#(even if they could buy one its not the same)

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[lazysoulwriter]

Gifts of Desire - Lewis Hamilton.

wc: 1.8k~

Lewis Hamilton knew how to win races, how to command attention, and, most importantly, how to spoil the woman he loved. It wasn’t about showing off; it was about making you feel adored, cherished, and like you deserved nothing but the best. He wasn’t just buying you things—he was buying you moments of happiness, creating memories together, and treating you like the princess you were in his eyes.

It started subtly, with a pair of sunglasses you’d mentioned in passing, a luxurious bag that caught your attention while window-shopping, or a weekend getaway to a quiet villa. Every gift, every gesture, was an expression of how deeply he felt for you, though he never quite put it into words. Lewis wasn’t much for grand declarations; he spoke through action, through the things he bought for you, through the soft touches, and those long, lingering kisses that always left you breathless.

One evening, after dinner at a restaurant where you’d ordered your usual dessert—chocolate fondant—you both took a stroll along the pier. The cool ocean breeze brushed your hair away from your face as he slipped his fingers through yours.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lewis said softly, squeezing your hand. “What would you want if you could have anything?”

You looked up at him, surprised by the question. “Anything?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Anything,” he repeated with a smile that made your heart flutter.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the idea of having anything at all so tempting. “I don’t know... maybe a new camera? I’ve been eyeing one for a while,” you said, always practical when it came to your passions.

His grin widened. “Done,” he said, pulling you into a gentle kiss. You laughed into the kiss, surprised by how easily he had agreed to something so expensive. He pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. “But next time, we’re getting something a little more fun. Something just for you. No practical gifts.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in. You had never expected him to buy you something extravagant, but with Lewis, nothing ever felt out of reach. It was the way he looked at you, like you were worth every ounce of his time, every penny he had ever made, and then some.

Later that week, he invited you over to his place. You’d been texting all day, and when you arrived, he was waiting for you by the door, his trademark grin already on display.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

He led you to the living room, where an extravagant surprise awaited. On the coffee table sat a large velvet box, but the real surprise was the Tiffany necklace glimmering inside, the delicate diamond pendant catching the light. You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

“Lewis, this is... I can’t take this,” you stammered, overwhelmed by the gesture.

He stepped closer, his voice soft yet insistent. “You’re my everything, baby. You deserve it.”

He reached for the box, pulling it out and gently lifting the necklace from its velvet bed. “Let me put it on you,” he said, his fingers brushing your skin as he clasped the necklace around your neck.

As he stood behind you, admiring the way the diamonds shimmered against your skin, you felt a warmth spread through you, not from the necklace itself, but from the tender way he treated you, how he constantly reminded you of your worth. He wasn’t just buying you things—he was giving you a piece of his heart with every gift, every touch.

He kissed the back of your neck, his lips soft against your skin. “You’re my princess,” he whispered, and you melted into his embrace.

The next few weeks followed in much the same way—surprises here and there, extravagant gestures that left you in awe. He’d call you up and ask what you wanted to do, and when you said, “Nothing special,” he’d find a way to make it memorable. He was always thinking of ways to spoil you, to show you how much he cared.

One evening, as you were curled up on his couch, watching a movie, his fingers lightly traced patterns along your arm. His touch was gentle, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of his skin on yours. Every little touch from him seemed to carry an electric charge, sparking something deep within you.

His lips found your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t just buy you things because I can, you know. I do it because I want to see you happy. Because you make me feel... everything,” he said, his voice hushed.

You turned toward him, your eyes meeting his. You knew he wasn’t just talking about material things. There was more to it, something deeper, something that had only grown stronger with time. You both had your own struggles, your own lives outside of each other, but when you were together, nothing else seemed to matter.

“I love you, Lewis,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek. “And I love you,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss that started slow, tender, but quickly turned into something more passionate, more urgent.

As the kiss deepened, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips traveled from your mouth to your neck, his kisses soft but filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

“You’re mine, princess,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he called you his. There was something so possessive, so full of affection in the way he said it, and it made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him.

He kissed you again, his touch gentle but filled with a need you both couldn’t deny. As he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy.

“Anything you want, you know I’ll get it for you,” he said, his voice low, serious. “Anything, as long as it makes you smile.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection for you. “You already do,” you whispered, your heart full, your soul content in his arms.

Days passed, and he continued to surprise you with gestures both small and grand. One night, you were on your way home when he called, asking if you could stop by his place. He’d been working late, but you could sense the eagerness in his voice. As you arrived, you found the place lit only by the soft glow of candles. On the dining table was a beautifully arranged dinner for two, with your favorite dish in front of you.

“Dinner’s ready, princess,” he said, his voice soothing, yet with a hint of playful excitement.

He poured wine for both of you, the glasses glimmering in the candlelight. After you had eaten, you sat on the couch, enjoying each other’s company, the comfortable silence enveloping you. He pulled you into his arms once again, whispering sweet words in your ear as he kissed you.

“It’s all for you,” he murmured, his hands resting gently on your back. “Every little thing I do, it’s because I want to see you happy.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you kissed him back, the passion between you both building once again. You felt like the luckiest person in the world, being with someone who not only gave you extravagant gifts but filled your heart with so much love and affection.

And in that moment, as his lips met yours again, you realized you had everything you needed—his love, his care, and the certainty that he would always be there to spoil you, to treat you like his queen.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Regulars Should’ve Known

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Civilian!Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, alcohol consumption, Soap being a relentless flirt, and pub regulars being tired of his antics.

Author’s Note: This idea was too good to pass up. Soap, the local pub’s charming menace, meets the one person who actually stays—and suddenly, the regulars don’t know what to do with themselves. This is based off of the First Meeting HC and this ask someone gave me about the HC.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The Moment Soap Stood Up, the Bets Began.

It was like watching a rerun of the same episode, the kind you could practically recite the lines to before they were spoken. John MacTavish, resident heartbreaker and relentless flirt, set down his pint with that all-too-familiar glint in his eye. His target? You—a new face, tucked away at the corner table, sipping your drink in peaceful solitude.

The regulars shared knowing looks. Coins discreetly exchanged hands, murmured predictions rolling through the pub.

- “She’ll be gone in fifteen.”

- “Twenty, tops. He’s got a good opener, but she doesn’t look the type.”

- “Might let him buy her a drink, just to be polite.”

- “Nah, she’s definitely walking away.”

Behind the bar, the bartender sighed and shook his head. Poor lass.

---

“New in town, are ya?”

The voice—smooth, rich, and unmistakably Scottish—cut through your quiet. You looked up from your glass, finding yourself face-to-face with a man who looked like he belonged in trouble.

Short-cropped mohawk, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges, a jawline that could probably cut glass. His grin was easy, practiced—but not insincere. The kind of grin that had likely charmed its way out of a lot of bad decisions.

You arched a brow. “Is it that obvious?”

“Aye, ‘fraid so.” He leaned against the chair opposite you, one hand still cradling his pint, the other resting on the backrest like he’d already decided he belonged there. “I know all the faces ‘round here. Yours? Far too bonnie to forget.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. Smooth.

“Johnny,” he continued, offering his hand. “But most call me Soap.”

Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, warmth bleeding into your skin. “Soap?”

His smirk widened. “Aye. Long story, but I promise it’s a good one.”

You cast a glance toward the bar. A few of the men there were watching—not obviously, but with enough interest that it was clear they’d seen this before. One even shook his head slightly, as if to warn you.

You turned back to the man in front of you. “Let me guess—this is usually the part where they either leave or go home with you?”

Soap had the audacity to *look impressed.*

“Clever girl,” he mused, tilting his head. “But that depends. Are you plannin’ on leavin’?”

You studied him for a long moment. Normally, you would have. Normally, you’d roll your eyes and wave him off.

But there was something different about him. Maybe it was the way his grin softened at the edges, how there wasn’t a hint of frustration in his eyes at your teasing, just a glimmer of intrigue. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed… genuine, beneath all that swagger.

You took a sip of your drink, set it down, and smirked.

“Alright, Soap. Let’s see if you can actually hold a conversation.”

The delighted gleam in his eyes could’ve lit up the whole damn pub.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he grinned, leaning in, “you have no idea what you’ve just started.”

---

The Regulars Were Not Prepared

At first, they watched, waiting for the inevitable moment you’d excuse yourself.

But then—

You laughed. Laughed.

