#I made my own and they’re hideous

[bladders-gate-three]

LISTEN

LISTEN

So in act 3 of BG3 you get access to the Helldusk armor, right? Like you take the breastplate off of Raphael, and yoink the helmet and gloves from elsewhere in his house…

BUT WHERE ARE THE SHOES?!?

TURNS OUT THEY’RE IN THIS CHEST…. At the Foot of Enver Gortash’s stinky little bed!!!

This little shit spent all his time around Raphael, who clearly has control issues; the only thing he took with him were the shoes to a perfect set of armor.

Because armor with mismatched shoes looks dumb.

IMAGINE BEING RAPHAEL thinking: that little shit stole my amazing boots. And you think; he’s probably wearing them right now.

and then

AND THEN YOU SEE HIM WEARING THESE

THE AUDACITY.

Also his parents were cobblers and he now has the world’s ugliest shoes, but keeps some of the best greaves ever made in his toy chest. Double whammy.

[tchaikovskaya]

Enduring horrors beyond comprehension (being a renter and trying to balance the real cost of spending your own money to somewhat improve the apt/house that you don’t own and won’t ultimately keep, vs the abstract cost of having to live with and look at shit that is functionally or aesthetically horrible in your daily life)

[nebulablakemurphy]

Horn Of Plenty

Summary: The Capitol sends a very special gift for Y/N and Haymitch’s son on his first birthday. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe, can be read as a stand alone. SoTR Spoliers

Warning: SMUT 18 + ONLY, mentions of trauma

Today is a big day.

Through all the diapers and sleepless nights, they made it. One year of being parents to this perfect little boy. Haymitch is still in awe of him.

“Vanity sent clothes.” Y/N tells Haymitch, watching as he turns to her with their son in his arms. “Cameras will be here later.”

“Surprised she’s not here.”

“She’s got a show,” Y/N inches closer, enough to tickle Everest’s little belly. “High fashion waits for no one.”

The boy squeals, hiding his face in his father’s shirt.

Haymitch smiles, keeping hold of the wiggling child. “On a scale from ugly to hideous, how bad are they?”

“They’re pretty tame,” Y/N shrugs.

I love you. Haymitch has to bite his tongue to keep the words from escaping. He just can’t risk it.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s family joins them for the festivities and cake of course. Though there is only so much a one year old can do, Caesar Flickerman is hosting live from the Capitol. And they’ve sent Everest a very special gift.

“Now, we’ve sent this all the way to district twelve.” Caesar narrates, as the cameras in their living room move of their own accord. “I do hope it’s to your liking.”

“I’m sure it is, Caesar.” Haymitch says, “you know us all so well.”

Everest, in his white collared shirt and powder blue overalls, claps his hands, watching his father remove the lid of the box. The sides fall free, revealing a black rocking horse.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps. “This is beautiful!”

Haymitch wants to play his part, to smile and admire the craftsmanship, but he can’t move. He can barely breathe.

Y/N carefully seats her son on the horse, keeping hold as he begins to rock. Drawing the camera away from Haymitch, to a tight shot of the birthday boy.

‘Oh, Horn of Plenty. One Horn of Plenty for us all. And when you raise the cry, the brave shall heed the call, and we should never falther. One Horn of Plenty for us all.’

The anthem ends only to begin again.

Everest babbles, toying with the horse’s mane.

“He loves it!” Y/N rejoices, and through the camera’s speaker she can hear similar applause in the Capitol.

“Ahhaha! We are so pleased to hear that.” Caesar’s voice booms through the camera speaker. “As much as we hate to see you go, I’m afraid it’s time for our next segment.”

“Of course, we understand, Caesar.” Y/N says. “Thank you all for your generosity and for celebrating Everest’s birthday with us!” She waves. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, bye.” The little boy coos.

“Bye, bye!” Caesar replies, tearfully.

The cameras power down and wheel themselves out the open door, leaving the birthday boy and his family.

“Get him off that horse.” Haymitch demands, slamming the front door closed and turning the lock.

“Why?” Y/N’s father laughs, “surely we don’t need to be so strict about bedtime. It’s my grandson’s birthday.”

“Dad,” Y/N whispers, taking Everest back into her arms. “It’s been a long day.”

“Haymitch?” Madge waves a hand in front of his glossy eyes. “Are you ok?”

“I need a minute, Maysilee.” Shit. Fuck. “Madge. I’m sorry. I meant Madge.”

Too late. Y/N’s mother bursts into tears, clutching at her head.

Madge’s face crumples, “it’s ok, Haymitch. I know you didn’t mean to.” This happens a lot, not with Haymitch, but her mother. Maysilee or Merrilee. I’m whoever you want me to be.

He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“They took them all, they took them!”

“Melodiee, please my love.” Y/N’s father sighs, stepping around his daughters to his wife. “Where’s your medicine?”

With the commotion, Everest begins to cry.

“It’s ok,” Y/N forces a smile, looking down at her son. “You’re ok.”

Haymitch moves, as if in a trance toward his son. Oh my baby. My poor, sweet baby. What have I done? Can I spare you? He says nothing, caressing the back of Everest’s head. No, I fear, they will not let me spare you.

One might find humor in the fact that a rocking horse could cause a family to collapse; splintering apart on what should be a happy day.

The Undersees clear out, leaving only Haymitch, Y/N and Everest. Who still needs to be rocked to sleep, despite what the morning may bring.

Y/N sits with Everest in the rocking chair of his nursery. They’d hoped to wean him off of nursing, but tonight he is too restless. And Y/N is too tired to be in this chair any longer than necessary.

She hums and sways until the little hand fisted in her shirt releases. He’s out like a light.

Haymitch watches from the doorway as Y/N eases their son into his crib. Waiting until she closes the door to his room before speaking. “I took it to the other house.”

The ‘other house’ had once been hers. Now plagued with unwanted cameras and haunted horses.

She nods, before taking his face in her hands. “Haymitch, I know that after everything we’ve been through, things can seem worse or bigger than they are. It happens to me too. But if anything, Snow just wanted to rile you up. I don’t think the horse means anything.”

“We got thrown off the chariots. Louella died and I took her body to him using a horse that looked just like that.”

“I know,” Y/N nods, “I hear you.”

“Tributes are drawn by black horses in the parade while the anthem plays.” Haymitch snarls, “Snow wants him for the games.”

“Then we have eleven years to change his mind.”

“Beetee had twelve.” Haymitch’s heart is beating itself out of his chest. “We’re raising a lamb for the slaughter.”

“No,” Y/N stops him. “No we’re not.” She passes her thumb over his cheek. “We can learn from Beetee. We’re gonna play our parts, we’re gonna do whatever Snow says.”

Haymitch knows he should object, this isn’t what Y/N wants. She longs to be wild and free, to storm the Capitol, guns blazing. But he needs her, like air, to breathe. “It’s too late, Y/N. He knows.”

“He knows what?” Y/N breathes.

“That I love-” Haymitch tries to stop it, to stuff the words back down, but he can’t. “You! I love you and he knows.”

“Oh, Haymitch.”

He presses a hand to his mouth to contain the unbidden sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around him. “I love you too.”

He clings to her, as though she will slip right through his fingers. “I love-” he wants to tell her a hundred, thousand times, but the words burn, like acid in his throat.

“I know,” Y/N strokes his hair, the same color as their son’s. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

He holds her and weeps. For his Pa, Ma and Sid. For Maysilee and Louella and Lou Lou. For Wyatt and Ampert. And for Beetee, who surely lives in unimaginable pain. For Lenore Dove, who despite her own untimely death, surely sent him an angel. “Everyone I love is dead; except for you and that little boy. Everyone I love.”

“I’m so sorry, Haymitch.” Y/N buries her face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. Kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, doing everything she can to ease his pain. “So sorry.”

Even she can’t stop it. He is broken, defeated and tired. I cannot lose you.

“We’ll be alright.” Y/N promises, “I’ll do what it takes to stay right here with you and keep Everest safe.”

He brings her impossibly closer. I cannot lose Everest. “He’s ours.”

“It’s like you’ve always said, if we make the Capitol fall in love with him, they won’t be eager to watch him fight to the death.” Y/N believes that, she has to.

She’s right, he knows she is. But he’s at the point of no return, words cannot calm him.

“Here,” Y/N snakes a hand between them to unbutton his pants. She knows it is wrong, to comfort him this way. To place a bandage over a bullet wound but she can’t stand his tears. Or the sound of his ragged breathing, cannot bear the thought of him in any kind of pain.

Haymitch helps her shuck his pants down around his ankles, knowing they stand no chance of making it to the bed.

“Ask me again.” Y/N pants, against his mouth. Gentle fingers find the waistband of her panties, forcing them to the ground.

“What?” Haymitch can’t think of anything beyond shoving himself inside her, as deep as he possibly can, on the hallway floor.

“It’s real,” Y/N gasps, welcoming the feel of his length stretching her. “Ask me again.”

“I wanted to do something special.” Not now, within an inch of losing his mind.

“This is special,” Y/N assures him. “Ask me again, I want to be your wife.” If we’re running out of time…I want to be your wife.

“Marry me.” Haymitch says, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Marry me and you’ll never be alone. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours. I want to be your husband.” He admits, “I want you to be my wife. Marry me.”

“Yes.” Y/N nods.

Haymitch kisses the side of her face, the corner of her mouth, relishing her little whimpers. Rutting against her harder, faster, until he feels the familiar flutter of her walls around him. Milking him dry.

Y/N sighs contently as Haymitch’s arms give out and he rests his full weight against her.

“I wanna do a toasting.” Haymitch tells her.

Y/N yawns. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, angel,” he smiles, “tomorrow.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch wakes to the sound of Everest fussing in his crib. The noise used to send him sprinting from bed, to see what danger had befallen his son, but he knows better now.

“Sometimes babies cry, Haymitch.” Y/N reminds him, “he’s alright. Just wants a clean diaper and milk. Or to be held for a while; he’ll calm right down.”

Haymitch sits up, stretching both arms above his head. Y/N is sound asleep beside him. He presses a kiss to her head before padding down to their son’s room.

Everest leans against the pristine, white slats of his crib. Peeking out to see who’s come to his rescue. “Dada.”

Haymitch grins. “Good morning.”

Everest squeals as he’s lifted from the confines of his bed.

“Well, kid, I’ve got bad news.”

Everest babbles, shaking about the rattle laid beside him on the changing table.

Haymitch tosses the soiled diaper into the waste basket. “Your mama is still sleeping and we need eggs to make breakfast.”

“Mamamamama.”

“Which means we have to raid one of those wild goose nests outback.”

Everest only smiles as his father dresses him for the day.

“They don’t like me very much, so I’m hoping to distract them with your cuteness.” Haymitch tells him. “Not sure how well it’ll work, given that you look like me and all, but it’s worth a shot.”

[clockwayswrites]

Mx. Minx: ch2 p3

You all voted yesterday, so Minx is back! masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

Danny pushed the shirt up and off in one motion. There was the sharp hiss of a breath. Jason closed his eyes.

“Oh Boss, they really did a number, didn’t they?” Danny crooned.

“Sometimes it’s easier to take a hit than dodge,” Jason replied.

“I know.”

Jason hated that Danny knew.

“I’ve got some amazing bruise cream though,” Danny continued. “And luckily none of these have split so we can just do that. Sorry that it’s going to be a bit cold, but I’ll warm it up if I can.”

Jason hummed to show that he heard, but he didn’t talk. He was too afraid that if he talked, he would break the spell in place that was keeping Danny from mentioning all the other scars that lined Jason’s body. He heard a jar open, Danny moving, and then cool cream and hands pressed against his sides. A shudder of a shiver ran through him and then relief. Jason sighed and let his head drop back against the couch.

“Told you it was good,” Danny said smugly. “I took a recipe that another working girl had and tweaked it this through a lot of trial and error. Next time I make some, I’ll make you up a pot too.”

“I won’t turn that down.” Jason wondered if he could even get the recipe. It beat the stuff in the Batcave, which was really saying something, and easily beat the stuff Jason used when he hadn’t raided a Bat safe house recently.

“That’s because you’re not an idiot,” Danny said. “At least not most of the time.”

Jason gave an incredulous little snort. He got no respect in his own damn area.

Just about every other inch of his torso had been dealt with when Danny’s hands finally touched the autopsy scar. Jason flinched. He couldn’t help it.

No one touched it.

“Does this still hurt?” Danny asked, which was an easier question than any of the ones that Jason had been fearing.

“Only in my head,” Jason answered too honestly.

“Okay.” Danny leaned back and started to clean up. “I don’t have anything that will fit you, so you’ll have to go shirtless or put your old one on. If you leave it off, I can toss it in the wash.”

Jason finally opened his eyes and blinked up at the hideous popcorn ceiling and the pink neon like that raked across it. “Wash it, I guess, if you have a dryer too.”

“Yep. First big splurge was to get the units put in,” Danny said. “They’re stuffed in the kitchen, but at least I have them, you know?”

Jason did. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Open up the blue thing, it’s a pill container. Everything’s labeled so take some pain meds, okay?” Danny ordered.

The trash and Jason’s shirt went to the kitchen while Jason did as he was told and tossed back some Advil along more of the drink. Again, Jason was left feeling weird about nudity. He didn’t mind at all being shirtless, other than his scar being out, but there was something oddly intimate about it there in Danny’s apartment.

“Will you be ready to eat or do you need to sit a bit?” Danny asked, interrupting Jason’s thoughts.

Jason shook his head. “No, food would be good. Can I help get it ready?”

Danny tilted his head before shrugging. “Sure. Cabinet to the left of the sink there’s the bowls and stuff. Silverware is in the drawer. You can missing the serving spoons on the counter.”

“Got it,” Jason said and headed through the opening to the kitchen.

It was a tiny room. Two walls were taken up by the cabinets and appliances. Danny’s table, which had only two chairs, was pushed into the corner against the same wall as the door. The only window was over the sink. Despite that, the room felt almost blindingly bright with the pastel pink cabinets, blond butcher block counters, and minty walls.

Or maybe it was the discoball that hung over table that made things blinding.

(Jason tried not to be too distracted by it, he had a job to do.)

