#Eight Bit Theatre

[spark-circuit]

yippee! my Final Fantasy pins arrived from Etsy! :) i swear i was hearing voice earlier so it must've been Santa! how lovely!

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(Meanwhile, while Spark's out of the room...)

[bitronic]

his phone doesnt have a screen

[akisteahouse]

FALLING FOR YA! featuring your quaint neighbourhood’s boys ACE TRAPPOLA, DEUCE SPADE, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS and TREY CLOVER…

Ace Trappola! Who’d been your next-door neighbour and annoyance ever since you were born in the Queendom of Roses, after the fateful day where he threw his basketball over your backyard's fence. Self-proclaimed ‘childhood best friend’ of yours, hanging out with you for the next years many, many blisteringly hot summers - riding your bikes together at the beach(he’d fallen off so many times while learning, always averting his eyes whenever you bent down to put a bandaid on his scraped knees), stealing licks off each others rapidly melting ice cream(nevermind his pink-tipped ears, or how he didn’t seem to really mind at all), getting kicked out of the town’s movie theatre one too many times after giggling and nudging each other at lovey-dovey couples a little too hard(couples…psh, he could never, right?)… fun times, fun times. Lunch and dinner at the Trappola’s becoming an almost daily tradition, with Mrs Trappola fussing about second and third servings, before insisting you stay the night… but it was alright, your parents were too close with the Trappola’s to care, and Ace most certainly didn’t mind sharing a bed anyway - you’d just have to deal with his playfully kicking feet and his not-so-slick longing glances, but it wasn’t not like you’d mind too much - he was your best friend, after all, and what would he do without you? ;)

Deuce Spade! Who everyone knew as the resident problem-causing delinquent, and not for the sweet boy you’d seen tinkering away at his mom’s broken appliances at the blast cycle workshop next to your apartment, brows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip adorably sticking out as he worked. You’d found him doubled over in the park once, knuckles battered and bruised, blood streaming down his nose, and who were you to leave him behind? Deuce, who incessantly refused for help, but softened at the mention of his mother seeing him like that, begrudgingly letting you patch up with the cheap med-kit you’d gotten from the corner store nearby, grumbling a ‘thanks’ under his breath as you worked, offering to pay you back with fixing any broken machinery you had lying around, blue eyes firmly focused on the stray leaf on the concrete rather than your eyes, before leaving. Perking up like a stray cat when you found him the next day with a broken clock, and then a watch, and then a radio - nevermind how his eyes brightened when he saw you walk up to him on the very first day, how he looked at you like you were too good to be true, how he waited for you to come again to retrieve your fixed item, nevermind it at all. And oh, the day he vowed to change for the better, he vowed to change not only for his mother, but for you too - the one who’d treated him like a normal person. You would accept his diligent efforts, right? ;)

Riddle Rosehearts! Who’d always been a bit of a neighbourhood enigma, well, at least to the children, of course - the strange, quiet boy who never left his house. What child wouldn’t be curious? Well, your middle school friends were, for one, and on the night of Halloween, had dared you to visit the boy. And so, you did - hurling small pebbles onto the window where the redhead was currently studying, head bowed and nose deep into impossibly thick books, before he’d finally noticed your unceasing efforts. Chest puffing out and face red from anger as you scuttled closer to the window, berating something about how ‘rule 672 clearly states that no stone shall be thrown past eight lest it be a romantic intervention!’…oh? Romantic? You could certainly work with that >:)))))) Face red now for a different reason after you decided to declare that yes, this was a romantic intervention, blubbering about how ‘certain courtship rituals had to be done’… cute. Secretly visiting the redhead at night like he was a princess locked away in a tower, always throwing pebbles to alert him of your presence, all the while actually doing the courtship ritual he’d seemed so insistent about… sliding in love letters(each of which he’d kept neatly tucked away in one of his many books), poetry(face burning red as he read your sonnets, so obviously full of romantic mush he didn’t know what to do other than to shove his flushed face onto his hands), and of course, small gifts(all of which he kept secretly underneath his bed). Poor Riddle Rosehearts, who’d been struck with an ailment of the heart, one that even the most skilled doctors couldn’t undo - love, with you as the main cause. Oh well, it wasn’t like you or him particularly minded anyways, no? ;)

Trey Clover! Who you’d always seen manning the cashier at his family’s bakery, flashing a smile whenever someone walked in or out - you’d know this by now, as a regular of theirs. He seemed to know you too, waving and greeting you with a particularly bright smile whenever you walked in, even if you came in during bustling rush hours - yeah, he wasn’t particularly shy with his affections, to the point that the entire Clover family were well aware of his not-so little affection for you. Mrs Clover dropping some not-subtle-at-all hints about what a great son-in-law Trey would be to your parents, Mr Clover oftentimes joking(lie) about how you hung around the bakery so much that you were practically family at this point, Trey’s younger siblings very loudly complaining about how Trey talked too much about you at home(before being swiftly repressed by the man himself, saying that they were just playing around). You’d have to be a fool to not notice the wistful sighs he’d emit in your direction, the too-long-to-be-platonic gazes across the bakery from him, the way his fingers brushed against yours for a bit too long when handing you your orders…and maybe you were a fool, because you hadn’t responded to his actions, not one bit - but it was fine. Trey was a patient man, and he wouldn’t mind playing the long game, as long as the final prize was your heart ;)

[no-144444]

winners and losers- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As you stepped out of the car, you were Champion of the World. The first woman to do so. The only woman to do so. You were a legend. You were going to be remembered, whether people liked it or not. 

You ran straight over to Oscar, knowing he was the only one you’d ever want to celebrate with. He caught you as you ran over and practically jumped on him. He caught you, holding you against him as he beamed with pride. 

He rested his hands on either side of your face, the both of you being covered in champagne by the rest of the team. “You did it,” he cheered. 

“We did it,” you reminded him, then pulled him into a tight hug. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You weren’t a party animal, so you’d decided you wanted to go to a movie, and as you stood outside Oscar’s room, you really wondered what the fuck you were doing. You wanted to ask him to come with you, but as your hand finally met the wood, your heart dropped. You realised how a movie sounded, and well, you already felt conflicted enough from rejecting him. 

He opened the door immediately, a comfy hoodie and sweats on, his hair a bit messy, and his eyes half closed. You felt a little overdressed in your jeans. 

“Y/n?” he smiled when he registered that it was in fact, you. 

“Hi,” you smiled. 

“Hi,” he smiled back, leaning against the doorway. “W-What are you doing here?” 

“I was going to go see a movie, if you wanted to come with me. There’s a cinema down the street,” you explained. “Obviously, if you’re exhausted or just not into movies, that’s fine. I was just wondering.”

Was Oscar Piastri into movies? No, not really. He probably couldn’t even name 3 Christmas movies, and everyone knows Christmas movies. Was Oscar Piastri exhausted after a tense weekend? Absolutely. But was Oscar Piastri going to give up the chance to sit right beside you for 2 (perhaps 3) interrupted hours and enjoy the silent pleasure of your company?

Fuck no. 

So you were both at the cinema in under 5 minutes. You’d insisted on paying for the food, which he insisted on paying for the tickets (ever the gentleman), and you both quickly got to your seats. Neither of you really knew what the film was about, you’d just wanted to turn your brain off for a few hours, and he planned on staring at you the whole time. But not in a creepy way. 

Quickly, the film started, and you were hooked, your eyes darting all around the screen, following the characters. Oscar’s eyes stayed on you. More specifically, the way your hand was holding his. He froze when it happened, unsure what to do, but after a few minutes his body un-tensed and his brain started working again, and he started gently smoothing his thumb over your skin. You were soft, as soft as he remembered you to be when you two had danced together. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You hadn’t planned on crying when the mother in the film died, but it hit you like a bag of bricks and you genuinely left the theatre crying. Oscar, ever the gentleman, noticed immediately and pulled you into one of his perfect, Oscar hugs. The ones that make everything feel like it’s ok. You quickly started rushing out apology after apology, but he was quicker to shut you down, citing random studies saying people who cry at movies are more emotionally intelligent and strong. You didn’t feel very strong holding onto him so hard you thought you might break one of his ribs, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

The walk back to the hotel room was once again, filled with the silence you both loved dearly, but holding his hand. When he walked you up to your hotel room, he stood at the door, watching you open it with your key card. 

“Night,” he smiled, ready to collapse into his bed. 

You stared at him for a moment, clearly in quiet contemplation. He just looked right back at you, enjoying the view. Your teary eyes and irritated nose were pretty adorable in his opinion, and even in the low light of the hotel corridor, your eyes still sparkled just like usual. 

You took a step closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, making him almost gasp out loud. 

“Night,” you smiled and rushed inside, jumping into bed and overthinking the tiny cheek kiss you’d given him. 

Sleep also evaded him that night, too wired to think about anything other than your lips on his skin and how he could make it happen again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Halfway through the second triple header, in Qatar, you found yourself… regretful of that night in Baku, and feeling increasingly good about that night in Vegas. Oscar was no different than before, still the constant pillar of strength keeping you afloat in your mad world. You found yourself wondering about his feelings, wondering if you had them too and just didn’t realise. You liked his unruly hair. You liked his stupid jokes. You liked how much he went on about cricket. You liked his family. You liked his dorky knowledge on things. You liked the way he didn’t realise how beautiful he really was. You liked him. A lot more than you’d ever liked anyone else before. You hadn’t realised when it happened, but Osccar was one of the reasons you woke up. Oscar was who you got in the car for. Oscar was your person.

Fuck. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar jumped out of the car, rushing to get to the paddock in time. He had woken up late (again), and he just had to get your morning coffee, so he was already running a little bit late. As much as he tried to hide it, it did kind of hurt to be rejected by you. I mean, what was he thinking? An F1 driver being into him? It was a silly pipe dream he wished Lando never exposed. 

He quickly rounded a corner, and finally, you were in his sights. You sat at a table, wearing a white dress and white shoes, talking with someone on the phone. He thought you looked beautiful. That white dress. Was it silly that he was thinking about weddings? 

“Morning,” you called out, a soft smile on your face. The shadows cast from the sunlight made your eyes shine even more, if that were possible. 

“Morning,” he breathed out, sitting across from you and pushing the cup over. You took it with a grateful nod and continued listening to the person on the other side. He took a sip of his own drink and just let himself stare. He saw the way a strand of hair fell over your forehead, he saw the freckles on your face, the way you scrunch your nose up, the way you… the way you were you. And he loved it all. All the sarcastic jokes, all the batshit screaming on the radio, all of the insane and deeply romantic things you’d done together. 

You put your phone down. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Hi.”

“How are you?” you asked, gently messing with the lid of your cup. 

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?” he asked, feeling as though you were hiding something. 

“I’m good,” you nodded. “I got you a gift,” you blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You did? What for?”

“Christmas,” you said like it was obvious.

“It’s November-”

“We’ll have no time in Abu Dhabi,” you explained. “And I really wanted to give this to you myself.”

“Ok,” he shrugged, his heart swelling as those words. You wanted to give it to him yourself. 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” you instructed and he did so without hesitation. Something was placed in his hand. A small, rectangular box, he assumed. “Open them.”

He opened his eyes and was met with a gold bracelet with a tiny walkie-talkie charm on it. It was beautiful and heartfelt, and somewhat of an inside joke between the two of you. He let himself giggle slightly, looking back up at your mischievous smile. “I love it,” he answered truthfully. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “You’ve really been my rock this year, and I really appreciate it. Thank you Osc. No one asked you to step up and be my friend, but you did, and I really appreciate all of the support.”

He smiled, taking your hand. “I’d do it again anytime. You’re incredible, and you deserve to know that.”

You smiled bashfully. “So are you.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. And he couldn’t help but hope it meant more.  

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Up to fifth gear, down to third. 

It was methodical. You were world champion, you’d won it back in Las Vegas, but you still had to fight for the Constructors, and Ferrari were not going down without a fight. You finished Qatar with a podium, but not enough to secure the championship, so onward to Abu Dhabi it went. 

“That was a good race today. Y/n up in P3, just behind the Ferrari’s and Lando in P5. We picked up some good points, but we’ll really need to push in Abu Dhabi, alright guys?” Zak smiled, and everyone groaned in agreement. 2 triple headers after one-another was truly torture, but whatever, you’d be at home in Monaco in 2 weeks time. No racing, no people, just you and your evergrowing reading list. 

Oscar nudged you. “What’s your plans for Christmas?” he asked. 

“Nothing, really,” you shrugged, trying to keep your voice down as Zak continued his pep talk. 

Oscar frowned. “Alone?”

You nodded, completely happy with your answer. His frown deepened. “Come to Australia,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “I will not impose on your family Christmas-”

“My entire family loves you Y/n, please. It’d be as much for them as it is for me.”

You smiled. “You really want me there?” 

He nodded, a bright smile on his face. “I do. I really do-”

“Those your wedding vows?” Lando spoke up. 

You just rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Ask your parents if it’s alright first, yeah?”

He beamed. “Will do.”

Australia for Christmas, that would be new. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

To say that Oscar didn't have his own agenda when asking you to come to Australia would definitely be a fat lie. After the night in Baku and the night in Vegas, he was becoming increasingly sure that you did like him back, and he thought that getting you to relax in Australia would let you feel comfortable enough to confess to him. Sounds slightly sinister, he knew, but he also knew his mother would murder him the second his feet touched Australian ground if she found out he was leaving you alone at Christmas. 

He had time now. He just needed you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[steddiealltheway]

(So, idk if anyone has ordered or seen the Scoops Ahoy costumes from Amazon or whatever, but the shorts for Robin are tight and short. But the shorts for Steve are like the ones seen in the show. Which leads me to this thought…)

Steve’s first day at Scoops Ahoy is… alright?