Not the awkward, polite kind. Not the “Oh, you’re funny, but I’m still leaving” kind. No, it was a real laugh, one that had you covering your mouth, eyes crinkling in delight.

Soap looked like a man who had just won the lottery.

He leaned in, elbows on the table, completely absorbed in whatever you were saying. His usual, practiced flirtations took a backseat to something else—genuine engagement. His brow furrowed when you spoke, his lips parted like he was actually listening.

The regulars exchanged stunned glances.

One of them groaned and slapped a fiver onto the bar.

“Did not see that coming.”

---

Two Nights Later

They should’ve known something was up when Soap walked into the pub with his hands full.

Not full of drinks. Not full of mischief. No, his arm was slung around your shoulders, pulling you close like he’d never not done it before.

And you—the same person they had all bet wouldn’t last twenty minutes—were laughing, tilting your head back as Soap nuzzled into your neck, murmuring something low and teasing against your skin.

The pub went silent.

The bartender nearly dropped a glass.

Soap strolled in like he owned the place, barely even sparing them a glance as he steered you toward his usual table. When he pulled out your chair, you rolled your eyes but took the seat, nudging his thigh playfully as he plopped down beside you, his hand settling absentmindedly on your leg.

“Oi, Johnny,” one of the regulars called, voice laced with disbelief. “You forget somethin’, mate?”

Soap barely glanced up from where he was tracing slow circles against your knee. “Hm?”

“The part where she *never comes back.*”

That damn smirk tugged at his lips, but it softened as he turned to you.

“Aye, well,” he murmured, gaze warm, *soft*, full of something even the pub’s brightest lights couldn’t match. “Guess I finally did somethin’ right, then.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and for a moment, you thought about teasing him. But instead, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

“You really did,” you murmured back.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and reverent, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

The regulars, collectively speechless, exchanged looks before someone finally sighed, lifting their glass in defeat.

“Well, lads… looks like the first round’s on us.”

The regulars paid up, grumbling into their drinks as pints were passed and wagers settled. But Soap? He didn’t care. Not about the lost bets, not about the stunned looks. The only thing he cared about was you.

Because two weeks later, he was still walking into the pub with you tucked under his arm, your hand casually resting on his chest like you belonged there.

Because a month later, you were waiting for him at the bar with his drink in hand, smiling up at him as he pulled you in for a quick kiss—right there, in front of everyone—before settling into the seat beside you.

Because six months later, Soap wasn’t prowling the bar for company anymore. He was already looking at you like you’d hung the bloody stars.

Your relationship wasn’t built on fleeting glances or empty flirtations. It was in the way he pulled you closer at night, mumbling half-asleep praises into your hair. In the way you learned his tells—how his knee bounced when he was anxious, how he rolled his shoulders when something was weighing on him. It was in the way you reached for him first, and how he always reached back.

Soap had always been a lover, but with you, it was different.

With you, it was real.

And the pub? Well, the regulars had long since stopped betting against you.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[gatheringbones]

[“The traditional politics of the Vietnamese villager was that of accommodation. “The essence of small people is that of grass,” wrote Confucius. “And when a wind passes over the grass, it cannot choose but bend.” In the days of the old empire the people of the villages did their best to avoid participation in the power struggles of their leaders. They preferred to hold themselves impassive, secret, while the warlord armies passed by, and to commit themselves only when the struggle had already been decided in the heavens. As long as the new rulers guaranteed them a minimum of security, the villagers would accept their authority. To resist was to invite destruction, for the conflict, having no rules, could not be settled except by unconditional surrender. Even the high mandarins did not resist implacable force. If unable to “bend” and serve the new sovereign, they would accept the will of Heaven and commit suicide on the battlefield.

Brought up in the traditional manner, the villagers of the 1960’s had learned that their very lives depended upon their “self-control,” or, in Western terms, their ability to repress those feelings which might bring them into conflict with others. As children they played no contact sports. (When the Westerners brought football to Vietnam, they did not perhaps realize the difficulties the game might provoke.) As adults they took pains to avoid even the smallest argument with their neighbors. Between father and son, superior and inferior, the relationship was even more delicate. When mistreated by his landlord, the tenant, for instance, would tend not to blame the landlord for fear that the conflict might finally break all of the bonds between them. Indeed, his emotion for the landlord might not surface in the conscious mind as anger: he would feel “shame” or “disappointment” that his own behavior or his own fate had brought him to such a low status in the eyes of the landlord.

One former Front soldier gave an excellent illustration of this attitude:

Q. Tell me a little about your background. A. I was the eighth of ten children and we were very poor. We had no land of our own. I tended ducks for other people. We were moved around a great deal. Once I tried to save money and buy a flock of ducks to raise for myself, but I failed. I never married. Once I fell in love with a village girl, but I was so ashamed of my status that I did not dare declare my love to her.

Q. Were you angry at society because of this?

A. I thought if we were poor it was our own fault. I told myself that probably my poverty was the result of some terrible acts of my ancestors. I was sad but not angry.

Such acquiescence before authority had its place within a stable, family-based community, where custom and community pressure insured a measure of economic and social justice. But within a disordered and unequal society, it hardened the status quo and denied not only the poor peasants but all Vietnamese not actually in power a voice in their country’s future.

The villagers often resented their government officials, but they made no complaints, for they saw them as instruments of the distant, implacable power of heaven or Fate which they had no means to influence. In the same way, the students of the Saigon university — the sons and daughters of the Diemist officials — made no protest against the Diem regime until the Buddhists led them to it. Like the poorest and most ignorant of the peasants, they simply assumed that they had no power to change the course of events.

Curiously enough, among all the political groups in Vietnam, the Communists alone recognized this political passivity as a psychological problem amenable to a psychological solution. One PRP directive made a very precise formulation of it:

Daily the masses are oppressed and exploited by the imperialists and feudalists and therefore are disposed to hate them and their crimes. But their hatred is not focused; it is diffuse. The masses think their lot is determined by fate. They do not see that they have been deprived of their rights. They do not understand the purpose and method of the Revolution. They do not have confidence in us. They swallow [sic] their hatred and resentment or resign themselves to enduring oppression and terror, or, if they do struggle, they do so in a weak and sporadic manner. For all these reasons agit-prop work is necessary to stir up the masses, to make them hate the enemy to a high degree, to make them understand their rights and the purpose and method of the Revolution, and to develop confidence in our capability.

The solution of the Viet Minh, like that of the NLF, was the systematic encouragement of hatred. In 1946, just after the French broke off negotiations with the Democratic Republic in Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh began to make a series of speeches that now seem quite uncharacteristic of him. Usually the coolest and least emotional of revolutionaries, he denounced the French not only as colonial oppressors but as perpetrators of the most lurid crimes against women and children. On the battlefields as in the most remote of the villages, his cadres conducted a massive propaganda campaign to call forth the emotion of hatred. Reciting lists of the French crimes (no doubt both real and imaginary), they would produce evidence in the form of artillery shells or corpses and call upon the villagers to describe their sufferings in the hands of the “colonialists” and “feudalists.”8 Hatred was the beginning of the revolution, for hatred meant a clean break in all the circuits of dependency that had bound the Vietnamese to the Westerners, the landlords, and the old notables.

Quite correctly the Party directive equated “hatred of the enemy” with the masses’ “understanding of their own rights,” for shame is anger turned against self. In calling upon the villagers to blame the “feudalists” and the “American imperialists and their lackeys” for their sufferings, the NLF was making a new map of the world on which the villagers might reroute their lives. The enemy was no longer inside, but outside in the world of objective phenomena; the world moved not according to blind, transcendent forces, but according to the will of the people.

In the idea that they might change their lives the villagers possessed a source of power more efficient than a hundred machine guns, for to blame Fate for all injustice was to fire into the air and render any weapon useless. As Ho Chi Minh said to the last of the French emissaries, “I have no army, I have no finances, I have no education system. I have only my hatred, and I will not disarm my hatred until I can trust you.” Hatred was the key to the vast, secret torrents of energy that lay buried within the Vietnamese people, to a power that to those who possessed it seemed limitless and indestructible. As the interview with one prisoner went:

Q. What about the fact that the GVN has planes, armor and artillery and the Front does not? What difference does that make?

A. It is only a matter of course. The French also had planes and armored cars, but they were defeated. The ARVN has had planes and armored cars for ten years and what have they accomplished?… In this war the decisive factor is the people. Weapons are dead things. By themselves they cannot function. It is the people who use the weapons and make them effective.”]

frances fitzgerald, from fire in the lake: the vietnamese and the americans in vietnam, 1972

[baekchelor]

Off Script

pairings: Drew Starkey x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, Drew Starkey, discovers an undeniable truth: that the line between fiction and reality is thinner than he ever imagined.