Everything was right were Danny had said it would be and he indeed could not miss the old ceramic pot crammed full of spatulas, serving spoons, and the like, so Jason got everything out before he opened the rice cooker to check if it was done. It seemed good enough, so he made a bed of it in the bottom of the bowls. The lid to the crockpot came off next and the small space filled with the smell of spices, meat, stewed vegetables.

“Not bad for barely any work, is it?” Danny asked as he appeared in the kitchen.

“Pretty damn amazing,” Jason corrected as he spooned the goulash like mix over the rice.

“I have water, tea, or some craft beers,” Danny said, arm resting on the fridge door as he frowned into it.

“Water’s fine.”

“Ice?”

“Nah.”

It took a bit of shuffling around each other to get everything and themselves to the table, but nothing spilled so Jason figured it worked. And the food was damn good.

“Thanks,” Jason said, head bent over his bowl. Thanks for the help. The food. The meds. Thanks for caring.

“Anytime, Hood, anytime.”

[honoredalone]

𐙚 I’D RATHER BE KISSING YOUR WAIST

❝ move slow, i don’t wanna get in your way. well the words in your mouth sound cool but i’d rather be kissin’ your waist ❞ keep it up - chase atlantic

♡ gojo satoru is the strongest, but that didn’t leave him without his scars. internal and external. the biggest scar making him shy away, but that didn’t stop you from loving it.

content: talk of scars, self doubt, negative thoughts, sad baby satoru, slight angst, tooth rotting sweetness

heavily inspired by @colonelarr0w, “tracing satoru’s scar”. go check out their works!! they’re amazing, so go support!!

it’s ugly, satoru thinks it’s the most hideous thing on his body. the gross texture, weird color and the memories behind it. the scar circling his waist makes him sick to look at. everyone knows how confident satoru is, well how could he not be? he’s the strongest after all, but even the strongest has his moments of weakness and the scar is just a permanent reminder of just that. he resents himself for it though he’s only human.

“what’re you doin’ there sweet girl?” his voice is raspy and deep from fatigue, a long day of teaching at jujutsu tech will do it to you but he always looks forward to this time of day. when he can lay in bed with you, cuddled into your warmth, his hand caressing the small of your back lovingly. your hand drifting down his torso above his black t-shirt. he didn’t usually wear t-shirts to bed but after the fight he could barely look at his own body without being ashamed so naturally he hid is body not only from himself but from you too. he knew you wouldn’t be disgusted by something so trivial but he couldn’t heal the insecurity that leaked into his brain.

“nothin’ ‘ru just wanna love you.” you whispered, your head resting on his toned chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. your fingers slowly moving to the hem on his shirt. you didn’t miss the way his stomach clenched when your warm hand drifted under his shirt. “you’re so handsome.”

“baby, wait.” satoru almost whines as your fingers feather over the ragged skin. his other hand softly holding your much smaller wrist. you heard the way his heartbeat sped up, the way his breathing became uneven.

“satoru, love.” you sat up, your eyes connecting with his. you hated seeing him so broken over something so small, something that you didn’t care about. nothing about the scar that decorated his beautiful pale skin deterred you away from him whatsoever, he’s your satoru.

“please.” he didn’t know what he meant by that but his eyebrows furrowed together, crystal eyes filling with tears. “it’s not pretty. it’s ugly.” he quietly admits, hand still wrapped around your wrist while the other still sits at the small of your back, thumb caressing you so tenderly. it upset you he thought about himself like that, it crushed your heart. he couldn’t help the fact that the wound scarred and it wasn’t his fault that it made him self conscious but you wanted to show him that it, of course, could never change how you felt about him.

you move to sit on his lap, his hands going limp and laying flat on the plush covers before they find your waist, squeezing your sides affectionately. looking at him for silent permission to push up his shirt slightly, he only looks at you like a kicked puppy before giving you a tense nod. you slowly push up his shirt, just blow his chest. his torso as gorgeous as always, fair skin strong and smooth. he was beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful. he took your breath away everytime, before and after the wound. you rest your hands onto the scar, thumbs softly rubbing the rough skin. his breath shook, he closed his eyes to prevent tears cascading down his blushed cheeks.

“you’re so handsome satoru.” your voice soft, melting over him like honey. he could just sob, he was barely keeping it together when he felt your warm breath fan over the wounded skin. “my pretty boy. so beautiful.” you place soft kisses, all over. his hands shook on your sides as his fingers tighten attempting to dampen his nerves. his words were stuck in his throat, he could barely formulate a sentence in his head because what could he say. open mouthed kisses making his stomach warm and tickle slightly, making his head spin.

“fuck, sweet girl. i love you. love you ‘s much.” his words wavered as he spoke, his mind nearly blank. kissing up from his waist, to right below his chest he sits up, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. he looks at you so sweetly, almost defeated. his arms retracting from around you to the neckline of his black shirt, slowly taking it off and discarding it to the side and looking over your face again. he knew that he couldn’t fully look at his scar and not feel badly but he could learn to like it, just because you did.

[jessicas-pi]

So, given that I actually have an AU where Anakin and Ahsoka secretly co-authoring a trashy obitine novel is a major plot point, it seemed pretty obvious to me what the setting was gonna have to be for my fic for @sabezraweek's Sabezra Day! I had it all planned out. It was gonna be set in this hilarious No-Order-66 AU, and Luke and Leia and Mara and Kata and Shin were all Ezra's friends in the Jedi Temple and they all totally shipped sabezra and went so far as to write a play based on the Trashy Obitine Novel for the Bi-Annual Jedi Theater Night as an excuse to make sabine and ezra play the leads (and therefore kiss) and...

...well, needless to say, I did not come anywhere near to finishing that fic. So instead, here's a bit of a really old WIP, from an entirely different AU, wherein Sabine and Ezra watch (a holofilm adaptation of) Anakin And Ahsoka's Top Secret Trashy Obitine Novel! (Yeah, the Trashy Obitine Novel is a running gag in my fics.)

------

Ezra sits with his knees pulled up to his chest as he waits for Sabine to get the holoprojector set up.

He’s wearing his dumb Loth-cat pajamas again. He has others, but it’s pretty much tradition by now. He wears the Loth-cat onesie, she wears her hideous green-and-purple pajamas with glow-in-the-dark stars, he’s the one to gather the blankets for the fort while she gets the snacks, they always take a selfie… they have a lot of traditions for Movie Night.

It’s a whole thing now. Once every month, they have a not-sleepover in her room. (They’ve only had six so far, but he hopes this is a tradition that will last until they’re old and pruney.) It’s awesome, because for that single night, they get to be just a couple of goofy kids staying up until exactly 3am. They forget about the Rebellion and about the Empire and about everything they lost and just have fun.

That’s turning out to be a little harder than usual for Ezra today, though.

It’s Empire Day.

It’s been nine years since he lost his family. They’re gone; gone and dead, and he knows that now. But the ache remains, and he’d been prepared to stay shut up in his room all night, except Sabine barged in and threatened to throw him over her shoulder and carry him fireman-style to the blanket fort if he didn’t get moving already.

Ezra knows she’s trying to make light of it all, but he can’t help noticing the worried glances she keeps giving him. In the end, it’s more for her sake than for his own that he decides he just won’t think about it anymore tonight.

So he thinks about something else.

The story behind tonight’s holo is pretty wild. Hera sent the rest of the crew on a supply run into a market town a week ago, and Ezra… okay, maybe he got a little distracted, because he ended up wandering into a spooky old secondhand shop run by a guy (looking back on it, Ezra is 99% sure he was a Jedi) and his creepy wife, where he saw a holofilm case with Mando’a writing—he couldn’t read it, but he could recognize the letters—on it, and as it turned out, not only was it a Mandalorian holofilm, it was also a very very banned Mandalorian holofilm based on a book, and the book was based on, supposedly, a true story. The maybe-Jedi claimed to have known the real-life version of the male lead of the story.

(Honestly? Ezra believes him.)

Anyway, he bought the holo for Sabine (for no reason, really, except maybe a little bit because it would make her smile), and he did not expect the reaction he got (which was her nearly falling over from laughing so hard.) Then she told him that she had read the book and it was just completely terrible, we’re totally watching this next movie night.

Sabine nudges him over and sits down next to him.

“What do I need to know about this?” he asks, as the beginning credits start to appear.

“It’s a Mandalorian holodrama called Tigaanur Te Ka’ra. It’s very loosely based on a novel written during the Clone Wars. Apparently, the film was pretty controversial, because it was a more traditional Mandalorian studio that made it, but a couple of the heroes in this are Jedi. Which is also why I’ve never been able to get my hands on it. I’ve heard it was different—better, than the book.” She makes a face. “It couldn’t be worse. I couldn’t get through Chapter 39. I had to skip it.”

Ezra grins at her. “I didn’t know you liked novels.”

“Guilty indulgence. I bought Touch The Stars because the Mandalorian main character was named Sabine, and she had Jedi friends.”

He breaks into a grin. “Hey, like us?”

Sabine turns her head and stares at him with exaggerated vacancy in her eyes, like she’s having flashbacks or envisioning something horrible, and says distinctly: “There were a few differences.”

He gets enough of the vibes of her tone to understand more or less what she’s hinting at.

“You, uh. You don’t need to elaborate.”

“I won’t.”

He clears his throat awkwardly. “So, is this going to have, um…”

“A racy scene that Kanan or Hera will inevitably walk in on even though it’s only twenty seconds long and the entire rest of the holo is nothing they’d blink twice at?” Sabine offers, filling in the awkward blank.

“Yeah.”

“Heck no. Mandalorian holodramas don’t even usually have kissing. We Mandos show affection by going to war at each others’ sides, and sometimes bonking our heads together.”

Then the holo starts, and it occurs to Ezra that he doesn’t speak any Mando’a and this film has no subtitles.

“What’s happening?” he whispers as the opening scene plays out, showing a bunch of Mandalorians sitting around a table. (Ominous music plays whenever one of them talks, and a mysterious sort of wind-chime motif follows a different one around. Then there’s a heroic melody for a third Mandalorian. Villain, love interest, hero, Ezra decides.)

“Peace conference. Never ends well.”

Sure enough, about three seconds after Sabine says that, Bad Guy Mando whips out a blaster and starts shooting. The Wind Chime Mando jumps up on the table and starts swinging a lightsaber—the Jedi in disguise?

The fight scene lengthens on gratuitously, until finally Wind Chimes grabs Hero and does a jump that Ezra is pretty sure even a Jedi Master couldn’t pull off that carries them out through the stained-glass ceiling.

They escape, and then they stop, and argue, and argue, and argue more. Finally, Wind Chimes rips off her helmet to yell at Hero better, and Ezra notes that she looks a little ragged. Her curly red hair is falling out of its braid, and her face is sweaty-looking. (She’s also stunningly gorgeous, because of course she is. But she is worse for the wear, which is surprisingly realistic for a holodrama.)

Ezra glances over at Sabine and is surprised to see that she’s sitting forward a little, watching with rapt attention. She can understand the dialogue and he can’t, which explains some of it, but she looks invested.

The movie continues on for another two hours—he wonders just how long Mandalorian holodramas are, because they’re not even close to coming to a plot resolution—and from what Ezra can put together, the story goes something like this:

Beni is the name of the red-haired lady. She’s a Jedi Padawan who disguised herself as a Mandalorian to attend the peace conference for… some reason. She rescued Tian, aka Hero Mandalorian, and Beni, Tian, and Beni’s Jedi Master, Quinn, are traveling to an important place that they have to get to so they can do something important.

There’s also been, like, six musical numbers.

Yeah, Ezra’s not really sure what’s going on anymore.

[milfs69420]

You Belong With Me - Part 1

Natasha ran from her home country when she was 18, and has since been working at a stripclub in NYC. One night she spots a woman who seems all too familiar and turns out to be her childhood lover. While getting to know each other all over again, they discover new truths and old lies.

- Natasha Romanoff x Katya Petrova - Wordcount: 3K - Warnings: none I think - A/N: Sooooo, I wrote a fanfic about a fanfic. This stripclub AU idea has been floating around for a while, but I finally managed to get a part done. Thank you @katyaromanoffpetrova for letting me borrow your babies🫶 I hope I did them justice. If you're curious about who Katya is, check out the forgotten ghost series here!

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

The bright light above the mirror casts its hideous yellow hue down on Natasha’s face. She could hardly tell the shades of her various lipsticks apart in this setting. Some days she hardly bothered with her makeup, the dark circles around her eyes were far too visible for any concealer to hide. Today though, something told her to put in some extra effort. Who, or what, was telling her, she didn’t know. Very few things harnessed the power to make Natasha Romanoff listen, but she would never go against her intuition.

The redhead stepped out of the dressing room and into the dimly lit hallway. After sitting under that bright light for so long she had to squint her eyes to see where she was going. She hardly needed the ability to see here at all. Natasha had walked this very path so many times that she was doing it on auto-pilot by now. She knew every crease in the dirty, stained carpet. She knew exactly where to place her heel adorned feet as she made her way to the stage area.

Natasha liked dancing, loved it even. As a little girl in Russia she had danced nearly every single day. Even the extremely strict ballet teacher hadn’t been able to break her and her passion for letting the rhythm guide her body. Of course, this wasn’t the type of dancing career she had imagined for herself while growing up, but it’s what paid her bills and kept her alive.

Moving, or rather, running away to another country when she had just turned eighteen hadn’t been easy, and it certainly hadn’t been cheap. So when she met Clint, her best friend and one of the bartenders at the club, she took the opportunity she was offered and started working there as one of the dancers. Originally it had been a temporary solution, just to get her on her feet in this new life. However, she quickly realised these people were much more than just coworkers, they’d become her found family before she even realised it.

So here she was, in her high heels and the skimpy bits of fabric you could hardly call clothing. She heard the music start and let her body take over from her brain, as she made her way to the centre of the stage, complete with pole and all, she took a quick and subtle look at the crowd. At first glance it was the same as every other night, young guys who’d just gotten their paycheques, middle aged men who most likely told their wives they’re working late, and the same old men smoking cigars and eyeing her up.

