#I genuinely don't know what to tag for this

[friend-of-furbies]

It's so much worse than I thought wth

Like the very first time I saw an image I was pretty sure it was just an awkward wave taken out of context... but I saw people, totally rational people who have no problem admitting to faults, absolutely convinced it was an actual nazi salute and so I thought maybe there was some credence to the claim,,,, but holy shit. I didn't expect to see it being so blatantly true.

What the actual hell

With the censorship on the rise and limited information being accessible across platforms. This gif will tell you everything you need to know about what's going on in the US.

[aventurineswife]

Can you do Dan Heng, Sampo, Gepard, Aventurine and Ratio react reader has Raiden Ei sword pull

Basically reader pull out their sword like this https://youtu.be/SbODRWNL6zs?si=Ku_NUQNJt9s1y6KG

From the Heart of the Blade

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Tension, Emotional Conflict, Inner Power, Sword pull from the chest/heart, Introspection, Protective Instincts.

Warnings: The boys are just genuinely worried for you 🫶

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with anticipation. You stood before Dan Heng, chest heaving, heart racing as you drew in a sharp breath. The tension hung heavy as your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword, positioned close to your heart. His eyes, usually calm and composed, betrayed a flicker of concern.

"What are you doing?" Dan Heng’s voice was low, an edge of unease creeping in despite his usual reserved demeanor.

You pulled the sword, its ethereal energy shimmering as it materialized, the blade gleaming as if it had been forged from the very essence of your soul. He froze, his gaze fixed on the blade now resting in your hands, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Are you... are you certain?" His voice quivered slightly, and for a split second, his mask of stoicism cracked. He was used to battles, used to wielding weapons—but not this.

The silence between you stretched, and then he stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for your shoulder as if to steady you. “You don't have to do this... I can protect you,” he whispered, the quiet urgency of his words a stark contrast to his usual detached demeanor.

But you were resolute, your expression unwavering. He could see that this was a part of you, a force you couldn’t fight off. In that moment, he understood. His hand hovered in the air, uncertain of whether to hold you or hold back. The sword pulsed with power, and Dan Heng realized there was no stopping it. But it didn’t mean he would let you face it alone.

Sampo stood in the dimly lit alleyway, a smirk plastered across his face as you revealed your intentions. The gleam of the sword shimmering from within your chest caught him off guard. He was never one to be truly surprised, but this? This was something different.

“Now, that’s a trick I haven’t seen before,” he said, his voice smooth, attempting to mask the faint flicker of unease beneath his usual bravado.

You gripped the hilt, the blade materializing, drawn from your heart like a twisted spectacle. Sampo’s smile faltered for just a moment. He was a master of reading people, but this? This was beyond his usual tricks.

“Well, well, well... I see you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he continued, his tone still playful, though a little more careful now. “But I’m gonna be honest here—this is getting a little too real for my taste. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

His eyes narrowed as the sword pulsed in the air, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his mind. For all his smarmy confidence and penchant for self-preservation, even he knew there were things beyond manipulation, things that couldn’t be bargained with.

“Careful there, my friend,” Sampo added, taking a step back, though his charm never faltered. “We’re all just a bit too invested in this game for you to be playing with fire.”

Gepard's usually unshakable calm faltered for a split second when he saw you pull the sword from your chest. His eyes widened, a flicker of alarm flashing across his otherwise composed face. The Silvermane Guards’ captain was no stranger to combat, to protecting Belobog and its people, but this... this was unlike anything he had seen.

“W-What are you doing?” Gepard’s voice was almost a whisper, the usual strength in it softened by concern.

He instinctively stepped forward, his hands flexing as though ready to intervene, to shield you from whatever force was trying to take hold. His gaze locked on the ethereal blade, his trained eye recognizing the unfamiliar energy radiating from it. It was not a weapon of war—it was something far more intimate.

“This is dangerous,” he said, his tone laced with worry. “You don’t need to do this. Whatever is consuming you, I’ll help you fight it.”

Gepard’s protective instincts flared. He had fought alongside comrades in countless battles, yet seeing you pull that sword from your chest left him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated. But he wouldn’t leave you to face it alone, not if it meant he could help bear that weight.

He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. “Let me help. Whatever this is... we’ll face it together.”

Aventurine watched with interest as you drew the sword from your chest, his eyes flicking with intrigue. His ever-present grin remained, though it faltered for just a brief moment as he absorbed the full gravity of the action. To someone like him, who reveled in the thrill of the gamble and the unknown, this was a whole new kind of game. But it wasn’t a game he was sure he was ready to play.

“Now, that’s quite the entrance,” he said, his tone dripping with admiration. “I’ve seen many things in my life—gambles, tricks, and deceit—but this? This is something else entirely.”

He circled you like a hawk, his sharp gaze studying every movement you made, every inch of tension in your body. Behind his calculating grin, a subtle tension began to build. He could tell that this was a pivotal moment for you, one that held the potential for something far more dangerous than a mere wager.

"Interesting... but dangerous, don’t you think?” Aventurine’s smile never wavered, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. “You’re playing with fire, my friend. And I do love a good gamble—but this... this could burn you.”

But despite the calculated nature of his words, there was something else. A strange, unspoken understanding that your gamble was one he couldn’t control. He took a step back, watching you carefully, his thoughts drifting to his own past—full of risky choices and hidden consequences. Was this one of those moments where even he, with all his calculated risk, could find himself outmatched?

Ratio stood with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning you with an almost clinical detachment as you stepped forward. His hair swayed slightly in the air as you pulled the sword from your chest, the ethereal blade glowing with a strange energy that caught even his brilliant mind off guard. The moment was... perplexing, to say the least.

"You... are you completely certain of this?" Ratio asked, his tone sharp, yet laced with an unexpected sense of concern. His typical arrogance melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity.

He took a measured step toward you, his eyes narrowing as he observed the sword—its origins, its power. This wasn’t just an act of power; it was an emotional, spiritual pull, and even his intellectual mind struggled to understand it fully.

"You’re doing something quite extraordinary, but I cannot fathom what drove you to this point." Ratio’s voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. He’d faced many challenges, but this wasn’t something he could solve with sheer intellect.

For a moment, the man who had once studied the very fabric of knowledge looked almost lost, unsure of how to respond. His brilliant mind searched for the answer, but all he could offer was a slow, deliberate step forward. "Knowledge is power, yes, but... what is it you hope to achieve with this? Do you truly understand what you're pulling from yourself?"

Yet despite his questions, there was a flicker of admiration in his eyes. Ratio’s belief in the transformative power of knowledge and wisdom had always been unwavering—but this? This was something beyond logic. And for once, it left him speechless.