Foreword

Ain't you a lucky bastard?" Chase smirks, mischief flickering in his eyes as he takes a sip of his beer. "An extremely lucky bastard." 

Franklin Avenue hides their favorite spot, a cozy bar tucked away from the usual hustle, frequented by regulars who know its charm. Tonight is no exception; the place is quiet, with just a few patrons scattered in its polished corners. Chase’s words hang in the air, but it takes a beat before they reach Drew, who’s absorbed in his phone. 

"What?" Drew asks, his blue eyes still glued to the screen. He’s texting Maddie—if you could even call it texting. It’s just logistics, really. She’s asking if they’re still on for later. Drew knows Maddie is falling for him, but he doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t want to hurt her—he cares about her, genuinely—but not in the way she hopes. He knows where this is headed, and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.

He hits send, feeling a weight settle in his chest. It’s just routine now. Casual, no strings, at least that’s what they agreed on. But he’s seen the look in her eyes lately, how things are shifting. It’s not mutual, though, and that troubles him more than he lets on. He really doesn’t want to hurt her. 

Just then, Chase interrupts again. "Dude, look!" Chase insists, holding out his phone, grinning like he’s about to break some monumental news. 

Drew sighs but grabs the phone anyway. He takes one look and immediately feels the weight of the headline hit him. 

Y/N Y/L/N AND DREW STARKEY TO PLAY STARCROSSED LOVERS, the headline reads. THEIR FORBIDDEN LOVE STORY IN GRETA GERWIG'S NEW PERIOD DRAMA: DHARMA, COULD BE THE NEXT GREAT ON-SCREEN ROMANCE. 

Drew stares at the article photo and lets out a low chuckle. The headline feels surreal.

Chase leans in, practically buzzing. "Dude, you realize what this means, right? You and Y/N? The next big on-screen couple. People are going to lose their minds over this."

Drew rubs the back of his neck, the reality of it slowly settling in. "Yeah, I know. I’m still processing it." 

"You haven’t met her yet, have you?" Chase’s grin widens, seeing an opportunity to prod. "No, not yet. We’ll meet at the table read next week," Drew says, his voice a little too casual, but Chase picks up on it. 

"And?" Chase raises an eyebrow, egging him on. "Come on, man. She’s stunning." 

Drew tries to shake it off, but even he can’t deny Y/N’s allure. He’s seen her work, and there’s no denying the excitement building up. The thought of working with her—spending months playing lovers in such an intense role—is thrilling. There’s a quiet anticipation gnawing at him, even if he won’t admit it out loud. 

But then, there’s also Joe Burrow. Drew remembers seeing a photo of them, —Joe kissing Y/N after his Super Bowl win two years ago. 

"It’s not like that," Drew mutters. "It’s the role, the project itself that’s exciting. It’s Greta Gerwig, man. Huge opportunity. Incredible cast." 

"Yeah, sure." Chase doesn’t buy it for a second, his smirk growing. "But I’m telling you, this could be it. You and her? The next big thing." 

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. "You’re getting ahead of yourself." 

"Am I though? You’ve seen how these things play out. On-screen chemistry... it’s magic, man. People are gonna be all over you two. " 

Drew leans back, the reality of the situation sinking in. He’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t cross his mind, especially after the buzz the film’s announcement has already generated. His phone’s been blowing up ever since the casting news dropped. Everyone’s talking about it—the hype, the excitement. And maybe Chase is right... the public’s going to eat this up. 

But there’s more to it than just that. He’s curious about her. About working with someone who’s got that kind of talent, that kind of energy on screen. And maybe—just maybe—about what’s going to happen when the cameras aren’t rolling. 

Chase raises his beer in a mock toast. "To the next big on-screen couple." 

Drew smirks, grabbing his beer, but as he clinks the glass, his mind is elsewhere. In just a few days, he’ll be sitting across from Y/N at the table read. He’s never met her before, but something tells him this is only the beginning. 

"We’ll see," Drew murmurs, but deep down, there's a flicker of something more. Excitement. Curiosity. Anticipation. 

And as the night drifts on, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just another role. Something about this project—about her—is going to change everything.

ɴᴇxᴛ ►

[mintyys-blog]

Steve Rogers x Reader: Finding Home

WARNINGS:

New York City had always been loud. Too loud, sometimes. Steve Rogers had never quite adjusted to the constant hum of modern life—the honking taxis, the flashing billboards, the way everything moved at a pace he wasn’t built for. But the noise inside his head was worse.

He wasn’t Captain America anymore. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t sure who he was at all.

That’s how he ended up here, sitting on a park bench in Brooklyn, staring at the place where his childhood home used to be. The building was gone now, replaced by a sleek apartment complex. People passed by without a second glance, unaware of the history that once lived beneath their feet.

“Staring at it won’t bring it back, you know.”

Steve blinked, turning toward the voice. A woman stood beside him—you. You weren’t looking at him, just at the empty space he had been fixated on. A takeaway coffee cup was nestled between your hands, steam curling into the cool evening air.

He frowned slightly. “Do I know you?”

You finally glanced his way, and there was something in your eyes—something knowing. “No,” you admitted. “But I know that look. I see it every day in the mirror.”

Steve studied you. You were dressed warmly, a scarf wrapped snugly around your neck, your eyes distant but kind. You looked…tired. Not just physically, but in a way he understood too well.

“You lose something too?” he asked.

You exhaled a short, humorless laugh. “More like everything.”

A comfortable silence settled between you. Steve wasn’t used to strangers talking to him like this—like he was just some guy, not a symbol or a relic of another time. He found that he didn’t mind.

“You grew up here?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “A long time ago.”

You nodded, as if you’d already figured that out. “Let me guess—you come here a lot, hoping it’ll feel the same. But it never does, does it?”

Steve’s throat tightened. “No. It doesn’t.”

You hummed as you took a sip of coffee, unfazed. “Yeah. That’s the thing about the past. It never stays where you left it.”

He didn’t know why, but he wanted to ask about your story. Why you were here. Why you understood. But before he could, you shifted on your feet.

“Well,” you said, stretching your arms over your head, “it was nice brooding with you, stranger.”

Steve let out a quiet chuckle—his first real one in days.

“See you around, Captain Rogers.”

He tensed. You knew who he was. But you didn’t treat him like it.

Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, disappearing into the city crowd.

Steve sat there for a long time after you left, the noise of the world around him dull compared to the sudden quiet in his mind.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed it.

And for the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping he’d see you again.

Steve didn’t expect to see you again.

New York was huge. People passed in and out of his life like ghosts—there one second, gone the next. But two weeks later, as he stepped into a quiet bookstore tucked between two brownstones in Brooklyn, there you were.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, reading a battered paperback. A cup of coffee rested beside you, a small ring of condensation forming on the wooden floor. You looked different than the last time he saw you—less guarded, like the weight of the city hadn’t quite found its way onto your shoulders today.

Steve didn’t mean to stare, but something about you made it impossible not to.

“You gonna stand there all day, or are you actually here to buy something?”

He blinked, startled. You hadn’t even looked up from your book.

“You knew it was me?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him. “Not many guys walk around like they stepped out of a vintage war poster.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Guess I should work on blending in.”

“Probably,” you teased, closing your book and rising to your feet. “So, what brings Captain America to a tiny bookstore in Brooklyn?”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Just looking for something to read.”

You eyed him for a second, then nodded toward a shelf in the corner. “You strike me as a classics kind of guy. Hemingway? Steinbeck?”

Steve followed your gaze. “You’re not wrong.”

You grinned. “I’m never wrong.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the bookshelf. “For example, I’d bet my next paycheck you haven’t read a new book in at least five years.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue—then hesitated.

You laughed. “Called it.”

Shaking his head, he reached for a random book. “Alright, then. What do you recommend?”

You studied him for a moment, then pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to him. The Night Circus.

Steve glanced at the cover. “Never heard of it.”

“Then you’re in for a treat.”

He stared at you for a beat, then carefully took the book from your hands.

You smiled. “You keep looking at me like that, Rogers, and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Steve didn’t have an answer.

Steve never thought a book would be the reason he saw you again.