But as she was about to shut her brain off and let her limbs move themselves, she spotted a woman. All alone and mysterious in the darkest corner of the club, with what looked like a martini in her hand. Thanks to the darkness, Natasha couldn’t make out any clear features. All she could see was dark hair, seemingly brown but she wasn’t certain. And all that she felt was an overwhelming amount of familiarity, like she hadn’t only seen this woman before, but like she knew her. Natasha could not see the woman’s eyes in the darkness, but she knew they were focused on her.

Whether she meant to or not, Natasha’s dance was focused on this woman now. If she looked into the crowd at all, she looked at her. She put some extra effort and seductiveness into her movements, and she enjoyed doing it. Dancing for men whose attention she hardly wanted in the first place was just a job, and not one she was always happy to do. But this woman brought out her true passion for dancing, motivated her to truly let the rhythm guide her and just enjoy the moment.

When the redhead finished her dance, she left the stage almost immediately and made her way towards that dark corner. The crowd didn’t let her through nearly as fast as she wanted, and she was disappointed to find the seat empty when she finally got there. If this had been any random person, Natasha would’ve assumed they got flustered by just being in the club and ran. However, something told her that wasn’t the case here. Her mood now having been ruined by not even catching a glimpse of the woman, she didn’t feel the need to stick around.

She went to the backstage area, walked that barely lit hallway again until she reached the door to the stairs. She was one of three people living above the club. Her, Clint and Maria each had their own spaces and enough privacy to not be bothered by each other, they did however share a kitchen together. The rent was incredibly cheap due to their employment and it was a nice spot in the city as well. Unbeknownst to their boss, Fury, Natasha had a dark haired, four legged roommate upstairs.

She found Liho in the street when she was still a kitten. She was looking about as miserable and hopeless as the redhead was feeling at the time, so the only logical option was obviously to take her home. Part of Natasha had been afraid that the cat would abandon her over time, but Liho seemed better than the humans who’d let the woman down time and time again.

That night, sleep did not come easy to Natasha. She overanalysed everything she saw, or didn’t see of the mysterious woman. For some unknown reason, she was a hundred percent sure that she knew this person. When or how they met, she didn’t know, but she was certain that they had.

………

Every night that she was on stage, Natasha looked at that corner, hoping to see the person who’d been keeping her up for weeks now. She’d almost lost hope that she would see her again at all, until today. As the redhead went through her entry routine on stage, she spotted that mystery person in the corner. Before she could stop it, the slightest smirk appeared on her face.

You see, Natasha had spent her sleepless nights coming up with a plan to prevent this woman from escaping again before she could truly see her. So she made her way to the front of the stage, which had stairs connected to it, and she went into the audience. Now obviously she couldn’t just walk straight to the corner, so as she moved through the various seating arrangements, she stopped a few times. She danced at some tables and gave some extra attention to men who seemed well off enough to throw her some extra dollar bills, until she finally approached that corner.

The lighting in the club focused on Natasha, and therefore started lighting up this usually dark area. As she moved closer, the redhead could see the woman more clearly by the second. The first thing that got her attention wasn’t the clothing that she was wearing, but rather the skin left exposed by it. Tattoos that Natasha couldn’t make out quite clear enough yet, decorated smooth skin as far as she could see. She found herself imagining how many more of those she could find underneath the black slacks and white dress shirt combination. The black blazer had been hung over the chair, and her white sleeves had been rolled up. As her eyes made their way upwards, she didn’t fail to notice the amount of buttons that had been undone on the shirt, before finally getting a look at the woman’s face

Brown, shoulder length hair surrounded what may just be the most gorgeous face she’d seen in a long time, if not her whole life. Piercing blue eyes had locked onto her green ones as soon as she’d left the stage, and hadn’t looked away since. Now, Natasha was by no means shy or introverted, but she found a surprising amount of difficulty just to hold eye contact. The woman however, seemed to radiate nothing but confidence.

Where most, if not all, men would be eyeing her up like a piece of meat by now, she found what seemed an awful lot like admiration in the brunette’s eyes. She was definitely staring at Natasha, but in an oddly respectful manner. There wasn’t just lust in her eyes, she seemed enticed by the way the redhead moved her body. The way this woman was looking at her made Natasha feel good. It made her feel sexy in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, and it filled her with newfound confidence.

Since the brunette was situated in a single chair and not in one of the booths they had in the club, Natasha took the opportunity to circle around her before settling in front of the chair. As the redhead moved her body to the music, the woman uncrossed and opened up her legs in a swift, but elegant, movement. Natasha took this as an invite to get closer, and as she did so she bent over just enough for her mouth to end up near this woman’s ear.

“Are you planning on running away again, darling?”

As she moved back to stand up straight again, she held eye contact with the brunette and found a smirk adorning that mesmerising face. Natasha could’ve, and had, imagined many different responses to her question. She’d thought about it far more than she should have probably. However, what came out of the woman’s mouth was far from anything she had expected.

“I think I’ll stay this time, I’ve missed seeing your face, Natalia.”

Shock and confusion overtook the redhead, and it was a good thing her performance time had ended at this moment. The spotlight went out as she made one last gesture to the crowd before turning around to face the woman again, what she found was that same smirk still on her face. Now though, Natasha didn’t think about how attractive that face was, she only focused on how the hell this person knew a name she had left behind all those years ago.

“How do you know that?” Was the first of many questions she wanted to ask, but for now it was the most important one. She recognised the features of the brunette’s face, but had a feeling that the time they knew each other was far in the past. What was starting to get to her though, was the smugness all over the face opposite of her. She seemed to know nothing about the person in front of her, who seemed to know a whole lot about Natasha.

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” The brunette started to get on her nerves now, Natasha wasn’t in the mood for any of these games, she wanted answers right now. “Am I supposed to recognise you? You seem to think you’re quite memorable.” At that, the woman smiled, not a smirk, no smug looks, a genuine smile.

“I thought people always remembered their first kiss.”

Now seemed like a great moment for Natasha to sit down in the chair opposite of the brunette, mainly because the shock of this all gave her some difficulty with standing up straight. “Katariina?” She couldn’t find the right words to say, so instead opted for just her name. She hadn’t seen that gorgeous face since they were both teenagers, so it made sense she didn’t recognise her right away, so many years later. Now that she knew though, she couldn’t stop the flood of memories that came over her.

Natasha had moved around Russia far more than she would’ve liked when she was a kid. Her mother had passed away when she was a baby, and her father just left her on the doorstep of the nearest orphanage. Little Natasha was far too rebellious for her own good, and this resulted in being kicked out of foster homes time after time again. The longest she ever lasted was a little over a year, and it wasn’t the family she was staying with that got her through that time. No, it was that beautiful face she found looking back at her now.

“It’s just Katya now actually, but good to know you remember, Natalia.” And remember, she did. She recalled the first time that she saw Katya, her foster parents quickly tugged her the other way and told her not to play with the girl, to never even go near the huge house on the other side of the street. But something about her had already intrigued Natasha, even if she had only seen her for just a second. From that moment on, all that she wanted to do was get to know this girl. As she did so, she found that she craved to be much closer than friends were supposed to be. She wanted to know her in far more intimate ways than society deemed acceptable for them.

“It’s probably my hair. It’s not blonde anymore” Natasha looked at her, took her time to take in this new appearance. “I can see that, the ink wasn’t there either.” Now it was Katya’s turn, to take in her own appearance. Smiling, she looked back at the redhead. “I suppose you, of all people, would’ve known about any ink on my skin.” At that, Natasha couldn’t help but blush. Memories of their secret meet ups filled her head. Some nights had been spent exploring the rural areas around their town, where nobody would find them. Other nights, they explored each other instead.

While they were both enjoying this seemingly light-hearted conversation, Natasha had questions to ask. “So I guess it’s not a coincidence that you found me, is it?” Katya smiled at her now, no longer hiding behind a facade of smugness and false confidence, powerful as she was, she’d been terrified of how the redhead could’ve reacted. “No it’s not, though I’ve got to give you credit where it’s due. You didn’t make it easy to track you down.”

“So how did you manage to find me anyway?” Natasha had changed her whole identity, finding her was supposed to be nearly impossible. “I have my ways.” Is all that the brunette gave her.

“Still being mysterious, I see. Nice to know you didn’t change too much.” She hadn’t meant to let that out as angrily as it did, but this was a lot to handle.

“I couldn’t afford to tell you anything back then, it would’ve put both of our lives at risk, Natalia.”

“And you still can’t tell me now?” For some reason, Natasha didn’t feel the need to correct the brunette when she used her old name. She was sure that Katya knew her new identity anyway, but simply chose not to acknowledge it. Plus, she didn’t mind the way her name sounded, rolling off of her childhood lover’s tongue.

“I could, and I might, but this isn’t the time or place. I’m sure you understand that, don’t you?”

“So when and where do I have to be, to get some answers out of you?” Again, Katya smiled at her, and this time Natasha couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she looked as she did so. It seemed as if that magical charm that had intrigued her when they were teens, was still there all these years later.

“You seem quite eager to spend more time with me milaya(милая).” To hear that term of endearment coming from the brunette, seemed to bring back far more than just memories. Natasha felt as if her stomach did a backflip as soon as the word reached her ears. It shouldn’t be that easy, for Katya to make her feel anything at all after all this time. But neither of them could deny that they had a special connection, one that ran far deeper than just childhood love.

“I’m just eager to know how you found me, and why you wanted to in the first place.”

Katya just looked at her, a more serious expression on her face now. She seemed to be taking in every detail of Natasha’s appearance, studying her so attentively that the redhead started feeling shy under her gaze. Before she realised what was happening, Katya started getting up. She put on her jacket and Natasha would never admit how much she hated seeing all that skin being covered up. Right as the brunette was about to walk away, she turned around one last time.

“Saturday night, nine PM, be ready and wait outside. I’ll have a car pick you up.”

With that, Katya walked towards the exit, leaving Natasha to gather her thoughts as she made her way upstairs. The rest of the night was spent thinking about Katya, and that damn smile of hers. The brunette was the only person she’d met in their home country, who didn’t hurt her. The only person who made her feel like life may not be all that bad when you have someone to share it with. Leaving that town had been one of the most painful things she’d experienced, and she’s been through a lot. Being forced to leave the only person she had truly loved and felt connected to up until then had felt like someone ripped apart her heart. The worst part was that she wasn’t given a reason, her foster parents seemed to have decided overnight not to want her anymore.

She’d since learned to live with all the abandonment she’s had to go through, and she’s worked on becoming a better person ever since she left her home country. While she was well aware that this was much too early to think about having Katya in her life at all, she couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of getting to know her again.

That night, Natasha went to sleep feeling hopeful. Maybe she would’t end up alone, doing this job, after all.

[aztarion]

10, 14, and 38 😌

ezra im so sorry i could only cut this down to 1.4k. literally nobody has to read this im insane. but thank you ily <33333

10. Describe their first date.

their relationship begins almost immediately after sol’s embrace sometime in 2000, but in my hc it isn’t until the summer of 2001 that they start going on what could be considered actual dates — you know like moments where they intentionally set aside the time to connect/flirt/explore, beyond their obligations to the Camarilla and finding their footing as Kindred, nailing a routine, plus all that critical initial schooling julian has to impart on sol. everything’s pretty casual and low-key because their financial situation isn’t great at the time and they are literally college age and way into dumb shit. also — fledgling nobodies.

i’m cheating like always and listing three because they touch on different things that i really like about them.. *locks the door with everyone inside*

their first official date is at an arcade in downtown Tucson — a tiny neon-lit haven of boops and beeps and “fuck”’s, open until 2AM. to summarize there is some very competitive air hockey — (did he just celerity that shit to win?) — and some very flirty resident evil co-op. i made them have a slightly more serious back-and-forth playing a racing game because im a freak for allusions and wanted to mirror a conversation that can happen later on in night road depending on choices. finally, they turn in their tickets and julian, true to form, picks out a pair of those hideous green luminescent vampire teeth as one of his prizes second date is not long after that, in the late summer: an all-night rave at a small college town out in the desert. other kindred are present here too. it’s sensory overload, but mostly they’re in their own world. there’s less talking/banter but it’s still fun i think; a little sexier and with visceral rhythm, while attempting a more classically vtm atmosphere. i say that and then at one point they’re out of the way, near strobe lights and julian whips out the glowing green arcade fangs :/ third date is in the late fall, more subdued and i suppose conventionally romantic in comparison to the first two (if blood bags squeezed into soda cans can be romantic), which is when they drive out to and wander on foot up through the grounds of Kitt Peak National Observatory, dodging a couple guards and staff after dark, for a sneaky vampire picnic. this date is quieter and more introspective for both; they talk about sol turning out to be caitiff here and wonder what happened during the embrace, and julian opens up a little about his own sire back in malaysia. it’s a nice one 🙂‍↕️

from then on all the way through to the late 2000s, whenever their camarilla duties and their own hunger were satisfied for the night—or when they had a rare evening free—they’d find ways to carve out moments of connection or intimacy. usually they’d venture into surrounding towns, sneak into late-night movie theatres or catch small gigs on campuses. 

more often though, i imagine their nights ended on the roof of their trailer, desert stretching out around them and the sunrise still hours away. julian would bring his laptop outside, playing music or tinkering with some hack or project. sol would sit beside him, head sometimes resting on his shoulder as they listened to whatever playlist he’d put together. he might show her something ridiculous he found online — a bonkers conspiracy theory forum, a stupid meme, or bc it’s the early 2000s, a video of cats doing backflips or something.

im so staunch in this hc and i think it’s fun because bloodlines’ ‘deb of night’ was inspired by this radio show, but i KNOW julian sim was calling into Coast to Coast AM with Art Bell. that motherfucker was spinning absurd supernatural bullshit with a completely straight face, claiming to be a vampire hunter or a time traveler. he’s sitting there describing in great bogus detail encounters with werewolves and ancient curses and a big desert-dwelling monster that lives under the Sonoran and eats immigrants, which at that sol probably stops laughing to snatch the phone and end the call 😭 ok they make me sick.

also for reference

14. How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

both have kind of intense, passionate personalities in opposite directions so there’s a lot of yinyang-ing imo

julian is big on his vision and ideals with a relentless focus on the future and his work – something which concerns sol. sol is infinitely more introspective and rational, intuitive and emotionally vulnerable of the two — something julian can find overwhelming.

