on the table. “Then at least have a little drink, alright?”

“Hornton… Can we go for a walk in the garden?” you asked suddenly, making Malleus, who was about to pour you some water, instantly stop moving.

He didn’t answer right away. You can hear how he tries to control his irregular breathing.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He answered in a weak voice after a moment of silence; a wistful smile formed on his face when he turned to look at you.

“Let’s go to the garden.”

***

With one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back, Malleus holds you close while walking around the palace garden. His steps were calm and collected as usual, but the grim expression on his face gave away his true feelings.

“Don’t be so tense, Hornton.”

Hearing your weak voice, Malleus reflexively shifted his gaze to you, who was lying comfortably in his arms.

From this close distance, Malleus can see how time has changed you. Your face is now full of wrinkles, your hair’s original color has been completely replaced with white strands, and most of your hair has fallen out, leaving a few bald spots on your head.

To others, you are probably just another ugly old person. But in Malleus’ eyes, you’re still the same beautiful human who managed to steal his heart decades ago.

“You will make other people run scared if you make a face like that,” you said, smiling weakly.

Malleus is aware that you were trying to cheer him up, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile the way you wanted him to. Not when he knows he will soon lose you, the only bright light in his dark life.

“I do not care about other people. I only care about you alone,” he whispered hoarsely.

As if you had expected him to say that, you just laughed lightly without making any further comment.

Hearing you laugh heartily, Malleus’s gaze unconsciously softened a bit. No matter how often he heard it, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing your laugh.

If only he could hear your laughter for all eternity, how great would it be?

“That big tree in the middle of the garden, I want to see it. Can you take me there?”

“With pleasure, sweetheart.”

Trying to divert his attention from the fact that you will die soon, Malleus gently kissed your forehead and carried you to where you wanted.

Arriving in the middle of the palace garden, Malleus immediately sat in the shade of the tree while placing you in his lap.

“Hehehe, I always like it whenever you hug me close like this, Hornton.” Chuckling softly, you snuggled deeper into your husband’s arms. “Hug me tighter, please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything…”

As he hugged you tighter, Malleus’ shoulders started to tremble, realizing that your death was approaching nearer and nearer, all while he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Unaware of his reaction, you continued to ramble with unfocused eyes.

“Are you always this warm, Mal?”

No, it’s your body that’s getting colder…

“Ah, but this temperature is perfect. I like it….”

“Is that so?” Malleus gently stroked your wrinkled cheek with great tenderness.

“Then, could you stay a little longer?”

As if you didn’t hear his question, you just smiled a little and brought your face closer to his hand resting on your cheek.

You didn’t answer him, but Malleus already knows the answer.

You can’t stay any longer.

Malleus’ vision began to blur, and he could feel tears starting to well up in the corners of his eyes.

With the way he looked down at you who was lying in his arms, the tears involuntary rolled down his cheeks before finally falling on your face.

“Don’t cry, Hornton.”

Your voice now sounds hoarser than before, and Malleus can feel his tears flowing even more. With great difficulty, you move your frail hands to cup his face, trying to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.

But before you could touch his face, Malleus grabbed your hand first. His green eyes stare intently at yours.

For a few seconds, the two of you just stared at each other in silence. Until finally, you broke the silence with a request.

“That song... can you sing it for me?”

Malleus’ body involuntarily stiffened at your request. He knows which song you mean. It’s a song you taught him not long after you two just got married. The one you always sing to him whenever he feels afraid of losing you someday to death.

That song is something special for both of you.

Malleus’ grip on you tightened, and he slowly lowered his head to press his forehead against yours; silently sobbing with ragged breaths.

As long as it’s something you want, Malleus will definitely grant it, no matter how hard or unreasonable it is.

“When the heart

twisting and disturbing the mind.

Repeating memories,

when love meets love.”

Malleus’s voice quivered ever so slightly as he started to sing.

But you didn’t notice it; continue to lay comfortably in Malleus’ embrace with eyes closed to enjoy your husband’s melodious voice. Past memories start playing like a broken record inside your head; your first meeting with him, your date together, the time he proposed to you, all up to your grand wedding.

“My soul is screaming,

emphasizing that I love you.

Thank you, All-loving (God),

for uniting us.”

Ah, you remember this part. The upcoming lyrics are your favourite part since it describes your relationship with Malleus perfectly. Thus, whenever you sing that part, you always sing it full of emotions; hoping you can convey your feelings for Malleus.

