#But I just. Really needed somewhere to write all this down.

[woniiez]

𝙏𝙄𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 S.mg

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. song mingi x fem!reader

𝗦𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/teaser. You always thought of Mingi as nothing more than the spoiled son of a wealthy CEO. He was the kind of guy you’d hear about in the tabloids, always caught in the middle of some scandal, some drunken night out, or some rumored fling with the next “it” girl. His last name alone commanded respect, but it also made him untouchable in your eyes. He was everything you despised about people with too much money—arrogant, entitled, and far too used to getting whatever he wanted.

For you, the Song family was just another name tied to wealth and power. Your own father was a successful businessman, a man who’d built an empire from the ground up. But there was a difference between your family and his, your family had always struggled to maintain what they had, keeping the balance between status and reality. The Songs, on the other hand, seemed to live in a world that operated on a completely different set of rules—one that never knew struggle.

It wasn’t that you hated Mingi, per se. You just couldn’t stand the way he moved through life with no real sense of accountability. His arrogance was like a cloud surrounding him, blocking out everything. Every time he spoke, you could feel the cockiness in his tone, the way he knew his words would hold weight because of who he was. It made you want to roll your eyes.

And yet, in some strange part of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you sometimes. It wasnt anything serious, but in those moments, you saw the softness beneath his ego and arrogance the vulnerability he hid behind the confidence. You could see it when you both stood in the same room, but neither of you ever addressed it. Instead, whenever you were forced to interact it would be like a cat fight.

It was easy, then, to pretend he didn’t matter when your families were never really close. You had different friend groups, different circles. And when you had to endure forced family gatherings, he’d always disappear into the background, a silent figure in the corner, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.

But that all changed the day your father came home with a grim look on his face, news that would change your life forever.

Your father sat you down, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. His hands were clenched around the glass of water in front of him, his eyes looked tired, worn down. You’d never seen him like this before. Your father was always in control, always the one with the answers. But today, his voice was weaker than usual as he spoke, and you realized, something was seriously wrong.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his tone soft but firm, “the company… it’s in trouble.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to hear more. You knew what this meant. Your father’s empire,the business that had been the backbone of your family for years, was facing bankruptcy. But you would never expect the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Your mother and I have spoken to Mr. Song,” he continued. “We’ve come to an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

The words that he forced out sounded like they were being pulled from deep inside your father, something he was going to hate saying, but knew he had no choice. “You’re going to marry Mingi.”

|| 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. series

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲. arranged marriage!

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. will be updated for every chapter.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. (Open! Comment below if you wanna be added) @minkioswoo @yunhogrippers @hee-yunie @juicy-red @bee-gremlin @memorabxlia @yizhou-time

(hii I’m back. This took me really long to plan and then write, I’m not sure why I decided to make a series since I started writing just this year but I really love reading the series other people write and post and I haven’t read something with this genre (series) on mingi so I just started writing and saw it going somewhere so ig that’s how it came to be. I did take help from a few friends to improve the writing since I don’t have an extensive vocabulary so it’s better to read. Also i just wanna say that this is a 100x better than my first fic cause this took forever to write with making sure the paragraph formation was put together, vocab, and planning out the whole story line to make sure the first chapter would flow well with the others. I really hope you like this!)

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭.𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲

[gemissleeping]

Angel of Small Death | Part Two

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Seventh Year and you’re one of the ones who stayed. Reeling from the loss of your family in the midst of the war, you find a twisted sense of comfort in Mattheo. But your best friend Theo can’t help but feel you’re slipping away from him in more ways than one.

Read Part One here.

Length: 1.4k

Warnings: Haha... heyyyyyy (I feel really awkward rn, I feel I should beg forgiveness) so I might've been away for like... the whole year. But Merry Christmas?? I missed you guys and I missed writing sm. I heard you in the replies and I heard you in my inbox... so here it is!! I loved writing this as I'm easing back in. I love that so many of you loved it! Working on another part :) anyway drug use mentioned!! Toxic relationships!! Mature audiences! I love you all <3

“Where were you?” Mattheo asked as he threw his bag to the sun bleached grass beside you. It was the turn of Autumn, and the last thing you wanted was to be stuck inside doing arithmancy. The endless flood of numbers and charts made your head spin. 

“Here.” You answered simply, giving him a lazed smile from where you laid back in the grass. Matt sat down with a weighted sigh beside you, the skeletons of old leaves crunching beneath him. You looked to him for a moment, zoning in on the harsh set of his brow; the uncharacteristic tension he seemed to be carrying. 

“Well you shouldn’t be.” He wouldn’t look at you, perhaps just couldn’t. He was turned instead to the Black Lake, sprawling before you both like a mirror. The illusion only broken by the thin freckling of light rain upon its surface. It was all so easily disturbed. 

“It’s one class,” you sighed, feeling a creeping sense of guilt. “I don’t understand why you’ve got your knickers so twisted. As though you haven’t done worse.” You gave him an airy smile, which of course he didn’t return, still falsely captivated by the lake.

“I haven’t seen you since second. I just left Potions.” He looked at you then, the edge in his tone doing little to conceal the worry in his eyes. For the first time since you’d gotten to the lake, the dread you’d been so desperately trying to bury began to scratch at your chest again. The acute awareness that you had no concept of how long you had actually been down here setting in. Time was running past you like water, but you didn’t seem to be moving with it. 

“You’re high.”

Too late you remembered the remnants of the joint beside you, amongst the dead grass and weeds. The rough skin of Mattheo’s fingers now tainted with soil and ash. The betrayal in his voice made your stomach churn, now it was you who couldn’t look to him. 

“Only when we’re together, that was the deal.” He was upset with you, and somehow it felt unexpected. Your fingertips found the edge of your skirt, toying with it like a chastised child. He’d never been disappointed with you before, or perhaps you just hadn’t cared. You weren’t too sure which was the truth. 

“One class you might’ve gotten away with, but three?” His hands met his face mercilessly, the brunt of his frustration meeting there as he ran them across it. “Fuck, I mean what were you thinking?” Eyes on the ground, you continued attacking your skirt’s hem with a frown. The gentleness had returned, seeping into his tone. This was the part of him you needed. Whatever it was that was inside of you, this supposed grief, couldn’t be consumed. But at least he made it feel like something you could navigate; somewhere where you could find someone close to who you had been.