for sol, julian brings more excitement and nuance into her sometimes overly pliant and “sheeple” mindset, and can pull her out of that obnoxious self-sacrificing schtick (get off the cross ladykinssss). likewise, julian tends to get tunnel vision, be callous or unintentionally cruel, and can end up way out of his depth — he benefits from having someone around who will yank him out of his own ass, because despite being the more logical of the two he’s not always thinking reasonably or clearly. this bitch of a neonate just has a whole lot of audacity and plans on top of plans and more plans.

which, yes, julian is good at ideas and putting them into action, and can be charming and funny, is this Machiavellian motherfucker in a gamer chair, but he’s not the most sensitive with emotions and people. sol has superior emotional intelligence and is definitely better at ingratiating herself with others; at being supportive and a chameleon and a mediator; at knowing when to curl up in a palm, and acknowledging/dealing with uglier feelings in general — a big proponent to her being used for 2100X in terms of gently interweaving kindred and kine enough that the Masquerade becomes obsolete — but in these things she struggles to find an identity, place, purpose. julian pushes her to be a little more free, a little more assertive, to have agency and think for herself and to think even bigger than that. which is ironic considering what he did lmfao but he’s basically this:

sol also sees through his bravado and posturing — she’s been there from the beginning — and as much as he dislikes how she can get under his skin with that, it also brings this strange sense of acceptance, stability, understanding and belonging that he often craves (and tries not to acknowledge) and lacks outside of their relationship (especially if you take into consideration what happened between him and his sire).

a lot of their clashing comes from sol being less willing than he is to take big risks, the fact that he has a childish ego and can be emotionally dismissive and manipulative, his hypocrisy and her resentment which kind of festers alongside the love — there’s always this twisted undercurrent of vindictiveness behind sol even when things are light and good between them. but they’re drawn to each other’s contrasting traits too: julian admires sol’s emotional depth and loyalty and ability to soften his focus, while sol admires julian’s drive and confidence.

ultimately, julian’s ambition and big-picture thinking do in fact push sol to take risks and embrace freedom, while sol’s attentive and deliberate nature helps julian stay connected to the present and consider the emotional impact of his and their actions going forward

38. Who is more sexually experimental? Who’s more vanilla?

julian’s the more sexually experimental of the two, while sol would lean slightly more "vanilla"—though with a bunch of exceptions bc she’s open-minded and crazy intense, and there’s a deep bond/emotional connection between them which makes her more adventurous. she is by nature sensual and possessive and will turn intimacy pretty dark depending on her mood, which is overwhelming at times.

julian is curious, unconventional, and thrives on novelty and intellectual stimulation, with a desire to explore and push boundaries, imo that very likely includes sex. sol probably built his confidence and how comfortable he is with it specifically as a vampire a lot in the beginning; she was the one to initiate despite him telling her it wouldn’t feel the same, and she was still eager to continue this aspect of their relationship for the next decade. now he’d be the first to suggest experimenting, wild positions and dynamics, incorporating tech/toys, exploring kinks or fantasies, etc. they both have a tendency to challenge each other too.

julian’s playfulness can bring a lot of fun and excitement and some weird as fuck situations, meanwhile sol’s focus is kind of on grounding the experience, making him present and engaged (she’s never been casual in her unlife)

[murciafire]

Lady Lazarus

Jason Todd Angst

Summary: “You don’t get to die and be reborn the same. You come back, but you come back wrong. This is the price you pay for resurrection” – Nathaniel Orion

Warnings: angst, the poem is about Plath's attempts but nothing explicit

Words: >1000

Notes: The thought of Jason dying and then being resurrected often led me to think of “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath. I find that it’s even more appropriate considering that Jason’s died twice now (1988, 2024 – please let me know if I have it wrong). Since we all know that Jason reads classics, I felt that his thoughts might as well be as dramatic and poetic as seen in classic lit.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I have done it again.

There was a chipped tile in the corner of the wall where it met the smooth surface of the bathtub. My eyes would always catch it on the days I found myself lying in the bathtub, but it was so indiscernible that I didn’t think anyone else would remark it. (Not that I would care if anyone did, nor did anyone visit me, nor did I want anyone to). It was like a scar hidden under a chin that wouldn’t be evident until you tilted your face to where God should be (but perhaps in His absence, you could stare at the sun and the rays would make the sliver of cut skin silver, brilliant and hideous).

But such a break, where it was so insignificant, would bother no one unless you knew where to look for such fractures. And I, being that I am, often find myself wandering in an agonizing game of self-loathing where I’m drawn to discovering broken things like me. Which is why I think—and when I do think these thoughts, they’re often coupled with a heaving dry chuckle—I must cover the bathroom mirror. This game, or perhaps self-torment, is one that I often lose even when I win.

I put out my cigarette on the side of the tub—I had forgotten I had lit it. My nerves were so frayed that I didn’t think nicotine could absolve me any more than drowning myself in this bathtub hoping that a self-made baptism could bring me any closer to my father. I sighed, closing my eyes while dropping the crumpled cigarette on the floor beside me. My heart beat steadily in my chest, but I was already limp like I had given up. I felt a smile curl my lips into something cruel because here I was, in rose water which I wasn’t holy enough for, but damned enough that I was swimming in my own blood.

The bathroom, I thought, was a state of purgatory where all my thoughts merged into a state of expiatory purification.  Because I was alive and somehow—“One year in every ten I manage it—”

I groaned as my bones creaked and my muscles strained as I leaned over to pull the stopper. My eyes fixated on the swirling water, taking my blood with it. I blinked a few times, looking at my hands, no longer stained but very still. As if silence was a word to describe a motion—I wasn’t sure I was breathing. But I was.

And again I find myself moving, peeling myself off the floor of the tub, stepping over the edge. A sort of walking miracle, my skin bright as a Nazi lampshade, my right foot a paperweight.

I stood in front of the mirror and in my hesitancy, I found some courage, or as if reality took form and guided my hand to rip off the towel I hung over it, so I had to face what I saw in that tile: something broken. My face a featureless, fine Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin, O my enemy. Do I terrify?—

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh the grave cave ate will be at home on me.

I smiled, my laugh hollow as I wiped my face, continuing to recite Plath. “And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty and like the cat, I have nine times to die.”

I tossed the towel onto a hook on the wall before gripping the sink to stare at myself. “This is Number Three. What a trash to annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd shoves in to see them unwrap me hand and foot—the big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies—” I pushed off the sink, throwing my hands over my face. “These are my hands. My knees. I may be skin and bone, nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.”

I slid down to my knees, my chest heaving. “The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant to last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut as a seashell. They had to call and call and pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.”

I shut my eyes, feeling my body crumple to the floor and curl into itself. Silence, I decided, was a word to describe action. Because here I was, living silently.

“Dying,” I whispered, “is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call.”

 

I rubbed my arm with my hand, my fingers brushing over scars—new and old. My body was littered with wounds, but no one could ever see the scar under my chin. Or perhaps, the one I wanted most to notice was the crack in my heart that shattered my soul.

“It’s easy enough to do it in a cell,” I muttered. “It’s easy enough to do it and stay put. It’s the theatrical. Comeback in broad day to the same place, the same face, the same brute amused shout: ‘A miracle!’”

I laughed or cried; I wasn’t sure. But air came out of my lungs and clawed at my throat to make some sort of sound so I knew I was still here, lying on the bathroom floor very much still alive. But it’s a miracle that I am, isn’t it?  That knocks me out.

There is charge. For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge. For the hearing of my heart—

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge for a word or a touch or a bit of blood or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus, I am your valuable, the pure gold baby that melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—

A cake of soap, a wedding ring, a gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer  

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.

[jinnieboosworld]

This Is So Not Fair

Hakneyeon x Female Reader

@deoboyznet @a-dream-bookmark @k-labels

Genre: RomCom, Fluff

Summary: Y/n, a rich girl gets cut off from her parents and has to start working at a street food stand. She absolutely hates her new life that is until she meets a guy named Hakneyeon who shows her that money truly doesn’t buy happiness.

Part of The MeetCute Series

Word Count: 8979

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N was in full crisis mode. It was the kind of crisis that only the truly privileged could ever experience—like a spoiled child being forced to grow up far too soon.

She sat in the back of a black town car, staring out the window at the bustling Seoul streets. The hum of the traffic and the neon lights outside only made her feel more isolated. Her world had been flipped upside down in a matter of hours.

“You’re 23, Y/N. It’s time you learned some responsibility.” Her father’s words echoed in her head, cold and dismissive. “You’re cut off. No more credit cards. No more luxury apartments. No more trust funds. You’re on your own.”

Her mother had barely spared her a glance, already preoccupied with her salad at dinner. “You’ll need to figure things out on your own, sweetheart.”

Y/N had been livid, of course. She didn’t need to work, and she certainly didn’t want to. For as long as she could remember, she had lived a life of excess—designer clothes, vacations in Bali, spa days at the finest resorts. The idea of working was so far out of her reality, it might as well have been a foreign concept.

And yet, here she was, being dropped off at a rundown street food stand in the middle of nowhere. The sign above read “Bulgogi King.” She felt like she might actually die.

The town car pulled away, leaving Y/N to stare at the tiny stand with its peeling paint and modest, no-nonsense appearance. There were plastic chairs set up in front, the smell of sizzling meat and spicy sauce wafting through the air. The thought of eating food from that stand made her stomach churn. The people around her were busy, standing in line, chatting and laughing, as if this was just another day in their humble lives.

But it wasn’t her day. It wasn’t her life.

She tugged at her stained apron, trying to adjust the oversized, hideous t-shirt that said “Bulgogi King” across the front. She was too embarrassed to even look at herself in the reflection of the glass window, her face flushed with the humiliation of it all.

This was so not fair.

“What is the meaning of all this?!” Y/N muttered under her breath. “I can’t believe they’re making me work here. I mean—this is insane. I’m the heir to the L/n Corporation. This isn’t my life!”

She groaned, staring at the man who was currently running the stand. He was casually flipping meat on the grill, unfazed by her presence, his hands moving with effortless precision.

The guy was about her age, tall and lean, his hair tousled under a cap. His posture was relaxed, like he wasn’t at all bothered by the fact that he was working behind a street food cart in the middle of this chaotic neighborhood. Y/N couldn’t help but stare, as his confidence made her feel completely out of place. How could someone just… be okay with this?

She was still too busy sulking to realize that the guy had been watching her for a while.

“Hey,” he finally spoke up, his voice calm and casual. “You’re the new girl, right?”

Y/N didn’t even look at him, her eyes trained on the ground as she crossed her arms in defiance. “I’m not staying here long. Just… dealing with a small family situation. It’s really not fair.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A small family situation?” He smiled a little. “You don’t exactly look like the type who works at a place like this.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “Well, I’m not. I’m—” She stopped herself, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. “I’m not like you.”

He just smirked, not taking offense, which irritated her more. “I’m Hakneyeon, by the way. I run this stand. I’m guessing you haven’t worked a day in your life, huh?”

“I’ve worked plenty of important things,” she snapped. “I don’t need to do this. This is beneath me.” She took a step back, her arms folded tighter. “I’m a L/n I don’t work. I just… live.”

Hakneyeon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not all about living in luxury. You’d be surprised how good it feels to work for something real.”

Y/N felt a twinge of anger at his words. “Please, don’t tell me you’re lecturing me about work. You think I want to be here? I didn’t choose this life.”

Hakneyeon shrugged. “No one chooses the circumstances they’re born into, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make the best of it.”

Y/N huffed, her pride still too big to allow herself to be humbled by some guy working a food stand. “Well, I’m not staying long. So if you could just let me get through this hell of a day without you offering unsolicited advice, I’d appreciate it.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just took the grill spatula in his hand and flipped another skewer of bulgogi onto the sizzling grill. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “But you know, you’d probably enjoy the job a lot more if you actually gave it a chance.”

Y/N felt a spark of irritation at his calmness. He was too nonchalant about this whole thing. She was miserable—didn’t he realize that?

Instead of saying anything more, she turned toward the tiny ordering counter. “Fine. I’ll just… get this over with.”

She stood there, her arms crossed tightly as she forced herself to stand still. Hakneyeon was right; she wasn’t cut out for this. Every minute that passed, she could feel herself becoming more uncomfortable.

But she wasn’t going to admit that to him. No way.

“This is so not fair,” she muttered again, more to herself than anyone else. She was not meant to be here.

Hakneyeon, however, didn’t seem fazed. “That’s what I keep hearing.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made her almost believe he wasn’t mocking her.

Almost.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N stood in front of her full-length mirror, giving herself a once-over. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the sight before her. The mandatory food stand shirt hung loosely on her frame, an ugly oversized piece of cotton that did absolutely nothing for her shape. It was branded with the logo of the stand she worked at, and while the shirt was supposed to be “practical,” all Y/N could think was how it completely ruined her otherwise flawless outfit.

She had on her expensive black leather pants, a pair that cost more than a month’s rent. Her gold jewelry sparkled even under the dim light of her apartment, and her heels—her gorgeous, strappy, sky-high heels—added just the right amount of height to make her feel like she could still rule the world.

But this… this was ridiculous.

The shirt clashed with everything. And yet, she couldn’t just wear something else. It was her uniform, after all. Her parents had made it clear that she had to work at the food stand for a while—“get some perspective,” they called it. A punishment for her supposed “entitlement” and “lack of appreciation” for the money she’d been given her entire life.

What was that supposed to mean anyway?

Y/N glared at the shirt in the mirror, as if glaring would somehow make it disappear. She reached for her phone and checked the time. She had about twenty minutes before she had to leave for work, and she wasn’t about to show up looking like a total disaster. Not in front of… well, not in front of anyone. Certainly not in front of Hakneyeon.

Hakneyeon.

The name echoed in her mind, and she felt her stomach do a little flip. Despite everything she’d told herself, despite how much she’d tried to convince herself that this job was beneath her, there was something about Hakneyeon that kept nagging at her. He was patient with her. He didn’t judge her, despite all the stupid mistakes she’d made since starting at the stand. There was a quiet confidence in him, something that made him seem entirely different from anyone she’d ever known.