After leaving the bookstore that day, he found himself reading The Night Circus late into the night. He had always been a fast reader—years of pouring over war plans and reports had made sure of that—but this book felt different. It wasn’t about battles or strategy. It was about wonder, about a world that felt impossible yet strangely real.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking about the past.

Which is why, a few days later, he found himself standing outside the bookstore again. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing—he told himself he was just there to buy another book—but part of him knew better.

The little bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside.

“You finished it already?”

Steve turned to find you sitting behind the counter, a knowing smirk on your face.

He chuckled, holding up the book. “You were right. I liked it.”

“I’m always right,” you said, leaning forward on your elbows. “So? Favorite part?”

Steve hesitated. He didn’t usually talk about books with people—Bucky had been the only one who ever really cared about that sort of thing—but something about the way you looked at him made him want to answer.

“The clock,” he admitted. “The one that changes every night. I liked that.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah. Me too.”

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, Steve felt like he wasn’t being watched—not as a soldier, not as Captain America. Just as himself.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee sometime.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly, but you didn’t seem surprised.

“You asking me on a date, Rogers?”

Steve felt his ears burn. “Only if you want it to be.”

You studied him for a moment, then grinned. “Alright. Coffee sounds nice.”

Relief flooded his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to say yes until you did.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “It’s a date.”

And for the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Steve wasn’t nervous. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

It was just coffee. A simple, casual thing.

So why the hell did he feel like he was walking into a battlefield?

He had faced Hydra, aliens, and even time itself, but standing outside the café where he was supposed to meet you, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time—anticipation. It was unfamiliar, almost foreign, but not unwelcome.

When he finally stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, and his eyes landed on you immediately. You were sitting at a corner table, stirring your drink absentmindedly, deep in thought.

For a moment, he just watched you. The way your lips quirked as if reacting to some private thought, the way you tapped your fingers against the table in a quiet rhythm. There was something about you—something steady in a world that had always felt like shifting sand beneath his feet.

Then, as if sensing him, you looked up. A slow smile spread across your face.

“You’re late, Rogers.”

Steve huffed a laugh, taking the seat across from you. “By two minutes.”

“Two minutes, ten seconds,” you corrected, grinning. “But who’s counting?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You always this precise?”

���Only when I feel like it.”

Your teasing put him at ease, the nervous energy in his chest melting into something warm.

As the conversation flowed, Steve found himself surprised by how easy it was to talk to you. He told you about growing up in Brooklyn, about sneaking into movie theaters with Bucky, about the streets that no longer looked the same. In turn, you told him about your own past—how you’d moved to the city looking for something you couldn’t quite name, how you’d found comfort in quiet bookstores and late-night walks.

There was a familiarity in your words, an understanding that ran deeper than simple conversation. You knew what it was like to feel unmoored, to search for something without knowing exactly what it was.

“So,” you said after a while, tapping your fingers against the side of your cup. “What now?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head. “Are we just gonna pretend this is a one-time thing, or are you gonna admit you like me?”

He blinked, caught completely off guard. “I—”

You smirked. “Relax, Cap. I like you too.”

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “You do?”

“Obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You think I go around recommending books to just anyone?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “I guess not.”

You leaned forward slightly, a playful glint in your eye. “So… you gonna kiss me, or do I have to wait for our third date?”

Steve’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening. He had always been careful—hesitant when it came to things like this. But as he looked at you, saw the warmth in your gaze, the way you looked at him like he was just Steve, not Captain America, he thought… maybe he didn’t have to be so careful this time.

“Third date?” he murmured. “That a rule?”

You shrugged. “Not officially.”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “Good.”

And then, before he could overthink it, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.

The world outside the café faded away—the noise, the past, the uncertainties of the future. In that moment, there was only you.

And for the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt like he had finally found home.

[chaifootsteps]

looking back on it and decent characterization can really carry a show through its weaker moments

Alastor's haircut was always a bit dorky but I didn't notice it in the pilot when the writing was better and he had such excellent facial animation. he felt like an intimidating guy who was constantly holding the ability to snap everyone's neck at a moment's notice in his pocket. Pilot Alastor I could understand why everyone was scared of him and a legit Overlord Vox had a rivalry with him. show Alastor I'm like 'why is anyone scared of this guy? Vox was right to say no one would care that he came back'

Same with characters like Stolas. when it was pilot / ep1 and some of s1 Stolas I was like 'I buy this guy as a royal who like Alastor has secret levels of power he doesn't use most of the time, because he carries himself like a prince and a high ranking demon even as he's waaaaay more sexual than Alastor is'. but when the writing went down the drain I couldn't stop noticing how huge his eyes were getting, how unpleasant and ill fitting his 'sassy' expressions were, how much I hated his creepy claws and stupid bird feet

Viv's strengths aren't character designs but they work well enough I could ignore the flaws in the early days when the scripts were there. but without someone else's work to prop it up the weaknesses get super obvious, because there's nothing else in front of it to distract or hide the viewer. when I'm checked out of the plot I end up focusing on the little details and that's when issues with character design and worldbuilding get even more obvious than they already were

Exactly. It really can't be stressed enough how much people will forgive as far as visuals go if the story and characters are strong enough.

My favorite example of this will always be Beast Wars. When it first came out, it was visually stunning but the animation looks more dated and every year. And yet everyone remembers it for being one of the most strongly written, most poignant iterations of Transformers that exists.

If pilot Alastor and Ed's performance were still with us, his ridiculous Karen haircut would be a nonissue. As is, it's just one more weakness in a sea of them.

[sunshine-overload]

[BSTS] Heath Birthday 2025 4* Card Story

Chapter 1 -behind starless, day-

heath: You’re here pretty early today, Saki.

saki: Oh, Heath-san— Woah, what’s the occasion? You have so many bouquets with you.

heath: They’re for decorating the lobby. I was tasked with going to buy them. I couldn’t carry them all so the store lent me a cart, it would’ve been better if someone else came with me. Sorry for the trouble, but could you open the door for me?

saki: Of course. Do you want me to carry some of the bouquets too?

heath: No, it’s fine. I’m only going to be pushing it to the office.

saki: Right. It’s probably best not to disturb the pile either. They might all fall out.

heath: Ah, actually, could you hold onto this for me? It’s a plum tree branch.

saki: Oh, sure. Will this be displayed in the lobby as well?

heath: No, it’s just something that I picked up myself at the nearby shrine. It caught my eye, I thought it was pretty.

saki: Woah, you’re right, the flowers are in bloom. It is the season for it after all.

heath: On the top of calendars February is marked as Spring, but it doesn’t really feel like it when it’s still this cold.

saki: Risshun, right? The fourth of February is the beginning of Spring according to the traditional Japanese calendar.

heath: Yeah. It falls near my birthday, so I remember it well. Risshun is always printed on the calendar, so whenever I see that it’s coming up I remember my own birthday is coming up as well.

saki: Isn’t that lovely? It’s as if your birthday is bringing Spring to us.

heath: As if I’m… bringing Spring? That’s a nice thought. I can announce the coming of Spring to you.

-time pass, office-

heath: Thank you for helping me out. Um, I actually have one other thing I’d like you to help me with, is that alright?

saki: Sure, what is it?

heath: I have another duty that I need to fulfill. For the rest of the month I’m going to be your butler, so I want to create a nice and relaxing atmosphere that ‘my lady’ will enjoy.

-

Chapter 2 -office-

saki: (Heath-san is taking a while to come back to the floor, I hope everything is ok.)

-cg

heath: Sorry for making you wait, I couldn’t find the pruning shears anywhere, so getting things ready has taken me longer than expected. I wanted to cut the plum tree branch down so I can display it in a vase.

saki: Wow, what a good idea.

heath: I’ve never done this sort of thing before though, so I’d like for you to check everything looks nice for me. The branch is so thin, so I need to be careful with where I cut it… Like this, I think?

saki: That looks good, if you cut the other side down a little bit more too everything will be balanced.

heath: Got it. Next I need to pick a vase that compliments its height… How about this one?

saki: Ah, that one’s perfect!

heath: Alright, it’s complete. Thanks, Saki. I’ll display this vase.

saki: Fufu, I’m glad it turned out nicely.

heath: Having you watching was a big help. This sort of thing is surprisingly fun. I was a little nervous while making the cuts though.

saki: You must be even more pleased that it turned out well then.

heath: Not being able to redo it once it’s been cut. It was a similar type of nervousness to that before getting on the stage. I want to make sure I entertain you with both my shows and my hospitality.

saki: Heath-san…

heath: Call out to me once the store is open. I’ll escort you to your table that’ll be decorated with these plum blossoms.