“Are you trying to torture me?” His words cut through the stillness of the water, the absence of a leaf adorned breeze.

“What?” The words tumbled out of you, feeble - flat. 

“Are you,” he repeated gently, your eyes locking as you turned to him, “trying to torture me?” His eyes held, earnest. The kind of vulnerability you’d only seen from him when you were alone at the end of the night and a bottle. “I just want to help. It’s the least I could-” Something within him cracked, made its way up his throat. Matt held his breath, looking away for a moment as though for privacy. You waited, not daring to do so much as move. His palms had returned to shield his eyes, but they would do nothing for his thoughts. After a sharp breath he rested an arm atop a bent knee. Head still hung low as the other moved to the ground, fingers sinking into the sharp needles of dry grass. “And you just- you keep throwing yourself into it. How am I supposed to keep you out of detention if you keep doing this shit?”

Of course. Of course he had been. You felt a fool for taking his admission to realise. Unlike you, the Carrows were not fools. It had not been your attempts at slipping away unseen or making yourself unnoticed that had saved you this past month. It had been him. What he had done in order to save your skin, you did not want to know. Your cheeks burned.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that you… I’m sorry.” You had been foolish, and you had hurt him. Cost him God knows what. Your cheeks felt wet when you looked to him again, the cold air drying the salt of tears against the skin. There was nothing harsh about him, not the way people seemed to believe. He was so unlike the life that had been passed to him. Gentle, and kind, and somehow whole. Patched together with all of the pieces of himself still accounted for. It shouldn’t have been possible, yet he sat before you.

He reached out, his palms covering your cheeks, thumbs running beneath your eyes to wipe the salt away. He didn’t blame you, or anyone. He should have, but he didn’t. He tucked you into his side, wrapping his green tartan scarf snug around you as you both leant back against the large oak. 

“Do you at least have any left?” Mattheo whispered against your ear with a grin. Looking down to you, eyes alight with his usual mischief once more. You couldn’t help but grin back as you nodded, his lips moving to capture yours. He lingered against you, gentle and unassuming. There was nothing he wanted from you, no longer anything he wanted you to fix. You’d known it for a while now. Everything else; the drinks and powder and pills - their rush held no light to him. What had once been intertwined was starting to untangle. It would take time, but you would become whole again, and then you could be with him - without the rest of it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Theo’s eyes were on Mattheo as soon as he had entered the dorm. As though he had purposely left dinner early so that he might get Matt in private. Theo didn’t have to speak, it all lay there; he’d been looking at Matt that same way all evening. And in fairness, Mattheo supposed, they hadn’t done much to cover the smell. But that wasn’t what this was about, not exactly.

“I didn’t give it to her.” Matt spoke plainly, throwing his potions textbook down on his bedside table without a care “She gave it to me this time, actually.” He didn’t know why he had said it. He knew it would only anger Theo, more than he already was.

“Bullshit.” Theo glowered from where he leaned upon his desk, “It’s always you.” Matt would have been more hurt if it hadn’t have been true.

“That’s not fucking fair man.” Mattheo sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed to face his friend. He began lazily untying his laces, having heard these sentiments from Theo before. Quite frankly he was growing tired of it; the constant overstepping. “Things aren’t good right now-”

“You made them that way.” There was a weight to Theo’s words; an implication. One that held Matt implicit in beliefs that he had buried; that chained him to his Father. Theo didn’t notice the set of his jaw change, didn’t notice him stop untying his laces - only decided to cut deeper. “You got her hooked when you should have helped her.”

“I am helping her.” Matt stiffened, eyes alight as the words left him. He knew where the lines rested; what was his fault and what wasn’t. He spent half his life trying to figure them out. He had a plan, to fix this. 

“She looks like shit.” Theo spat, coming to stand before him. The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature, a chill slicing through Mattheo as he met Theo’s gaze, unwavering. 

“We’re getting through this together.” He tried not to doubt it as he said it. They would clean up, together. They just needed time, he was sure they were close. They had to be.

“No. You’re driving each other into the ground.” Theo stated plainly, his voice low. “And when she gets too far down, it will be your fault.” Theo stepped back, eyes burning into Mattheo. He took a few steps back, before turning away. “Clean your shit up,” Theo mused as a bag of powder landed before Mattheo’s feet, “it’s getting all over everything.”

Taglist: @theodorenottswifeyy @obsessedwithceleste @lenoraslament @mayamonroem @simp-for-fantasy @bruisedbbby

Thank you for your love and patience, getting back to inboxes now. You are all incredible <3

[caffedrine]

Gilbert and Luke - Christmas Special: The Beasts' Drink - Event Translation

Thank you to @otomehoneyybearr for providing the script for this event.

This is a poor attempt at a fan translation, so take everything with a grain of salt. For a better translation, buy this when it comes out on the ENG server.

On a winter day as Christmas approaches, somewhere---

Gilbert: “Merry Christmas!”

Luke: “...”

Gilbert: “That door has an automatic lock, so you can't escape.”

Luke: “Damn it, I knew you’d do something like this…”

Gilbert: “Too bad, right? Come on, sit down already.”

Luke: “No. I want to go to the party—”

Gilbert: “You won’t be so cruel as to not eat the Christmas meal prepared by Papa, will you, Luke?”

Gilbert: “This delicious dish made with plenty of honey, specially cooked just for you.”

Gilbert: “You wouldn’t waste it, would you?”

Luke: “Fine, fine, I get it! I’ll join you!”

Gilbert: “Hehe, Luke is such a straightforward and good boy. Here, hold the glass.”

Gilbert: “Cheers!”

Luke: “...yeah.”

Gilbert: “Now, let’s give a present to the good boy right away.”

Luke: “...It’s not something dangerous, right?”

Gilbert: “Isn't it exciting that you won’t know what’s inside until you open it?”

Luke: “Is that your way of saying you won’t tell me?”

Gilbert: “Oh, this time, you’re accepting it nicely. You even stretched out your hand properly.”

Luke: “If I don’t accept it, I’ll never get out of here for the rest of my life.”

Gilbert: “Good boy, good boy.”

Luke: “So… what’s inside? It’s not that big of a box, but it’s pretty heavy.”