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. She didn’t need to think about him right now.

Y/N picked up her bag and stormed out of her apartment, making her way to the stand with purpose. She climbed into the back of a rideshare, her heels clicking against the floor of the car as she fiddled with her phone. The thought of what awaited her at the food stand made her stomach churn. The chaotic atmosphere, the greasy smells, the low-wage workers—everyone who wasn’t “someone” like her.

She grimaced as the car came to a stop. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

When she arrived, Y/N stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. She might’ve had a bad attitude about this job, but one thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to let her clothes get ruined. She adjusted her shirt, hoping that the mix of expensive pants and flashy jewelry would distract anyone from the fact that she was essentially dressed like a food stand worker.

But as she walked inside the stand, her plans to look cool and collected quickly fell apart.

There was Hakneyeon, standing behind the counter, flipping something on the grill with the ease of someone who had been doing it for years. His calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the hectic energy of the stand, and somehow, it made everything seem less overwhelming. He noticed her immediately and gave her a friendly wave.

“Morning, Princess,” he said with a smirk.

Y/N immediately rolled her eyes. She hated that nickname. “I’m not your princess,” she shot back, her tone sharp, though she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

The moment she stepped behind the counter, things started to go downhill. Y/N had been there for about five minutes, organizing condiments and pretending to know what she was doing when a customer ordered a large portion of fries. Normally, she would’ve taken care of that quickly. But today, she managed to spill an entire packet of seasoning all over the counter.

“Are you serious?” she muttered under her breath, trying to gather the seasoning up with her hands. It was a futile effort, and she only ended up knocking over a bottle of ketchup that exploded all over the counter and her shirt.

“Oh my god, this is so not fair,” Y/N groaned, wiping her hands on her already stained shirt.

Hakneyeon glanced over at her, trying to hide his amusement. “You okay over there?”

She looked up at him, her face flushed with frustration. “No! I’m not okay! This is ridiculous!” she half-screeched, trying and failing to salvage the situation. Her pants—her beautiful, designer leather pants—now had ketchup all over them. “I’m going to need a whole new wardrobe at this rate.”

He stepped forward, not at all surprised by her mini meltdown. “It’s just ketchup. It happens,” he said with a grin. “Besides, I think it’s kind of cute how you’re trying so hard.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “Cute? Cute isn’t the word I would use. This is a disaster. I’ll never get all this off.”

Hakneyeon simply shook his head, his grin widening. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll figure it out. And hey, your pants are still fancy, even with the ketchup.”

“I’m not here to make mistakes,” she snapped, though the edge in her voice wasn’t quite as harsh as before. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she rubbed at the ketchup stain in vain. “I don’t do mistakes.”

He chuckled at her, which only made Y/N feel more embarrassed. The last thing she wanted was for someone like him—someone who knew this place, who was so comfortable in this environment—to see her so out of her element. She was used to being the one who had it all together. And yet, here she was, spilling food and ruining her clothes.

Hakneyeon just smiled knowingly. “You’re doing fine,” he said, his tone casual. “You just gotta get used to it.”

“Used to it?” Y/N’s voice was filled with disbelief. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this place. It’s so… messy. And this shirt? This stupid shirt?”

Hakneyeon looked at her with a quiet, amused expression. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to just throw away your old habits overnight, but hey, you might get there. Eventually.”

Y/N didn’t answer him. Instead, she looked down at her shirt and the mess she’d made, frowning as she grabbed a towel and began to wipe at the stain. Maybe he was right. Maybe she couldn’t just change everything about herself in a single day, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

With one last sigh, she started cleaning up the mess she’d made, trying to push down her frustration. She could feel Hakneyeon’s eyes on her, but instead of feeling embarrassed, it was almost comforting. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t mocking her.

He was… helping.

And that, for whatever reason, felt strangely good.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N’s third day at the food stand was no better than the first two. If anything, it was worse. The thought of spending another eight hours behind the counter, serving greasy food and wearing that ridiculous shirt, made her want to scream. She could feel the stain from yesterday still haunting her—the ketchup not only ruined her pants, but her pride too.

The constant noise of sizzling food, the never-ending stream of customers, and the sticky heat that seemed to settle in the air—it was all too much. Yet, as much as she hated it, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something oddly… comforting about it.

Especially when Hakneyeon was around.

It was like he was a magnet, pulling her attention no matter what she was doing. Whether he was flipping burgers or sorting out the ice machine, there was something about the way he carried himself that made him hard to ignore.

And today, like the last few days, it wasn’t any different.

“Y/N,” Hakneyeon called, his voice cutting through the loud chatter of the stand. He was holding a large tub of fries in his hands, eyes scanning the counter for any open spots. “You mind grabbing some ketchup packets for this order?”

Y/N reluctantly left her spot behind the counter, pushing her hair out of her face. She turned and moved toward the supply shelf, but her eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him. There he was, effortlessly balancing multiple trays of food while his arm flexed slightly as he adjusted the trays on the counter. He wasn’t even trying to look good—he was just existing—and yet Y/N found herself momentarily breathless.

She cleared her throat and quickly focused on grabbing the ketchup packets, reminding herself that she had a job to do. She wasn’t here to admire Hakneyeon’s arms or the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders. No, she was here to get this over with, to fulfill her “punishment,” and then return to her life of luxury.

But then—of course—it happened again.

As she passed him with the ketchup packets in hand, she watched him clean up a spill on the counter with effortless grace, his movements smooth and sure. He didn’t even break a sweat. The way he bent down to wipe the floor—his back muscles flexing slightly, the way his shirt stretched over his chest—was enough to make Y/N’s heart stutter.

She quickly turned away, a flush creeping up her neck. “So not fair,” she muttered under her breath.

She hated how it felt. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking—though, God, he was—there was something more. It was the ease with which he navigated this environment, the casual confidence that made him appear so… put together.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice how he handled everything with such grace, like working in a food stand wasn’t even a challenge for him. Meanwhile, Y/N felt like a disaster every time she did anything. Her clothes were constantly getting stained or ruined, she spilled things, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so clumsy.

But Hakneyeon? He didn’t make mistakes.

It was when a new customer approached the counter, a teenager asking for the most complicated order Y/N had heard all day, that she noticed another thing. Hakneyeon was talking to the customer, smiling softly, as he grabbed the fries from the fryer. His voice was warm and soothing as he answered the teenager’s questions, and when he handed over the food, his soft smile made the entire interaction feel calm and natural.

Y/N found herself watching him again, and for a moment, it felt like everything around her slowed down. She couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about the way he spoke—his quiet assurance—that made him seem so… appealing. So different from anyone she’d known before.

But before she could analyze it any further, a loud crash interrupted her thoughts. A stack of plates had fallen off the shelf next to her, the ceramic plates clattering loudly on the floor. She jumped, her heart racing as she looked down at the mess she’d created.

“Great,” she muttered. “Just what I needed.”

As she bent down to pick up the plates, Hakneyeon appeared next to her, already crouched down to help. His hands worked quickly and efficiently, as though he’d done this a thousand times before.

“You okay?” he asked softly, glancing up at her with an easy smile.

Y/N sighed in frustration. “Honestly? No. But thanks for helping,” she mumbled, continuing to gather the shattered plates.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hakneyeon said, his tone light. “It’s not the end of the world.”

The way he said that, so calmly, with no hint of irritation, was enough to make Y/N stop for a moment. She glanced at him, meeting his eyes for a brief second. There was something about the way he didn’t judge her for her clumsiness, the way he didn’t make her feel like a burden, that tugged at something inside her.

She was used to being the one who was admired, who was the center of attention. But with Hakneyeon, it felt different. He didn’t care about her wealth or her status—he just saw her as someone who needed a little help, and that was enough.

“You’re not as bad as you think,” Hakneyeon added, standing up as he finished picking up the last piece of plate. “You just gotta get used to things around here. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

Y/N shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to get used to… all of this.”

He laughed softly, reaching out to ruffle her hair in a way that felt more playful than patronizing. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

The soft touch of his hand on her hair, even though it was brief, left a tingling feeling on her skin. Y/N quickly stepped away, not wanting to make this moment more awkward than it already was.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of orders, laughter, and the usual chaos of the food stand. But every time she caught a glimpse of Hakneyeon—whether it was him flipping burgers or cleaning off the grill—Y/N couldn’t shake the strange fluttering in her chest. There was just something about him. Something that made everything else feel… insignificant.

As the day came to an end and the stand began to empty out, Y/N found herself alone behind the counter with Hakneyeon, wiping down the counters for the last time.

“So, what’s your plan after this?” he asked casually, tossing a rag into the laundry bin.

Y/N paused, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. Probably head back to my apartment and sulk a little more. Definitely going to need a new wardrobe after all this.”

Hakneyeon raised an eyebrow at her. “Still not a fan of the job, huh?”

Y/N shook her head. “I’ll get over it. Or… I’ll try, anyway. I just need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his voice soft but understanding. “But don’t give up on it so quickly. I think you’ll surprise yourself.”

Y/N smiled a little, though she couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that he might be right. Maybe, just maybe, this whole experience wasn’t as horrible as she made it out to be.

At least not as long as Hakneyeon was around.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, but somewhere between cleaning trays and making the same greasy fries she had no interest in eating, something shifted. It was the quiet way Hakneyeon worked, his movements smooth and confident, that had made her feel… well, different. But it wasn’t just that. It was how he didn’t let anything get to him. His constant calm was something she admired even though she refused to admit it.

The next morning, Y/N groggily dragged herself out of bed, her eyelids heavy from another night spent sulking about her life. She was halfway through reapplying her eyeliner when she remembered something.

Today was her day off from the food stand.

A part of her was relieved, but another part—the stubborn, prideful part—was a little disappointed. She had to admit it—there was something about being at the stand that pulled her out of her privileged bubble, something that made her feel oddly… alive. And Hakneyeon, though he wasn’t her type at all, had somehow become an unavoidable presence in her life.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she found herself missing him.

“Stop it,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “This is so not fair. I’m not here for this.”

But as she wandered around her apartment, her mind kept drifting back to him, to the way he would look when he focused, his concentration so sharp that she’d almost forget how good he looked. Hakneyeon wasn’t just handsome in that “I’m too pretty for my own good” way. It was the way he was so effortlessly cool, like everything came so naturally to him. He had the kind of confidence that was attractive but not arrogant—almost the opposite. He seemed to carry himself with this quiet dignity, the kind you couldn’t fake.

That was the moment it hit her: she had caught feelings. Real, unshakeable feelings for Hakneyeon.

This realization made her almost choke on her coffee. “No, no, no,” she muttered. “I’m not supposed to like him.”

She stood there for a moment, staring into her mug like it held the answers to her life’s problems. The idea of liking someone who wasn’t rich or impressive or part of her world… It felt absurd. She wasn’t someone who liked regular people. She liked power, status, luxury. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet it had.

When Y/N showed up at the food stand that afternoon, the familiar scent of fried food immediately hit her, the greasy air smacking her in the face. She walked in to find Hakneyeon at the counter, sorting orders with his usual calm efficiency. There was a group of kids sitting on the benches outside, their excited chatter filling the air, but Hakneyeon remained completely unfazed by the noise around him.

He looked up at her as she walked in, his usual warm smile lighting up his face. “Hey, you’re here early.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d give it another shot,” Y/N said, leaning against the counter. “Don’t get used to it though.”

He chuckled and gave her a knowing look. “Don’t worry, I won’t. But you look… different today.”

Y/N blinked, slightly taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, wiping his hands on his apron. “You just seem… more relaxed.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to play it off. “You’re imagining things. I’m still me, just trying to survive.”

“Well, if this is your way of surviving, you’re doing better than you think,” Hakneyeon said, handing her a drink order with a teasing grin. “Your clumsiness is actually pretty entertaining.”

Y/N crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Hakneyeon just grinned wider. “I aim to please.”

Her stomach fluttered, but she quickly ignored it. It had to be the weird food smells and the ridiculous uniform she was wearing. That was the only logical explanation. Nothing else could explain the way her heart raced whenever he smiled at her or when his eyes lingered on her for just a little too long.

The day went on as usual, but this time, Y/N couldn’t help but notice more. Every time Hakneyeon interacted with a customer, she found herself studying his movements—how he took orders with effortless charm, how he made them laugh, how he was just good at what he did. Even when he wasn’t doing anything particularly remarkable, Y/N couldn’t stop her mind from drifting to him.

There was a moment when the two of them were stocking up on napkins behind the counter. She had just reached for the same box as him, and their hands brushed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled quickly, her face flushing slightly.

Hakneyeon smiled that smile of his, the one that made everything feel light. “It’s fine,” he said casually. “We’re a team now, right?”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, and she quickly turned away to grab another box to avoid making this any more awkward than it already was. But the truth was, she couldn’t stop the little spark of warmth spreading through her chest.

That was what bothered her the most.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to get butterflies when Hakneyeon smiled at her, or when their hands brushed. She wasn’t supposed to care about him, not really. She wasn’t supposed to get attached to a guy who worked at a food stand.

But it was happening anyway.

By the end of the day, Y/N was exhausted, but something had changed. As she leaned against the counter, staring out at the fading light of the setting sun, Hakneyeon appeared beside her. His apron was slightly askew, his hair a little messier than usual, but he still looked effortlessly handsome.

“Long day, huh?” he asked, looking at her with a slightly teasing smile.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Y/N muttered, not really looking at him. “I’m still getting the hang of this.”

“You’re doing fine,” Hakneyeon said reassuringly, his voice soft. “You’ll get used to it. Just… try not to spill any more drinks on yourself next time, okay?”

She snorted. “No promises.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “You’ll survive, trust me.”

Y/N found herself smiling, a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, this life. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, spending time with Hakneyeon. But that was the thing. She wasn’t ready to admit that to herself just yet.

Not yet.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N had always been one to stay in control. The idea of letting someone else call the shots, to give up a little of her independence, was a concept she had never fully embraced. So when she walked into the food stand the next morning, her head was spinning with all the thoughts of last night.

Her interactions with Hakneyeon had felt different. She had spent the evening after her shift in her room, trying to dissect every moment. The way he had smiled at her, the way his eyes seemed to lock onto hers, even when it wasn’t necessary—those little moments had somehow started to mean something more than she wanted them to. What was worse was that she didn’t know what to do with it.