[deliriousblue]

sorry. but what do you mean the original version of the reconciliation between kant and bison (absolutely crucial to the arc of the show! we have to believe that kant is in love with bison and moreover we have to believe that bison believes that!) was two sentences long...

yes it's impressive and speaks to their talent as actors and their understanding of the characters (and i appreciate that jojo trusted them to go off script especially hearing how far off-script!) and i'm all for improvisation and actors contributing to the end result. but they shouldn't have to write or rewrite entire scenes in order for the audience to be able to correctly understand the characters and their relationship.

i would be interested to know what the original vision was (did it include kant saying he hadn't gotten to be truly himself? bison saying he gave him the chance to leave? kant pulling the gun to his own chest??) but fundamentally. the wound between kant and bison is deep; bison is incapable of killing him because he loves him but he also has no solid ground to rely on because — as far as bison knows — their entire relationship from the very beginning was built on a lie.

kant needs to convince him that it isn't, and yes obviously the whole episode leading up to the scene on the beach is part of that, but i do actually think we need that confession, after bison has given up trying to get some kind of pyrrhic revenge on kant, after he's admitted to himself and to kant both that he's not going to kill him. he needs to hear in that state that kant loves him, that kant liked being with him and making plans with him, that the lie hurt kant just as it hurt bison.

without that i do not think the scene would be as convincing. and this is a pivotal scene for the characters without which the back half of the show would simply fall apart....

[zablife]

Hello darling! For your requests I found this prompt, would you give it a try? 🔥 😇

"Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes." - For Tommy

Thanks for the lovely inspo, Mar! I do love this GIF 😍

Tommy x female reader

Undress Me

"You can't be serious," you scoffed with an indignant toss of your head.

Tommy only stared into his glass, finishing off the last of his whiskey as he waited for the footsteps in the hall to fade into the distance.

"We discussed this," he mumbled, dispassionately rising to refill his glass.

"You never mentioned Finn," you reminded him.

As he passed before you, you grabbed onto his shirt sleeve. "I can't marry him," you insisted.

Tommy turned slowly, eyes falling to where your fingers dug into his forearm with disappointment. "Why not?" he asked in genuine confusion.

Because you wanted to marry me once, you thought before turning your bitterness to insults. "He's a fucking child you can't trust with a simple task!"

He rolled his eyes before producing a check from his pocket. Only then did he meet your insistent gaze. "Not even for this?" he asked, the steep arch of his brow demanding an answer. "Said you wanted security and a good life for your family, didn't ya?"

With the haunting memory of your original plea for help echoing in your ears, you eyed the check warily. "If he's the brother you've chosen for me, I want more," you replied, chin held high with what little pride you had left.

"Overplay your hand and see where it gets you," he warned with a sharp tug of his arm.

You staggered forward, feeling the acute loss of him. When had this all turned sour? you wondered.

He turned his back to you as he reached for the crystal decanter and you filled your lungs with a courageous breath. You'd need strength to keep going, but you were accustomed to it. Unlacing the front of your gown in anticipation, you waited for him to face you.

He did a poor job of concealing the hunger in his eyes, especially when his pupils dilated in such a way. "Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes," you beckoned in your sweetest voice.

Raising an accusing finger toward you he warned, "I know what this is."

"What?" you shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

"You're young and full of promise, don't waste it on me, love," he said with sadness tingeing his voice.

"So that's why you chose Finn for me?" you asked, wanting to understand his reasoning.

Tommy nodded slowly. "Has his whole life before him. Mine faded long ago."

"That's not true," you swore to him, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "Come back to me, Tom," you gently urged, fingers tracing his rugged jawline.

He closed his eyes to your touch and you knew he could still be yours. Leaning in to swipe your full lips against his, you begged him to take you then and there. And he did, giving into his desire fully the moment his self control snapped.

You'd never felt so possessed by him, hands gripping you tightly to him as though you were his last breath. His mouth sucking a bruise into the delicate flesh of your neck to mark you for all to see. There was a blind devotion to his actions that didn't make you feel guilty for tugging him closer when he came inside you.

If you'd timed it correctly, you'd be with child before the cursed wedding day. Tommy wouldn't dare deny you then, taking you for his bride instead. You sighed contentedly at the prospect as his heart hammered against yours.

--------------

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[03jyh23]

🌷⌇not on your own finding our way back part 9; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: emotional distress, confrontations, anxiety, talking about past trauma

│words: 6.5k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

as always

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

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│ @daisiesandtea123 │ @taegi1016│ @misshella│

│ @e3ellie │ @staytiny94 │ @everglow98 │

│@thedistractedwriter  │ @satans-arse-crack │ @soreberry │

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

Hongjoong sat down across from you in a corner of a nearby café, his hair hidden beneath a beanie. He placed two steaming cups on the table and took a deep breath, his eyes showing a mix of concern and determination. You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, drawing comfort from its heat as you gathered your thoughts.

"How are you holding up?" Hongjoong asked gently, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he leaned forward slightly. "Really? Don't hold anything back - I want to understand exactly what you're going through right now."

You let out a shaky breath, watching the steam rise from your coffee in delicate spirals as you gathered your thoughts. "I feel... lost," you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the rim of the cup. "Everything's happening so fast, like I'm caught in a whirlwind, and I don't know what's best anymore. Every time I think I've found my footing, something else changes. I wasn't prepared for any of this - how could anyone be?"

Hongjoong nodded thoughtfully, taking a careful sip of his coffee before setting it down with deliberate care. His eyes remained fixed on you as he asked, "What made you reach out to Jongho after all these years? What finally convinced you it was time to bridge that gap?"

The question caught you off guard, making you pause to really consider your answer. Your hands wrapped tighter around the warm cup as memories flooded back. "I... I saw how happy Nari was becoming, how she was blooming into this incredible little person. But then she started asking questions about her father - innocent questions that broke my heart because I couldn't answer them. I realized that keeping them apart wasn't protecting her anymore - it was holding her back from something beautiful, from knowing a part of herself."

"That same instinct," Hongjoong said softly, his voice carrying a note of understanding, "that desire to give Nari what she needs - maybe that's what should guide you now too. The situation isn't ideal, far from it, but your priority has always been keeping her safe and happy, right? That hasn't changed, even if everything else has."

You nodded slowly, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the weight of everything settled over you once again. "I just feel so helpless," you whispered, your voice threatening to break. "Everything's being decided so quickly, and I-" you broke off, wringing your hands together beneath the table where they couldn't betray your trembling. "I don't want to get married. Not like this, not because we're being forced into it by circumstances beyond our control. It's all happening too fast, and I can't help feeling like we're being swept along by forces we can't fight."

Hongjoong was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful, and he seemed to weigh his next words carefully. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but hesitant, carrying the weight of a question that needed to be asked. "Can I ask you something?" he began softly, his eyes meeting yours with careful consideration. "Do you... do you still love him?"

The question made you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Your eyes darted around the café, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings despite knowing the relative privacy of your secluded corner. The weight of Hongjoong's hand settling gently over yours drew your attention back, and you found yourself caught in his understanding gaze. You let out a shaky breath, but before you could formulate a response, Hongjoong squeezed your hand softly and spoke again.

"I'm not asking to pressure you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps it's me looking for redemption after how I separated both of you," Hongjoong states before continuing, his eyes clouding with a hint of regret. "As the leader back then, I thought I was doing what was best for Jongho and the rest of the boys. But watching how things unfolded now, seeing the pain it caused... I've often wondered if I made the right choice."