Luke: “Huh, what’s this… papers and envelopes?”

Gilbert: “As you can see, the present for Luke is stationary supplies for 365 days.”

Luke: “You… threw a Christmas party just for this, didn’t you?”

Gilbert: “That’s quite the accusation; I genuinely wanted to enjoy a Christmas party with you, Luke!”

Gilbert: “But you understand why I chose this as a present, right?”

Gilbert: “Recently, it’s been a problem that I haven’t received any updates about you, Luke.”

Gilbert: “I wonder what you’re doing, if you’re getting into any dangerous situations, or if you’re feeling lonely or anxious.”

Gilbert: “Even though I’ve been sending a few spies daily from far away, you keep losing them because you’re so mischievous.”

Gilbert: “While I do appreciate your ability to shake off professional spies, not having any updates is concerning. What should I do?”

Gilbert: “Alright then, if that’s the case, I just need to have you write an update yourself. So, go ahead and write one, okay?”

Luke: “‘So, go ahead’ doesn’t mean anything! There’s no way I’m doing something that troublesome!”

Gilbert: “Aww…”

Luke: “Pouting won’t change my mind; I still don’t want to do it!”

Gilbert: “…”

Luke: “I’m not doing it even if you look sad!”

Gilbert: “I see… then I guess I’ll have to increase the number of people watching you.”

Luke: “Huh?”

Gilbert: “If I have you monitored from all directions 24/7, I should get some good updates, right?”

Gilbert: “That’ll also keep you safe. While you’re sleeping, I’ll surround your bed, and if anything happens—”

Luke: “Are you trying to give me insomnia?”

Gilbert: “Then you have no choice but to listen to Papa’s request, okay?”

Gilbert: “You can either write letters for 365 days or be monitored from all directions for 365 days.”

Gilbert: “Your kind papa will let you choose.”

Luke: “Damn it… There’s no way I really have a choice here from the start.”

Gilbert: “Hehe, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”

[asthmaticplushiedragon]

OC time!!!

Hope, Trust, Longing, Dread and Rage are characters in a webcomic I hope to one day write, called Letters of Sorrow.

The five of them are workers in a company called Spirit Express. It's a mail company like no other, that delivers emotions and feelings in the form of letters. They operate world wide, all day, every day, and in return receive special powers, such as invisibility, intangibility, and immortality. But seeing as the company is a secret, every worker has to give up the lives they once had and forget their past. It's a (mostly) painless procedure, and the rewards are worth it! But not just anyone can do it.

You're welcome to send questions to me or the characters, more information about each of them under the cut!

!The drawings below show blood, detailed injury and death! (Injuries include self harm, stabbing and gun wounds)

In Spirit Express, every worker represents a different emotion. The emotion has three "embodiments", each in a different department of the company. The worker called "Happiness" from Headquarters is right above the ones called Happiness from Research and Delivery. But while Research and Delivery meet in a daily basis, people from Headquarters almost never meet the other two departments. The line of work is HQ to R to HQ again and then to D. Headquarters give Research the name and basic information about the addressee, Research write down everything they can find about the person, and then Headquarters create the desired letter. Then Delivery makes sure the letter gets to it's place. Hope is the main character of the story. He's sixteen, and the sunshine of the group. He's a proud mailman, delivering letters of hope to their addressees. As the embodiment of hope in the company, he has a tendency to day dream of endless possibilities. Hope doesn't remember much from his life before he started working in Spirit Express, but that doesn't matter! He likes his job and his roommates, and he has everything he needs in life!

Longing is nineteen, and a mailwoman. She is considered the dreamer of the group, although when you get to know her you find she can be rather sassy and even harsh. She knows she was engaged or married before, because of the ring on her finger. But she figured that, if the girl she was before chose to give it up, it was probably not worth it. Still, sometimes she finds herself looking at roses and longing for a life she never knew.

Dread is twenty-two, a mailman, and a Jew. He knows that only because of the Kippah on his head, and he tries to learn about his culture. Just for scholar reasons, of course, nothing more. He's not really sure why he's the embodiment of dread, but he's sure Headquarters have their reasons. For now, though, he just tries to do his job best and make sure all letters of dread reach their addressees.

Trust is eighteen, and a workaholic. She works as a researcher. Trust is very thankful for only being responsible for the letters about her emotion, because even now she can hardly keep up and has to pull one all-nighter after another. She always says that she would trade her position with one of the mailmen in a moment, but actually enjoys her job. And she knows that, somewhere in the company's archive, there's probably an essay someone wrote about her old life.

Rage is kind of a mystery to his roommates. He's nine, and doesn't talk much at all. All they know is that he works in Headquarters, but since he leaves before they wake up and comes back after they're fast asleep, they don't meet him much. He makes them pancakes every weekend, tho.

Send questions!

[laswells-ashtray]

First time here and already love your writing(choosing to remain anonymous simply because I can’t bear to ask you this bare faced).

But!, Sergeant Price being a bashful, sassy prick to Nikolai.

I just read the ask about Price and Mac hating each other and loved the ending, but I feel like John, in all his complexities, would be so difficult to learn for Nikolai simply because the man hates putting himself in a vulnerable spot, especially when it comes to a love interest, so in order to combat that vulnerability he’d be the most prickish little shit Nikolai has ever met(which the Russian finds endearing).

John makes it his personal mission to put an end to any interest that Nikolai might have in him by being a cunt.

Nikolai makes it his personal mission to convince John to try peach-flavoured lube, he is not deterred.

Mac absolutely does not help the situation, he is actively trying to get those two together so he can stop hearing about John's fucking pining. That and he wants the lad to be happy, no crime there.

"Nik, piss off. 'm fine."

The Russian does not piss off, in fact, the grumbling only encourages him more as he holds a cloth to John's face as it bleeds. It's nothing, really. He got lamped by some cunt with a ring and his face is bleeding just above the eyebrow and Nikolai just won't leave him be.

Nikolai smirks as John squirms under his grip, the Russian has a hand on his jaw holding his head in place as he tries to staunch the bleeding.

"Lad, there's blood in yer eye. Let him fucking help ye, ya fuckin weapon."

And of course, Mac had to be here to fucking see it. He couldn't just wallow in peace, they all had to nose him with blood pouring down his face like fucking tit.