Actually, it’s pretty miserable.

Scooping ice cream is way harder than it looks. And for some reason he can’t get that perfect rounded shape. It just comes out in pieces that he has to mash into cups and balance on top of cones.

Plus, he’s pretty sure his coworker hates him.

Her name is Robin, and she scowls and dramatically points at her name tag when he asks for it. To make matters worse, they apparently went to high school together, but he doesn’t have the vaguest memory of her. (To be fair, they did not run in the same social circles with her being in band and even theatre and with Steve being “King Steve.”)

But for some reason, she loves to poke fun at him especially when he fails to get any girl’s number. It’s like the Harrington charm radiates through his hair which is blocked by the stupid hat.

But what he really notices only an hour into their eight hour shift is the way she’s tugging at her shorts. She digs her fingers under the elastic band around her thighs as if trying to stretch them out, and she’s constantly trying to pull them down as they begin to ride up.

And really, Steve not trying to perv or anything, but she’s make quite a bit of a fuss with the whole thing, cursing under her breath and obviously really uncomfortable.

So, when the store is fairly empty, Steve turns to her and asks, “Do you want to change shorts with me?”

For the first time, Robin laughs. Loudly. She even snorts at the idea. But her laughter quickly dies down when she realizes Steve isn’t laughing. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. You look uncomfortable. And hey, I’ve worn way worse to basketball practice, plus I had to wear speedos when I was on the swim team.”

Robin’s nose scrunches up. “Gross.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips and huffs, “Do you want to switch or not?”

She takes a few seconds to stare at Steve, clearly suspicious of an ulterior motive. But then, she curses and starts tugging at elastic band again. “Okay! Fine. But we’re not getting change in the same room.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he heads to the back room. “I wasn’t suggesting that.”

In the end, Steve is left to change in the damn freezer storage area while Robin gets the whole break room. But he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so he sucks it up and doesn’t complain. (Although he really really wants to.)

He waits for her to knock on the door to signal she’s ready, looking down at the shorts. They’re not horrible, but he can understand why Robin was uncomfortable - as they’re already stretching over his ass and thighs while starting to ride up beyond mid thigh.

Even after she knocks, Steve asks, “Ready for me to come out?”

He thinks he hears her laugh about that for some reason before she answers, “Yeah!”

He steps into the room and glances down at her new shorts momentarily before nodding. “Better?”

Robin smiles slightly and nods before heading back out to the main area.

Steve follows behind her. “Hey, they gave me two pairs of these. I can give you the extra pair to wear and keep during our next shift together.”

Robin turns to him and narrows her eyes. “What are you asking for in return?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, eyebrows furrowed. He hopes she understands that he really means it and won’t hold this over her head like an asshole.

She just stares at him for a few seconds before almost wondrously saying, “Huh.”

Luckily, she seems to relax for the first time since their shift started.

After this, the teasing from before has less of an edge to it, but it becomes relentless. Steve almost thinks that maybe this is the start of a wonderful friendship. But Robin would never want that from him.

He only changes his mind about this later when Eddie Munson walks into the store while Steve is cleaning the tables. He accidentally knocks over a napkin and bends over to pick it up, feeling his shorts ride up.

When he stands up, he’s met with a pink faced Munson who stares at him - or rather his ass - with wide eyes.

“See something you want to sample?” Steve asks honestly a bit against his will because it’s part of the Scoops Ahoy greeting. (Only for some reason, he’s unable to get any other part of the greeting out.)

Eddie’s pink face turns red as his eyes snap up to Steve’s. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he quickly breathes out, “I need to leave.”

When the boy practically runs out the store, Steve naturally glances over his shoulder at Robin, trying to gauge if she just saw what he did.

She’s already laughing behind the counter saying between bouts of laughter, “See something you want to sample?”

Steve huffs and feels a blush rise to his cheeks. “Shut up,” he mumbles out, throwing the napkin away before returning behind the counter. “I’m never asking that again.”

But as Robin continues to laugh, Steve can’t help but join in a little, wondering if maybe she would like to be friends and if Eddie will ever come back.

So, maybe his first day wasn’t pretty miserable or just alright. Maybe it was perfect.

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 1

a/n: as you read, dialogue in bold represents words spoken in the script. any dialogue in regular text, in my mind as i was writing, is them speaking in korean. enjoy, my dears! Word Count: 3223 Tracklist: Another Day, Ex, B Me [ master list here ]

Chapter One: We Meet Again, Unfortunately

APRIL 29th, 2025

WEEK 1

You arrive on set promptly at 11:30am, earlier than what's requested on your call sheet. The set is a whirlwind of motion as you follow behind the PA guiding you through a lot of trailers. You’re filled with the same rush of excitement that you had on your first set, but this time is different. It’s finally starting to sink in—another achievement on your much dreamed about path to success.

You’ve always loved acting (drama club in every school you attended, school plays, local theatre) but it was watching Korean dramas and films, that finally made something click. There was a different kind of emotional depth in the way stories were told. You fell in love with it. You wanted to be a part of it.

However, as a non-native actor in Korea, the odds have always been stacked against you. You first moved here at sixteen, when your dad was stationed with the military. By the time you turned twenty-one, your family had gone back home, but you stayed. That was four years ago. You threw yourself further into learning the language, studying relentlessly until your accent all but disappeared. Casting directors often compliment you on how fluent you sound—almost native, they always say. But the praise never quite translates into major roles. Just bit parts. Background characters. The forgettable foreigner.

Until now.

The Heir and the Innkeeper could be your big break. Slated as a romantic drama following an irresponsible chaebol heir caught in yet another scandal that threatens to ruin his family’s livelihood. He’s forced to hide away at a countryside inn run by a hardworking, no-nonsense woman (that’s you). They clash, of course. Then fall in love, of course.

It’s an eight-episode, limited series…and it’s being backed by fucking Netflix. It’s a huge opportunity.

The only catch? The actor hired to portray the heir.

None other than Hwang Hyunjin.

While most actresses would be chomping at the bit for a chance to star alongside him, you were tempted to back out of the project when you heard who your co-star would be. Your agent had to talk some sense into you—you can’t pass this up. Working with people you may not be fond of is part of the job. You just have to show up, do what they’ve hired you to do, and that’s it. You are not obligated to interact with him outside of that.

And, thankfully, today you’re just here to work with the hair, makeup, and wardrobe teams on your character’s look and have it approved by the director.

You don’t have to film anything. You don’t even have to see him yet.

The PA stops outside a trailer with a sign that reads ‘Hair & Makeup’, and opens the door. “I’ll be back for you when you’re done.”

“Okay, thank you. What was your name again?”

“Jeongin,” he replies and closes the door after you ascend the stairs.

The interior is strikingly bright—all white walls with fluorescent overhead lighting. There are three black chairs stationed in front of individual vanity mirrors, and a small TV hangs above the back wall.

“y/n?” a deep voice greets, and you nod. He has shoulder length blonde hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I’m Felix, that’s Yuna. Take a seat, we’ll get started on you in a minute.”

Yuna is tall with long, dark hair. She’s snipping away at the hair of the man in the furthest chair.

“Han,” the other man says, extending his hand when you sit. Felix is currently dabbing at his face with a makeup brush. “That’s Minho.”

“The Ahn brothers?” you shake his hand, recalling their roles from the call sheet.

Their characters are employees of the inn, and extremely close friends of the innkeeper, so you will have a lot of scenes to film with them in the coming weeks.

“Only when they call action,” Minho says in mock disdain.

“On or off set, he loves me. Don’t let him fool you,” Han whispers with a wink.

 Yuna removes the cape from Minho after finishing his hair, then approaches you with a clean one. Minho stands and stretches out his limbs.

“You’re lucky,” she says running her hands through your hair. “Your character gets a decent hairstyle. No tragic bangs. No dry extensions.”

You smile and relax in the chair. Minho and Han hang around in the room until another PA comes to take them to wardrobe. Alone with Felix and Yuna working seamlessly together, you find yourself even more at ease.

“I owe both of you coffee for this,” you say watching as Felix applies the finishing touches to your face and Yuna straightens the final section of your hair.

“You owe us your first award,” Felix corrects, nudging your chin up. “We’re manifesting.”

Yuna hums in agreement. “The ‘innocent girl next door with hidden fire’ look is totally working for you. Soft waves, dewy skin, a little gloss…they’re gonna eat it up.”

“I just hope I don’t mess it up,” you admit, keeping your voice light, but meaning it. “I’m not exactly the normal choice for a role like this.”

Felix catches your eye in the mirror. “You won’t. You’ve got presence. Directors and audiences notice that.”

“And cheekbones,” Yuna adds. “Presence and cheekbones? Deadly combo.”

You smile, the nerves still there, but softened by their quiet confidence in you.

Not to say that you aren’t confident in your own abilities. You absolutely are. But it’s always interesting to hear how others perceive you. It reassures you that you’re doing something right.

After your hair and makeup are complete, Jeongin returns.

“They’re finishing up a scene right now and then the director wants to introduce you and Hyunjin.” He says. “Then we’ll get you over to wardrobe.”

So much for not having to see him today.

“Sounds good,” you force a smile, following where he leads.

To the general public, Hyunjin is known for his perfect jawline, warm brown eyes and flawless skin. But you remember him for his even more flawless ego. You’ve seen beneath the façade. You know, as a firsthand eyewitness, that Hwang Hyunjin is an entitled asshole.

You wonder, briefly, if he even remembers working with you.

You doubt it.

He hardly noticed or thought about anyone except himself that day.

You enter the building where the scene is being filmed. Crew members run past, a gaffer is shouting about electrical cords not being taped down properly, and the key grip is checking the lighting rigs.

The set is decorated to look like a lavish, upscale living room, fitting for the characters that reside there. Your eyes immediately land on the long-limbed man lounging on the couch—his dark hair perfectly styled and parted at the side. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button-up shirt with rolled sleeves. His head rests on the arm of the couch, his eyes closed.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s probably sleeping without a clue as to what’s going on around him and all the hard work the crew is putting in. It’s actually quite fitting for the oblivious and privileged character he’s playing. And yet, you find yourself staring at him for longer than you should…

“Roll sound,” the assistant director, Seungmin, starts the roll call.

Jeongin holds his arm out to stop you from moving forward and you freeze as everything falls quiet.

“Speed,” the boom operator replies.

“Roll camera.”

“Rolling,” the camera operator chimes in.

“Marker.”

“The Heir and the Innkeeper—episode one, scene six, take four,” another crew member announces, slapping the slate.

“Action!” The director bellows.

A door bursts open and in storms an older man with greying hair—the legendary J.Y. Park. A smile spreads across your face. He was part of the reason you were more inclined to work on this project. It’s an honor to be included in the same cast as him.

“Jae-hoon!” He shouts, throwing a newspaper on top of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin shoots up on the couch, his eyes snapping open. He grabs the newspaper, looking at the headline—from the script you know it’s an image of him outside a nightclub after an altercation with someone, sporting a busted lip as two men struggle to hold him back.

“They still print these things?” Hyunjin delivers his line with perfect nonchalance.

You watch as the scene unfolds, the tension between the actors reaches you even where you stand nearly forty feet away. You have to admit—Hyunjin is good. There’s clearly a reason he’s achieved such high levels of success in this industry despite being insufferable.

Hyunjin sighs, standing from the couch, grabbing an ice pack from the end table and pressing it to his lip. “I’ll talk to the press, do an apology tour. It’s fine.”

“An apology isn’t going to cut it this time. You’ve jeopardized the merger and may have lost us billions with your incessant, childish behavior. Pack your bags, you’re getting out of the city.”

“A vacation?” Hyunjin smirks, arching an eyebrow.

J.Y. Park scowls, jaw clenched. “You need to grow up if you expect me to leave this company in your hands someday.”

They stare each other down for what feels like hours before the director yells, “Cut! We got it.”

The set drowns in sound as everyone resumes conversing and the crew starts moving things around to set up for the next shot.

“Alright, let’s go,” Jeongin says. He stops once you’ve reached the director’s chair. “Director Bang, y/n, as requested.”

“y/n, it’s nice to see you again,” he says as Jeongin retreats.

You haven’t seen him since the audition. Typically, you would have met with him and/or the casting directors to have a chemistry read with Hyunjin, but your schedules never lined up. Director Bang vouched for you, claiming he saw something in you that he just knew was right for the part. Knowing the trust he’s placing in you to get this right, though, is an added stress. You have to get along with your menace of a co-star.

“You too, Mr. Bang. I’m excited to get started,” you smile enthusiastically and bow.

“Good. You have a lot up against you, as I said on the phone, but don’t let that discourage you.” He returns your smile. “And call me Chan, please.”

He stands from his chair, makes eye contact with Hyunjin across the room and waves him over. You keep a small smile planted on your face—playing nice. You can do this. You’re an actor, after all.

“Before you head to wardrobe, I want you and Hyunjin to run through your lines together.”

Hyunjin saunters over, looking you up and down as he approaches. “Yeah, boss?”

“This is y/n. y/n, Hyunjin.”

“We’ve met,” Hyunjin says, bowing.

Ah. So, he does remember?

Although, you wouldn’t actually call what transpired as having ‘met’. You were forced to endure his tyranny.

You return the bow.

“Really? That’s great, then. Go to your trailer and go over your lines for episode 1, scene 15 and then episode 4, scene 8, alright?” Chan continues. “I’ll stop by in a bit to see how it’s going.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin gives a curt nod to Chan, who spares one final look between you two before going to watch the playback. “Nice to see you again.”

“Is it? I’m still deciding,” you shoot back, dropping the smile and meeting his gaze with a sharpness that matches your tone.

The idea of playing nice and actually having to do it are not mixing very well in your head right now. Not when you know what lingers beneath the surface with him.