Your fingers traced invisible patterns on the coffee cup as memories of those late nights in the dance studio flooded back. "Back then..." you started, your voice soft with reminiscence, "we thought we could keep our relationship hidden forever."

Hongjoong nodded, his eyes distant with recognition. "He'd always stay later than everyone else, claiming he needed extra practice. We never questioned it because that was just like him - always striving for perfection."

You let out a bitter laugh, tinged with both fondness and pain. "We were so careful, or at least we thought we were. Meeting in secret, avoiding public places, keeping our distance. But then..." Your voice trailed off, the weight of past decisions hanging heavy in the air.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with regret. "Then I found out. The company was already putting immense pressure on us to succeed, and I thought..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "I thought I was protecting everyone by separating you two."

"Don't," you cut him off sharply, your voice trembling with years of suppressed hurt. "You took that choice away from us. Do you know how lost I felt? How terrified and alone I was, especially after finding out I was pregnant? If you had just..." you trailed off, choking back tears. "If you had known about the baby, would things have been different?"

"God, yes," Hongjoong whispered, his face etched with regret. "If I had known you were pregnant... I would have never..." You watched as his expression shifted, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his features. "I... I never thought about it again after that day," he admitted quietly. "It wasn't until months later when I saw how broken Jongho became, how he'd stare at his phone for hours or disappear for long walks alone... That's when the guilt really started eating at me. I was so focused on protecting the group that I didn't see the full impact of what I'd done to him."

"Why are you telling me this now?" you asked quietly, finally taking a sip of your coffee that had cooled considerably during your conversation.

Hongjoong took off his beanie and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that seemed more about buying time than fixing his appearance. His eyes dropped to the floor, breaking the intense eye contact he'd maintained throughout your conversation. The confident leader who had been guiding the discussion just moments ago suddenly seemed uncertain, vulnerable even.

"I'm telling you this because..." Hongjoong paused, his fingers drumming lightly against his coffee cup. "Because I want you to understand that sometimes, even when we think we're making the right decisions, life has a way of showing us we were wrong. And now, seeing you and Jongho, seeing Nari... I can't help but wonder if this is life giving all of us a second chance to make things right."

You felt your throat tighten at his words, memories of those early days flooding back - the fear, the loneliness, but also the fierce determination that had carried you through. "A second chance," you repeated softly, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue.

"You never answered my question," Hongjoong reminded you gently. "About whether you still love him."

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. You stared into your coffee cup as if it might hold the answers you were searching for. "I..." you started, then stopped, gathering your thoughts. "It's complicated. The feelings didn't just disappear, but they're different now. They're tangled up with hurt and responsibility and..." you trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"And fear?" Hongjoong supplied softly.

You nodded, feeling tears threatening to spill over. "Everything's different now. We're different people. And there's so much more at stake than just our hearts this time."

Hongjoong reached across the table and squeezed your hand gently. "You know, sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones most worth fighting for. I've watched Jongho these past few years, and seen how he's grown and changed. The way he lights up whenever Nari's name is mentioned, how carefully he's tried to build a relationship with her while respecting your boundaries..."

"Until he didn't," you interjected, a flash of anger cutting through your vulnerability.

"Until he didn't," Hongjoong agreed with a sigh. "But even that mistake came from a place of love, didn't it? Not malice, not carelessness, but from wanting to be there for his daughter."

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I just don't feel like he's fighting enough," you admitted, your voice tight with frustration. "If he's so willing to listen to the company now, just blindly following their directions... how is that protecting Nari? How can I trust that he'll stand up for her when it matters?"

Hongjoong's expression shifted, a mix of understanding and concern crossing his features. "What do you mean?"

"If he's not ready to be a father privately, what happens when it becomes public?" Your voice cracked slightly as you voiced your deepest fears. "When there are cameras everywhere, when every decision we make is scrutinized, when Nari's entire life becomes public property... I need to know he'll put her first, not the company, not his career, not what looks good for the press." You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Right now, he's just agreeing to everything they suggest. Marriage, public statements, carefully orchestrated appearances - it's like he's handed over control of our lives to them. The same company that..." you trailed off, shooting a meaningful look at Hongjoong.

"The same company that separated made me separate both of you in the first place," Hongjoong finished quietly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Exactly," you whispered. "And now they're orchestrating this whole thing like it's just another comeback schedule. But this isn't about album sales or public image - this is our daughter's life. I need to know that when things get tough, when the company pushes too far or the public pressure becomes too much, he'll choose her. Fight for her. Because right now..." you shook your head, wiping away a stray tear. "Right now it feels like he's just going through the motions, following a script someone else wrote."

Hongjoong leaned forward, his expression serious as he considered your words. "Have you told him any of this? These fears, these doubts?" When you shook your head slightly, he continued softly, "Maybe that's where you need to start - not with the company, not with the wedding plans, but with Jongho himself."

"I just... I don't know how to talk to him," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "When I see him, when I look into those big brown eyes of his, I just..." you trailed off, wringing your hands nervously.

"You're letting your walls down," Hongjoong finished for you, his voice gentle and understanding. "And that scares you because you've spent so long building them up."

You nodded, grateful for his perception. "Every time I'm around him, I feel like I'm a teenager again, sneaking into that practice room after hours. All those feelings I've tried so hard to bury just come rushing back, and I..." you paused, taking a shaky breath. "I can't afford to be that girl anymore. I have to think about Nari first."

"Maybe," Hongjoong suggested carefully, "being strong for Nari doesn't mean you have to be strong alone. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is let someone else help carry the weight."

You stared down at your now-empty coffee cup, tears threatening to spill over. "But what if we try and it all falls apart again? What if this time it's not just my heart that gets broken, but Nari's too?"

Hongjoong shifted in his seat, his expression softening as he watched you struggle with your fears. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "I've seen Jongho grow from that passionate, sometimes impulsive teenager into the man he is today. And if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's how deeply he feels everything."

"That's what scares me," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "The depth of it all. The intensity."

"Can I tell you something?" Hongjoong asked, leaning forward slightly. "Last week, after one of our practice sessions, I found Jongho in the old practice room - you know, the one where you used to meet. He was just sitting there, staring at his phone, looking at pictures of Nari. And he told me something that stuck with me."

You looked up, curiosity mingling with the tears in your eyes. "What did he say?"

"He said that every time he looks at Nari, he sees all the moments he missed - her first steps, her first words, all those midnight feedings and early morning cuddles. And it kills him that he can't go back and be there for those moments. But what scares him even more is the thought of missing any more of them."

Your breath caught in your throat as Hongjoong continued, "He's not just going along with the company's plans blindly. He's terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing and losing his chance to be in Nari's life - in your life. Maybe what you see as passive acceptance is actually him trying desperately not to mess up again."

"But that's exactly what I mean," you protested, your voice stronger now. "He needs to be willing to stand up, to fight-"

"To fight like you did?" Hongjoong interrupted gently. "You've been fighting for Nari since the day you found out about her. You've had years to learn how to be strong for her, to figure out what battles are worth fighting. Jongho's just starting that journey."