“When I’m no longer by your side-”

“I will wait for you in eternity…”

Malleus was stunned into silence by your sudden intervention. After a while, he continued to sing with lips lifted into a small smile.

“Our love painting the history

Staging stories full of joy

So that any human being would know

Our love is true….”

Ah… Even now, you can still make him fall in love with you all over again.

“A colorful valley

Shaping, curving, hugging us

Two souls that melt into one

In the sanctity of love…”

Nearing the end of the song, Malleus felt your hand that he had been holding suddenly become weak.

Slowly, he moves his face away from you; gazing at your peaceful face that has entered the eternal slumber.

Like a leaking dam, all the emotions he had struggled to hold back since earlier immediately overflowed.

His tears fell uncontrollably without any sign of stopping, his chest heaved up and down, his breath suffocated, and something invisible was gnawing his heart.

Malleus could feel it.

Something inside him also disappeared along with your last breath.

“Our love painting the history

Staging stories full of joy

So that any human being would know

Our love is true….”

Nevertheless, his mouth continues to sing your song.

For all he wants is his voice to be the one to send you off to eternity.

***

I never left,

Always in your heart.

You’re never far away,

Always in my heart.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #rendang #🍴_comp

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sammyhasspammy · 9 months ago

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Switcheroo Au: Poppy

When Poppy was born, her sister Viva was one of, if not the, most popular popstar in the troll tree. Peppy, who was both her father and manager, thought that having Poppy join in on the performance would make them more popular. Thus, the girl group GirlZone (Might... change this later we'll see). was born. One night, Peppy gets the brilliant idea that a perfect family harmony will be the thing to bring them to the top and ensure their popularity. During their next concert, they attempt to perform one but fail when Viva is suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety. She has a fight with their dad backstage and runs away, but she doesn't realize that her little sister followed her. She tried to return Poppy, but found their old pod empty and their father nowhere to be found. She takes care of Poppy by herself until the day of the escape. Before they enter the tunnels, Viva gives a scared Poppy her headband and tells her that it will protect her. Unfortunately, Poppy gets lost in the tunnels. She sings in order to comfort herself. Luckily, Viva heard it and found her, unluckily, so did the Bergens. Viva sacrifices herself. Poppy tries to go after her, but the new King John Dory saves her. Grief-stricken, Poppy turns grey.

She spends her days creating an underground tree house that she and Viva used to dream about. She lives in solitude with little to no interactions with other trolls.

Almost 20 years later, the trolls get attacked by Chad and Todd, outcast bergen chefs who take several trolls back to Bergen Town. Branch sets off on a mission to save them, and Poppy, who does not trust his abilities to keep himself alive, goes with him. They find their friends and are able to convince Gristle, the scullery maid (butler?) of the royal bergen family, to help them by setting him up with Queen Bridgete. Despite getting betrayed by Biggie (yes I'm switching Biggie and Creek I think it's funny), they are able to save all the trolls while becoming friends with the bergen.

Some time later, the trolls get an invitation from one Queen Val who seeks to rule the world with Rock. Branch and Poppy set out to defeat her while bringing the tribes together, eventually ending with Val becoming friends with the others.

And a month after that, at the wedding of Queen Bridgete and Gristle, Peppy suddenly appears and informs Poppy that Viva is alive and has been taken by pop duo Veneer and Velvet. They go on a quest to find Branch's long lost brothers in hopes that they can perform the perfect harmony since Poppy and Peppy can't do it. Poppy holds disdain for Peppy and is tired of him treating her like a child. After a fight, she runs off to save Viva herself and is joined by Branch. During the final confrontation, Branch urges Poppy to lead the harmony. She does with the help of her father, Branch, and his brothers, successfully landing the sibling duo in jail.

Brains storm post - Branch - Viva

(these will have links I just need to post them, i will do it in half a second)

More content will be posted in my #switcheroo au tag! :D Feel free to send any questions or recommendations into my ask box!