You head for the exit, not bothering to see if he’s following. But of course he is. He has to.

“Still all sarcasm, I see.” He catches up to you in just a few paces to walk by your side.

“Were you expecting me to fall at your feet like an obsessed fan?” You stop walking when your senses catch up to you. You have no idea where you’re going. “Where’s your trailer?”

“There’s still time to come around,” he says, voice dripping with a smug, infuriating charm as he starts leading the way.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you say, walking behind him until you get to his trailer. He holds the door open for you to enter first.

The trailer is fully decked out with cream colored leather sofas, a kitchenette, microwave, refrigerator and freezer, bathroom, and a bed. The floors and walls are a light brown colored wood paneling, making it feel rather homey.

“You know your lines?” he asks, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

But you’re still taking in the fact of where you are and with whom. In a trailer. With Hyunjin. A few years ago, your heart and mind would have been racing at even just the thought of this.

Although the ethereal glow that surrounded him the first time you laid eyes on him is long gone, he’s still catastrophically attractive. There’s no denying that.

And for a second your intertwined future on this project sinks in. You’ve never had to kiss someone for a role before, so you can’t help but wonder what it will be like to kiss him—mainly if you’ll be repulsed by it.

“Don’t insult me.” You recover, pulling yourself from your thoughts.

“Don’t do this, don’t do that,” he mocks. “What can I do, then?”

“Your job.”

He laughs as he leans against the kitchen counter. You start to take a seat but rethink it, not wanting to physically put yourself in a position that’s lower than him. He might be the main male lead, but you’re the female lead and you won’t let him forget that for even a second.

“From the top?” you ask.

“Certainly not the bottom,” he retorts.

You grit your teeth and let out a low breath. This is going to be a long three months.

You shake off the nerves, getting it straight in your mind that the man in front of you is just an actor. You’ve run lines with plenty of scene partners; this should be no different.

And it isn’t—for the first scene. There’s a lot of bickering, which comes naturally.

The second scene proves to be a strain. When Hyunjin steps towards you, you instinctively step back. When he moves to tuck your hair behind your ear, you either flinch or your face just isn’t relaxed enough to make it feel like a moment of genuine connection.

“You have to stop that,” he says, annoyed after the umpteenth failed attempt.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” you reply.

“Relax your face muscles. You’re acting like—” he does an exaggerated imitation of the grimacing expression you’ve been making, “—as if I have leprosy or something.”

The look on his face catches you momentarily off guard and you have to immediately grit your teeth to keep from laughing. You didn’t know his face could contort in such a way. Regardless, he is not amusing. He can’t be.

“You haven’t told me the moves or gestures you’ll be making—so I’m not expecting it,” you reply, shaking off the distraction. “Let’s run it again, and do everything exactly like you did on the last one, don’t keep switching it up.”

Forty minutes later you’re rehearsing in front of Chan. He’s seated on the couch as you and Hyunjin stand in front of him.

“Cut, cut,” Chan says. He leans back against the couch, stroking his chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “Something is off.”

You glance over at Hyunjin, then to Chan, unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

“We can try it again,” Hyunjin offers.

“She needs to get to wardrobe. And you need to film your next scene,” Chan shakes his head. “The bit from episode one was great. The tension and hostility is perfect. But I’m not picking up on the chemistry for the later episode.”

Fuck.

Clearly, you still aren’t hiding your disdain for him as well as you thought. You need to work on that.

“I want the two of you to spend a day together, get comfortable, get to know each other,” Chan continues.

Fuck. Again.

You didn’t want to work on it like that.

“You’ll meet with the intimacy coordinator soon and whatever this—” he motions between you and Hyunjin, “—is, simply won’t cut it.”

In a matter of hours your plans for steering clear of this man when you’re not filming has been foiled. And you’ve already been reminded of just how close you will be getting on set.

“We’ll work on it,” you say.

Hyunjin nods his agreement as Chan stands and exits the trailer, muttering quietly to himself.

“I told you…you need to pull it together if this is going to work,” Hyunjin says when it’s just the two of you again.

There he is, peeking through the façade.

“Me?” You ask, appalled, but not surprised, at the accusation.

“I don’t see anyone els—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, holding your hand up. “Let’s get something straight. You and I are a team on this. I’m not going to let you steamroll through this project and shift the blame to me for anything that goes wrong.”

“Is that so?”

You don’t know what to make of his tone. Is he challenging you?

“Yes.” You hold his gaze, not backing down.

He pulls his phone out from his pocket. “What’s your number?”

“W—what?” You stumble.

“We have to bond or whatever,” he shrugs. “I’d say I’ll have my people call your people, but…you don’t exactly have people, do you?”

A snappy reply doesn’t come quickly enough this time. You reluctantly provide him with your number, and your phone buzzes when he sends you a text.

“That was a joke, by the way. Lighten up.”

You glare at him.

If he does remember you, he has to remember the way he behaved on set that day. The way he looked at you after your attempt at a joke. Is it only okay when he does it?

How and why is he acting like none of that ever happened?

“My assistant will plan something,” he says to your silence.

“Fine. Just…keep it professional,” you reply.

He arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow again. “Oh, I will. We’re splitting the bill for everything 50/50.”

“Then keep it cheap.”

He laughs, the sound grating your nerves, just as there’s a knock on the door. It swings open and Jeongin pokes his head in.

“Here to take you to wardrobe, y/n.”

Thank the fucking lord for that.

You follow after Jeongin, lost in thought, trying to come to terms with what you’re going to have to deal with for the sake of this role. This experience should be exciting. You don’t want the mental drain of putting up with Hyunjin to sour it for you. You can’t let it.

You don’t care, personally, to get to know him. But for your career? You will.

You’ll do what Chan has asked of you, but you’re keeping your guard up. You won’t be blindsided whenever he finally decides to flip the switch and show his true colors again.

a/n: they're so feisty. i hope you enjoyed the guest appearances. most of the gang is here, too! what do you think of their roles? and what do you think binnie's role will be? also a fair warning, the smut won't come until chapter 7, this is a slower building romance fic 💕 [ read chapter two here ]

[goquokka00]

hello!! omg, I used to love sending in requests, but it’s been a while \(^ヮ^)/

I would like to request a SFW ff or oneshot (it doesn’t matter :) ) for Felix where he saw y/n for the first time in a while (or ever since high school) and she was performing in a small local band for the college festival/event and was like wow!! heart eyes heart eyes!! He used to have a big crush on her also! 😝 Just wanted to see how you come up with this ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Long Time No See

Summary: It had been years since Felix had last seen you. But while on break in Melbourne with Bangchan, the two came across a small fair held by a college in town. And the main center of attention wasn't them. It was you and a small band covering their songs that you had re-written in English. And Felix just couldn't stay away.

Pairing: Felix X Reader (F!)

Genre: Humor, Fluff (It's Felix I mean come on lol)

Word Count: 2.8K

The last time Felix had seen you was in Highschool.

You were the same year as him, a shy band nerd. You were heavily involved in anything music; playing in the pit for theatre, doing jazz bands, ensembles, and all sorts of choirs and singing stuff. It felt like any time he saw you, you always had something music going on. But he liked that.

Your friend groups were really different, but you two did get along when you had classes together. Always wearing your glasses, having to push them up your nose...it always got Felix's heart pumping. He always tried to partner with you on projects because of that. You were also really smart in certain subjects. If anything, it made you more attractive to him.

Unfortunately, the time you two had together grew short due to Felix going to Korea to become an idol. And while it made him a bit upset, he wanted to follow his dreams, too. And so, he left. And while he spent countless hours training and working hard to become an idol and one of eight members in Stray Kids, you had continued to go to school, and eventually to college.

But Felix hadn't seen you since.

Now, he was one of the most infamous. Everywhere he went, people knew him. He was Felix of Stray Kids; the one with the deep voice and the cute face. It's what he was known for. And after working for so long, he was finally on break with one of his fellow members, Bangchan.

They had gone home to Melbourne to spend time with their family, relax, and just do what they wanted. It was needed, and it was nice. Really nice. But today, he had gotten bored and wanted to go out with Chan. Just hang out as friends, and not band members who performed in stadiums.

And so, he called Chan.

"Hey, Felix! What's up?" Chan asked, Felix smiling as he heard his hyung's voice.

"Channie-hyung, I was wondering if you'd wanna go out and just walk around Melbourne."

"Yeah, sure! I actually heard that there was a fair going on at the University of Melbourne and wanted to check it out, but Lucas is out with friends, Hannah is in America, and my parents are busy with work."

"Oh, then we should go and check it out, see what's going on!"

"Definitely! I'll come get you later...around two work?"

"Yeah, that works."

And so, Felix got ready before meeting Chan outside, the two off to go to the University. And once they got there, they noticed just how busy it was. Turns out, there was a lot to check out.

There were competitions, games, food, art, and so many other things. Felix actually ended up buying gifts for all of the other members of Stray Kids, as there seemed to be something for everyone. He even got something for Chan, who turned the gift down. Felix...just slipped it into Chan's bag.

And as they walked around, they heard music coming from the plaza. And because they were idols, they just had to go and check it out. Sure enough, it was a small group of students from the music department playing some jazz tunes that they had written. It was pretty cool, if they were being honest. And after the group was done playing, another group appeared.

And there you were.

At first, Felix didn't recognize you. You weren't in glasses anymore, and your hair was a lot longer than what it used to be. But after a moment, Felix's eyes widened.

"No way..." He blinked, leaning his head forward as his eyes narrowed, almost as if his brain didn't believe what his eyes were seeing. But Chan? He had no clue what was going on.

"What? What is it?" Chan looked to Felix, then to the group as they set up, and then back to Felix, seeing his friend's face suddenly red. "Why are you suddenly so flustered, huh?"

"I...I went to school with that girl. The one with the guitar." Felix instantly pointed you out, only to see you laugh and smile as you grabbed the microphone, adjusting it to your height before doing a quick sound check.

"No way, really?" Chan asked, looking at you as you did the typical "check, check, check, 1-2-3". But it was only a second before Chan smiled, nudging Felix with his arm. "She's kinda cute..."

"Hyung, stop..." Felix just shoved Chan back, hearing him laugh. But his attention was back on you in an instant. You had so much more confidence than you did when you were in highschool. It's almost as if you managed to find yourself, and pick yourself up.

"Hello! Um, we're Wallflower, and today we're gonna be playing a few songs that we really learned to love by a group named Stray Kids." You greeted, smiling at the crowd that had gathered around. People cheered, clapping before you laughed nervously, continuing. "Oh, and they're all covers we've learned and translated, too. So you'll be able to understand them. Hopefully."

And with that, you looked to the keyboardist, nodding. And they were quick to play an opening both Felix and Chan recognized instantly.

"Twilight, huh?" Chan murmured. It wasn't an easy song, that was for sure. It was a song Han had written, for crying out loud. His songs weren't ever easy. And yet, with a gentle breath, you began.

"I think my day, Has grown shorter than everyone's... And your thoughts, Make my night come faster than the sun... I try to follow you, cause you left just by chance, Will you be waiting for me in the end? I still remember you warm words from back when Your eyes held all that sweet love just for me..."

Felix forgot how beautiful your voice was. It was so smooth and soft, having just a hint of a raspiness that made it irresistible. Even Chan whistled lowly, crossing his arms as his eyes widened slightly.

"Damn, she's good." Chan said, looking back to Felix. But what he saw was his friend in absolute awe.

"Yeah..." Felix trailed, watching you closely. He couldn't even take his eyes off of you. You were enchanting, from your voice to the way you looked around the crowed, to how your hands moved and played each lick of twilight perfectly.

And then, your eyes caught his. And it was like everything stopped for Felix. His cheeks burned red, unable to look away from your beautiful eyes. He half expected you to freak out, but you didn't. Instead, you smiled, and winked to him. Winked.

Felix swallowed in response.

After Twilight, your group played Limbo, then Cover Me, then a softer version of Unfair. You sang Felix's solo. And your voice fit it perfectly. From Unfair, your group played Youth and Hold My Hand as well before finishing up.

"Thanks again for coming everyone! You all have been amazing!" All of you bowed before heading off of the make-shift stage to pack up your things.

"Wow...they were really good." Chan commented, only to watch Felix just walk over to you. He just blinked, watching Felix leave before going after him. "Fe-Felix, wait for me, man!"

Felix just ignored him, walking up to you before tapping your shoulder. You had just been putting your guitar away, zipping the case up when you felt the tap, turning around to see Felix, Chan running up behind him.

"Um, hey. I-I don't know if you remember me, but--"

"How couldn't I remember you, Felix?" You just smiled, giggling a bit before continuing. "Honestly, I should be the one asking you that question."

"Oh...Oh yeah, I guess so--"

"Felix, come on! I asked for you to wait!" Chan interrupted Felix, making Felix whip around before bowing to him.

"Sorry, Hyung, I didn't mean to. I just...I wanted to come say hi to--"

"Ah, right. Your school mate, right?" Chan looked to you, smiling before offering his hand. "I'm Chan, though...I'm sure you knew that already. You are...?"

"I'm Y/n, and its an absolute honor to meet you." You replied, shaking Chan's hand.

"Ah, Y/n! You did an amazing job with your performance, the translations were really good, too. You should've seen Felix, he was awe-struck-"

"HYUNG!" Felix gave Chan a look that just said 'shut your trap before I punch you'. It only made Chan laugh and put a hand onto Felix's head.

"Right, right, sorry. I need to embarrass you at least a little bit." Chan said, smiling before looking to you. "I'll give you guys some space. I saw a booth I wanted to check out, anyways. Have fun, love birds!"

Felix was going to kill Chan.