You fell silent, letting his words sink in. The café around you had grown quieter, the afternoon crowd thinning out, leaving you in a pocket of contemplative silence.

"Maybe," Hongjoong suggested softly, "instead of waiting for him to know how to fight the right battles, you could show him. You've been doing this alone for so long - perhaps it's time to teach him how to be the father Nari needs, rather than expecting him to know already."

You sat back, absorbing his words. The weight of the past few years pressed heavily on your shoulders, but somehow, sharing it with Hongjoong had made it feel a little lighter. "I never thought about it that way," you admitted quietly. "I've been so focused on protecting Nari that I forgot..."

"Forgot what?" Hongjoong prompted gently.

"That Jongho's learning too. That maybe he needs guidance, not just judgment." You traced the rim of your empty coffee cup with your finger, lost in thought. "It's just... teaching him means letting him in. Really letting him in. And that means being vulnerable again."

Hongjoong's eyes softened with understanding. "You know what I've learned as a leader? Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is show your vulnerability. It's not about being perfect; it's about being honest."

"But what if-" you started, then stopped yourself, shaking your head. "I keep thinking about all the what-ifs. What if the public reaction is too much? What if the company pushes too hard? What if we can't protect her?"

"Then you face it together," Hongjoong said firmly. "You're not that scared girl anymore, and he's not that same impulsive trainee. You're both stronger now, wiser. And you have something worth fighting for that's bigger than both of you."

You felt tears welling up again, but this time they felt different - not bitter or afraid, but something closer to hope. "I need to talk to him, don't I? Really talk to him, not just about arrangements and schedules, but about everything."

"Yes," Hongjoong smiled, reaching across to squeeze your hand one more time. "And when you do, remember that sometimes the bravest thing isn't fighting alone - it's letting someone fight beside you."

You smiled and held Hongjoong's gaze, your chest swelling with a hope you hadn't felt in ages. "I need to find him—oh my god, he must have been so hurt and confused... only this morning I kissed—" A laugh bubbled up from your chest as you covered your mouth with your hands, your eyes wide with the sudden realization. The warmth of that morning's kiss flooded back, making your cheeks flush.

"You did what?" Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with mischief, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He leaned forward, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "So much for 'it's complicated,' huh?"

"Oh god," you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "This morning, when he was leaving, I told him I'm ready to tell Nari who he really is... And then he looked at me with those eyes of his and hugged me so tightly, and before I knew it—"

Hongjoong's laughter filled the café. "And here you were, giving me a whole speech about boundaries and company plans."

"I know, I know!" You peeked through your fingers, unable to help the smile spread across your face. "I'm a mess, aren't I? One minute I'm worried about him not fighting hard enough, and the next I'm kissing him like some lovesick teenager."

"Life's funny that way," Hongjoong said softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more gentle. "Sometimes our hearts know what they want long before our heads catch up."

You lowered your hands, feeling a surge of determination. "I need to find him. We need to talk – really talk. No company representatives, no carefully planned meetings. Just us."

"Go," Hongjoong nodded, his eyes warm with understanding. "But remember what I said – you're not that scared teenager anymore. You're stronger now, both of you are. Whatever comes next, face it together."

You practically flew out of the café, your heart hammering in your chest. The streets blurred past as you made your way to the company building, your mind racing faster than your feet could carry you. You needed to find him, to tell him everything that had been weighing on your heart. By the time you reached the building, you were completely out of breath, your lungs burning from the exertion. You burst through the lobby doors, your eyes scanning the familiar space desperately. Your feet carried you to the elevators, and you found yourself pressing the button for the practice room floor before you could even catch your breath properly. As the doors opened, you nearly collided with someone – Yunho, you realized, as you stumbled back slightly.

You must have looked quite a sight – cheeks flushed, hair slightly disheveled from your run, and still trying to catch your breath. "I'm looking for Jongho," you managed to say between breaths. "Have you seen him? I really need to talk to him."

"I think the company let him take a break from all of this," Yunho smiled weakly, his eyes softening with understanding. "Last I saw, he took Nari to the old practice room in the basement. Would you like me to show you the way?"

"I think I know the way," you smiled softly, memories flooding back as you walked in the elevator. Your heart was racing, but not from the earlier run - this was a different kind of anticipation altogether.

As you stepped out of the elevator, the familiar corridor stretched before you, dimly lit and quiet. Your footsteps echoed against the walls, each step bringing you closer to the room that had witnessed the beginning of your love story. The same room where, years ago, you had first watched Jongho dance until dawn, where you had fallen in love with the passion in his movements and the gentleness in his soul. Before you even reached the door, you could hear it - the soft sound of laughter, Nari's bright giggles mixing with Jongho's deeper chuckles. The sound made your heart clench with an emotion you couldn't quite name - joy, perhaps, or longing, or maybe both. You paused outside the door, your hand hovering over the handle. Through the small window, you could see them - Jongho spinning Nari around, her little feet barely touching the ground as she squealed with delight. His face was lit up with pure joy, all the careful composure he maintained in public completely gone. San and Wooyoung were there too, sitting cross-legged on the floor, cheering and clapping along as Nari showed off her dance moves. You could hear Wooyoung's distinctive laugh echoing through the room as San pretended to be a dance judge, holding up imaginary scoring cards. This wasn't just a father and daughter moment anymore - it was a family one, with two of their biggest supporters right there with them. Standing there, watching them all together in the room where your own love story began, you felt the last of your walls crumbling. Hongjoong was right - you weren't that scared teenager anymore, and neither was Jongho. You were both different people now, shaped by time and circumstance, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. And now you had an even bigger support system than before. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the door handle, ready to step into whatever future awaited on the other side.

The door opened with a soft creak, and all eyes turned to you. Nari's face lit up instantly, her smile brighter than ever as she called out "Mommy!" and ran towards you. Jongho's gaze met yours, and in that moment, you saw everything you needed to see - love, hope, and the promise of a future you were finally ready to build together.

"Hi princess," you kneeled to hug your daughter, your eyes focused on Jongho over her shoulder. "Are you having fun with the uncles?"

"Mommy, look! Uncle Jongho’s teaching me to dance!" Nari exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in your arms. "Uncle San says I'm a natural, just like him!"

"Hey!" Wooyoung protested from his spot on the floor, making Nari giggle. "I thought I was your favorite dancer!"

"I dance better than all of them!" Nari declared with a mischievous grin, darting away from your arms as Wooyoung gasped in mock offense.

"Oh, that's it! Come here, you little dance critic!" Wooyoung jumped to his feet, chasing after her as she squealed and ran around the practice room, her laughter echoing off the mirrors. San joined in the chase, pretending to help Nari escape from Wooyoung while making exaggerated faces that only made her laugh harder. She zigzagged between them before finally running back to you, hiding behind your legs and peeking out with bright eyes. You scooped her up in your arms, both of you still giggling from the chase. Your eyes met Jongho's across the room, and something in your expression must have conveyed your thoughts because his smile softened with understanding.

"Wooyoung, San?" you called out, adjusting Nari in your arms. "Would you guys mind keeping an eye on her for a little while? Me and Jongho... we need to talk."