Her life had been so much easier when she could avoid feelings altogether.

“Here we go again,” Y/N muttered to herself as she adjusted her hair in the mirror before entering. It was something of a daily ritual now—checking herself over before facing him. She still wore her usual mix of her stand uniform and expensive accessories, the jewelry like armor to keep her from letting anyone get too close.

When she walked into the stand, she was surprised to find Hakneyeon already deep into his work, sorting through orders with a speed and grace that made him look almost too good for this place. He didn’t even look up when she entered, but the familiarity of his presence was strangely comforting.

Y/N walked past the counter, trying to act like nothing had changed, but the unease gnawing at her insides made it harder to keep her usual cold composure.

“Morning,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hakneyeon looked up, his face lighting up as always. “Morning, Y/N. You ready for another day of greasy fries and messy customers?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her. “You know it. It’s like a dream come true.”

He laughed, but there was something different about it today. It wasn’t just his usual easygoing demeanor. There was a little more warmth, a little more something between them that hadn’t been there before. And that made Y/N’s stomach do a flip.

The day went on as usual, with her still fumbling her way through each task. She was trying, really trying to get the hang of it, but everything she did seemed to make a mess of things. It was like every time she turned around, she was tripping over something or dropping something or spilling something on herself. It was exhausting, but Hakneyeon never seemed to mind. If anything, he found her mistakes more endearing than frustrating.

“Hey,” he said around midday as she was wiping down the counter, her hands still a little sticky from something she had spilled earlier. “You’re doing great today. Really.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the surprised expression that crossed her face. “I don’t know about that. I’ve spilled three sodas and dropped an order of fries, and I’m pretty sure my uniform is beyond saving.”

Hakneyeon grinned, clearly amused. “But you’re still here, aren’t you? That’s something, at least.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, a soft, genuine smile she rarely allowed herself to give anyone. But as quickly as it appeared, she masked it again, retreating behind her usual defense.

“Thanks, I guess.” She adjusted her apron with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep up with this. I don’t belong here.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, not in a mocking way, but in a way that made her feel seen. “What do you mean by that?”

Y/N sighed, finally wiping down the last of the counter. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but she was too tired to fight it. “I just… I don’t fit in. I don’t know how to do any of this. I can barely keep it together.”

Hakneyeon was quiet for a moment, the usual ease in his expression replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. “Y/N, nobody expects you to be perfect. You’re learning. You don’t have to have it all figured out.”

“But I’m supposed to,” Y/N countered, a bit sharper than she meant to. “I’ve always been told that I need to be perfect, that I can’t fail. If I’m not good at this, what am I even doing here?”

Hakneyeon didn’t back away. Instead, he leaned against the counter, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and understanding. “You know, if you let go of the idea that you need to be perfect, you might actually enjoy this a little more.”

Y/N frowned, still not ready to let go of her pride. “I don’t need advice on how to be happy. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Hakneyeon asked softly, his gaze never leaving her. “You might think you’re fine, but from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to convince yourself of something that isn’t true.”

Y/N froze at his words, the weight of them sinking in. She opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. There was no real defense for her actions. No real excuse for the way she’d been trying so hard to keep everything perfect when all she had done was make herself more miserable.

Hakneyeon, seeming to sense her internal battle, didn’t press further. He simply smiled, this time a little more knowing. “It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.”

Y/N nodded, although she wasn’t sure if she would. She had always lived her life with everything mapped out. She didn’t know how to let go, how to just be.

Later that afternoon, Y/N found herself walking through the busy streets, the same food stand she worked at still in the back of her mind. The day had been one of the worst, but also the most revealing. Maybe Hakneyeon was right. Maybe she had been trying too hard to keep things together, to uphold a version of herself that wasn’t even real.

But was it possible to change? To stop pretending that she had everything under control when, in reality, it was all slipping through her fingers?

The question was still there as she walked home, but as she passed a street vendor selling flowers, something caught her eye. A single, bright red rose was lying in a basket, its petals soft and delicate.

It was simple, like the life she had been too afraid to accept. It was beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, that was all she needed to realize.

That sometimes, you didn’t need to be perfect to be happy.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N dragged herself into the food stand the next morning, her heels clicking against the pavement. She’d been in a terrible mood all night, replaying Hakneyeon’s words in her head like an annoying pop song she couldn’t turn off. “You might think you’re fine, but it looks like you’re trying to convince yourself of something that isn’t true.” Who did he think he was, calling her out like that?

And yet, she couldn’t shake the way his words had lingered.

Hakneyeon was already there, unloading boxes of supplies from the truck parked by the stand. His black T-shirt clung to his back as he worked, and Y/N found herself watching him for a second too long. Why does he look like he’s starring in some kind of cologne commercial? she thought, annoyed with herself for noticing.

He turned just as she approached, wiping his brow and flashing her a grin. “Morning, sunshine.”

She rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks heat up anyway. “Do you ever take a day off?”

“Not when there’s work to do,” he replied, setting the box down. “But don’t worry, I saved the fun stuff for you.”

“Fun?” she asked suspiciously.

He pointed to a bucket of soapy water and a stack of rags. “The counters need scrubbing. You’re welcome.”

Y/N stared at the bucket like it had personally insulted her. She was already regretting wearing her cream-colored designer trousers and suede boots, but there was no turning back now.

“This is so not fair,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing a rag and kneeling by the counter.

Ten minutes in, Y/N was a mess. Her elbow knocked over the bucket, spilling soapy water all over the pavement—and her pants. She let out a frustrated groan, looking down at her now soggy, soapy trousers.

Hakneyeon, of course, was biting back laughter. “You okay over there?”

“No, I’m not okay,” she snapped, grabbing another rag and furiously trying to dry herself off. “This is a disaster.”

He crouched next to her, his smile softening. “Hey, it’s just soap. No need to declare a national emergency.”

“You don’t get it,” she huffed. “These pants cost more than this whole stand!”

Hakneyeon raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear designer clothes to work at a food stand, then.”

Y/N glared at him but couldn’t come up with a decent comeback. He had a point, even if she hated admitting it.

The rest of the morning was no less chaotic. Y/N somehow managed to burn her hand on the fryer (again), smear ketchup on her blouse, and trip over her own feet while carrying a tray of drinks. Every time, Hakneyeon was there to either tease her or help clean up the aftermath.

Despite her irritation, there were moments when she caught herself smiling. Like when she glanced over and saw Hakneyeon flipping burgers with practiced ease, his hair falling into his eyes as he concentrated. Or when he leaned against the counter during a slow moment, sipping from a water bottle and looking like he belonged in some indie movie about effortlessly cool people.

Why does he have to look so good doing the most mundane things? she thought, trying not to stare.

By lunchtime, Y/N was exhausted. She slumped onto a stool, brushing ketchup off her sleeve with a sigh. Hakneyeon slid a plate of fries in front of her, grinning.

“You’ve earned it,” he said.

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

Hakneyeon sat across from her, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, for someone who claims to hate this job, you’ve been showing up every day.”

She looked up, her expression guarded. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Maybe not,” he said, leaning back. “But you’re here. And you’re trying, even if you won’t admit it.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. She hated that he saw through her so easily, hated that he made her feel things she wasn’t ready to deal with.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally, taking a bite of a fry.

Hakneyeon just smiled, like he knew something she didn’t.

That evening, as she walked home, Y/N found herself passing the same flower vendor from the day before. The red roses still caught her eye, their vibrant petals standing out against the drab surroundings.

Without really thinking, she stopped and bought one.

As she walked the rest of the way home, the rose in her hand, she couldn’t help but feel like it symbolized something. She wasn’t sure what yet, but it was a small reminder that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than what she had always believed.

She wasn’t ready to change completely. Not yet. But for the first time, she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N trudged into the food stand the next morning, designer sunglasses perched on her nose, her hair pinned back with a diamond-studded clip. Even with her usual air of defiance, the familiar sight of the stand—and Hakneyeon’s easy smile—was starting to feel less unbearable. Not that she’d admit it.

“You’re late,” Hakneyeon said, his tone light as he handed her an apron.

“I was accessorizing,” she replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Fashionably late, thank you very much.”

Hakneyeon smirked. “Right. Because this place is so glamorous.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but took the apron without argument. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starting to fall into a routine. Messy, chaotic, and frustrating, sure—but a routine nonetheless.

The morning rush came in waves, with customers lining up for their favorite dishes. Hakneyeon manned the fryer while Y/N took orders, her smile strained but polite.

“Two corndogs, one extra crispy!” she called back, turning to grab the cash from the customer. In her haste, her bracelet snagged on the edge of the counter, sending a stack of napkins flying.

“This is so not fair,” she muttered, scrambling to pick them up as Hakneyeon laughed.

“You okay, calamity queen?” he teased, flipping a corndog onto a tray.

“Don’t start with me,” she warned, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Still, she couldn’t help but glance at him as he worked. He moved with an effortless confidence, like he belonged here in a way she couldn’t imagine herself ever feeling. And when he smiled at a customer—a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes—it did something to her she couldn’t explain.

Why does he have to look so good just existing? she thought, shaking her head to snap herself out of it.

By the time the lunch rush hit, Y/N was a walking disaster. She’d spilled mustard on her shoes, burned her finger on the fryer (again), and nearly knocked over an entire tray of drinks. Hakneyeon swooped in every time, his teasing always accompanied by an annoying amount of charm.

“You’re consistent, I’ll give you that,” he said, grinning as he handed her a wet rag to clean the mustard off her pants.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she shot back, dabbing at the stain.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, leaning against the counter as he watched her.

Y/N glared at him but couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. As much as she hated the teasing, there was something about the way Hakneyeon looked at her—like she wasn’t just the spoiled rich girl everyone else saw.

Later that afternoon, Y/N caught him in one of those moments again. He was sweeping up near the counter, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from the long day. The sunlight streamed through the stand’s awning, catching on his cheekbones and making him look like something out of a romance movie.

She stared for a beat too long, and when he glanced up, their eyes met.

“Something on my face?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she said quickly, turning back to the register. Her cheeks burned as she fumbled with the buttons.

“Uh-huh,” Hakneyeon said, clearly unconvinced but merciful enough not to push.

As the day wound down, Y/N found herself cleaning the counters again—this time without complaint. She still hated the work, but there was something oddly satisfying about the rhythmic motion, about seeing something go from messy to clean.

Hakneyeon was wiping down the fryer nearby, humming a tune under his breath. The sound was low and soothing, blending with the hum of the city outside.

“Do you ever stop?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence.

“Stop what?”

“Being… you,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “All hardworking and cheerful and—ugh.”

Hakneyeon laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “What can I say? Someone’s gotta balance out your drama.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her. For once, it didn’t feel like he was mocking her—it felt like they were… something close to friends.

As she walked home that evening, Y/N felt the familiar weight of exhaustion, but it wasn’t as crushing as before. She still hated the stand, still missed her old life, but there was a tiny part of her—barely a whisper—that wondered if maybe there was more to this new life than she’d let herself see.

The thought scared her. But it also intrigued her.

And when she found herself smiling at the memory of Hakneyeon’s laugh, she couldn’t deny that something about this whole mess was starting to change her.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N woke up to the sound of her alarm blaring, her designer watch glinting in the morning sun as she groaned and slapped it off. Every muscle in her body ached from the previous day’s chaos at the food stand. She swung her legs over the side of her bed, catching sight of her scuffed Louboutin heels by the door.

“Great,” she muttered, reaching for her phone. “Another day of ruining everything I own.”

Her wardrobe had been slowly rebelling against her lifestyle change—silk blouses torn, jewelry snagged, and pants stained with sauces she couldn’t pronounce. Yet, for reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, she kept showing up to the stand, stubbornly holding onto the remnants of her old life while reluctantly accepting pieces of the new one.

When she arrived at the stand that morning, Hakneyeon was already there, flipping skewers on the grill with an ease that made her envious.

“You’re late,” he teased without looking up.

“You’re obsessed with my punctuality,” she shot back, tying on her apron.

“Hardly. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re capable of being on time.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t even fight back when Hakneyeon handed her the order pad and pointed to the growing line of customers.

“Let’s see how long it takes for you to mess up today,” he said, grinning.

“This is so not fair,” she muttered, slipping into her usual station.

The day unfolded like a chaotic dance. Y/N tripped over a stray bag of flour, accidentally squirted ketchup onto her new Gucci bracelet, and nearly set a tray of dumplings on fire. Each disaster was accompanied by Hakneyeon’s laughter, which only fueled her determination to prove she could handle it.

“You have mustard on your cheek,” he said at one point, handing her a napkin.

“Where?”

“Left side. No, your other left. Never mind, just—here.”

He reached out, his thumb brushing against her cheek to wipe it away. The touch was brief, almost casual, but it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

“Thanks,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she busied herself with refilling the napkin holder.

“No problem,” he replied, his tone lighter than the moment felt.

By the time the lunch rush ended, Y/N was a mess. Her shirt was damp with soda, her jeans had a grease stain, and her hands were covered in remnants of the dishes she’d served. She slumped against the counter, glaring at Hakneyeon, who was effortlessly wiping down the fryer.

“How do you always look so… put together?” she asked, exasperated.

“Years of practice,” he replied, smirking. “And maybe I’m just naturally talented.”

“Or insufferable,” she muttered under her breath, though her lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

Hakneyeon chuckled, tossing the rag onto the counter. “Come on. Let’s grab some air.”

The two of them sat on the curb outside the stand, sipping on bottled water and watching the bustle of the city. For once, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You’ve improved, you know,” Hakneyeon said suddenly, glancing at her.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “At what? Making a mess?”

“At sticking with it,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere. “Most people would’ve quit by now. But you’re still here.”

She looked down at her lap, fiddling with her bracelet. “Yeah, well… quitting isn’t really an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have anything else,” she admitted softly, the words surprising even herself.

Hakneyeon didn’t respond right away, and when she finally looked up, she saw him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said after a moment.

Y/N laughed, though it came out more bitter than amused. “Tell that to my shoes.”