You simply laughed, waving to Chan as he walked away, before looking to Felix. "So..."

"So..." Felix repeated. All of a sudden, it was awkward. Really awkward. Damn it all... Felix just cleared his throat, looking to you with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him. He's like a dad. A really, really embarrassing one."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I found it funny." You replied, putting your arms behind your back. And then, you gestured to the side, smiling kindly to Felix. "So, do you wanna catch up a bit? Maybe grab a bite to eat?"

"Yeah, sure." Felix smiled to you, before the two of you headed on your way. You both decided to get some meat pies from the cooking club, sitting down before chatting about the simple things.

Felix told you about his training and the show Stray Kids did before debuting, all sorts of stories about the other members and what they were like outside of their idol image. And you shared stories about college and how your group came to be. And it was nice. Really nice.

"You know, I never expected you to go into music." You eventually spoke, taking a sip of your soda. "I mean, you always seemed like you were too cool for it, y'know?"

"Really?" Felix blinked, watching you nod. "But I was a dancer in high school."

"Yeah, but that's not the same as music." You leaned forward on your hand, tilting your head as you looked at him. "But hey, it puts your deep voice to good use. Have you seen the compilations of people reacting to it online?"

"Actually, yeah." Felix laughed a bit, drinking some of his own drink. "Granted, you've changed too."

"Not really..." You shrugged, watching Felix shake his head.

"Yes really. I mean, you don't wear glasses anymore."

"Well, they got annoying."

"And you're not as shy."

"Trust me, I am with new people."

"You weren't shy with Chan."

"But I was awkward."

"They aren't the same thing though."

"They're close enough."

"Well, the girl I knew from Highschool would've never performed songs that she translated on a stage in front of people."

"I had other people on stage with me, I don't get nervous when I'm with them."

"See, you said that in Highschool, and then you passed out from nerves when you had that solo that one choir concert."

"I--what? I didn't do that!" Your face flushed as Felix brought that up, the man only laughing as he saw your reaction.

"Did too! I was there, remember? All because you asked me to support you!"

"And then I told you to never bring that up again!" From there, you covered your face up, letting out an embarrassed groan. "God, it was so embarrassing..."

"Hey, it's not as embarrassing as ripping your pants. Or face planting into the stage floor while performing." Felix had a point. But after a second, your brows furrowed as you looked at him, raising a brow.

"Wait, but didn't all of that happen to Chan?"

"...don't...don't tell him I mentioned that."

"I'm SO gonna tell him you mentioned that."

"No, don't!" Felix just whined as he watched you laugh, Felix only leaning forward. "Seriously! Chan will kill me!"

"Okay, okay! I won't!" You giggled, wiping a tear from your eye before you looked to Felix, smiling to him. Felix just blinked, taking in your beauty for a moment before smiling.

"You know...I'm really happy you've come out of your shell." Felix said, watching as you ran a hand through your hair.

"Yeah...college really changes people." You said, your eyes soft. "But you've changed a lot, too."

"Not really..." Felix said, watching as you shook your head.

"Yes really." You then leaned forward on your hands again, looking into his eyes. "You aren't trying to force this cool guy facade anymore. You're a lot humbler now than you were, too. You're letting people see the real you. The you that I got to know."

That got Felix blushing. He didn't know why, but...your words were so sweet. Something that he knew he needed to hear.

"Oh...um...thanks." Felix bowed a bit to you, silence coming between you both for a moment. But then, you let out a sigh, smiling softly.

"You know...I kind of wish that we got to be closer back in Highschool." Your voice was a lot more sincere now. Felix didn't miss it in the slightest.

"Yeah...me too." And then, the next words just flowed right out of his mouth before he could even stop himself. "I wish that I had the courage to ask you out back then."

You blinked, freezing before looking at Felix. He looked like he hadn't even said that. Just...staring at the table with eyes that showed how he was thinking.

"What?"

"Yeah. I had a thing for you back then, y'know?" Felix then looked up at you, his smile soft. "But I wanted to pursue my dreams. So I did."

"I'm happy you did." You responded, your cheeks pink. Felix then looked at you, his eyes wide. "You seem happy. A lot happier than you used to be. I think in a sense...you found yourself, too."

"Yeah...Yeah, I did." Felix nodded, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. "But...I'd be a lot happier if you were in my life."

Once again, your eyes went wide, your heart beating fast. He...did he really just say that?

"You think so?"

"I know so." Felix smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his, interlacing your fingers together. His eyes watched your hands, before he looked back up at you. "Let me do what Highschool me didn't have the guts for, and take you out on a date tonight, yeah?"

You couldn't believe your ears. But...you couldn't help but nod, feeling shy now.

"Y-Yeah...I'd like that."

"Oh, thank god." Instantly, Felix let out a breath of relief, his hand relaxing more in yours. "I was so scared you were gonna say no...god, that was horrifying."

You just laughed, Felix watching you before laughing with you. And after a moment, you both stopped, your sweet voice speaking up. "You did good, though! You made me feel butterflies!"

"Really?" Felix smiled, his eyes filled with so much joy. "I was really trying my best, I mean...like, I didn't want to be cringey, but I also wanted to be charming, but not too charming. That would've been cringe worthy. Like, seriously cringey, and I wanted it to be good enough to where I wouldn't ruin my shot..."

And as Felix continued to ramble on and on, you just watched him, smiling with love in your eyes. He was so cute...even though he had practically swept you off of your feet moments ago.

"Felix..." You spoke, interrupting him. He looked at you, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. You just moved forward, going to land a kiss right onto his lips.

Instead, you missed, hitting his chin.

You blinked. Felix blinked. And then you both burst into laughter.

"I missed! I was trying to kiss your lips!" You laughed, Felix just bending forward as he practically wheezed. "That's so embarrassing, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, it was perfect!" Felix cackled, only to look up at you with a smile. And after you both calmed down, you gazed into each other's eyes, happy as can be.

"Can I try again?" You asked softly, Felix nodding. And as you leaned forward, you slowly closed your eyes, waiting for the impact until...

"Don't miss this time."

"Felix!" You just smacked his shoulder, making him laugh before going to cup your cheek.

"Sorry, sorry...here, I'll guide you." Felix said. And finally, the two of you met in the middle, sharing a soft, sweet kiss. It felt like the two of you set off fireworks, only the two of you in the world. And as you both pulled away, you didn't go far, keeping close as Felix spoke softly. "I'll come get you at seven tonight. Sound like a deal?"

You just nodded, putting your forehead onto his. "Deal."

One thing was for sure...neither of you could wait for tonight.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Hi! Love your writing! Would love to see a Matt x reader platonic in which she is a young actress on HOTD and it’s her first role. He really helps her and becomes some what of a mentor/father figure

thx luv

Wig, sword, and a granola bar

Matt Smith x reader fluff

A/N: Hi!! Sooo you probably thought I wasn’t gonna write this request… Surprise! Here I am, in my full glory, with another Matt one-shot 💅🏻 (Yeah yeah, I should probably get to those Tom requests too… oh well.) Anyway, enjoy this dad-like Matthew with reader. Since, you know, they’re usually dating in my fics. Or doing… other suspicious activities 👀 See you soon, babes! 💋

————

The first time you met Matt Smith, you were trying not to vomit into your costume.

You were in full wig, corset, and dragon-leather boots, pacing tight little figure-eights behind the soundstage, palms clammy and jaw clenched. The scene was simple enough. You only had three lines, one of which was “Yes, my prince,” but it was your very first day, your first television role, and House of the Dragon was not the type of show where you could afford to suck.

You were already convinced they’d made a mistake casting you. Some intern in casting must have clicked the wrong headshot. Maybe someone would shout “cut” mid-scene and then gently inform you that, regrettably, the part had been meant for someone with actual talent. Maybe Olivia Cooke would blink and ask, “What is she doing here?”

Then a voice behind you said, conversationally, “You look like you’re about to faint or bite someone.”

You whirled so quickly you nearly toppled sideways in your boots, and there he was. In all his platinum-haired, steely-eyed, slightly insane-looking glory. Matt Smith, in costume and in character, though with a wry little smirk that didn’t look particularly Targaryen.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Oh God,” you breathed.

“Not quite,” he said, peering at you as though inspecting a particularly twitchy squirrel. “Matt. Daemon. Some unholy hybrid of both. You must be the new girl.”

You nodded, struck momentarily mute.

He tilted his head. “You’ve got that first-scene terror. Classic. Sweaty palms? Shaky legs? Slight urge to piss yourself?”

“...All of the above,” you admitted.

Matt clapped his hands together once, far too cheerfully for a man in full medieval war garb. “Brilliant. It means you care. Come on. Walk with me.”

You had no idea why you obeyed, but you did. He guided you away from the soundstage, past a techie eating a sausage roll and a pair of dragons (well, motion-capture rigs shaped vaguely like dragons), into a quieter corner of the set where someone had set up folding chairs and a sad little table with lukewarm tea. Matt collapsed into one of the chairs like an old man whose back had betrayed him, legs sprawled and wig slightly askew.

“You're shaking like a leaf,” he said, watching you perch awkwardly opposite him. “Did you train in theatre?”

You nodded. “A bit. Small stuff. Nothing like this.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “TV's a different beast. Less forgiving lighting. You can’t hear your own voice echoing around a theatre, so it always feels like you’re whispering. And the camera’s a nosy little sod, so it’ll catch everything. But that’s the fun of it.”

You blinked at him. “I think I’m going to cry.”

Matt smiled. “Then do it in character and make the director cry too. That’s the trick. Make your breakdown useful.”

He handed you a crumpled granola bar from the pocket of his robe.

From that moment, something shifted. You didn’t become instantly confident, but you did survive your first scene without tripping over your boots or faceplanting into Milly Alcock. And after that, Matt became something like your unofficial on-set handler. It wasn’t even formal mentorship. It was just that he decided he was going to look after you, and then he did.

He’d turn up beside you before rehearsals, quietly running lines while peeling an orange with an intensity that made it look like the fruit had personally wronged him. He once showed up at your trailer with a half-broken DVD of Doctor Who, flopped onto your sofa, and announced, “It’s important you understand what you’re dealing with. This is me in peak chaos mode. I had better hair then. Not Daemon hair. But hair.”

You asked him once why he’d decided to take you under his wing. He was driving you both back from a night shoot in his slightly-too-expensive car, humming to ABBA and sipping black coffee from a flask that had definitely not been washed properly in months.

“Because you remind me of me,” he said after a moment.

You looked at him, baffled. “How?”

“You’re all wiry nerves and unspent energy. You flinch like someone’s going to tell you to go home any second. That was me for years. Still is, sometimes.”

There was a long pause.

“Also,” he added, “your first week, you fell asleep on my shoulder between takes and then denied it. And I thought, yes, this one is mine now. This feral gremlin belongs to me.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I thought I hallucinated that.”

“Nope. Snored a bit too.”

You threw an empty crisp packet at him. He dodged, nearly swerved into a hedgerow, and shouted, “Attempted murder!” like you’d pulled a dagger.

Your friendship with Matt settled into a strange, perfect rhythm after that. He became your biggest cheerleader, even when you didn’t believe in yourself. He’d bark exaggerated applause after a good take, scream “Oscar-worthy!” in a tone of high sarcasm that somehow still made you proud. Once, when you cried after a rough day of reshoots, he sat beside you in the greenroom, took off his wig, and balanced it on your head until you laughed through the tears.

You got into the habit of calling him “Dad” in jest, which horrified the crew and delighted him. He responded by introducing himself at Comic-Con as “her deeply unqualified stage parent,” and referring to you as “my emotionally volatile adopted child” in interviews. You retaliated by putting a “World’s Okayest Father” mug in his trailer and photoshopping his face onto various dad meme formats.

Sometimes he gave actual useful advice too. He taught you how to cry without clenching your jaw, how to hit your mark without looking for it, how to talk to the director without sounding apologetic for existing. He made you practice stillness, “the kind that isn’t boring,” as he put it. He warned you about burnout, about the loneliness of hotels, about critics and the internet and the weird vacuum of fame.

But mostly, Matt gave you space to be ridiculous. He let you flop dramatically across chairs, scream your frustrations into costume pillows, eat marshmallows in your trailer while whining about dialogue. He never made you feel small for being new. If anything, he seemed to find your youthful panic endearing.

The night your first episode aired, he made you come over to his flat with a bottle of cheap champagne and two pizzas. You spent the whole hour nervously pacing and cringing at your own face, while Matt hooted with laughter, threw popcorn at the TV, and yelled “look, it’s my brilliant little goblin!” every time you appeared.

You fell asleep on his sofa again, this time wrapped in a blanket that smelled vaguely of dog and old cologne. When you woke up, he’d scribbled “You did brilliantly” on a sticky note and left it on your forehead.

You never thought you’d find family in this industry. You expected competition, backstabbing, maybe the occasional fake friend. But you found Matt Smith, with his dumb wigs, brilliant mind, and deeply chaotic warmth. You found the weird, tender, hilarious, utterly unexpected bond between a young actress and a man who used to play the Doctor.

And when people asked you what your favorite thing was about working on House of the Dragon, you never said dragons or swords or red carpets.

You just said, “Matt Smith. No question. He’s the best fake dad I’ve ever had.”

[copperbadge]

You mentioned a little while back that you were revamping the Four Royal Advisors spread to one you were happier with for a "whole year, whole deck" reading. How's the progress going on that, and do you have any predictions for 2025 before we get too far into it?

I need to sit down, maybe this weekend, and do the reading -- I was going to on New Year's Eve, but let me tell you how that went.

When I worked in the theatre when I was much younger, sometimes you'd get a show up (or end a show) and your body would just go to pieces -- usually at least a couple of people got sick, and often it was simply that we'd been going so hard we had to stop and rest as soon as we could. It's been a long time since I've had that specific kind of thing happen to me, but December was busy and the last two weeks particularly were long and a bit stressful.