It's fine, he'll push away the Russian like he does with everyone. Except Mac, that cunt just won't fucking leave.

"You aren't going home for the holidays?" Nikolai sounds somewhere between genuinely curious and nervous.

He grunts in response, standing in the hangar with his arms crossed as he watches the Russian look over a heli. He could be doing other things but there was nothing time-consuming so he could give himself a break. he'd earned it.

"Why not?"

His tone is so gentle it almost irritates John, he isn't a stray cat that will scratch and hiss if he isn't approached with care. He's a grown man with idiosyncrasies and he has every right not to go home if he doesn't feel like it. He just has to find a home not to return to first.

"Old man's in the ground." He answers bluntly. and God bless that.

The other man's answer has John trying to school his expressions into the token blank face he usually uses in conversation with everyone else. "That appears to be a good thing."

He doesn't answer, the look on Nikolai's face tells him that he doesn't need to.

Nikolai is concussed. He has to be given that he's been staring at John like a lovesick puppy for the past ten minutes. That and immediately after stepping out of his bird he'd spewed and about fell on his arse. John is no more worried than he would be for anyone else.

"You gonna sit still or am I gonna have to tie you down?"

Mac had sent them both to his office, turned out the lights and told them to stay there because Nikolai had lasted all of three minutes getting checked by a medic before he was muttering in Russian and trying to push their hands off of him. John couldn't blame him there.

"That an offer, sergeant?"

For fuck sake.

"It's an order. muppet."

Nikolai has no right to look so fucking fond.

He wants to desperately be annoyed, he doesn't need anything from Nikolai. But he's a tad fucking pissed and the cigarette in the pilot's hand looks fucking delectable. Maybe Nik does too but he isn't that drunk yet.

He takes the fag with a grateful nod, fumbling to grab the lighter from his pocket as he leans against the wall outside of the pub. It was a second-hand lighter, as in he stole it from Mac weeks ago and refused to give it back despite how many times he got smacked over the back of the head.

He tries to light it to no avail, he's drunk and the spark wheel has been jammed for days. He isn't sober enough to fix it today. A quick glance tells him that Nikolai has already lit his own and is watching him with a look that is far too amused for someone who just paid for the last round.

He briefly considers asking to borrow the other man's lighter, chances are he'd just thieve it when Nikolai wasn't looking.

He doesn't get a chance to as the other man leans forward, for the slightest second John thinks he's about to be kissed before Nikolai ever so gently holds his chin and uses his own cigarette to light the only in John's mouth.

Holy fuck.

"Are you going to avoid it forever?"

Nikolai leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he looks down at John. He pauses on his knees, glancing up at the Russian before back to the pile in front of him awkwardly. He should've known not to do Mac a favour, the man could look for his own fucking lighter next time. New lighter actually, John had lost the old, stolen one.

The position is far too familiar.

"That's generally the goal."

They'd all made drunken mistakes before. getting drunk was about making mistakes and God, if John wasn't good at that.

Although, ending up with Nikolai's cum on his face might be an all-timer in those regards.

"Folk get up to stuff all the time behind the scenes, doesn't mean anything, Nik."

The other man is kind enough to step into the cupboard and close the door behind him, they wouldn't want to subject anyone else to their fucking issues.

"It could."

He sounds so sure. It's juvenile the way he wants to protest that it isn't fair. He can't, maybe some people could but John isn't one of them. He can't do serious, he can barely do casual without being drunk.

He pushes himself up and pretends he doesn't groan at the faint twinge in his knees, Mac would never let it go when he noticed the newfound habit.

"You shouldn't waste your time, it won't happen anytime soon."

"I can wait."

[jspenft]

Home alone on Satoru's birthday.

I know I'm coming back after what, one? Two years? I don't know anymore. But I just had a fic idea and fuck, need someone to write it asap.

(English isn't my first language, and didn't proofread, pls be lenient)

It's a 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, and I'm sorry but Suguru is mean in it (don't blame me okay it just happened in my head😭).

Okay so basically, you're in a distance relationship with Satoru, or like he's away for missions (or business trip if NoCurses!au).

He's been away for so long, it's been weeks, you text, call, sure, but it's not enough, you miss each other so fucking bad. He sends you texts of the lines of: "I put your perfume on my pillow but nothing compares to you :( Need your arms around me sweetheart" "Miss you🩵" "Love you so much", and you needed him as bad.

Plus his birthday was approaching so fast, and you came up with a fucking great idea (not to be presumptuous, but you're pretty proud of yourself).

The idea: buy a plane ticket and surprise him.

Simple right?

You thought...

Days goes by and you plan everything: buy the plane ticket✅ book a room in the hotel he's staying (even though it's just to gain access to the hotel corridors and knock on Satoru's door)✅ making his favorite pastries✅ hell you even planned to wear those clothes he loves you to wear✅ everything was going to your plan.

You knew he specifically asked (ordered) to have the day off on his birthday, so the field was clear for you.

You both had planned a facetime that day (even though he would've liked to stay on call all day, you convinced him to move the call to late afternoon. Your excuse was lame, but he thankfully believed it.). But what he didn't know, is that when you'll call him, you'll be in front of his hotel room at that time. You giggle already imagining his reaction.

A few days before, just to be sure, you texted Suguru asking him to subtly encourage Satoru not to leave his hotel room at the time you'll be there. He agreed.

The day comes and you're so excited.

You're ready to go, check everything.

But shock is written all over your face as you inspect your wallet:

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩 𝙜𝙤??

You are surprised at first, thinking that you must have put it somewhere else. But the more time you spend running around the house, the more horror replaces the initial shock on your face.

You really try to remember, but no, you really put it in your wallet! So how did it disappear!??

Time passes and the house is in distraught, you turned everything upside down, but still nothing.

Last resort: buy another ticket.

You run and scroll through the airline's website on your computer and: the flight is sold out...

𝙎𝙊𝙇𝘿.𝙊𝙐𝙏.

You start crying, why do these kinds of things only happens to you?

In the end, you decide to go to the airport anyway, because who knows? Maybe there will be a last minute cancellation and you'll have a free seat? spoiler alert: no.

You're crying, trying to hide your sobs from people.