Hakneyeon smiled, nudging her shoulder with his. “I’m serious. You’ve got more fight in you than you give yourself credit for. You just need to stop fighting yourself so much.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. Instead, she let the words sit with her as they watched the world pass by, the quiet between them somehow feeling heavier and lighter all at once.

As the day came to an end, Y/N found herself lingering at the stand, wiping down counters long after the last customer had left. Hakneyeon was busy locking up, humming a tune under his breath as he double-checked the register.

“Why do you do this?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Do what?”

“This,” she said, gesturing around the stand. “The food stand. The long hours. The chaos.”

Hakneyeon paused, considering her question. “Because it makes people happy,” he said simply. “And because I like it. It’s honest work.”

“Honest work,” she repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “You should try it sometime.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “This is so not fair.”

Hakneyeon’s grin widened, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he handed her the keys to lock up, stepping aside as if to say, It’s your turn now.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t argue.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Y/N stood in front of the food stand, staring up at its bright, colorful sign as if seeing it for the first time. She adjusted her apron, a little worn out but now something she wore with pride, and smoothed her expensive designer pants out of habit. The shoes she’d once insisted on keeping pristine were now scuffed, but they’d carried her through this journey. She hardly noticed anymore.

For the first time in months, Y/N didn’t feel out of place here. She fit.

Haknyeon appeared from the back, wiping his hands on a towel, the late afternoon sunlight catching in his hair and making him look unfairly handsome. His smile was casual but warm as he approached, the kind of smile that still gave her butterflies despite all their time together.

“You’re early,” he teased, tossing the towel aside.

“Better early than late,” Y/N quipped, grinning. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t mess everything up before the rush.”

“Oh, so you’re the expert now?” Haknyeon countered, leaning on the counter, his face inches from hers.

“I think I’ve earned the title.” She playfully tapped his nose with her finger before stepping back, trying to hide the way her heart raced whenever he got too close.

The past few weeks had been an unspoken shift between them. They weren’t just co-workers or reluctant allies anymore. They were… something more. Something Y/N couldn’t quite put into words yet but felt in every lingering glance, every accidental brush of their hands, and every quiet moment they shared when the stand closed for the night.

“You know,” Haknyeon started, his tone softer now, “I don’t say this enough, but you’ve really come a long way, Y/N. You’re not the same girl who almost burned her shoes in the fryer.”

“Hey!” Y/N smacked his arm lightly, though she couldn’t help but laugh. “That was one time.”

“One time too many,” he teased, his laughter joining hers.

The late afternoon rush started to pick up, customers crowding the stand and filling the air with energy. Y/N moved quickly, handing out orders with a confidence that felt natural now. Haknyeon worked beside her, the two moving in sync like they’d been doing this for years.

When the last customer left and the evening quiet settled in, Y/N leaned against the counter, her hair slightly messy and her apron stained but her smile brighter than ever. Haknyeon stood beside her, his own face lit up in the glow of the stand’s neon sign.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “what’s next for you?”

Y/N thought for a moment, gazing out at the street. “I don’t know. For the first time, I’m okay not knowing. I kind of like it here.”

“Yeah?” Haknyeon’s voice was hopeful, his gaze steady on her.

“Yeah.” Y/N turned to him, her smile softening. “I used to think this was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me, but now…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Now, I think it’s the best thing.”

Haknyeon stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers on the counter. “You’re not the only one who thinks that.”

The moment hung in the air, thick with tension but also something lighter—something that made Y/N’s heart pound in her chest.

“This is so not fair,” she murmured, her voice catching.

“What isn’t?” Haknyeon asked, his brows knitting together.

“You,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “You looking at me like that. You being here. You… making me feel this way.”

Haknyeon’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “I guess life has a funny way of being unfair sometimes.”

Before she could think, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was soft but filled with every unspoken word between them. Y/N froze for a moment, then melted into him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders.

When they finally pulled apart, Haknyeon rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing. “Well, you sure took your time.”

“I didn’t think you were ready,” he admitted, his voice low.

“I wasn’t,” she said honestly. “But now, I think I am.”

As they stood there, bathed in the neon glow of the stand that had brought them together, Y/N realized that maybe life wasn’t about being fair. It was about taking what it gave you and finding the moments that made it all worthwhile.

And in that moment, with Haknyeon’s arms around her, she felt like she’d found exactly that.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[threepwoodmarley]

All Hail To The Days That Merit More Praise

Merry Christmas @goldenwingediris! I'm your Secret Santa! I really hope you enjoy your fic. It was a lot of fun to write.

Summary: The Midwinter Festival is Belle's favourite time of year and she's determined to share the festive spirit with Rumplestiltskin, whether he likes it or not.

Title from the Loreena McKennitt song 'In Praise of Christmas', which I hope was the basis of your prompt because it's what I've been listening to on repeat while writing and which inspired a lot of this fic!

(Also, there is a line in here that I lifted from Xena: Warrior Princess because it fit so perfectly.)

Read on AO3

~*~

Belle put her hands on her hips as she looked around the great hall in satisfaction. A morning spent collecting holly from the castle grounds and decorating every available window and surface was a morning well spent. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of the grand displays back in Avonlea but she had to make do with what was available and even if it was basic, the green leaves and red berries made a lovely contrast, putting her in a festive mood.

The sound of the large doors opening heralded the arrival of her master and she turned to face them, excited to share her festive spirit with him.

“Good morning, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle called brightly, watching his face as he noticed the new additions to the great hall. She stifled a giggle as he turned in a circle, visibly confused.

“Belle. Why is there a forest in my hall?”

“It’s for the Midwinter Festival!” Belle felt her smile widening in excitement. “This is my favourite time of the year!”

“Really?” Rumplestiltskin looked at her sceptically as he moved towards the table. “Your favourite time of the year is when it’s dark, cold and miserable?”

“Oh, but you see that’s the whole point!” she cried emphatically. “It’s dark and cold outside so we bring light and cheer inside. It’s all about bringing back the light and driving out the darkness.”

“Well, as the embodiment of Darkness I have no desire to be driven out of my own castle, so I think we can dispense with all this.” Rumplestiltskin flicked his hand dismissively and Belle felt her heart sink as all her hard work disappeared. “That’s better.”

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle cried, “bring those back!”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will.”

“You bring those back right now or I’ll..” Belle trailed off as she found herself engulfed in a whirlwind of smoke, only to reappear outside.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle practically shrieked, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold. “It’s freezing out here!”

Another cloud of smoke enveloped her and she felt warmth pressing down on her shoulders. When it cleared she looked down to see a heavy cloak fastened around herself.

“Fine,” she called to the empty courtyard. “If that’s how you want to play it!”

Receiving no response, Belle set off to forage for more supplies. She was determined not to allow his moodiness to defeat her festive spirit.

~*~

The next morning, as Belle stood surveying her handiwork, she felt a bit more trepidation at Rumplestiltskin’s potential arrival than she had the previous day. But she was still determined not to give in.

When he walked into the great hall she saw the moment he noticed the return of the decorations, turning to her with a scowl.

“I thought we had enough of this nonsense yesterday.”

“That was just the first day,” Belle explained patiently. “In Avonlea the Midwinter Festival is twelve full days of celebration.”

“Twelve days?” Rumplestiltskin seemed aghast. “What on earth do you do for twelve days? Other than bringing potential infestations inside, that is.”

Belle rolled her eyes as she watched him carefully pull back a holly leaf, inspecting the underside as though he expected to find something hideous there.

“They’re clean. Don’t worry, I checked. And as for what we do, we guide the sun home.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to face her completely, incredulity written across his face.

“Yes, when the days are at their darkest and it seems like the sun might never return, we sing songs and light candles to guide his way.”

“What?” Something strange flickered over Rumplestiltskin’s face but it was gone before Belle could identify the meaning.

“And we throw parties and have feasts to celebrate his return. It’s a time of community and joy.”

“Sounds like a nightmare. One that I believe I made my feelings on quite clear.” Rumplestiltskin raised his hand and Belle lunged forward, grabbing it in both of hers.

“Don’t you dare!”

Rumplestiltskin froze, his eyes widening in shock, just as Belle realised what she had done.

“Sorry!” She pulled her hands back. “It’s just… this means a lot to me. Please.”

A beat passed between them as she held her breath, waiting for his response. For his part, he still seemed stunned by her previous impulsive action.

“Fine,” Rumplestiltskin relented, slowly lowering his hand which was still twitching slightly. “But you know that’s all superstitious nonsense, right? The cycle of the seasons has nothing to do with you singing some silly little songs.”

“I know, but that’s not the point.” Belle wasn’t quite sure why it was so important to her that he understand, but it was.. “It’s about hope. How even when things are at their very darkest, there’s always light on the horizon. Don’t you have any celebrations like that at this time of year?”

“Of course not,” Rumplestiltskin snorted derisively. “Not all of us come from backwater swamps.”

“Well, maybe you could join mine. Festivities are meant to be shared, after all.” Belle deliberately ignored the slight. She knew that he was fully aware of the status of her town. He was just trying to antagonise her.

“I’m not singing.” Rumplestiltskin pointed his finger at her.

“That’s all right.” Belle leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “To be honest with you, I’m not a very good singer either.”

“Uh, no.” Rumplestiltskin stepped back, raising his hands with his fingers pointed upwards, “I didn’t say that I wasn’t good at it, I said I’m not doing it.”

“So, you can sing?” Now that was intriguing. As was his apparent offence at her assumption.

“Perhaps. Fortunately for me, that’s something you’ll never find out. The Dark One doesn’t sing, dearie.”

Well, that was a small price to pay and Belle fought to hide her grin at her victory.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “I promise not to ask you to sing if you let me celebrate the Midwinter Festival.”

“Fine.” Rumplestiltskin waved his fingers dismissively. “Keep your silly little greenery. Just don’t let it interfere with your duties.”

He turned and started towards the corner of the hall, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

“What on earth…?”

Ah, he’d noticed the ivy she’d woven through his spinning wheel. Belle bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t gone too far, as she stepped up to his side to explain.

“All work not directly related to the festivities is banned throughout the Midwinter Festival, so traditionally women in Avonlea would weave flowers through their spinning wheels so they couldn’t be used.”

“But it’s not your spinning wheel, is it dearie?”

“No, but it’s tradition.”

“Is it?” He turned to face her, raising his eyebrow. “Or is this whole thing just an elaborate excuse for you to get out of working for two weeks?”

“Well looking after your own house is permitted, so don’t worry. You won’t starve.”

Rumplestiltskin’s mouth dropped open slightly but he didn’t reply, simply turning and walking out of the hall. Belle smiled to herself at the fact that he left the ivy-clad spinning wheel untouched.

~*~

The next day Belle squealed with delight as she opened a drawer in the kitchen to find a set of beautiful red and white candles next to intricately woven metal holders. Gathering them up quickly she hurried to the great hall and set about carefully placing them within the garlands of greenery she’d set up before.

The Dark Castle certainly lived up to its name at the best of times, but it was especially true at this time of year when the sun rose late and set early and was hidden by clouds for much of the rest of the day. The thought of bringing some light into the place with the beautiful candles was a very welcome one.

She’d just finished lighting the last candle when Rumplestiltskin appeared in the doorway.

“I see we’re adding fire hazards now,” he said sardonically. “Wonderful.”

Belle just smiled at him fondly.

“What?” He seemed unnerved by her lack of a response.

“Thank you for the candles.”

Rumplestiltskin frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Belle decided to humour him. “Maybe it was the castle that gave them to me.”

She winked as she sauntered past him, already thinking about the next festive aspect of Midwinter that she wanted to share with her master.

~*~

That evening Belle rummaged around the kitchen for the supplies she was looking for, and once again the castle provided. Unearthing a nice looking bottle of wine and various spices, Belle cast her mind back to winter evenings in Avonlea, glad that she had often snuck down to watch the mulled wine being made.

First was the matter of serving Rumplestiltskin his dinner, but once that had been taken care of she began the process of mulling the wine, hoping to time it just right that she could bring it up soon after he finished eating.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious spicy sweet scent of mulled wine and Belle inhaled deeply, pleased with the results. Now she just had to find a way to serve it. Back at her father’s castle the mulled wine was the centerpiece of the table, kept warm in a beautiful ceramic pot. So far she hadn’t found anything like that in her kitchen in this castle and was resigning herself to putting it in a plain dish when she opened the last cupboard and gasped in delight at the bowl sitting on the shelf directly at her eye level.

Reaching in carefully, she gently pulled the container out, not fully understanding why but somehow knowing that this was a special piece. The dark wood shone and caught the light as she slowly turned it in her hands, admiring the intricate holly and ivy carvings looping around the sides.

It wasn’t as big as the one from the castle and she couldn’t put it over a heat source, but that didn’t matter. This wine was just for her and Rumpelstiltskin, a far more intimate set up than any she’d experienced back in Avonlea.

Decanting the wine from the pot she’d mulled it in into the bowl was a careful process as she had no desire to spill any on herself. Once that had been accomplished she gathered up the bowl and returned to the great hall where Rumplestiltskin had just finished his dinner.

“Good health, Rumplestiltskin!” Belle called as she set down the bowl. “I have another tradition I’d like to share with you.”

“What…” Rumpelstiltskin looked up, his words trailing off and his mouth dropping open as he caught sight of what she had placed on the table.

“It’s mulled wine!” Belle explained, “one of my favourite drinks at this time of year.”

“Where did you get that?” Rumplestiltskin was still staring at the centre of the table.

“I made it. You had all the spices I needed in your kitchen and plenty of bottles of wine. I didn’t think you’d mind me using one of them for this.”

“No, the bowl.” He stood from his seat and leaned forward to get a better look at it. “Where did you find that?”

“Oh, it was in one of the cupboards. I’m not sure why I’ve never seen it before, it wasn’t exactly hidden.” Belle shrugged, then frowned as she realised what she was missing. “Drat, I forgot the glasses. I’ll be right back.”

“No need.” Rumplestiltskin returned his attention to her and waved his hand. Belle blinked as two wooden cups and a ladle appeared beside the bowl.

“Thank you.” She picked up the first cup and filled it, handing it to him before filling her own.

Taking her first sip she smiled as the warmth of the wine and spices hit her but resisted the temptation to close her eyes, wanting to see Rumplestiltskin’s reaction when he tried it himself.