-starless restaurant area-

heath: Welcome home, my lady. Please come right this way. I prepared this vase in order to bring Spring to you. Is it to your liking?

saki: Thank you for such a lovely arrangement of blossoms. It really feels as though Spring has bloomed.

heath: I’m glad. I’m not very good at this butler service thing, but I’m glad I tried to do something for it in my own way. Your smile just now was the best present I could have received. This has become an unforgettable birthday.

saki: Same here. Happy birthday, Heath-san.

heath: Thank you. As thanks I will grant you anything that you’d like, your wish is my command.

-heath steps closer-

heath: Say, my lady. Did I sound like a proper butler just now?

—end

[toyboxterror]

End Year, New Year

Pairing: Asakura Shin/Reader

Summary: Shin's plan to give you a New Year gift didn't go as well as he hoped.

Contains: Established relationship, mostly Shin's POV, reader is insecure about their looks, gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns used on reader, but only a couple times and doesn't affect the story.

Author's Note: This was supposed to be published during the anime debut but stuff happened. :P

Huge thanks to @jasminerva for giving her idea, which I used as inspiration! <3

Shin remembered the time when you were eyeing a necklace. You thought it was beautiful, and Shin agreed in his mind (although he had his eyes more on you when he thought of it). But he only saw negativity in your thoughts.

You traced your fingers slowly around the pendant, as if you didn't deserve to be touching it. It was a stunning necklace, but just imagining wearing it around your neck feels like you ruined its beauty, as if someone like you shouldn't wear such jewelry. But your boyfriend didn't think the same.

“You're not gonna buy it? I think it suits you.”

You laughed at him, as if he was telling you a joke. “Nah, I want to spend my money on something better–” You suddenly gasped when you saw something that caught your attention more. “Shin! Isn't that the vinyl of your favorite album!?”

You already pulled him away excitedly before he could tell you his honest thoughts. His eyes lingered at the ornament as you dragged him away.

He spend the rest of the year saving enough money to buy it. After the end of the year, he rushed to the store and let out a huge sigh in relief. He managed to get his hands on the last copy of the jewelry. He was determined to prove your thoughts wrong.

His plan was to invite you to his family's dinner, then surprise you with the gift when you arrive. He felt enthusiastic from imagining your happy face and thanked him with a kiss. It's really simple and not complicated, isn't it? Then Shin had nothing to worry about. Until something worrying happened.

“Yo, Shin. What are you doing?” Heisuke asked curiously as he took a bite from his warm pork bun. Some of the crumbs fell onto his jacket, and he casually brushed them off to the floor. He had been watching the blond man rummaging around for a while since he got back from buying gift wraps.

“Did you see any small brown box near the cash register? I think I misplaced it around here before I left this morning…” He asked as he picked up and looked into the small empty trash can near him, hoping to find what he's looking for with luck.

“I think I saw it earlier,” Lu, who was sweeping around the store and eavesdropping on the boys, spoke up. She tapped her chin with her finger as she tried to remember. “I thought it was one of the trash along with the empty cup noodles so I threw it away when I was cleaning the counter.”

“Pii.” The little bird perched on Heisuke's shoulder and let out a noise to confirm that he saw it happen.

“WHAT!?” Shin yelled in shock at the top of his voice. Lu and Heisuke were startled by the sudden outburst. The red haired girl almost dropped the broom from her hands.

“T-the box…” He kneeled on the ground and held his head with his hands in distress. “It's a present for [y/n]... They said they're coming over this evening…”

“WHAT!?” / “PII!?”

It was their turn to panic.

“M-maybe it was still in the back of the building. Let's check it out together, yo!” Heisuke pulled on Shin’s arm to make him get up from the floor with the help of Piisuke tugging on his strand of hair. He didn't budge. A thousand of horrifying imaginations already haunted him and made him freeze in place.

“I'll check the nearest dumpsite to see if anyone has already picked up our trash.” Lu said, grabbing her jacket before heading out and lightly kicked on Shin's butt in annoyance. “Stop moping around, it's not over yet! Why did you put that thing around here carelessly, damn it!”

Shin and Lu sat near the cash register with a dejected expression on their faces even though they're fresh out from a warm bath. The trio spend the whole day digging around the trash to look for the box whenever they're able to. They were covered in stink, so they decided to take turns in cleaning themselves up after closing the shop, with Heisuke being the last.

Shin heard a sniffle beside him. He looked over and jumped at the sight of Lu's tears already wetting almost her whole face with her snots dripping down from her nose. “Whoa! Lu!?”

“S-Shin…. Bwahhh….” She sobbed and looked at Shin with teary eyes. “It's all my fault…. I should have- *sobs* I should have checked what's in the inside…”

Shin watched her wiping her own tears with her sleeves and sighed. He brought his hand to the young girl's head and gave her comforting pats. Lu stopped her sobbings and looked up to him with tears still flowing down from her eyes.

“It's not your fault. It's mine to begin with,” Shin looked away and scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I should have paid more attention and care to my own things. Besides, inside of it is just a cheap cool notebook that I thought [y/n] would like, I can just buy it again next time,” he lied, he didn't want to make Lu feel more guilty. “So don't feel bad.”

He couldn't lie to himself, but he was devastated by the whole thing. He had been saving up for a long time to give you the gift and make you happy. He's not good with accessories, he wasn't sure if he could find another that would suit your taste. Maybe he should gave Yona[1] a call and asked for advice…

“Waah… Shin…” The man felt a sudden tug on his green apron. He glanced at Lu and watched her in terror as she brought the fabric to her face and blew her nose out on it.

“Gah! What the hell!? You could have at least asked for a handkerchief! Get off me!!!” He yelled as he tried to push Lu’s head away from him. But her grip and strength were too strong.

“... Guys?”

The pair of siblings didn't notice the doorbell rang and you already stood by the door. “Are you alright, Lu? Did you two fight again?” You let yourself in to check on Lu as you looked at her in concern.

Shin gave a final pat on Lu's head and smiled at her, signaling her that it's okay and wanted some privacy with you. Lu nodded at him before smiling at you, “It's alright! We just made up, you two have fun!” She winked at them and waved them goodbye as she headed upstairs, leaving the two of you alone in the empty store.

“Sorry about that. We're okay now,” Shin breathed out tiredly, carefully taking his apron so the snot didn't stain on the rest of his clothing and put it on the counter. He groaned, “And Lu dirtied my apron again. It's the usual stuff, don't worry.”

You chuckled. You find it cute at how they quarrel and get along sometimes, they really act and care about each other like siblings.

Ding!

“I heard that!” He glared at you and huffed, his cheeks were tinted with pink. He can admit that he cares for Lu, but sometimes it's a little embarrassing to show it or hear how others talk about it.

You only laughed at him in response and took a seat near him. “You said you want to give me something important before having dinner with your family together. What is it?” You asked giddily. You tried to hide it, but Shin could tell you're excited from how you bit your lip and your eyes lit up from anticipation alone.

“About that…” He tried to find an excuse, a lie, a cover up. He didn't want to disappoint you, but he didn't know how to answer you without letting you down.

No. He shouldn't hide anything from you. It's in the family rules. He took a deep breath, to muster up the courage to tell the truth to you.

“[y/n], I'm really sorry. I wanted to give you a gift for New Year. It took me longer to save up money for it, so it's a bit late. But–”

“[y/n]! [y/n]!”

A young, high pitched voice called out for you, making Shin's and your head turned to the source of the voice. Hana ran up and climbed up to your lap excitedly, clutching something in her hands. You hurriedly held her steadily so she wouldn't fall over. She gave you a tight hug, surprisingly strong for a little girl. “Hana missed you!”

You laughed at her and patted her head, “I missed you too, Hana.”

“Look, look!” She waved the thing in her hand to your face. Shin widened his eyes in disbelief. It was a necklace. The one that he bought for you specifically. “It's a gift for [y/n]! Shin bought it for you!”

Your eyes brightened at her words. “Really!? You planned this together with Hana, Shin? You guys are so sweet!”

“H-huh…?” Shin furrowed his brows in confusion.

Ding!

After tuning into her thoughts, he learned that Hana found the necklace on the counter, the place where he carelessly put it. Unknowing that it was a special gift for you, she used it to play dress up in her room for the whole day.