For fuck sakes this isn't home alone! So why did this happens to you? All you wanted was making your boyfriend happy on his birthday, was that too much to ask for?

You spend the rest of the day sobbing in your bed. You may be overdoing it a bit, thinking that it wouldn't be a big deal for others, but you can't help but feel bad. Seeing something you've been preparing for so long slip through your fingers so easily, and that because of a poor plane ticket: it frustrates you to the highest degree. You miss Satoru so much.

You have no other choices than accept your fate. You already wished him an happy birthday at midnight, and all that's left is to wait for the facetime you had planned for late afternoon. You're already practicing fake smiles and hiding your swollen eyes.

Imagining yourself with him almost makes you shed a tear. Facetime is good, but nothing compares to being in each other's embrace.

You're suddenly brought out of your reverie by a message notification. Message from Satoru to be precise, you know it cause you have a specific ringtone for him.

You open his text, and begin to start rubbing your eyes, not believing what you're reading.

𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙪🍡🩵. 𝟰:𝟮𝟮𝙥𝙢 :

"𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴!! 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥! 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺!!!! 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵?😁 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺! 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨!🥳 𝘞𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺? 𝘓𝘶𝘷 𝘶𝘶𝘶🥰"

...

...𝘿𝙞𝙙 𝙎𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙚𝙩𝙤... 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩??

You can imagine anything from there.

But I can think of the reader so shocked that she doesn't answer Satoru's call, or the following ones. She ends up picking up, but is very evasive in her answers. Ofc he asks her what's wrong, and so she explains to him.

Everything.

How she planned everything down to the last millimeter, how Suguru was in confidence, but he decided to stab her in the back by stealing her surprise. (Because yes, maybe the missing ticket is a coincidence, but the idea of ​​surprising Satoru, that, Suguru stole it from her).

Now imagine Satoru not believing you? Telling you his best friend wouldn't do that. "Why are are you lying?".

You'll sob, maybe even Shoko will hear the news and call you. You'll ask her "What? You don't believe me either?" but she believes you.

I don't know why Sugu would do that tho. Maybe he felt like the new girlfriend was stealing his best friend?

Just dreamed abt this fic, hope you like the idea.

[lostintransist]

You’re writing is amazing you’re amazing and just all the love my goodness I can’t get enough 💕

Oh my goodness! Thank you! I know sometimes (I feel at least about myself) that it reads as just a casual thanks! as if you were passing on the street but I need you to know that this is like caught me in the side of the neck with feels and I will gush about you to my spouse and my soul mate (I am supremely lucky they aren't the same person).

Now I don't know if you are a fan of König (or reading Chiseled Heart) but this has been rattling around my brain like those cans people use to tie to the bumpers of cars for people who got married so I want to share becase we are a long way from it showing up in the fic.

*I like to give people words when they stop by. I treat it the same way sevice people come to my house to fix things. "You want a snack? I got snacks."

I've only had one guy take a snack.

I keep offering.

König freezes, hand on the doorknob, as your voice drifts in from the porch’s open window.

“König? I really like him.”

Your words are full of soft meaning that slaps at him; beating against his skin like the hands of the children who would laugh and pinch him. Even when he was small he had been too big.

“What about him though?” It’s your friend, Tori, “We haven’t seen his face and yes he is built but he doesn’t say much.”

“He seems to treat you well. I guess what we are saying is that we are concerned. He is nothing like your usual type and I want to be sure this isn’t a rebound.” That is Amara, Tori’s girlfriend.

His hand is starting to cramp around the round knob. He relaxes his hold; nothing in life was built with him in mind. König knows he should move, leave, make his presence known, something. The deepest parts of him, those bits hidden that would flourish if only a spare drop of love could find its way down, made him stay silent and still. No one else had been in the house when he came in to use the restroom. The openness of the floorplan would alert him to anyone entering the front door. And so, he stayed.

An annoyed huff leaves your mouth as you must shift in your chair, cloth shifting against wood. He can imagine you, arms folded tight as you force your shoulders down.

“He is kind, and not only to me. Mara, I have seen him pay for a stranger’s tank of gas when we stopped once. I hopped out to use the bathroom. There was a line so I happened to glance outside and see him getting hugged by a sobbing man with his hand still pressing something to the machine. The two receipts for gas confirmed what happened. He buys gift cards every time he goes to the grocery store and often turns around and hands them to moms in line behind him.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

“My usual type is pretty. But pretty men only bring pain. König isn’t pretty.”

König had been stabbed several times, your words punched him with the same force. He shifted his weight to move away, deepest soul shriveling further at the imaginings of your harsh words.

“Have you ever had someone become beautiful before your eyes?”

Your friends must nod or respond in some way he can’t see because you go on.

“He is striking. König’s face is my favorite thing to look at because every time I look he has become more beautiful to me. There is a scar here,” you must be pointing somewhere on your face. Lord knows how many scars he has mapping the landscape of his. It is one of the reasons that he wears a mask even now. “That whites out when he smiles big.”

Something unfurls in his chest, a desert plant tasting rain.

Tori again, “But this isn’t a rebound?”

“I don’t see how it can be? He doesn’t know I like him this much. Honestly, I would be happy being his friend. If he got a girlfriend I would sob myself to sleep for a few weeks as I make friends with her,” you sniff and clear your throat.

“Ah, hun,” Amara croons at you, “You’ve got it bad for him.”

The watery laugh you let out trails König as he slips away to the front door and away from the private conversation.

“God, I’ve got it so bad for him.” The tears in your voice water his broken parts.

Divider

[leeny-leens]

Finals Week or Final Week? | B.Z. x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Blaise Zabini x fem!Reader

Summary: Studying for your finals with your best friend takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: Reader has anxiety about exams, swearing, mention of wanting to marry rich and murder your husband

Content: oblivious Reader to some extent, lots of fluff, Blaise is Italian, they're in love your honour, Blaise being an attentive king, not proofread or edited

WC: 3k

AN: My first time writing for Blaise and I low-key hate the end?? but oh well. Interaction of any kind is super appreciated <3

“That's it,” you declared firmly “I'm dropping out.”

“No.”

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You wanna hear it in Italian? No,” Blaise didn’t even bother looking up from his desk when he answered your question, having had this conversation 14 times and counting in the last three hours.