"Of course!" San beamed, already reaching to take Nari from your arms. "We'll show her some real dance moves, won't we, princess?"

Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows at Nari conspiratorially. "Maybe we can even teach her that special move we've been practicing."

As Nari clapped her hands in excitement, you shot Jongho a meaningful look and gestured towards the door. Without a word, he nodded and followed you out into the familiar hallway.

"Hey, are you alright?" Jongho's gentle voice broke through the silence of the hallway, his concern evident in the way he studied your face. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across his features, reminding you of all those late nights you'd spent in this very corridor years ago.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I'm more than alright," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... seeing you in there with Nari, with San and Wooyoung... it made everything so clear."

Jongho stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Clear how?"

"I've been so scared," you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. "Scared of change, scared of what might happen, scared of letting people in. But watching you all together in that practice room... it reminded me of something I'd forgotten."

"What's that?" he asked softly, his hand tentatively reaching for yours.

"That love isn't something to be afraid of. That maybe..." you intertwined your fingers with his, drawing strength from his touch, "maybe it's time to stop running from happiness. Time to let ourselves have the family we both want."

Jongho's breath hitched, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Jongho, I'll agree to some of the company's demands," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "I know that now, more than ever, I'll need their protection. But," you paused, looking into his eyes with determination, "even if we can't do this exactly how I imagined, I still want to keep some things my way."

"I want you to tell Nari yourself," you said firmly. "Just you and her, father to daughter. I want her to hear it from you first, in your own words, before any press releases or public statements."

Jongho's eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked overwhelmed with emotion. "You'd let me do that?" he whispered, his voice thick with feeling.

"Of course," you smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. "She deserves to hear it in the most personal way possible. And you deserve that moment with her, without cameras or scripts or company representatives hovering around."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "I've imagined this moment so many times," he admitted. "But I never thought... I was afraid you might want to do it together, or have someone else present."

"No," you shook your head gently. "This needs to be just between father and daughter. I trust you, Jongho. I trust you to find the right words, the right moment. You've already built such a beautiful bond with her as 'Uncle Jongho' - this is just revealing the truth of what's already there."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb. "Thank you," he breathed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Thank you for trusting me with this. I promise I'll do it right. I'll make sure she knows how much I've always loved her, even before she knew who I really was."

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "I know you will," you murmured. "Just... when you tell her, make sure she knows that none of this changes how much we both love her. That you being her father doesn't mean she's losing her Uncle Jongho - she's just gaining something more."

Jongho pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "When should I...?" he trailed off, the question hanging in the air between you.

"I think we should do it today," you said softly, watching his expression carefully. "Your boss already planned that interview for tomorrow, and..." you took a deep breath, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "I will stay here and talk about the details of how our situation will be handled from now on. You can take her for some ice cream?"

A mix of emotions crossed Jongho's face - surprise, joy, and a hint of nervousness. You continued, your voice growing softer with emotion, "She once told me she wanted to go for ice cream with her dad. I promised her that you'd take her one day."

Jongho's eyes welled up with fresh tears, but his smile was radiant. "Ice cream," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "Our first father-daughter date will be over ice cream."

"She loves the strawberry flavor," you offered, reaching up to straighten his collar absently, a gesture so domestic it made your heart ache. "And she always asks for extra sprinkles."

"Strawberry with extra sprinkles," he nodded, committing it to memory like it was the most important information in the world. "I'll remember that." He paused, then added with a slight tremor in his voice, "Do you really think she'll be okay with this? With me being..."

"Her dad?" you finished for him. "Jongho, she already adores you. You've seen how her face lights up every time you walk into a room. This will just give her a name for the connection she already feels with you."

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice gentle but firm. "There's something else we need to discuss. About the company's plans..."

"The marriage proposal," Jongho finished softly, his eyes understanding. "I know you won't agree to it."

You looked at him, slightly surprised by his calm acceptance. "You do?"

He smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Of course. It was a low blow from the company, trying to push that agenda. That's not how I want this to happen between us." His eyes sparkled with warmth as he added, "Besides, I'd rather win you over properly this time. No pressure, no company demands - just us finding our way back to each other."

"I'd like that," you whispered, feeling your cheeks warm at his words.

"There's something else," Jongho said, his expression turning thoughtful. "About announcing this... I was thinking, instead of letting the newspapers break the story first, what if we did it our way?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to do a live transmission," he explained, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Just me and Nari, after I've told her everything. Let my fans hear it from me first, see the real connection we have. No scripted interviews, no formal press releases - just a father sharing his joy with the world."

You felt tears pricking at your eyes, touched by how much thought he'd put into this. "That sounds perfect," you managed. "Your fans have always been so supportive. They deserve to be the first to know."

"And it would be more genuine this way," Jongho added, squeezing your hand. "No media speculation, no rumors - just the truth, straight from my heart."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you asked softly.

"I've had some time to think about how I'd want this moment to go," he admitted.

"I'll tell the company that the transmission is one of my non-negotiable terms," you said, your voice growing stronger with conviction. "They want to control the narrative, but this... this should be yours to share. Your moment with your daughter, your way of telling your fans."

Jongho's eyes widened slightly. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," you smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. "The company can handle all the legal paperwork and official statements afterward, but this first announcement... it needs to come from your heart. Your fans have been with you through everything - they deserve to see this genuine moment between you and Nari."

"I promise I'll make it special," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "Something beautiful for Nari to look back on someday."

"I know you will," you murmured. "You've always had a way of making important moments feel magical. Remember our first late-night dance practice?"

A soft laugh escaped him. "How could I forget? You were so nervous about getting the steps wrong but by the end of the night..."

"By the end of the night, I wasn't thinking about the steps at all," you finished, sharing a knowing smile with him.

Jongho chuckled as his eyes grew wider, remembering how that particular night had ended for both of you. You couldn't help but stare at the floor, your cheeks burning at the memory. Your eyes met his and you both burst into nervous laughter, the shared memory of that first passionate night hanging in the air between you. Jongho rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he'd never quite outgrown when he was flustered.

"I, uh..." he stammered, his cheeks flushed a deep red. "That was... I mean..." He let out a shaky breath, clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

You couldn't help but smile at his adorable awkwardness. Even after all these years, he could still turn into that shy, nervous boy you'd fallen for.

"Do you still have those moves in you, Mr. Choi?" you teased, playfully smacking his chest.

His eyes sparkled at your words, and he caught your hand against his chest, holding it there. "Maybe we should schedule another late-night practice session sometime," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low tone that still made your heart skip a beat. "You know, for old times' sake."

You felt your breath catch in your throat at the intensity in his gaze. "Jongho..." you whispered, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.

The moment was broken by the sound of laughter from the practice room, reminding you both of where you were. Jongho cleared his throat, reluctantly letting go of your hand, but the warmth in his eyes remained.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Jongho whispered, "No, not this time," more to himself than to you. In one fluid motion, he pulled you gently back to him, his hand cupping your face as his lips found yours in a tender kiss.