So after dinner on the 31st, I was so incredibly tired that I figured I'd lie down and have a rest. Usually if I go to bed around seven, which is early even for me, I'll wake up around eleven or midnight and have an hour or two awake before going back to sleep.

I lay down at seven thirty or so, was out well before eight, and slept through until like six am.

Clearly my body thought I needed way more sleep to face 2025, so my primary prediction is: we all gotta be really well rested.

But I will do the reading eventually :) And I promise to post it up when I do!

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field VIII

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: omg so this is the final part of the first like, section of this story! i probably should have not called them parts bc idk what to do for the second like.. bit. season? maybe?) yeah sure, season two coming soon!! lol

thank you guys so much for being here and reading this and enjoying it as much as i have enjoyed writing it! it truly means so much to me :)

next part

You hear footsteps and turn around in the seat, hoping desperately that it's Coryo, and you are relieved to see that it finally is. He had been gone for close to an hour. You stand quickly, going to meet him halfway, what you had to tell him couldn't wait. "Coryo," You say quickly, before launching into the full story. "Lucy Gray came back, the others were chasing her and she hid in that vent and she's still in there, they're trying to figure out how to get in. She's stuck."

You follow him back to the desk, his eyes wide now too. "That's good... I think that's good." He's scanning the arena again, as if there's any inch of it he hasn't committed to memory, trying to see if there was any way Dr. Gaul's snakes could reach her in the vent you pointed to.

"No, no it's not good because I don't think there's another way out of that one except the way she came in." You dig into your bag as it hangs at his side, pulling out the notebook that you drew the map in. "Yeah, look- it's pinched off about thirty feet in." You point to the page, holding it out for him to see.

"She just has to wait them out." He insists, pushing your hand down. "Put that away- you shouldn't have that."

Why is he so calm about this? Lucy Gray was trapped, and this time there was nothing either of you could do to help her. "Yeah, but that's not going to work for much longer." You say, watching as the three make a plan to push her farther into the vent and try and get her out from the bottom.

Hurriedly, you close your notebook and put it away so you don't have to look away for long.

"Just a little longer, Lucy Gray..." Coryo mutters to himself and grips onto your hand at his side. At this, you reach across your body and rub his arm with your free hand. His whole future could collapse in a matter of moments if Lucy Gray doesn't survive. Yours could too. But as you watch Coral thrust her weapon up into the pipes that you know Lucy Gray is inside, you flinch, not knowing how much longer Lucy Gray can hold out.

You can't even process what is happening to Treech and the outcries of his mentor and people in the theatre, wondering what happened to him as he collapses with a bloody nose. You knew, so you avoided even looking in their direction as Lucy Gray tumbled from the now shredded vent, landing directly on top of Coral before making a run for it. You're sure Coriolanus isn't even breathing.

You aren't either when every one of the tributes freezing and the wind starts whipping Lucy Gray's hair around her face and her dress around her sides. Everyone watches as a large tank is lowered into the arena and dropped delicately on top of the pile of debris in the center.

"What is that?" You wonder out loud, and Coryo just shakes his head as you look up at him.

"C'mon Lucy Gray, get out of there..."

"Wouldn't it be funny if it was candy?" Lucky jokes and you stifle a laugh.

At this moment, the young girl from District Eight wanders out into the clearing, pale and skinny. "Is it over?" She asks no one in particular, making your smile fade.

"Wovey..." Reaper warns her from where he's kneeling next to the bodies he had covered with the flag.

"Can we go home now?" You clutch your hand back to your chest as she walks toward the tank- you don't know what was in the tank, but you know it wouldn't be good.

"Wovey." He warns again, more stern this time with a slight shake of his head.

The tank starts to splinter, cracking steadily along all sides until it bursts open. You gasp at the amount of snakes that come out. A wave of moving, rainbow destruction crashes over the floor and completely engulfs the little girl in a fraction of a second, as everyone else starts to run.

As Lucy Gray and Coral make a break for the walls, trying to get up to the stands, Reaper seems to just accept his fate. You feel... bad. He could have taken your offer made days before, he could be winning right now. At least he and Wovey didn't suffer.

As Lucy Gray pushes herself backward up the pile of rubble away from the fast moving snakes, Coral starts speaking to her. You can't hear what she's saying, but you can see she's crying- maybe pleading for Lucy Gray's help, maybe just saying her goodbyes to this world. It didn't matter, Lucy Gray was the last one alive as Coral's body got surrounded by the snakes.

Please work. Coriolanus begs the universe, hoping that the cloth he had used to wipe her tears and the one she used to wipe away the dirt from her skin before the interview, which he took from your bag and shoved into slots in the tank would be enough to save her.

"She won!" You grin, shaking Coryo's shoulder as he stands beside you, eyes still locked on Lucy Gray.

That's when she starts to sing, just as the snakes catch up to her. Why aren't they letting her out? It was over.

"Why aren't they getting her out?" You ask him, confused as everyone watches intensely, entranced by her voice.

"I'll be along, when I've finished my song..."

Coryo and you both turn, facing the audience now and all eyes immediately lock on Dr. Gaul. "Dr. Gaul, she won." He says, as if somehow she's missed it- surely she had. Surely she's not watching the same thing you are.

"When I've shut down the band, played out my hand..."

"It's over, let her out!" You shout, attempting to draw her attention.

"Paid all my debts..."

"Why aren't they attacking her?" You hear someone ask, noticing the snakes are almost entirely covering Lucy Gray's shirt now.

"Have no regrets, right here..."

"It must be the singing," Coryo replies, and you look up at him. You don't know that that's true, but you won't ask. "It's calming them."

"In the old therebefore..."

"She can't sing forever."

"Then let her out!" You yell, looking pleadingly up at Dr. Gaul in the stands. "Dr. Gaul!" You demand her attention now, stomping your foot down.

Your blood is boiling when she still won't look at you and the sound of Lucy Gray's voice fills the theatre. "Look at me!" You scream, and clearly, people are getting annoyed at you for interrupting Lucy Gray's song. "Look at me now or let her out!"

She does neither, not until Lucy Gray's song moves everyone else to match your cries for her to be released. Only then does Dr. Gaul look at the two of you, and you drop Coryo's hand.

The doctor sighs, leaning over to her assistant. "Get her out. Now." She says, and cheers erupt in the room previously filled with emotional tears.

"I did it." Coryo says, and you have to lean close to hear it over everyone's delight.

"You did it!" You laugh, throwing your arms over his shoulders. You scream in excitement as he hugs you back, lifting you up and spinning you around as people crowd the two of you. You don't think you've ever been happier.

As he lets you down gently, grabbing your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your forehead, you wonder if your parents are watching. You can't wait to get home, to see your family and let them sing your praises for Coriolanus's success in the games. Well, Lucy Gray's success that the two of you get to reap the rewards of.

Then, he's gone, leaving you to gather your things while he goes to see Tigris. You smile, sighing to yourself as you watch. It's likely your father has already sent the car to collect you, so you should probably get going. You're in dire need of a celebratory bath, anyway.

Last night, you had the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. A full eight hours- a privilege you didn't know you missed so bad. Even when you had to get up for school around six, you felt so well rested you knew you could take on the world.

That was until you walked downstairs for breakfast. "Good morning." You grin, skipping down the last couple of steps only to be met with your father hanging up the phone, storming over to you, and shoving you back onto the staircase.

"Sit down. Listen to me." He spits as you groan, holding your head from where it hit the railing and adjusting yourself so you are sitting properly on the stairs.

"Ow... What did I do?"

"You know what you did, Y/N." He hisses, pacing in front of you. "Un-fucking-believable! They went out on a limb for you, and this is how you repay them? Do you even realize what you have done? To me? To this family?"

The poison.

"Dad, I didn't do anything! I had no say in it! Coryo gave her the compact empty- it wasn't our business what she did with it!" You argue, standing up only to earn yourself a slap across the face.

"You were to give her nothing. You knew that." You hold your cheek while he lectures you, and you just nod.

"Yes, sir." You sniff, rubbing your jaw to soothe the sting of your already burning skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me- you will apologize to Dean Highbottom first thing this morning and hope he's smart enough to forgive you. Now, go."

You pull your bag back over your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with your little brother and your mother sat at the table as you walked out the door. It looks like you're walking today.

You make it to your first class, obviously not feeling too excited about the concept of speaking with the Dean. Coryo walks in just a few moments after you, stealing the seat at your side. You can't even look at him.

"Good morning." He whispers, pulling his textbook out of his bag. He's in good spirits it seems, but you know that won't last long. "You left in a hurry after the games yesterday, I was hoping we would celebrate together."

When you don't respond, he furrows his brow. Were you mad at him? Had he done something? "Wow, you're a ray of sunshine this morning, aren't you?" He asks, disguising his hurt as a joke. His intention was to come back to you after speaking with Tigris, he wanted to see if you would like to go for a walk or something and discuss everything. He didn't really have a plan, but he didn't want you to leave his side, not yet. The games had ended all too quickly, and you had yet to even discuss what had happened with the kiss you shared. He couldn't let you slip back into a routine of only seeing each other in class and during breaks, he couldn't bear the mere idea of it.

You slam your pen down on the desk, turning to look at him now. "We are in such deep, deep shit, Coriolanus." You hiss, taking notice of everyone looking at you so you quiet down.

"Your... your cheek." He just mutters, leaning in to look closely at the other side of your face and the maroon bruise that now adorned it. Even under your makeup he could see it. "What happened?" He reaches out to gently brush his hand over your jaw and you flinch away quickly.

You sigh, looking around quickly before leaning in closer to whisper to him. "They know, about the poison. We're done for, enjoy your final moments of freedom." You move away quickly as your professor starts speaking and the world begins to crash down around your best friend.

He sits back, face pale as his stomach turns. How could they know? They must have found the compact on Lucy Gray- it must not have been empty. Or was it the cloths in the tank? Those would be easier to find, probably, but how could they be traced back to you?

"We need to borrow Miss Y/L/N and Mister Snow, please." A peacekeeper says as he knocks on the open door frame, eyes quickly finding the two of you.

"It was nice knowing you." You sigh, quickly gathering your things and making your way down to the door.

He follows quickly behind, and for once, your classmates are silent.

A group of three peacekeepers lead you down a quiet hallway of the school, and stop at an open door gesturing for the two of you to enter.

"Ladies first," Coriolanus says softly, stepping aside for you to enter.

"Oh, so now I'm a lady." You scoff quietly, walking into the large open room, the high biology room, with nothing but a table in the center. The table is adorned only with the compact he had given to Lucy Gray, and two handkerchiefs. One of his, and one of yours. How did they get that?

"Kids." Dean Highbottom greets the two of you as the door slams shut behind you.

You open your mouth to speak, taking a breath and he stops you before you get the chance. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I don't want to hear it."

"No, I think you do." You protest, "Because my-"

"Your father?" He cuts you off. "What about him? Because I just got off the phone with him this morning, and judging by the state of your face, I would argue that I am in agreement with him."

You swallow, fighting the urge to look down and avoid his gaze. If you had any chance of walking out of here without being in too much trouble, you had to prove that you were not afraid.

"Don't you think that she's been punished enough?" Coryo argues, looking between the two of you.

"Coriolanus." He ignores his plea, tapping the table next to the compact. "How many times did I see your mother pull this from her handbag to check her face? Your pretty, vapid mother, who'd somehow convinced himself that your father would give her freedom and love. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say."

"She wasn't." Coryo protests, referring to the Dean's insinuations about his mother. You look at him, but he won't meet your gaze.

"Only her youth excused her, and, really, she seemed fated to be a child forever. Just like the opposite of your girl, here." He gestures to you. "Eighteen going on thirty-five, and a hard thirty-five, at that. Your songbird, too."

"She gave you the compact?" Coriolanus asks, the sadness of betrayal evident on his features at the idea of Lucy Gray handing it over.

"Oh, don't blame her. The peacekeepers had to wrestle her to get the thing. Naturally, we do a thorough search of the victors when they leave the arena." Dean Highbottom explains, tilting his head as he looks between the two of you. "So smart of her, to poison the water Dill drank and dust it over Treech the way she did. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I was watching you, Miss Y/L/N."

You take a sharp breath, making an effort to straighten your posture.

"She claimed that the poison was her idea, that the compact was nothing but a token." He adds.

"It was." You state, though he is likely speaking to Coriolanus.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you got your story straight." Highbottom nods at you, voice dripping in sarcasm. "But I don't believe you. Even if I did, what am I to make of these?" He taps next to the handkerchiefs now next to it. "One of the lab assistants found these in the snake tank last night. Everyone was baffled at first, checking to see if it was one of their own that they had dropped. Until we noticed the initials. Not yours. Your father's. So delicately stitched into the corner..."

You look at Coryo, who is fighting to keep a straight face through his urge to vomit. "Why haven't you made this public?" He asks.

"I know why." You say, crossing your arms and looking the Dean up and down, who just rolls his eyes.

"I was tempted," He ignores you. "Believe me, I was. But the academy, when expelling students, has a tradition of offering them a lifeline. As an alternative to public disgrace, Coriolanus, you may join the peacekeepers by the end of the day."

Coryo's heart drops, as does yours. "The other one, it's hers." He points suddenly to the other cloth, next to his father's. Your jaw drops. How dare he throw you under the bus like that?

"I was getting to that." The Dean sighs as you shoot glares into the side of Coriolanus's head.

"I didn't do that! He took my bag, he took it and put it in the tank- I didn't know anything!" You argue, and he once again raises a hand at you to shut you up.