“But Blaise,” you whined, getting up from your desk and flopping on your bed dramatically. “I can't do this shit anymore! I'm too young to be suffering like this.”

At that, he finally gives you a silver of his attention, briefly looking up from his Arithmancy textbook to raise his eyebrows at your theatrics. “Relax, you're gonna be fine,” his words did absolutely nothing to comfort you, and you found yourself sighing in defeat. “What if I marry a rich old man and kill him for his money?” you mumbled, already imagining how you could pull it off. Pansy would surely help you hide the body, and Draco or Theodore could set you up with some rich, pureblood asshole in need of a wife. Lorenzo and Mattheo would probably be down to aid you in the murder plot, so really there wasn't much that could go wrong here.

Blaise finally put his book aside, his full attention on you as he turned your words around in his mind. “Really? You're gonna let the last seven years go to waste and marry rich instead?”

It was a rhetorical question, you knew that, but it was a welcome opening to procrastinate on your studies so you opted to engage in this silly argument with your best friend.

“Absolutely, it's less exhausting and sets me up for life,” you replied, your voice harbouring an edge of challenge, as if beckoning him to counter your statement.

Blaise wasn't one to entertain bullshit, not with his friends, not with his acquaintances. He found it to be a waste of time and energy, energy he could be using on far more efficient things like himself. But somehow, somewhere along his time here at Hogwarts by your side, he found that entertaining your bullshit wasn't quite as bad as he thought. The absurd thought of you going through with the marriage and murder scheme drew a chuckle out of him, the sound low and rich as it pleasantly echoed in your otherwise desolate room.

“What? Are you making fun of my future career Zabini?” you asked, clutching your chest dramatically as you sat up in your bed. He shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “No, never” he replied, sarcasm dripping so heavily from his voice it was basically a slipping hazard.

“I’m just surprised you think getting married, killing someone and hiding it is somehow less exhausting than studying for your finals,” the mention of your fast approaching finals exams immediately killed whatever inkling of joy you'd fostered with the light banter between you, your head falling against the headboard with a groan.

“Don't remind me,” you grumbled “’Mso fucked Blaise, ‘m gonna fail and repeat the year.” When he realized that there was some sort of conviction in your tone, he stood up from the desk, approaching you on the bed. You had closed your eyes, mumbling to yourself about how worried you were about the exams and all the things you had to finish until then.

You could feel the bed dipping under his weight as he sat down, and you instinctively moved to make place for him. It was a habit really, you were so used to make space for Blaise in your life that you never had to think about it. When you walked in the hallway, you always left enough space for him to walk beside you. At dinner, there was always enough space for him to sit, just like in the library or in classes or even the common room. You couldn't quite remember how life was before you started making space for Blaise Zabini in it, but you weren't about to change that. You liked the way he took up so much of your attention, even with his quiet demeanor and biting remarks, and there was nothing quite like watching him sprawl out on your bed on a Friday night when you were hanging out together, just the two of you.

And just like you had learned to make place for him, he had learned to make exceptions for you. He didn't tolerate bullshit unless it was you, he didn't bother entertaining people unless it was you and he most definitely didn't initiate physical touch, unless it was, of course, you. Just like that, you felt his warm hand capture your chin, tilting your head to the side so you were facing one another. “*Principessa*,” another exception he made for you; the petname he'd given you after you forced him to watch every single Barbie movie with you back in third year had stuck all the way until now. “Open your eyes and look at me,” his voice held no bite and no anger, yet you couldn't shake the anxiety that settled in your stomach as you cracked your eyes open to look at him.

The darkness in his eyes was all-consuming, like a black hole sucking you in and leaving you breathless, unable to think about anything but him. Any thoughts of school or exams were banished in the close proximity of him, the warmth of his body seeping beyond the thin layers of your clothing and settling deep into your bones.

“You're going to be okay,” he said after a few beats of silence. Each word came out slowly over his lips, yet he said it with so much trust and belief, as if it was a fact he knew wouldn't change. “You're going to pass, and you're not going to get bad grades in any subject,” his hand released your chin and settled atop your hand instead. He was perceptive, too perceptive for his own good, so of course he'd noticed you pulling at the flesh around your nails, a nervous habit you'd had ever since you were a child. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb tracing over your knuckles in a soothing motion that almost brought tears to your eyes.

“Really?” you asked, your voice shaking more than you'd like. You thought it was stupid to get upset about this, dramatic even, but you couldn't help yourself, not when he was looking at you with such warmth and affection. It was like all your defenses melted under his gaze, reducing you into a gooey, emotional mess that you couldn't control.

A small smile tugged on his lips, and briefly you wondered how it'd feel to have them moving against your own, but you quickly threw that thought away. Now wasn't the time to wonder how kissing your best friend would feel like, not when you've known said best friend for the last seven years of your life and had the best friendship at stake along side your sanity and your entire academic career.

“Yes, really,” he said, in that warm tone that made your heart stutter and your brain fuzzy in the best way possible.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, absentmindedly biting it as you tried to even out your breathing. You couldn't cry, not tonight when you already had a stressful day behind you. Crying would only fuel your misery -and the murderous headache building up behind your temples- and there was no way you'd try to make it any worse.

Blaise’s eyes focused on your lips, and as if possessed by something else, his free hand came up to your mouth to gently pull your lip free from the destruction of your teeth. “Don't do that,” he murmured, “Your lips are too pretty."

You stared at him wide eyed, unable to process what he just said. Did he mean it in a friendly way? Or was he thinking about you the same way you'd been thinking about him for months now, wondering what your lips felt on his?

The silence between you two was tension filled and heavy, not a word spoken as you relished the warmth and proximity. Schoolwork was the last of your worries when Blaise was eyeing your lips with such fixation and hunger. Perhaps it was your imagination, but you could swear that he leaned down just a bit, enough for the scent of citrus and musk to envelope your senses.

His hand cupped your cheek, the touch tender and uncharacteristically unsure, as if he was scared you'd pull away at any moment. Blaise was the most confident person you've ever known, his words carefully chosen, his actions well thought out and never faltering in the face of the unknown. But this? This was completely new to him, something he'd never thought he'd actually do, there wasn't an an ounce of his usual self assured demeanor behind the feather light touches. To his surprise however, you leaned into his hand, your eyes staring up at him with the same hunger he displayed. You'd never once shyed away from him, too entranced by the enegamyic allure he exuded, and you found yourself pulled into his orbit once more.