Outfit Closeups

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miguelswifey04 · 1 year ago

Note

wait I just had a random idea

Miguel x Siren!reader idk why but it popped up in my head and I cannot get it out

But anyways how have you been doing? You been posting lots!-🪼 anon

oh my god yes i can definitely do that tehe

it’s because i have a lot of requests and i write them BUT i save them to my drafts and post like every hour or so to space them out 😭— lin 🧚🏽‍♀️

miguel o’hara x siren! reader

what happens when spider-man meets and falls in love with a siren 🧜🏽‍♀️

miguel had always been captivated by you, drawn to your ethereal beauty and enchanting voice. but it was your siren nature that truly intrigued him – the magic and mystery that surrounded your every movement and melody. he couldn't suppress his growing feelings any longer and felt a burning desire to express his love.

one evening, miguel gathered his courage and decided it was time to confess his feelings to you. he found you sitting by the waterfront, your voice carrying across the waves as you sang a haunting melody. as your last note echoed through the air, miguel approached, his heart racing.

with a nervous breath, miguel spoke, his voice filled with sincerity. "i may not know you personally but, there's something i need to tell you. i have fallen deeply in love with you. your siren nature, your beauty, and your voice... they've enraptured my heart." he paused, searching for the right words. "i want you to know that i am willing to adjust my life to accommodate your unique siren lifestyle. i want to be with you, to support you, and to create a life where we can both thrive."

your eyes shimmering with emotion, listened intently to miguel’s declaration. you had guarded your heart for so long, fearing rejection due to your siren existence. but in miguel, you saw a kindred spirit, someone who embraced your uniqueness and offered genuine love and understanding.

a smile bloomed on your face as you responded, your voice as melodious as the waves crashing against the shore. "miguel, your words fill my heart with joy. i have yearned for someone who would accept me for who i am, sirensong and all. to know that you are willing to journey alongside me is a gift beyond measure."

with your hearts now laid bare, miguel and your embarked on a new chapter of your lives together. miguel cupped your face and sealed a kiss that would be a testimony of the beginning of your relationship and for many years to come. both of you worked together to create a home that would accommodate your siren needs. miguel studied the lore and legends surrounding sirens, seeking knowledge and finding ways to blend the human and siren worlds.

your home became a sanctuary, a place where your enchanting voice could echo freely and where miguel found solace in your song. he embraced the shifting tides of your lives, determined to navigate the challenges and celebrate the magic you shared.

you charted a course of love and discovery, with miguel supporting your siren lifestyle every step of the way. on moonlit nights, you would stroll along the beach, hand in hand, sharing tender moments as your voice harmonized with the crashing waves.

as you embraced your intertwined destinies, miguel and you found solace and a profound sense of belonging in each other's arms.in your loving union, you discovered a harmony that transcended the bounds of reality, a love story guided by the song of your hearts, forever entwined by your shared passion and desire to explore the depths of your connection.

in your siren song, you wove a melody that would resonate throughout your lives, an eternal reminder of your love and the promise he had made to accommodate and embrace all aspects of your unique union.

tags 🏷️!! @meeom @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #lin’s asks #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel o’hara x siren!reader #miguel o’hara fluff

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windsweptinred · 10 months ago

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Shipper tag game

Thank you for the tag @marvagon, you glorious human 💖💖💖.

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore?

None. I may not be as passionate about them as I once was. But I still hold all my past ships near and dear to my heart. I'll even occasionally nip into their tags on A03 and have a dip into newer fics.

What ship would you consider your first one?

Daiken/Kensuke from Digimon 02. I remember watching it on Saturday morning and wondering if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. That led me to discover Fanfiction.net. And the rest is history...

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

My very first full length fic was Corinthiel, posted here on Tumblr. My first fic posted on AO3 was Dreamling, and I wrote both last year. I am a very, very, very late comer to fanfic 😅. I'm honestly much more at home drawing fanart then writing. But will occasionally give into temptation, when an idea obbsessively hounds me to the point of insanity.

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

I genuinely can't. 😅 I remember it was probably on deviantart.

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

I try desperately to stay out of ship discourse. To me people's ships are their joy... And I've got no interest in being a theif of joy. If there's something I want to see more of in the fandom, like a rare pair I'm fond of, I just try and create content and hope someone else joins in (@bobbole loves you 💚🤍😅) . If it's not for me, I just keep scrolling on by.

Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently?

Again, no. I've always been happy to pick and mix my ships. I have my favorites ofcourse. But I've never outright refused to dip my toe into any ship. Maybe if it ventured into an area I personally deemed problematic. But mostly, I'm happy to try anything once.