You felt him flinch slightly against your lips, and immediately pulled back with concern. Your eyes widened as you noticed his bruised lip, a reminder of his earlier confrontation with Hyunwoo.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you whispered, gently touching the corner of his mouth where the bruise was darkest. "I forgot about... does it hurt?"

Jongho caught your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to your palm despite his injury. "Worth it," he murmured with a small, reassuring smile. "I'd take a thousand bruised lips if it meant getting to kiss you again."

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your heart racing at the tenderness in his words. Despite the bruise, despite all the years apart, his kiss still felt like coming home. Without hesitation, you tilted your face up to meet his lips again, gentler this time, careful not to cause him any pain.

Time seemed to stand still as you melted into the kiss, all the years of longing and separation dissolving in this single, perfect moment. His touch was both familiar and thrillingly new, reminding you of all the reasons you'd fallen for him in the first place.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Jongho rested his forehead against yours. The familiar warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine as his eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I've waited so long to do that again," he murmured, his thumb gently caressing your cheek in slow, tender circles. The gentleness of his touch contrasted beautifully with the passionate kiss you'd just shared, making your knees feel weak.

"Ever since the morning?" you laughed softly, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

His answering smile was radiant, lighting up his entire face in a way that made your breath catch. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, filled with pure joy and affection, reminded you of all those stolen moments you'd shared in this very practice room years ago. Jongho leaned in again, placing feather-light kisses on your lips that made you giggle and hide your face against his chest, suddenly feeling shy under his tender attention. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you could feel his chest rumble with gentle laughter.

"Remember how we used to sneak in here?" he murmured against your hair. "You'd wait until everyone had left, and I'd make up excuses about needing extra practice time..."

"And somehow you never got much actual dancing done," you teased, lifting your head to meet his amused gaze. "This place holds so many memories. Our first kiss was right there by the mirrors."

"Our first real date too," Jongho added softly. "When I brought in that little picnic at midnight. You were so surprised."

"I still can't believe you managed to sneak in an entire meal without anyone noticing," you laughed, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. "And that time we almost got caught by the cleaning staff..."

Jongho's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We got pretty good at hiding behind those storage boxes, didn't we?"

You both dissolved into quiet laughter, the shared memories wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Eventually, knowing you had to return to the others, you reluctantly pulled away from his embrace and headed back to the practice room.

As soon as you entered, Wooyoung's playful voice cut through the practice room atmosphere with theatrical flair. "Well, well, well... if it isn't our favorite lovebirds finally gracing us with their presence. Had a nice 'talk' in the hallway, did we?" His tone carried that unmistakable hint of knowing mischief that made you want to sink into the floor.

"Uncle Wooyoung says you were sharing a special adult hug!" Nari announced cheerfully, bouncing on her toes as she parroted Wooyoung's teasing, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity. "Were you really? What kind of special hug is that? Can you show me?"

You felt your face heat up to what must have been a spectacular shade of red as Jongho cleared his throat awkwardly beside you, while Wooyoung's delighted laughter echoed off the practice room walls, clearly enjoying every second of your shared embarrassment.

"Sweetie," you said quickly, kneeling down to Nari's eye level, "Uncle Wooyoung is just being silly. Sometimes grown-ups need private moments to talk about important things." You shot a pointed look at Wooyoung, who was still struggling to contain his laughter.

"Like ice cream?" Nari asked innocently, making San snort from across the room.

"Yes, exactly like ice cream," Jongho stepped in smoothly, ruffling Nari's hair affectionately. "Speaking of which, how about we go get some? Just you and me?"

Nari's eyes lit up like stars, her previous curiosity instantly forgotten. "Really? Now? Can we really?" She bounced excitedly, looking between you and Jongho with hopeful eyes.

"If it's okay with your mom," Jongho added, glancing at you with a soft smile.

"Of course it is," you nodded, your heart warming at the sight of their matching excited expressions. "Just don't let her convince you to get too many toppings."

"Extra sprinkles!" Nari cheered, already tugging at Jongho's hand. "And chocolate sauce, and gummy bears, and-"

"How about we see what they have when we get there?" Jongho laughed, allowing himself to be pulled toward the door. He threw you one last tender look over his shoulder, mouthing 'thank you' before disappearing into the hallway with an enthusiastically chattering Nari.

As their voices faded, Wooyoung sidled up next to you, a knowing grin on his face. "You know, seeing you three together... it feels right. Like this is how it was always meant to be."

Through the practice room window, you watched Jongho lift Nari into his arms as they headed to the elevator. "Yeah," you whispered, your heart full of hope for the future. "It really does."

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

[weirdsht]

Hii 😞😞

I genuinely can't help myself but request for sweet stuff

Bc I'm lonely

Cale w reader who always wears pants and barely dolls themselves up, but then they decide to wear a dress one day and WOWZA

Something New - Cale/Reader

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of insecure! reader, jealous Cale if you squint, established relationship, reader's gender isn't specified but they are wearing a dress.

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

It happened on a whim, starting when you saw a lone dress in the closet while trying to spring clean.

You bought the dress impulsively a few months ago, finding it cute at the time. You swore to yourself that you’d find an occasion to wear it, but you never did. 

It’s not because the dress isn’t cute anymore. No, no, it still is, it’s so cute you had to take a few minutes to admire the glory of it after taking it out of the hanger. The design of the frame wasn’t the issue. Rather, it was just the simple fact that it was a dress. Something you don’t usually wear.

And so its elegance didn’t stop the dress from being stashed at the back of your closet.

Well until today that is.

Once you were done sorting your closet you abruptly decided to change into the dress. Wear something different for a change.

You can’t help but feel a tad bit insecure as you look in the mirror. The dress is pretty and it frames your body as though it was made specifically for you. The ruffles of the off-shoulder clings to your skin while its see-through puff sleeves showcase your arm underneath the fabric.

The skirt has three layers; two sheer fabrics at the top and an opaque layer underneath. It sways beautifully alongside the ribbon in the back whenever you twirl, the hem grazing your thighs as you giggle in front of the mirror.

It’s a beautiful dress and you look so good wearing it. However, it doesn’t take away the uncomfortable fact that it’s not something you would usually wear, doesn’t take away the smidge of insecurity you feel as you play with the cut-outs of the dress around your waist area.

Perhaps the dress can’t soothe your mind but Cale’s reaction definitely can.

“Can I hide here for a while? The kids have been bugging me to train and we both know I’d rather drown in lemonade than do that.”

Cale knocks on your door as he asks for solace. Taking pity on him, you opened the door to let him in. Your room is the safest place to get away from the kids’ antics, they actually respect your alone time and wouldn’t go in unless given a go signal.

The redhead stops in his tracks as he sees what you’re wearing. His actions make you gnaw your lips. Did it look bad? It is too unusual? Maybe you shouldn’t have tried it on.

You were about to speak up, ask him if you should change, when he beat you to it.

“Let’s sneak out and go on a date.”

“Is it– wait what? I thought you wanted to sleep today.”

You shot Cale an incredulous look. Just where did that come from? He has always had an impulsive side, no matter how rare it showed itself, but this was something that had never happened.