His face was closer now, so close you could see the gold specks in his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and affection in a way that had your heart aching for him. His eyes flickered from your lips up to your eyes, searching for any hint of protest or dissatisfaction in your expression. When you managed to give him a light nod, answering the unspoken question for your consent, it was all he needed before he closed the gap between you, his lips tenderly pressing against yours.

The kiss was tentative and light, as if the both of you were in disbelief about this. It couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds, yet when he pulled away, you could swear hours had passed by, any sense for time malfunctioning from what you just experienced.

“Blaise, I-”

“I like you,” he cut off, not giving you any time to make excuses or apologies like he knew you would. “I like you so much more than I should like my best friend and it's driving me insane.”

Your throat went dry at that, your mouth falling open and closing again as if you were a fish on land. Could this be real? Or were you just hallucinating from the stress?

“Is this my finals week or my final week? Am I hallucinating?” you whispered suddenly, completely catching him off-guard. He blinked at you, once, twice, before throwing his head back with laughter.

Just then you realized that your response to his confession was completely ill fitting and the blood rushed to your face. “Don't laugh!” you exclaimed, hitting his shoulder with mortification “It's a reasonable deduction when you're suddenly confessing to me!”

To his credit, he tried to calm down from his sudden outburst quickly, his eyes staring at you with clear amusement. “It isn't sudden when you think about it,” he mused “I've always liked you, always gave you special treatment that no one else gets, principessa.”

Your mind cycled through all the instances Blaise had gone out of his way, and out of his comfort zone, to do something for you; too many to count you just realized. He was a well-mannered person overall, yet his words and action around you had always been just a bit kinder, a bit more vulnerable, reserved for you alone.

Your face burned brighter at the realization. God how could you have been so oblivious? You were sure everyone else had seen it, but you were too stuck in your head to see the way he looked at you, to notice the way his touch lingered just a bit too long.

“God I'm so stupid sometimes,” you mumbled in response, eliciting a chuckle from him. “That's okay,” he said with a teasing edge “I like it when you're stupid like that, makes it more fun to bully you about it.”

Any sort of protest or reply died in your throat when you felt him lean into you again, his lips brushing against yours gently. “May I?” his voice was low and quiet, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

Instead of replying, you set your hands on his shoulder, pulling him closer to crash your lips against eachother, satisfied at the surprised noise you drew out of him.

The kiss this time was firmer, more steady with a simmering heat below the surface. The awkwardness of teeth and lips clashing against one another didn't bother you one bit, it only made it more exciting when you finally found a rhythm that you both followed as your lips moved in tandem against one another.

Both of his hands settled on your waist, his thumbs caressing your skin through your clothes in soothing circles that had you blanking out. He was everywhere; his scent, his warmth, his lips and his hands driving your mind into a maddening blank state with not a single coherent thought left in it.

It could've been a few seconds or an eternity, but when you pulled apart, you were both gasping for air, eyes wide open at what had just transpired.

“I like you too,” you suddenly said, realising you'd never replied to his statement. “So much that I don't know what to do with it,” the hint of vulnerability in your voice didn't go unnoticed by him, his expression immediately softening. This was uncharted territory for the both of you, the promise of what you could be staked against what you already had.

“It's okay,” he whispered, his voice nothing but warm and affection filled as he took your hand and held it to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. “We can take it slow, do it our own way yeah?”

“Even if I wanna go out with you but ‘m too stressed to think about anything right now?” you asked, causing Blaise to shake his head in amusement. “Then don't think about it yet, I'm not going anywhere,” you couldn't help the smile that overtook your features, grinning at him with glowing happiness.

“You're so fucking sappy sometimes,” nudging his shoulder playfully, you half shoved him off the bed to get up, laughing at the dramatic protests as he faked a fall to the floor.

“Only for you, ungrateful wench,” he huffed, grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the floor with him. You landed on top of him, shrieking and thrashing in protest as you demanded he let you go.

You tried to escape his grasp, yet there was no use struggling against him, his arms wrapped too tightly around your waist, keeping you firmly against him.

“I need to get back to studying,” you mumbled once you ceased your protests, sighing contently when he bang rubbing your back gently. “Actually, you need a nap,” he chided. You eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he would suggest a nap when you had mountains of study material to get through. There was too much to do, and too little time, you couldn't afford slacking off now. “You have a headache, a really bad one at that,” he clarified, causing your eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“How the hell-”

“Your eyebrows,” he added with a smile, gently massaging the spot between them, “You always furrow them when you're having a headache and you've been doing that more and more for the last hour.”

No words left your mouth at that revelation, at the sheer amount of attention he paid to you. You didn't even know you did that, yet here he was, paying attention to every detail about you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You expected the gesture to make butterflies flutter in your stomach, but instead you felt a sense of calm wash over you, secure in the knowledge that Blaise had always known you, always seem through you even when you tried to hide.

There was no use arguing with him about this, he allowed you to move away from him before tugging you on your feet and gently pushing you towards your bed.

“C’mon,” he said “I'll sleep with you if you want, that way we're both taking a break.” At that, you did settle into your bed with a little less grumbling, moving over to allow him to lay down beside you.

It wasn't the first time you both shared a bed; it had become a routine for you, sharing your space together no matter where. So the moment he settled into it behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

His warmth and scent, coupled with the quiet sound of his breathe, were the perfect way to lull you into sleep, the pounding in your head becoming nothing but a dull ache as your eyelids grew heavier.

The last you felt before slipping into a pleasant sleep was the press of his lips against the crown of your head,the chase kiss warming you from head to toe as you sighed blissfully.

Perhaps Blaise was right; you wouldn't fail your exams after all. When you woke up, you'd get back to studying and trying your best, and while you weren't sure if this was the last of your emotional outbursts surrounding the academic stress, you were sure Blaise would be there by your side. That thought was what accompanied you into your dreams, pleasant and warm sensations easing your mind.

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Alright alright, this might be about someone I know, who knows? So I know I should be writing other things than typing out what kind of ex Sephiroth would be, but here I am. With nobody to stop me. Not that they could.