"Coriolanus, you better hurry. The office closes in twenty minutes, if you run you can make it in time." Highbottom says to your classmate, who just nods and turns for the door. "Oh, and what's that?" He asks, looking up at the skylight. "It's the sound of Snow, falling."

Coriolanus glares at him, pacing quickly out of the door and slamming it behind himself.

You're in shock still over why he would do that to you, but you don't have the time to process it before the Dean is scolding you. "Now, what will happen to you, huh?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "Be honest, did you know?"

"No, sir." You reply, giving a firm shake of your head.

"That's a shame. He really threw you under, huh?" He laughs, mocking you. "After what I saw the other day, I was expecting he would defend you tooth and nail... but no. I mean, he is a Snow, after all."

You don't say a word, just glaring at the man in front of you and waiting for him to tell you your fate.

"Anyway, if it was up to me, you would already be undergoing the necessary procedures to become an Avox. Oh, how I would love to see you without a tongue." He muses, sighing in disappointment. "But I know your father would be embarrassed so I think it best to leave your punishment in his hands, would you agree? Outside, of course, your expulsion."

"You can't expel me!" You shout, fists clenched around the sleeves of your coat.

"Enough of your tantrums, Y/N. You're too old for this. But, alas, you're right. I'm obligated to extend you the olive branch too." He concedes. "You are allowed to graduate under the condition that you work in service for the next ten years. Although keep in mind, your father won't like that."

"Fuck your olive branch! How dare you threaten me like this! I did nothing wrong, we won!" You fire off, practically twitching with anger at this point. "If you won't go public with it, I will! I've got nothing to lose now, the whole country will know what you and my dad are doing! What you're selling! I'll tell everyone! You'll be executed for treason!" You didn't even notice when you started grabbing anything you could reach and launching it in his direction until the peacekeepers were grabbing the back of your arms and dragging you away kicking and screaming. "You'll hang for this!"

You hardly make it to the door before you feel a stab in your neck, and the world fades to black around you.

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[ladykailitha]

Yellow Daisies Epilogue Part 2

This is the end, two weeks after Valentine's Day. Oof. And this is the longest chapter I've every put out because I refuse to cut it up and prolong the ending longer than I have to.

We have the next five anniversaries (and a little bit of their lives as they age). Also minor angst in seven and eight.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue Pt 1

~

~ 6. Iron Jasmine- Unconditional Love

Their sixth anniversary was in London. Like actual fucking London. Steve couldn’t believe it. He had traveled with his parents, because they couldn’t leave him behind until he was old enough to fend for himself, so of course he had been to places like LA, Chicago, New York and even sunny sojourns in places like the Bahamas and the Caribbean. But his dad didn’t like foreigners, mostly in general, but he really hated Europe.

It wasn’t until he got older that he realized it was because of how they treated the working class, Thatcher not withstanding. He liked her the way he liked Reagan.

So Steve seeing London for the first time was incredible. Eddie and Steve did all the tourist-y things like see the Tower of London and the London Museum of Natural History. But they also did things like visiting old graveyards and taking in a play at the Prince Albert Royal Theatre. They saw ‘The Phantom of the Opera’.

Steve would have called it a mistake with the way that Eddie played up the Phantom role, going so far as even buying a cape and mask, but for one key thing.

That silliness was exactly why he loved his partner with all his heart. He even almost managed to walk off with one of the Tower ravens if the bird hadn't escaped.

After a nice dinner at the Savoy they went for a romantic walk along the Thames.

“Your flowers are back at the hotel,” Eddie murmured. “But I didn’t want to give them to you at dinner, new places make me itch between my shoulder blades.”

Steve nodded. He knew. They couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that a place wasn’t homophobic and just preferred to keep that between the two of them.

“That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I understand. I get to have a piece of you that no one else does and yeah it’s scary now, but it won’t be always be this way.”

Eddie’s answering smile was a little fragile and that was okay with Steve. He would keep all of fragile moments so that no one could use them against him.

“So what’s the theme this year?” Steve asked with a grin and bumping their shoulders together.

Eddie snorted. “I’m surprised you don’t have the next thirty years memorized.”

Steve shrugged. “I like not knowing so that I can be amazed every time. Like I know it’s silver for twenty-five years and gold for fifty.” He shrugged again. “The rest though? I leave to you.”

Eddie’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“The next bunch are almost all different metals,” Eddie explained, talking happily. “All except year nine which is pottery, but I have an idea for that one. So since they’re metals, I thought I’d learn how to make flowers out of the different metals.”

“That’s awesome!” Steve enthused. And it was, too. There were a couple of years that Eddie couldn’t make them himself and Steve could tell that it bothered him a little. So that one skill would produce so many years really made Steve happy.

“This year is iron,” Eddie said smiling broadly. “Now, iron is a little hard to work with if you aren’t a blacksmith, so I fudged it a bit with steel. Which is technically eleven but there are a couple of years that double up, so I figured I’d change up the flower.”

“I can’t wait,” Steve breathed.

They got back to the hotel and laying on the bed were the steel flowers.

Steve gasped when he saw them. “They’re beautiful. What flower are they?”

“Jasmine.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Unconditional love?”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “Right in one, my clever boyfriend. Because that’s how it will always be, okay?”

“Okay.”

~ 7. Copper Carnations (they oxidize to green)- Gay Love

Steve couldn’t believe it had been seven years since he rocked up to Eddie’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a hope. Now Eddie and he were world travelers, and all because Eddie made it big with his band.

They had been through it all, the highs and the lows. Steve had to stay out of the spotlight for the most part because there weren’t any metal stars who were gay and Eddie had been told to stay firmly in the closet.

So all he would say in interviews was that he was in a committed relationship and then ‘no comment’ after that. So sometimes tabloids and other entertainment media would pair Eddie off with one woman or another.

One week it would be an up and coming starlet, next it would be some popstar. Steve snorted over that one. As if Eddie would date someone who liked pop music. He would whine about it having no soul and that it was basic.

But with the press hounding him night and day, it was hard for him to break away enough to spend time with Steve. Those were the worst days in Steve’s opinion. Eddie’s too, if he was honest.

But Eddie had flown Steve out to a private beach in Hawaii for just the two of them. Eddie even hired an actor to play him going about New York to throw them off the scent.

It was nice.

Steve had gotten up early to sit on the shore and watch the sun come up over the Pacific ocean. He had put out a large beach towel and pulled his knees up to his chest as watched as the sky went from black to blue to red and orange and finally the sun came up and sky settled on a deep blue, so unlike the almost grey skies of LA or New York.

Just as the sun was about to fully come up over the horizon, Eddie came out with a picnic basket and sat down next to him.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, giving Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Wha’cha doing up so early for?”

Steve turned to him and smiled. “I just wanted to see the sun come up. It’s not often we get to do that anymore.”

Eddie looked over at the sun and then back to Steve. “No. I wish you had woken me up though. I would have joined you.”

“I know,” Steve said softly. “But you just looked so cute, sprawled out like a star fish, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

Eddie huffed, but wisely said nothing about his starfish status, instead opting to get out all the things he prepared for breakfast. There was chopped fruit and yogurt, granola and orange juice and a little vodka if Steve felt a little daring.

About half way through their beach side breakfast Eddie pulled out of the flowers from the basket. Copper carnations.

Steve recognized the flower from all the carnations he had given to Claudia over the years. But why carnations?

“Are they meant to be yellow for copper?” he asked in confusion. Yellow carnations meant rejection and disdain. His lip started to wobble.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you know what copper’s most defining characteristic is?”

“No,” he said softly, his voice small as he took in the flowers in his hands.

“It turns green.”

Steve looked up at Eddie in surprise.

“Oh!”

“It takes awhile,” Eddie continued. “But I promise you, when those flowers turn green, I will come out and I will tell the world you are mine.”

“And how long does it take?” Steve asked breathless. “For them to turn green.”

“Usually about five years,” Eddie said with a half shrug. “It can take up to thirty though.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Then here’s to the next thirty years, babe.”

Eddie brought their lips together and kissed Steve tenderly. What he didn’t tell Steve was that there was a way to speed up the process and if they weren’t green by the flowers’ fifth year, he was going to dumping them in a solution of vinegar, ammonia, and salt. There was no way he was going to wait thirty years to come out.

~ 8. Bronze Tulips (orange)- Appreciation and Truest of Love

It was two days before their anniversary and things were not going well. Eddie had agreed to a European tour even though Steve had asked for them to be home for their anniversary this year. London and Hawaii had been nice, but they had a whole ass mansion they never used because they were gone all the time.

It resulted in the biggest blow up the two of them had ever had. There was even full on screaming. That was yesterday. It was Valentine’s day and he was alone in this big ass mansion he never wanted. Eddie was somewhere in Germany or Austria or something.

The Sunday tabloids had been filled with Eddie going out with this hot rocker in leather hotpants and ripped t-shirt. They had screamed about that too. Especially since Eddie refused to tell Steve who she was. Only the repeated phrase of ‘I’m not cheating on you.” But no other explanation.

He called Robin and Dustin and begged them during each of his calls with them to tell him that it was all in his head that Eddie was pulling away.

Dustin’s “Ehhh...” was not helpful and neither was Robin’s, “It only feels like he’s pulling away because he is far away.”

He sat there looking at all the flowers Eddie had got him over the years. He brought all the different vases to the long dinning table and just stared at each one, his hands shaking and his lower lip quivering as recount each flower and their meaning.

He picked up the yellow daisy. The one that had started it all. Attached was the original note: ‘I will love you until the last petal falls.’

Steve tugged at one of the silk petals, vaguely wondering if it could be plucked off.

The phone rang and Steve ignored it at first. But then on the seventh ring he got up. He picked it up on the eighth.

“Hello?” he said dully. He hoped it wasn’t someone selling something. He had gotten a lot of those kind of calls lately and he really didn’t need that right now.

“Ste-ie!” Eddie said.

“You’re breaking up,” Steve said with a frown.

“So-ry, I -st nee-d to he-r you- vo-ce.”

“Eddie,” Steve said a little louder. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I can’t –ay. Can’t –t – see y– aga–n. I– t– soon.”

Then the line went dead.

Steve looked at the phone for a moment or two and then let out a sob. Did he just get broken up with? On Valentine’s day no less?

He didn’t understand what Eddie was saying, but it didn’t sound good. He set the phone back on the cradle and slid the floor.

He looked up at all the flowers on the table, all the years of promised love and devotion to have it all ripped away from him.

He wanted to be angry. To yell, to tear, to destroy the flowers Eddie had given him. But he didn’t even feel sad in that moment. He felt numb.

~

Eddie bounded through the front door. He had tried to call Steve back several times but the call wouldn’t go through. So his manager did the smart thing and put him on a flight back to LA immediately. But thanks to horrible layover in London due to a storm in New York, he arrived just after midnight on the 16th.

He was surprised that none of the lights were on. But considering had badly they had been fighting lately, he knew he was being optimistic about that. Wayne had called him every synonym to idiot in the book when he took this tour instead being home with Steve.

But he had taken the tour for Steve. He was so close to being able to retire and the label wanted one more tour before they all went their separate ways for a while. The goal was two years, but it might be longer if the burnout stuck around for longer than they planned. But everyone was on board with doing the last tour so that they could actually rest.

Eddie paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There weren’t any lights on up there, either. He was about to check out the kitchen when he heard faint sobbing from the front room. It was then he noticed the flickering light of a TV screen.

His heart sank. He had suspected that Steve didn’t understand he was coming home for their anniversary, but now hearing the faint sobs, it was clear Steve’s mind had gone the absolute worst direction.

He set his suitcase on the floor and quietly dashed up to their bedroom. He dug around the back of their walk-in closet until he found it. Eight bronze tulips.

Eddie gathered them up and dashed back downstairs as quietly as he had come. He opened the door and sure enough, there was Steve curled up on their sofa, tissues strewn everywhere, bottles littered the floor, and piles of half eaten take-out were on the coffee table.

He set the flowers on the armchair and scooted the Ottoman over to the sofa. He gently lifted Steve’s head and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here now.”

It took Steve a moment to realize who it was before he launched himself into Eddie’s arms, his sobbing taking on a relieved quality.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his boy and held him tight whispering over and over that he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally when Steve was calm enough to talk, Eddie wrapped himself up in him and they cuddled on the couch.

“It sounded like you were breaking up with me,” Steve admitted shyly. “But I couldn’t reverse dial an international call.”

“I know, Stevie,” he muttered, kissing the top of his head. “I was saying that I needed to hear your voice after that big fight we had and that I was coming home as soon as I could.”

“The tour!” Steve cried and he bolted up right. “Are you going to get into trouble for that?”

“No,” Eddie said, taking his face in his hands. “Because we all needed a break. We were running on empty so badly that we were barely able to stand up straight, let alone play our instruments.”

“Oh.”

Eddie kissed him gently on the nose, each cheek, his forehead, and then finally his lips. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for a really long time.”

“Do you mean it?”

Eddie nodded and then got up. He grabbed the flowers and handed them to Steve. “Eight, like with year four, one for every year we’ve been together.”

“Tulips?” Steve said, cocking his head to the side. “Is the metal what the color is?”

Eddie nodded. “Bronze for orange. No tricks this time, I promise.”

Steve didn’t have to say it. It was written all over his face. It was perfect for this year. Appreciation and the truest of love.

And as Steve showed his own appreciation by kissing the hell out of Eddie, Eddie knew that they would make it through any storm as long as they had each other.

~ 9. Pottery Vase (with a bird of paradise painted on the side)- Joyfulness

Eddie had spent almost every day in the first couple months after that fateful flight home in Steve’s pocket. And Steve ate up every moment. There wasn’t an interview he had to go to, or an award show Steve was forced to stay home for, or a studio session with long hours. Eddie was all Steve’s and they talked about it. With Wayne getting on age, they wanted to move closer to him so that they could be within easy distance if he needed anything, so they settled on moving to Chicago.