So that's where it went, and why none of us couldn't find it. Shin thought to himself and smiled, watching Hana happily handing the necklace to you. While he was mentally and physically exhausted from searching for it all over the place, he's relieved that it's safe and sound in his little sister's care this whole time.

You heard Aoi calling out for Hana, saying that her favorite show had already started on TV. She bid you and Shin “bye, bye!” before she eagerly left, leaving the two of you alone once more.

“I remember this necklace. I didn't expect you to buy it for me,” you chuckled lightly at the memory of seeing it for the first time as you admired the beautiful necklace. “I really do want to buy it myself, but I wasn't sure about it. I don't want it to end up not looking good on me and becoming another waste of huge money.”

When Shin felt self-deprecating thoughts and imageries slowly crept on to your mind again, he shook his head and took the necklace from your hands in a gentle manner.

“And I'm here to prove you wrong,” he said and bestowed you with the charming and kind smile that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Turn around. I'll help you put it on.”

You did what you were told. You felt his warm fingers against your skin as he tried to put the necklace around your neck and fumbled with the hook. His touches felt delicate and careful, as if you're fragile and he could break you from even the smallest wrong moves. It was kind of ticklish. You held yourself back from shivering.

“Done.” He said after clasping the hook.

You touched the pendant hanging on your neck. After dreaming about having it once in a while, it felt odd that you finally get to wear something as exquisite as this.

“Uh, there's no mirror around here but you look great!” He stammered, cautiously choosing his words to avoid hurting your feelings on accident. “It really matched your look… But you're more charming than the necklace, of course! Not that the necklace is ugly, but– You know–”

You chortled at him. You brought yourself closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, it surprised him that he shut himself up from making himself sound more awkward. Even though you two already dated for some time, he was still bashful when you got close and touched him like this. You watched his whole face turned bright red as his slightly shaky hands held your hips to keep the two of you steady.

“Thanks, handsome. I wish I bought something for you if I knew you got me a New Year present. But–” When you brought your face closer to him, Shin squeezed his eyes shut and puckered his lips a little too hard. He was still afraid to kiss you, as he wasn't used to it. He was scared of messing it up and ruining the moment for you. But you didn't mind. You find it kind of cute. You made a mental note to teach him how to kiss you properly when you have the time. (It made Shin feel more flustered when he read your thoughts.)

However, instead of getting kissed on the lips, he received one on his cheek.

It was a small kiss, but enough to make his head spin. He opened his eyes and stared at you like a deer stuck in headlights and about to explode from how red his face was.

You laughed at his reaction and patted his chest after you fixed the part of his clothing where you grabbed from the wrinkles, “I hope this will do it for now. I'll give you more after dinner.”

Right on that moment, Heisuke walked in and fresh out from the bath with a towel hanging around his neck. He saw you and his face brightened to see his friend. Completely unaware of the situation, despite seeing the two of you in each others’ arms, he called out to you, “Yo, [y/n]! Have you seen– Ack!”

Thankfully, Lu and Piisuke rushed after him and he was quickly yanked away by the back of his shirt with the bird pulling on his ear. He was shushed by Lu before you and Shin got the chance to spot him, leaving the love birds more time for each other.

Reference:

A small cameo / mention of Jasminerva‘s OC from cloud8 to show my appreciation for her as a friend.

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 73

This is a new meaning to "Eating your words"

Look at that giant pillow! This has probably been the most comfortable sleep the party has had in weeks.

Laios offhandedly mentioned he's borrowing some clothes from Thistle. Delgal was wearing something similar but I didn't find any panels of anyone wearing that specific coat. I bet Laios chose to wear it because it has a fur-trimmed collar. He seems to have a light preference for that design element, maybe because it was normal to wear it in his youth.

So. Many. Pillows.

I take it Marcille never drank alcohol before, or at least not in large quantities. She doesn't know what a hangover is.

They're talking about their journey almost being over (again). At least this time, we can already tell how things are going to go horribly wrong. Becoming dungeon lord is not a good idea at all, and we still need to see how the Canaries screw everything up for them.

Laios has developed an understandable fear of the dungeon rabbits. He got spooked by the bird because he thought it might be a rabbit jumping out of the bushes.

Y'know, Laios did refer to Kabru correctly back in chapters 38 and 52 so he remembered Kabru's name for at least a week. First time I recall Laios getting Kabru's name wrong is chapter 66. I want to say there were two distinct days between chapters 52 and now (57-60 and 63-72) but there's room for several days to have passed between them since the party was near the start of the seventh floor in the first day and they had climbed all the way to the bottom the next time we see them.

I wonder what was going through Kabru's mind when he saw Falin. It would indicate the party must have come into conflict with Thistle and very recently too. So now he has to be concerned about whether or not he's too late in stopping Laios from becoming the new dungeon lord.

Kabru pulled his sleeves down to hide his cuffs.

Now that I think about it, Kabru wasn't wearing his armor when he left the dungeon in chapter 38, but he had his equipment on in chapter 53. Maybe someone else carried it back through the portal or maybe he had to buy a new set when he got back.

Laios shook Kabru's hand back in chapter 38. He's not good at remembering names or picking up on people's intents, but Laios has proven he can pick up on behaviours. So even if he can't tell why something is off, he can tell Kabru's handshake is not the same as last time.

Is that what a succubus actually looks like?

I love how Pattadol's fairy always expresses Pattadol's emotions.

Chilchuck is making everything worse. He might as well have said "We used black magic on this journey." And then he never says anything else or tries to stop Laios during the rest of the interrogation.

In an alternate timeline where the lion didn't warn the party about the Canaries, this entire interrogation could have gone differently. The Touden party still needs to be concerned about the elves finding out about Marcille using ancient magic, but they wouldn't have any reason to believe the Canaries are a threat and might be willing to explain the situation.

The Canaries are a task force designed to prevent demons from escaping the dungeons, so the last thing the Winged Lion wants is for its pawns to work with the group that is specially-trained to stop it.

Why is one of the ingredients for bavarois "That one milk"? The only milk I can think of is succubus milk.

Never stops being funny watching Kabru suffer the consequences of his attempts to manipulate Laios.

That slime is the one from floor 1? They've been traveling for about a month now!!

I think Otta does have a point about the slime coming from a graveyard. Who knows what kind of bacteria is inside it.

I'm disappointed Cithis managed to hypnotize them that easily.

For someone with a bad sense of direction, Mithrun is very good at showing up where he's not wanted.

Nothing replaced Izutsumi meaning she was teleported to an open space.

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[msklassickilla]

Delirious | J. Uso|R. Reigns Six

Summary: When Titania buys an old typewriter from a closing thrift store, she thinks it’s just a vintage gem—until the words she types start coming true. However, the typewriter doesn’t just bring fantasies to life—it twists them. Giving Titania way more than she bargained for.

Pairing: Titania Marshall (Black OC) x Jey Uso x Roman Reigns

Author’s Note: This story is another AU thing. So, it might align, or it might not. I will try my best to keep it current enough. Nonetheless, it’s mash up of a few things: That one episode of Goosebumps. That one episode of the Twilight Zone. And that movie by the same title, Delirious featuring John Candy. I’ma make it work. Plus, I like mystical spooky shit with a bit of Jerry Springer type mess.

Warning(s): Some minor not detailed SMUT

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Six

Titania stretched her legs across the couch, laptop balanced on her thighs, the glow of the screen illuminating her face. Jey was still on the road, set to fly back tomorrow, and the house felt unbearably quiet without him.

She had gotten used to his presence—the way his voice filled every empty space, the way his body moved so easily through her world, like he had always belonged there.

Because now, he did.

She had written it that way.

Titania glanced toward the hallway, her eyes lingering on the spare room door. The typewriter was in there, waiting, but she had promised herself she wouldn’t touch it. Not tonight.

Instead, she focused on the document open on her laptop. An outline for a new story—a real one, something she had actually created on her own. But the words weren’t coming.

She sighed, shutting the laptop and tossing it aside. Her gaze drifted back to the spare room door. Her chest tightened. She didn’t need to check. She didn’t need to know. But the pull was there, relentless, a whisper at the back of her mind. Titania stood before she could talk herself out of it, feet moving on their own.

The spare room was still and untouched, the air thick with something unspoken, something unseen. The typewriter sat in its usual place on the desk, the glossy black keys gleaming in the dim light.

At first, Titania felt relief. The last page she had typed was still in the roller, the same words she remembered. But then her eyes drifted lower. There was a new page. A fresh sheet of paper, partially rolled into the typewriter, with a single sentence neatly typed at the top.