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

I'm currently reading Remy Lebeau x Logan fanfic from Xmen. 😅 What sent me in that direction, I do not know. But I've found some amazing new fics in and amongst revisiting some old favourites.

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

I can proudly say until recently I've never had an OTP. Being a multishipper makes that kind of hard. But I don't know, I may be in too deep with Corinthiel. I'm not sure I could picture Danny and the Second Corinthian with anyone else but each other now. (Curse you @ibrithir-was-here. See what you have wraught! 😆). Them and Charmes (Charon x Hermes) from Hades. Because why would you split up the professional associates like that?! (Again very much your fault @mashumaru 😆) , Damn, I guess I've got OTPs now. If there's an established, happy couple in canon, most of the time I'll respect that and leave them be. So I guess that kind of counts too.

Is there any couple that, to this day, that you are extremely mad about not getting into?

Again no. If the juggernaut ship of a fandom doesn't really tickle my fancy, I'll sometimes stare forlornly at it. And sigh like a sad bohemian poet. But that's all content envy and I know it. 😆

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they're kind of interesting?

🤔 I didn't dislike it, but I never really ventured near Corintheus until I started shipping Corinthiel. That made me backtrack and consider Morpheus and the original Corinthian's relationship from an entirely different perspective.

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

No I don't think so. As far as know they're all still alive, well and for the most part, living in peace and harmony in their respective fandoms.

What is your favorite crack ship?

Bookend, Destiny and his Book. The old book and chain. Living their best, grumpy old married couple, life together. @jazzy-a 🤜🤛🤣.

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

Most recently was Dreamling. I'm a bit of fandom butterfly at the moment, fluttering between multiple fandoms, waiting for the next all consuming passion to strike me down. I read, and reread ANYTHING Corinthiel 😅. But of all time?..... I couldn't say. I revisit so many of my ships so often.

What do most of your ships have in common?

Two bastards in love will always be my favourite. I'd love to boldly claim it's all about two morally dubious rogues, being despicable in the kinkiest ways together. 😅 But I know it's more about two people, often misunderstood and maligned... Finding a deep sense of belonging with each other. But I'm an eclectic sort and I've got a lot ships that don't fit that category I still love dearly.

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

Absolutely nothing outright. I'll sometimes go off a ship a little once it reaches that point where fanon locks in too tight around it. But I think that's a very me problem, as I crave variation/new experiences/ideas. I'll still love the ship, I'll just know that's just my time to move onto something new and come back and visit every so often.

I'm tagging @martybaker @thelostkelpie @missingrache @thirrith @zigzag-wanderer @lucienne-thee-librarian and @tickldpnk8 and anyone mentioned above. If you want to have a go. 😁

#Ask game #My merry fleet of ships

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hanafubukki · 1 year ago

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We all know this wish right? I just thought about this wish and how Silver’s wish was for Lilia to live a long happy life. (Looking at you book 7)

So usually, from the maleficient live action movies alone, we always assumed that the humans was the stubborn ones. Was the ones causing a war with the fae. We saw this especially in Maleficent 2.

And we assume, the same thing happened in twst.

But then I revisited this wish again, and I can’t help but wonder what if it was the Fae?

Fae, as we have seen, have not changed or do not like change. Hence lack of technology and dependency on magic. To say the least, fae can be haughty and stubborn. So what if the fae, in their stubbornness, did not want to compromise and the war continued?

And maybe that’s how, with time, lilia realized how foolish that was of them. How they needed to change. And what better change than raising the next King of Briar Valley to understand humans and get along with them? What better way than raising a human himself? And training a half fae half human, who is a result of harmony.

(His comrade in arms, Baul, who’s daughter married a human and is helping that dream of harmony come true)

And Lilia doesn’t want this endless and foolish war/suffering anymore, and he is trying his best to lead the change through the other three. Hence them growing up together and having a close relationship.

We have the new chapter update tonight, and with this sudden realization, I am excited and yet antsy to see what might happen.

Especially with the villain tags added onto this chapter update

Maybe we will finally see the Faes being the real villains that they truly can be.

(And the reactions from our crew to see such scenes)

#twst theories #twst theory #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge #twst events #dance and wishes #twst silver #twst book 7 #diasomnia #hana queues

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navy-leader · 1 year ago

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With all the doom and gloom ava6 has offered us so far i now want to talk about the AUs id made for victim pre-ava6

So for starters i characterized him as a pottymouthed, angry, and very confused. Pottymouthed bc he is canonically the only stickman to cuss, angry because he was treated very poorly by the animator and subsequently Killed, confused bc hes only existed for less than 2 minutes and has yet to explore the world.