It was far enough away that they would have their own space but close enough that it would be a day drive or a quick flight and they would be there in a flash.

The house they bought wasn’t as big as their LA home or even Steve’s childhood home. But it had a heated pool, rooms for all their friends and comfortable space.

This was Steve’s dream home.

Even better they moved in the fall instead of the dead of winter, so by Christmas they were completely settled in and had all their friends over for New Years.

Eddie had gotten Steve into painting and himself into pottery as something they could do together but separate as the classes were at the same time.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays they would drive down to the rec center and go their respective classes.

It had been rough for Eddie the first couple of week because of the publicity. But once it settled down that Eddie was just a regular Joe, the class continued as normal.

By February Eddie could make the vase he wanted for their ninth anniversary. Then he got the brilliant plan to have Steve paint a flower on it before having it fired.

Steve thought long and hard about which flower to do. It was usually Eddie who picked the flower, but this time they were doing it together.

“It’s a ridiculous sounding name for a flower,” Steve hedged. “But I think its meaning fits this year a lot.”

Eddie smiled up at him. “Come on, baby. I live for the ridiculous.”

“It’s a called a bird of paradise and it means joyfulness.”

“It’s perfect, Stevie.”

So Steve painted the flower on the vase and then they pressed each of their hands on either side of the flower on the vase. Eddie’s left hand and Steve’s right.

Then when it was done baking and cooling, they took it home.

Steve took out one flower from each of the previous eight years and added the daisy. The rest of the flowers were still in their own vases around the house, but this one was the center piece at their table.

The proof of their love.

~ 10. Tin Daffodils- New Beginnings

Ten years. Steve couldn’t believe it. It had been a whole decade since he walked up to Eddie’s house and handed him the bouquet that would change both of their lives forever. And in those ten years their little family has grown.

Max and Lucas got married and had a sweet baby girl. Dustin and Erica got married, which was a surprise to everyone but Steve. He had been there for the their first adventure together and he hoped to be there for all them. Mike and El broke up for good and it took Will having a steady boyfriend to get his head out of his ass a realize who he wanted along was his best friend. El was still living with Hopper and had no plans to settle down in the near future.

Robin had moved around the country, first New York, then San Francisco, before finally growing roots in Seattle. There she met a nice woman named Emilia and they had moved in together just last year. Nancy and Jonathan also split up, but they remained friends. Jonathan had gone to NYU with Robin and learned a lot about himself before moving to California with Eden and Argyle. Steve was pretty sure they were in a ployamorous relationship, but he hadn’t wanted to pry.

Eddie’s bandmates had spread out over the world. Gareth had to Wales to learn about where his grandparents had come from. Jeff went to New York to write musicals. And Brian was writing music for Hollywood blockbusters. They still got together every couple of months to hangout and discuss the future of Corroded Coffin and each time it was unanimous that they not bring it back together. They still were struggling with the affects of burnout from being on the road.

Wayne had finally decided to move in with them in Chicago and was happy to putting around in their garden for the rest of their days.

For their anniversary Wayne was going back to Hawkins to visit friends so that Steve and Eddie would have the house to themselves.

Steve was making the dinner and Eddie was providing dessert. They way they moved through the kitchen was like dancers in sync. A perfect ballet of just knowing where the other is going to be after ten years of being together.

Steve was making manicotti and Eddie was making white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. When they were done, Eddie popped the cheesecake in the fridge and they sat down to eat. Just happily chatting and enjoying each other’s company like they had the last two years. It had been healing for them.

Then they settled in front of their TV and watched cheesy rom-coms until they laughed themselves sick.

Then Eddie brought out three things, his flowers, the cheesecake and a small envelope and set all three down on the coffee table in front of them.

Steve picked up the envelope. “What’s this, Eds?”

Eddie plucked that from his fingers. “Not yet! That’s for last.” He picked up the flowers first and handed them to him. “Tin is much easier to work with then the other metals, so I made daffodils.”

“New beginnings?” Steve questioned, cocking his head to the side. “What new beginnings are we gonna have, sunshine?”

“You remember my manager, Archie MacDonald, right?” Eddie asked chewing on his bottom lip.

Steve smiled. “Of course I remember. I might have had too many hits to the head, but I can remember someone who has been a major part of your life for almost as long as we have been a couple.”

“Well,” Eddie said nervously. “Archie used to be Angie and he got pregnant. He can’t get an abortion with back alley’ing it. So he asked around to see if anyone wanted the baby.”

Steve’s eyes immediately starting tearing up. “They’ll let us? They’ll let us have the baby?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, pressing their lips together. “They’ll let us have the baby. Everything has been taken care of, all you have to do is go in tomorrow and sign the papers. He’s already signed documents that he is relinquishing rights to the baby, so no matter what happens, it won’t be staying with Archie.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and pulled out a picture from the envelope. “Technically is not an it, the baby is a she.”

He handed the picture over to Steve and he took it gingerly. There in his hand was an ultrasound showing a healthy baby. A healthy baby girl.

“Is this real?” he asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t mean the picture exactly, but all of it.

“Yeah, babe,” Eddie said pulling Steve in for a hug. “It’s all real. It’s not the six you wanted, but it’s a start. The baby is due in June.”

Steve let the tears of happiness fall. At the age of twenty-nine he was going to be a father. He looked up at Eddie with such adoration, Eddie just had to kiss him.

“To new beginnings, honey,” Eddie murmured. “You got any ideas on what you’ll want to name her?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “Heather Amelia Munson.”

“Why Heather?” Eddie asked, not because he didn’t like the name, but because he had a feeling it meant something to Steve.

“White heather means protection,” Steve explained, “and wishes come true. Protections so she gets all the help from the universe she can from being our kid and wishes come true, because she absolute is.”

Eddie chuckled. “Fair enough. And why Amelia?”

Steve just shrugged. “It just seemed like a fairy tale name and I wanted something connected to you, too.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Little Heather would be born to a world that still didn’t know Eddie was gay and living with his life partner. But just eleven days before their eleventh anniversary, Rob Halford of Judas Priest came out as gay. Eddie had a brief meeting with him and then on their anniversary announced it to the world with green carnations, lavender, and pink hydrangeas.

The meaning was there for all those that knew where to look. And as with Halford, Eddie and Corroded Coffin’s fans rushed out to support them.

Then on their thirty-eighth anniversary they were legal wed. Wayne had lived to see it, but passed not long after. At their wedding all their friends and their families were there. And all three of Eddie and Steve’s kids. Heather, Valerian, and Daphne. Val as his friends called him was their first test tube baby. He was used using Steve’s sperm and his name meant readiness. Daphne was their last and used Eddie’s sperm, her name meant sweets to the sweet. Little Daphne was only ten, while Valerian was thirteen and Heather, sixteen.

They lived happily ever after.

~

Tag List: COMPLETE

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @xxbottlecapx @chaotic-waffle @im-sam-fucking-winchester @stedestielfrattficlover @me-and-my-sloth

10- @drips-and-drabbles15

[dr5amatic]

THE AGONY OF UNMADE DECISIONS ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel if we were villains by m.l. rio. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

why are you here? you should know by now i’m not going to tell you anything.

seems safer to let sleeping dogs lie.

it must eat you alive, not knowing. not knowing who, not knowing how, not knowing why.

you’ve kept your secrets all this time. it would drive anyone else crazy. why do it?

want to come out for a smoke? might help you relax.

your time will come to be the tragic hero.

let’s go skinny-dipping! i haven’t been swimming all summer.

seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.

you can’t do good work if you’re hiding, so we’re going to get all of the ugliness out in the open.

if you haven’t made any enemies in life, you’ve been living too safely.

you make a surprisingly convincing villain.

i know what you’re doing. you’re baiting me.

i don’t know about you, but i want to get cleaned up and go to bed and pretend this didn’t happen for like at least eight hours.

i think we were all fucked up from the start.

you promised me you wouldn’t say a word, so don’t.

i’m sorry, what the fuck just happened?

you know, people aren’t going to put up with your bullshit for much longer.

you’re probably the only person he’d listen to.

where’ve you been all night?

i was making the rounds for a while, but i got overwhelmed and snuck upstairs to do some reading.

i’m done with this fucking party, with all of them down there. what do you want?

why don’t you just tell me what happened? no performance. no poetics.

we can’t just stand around arguing about how it happened, we have to do something.

look, i know you have a pathological need to play the hero, but right now you need to stop and ask yourself if that’s really what’s best for everyone.

someone’s dead and you don’t know where you were?

before last night, everything was fine.

i care about you, and what might happen if you carry on like this.

he wasn’t an easy person to like, but he was an easy person to love.

what do you do? ignore your grief, or indulge in it?

maybe every day we let grief in, we’ll also let a little bit of it out, and eventually we’ll be able to breathe again.

i’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.

it doesn’t add up. we’re missing something.

you look like you might need someone to carry you.

i’m going to bed unless you’ve got something to say.

i’ve had enough of your sexual misadventures for one year, thanks.

it’s fucking freesing and i’m not leaving you out here alone.

when did we become such terrible people?

why don’t we get a drink or something? just us. i can’t think straight with everyone watching like we’re a reality show.

i just–maybe it’s because you’re you, and i mean, look at you–but i don’t understand. why me? i’m nobody.

you know, everyone calls you ‘nice,’ but that’s not the word. you’re good. you’re so good you have no idea how good you are.

we carry on as usual, or they’re going to want to ask all kinds of questions we don’t want to answer.

are you going to cold-shoulder me all night?

what’s gotten into you? you don’t sound like yourself.

you’re smarter than this. 

i’m not keeping any more secrets for you.

you can justify anything if you do it poetically enough.

you’re just going to leave me?

i think hell may have frozen over.

when you enter the theatre, there are three things you must leave at the door: dignity, modesty, and personal space.

anything can feel like punishment if you’re taught poorly.

you can’t quantify humanity. you can’t measure it–not the way you mean to. people are passionate and flawed and fallible. they make mistakes. their memories fade. their eyes deceive them.

i want so badly to be so mad at you that i could kill you, but i can’t, so i’m mad at myself instead. do you even understand how unfair that is?

i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i want to hurt the whole world.

why don’t you sit, and i’ll pour tea?

he was my friend—much more than that, truthfully—and that was enough. i didn’t need to know why.

can i help? i still–i want to help.

let me put myself back together and then i’ll come find you.

it’s like i look at you and suddenly the sonnets make sense.

tell me you didn’t do it.

i never wanted you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.

we have to go back and act like nothing’s wrong. we’ve got to get through tonight, and then we’ll worry about it. all right?

you know, it’s not too late if there’s another version of the truth you want to tell me.

will you rest easier with one less mystery on your mind?

you were real to me. sometimes i thought you were the only real thing.

[talenlee]

Game Pile: Ironsworn

First up, this is a free game, and you can go get it. For free. I can’t repeat this enough. This game asks zero dollars of you and you should grab it and check it out right now because don’t kid around here, you’re probably going to buy something on the steam sales you don’t need and aren’t going to get around to play. Ironsworn is, no matter what else I have to say about it, interesting.

Ironsworn is an easily accessible, well-laid out and approachable RPG which is suited for multiple ongoing sessions to construct a campaign with an ongoing narrative. In an indie TTRPG space that is overwhelmingly dominated by single session, highly specifically flavoured game systems about campaigns with niche experiences and sometimes ambiguously structured mechanics, Ironsworn sets itself apart. It is presented in a single pdf, it is made to be printable easily and conveniently, and while it does have some need for dice you might not already have kicking around the house, they’re d10s, so it’s not like you need particularly special dice or commercially centralised ones.

Everything else I think about it aside: Ironsworn is a good, free and convenient RPG for you to pick up and go for if you’re looking for professionally presented high-quality material. You can just go grab the pdf right now and check it out, for free.

Ironsworn guides you through how to follow its process, it has a degree of success and failure system, it even uses its dice choices to create a little bit of the ole theatre. It’s a dice system that mathematically shakes out to be generally uncertain, and that means there’s always a chance you can fail at something you’re good at and always a small chance you can succeed at a long shot. There are no overwhelming opportunities for success and excellence, because the dice are set up so if there’s no reason to roll, you shouldn’t roll, and if you should roll, there’s always a chance the dice kick you in the pants.

This is a very functional game, it has no meaningful problems on that front, and while I have beef with it in its presentation (why did you spend eight pages on table of contents that’s what the index is for), it is easily one of the best of its type I’ve ever seen. Because of its easy availability and quality execution, I don’t intend to do a lot to talk about Ironsworn as a system or give you its special hallmarks and signifiers or even dig deep into the mechanical structures of it.

Still, even with those caveats, it isn’t really what I’d consider a perfect Decemberween game, though, and that’s because I can’t imagine showing up at a family gathering with some paper and pencils and go: hey everyone, I’m gunna drag this group of us into another room and we’re going to go have an adventure telling a story together, because the story that Ironsworn seems to want to set up is not exactly… party vibes.

It’s hard to talk about what Ironsworn is for or whom, because with just the text, I don’t have access to the author. When I talk about what this game is for, what it offers, I have to base it on the text present, and the only source I have for inspiration or framing in the start of the book is referencing its mechanical forebears: Apocalypse World, City of Judas, Dungeon World, Fate, and Mythic. That is to say, the first Powered by the Apocalypse game, a dark fantasy hack for it, a fantasy dungeon crawler hack for it, a universal roleplaying system, and a popular solo RPG system. This is good sourcing, but it also speaks to a particular space of inspiration and mechanical relationships. Based on that, at its heart, Ironsworn feels like its defining mechanical provenance is ‘more Powered by the Apocalypse.’