This was supposed to be longer than this, but somewhere along the lines I began accidentally writing a Yandere!Sephiroth and I didn't want that...not right now at least.

He probably won't talk to you for a couple of weeks following the break up. If he can even stay away that long(I give him a week at most). The “I can’t sleep without you ex.” and he means it to the core. Knocking at your door in the middle of the night, his eyes unable to focus on you. Sephiroth’s eyes locking onto the floor as he expresses the lack of sleep since you’ve separated, he needs you nearby to feel the slightest bit of comfort. There’s no way you can say no when Sephiroth asks to stay the night with you. Of course this starts a routine and it’s like the two of you never broke up. On the rarest occasion he’ll try sleeping at his own place. Not that he’s successful at all, instead Sephiroth calls only to fall asleep on the phone with you. 

Spends his off days with you. It’s what he would typically do. Why stop just because of some pesky title? He’s yours still, forever in dire need of your presence. Did you expect him to find something to replace all of that time spent with you? You’re the crazy one if you thought that. Seeing how you’ve been the center of his universe, constantly making sure your needs were put above his own, it’s impossible for Seph to shift focus. 

Gifts? He’s always been a giver. Partially due to Genesis teaching Sephiroth how they’re a great display of affection without being verbal. Considering Sephiroth is not great at vocalizing emotions at all, it’s the easiest route to take to express himself. Still sends you the weekly bouquet of flowers with a cute note attached and his beautiful signature attached to it. Usually a few words of appreciation along with an “I love you.” He’s going to keep soiling you, taking you out on dates, there isn’t anything Sephiroth changes after breaking up. He’d much rather keep the pretence that you’re his baby. With what’s already been stated, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Sephiroth was at your door, dressed for your usual date night. Of course he has questions upon realizing you’re not ready to go. It’s just so cute, Sephiroth would seem hurt by it in my opinion. All you can do is shake your head, telling him “You really don’t get how this works do you?” Inviting him in while you get dolled up. Of course you’re going out with him, don’t be silly.

Mr. “Why didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be home?” Like, I beg your finest pardon? Didn’t know this was a requirement, especially when you’re single, but Sephiroth expects you to still keep him filled in in regards to your life and whereabouts, down to your dental appointments. It’s not in a toxic manner per say, he just needs to know where you are and that you’re safe. If he’s your usual form of transportation around Midgar, he expects this to stay the same. Will get very pouty because you caught a ride to work or wherever else you need to go. Please don’t do that again, he’ll pout for another two days over it. 

How’s this man just gonna move on so easily? He’s not. He is fucking not. You literally taught him how to kiss, you thought that was going to smooth over well? So sleeping with new people won’t be an option nor is it something he’d be comfortable doing. But you, his oh so beloved significant other(purposefully without the ex part in mind) will still absolutely be railing this man. There’s not a chance in the world he’ll create a bond with someone to the point of singing songs together or randomly shouting military cadences. 

I know what we usually say about SOLDIERS not getting drunk. This one will make sure to drink himself into thinking calling you during a night out with Angeal and Genesis despite their protest telling him to give you some space. Imagine the distaste on the other SOLDIER's face as Sephiroth rolls his eyes, whines at you, and insults them in the process “I miss you, these guys are lame.” 

Any new friendships are met with a side eye and questioning on who your new companion is. Would be insecure about it til he’s green in the face. That being said, fully expect him to be even more clingy. If that’s even possible. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time reassuring him that nobody can come remotely close to replacing him. Getting any texts? Calls? Shall be met with “Who is that?” Probably won’t go through your phone, but will get increasingly paranoid if he senses any sort of deceit in your answer. Don’t even give a pause in between answering his questions, Sephiroth is instantly going to overthink and watch you like a hawk. 

Will I do more with this? Maybe, not anytime soon though.

[reimeichan]

(Vent for things I've been holding in for years. This no longer reflects my current situation, but these feelings still linger inside of me.)

Why is it so hard for you to understand that I'm disordered? That my memory issues are debilitating and disabling? Whenever I tell you I forgot you tell me I need to try harder, but I try as hard as I can and I still can't remember. You tell me to take notes, and I do, but I read the notes days later and they no longer make sense to me. "Take better notes" you tell me, but I'm doing the best I can! I set alarms to try to remember to do things, but sometimes the alarm goes off at an inopportune time and I forget to reset it. Sometimes I even forget to set the alarm at all. I wrote a checklist for the things I need to do every night, I have it taped to my door- but it's now just visual noise for me, like all the other things in my life. I don't know how to make it any more noticeable or obvious to me.

Am I the problem? Am I truly not doing enough? Can't you understand that I'm struggling and struggling and struggling and there's no perfect solution? I took my meds like you asked me, why do I still forget things? Is it really all on me?

You say you can't accommodate my memory issues anymore. That it's draining you and hurting you. That it's not your responsibility to help me. And... I know this. I don't want to rely on you. But when my phone is in another room and I'm washing the dishes, is it really so hard when I ask you to send me a message to remind me of something I'm remembering to do at this moment but I know I'll forget once I'm done? Is that my fault that I can't write myself a note right then and there?

Am I that much of a burden for you? When did I become a burden and not equals? What happened to making compromises with the person you love? It's not your responsibility- but you told me you cared about me. About us. Where did all of that go? Have I really burned you out so much?

Am I really that broken that you no longer love me?

[lucaanis]

something about lucanis's romantic gift idea being a dagger (that went over poorly RIP im sorry king i would have loved it and cherished it forever) and then years later lleyth walks into his life and casually gifts him a dagger that just so happens to be a wyvern-tooth dagger with 0 prior knowledge that he's The Wyvern Guy does something to my brain

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option

[fascinationstreetmp3]

messing around with modifying her is pretty fun. i’m actively breaking some npcs probably because i don’t know how to make new material entries but they’re a sacrifice i’m willing to make

[buckynats]

Panel from a comic I'm working on that I really like

[kidpunkjunk]

.

[kissingarthurclaus]

My last post of the night 😊 (technically it's already the next day but ssshh we don't need to talk about that) I had a truly wonderful anniversary today, thank you all for your kind words on my painting and just in general!

I'm happy to take a day to celebrate my beautiful husband, but rexposting is all year round babey!! So keep your eyes peeled for more 💙🫶💙