I also made him an artist, similar to Second, but he lacks the ability to make them come to life and sticks mainly to drawing machinery, weaponry and artillery, (as a reference to how many stickman animations often use guns, tanks and the sorts) the way young boys have a fascination for the things. He has extensive knowledge about how they work and Very autistic about it, that was his thing. He does not draw figure drawings like animals or people, that is Second's thing.

I also gave him a lot of self worth issues. It came from multiple reasons,,,being named 'victim' for starters, having his fate sealed to be nothing more than just a test subject, collateral, something to use and then dispose of. Second being that he had no special powers like the other's made like him do. Third being that,,,Second is just So Much Better than him in every way,, Second gets the love he never got from his creator, he never got the life the others were let to live, he never got to explore the world, none of that. He got None of that.

Also he has a lot of trauma pertaining his death but i think thats obvious.

With that in mind i present you the first AU. The premise is that victim finds a way to come back to life and ends back on Alan's desktop, the newer desktop, where the color gang and Second now live in. The way he appeared was never properly Made, hes just There now. He mightve crawled through the code and ended up here, he mightve come from somewhere deep in Alan's files, he mightve come from an external source, who knows but victim is Here now. The color gang gets curious and welcomes this strange new stickman with open arms, they show him around and quickly became friends, and everything was Fine. Until Alan comes online do to work and victim FREAKS at the sight of the cursor, he quickly tries to eradicate said cursor by creating weapons and bombs, and threatened to nuke the PC, whilst the color gang frantically try to stop him and talk him down.

Eventually they do and they reintroduce Alan to victim and vice versa. Victim is still discomforted and LIVID about the discovery that he'd gone back to his MURDERER'S desktop, but for the sake of his newfound friends he will back down. Victim and the color gang will then live in relative harmony, although victim is still Very cautious of Alan and yet to let go of the iron fisted grudge he has on him (who can blame him?) but they live, together.

In this AU is actually where most of my old doodles' interactions between victim and the color gang came from. They just vibe forever together,,, its a nicer beginning for victim. This is where the cowboy victim, rambo victim, and whatever else silly little costume and roles ive put him in take place, theyre just playing!! Just as they do in the actual shorts!!

The second AU takes place right before the ending of ava3, Dark and Chosen are doing their blackhole destruction of Noogai's PC and are running away from the crime scene. Then suddenly a foreign stickfigure comes running at them through the hole Chosen had made to escape, they all fall through the hole and speed through the cables. Only then they could properly assess their unfamilar company, it was a black stickfigure with the same hollow imperfect circle heads as themselves, they'd look practically identical to Chosen. After they get to the other end of the cables they were baffled by the stickfigure that had joined them in their escape.

So victim finds itself tagging along Chosen and Dark during their destruction spree, having no powers like they did it tended to sit back or cause minor destruction of its own. And eventually the three of them live under one roof, though not without problems. They had their problems and fights often break out, mainly between Chosen and Dark, and since theyre both superpowered assholes they cause more than necessary destruction to their home and surroundings. Victim, being Not Superpowered, often leaves before things get messy and he gets caught in the crossfire. He comes back home to their home thoroughly wrecked and is less than pleased (hes pissed) at the state of it, and makes them clean it up.

Before you ask i have No Idea what this'd mean for the events of ava5 but thats something we can always think about now or later!!

In the middle of writing this i realized i only had 2 major AUs for victim so i guess thats the end of it LOL

#dot dot dot #animation vs animator #ava victim

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indndwnshead · 1 year ago

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Amalgamation: Part III - When you meet... Hoseok

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Chapter tags: developing relationship, meeting the bro, Namjoon being the absolute gentleman that he is

Series summary:

Now that you are a permanent fixture in Min Yoongi's life, it's inevitable that you meet the rest of BTS.

Each encounter with the rest of the group becomes a unique thread in the tapestry of life, gradually integrating disparate elements into a harmonious whole and seamlessly weaving into the fabric of your joined world.

A/N:

Oh wow, a double weekend update because I just can't hold myself back lol. Anyway, missing our eternal sunshine, hobi-ah🥹

Let's be friends and stan Yoongi together on twitter @itsdndwn 💜💜

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