I want to say it reminds me of 13th Warrior, or The Northman or Beowulf, but none of those really capture everything going on here, because those are short, abrupt narratives about highly deadly scenarios and also they’re very homogenised culture spaces. Maybe Samurai drama, recontextualised away from an Orientalist lens? I can’t point to a particular piece of fiction and say ‘that kind of thing.’ I can’t point to an existing game space and say ‘Ironsworn is like that.’ By no means is any of this that Ironsworn is bad. It’s actually really impressive that Ironsworn is so singular in its identity that it resists any useful or reasonable reference frame.

Ironsworn is its own identity, it has its own structure, and while that is by no means bad it does mean that there’s no immediate, convenient on-ramp to get a friend into it. It feels like it’s a game system that is in conversation against things, rather than with them. That is to say, it feels like it’s for constructing gritty, lossy, despair-tinged stories of warriors setting themselves up for potential tragedy or desperate success in pursuit of potentially conflicting dramatic needs.

It feels, and I say this without it being an insult, it feels like someone was repelled by Dungeons & Dragons, then appreciated the comparative gritty lethality of OSR games, but found some reason to not produce in that space, and instead took those ideas and concepts to work in the Powered by the Apocalypse space, resulting in something that is itself, very new. Which is to say, I don’t feel like I can present Ironsworn to someone going ‘hey, this game lets us tell and play stories like these common signifiers,’ but instead, ‘hey, do you know how those common signifiers are bad? What if they were instead-‘

It is a good game that I checked out because someone asked me to check out Ironsworn. It is by no means a game I would recommend checking out for its theme or the stories it lets you tell. It is a game that I recommend because hey, get a load of how well presented and unique this thing is. Excellently constructed, mechanically coherent, well delivered and just… missing a hook that I understand.

I really think at some point in the new year I need to dedicate some time to finding someone who can run or show me Powered by the Apocalypse being run because it really looks at this stage like a system that’s perfect for just absolutely impeding an otherwise really good creative writing exercise with the besties.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[loopyarts]

Shouma Ginzaki, I have so many thoughts on this little guy. That I wish to ramble about him for a bit. Mostly about things that I find interesting such as his character design but also my thoughts on him so far.

For context I am going off from just the demo alone, so I don’t have the full picture of what he will be like in the full game.

First off, the red marking on the characters foreheads seem to have some inspiration in both a red dot called a bindi and traditional Japanese kabuki theatre make up. A bindi has ties to Buddhism and is linked to the Ajna Chakra which is also known as the "third eye" or "inner wisdom". And if you’re an anime fan you might have seen at very least one character with a red dot in their character design. So there might be some pop culture aspects to the inspiration as well. Which is why some of the characters have such dot markings in their battle ready designs.

Another thing worth noting is that the colour red in Japanese culture is a pretty prominent and versatile colour with multiple layers of symbolism. Such as being associated with protection, joy, and strength, but also with passion, power, and even danger etc.

Finally, with Shouma and Mako they both have two dots markings above their forehead. It kinda look similar to geisha dot eyebrows or Hikimayu (引眉). It’s probably just a coincidence but I thought it was worth noting.

Shouma number is nine but interestingly enough it is written in upper capital Chinese Hanzi instead of Japanese Kanji. which is probably on purpose because in Japan the number nine is considered an unlucky number because the pronunciation (苦) (ku) is similar to (苦) (suffering). The association with hardship, pain and ties to bad luck/misfortune overall contributes to the negative reputation behind this number. Similar to how the number 4 similarly avoided in Japanese culture.

While in Chinese the number nine has the opposite reputation with it being associated with good luck/good fortune and can also mean long lasting and represents the maximum level of martial happiness and longevity. I just think that is a nice subtle detail in his uniform and weapon design overall with his number being nine and all. 

This probably means nothing but nine or more correctly eight phases of the moon can spiritually is often associated with cycles of growth, release, and renewal. Also the number Nine is symbolically represented by change and having a very empathic and compassionate soul. In numerology the number nine is usually linked to things such as completion, idealism, and a strong desire to help others. Which mostly fits Shouma personality in terms of his ideals and morals.

Also his star/zodiac sign Pisces is often associated with compassion, empathy, creativity, imagination and strong intuition but also a deep connection to the sub conscious. But also the weaknesses of the sign is being indecisive, sensitive, prone to escapism and their own inner turmoil. And melancholy behaviours feelings of sorrow and poignance; where they would rather go through and meditate on deep emotions such as despair/sadness rather than have no feelings at all.

Overall, the zodiac sign Pisces is very emotional driven sign and I don’t think it is a coincidence that Shouma as a character is written to be very driven by his strong emotional feelings and thoughts.

Anyway, this line of dialogue stuck out to me while playing the game demo. There seems to be a bit of a moon theme going on here? Or at the very least I think that the moon might be an important plot beat for this game story.

Which also lead to me noticing Shouma’s mecha also has some moon imagery on its design via the shoulders pads. Another interesting thing is that the chest of the mecha is designed with a Shiba Inu face notable a black one.

Shouma’s dog is probably not a literal black shiba ha ha. Although, his weapon having the chest be of the head of a black dog reminded me a bit of the Chinese mythology of the black dog called Tiangou/the heavenly dog. Which in the myth Tiangou either eats the moon or sun causing an eclipse but the moon is more notable one. Which could have inspired some design aspects to Shouma weapon perhaps.

Real quick, I will say that I haven’t looked too deeply or check to see if other characters have a subtle moon theme to their designs. Also, if you look closely on images of the other characters weapons they also have an although I will say a more subtle animal theme going on in their weapon designs as well.

Now onto his character design. First off, his backpack resembles a Kame/turtle shell get it because he’s hiding in his shell and need to slowly come out of it. Man, you gotta love the creativity Rui Komatsuzaki puts into his character designs overall.

Shouma’s boots also have a bit of a turtle-like pattern and with them being green, it looks like he has little turtle feet. His boots also partly resemble wellies, which are commonly associated with children at least in fiction giving him a childlike feel to his design. Plus they’re also outdoor boots and are usually quite popular with dog walkers as well.

Finally, his cap in terms of shape resembles either a frog, bear or hamster which adds even more to the animal theme to his overall character design.

I’m honestly curious with how Shouma’s dog, which is most likely a Shiba Inu and Sirei are connected somehow and it’s also interesting how he’s the only one that didn’t technically fight. Like there has to be a reason for it right? I also think Shouma is more important than he gives himself credit for, although I may wrong who knows. 

I don’t know if others have noticed this but Shouma to me seems to be a very peacemaker type of character. He doesn’t like conflict and always puts others comfort and needs first before himself a far good amount of the time. Plus, the way he talks about his dog in optional dialogue. Makes him appear to have a selfless and kind hearted soul underneath all the self esteem/self deprecation issues of course. 

I also think Shouma appears to be pretty good at reading the room and how others might be feeling. On the rare occasion he chimes in, he has some pretty possible ideas and theories on what might be happening in the current situation. But given how many times he’s gets shot down or told he’s stupid for thinking or saying anything at all.

Which probably breaks his confidence to where he feels he shouldn’t have said anything at all. Which is why he’s just accepts it and doesn’t push against it. Because he truly believes he can never be right on something but also insists on being a peacemaker making him unable to truly take on conflict.

Overall, from what I’ve seen so far, Shouma seems to be a very gentle soul. Who is way too harsh on himself but I do have faith that he will develop as a person as the story progresses. It probably won’t be perfect and I don’t expect his self esteem problems to just magically go away, that takes time. Honestly, Shouma so far is very relatable to me as someone who has gone through similar hardships as a teen.

Shouma has so much potential to be such a lovely and compelling written character overall and I look forward to see what the writers have in store for him in the full game. (He’s so autistic coded to me but that could just be me projecting a little onto him ha ha…)

Lastly, gameplay wise Shouma has the potential to be pretty op as a unit depending on how his abilities and moveset functions in the gameplay mechanics. 

He is a counter defender and his ability shut-in gives 1+ attack with every emery that hits him. Which could have potential to be stacked if his ability can get even stronger. Reflecting back attacks is his key, so Shouma ideally will probably excel being throw at enemies head first and focus on crowd control. 

Shouma will probably work best with the more frail units. Leading the enemies onto him while doing chip damage and letting heavy hitting units dish out the big hits. He’s also will probably have good synergy with the healer/support units as well but overall. I think he will probably be one of the better units in the game due to his ability to do crowd control in a game, where crowd control is key. Also depending upon on how his ability works he could also be quite a decent boss slayer as well. 

Anyway, that concludes my little slightly mentally ill ramble on him. OvO’)

[here-have-some-stories]

The Carnival

So I entered this writing competition where people at my year level had to write a story or something within 900-1000 words and after a lot of editing to cut it down I finally managed to do it, and since I'm finally finished I decided why not post it here and get random people opinions on it:

The carnival had come to their small, sleepy town two years before. Originally, it was just a temporary thing, staying for a few months before moving on. But as the carnival was the best entertainment other than an old movie theatre and a dirty pool that the town had, people would visit often. The old couple that ran the carnival found it nice that the town’s people cared so much about it, that they grew sentimental and stayed long past when they should have moved. 

But then, the year before, disaster struck. A fire had sprung up, lighting many stalls and rides on fire and making them unusable. The old couple, not having enough money for all the repairs, were forced to shut down the carnival. Now, a year later, the remains were still in the same spot as the town kept delaying the clean up. Some parts of it were still standing but slightly run down, others were completely gone. 

Darcy Garcia, an 18 year old with a morbid sense of curiosity, had read up on articles about the disaster, and had decided to gather her two best friends, Jackson and Andrew, and had dragged them with her one night to explore the old remains. Now as they walked around the old carnival, Andrew spoke up.

“This is really creepy,” he said quietly, “it feels like there’s someone watching us or something.”

“A little bit,” Jackson agreed, “but it’s probably nothing.” Darcy said nothing, but could have sworn she saw a shadow duck quickly out of sight. Andrew was right, it was creepy. But she didn’t want to freak her friends out into leaving, she wanted to keep exploring, so she kept quiet. 

They kept walking until they approached the main attraction of the carnival, a larger building set up called “Carnie’s Cave”. It was an attraction that made this carnival unique. It was a place where each carnie working there could contribute their own separate thing to the attraction, relating to their own stalls or games that they ran. As you walked through it, you could see all the references to the stalls set up around the carnival. It was mostly left untouched by the fire, only one side had been slightly scorched and damaged, and it remained standing just as it had.

“You guys wanna look in there?” Darcy asked, pointing to the open doorway of the Carnie’s Cave. 

“Yeah,” Jackson said enthusiastically, “but only if you don’t leave by myself.”

“We won’t,” Darcy said and started walking towards the entrance, Jackson and Andrew in tow. They were around 5 metres away from the entrance when the figure of a person stepped out from behind one of the walls and stepped in front of the entrance. All three of the friends startled back, Jackson letting out a scared yelp. The man stepped forward slightly, and from the light of the torch Darcy was holding, they could see him clearly. He looked quite dirty, Darcy thought, long messy hair and bed and ripped and stained clothes. Maybe he was lost.

“So sorry,” the man said with a gravelly voice, “didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just looking around.”

“Who are you?” Darcy asked, trying not to sound like she was being rude. 

“My name’s Alfredo. I actually used to work here when this place was running. Terrible tragedy, the fire, really it was. I was just checking the place out again.”

“So were we,” Darcy told him. “Do you know anything about the history of the carnival?”

“Bits and pieces,” Alfredo said, “I worked here for about eight years before the fire so I learnt some things.”

“Do you think you could tell us anything else, if it’s not too much trouble of course,” Darcy asked hopefully

“No, no, it’s alright,” Alfredo said, smiling, “I have to leave in about an hour but it’s all good.” He stepped forward a little closer to them, but still kept a distance. “I think the original people started the carnival around twenty years ago or some time around then. Could be wrong though, my memory’s not the best. People just thought it was a normal carnival and didn’t think there was anything different about it, and that was true. So they came up with the idea for Carnie’s Cave,” he gestured behind him at the building, “and that set it apart from other carnivals and people became more interested.'

“Do you know how the fire started,” Darcy asked, intrigued. Alfredo shook his head.

“Not exactly,” he said, “police said it was an accident, but I don’t know how it actually started. Could have been an open flame or something. Some people said it was on purpose, but most people didn’t believe that.”

“I remember people saying that,” Andrew said quietly. “ There was this group of girls at school who were theorising about who had done it. Never believed it though.”

“It was just a way to start drama,” Alfredo said. He looked up at the horizon and saw the sun starting to rise. “I have to go really soon.” 

As Darcy and her friends looked at him, they thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. It seemed like they could see right through him. Like he was slowly fading away, and the higher the sun rose, the more he seemed to disappear. They could only watch in silent amazement as as the sun fully came up, Alfredo fully disappeared. Darcy’s mind went back to when he had said he only had an hour left. Was that what he had meant?

“I want to go back now,” Jackson said quietly. Darcy nodded and they silently walked out of the carnival grounds and back home. They didn’t speak about what happened again, but they did think about it constantly, and they would continue to think about it long into their lives. 

I honestly don't think this is that good compared to some of some other stuff I've written, mainly due to the word count since I wanted to write more, which kinda sucks because this is the piece being judged and I don't have any enough time to write a new one but it is what it is. Then again, it could just be that thing where you think you're own work sucks but other people think its good, but I won't know until I get feedback. Kinda scared tho because my mum knows I entered the competition and now she's gonna wanna read it and this will be the first real writing I've done that she's read. Anyway tell me what you think if you want to, if you enjoyed it, if you think it's good, if you think I actually have a shot of winning or just anything else, and wish me luck for the competition :)