“Yes, but you look too good right now. It would be a shame to just stay here.”

“Excuse me? Wait! Cale!”

Before you can wrap your head around what your lover said he was already whisking you away with his ancient power. The two of you exited through the window and proceeded to go to town to have an impromptu date.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have gone hear…”

Cale grumbled under his breath a few minutes after roaming around town. The townfolks were kind enough to not bother their young master silver shield today after seeing that he was on a date. Despite that, Cale was still frowning and grumbling under his breath.

“What’s the matter, love?”

You inquired, concerned that perhaps his social battery had run out. Cale was never one to socialise much after all.

“It’s nothing… it’s just that everyone keeps looking at you.”

He frowned before activating his dominating aura. He just let it ooze a little, just enough for people to steer clear of the both of you.

Confused at what he meant, you tilted your head towards him, silently asking him to elaborate.

Finding your gesture cute, Cale kissed the top of your head surprising you once more. He was never one for public shows of affection, preferring to indulge you in his love in private.

“You just look too good okay? That dress looks too good on you and now everyone’s eyes are glued to you. It doesn’t help that this is the first time you wore one.”

He might have murmured something about going on a picnic in the forest instead but you didn’t quite catch it. 

Your mind reels at the accidental compliment. Well, Cale already said you looked beautiful earlier, but still, it didn’t feel real until now.

“You mean it?”

You hesitantly asked making Cale stop in his tracks just outside your favourite restaurant.

“Yes.”

He nonchalantly said before linking your arms with his and entering the establishment.

The two of you spent the entire day having fun. The news will definitely have a field day writing various articles of how Roan Kingdom’s it couple are seen enjoying the day as if they were the only people in the world.

You had so much fun that you almost forgot you left the villa without telling anyone.

Don’t worry though, Ron will make sure you remember and understand the heart attack you accidentally gave everyone.

[that-one-xachster]

by saying something stupid like 'i love you'

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"I love you"

"What?"

"Nothing."

-> 3 times in which you try to tell him that you love him, but thats not how it goes

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can be taken for any character that you'd like, I was feeling a bit silly haha- might get back into writing

not sorry if this one shot sounds like a comedy show rather than fully angsty, I wrote it based on how I have interactions with people, so im not sorry cause I don't know how you interact with people. please dont come at me for it not sounding angsty or wtv GAAAA I SOUND RUDE LMFAO WHAT

not proofread!

[f/n] = friend's name

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"I love you."

"Huh?"

He looked up from your notebook, holding his pen, explaining the question in chemistry you didn't understand. He sat so close to you, your knees touching, making you feel like a man in the 1800s who just saw a woman's ankle.

You shook your head.

"Nothing."

He just shrugged and went back to explaining the problem to you, and you shifted your weight, resting your head in your palms.

You tapped your foot repeatedly against the table, listening to what he was explaining, before stopping him -

"Wait a second, isn't that the wrong step? You gotta restart-"

"Huh? What are you talking about- oh shit."

"See-"

"Yeah, funny story how about we both just go and ask [f/n]?"

"True. Do that, she's the smarter one."

"Smarter than you for sure."

"No, you're the most idiotic one out of all of us, shut up-"

"No can do-"

You two bickered back and forth until the class ended, never getting to ask [f/n].

Moments like these were what made you fall harder.

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"I love you."

He didn't even hear you this time. Of course he didn't, how would he? He was in the hall, talking to some other friends of his. You're not his only friend, you shouldn't be so selfish-

"Did you say something? Sorry, I was submitting this assignment."

The same friend mentioned before, [f/n] sat next to you in class. She was adamant that you had a thing for the guy, despite your multiple attempts to deny it. No way in absolute hell would you admit that you had a flimsy, silly, teensy little crush on him. No way.

"Nah, you can go back to that."

"I have a better idea, did you hear what happened this morning to-"

And she told you about some events that occurred in the morning, as if she were your personal newsletter. For free of course. She was the nerdy type, but had many friends and always knew what was up with the school, and of course she had to fill you in. You listened to her tell you about random fights, break ups, make ups, and people being stupid in general, enjoying the time you spend with your friend.

Sometimes a distraction is good right? Sometimes.

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"I love you."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No no no no- what? Repeat that."

"Dude, I said nothing-"

"Nuh uh, you keep mumbling random shit and won't tell me what it is bruh, spit it out."

"The hell you mean 'nuh uh'? Buddy you don't need to peek into everything I say, you see, im a verbal thinker hArDy hAr hAr-"

"..."

"..."

"....for the love of god never do that again."

"....yeah."

Akward silence engulfed you two. The teacher walked in after a few seconds, immediately starting the class.

Recovering from the past embarrassment, you whispered jokes to each other, poked each other with your pens, copied each other's notes when you couldn't finish writing them in time, and got caught laughing too much for a joke, but hey.

At least he didn't hear you mumble another soft, barely audible, "I love you."

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| ennoshita, atsumu, OIKAWA, tendou, hanamaki (hear me out), kirishima, denki (hmo), SERO, honenhuki, muramatsu (a very big hmo), + anyone else you'd like! these were the ones I thought of lol |

hope you enjoyed <3

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bonus ! funny little smidgen- well funny to me lmao

"Do you have the answers for math?" "I thought you did." "..." "..." "Ok- ok well I did half at home, I'll just do the other half now-" "Hold up- which half did you do?" "The first, why?" "Goddammit, I did the first too." "We're screwed?" "We're screwed."

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[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[porcelainseashore]

Wow, I don't know what to say, it feels like a simple thank you isn't enough. But I really appreciate your read-through and generosity 🫶 *runs off to hide* It was just meant to be a drabble, but sorta turned into the whole works, which makes me wonder if I can ever write microfiction again. There's just so much I want to say. Indeed, we are deceased, but what comes after? Also, that tag #wynter is coming genuinely made my day.

Summer Solstice - Beach Episode by Night

Commissioned art by @medeaft

Author's Note: My “drabble” (inspired by a music ask) for the lovely @beach-episode-by-night event. A heartfelt thank you to @mortifying-macaroni and @alibellerosetta whom I dedicate this piece to. Your encouragement made it possible.

Along the I-10 highway to Tucson, Wynter takes a detour toward the coastline on impulse, chasing the memory of a bygone summer’s day.

Content Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, references to murder, wraith, pre-canon, weird uncle/niece relationship, blame it on the Giovanni.

How long has it been?

The chime sounded as she left the car door open with her keys in the ignition, monotonous, comforting yet cajoling her to do something about it. It didn’t matter; hers was the lone automobile on the desolate street. If someone wanted this piece of junk, they’d earn the right by swiping it off her hands behind her back.

In the tepid late October air, Wynter had taken a detour off the I-10 toward the Gulf Coast on a whim, with the windows rolled down because the air conditioner wasn’t working—it never did. Closer to the basin, the smell of brine from the Atlantic hit her tenfold. She had been swimming in her thoughts, her reflexes on autopilot, as if she remembered the route by heart. That was the question, what did she remember? Why had she come here, when she had spent the last two decades running off and reinventing herself, just like her estranged sire, Violetta, taught her to?