A page she hadn’t loaded.

You belong to him now. And he will never let you go.

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t written that. Her hand hovered over the paper, fingers trembling.

The typewriter was changing things on its own.

The realization sent a cold shiver down her spine. Had it always done this? Had it always known what she wanted before she even did? Or worse… was it deciding for her? Titania backed away, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She needed air. She needed Jey.

----

The next evening, Titania stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing her hair for what felt like the tenth time. She told herself it was just another night out, just her and Jey, but her reflection told another story.

Her eyes were tired, shadowed with something she didn’t want to name. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t slept well. It was the sentence.

You belong to him now. And he will never let you go.

Her stomach twisted just thinking about it. The typewriter had never done that before. She had always been the one in control. She had written Jey into her life—not the other way around.

Hadn’t she?

A car pulled into the driveway, and Titania jumped at the sound of a door slamming. Jey was home. A strange mix of relief and unease settled over her as she smoothed her dress, forcing a deep breath before heading downstairs. Jey stepped inside like he owned the place. Because now, he did.

He dropped his bag near the door, kicking it aside before looking up at her. The second his eyes met hers, a slow, satisfied grin spread across his lips.

“Damn, ma,” he murmured, closing the distance between them. “You look good enough to keep me home tonight.”

Titania forced a small laugh, but the way he said it— like she was his to keep, to have, to hold forever—made something cold settle in her stomach.

He pulled her in without hesitation, arms solid, unyielding, wrapping around her waist like they belonged there. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Missed you.”

Titania swallowed hard.

She wanted to melt into him, to let herself believe everything was normal, but the words from the typewriter wouldn’t leave her alone.

She must’ve hesitated too long, because Jey leaned back slightly, studying her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “I just—I guess I’m still getting used to all this.”

Jey tilted his head, lips curving into something unreadable. “All what?”

Titania swallowed. “You. Us.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head as he reached up, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Ain’t nothing to get used to, Tee. This is just how it is now.”

Her stomach flipped, and she didn’t know if it was from his touch or the way he said it.

Before she could respond, he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on. We’re going out. I want you next to me tonight.”

----

The bar had a pool table, dim lighting, and just enough of a crowd to make it comfortable, not chaotic. It was the kind of place Jey had probably been to a hundred times before—so why did it feel like she had been here before, too?

Titania ran her fingers over the edge of the pool table, her skin prickling with an eerie sense of familiarity. She hadn’t written this night. She knew she hadn’t. So why did it feel like she had already lived it?

Jey leaned against the table, chalking the cue stick, watching her. “You ever played before?”

Titania blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Uh, yeah. A few times.”

“Bet you suck.” His grin was teasing, his eyes glinting with amusement.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing a stick. “You don’t know that.”

Jey smirked. “Oh, I know, baby. But don’t worry—I’ll be gentle with you.”

Titania shook her head, laughing despite herself. But as she bent down to line up her first shot, a strange chill ran through her.

I’ve done this before.

Not just played pool. Not just had a date like this. This moment. The way Jey stood behind her, his hands grazing her waist. The way his voice dipped lower as he murmured, “Nah, Tee, hold it like this.”

The way he brushed up against her, body heat pressing against her back, breath warm against her ear. It was exact. Too exact. Her grip tightened on the cue stick. Had she written this? Had she rewritten it?

Jey let out a low chuckle, shifting slightly against her. “You keep bending like that, Tee, and I’m gonna forget we’re in public.”

Titania’s breath caught in her throat. That exact phrase. That exact tone, timing, delivery.

Her vision blurred for a second, her heartbeat loud, uneven. She had heard him say that before. But not here. Not like this. She straightened up too quickly, the cue stick nearly slipping from her fingers. Jey frowned, his amusement fading into something more curious.

“You good?”

Titania nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just, um… just got a little dizzy.”

Jey studied her for a moment before his expression eased again, his smirk returning.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured, stepping closer, boxing her in against the table. His fingers found her wrist, sliding slowly up her arm. “Then maybe we should stop playing games.”

Titania opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know—but Jey was already leaning in, claiming her mouth with his. And just like that, the déjà vu was gone.

All she could feel was him.

The ride home was charged, thick with something unspoken, something inevitable.

Jey drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting on her thigh, fingers warm and possessive as they traced lazy circles over her skin. Every so often, he’d squeeze—just enough to make her pulse quicken, just enough to remind her of what was coming.

Titania stared out the window, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had dreamed about this. All of it. For years, she had imagined moments just like this—Jey wanting her, taking her, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And now, here it was. Real. Happening. So why did she still feel like she was watching it from a distance?

----

The second they stepped inside, Jey didn’t wait.

The door had barely clicked shut before he was on her, hands gripping her waist, lips crashing down against hers with a force that made her knees buckle. Titania gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as he backed her against the wall, body heat pressing into her, solid and unyielding.

“You’ve been thinking about this all night, huh?” Jey rasped; his voice lower, darker, rough with need.

Titania barely managed a breath before his mouth was on her neck, teeth grazing, sucking just enough to make her shudder. She had dreamed of this. Jey kissing her like he needed her to breathe. Touching her like he had always known exactly how she wanted to be touched. Now, she didn’t have to dream anymore.

Now, she could feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his hands, the way he was already pulling at the hem of her dress like he couldn’t stand the barrier between them.

Titania let out a sharp breath as he spun her around, pressing her front against the door.

“Jey—”

“You gonna let me have you, Tee?” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with dangerous amusement.

Titania shivered, her fingers flexing against the wood. “I—”

Jey pressed his thigh between hers, holding her there, his breath hot against the side of her neck.

“Tell me.”

Her body arched instinctively, every inch of her tuned to him, drawn to him. She had waited for this for so long.

She exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

That was all he needed. Jey grinned against her skin, his hands sliding down her thighs before gripping the back of her dress and pulling it up with one slow, deliberate motion.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “I ain’t taking my time tonight.”

----

Everything blurred after that. It was a mess of hands, mouths, tangled sheets, heat so intense she could barely breathe. Jey was everywhere.

His hands were firm, demanding, claiming every inch of her like he had been starving for her. His body was heavy over hers, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered things that made her skin burn. Titania gave in completely.

She let herself be taken, let herself be owned, let herself feel what it was like to be Jey Uso’s girl. She didn’t think. She didn’t question.

Not now.

Not when he was holding her down, pinning her wrists above her head, his mouth dragging over her collarbone before dipping lower.

Not when he told her, “You’re mine, Tee. Say it.”

And especially not when she actually said it back.

----

Later, she lay tangled in the sheets, Jey’s arm draped over her waist, his breathing deep and steady against her neck.

Her body was aching, sensitive, satisfied. But her mind wouldn’t shut off.

She had dreamed of this—of Jey being hers, of knowing his hands, his mouth, the way he moved when he was desperate for her. But now that she had it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had done this before.

Jey had touched her like he had always known exactly how to unravel her. Like he had already lived this moment. Maybe it was just chemistry. Maybe it was nothing.

Or maybe, just maybe—

She was losing track of what was real. Titania woke up to the sensation of warm lips trailing along her shoulder, slow and lazy.

A deep hum vibrated against her skin as Jey pulled her closer, his chest flushed against her back, fingers tracing idle patterns along her waist.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Titania sighed; eyes still heavy as she melted into his touch. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his breath, the way his fingers gripped her just a little tighter when she shifted—it was addictive. She had dreamed of mornings like this. Now, she had them. Every single day.

Jey kissed the back of her neck, his grip flexing over her hip. “You sore?”

Titania swallowed, her stomach flipping. “A little.”

His smirk was evident in his tone. “Good.”

Titania rolled onto her back, facing him. “You’re proud of yourself, huh?”

Jey grinned, half-lidded eyes drinking her in like he had all the time in the world. “Of course. Look at you.” His fingers brushed over her thigh, squeezing lightly. “Laid up in my bed, wearing nothing but my marks.”

Titania’s breath hitched. She felt claimed. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she minded. She slipped out of bed an hour later, wrapping herself in Jey’s oversized hoodie before padding into the kitchen. The house felt unnaturally quiet, the leftover tension from the night before still lingering in the air.

Her thoughts felt scattered. The familiarity of the night—the way Jey knew her body before she even had to tell him, the way he spoke to her, touched her—it hadn’t left her mind. She had let herself get lost in him.

But now?