Instead of answering, she faced away from the wind, lashes downturned and fluttering, as she cupped her hand over her mouth, lighting up a cigarette and ignoring the faint protests of her Beast. The wind was still as violent as she’d left it. Heeled boots crunched into gravel, which finally opened out to soft mounds of sand. She wasn’t in a hurry; she had time to kill, even with her battered, old Honda that was on its last legs. 

The Prince could wait. 

What was a couple of USB sticks that he desired good for? They lay stuffed and suffocated in her worn-down satchel—one she’d found while rummaging through the trash—with its straps chewed and frayed at the ends. Maybe just enough for emergency repairs and a meal or two, if she was lucky.

From afar, she could make out the salt-stripped cafes, gaudy tiki bars with their balding straw roofs, and a row of little wooden clapboard houses, paint-chipped and peeling, along the boardwalk. Weather-beaten “For sale” and “We’re closed!” signs hung awkwardly from the establishments, some on their last nail, swaying to and fro, creaking in the breeze. Her gaze trailed over the tired beach chairs, deflated pool toys, and broken surfboards. A smattering of them had found their way across the divide, acting like driftwood in the sea.

The sound of children’s giggles and bare feet pattering on the floorboards echoed in the distance. She gripped her bag tight, but did not look back. Her shoes were sinking into the wet sand now, and the air carried warm moisture which settled beneath the layer of clothes onto her skin. Her very own form of sweat.

The moon illuminated her path, but at the edge of the ocean, she was at a loss for what to do. Why was she here? What had called her? How—

“Wynter,” it whispered, balmy in the zephyr. “Why don’t you come out to play?”

She shielded her eyes, as though blinded by the brilliant sun, peering out into the vast space before her. And there he was, clear as day, in his light blue shorts and a roseate burn creeping through his tanned back, wading toward her in the water. Earlier, she had been sulking under the beach umbrella while her mother flipped through a magazine and her father chatted jovially with other men over rounds of drinks at the bar.

The wind was howling. Fine, white sand swirled in the current. She didn’t like how hot it got under her feet. Everything hurt. But for Lucien, she would bear through it all. His smile ached as she splashed into the water, salt clinging to her lips and foam gathering in the tendrils of her hair. She took a deep breath and dived, dipping under the waves of the high tide. A strong pair of arms entangled around her waist as she was drawn out of the sea, and she wriggled to break free of their grasp while her uncle chuckled. And soon, she was laughing too.

“My very own mermaid,” he murmured. 

Wynter bared her teeth and hissed, “But I will drown you and taste your flesh.”

He touched her chin, smiling sadly. “Well, it would be worth it, to me.”

She didn’t think anything of it then, bounding out of Lucien’s embrace and paddling through the waters. That day, under the cloudless sky and the sun’s rays glittering beyond the horizon, she felt how magnificent it was to be alive. Glancing over at Lucien, she paused, meeting his eyes, shifting azure blue, watching the droplets trickle down his brow. The waves crashed on shore. Seagulls crooned overhead. Time whiled away in silence. Their eyes searching for a morsel they could hold on to. Years of an unspoken bond buried in a look. He believed in it then, how pure and indescribable it was. And the curve of his mouth reflected hers.

For all the trials he would be put through, he’d gladly suffer, even if there was no end in sight. She waded closer to him, the water now reaching waist-high. But it was murky. Her cigarette butt had gone out, leaving traces of the woody scent of dark tobacco in the air, but even that too was fading. Instead of the heat of the sun beating down her back, she encountered the cool, umbral glow of the moon, iridescent on her bloodless skin. She wanted it to burn her alive.

Her Beast recoiled at the mere thought of seeing the light of day, but Wynter entertained it for a moment longer, savoring the fear, the way the light extinguished in someone’s eyes before they expired.

“Let me drown with you,” she prayed, the flicker of an unearthly sheen present in her eyes.

In her peripheral vision, a shadow flitted between the steel scaffolding of the once-grandiose pier, now in a state of irreversible decay, rusting to the elements. She remembered standing there as a child, sick from cotton candy, and the noise of the fairground rides flooding her ears. A postcard marred with heavy creases—one of the many within the bundle she had stashed in her glove compartment. She held it out in front of the pier, shutting one eye and squinting, then doing the same with the other. 

Every year, she received a blank card, the address scribbled in handwriting she didn’t recognize. Regardless of whether she stayed at a temporary residence or relied on throwaway collection points dotted across the country, they arrived without fail. “Wish you were here’s” by the ghost of a loved one on perpetual vacation. Places she had been to. Places she had dreamed of. This time, a picturesque painting of the old pier at dawn. 

It could have been a trap, but she found it strangely comforting, knowing she had a place to come back to, observing the swell and receding waves until she would be nothing more than ashes floating on the surface at the break of day. Kindred talked about death as if it were so final, but to her, death was only the beginning. A concrete structure on the pier groaned, loosening from its bolt before collapsing into the sea. The sound and vibrations were tremendous, but Wynter didn’t flinch.

How long could she drag this out? How much more could she keep on going?

For a while, she had been aware of a presence watching her, but made no sign to acknowledge its existence. It was tempting to seek it out, as was the habit of being a hunter, but she decided otherwise. The Shroud was thin here. Mortals had long since abandoned this place. Yet some remained. 

There was a deep rooted tingle in her spine. She had overstayed her welcome; she should leave, but not before—

The postcard slipped from her fingers, drifting in the stream until she lost sight of it. A featherlight kiss on the nape of her neck. She shuddered again and closed her eyes. When they opened, she checked the time on her cracked iPhone screen. 

Without a word, she followed her tracks back to her awaiting car, the chime still ringing incessantly. She hopped in and drove off, leaving whatever had happened that day behind. 

The Prince of Tucson couldn’t wait any longer.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[wildwandaa]

Rio Grande do Sul is currently going through extreme flooding and the government is basically doing nothing about it.

Link to full thread with more information

Link to donations

[drgnflyteabox]

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

<3

[chalkrub]

thank you for a great art fight! here's some of my final attacks. had a blast, already missing it - see you next year!

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

I go into the LOTR tag to look at pretty LOTR gifs. Please stop putting Amazon Rings of Power shit in there. It's literally not LOTR.

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[aq2003]

has anyone gotten the idea that odysseus' storyline in hades 2 is a depiction/exploration of trauma over his SA and how he's blaming himself for things that were out of his control? because that's the impression i'm getting from what i've seen. he talks about "goddesses" as his "greatest weakness" and that "he's not one to say no to them"...

when mel invites him to the bath, he brings up mortals having different standards for intimacy than gods and how it usually has a more romantic/sexual connotation. she then asks if he's uncomfortable and he has a startled reaction and brings up circe and calypso again (but never actually by name)

(this isn't ship/romance bait btw. odysseus knew mel as a kid and they're stated in-game to have a sibling/uncle-niece relationship)

also he grew apart from penelope after his return, but the game makes a point of showing that his love for penelope and telemachus is what drove him on at all so that element of his character isn't brought into question