She needed to clear her head. She moved toward the hallway, feet carrying her somewhere she swore she didn’t want to go. The spare room door was already cracked open. Titania’s heart pounded.

Don’t go in there.

But she did. The air in the room was thick, heavy, suffocating. Titania’s breath hitched the second she saw the page. A new message. The typewriter had written again. She hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t even been in this room since the last time. Her stomach twisted as she stepped closer, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

Her hands shook as her eyes scanned the words, neatly typed at the top of the fresh page:

"You are his. And soon, you won’t remember being anything else."

A chill ripped through her. Titania’s fingers hovered over the page, her breath shallow.

What the hell does that mean?

Her eyes darted around the room as if expecting someone—or something—to be there. The words sat on the page, mocking her.

Like a warning.

Like a promise.

Like a fact.

Her mind raced. Was it talking about Jey? Was it talking to her? A sudden warmth wrapped around her waist. Titania jumped.

Jey’s voice was right at her ear. “You jumpy, Tee,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing her skin.

Titania sucked in a sharp breath, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in. Jey glanced down at the typewriter, but if he saw anything unusual, he didn’t react.

Instead, he turned her in his arms, tilting his head as he studied her face. “Something wrong?”

Titania swallowed, forcing a weak smile. “No. Just… woke up early.”

Jey’s gaze lingered for a second too long, as if he knew she was lying. Then, just as easily, his lips curled into a smirk.

“I was thinking…” he murmured, dragging his thumb lazily along her hip. “…maybe it’s time we move.”

Titania’s entire body stiffened. She barely found her voice. “Move?”

“To Florida.”

The room tilted. Her breath caught in her throat. She never wrote that. That was never even a thought of hers.

Jey’s smirk widened. “Yeah, Tee. I want us to be together. For real. No more back and forth.”

Titania’s chest tightened. Was this him? Or was this the typewriter deciding for her again? And worse—was she already too far gone to tell the difference?

Titania barely spoke the rest of the day. Jey didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the idea of them moving to Florida, of making their life together permanent. Every time he talked about it, his voice was steady, confident, certain. Like he had already made up his mind. Like she didn’t even have a choice. And maybe she didn’t.

Because hadn’t the typewriter already decided for her?

"You are his. And soon, you won’t remember being anything else."

Titania swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as Jey moved around the house, talking about plans, about Jimmy and Naomi, about how easy it would be for her to just pack up and leave everything behind.

She should have argued. She should have said something. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

----

That night, Titania curled up on the couch, Jey stretched out beside her, his head lazily resting in her lap. Some reality show was playing in the background, but she wasn’t watching it.

Jey was scrolling through his phone, aimlessly tapping through messages until suddenly, the screen lit up— Roman.

Titania’s breath hitched. Jey’s smirk was instant, as if he had been expecting the call. He sat up, running a hand through his hair before answering.

“’Sup, Uce.”

Titania listened, silent, as Roman’s voice rumbled through the speaker. Deep. Smooth. Effortlessly commanding. Even through the phone, he sounded in control.

“Just checking in,” Roman said, his tone unreadable. “See you’ve been doing your own thing.”

Jey chuckled, shifting against the couch. “Yeah, you know how it is. Ain’t nothing changed, though. You still you think you the Tribal Chief, huh?”

Roman hummed, slow and deliberate. “Damn right I am. I don’t care what Solo got going on.”

Titania shouldn’t be reacting to this. But she was. Something about his voice, his presence, his power sent a slow, simmering heat through her veins.

She knew this man. She had watched him for years, seen him command an arena with nothing but a glance, watched him make people bend to his will. She had always admired him. She had always been a little drawn to him. And now, suddenly, that pull felt stronger.

Jey was still talking, but Titania wasn’t listening anymore. Because a thought had crept into her mind, uninvited, unwelcome.

Could she have more than just Jey?

The second the idea formed, her stomach twisted. No. That was insane. That was wrong. But the thought wouldn’t leave her. Because hadn’t she rewritten reality before? Hadn’t she gotten exactly what she wanted?

Jey hung up a few minutes later, tossing his phone onto the couch before pulling Titania back against him.

“Everything good?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

Jey smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple. “Yeah. You know how he is. Just keeping an eye on everything.”

Titania nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Because now, there was a new temptation. A whisper of something she hadn’t let herself think about before. And as much as she tried to push it away, she knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.

Because the typewriter had already shown her the truth. If she wanted something bad enough, all she had to do was write it.

And maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to want Roman Reigns.

----

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AN: What do you think is going to happen next? Love y'all for reading and interacting, means the world to me ꨄ

[starry-bi-sky]

what if i wrote a “shen yuan transmigrates into a wife” oneshot but the whole premise is based on the song “gone, i’m gone” from hadestown and its overall theme is wanderlust and freedom and it starts out as Shen Yuan settling into life in the palace and trying to avoid harem drama and thinking he can just live with his head down for the rest of his new life, only to be hit with a sudden intense yearning to explore his new world the likes he’s never felt before. What if he was sickly in his last life. What if he spent his entire last life indoors. Trapped between four walls. What if love is not a gilded cage. What if he begins clawing at the walls of his enclosure, desperate to escape because he wants to live, god please let him live. He can’t do this again. What if he spent months preparing for his escape and in that same breath getting the attention of some of the other wives around him because he has changed and it makes them wary. what if he got binghe’s attention as he is wont to do. What if he left. What if Shen Yuan was born with a bottomless pit in his stomach and a gaping maw in his chest. What if he was starving. What if he was starving for the world around him. What if i wrote that. What then

[jrueships]

r u the grew up poor never being able to buy the little things in life u always wanted as a kid so now u buy whatever little thing u want as an adult and struggle with saving for the big mandatory thing,

or the grew up poor never being able to buy the little things in life u always wanted as a kid so now u just never buy anything small bcs u had to learn to live without it and constantly try to save for the next big thing in 500 yrs

[aroace-poly-show]

human loop designnnn :3 design choices ramble in tags

[puhpandas]

steel wool has the hugest opportunity in the world for a sb 2 like. vanny cassie plotline of her having been manipulated by mimic to be its new minion by framing Gregory during the elevator scene to cut off her one support system. gregory vanessa and freddy protags fleshing them out with dialogue as characters but also their motivations and what theyve been doing for years. have their long absence in games period but also in universe from helping the glamrocks/setting up mxes be explained by showcasing their fear and trauma by them just wanting to get away and they thought they were safe but they werent. have cassie be the reason they have to jump back into the fray and realize no matter what they do theyll have to kill mimic for good to be truly free even if they're afraid. plot of the game is Gregory trying to convince cassie he didnt do it and that shes being tricked and it takes all campaign to get through to her, probably after an intense dramatic climax. have Roxy be there by Cassies side to show how Freddy abandoning them at the Plex affected her and the 2 sides of the same coin the 2 of them have going on regarding sentience and their relationship with the characters they were designed to be with Freddy who got to be free and roxy who didnt. the actual vanny comes back as a big betrayal towards mimic after killing glitchtrap in hw2, either to become an antihero or to try and take over as mastermind. superstar duo reunite and names cleared. throughout the campaign Gregory finds out about ggy and its revealed in a room with documents about patient 46 and tapes where a final tape is found and Gregory speaks in it or is addressed by name. he grapples with it and not remembering it. btw setting is a modern day fallfest which is like amusement park size instead of small festival. boom peak game

[naivety]

my sense of urgency for this election was all used up watching a genocide play out live on instagram while my mom continued to talk about which politician might make the housing market better and i tried not to genuinely lose my mind over the dissonance. in all honesty short of bombs dropping on americans' houses my adrenal glands are beyond checked out. i'll show up to the polls and do my part and try to plug into the bare bones direct action i can find in the middle of nowhere deep red county state but god. there are so many posts circulating trying to fear monger me into voting for one genocidal president of this genocidal nation over another and i may as well live on a different planet. i can fathom the urgency but i could not make myself feel it short of being held at gunpoint. which may even be on the ballot but that's how americans have been voting for decades now and each of them regardless of party has worried about the idea of being held at gunpoint while a right of theirs is taken away while there are people who are already being held at gunpoint and their rights have already been taken away by the very people being beamed into my eyeballs as the escape from this hypothetical violence that's already non-hypothetically happened to millions who aren't US liberals because of the america they're trying to save from trump the same america regardless of democrats or republicans or whigs or federalists and does anyone else feel like they're going crazy