He sniffed the contents of the cup almost suspiciously before cautiously raising it to his lips. A small sip was immediately followed by a larger one and Belle felt a tension in her heart release. She hadn’t truly realised until that moment just how important his opinion was to her.

When he didn’t offer any response after a few seconds, she couldn’t hold the question in any longer.

“Do you like it?” she asked hopefully.

He tilted his head as though considering his reply.

“It’s not terrible.” His words might have had more bite had they not been immediately followed by another sip.

He was still standing slightly awkwardly and Belle looked around, noticing the sofa set up by the fireplace.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be cosy over there. We can bring the wine with us.”

Still appearing slightly suspicious of her suggestion, Rumplestiltskin nevertheless moved with her to the fireplace, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa. Belle followed, bringing the bowl of wine and placing it on a low table nearby.

Debating with herself for only a second she sat down in the centre of the sofa, causing Rumplestiltskin to look at her oddly before facing away again..

She could feel him sitting rigidly beside her and searched for something to break the silence. A memory from childhood came to her.

“You know some people say you can see your future if you stare into the flames long enough.”

“Hmm, pyromancy,” Rumplestiltskin replied, not looking away from the fire.

Belle huffed a small laugh. “Of course you already know that. Is it a real thing? Can you do it?”

“No.”

“To which?”

“Both.”

“Well that’s a relief. When I was a little girl my friends and I were looking into the flames because we’d heard that if we tried hard enough we’d see the faces of our future husbands.”

“And what did you see?”

“Flames.” Belle laughed and took another sip of her wine. “But all my friends were gushing about the handsome faces they’d seen so I pretended I had too. I think the face I made up sounded very much like Gaston.”

“Ah, so even as a child you wanted to marry him.”

“No,” Belle corrected. “Even as a child I knew I was supposed to marry him. I had very little say in the matter. Fortunately you came along.”

Rumplestiltskin’s head swiveled around to face her so quickly she nearly dropped her cup. “You consider that fortunate?”

“Wasn’t it?” Belle looked him in the eye. “I mean, obviously the circumstances leading up to it weren’t fortunate, but you arriving was. You saved us all. And I’d much rather be here than married to Gaston.”

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. If he’d had his way I’m pretty sure I’d be trapped inside a castle with nothing to do but have his babies and listen to tales of his hunting exploits.”

“Instead you’re trapped inside a castle cooking and cleaning for a monster,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “I’m not sure you’ve thought this through, dearie.”

“Mm, you’re not a monster.” Belle swayed slightly. The wine was going to her head and combined with the warmth of the fire in front of her and the warmth of his body next to her she was feeling pleasantly tipsy. His shoulder was right there, so inviting, and she gave into the temptation to lean her head against it. “And you’re far better company than he ever was.”

She could feel him tense up as soon as she made contact but he didn’t move away and she took that as implicit permission, shifting her body slightly so she could lean against him more comfortably, the leather of his waistcoat cool under her cheek.

He didn’t reply to her words, but that was all right. She felt content and comfortable just sitting there with him.

Eventually her eyes started closing and when she opened them again she was surprised to see the fire much lower than it had been. Blinking sleepily she raised her head, taking note of the blanket falling from her shoulders as she did so, and her wine cup now sat with his on the small table with the bowl.

“You fell asleep.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was low, as though he was afraid to break some sort of spell that had fallen on them. She didn’t think he had moved at all, except to presumably use his magic to conjure the blanket and move the cups.

“Oh, sorry.” Belle blushed.

“It’s no matter.” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I suppose I should be going to bed then.” Belle stood, looking down at his face, watching the flickering light of the fire dancing on his golden skin. “Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle leaned down slowly to kiss his cheek. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to tense up even more than he already had been, but somehow he managed it. Pulling back from him, she turned and left the great hall.

Once she had returned to her room, Belle readied for bed in a daze. It had only been a friendly peck on the cheek, yet she couldn’t get the feel of his skin under her lips out of her mind. His scales had been so much warmer and softer than she had expected.

Lying in bed, she slowly lifted her fingers to stroke across her lips. Her mind was racing and all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him again.

~*~

The next morning Belle came downstairs and was shocked to find Rumplestiltskin still in the great hall. He was sitting in the same spot by the fire, turning the now empty wooden bowl around in his hands.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Belle called softly, not wanting to startle him. “Have you been here all night?”

“Hmm.” Rumplestiltskin nodded absentmindedly, still seeming distracted by the bowl.

“I… I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have used that.” Belle was now starting to worry that she’d committed some terrible faux pas. “It just seemed so perfect.”

“It’s no matter, I just forgot I had it.” He seemed like he was going to say more, but before he did so his face abruptly changed expression, a mask dropping in front of his eyes, before he stood to face her, vanishing the bowl as he did so. “But never mind that. Now, tell me little maid, what else are you planning to do to my castle? Hmm? I can’t imagine a little slip of a thing like you hauling in a tree by yourself but that would be entertaining to see.” He pointed at her, turning his back as he spoke.

“What?” Belle wrinkled her nose in confusion. “A whole tree? Why would I do that?”

“You…?” Rumplestiltskin turned to face her, surprise evident on his face before the mask fell into place again and he gestured around the hall with his hands. “Well, it’s just that you’ve brought the rest of the forest inside I assumed a tree would be next. Followed by a pond or a mountain perhaps.”

“Now you’re just being silly.” Belle shook her head.

“You’re one to talk. How is that head of yours after last night, anyway? You seemed rather drunk by the end there.”

“I had one glass of wine, I’d hardly call that drunk.”

“But you… “ He looked confused again before shaking it off. “Never mind. Anyway, you didn’t answer me. What other traditions can I expect?”

“Well, the Solstice always falls around the middle of the Midwinter Festival.” Belle cast her mind back to years past. “The Royal Astronomers would calculate the exact date and an announcement would be made that the sun was returning. We would celebrate with a great feast of food and drink. My father would open the castle and invite all the townsfolk to join us.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “That is most certainly not going to happen here.”

“That’s all right, it was never my favourite part anyway,” Belle confided. “It was usually fun for an hour or so, but being around so many people was exhausting.”

He looked genuinely relieved, as though he feared Belle might have invited up the whole population of the town behind his back, and Belle had to hide a stifle a laugh at the image it brought to mind. Somehow she couldn’t imagine her antisocial master taking on the jovial host role her father had embodied for years.

Thinking about those grand feasts brought another tradition to the forefront of Belle’s mind. One she hadn’t thought about when setting up her initial decorations but which now jumped out to her as something extremely important. It played on her mind as she headed down to the kitchen to start Rumplestitlskin’s breakfast.

Once she found herself with a free moment she ventured out into the garden on her quest. Just as she’d hoped, she found the object of her search relatively quickly and cut a few pieces.

Returning to the great hall she scoured the place for the perfect location, settling on just above the doors which she knew Rumplestiltskin often walked through. Then it was just a matter of time. Belle picked up a book and sat down to wait.

Her patience was rewarded about an hour later when she heard footsteps approaching. Quickly putting down her book she moved closer to the doorway, pretending to clean something on the pedestal nearby.

The footsteps stopped and Belle risked a glance up, seeing Rumplestiltskin still a few paces away from the door, his eyes narrowing as he looked up.

“What the hell is that?” He pointed a long finger at the sprig she had affixed above the entryway.

“Hmm?” Belle aimed for nonchalance. “It’s mistletoe.”

“I can see that, but why is it in my doorway? I thought I made it clear that we were not having any guests in the castle.”

“We’re not. What does that have to do… wait…” Belle narrowed her own eyes at him as the meaning of his words sunk in. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. What in particular are you wittering on about now?”

“You know what mistletoe is for.”

“Poisoning your guests with the berries?” Rumplestiltskin shrugged with clearly false casualness. “Not very festive but who knows what passes for tradition in your backwards little town. Perhaps ritual sacrifice is the climax of your Winter Festival.”

“And that’s why you’re avoiding it, is it?” Belle had noticed how he hadn’t moved a step. “You think I’m trying to poison you?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not avoiding anything. This is my castle and I go where I want. I certainly don’t have my comings and goings dictated by a plant.”

“Then why don’t you come through the doorway?”

“Why do you want me to?”

“You know you’re being very childish.”

“Fine.” Rumplestiltskin took a few large steps, stopping directly under the mistletoe and staring directly at her like he was calling her bluff. “Now what?”

“Now it’s tradition that when two people meet under the mistletoe they’re supposed to kiss,” Belle explained. She was unsurprised to see no hint of surprise on Rumplestiltskin’s face.

He kept himself still and Belle realised that he was waiting for her to make the first move. He seemed nervous but not reluctant, which gave her confidence that her actions weren’t unwelcome.

Belle met Rumplestitlskin’s eyes as she leaned up. Her first thought was to kiss him on the cheek, the same as before, but she knew that she wanted more than that. Gathering up her courage she turned her head at the last second, catching his lips with hers.

She felt him pause for a second and wondered how her heart would take it if he rejected her. But then his lips moved and he was kissing her back. The feeling of his lips under hers was heavenly and she closed her eyes as a wild thought ran through her head that she never wanted to do anything but this ever again.

But then a strange sensation started tickling her lips and she pulled back in confusion. Opening her eyes she gasped in shock at the sight of Rumplestiltskin’s face rippling oddly.

“What’s happening to you?” Belle cried in alarm.

“What…?” Rumplestiltskin looked down at his hands, which Belle noticed were also shifting and changing, his usual golden scaled skin turning pink before returning to normal.

“Are you all right?” She reached out for him but he pulled back abruptly, his head shooting up as his gaze fixed firmly on her face.

“You!” Rumplestiltskin pointed at her aggressively. “What did you do?”

“I…I don’t know,” Belle stammered, completely confused by everything that had just happened, “I mean… nothing. I just kissed you. I didn’t mean to…”

“‘Oh, I should have known!” He took another step back, shaking his head. “You told me this was your plan from the beginning but I didn’t listen.”

“Plan? What plan?”

“To drive out the Darkness. Well, it won’t work.” He was pacing now, seeming more and more agitated by the second and Belle despaired, wondering how everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You kissed me!” He turned to face her, practically roaring the words as though they were an accusation.

“Yes!” That was true, but she didn’t understand why he was so upset by it.

“And why would you want to kiss the beast? Hmm! Hmm!” He brought his face close to hers, his eyes boring into her own, while his finger pointed at her chest. “Trying to be the hero and defeat the monster?”

“Rumplestiltskin, please! You’re not making any sense.” Belle reached out for his hand but he darted from her reach, skipping a few steps back. “All I did was kiss you!”

“Right,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “And you expect me to believe that you didn’t know what would happen. That with all those little books you like to read you don’t know about True Love’s Kiss.”

“I don’t… wait.” Belle stared at him in wonder. “True Love? We’re True Love?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin looked away.

“But you just said…”

“It’s impossible,” he spat. “No one could ever love me.”

“But I do!” Belle wasn’t sure she’d fully realised it herself before that moment right then, but suddenly she was more certain of the truth of it than of anything she’d ever known before.

“No, you don’t!”

Something in Belle snapped at his words and she stalked forwards, pointing her own finger at this chest. “No! You don’t get to do that! I know you’re upset about… something, but you don’t get to tell me how I feel or call me a liar.”

Her voice broke and frustrated tears sprang to her eyes as all the heightened emotions of the last few minutes hit her. She turned her head away, not wanting him to see.

She braced herself for another argument but there was only silence. A few seconds later she heard soft footsteps behind her and his voice, much lower and softer than it had been when he was accusing her of terrible things before.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Belle sniffled.

“Well, now you’re definitely lying.”

Huffing a small laugh, she turned to face him. He seemed to have calmed down and she was glad for it. But she was still confused.

“What just happened?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed. “True Love’s Kiss is very powerful magic. It can break any curse. And being the Dark One is a curse.”

“So why don’t you want it broken?” Belle felt more confused than ever. Being the Dark One seemed like a terrible burden to her, why wouldn’t he want to be free of it?

“I… need it. It’s the source of my power.”

“Right,” Belle nodded sadly. “And power is more important to you than love.”

Rumplestiltskin looked conflicted, like he didn’t have an answer for that question. He opened and closed his mouth a few times but made no reply.

Belle gave him a small sad smile and turned, leaving him alone in the doorway. Walking without conscious thought she found herself in her library, her place of solace that Rumplestiltskin had given her.

Books had been a source of comfort to her her entire life. They also held a wealth of knowledge in their pages. Surely somewhere in this room was information about True Love’s Kiss.

~*~

Belle stayed in the library for the rest of the day and most of the night, only returning to her room very late. She hoped that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be upset about her not serving his dinner, but had the feeling that he was possibly avoiding her as well.

The next morning when she came down to the great hall she found Rumpelstiltskin already there. He was sitting in his chair, dressed in one of his spikier ensembles. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away and Belle took a deep breath before approaching the table, a book held tightly to her chest.

“Rumplestiltskin… I…” Belle paused, wanting to make sure her words were right.

“It’s fine, dearie. You can go.” He waved his hand dismissively, barely looking at her, and Belle was thrown off her carefully thought out script.

“What?” She frowned, trying to understand his meaning.

“I release you from our deal. You don’t have to stay here any more.” He turned to face her fully and if she hadn’t known him as well as she did she would have missed the sadness behind the sneer on his face. “That is what you came in here to ask, isn’t it?”

“Of course not!” Belle was shocked.

“Well maybe it should have been.” Rumplestiltskin turned away from her again. “Maybe I don’t want you here any more.”

Belle decided to ignore that, not believing it for a second.

“Listen, I was doing some research in the library.” She placed the book she had been carrying down on the table and tapped it with the finger of one hand before continuing. “And I found a tale of a farmer who angered a witch. She cursed him with a poisoned apple. His wife revived him with True Love’s Kiss but then he ate more of the apple and when she tried to bring him back again it didn’t work.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “Maybe she stopped loving him when she realised he was an imbecile.”

“Maybe,” Belle laughed, glad for the moment of levity. “But magical scholars theorise that this is proof that True Love’s Kiss only works once on the same curse. If he’d eaten a different apple then she would have been able to bring him back, but she couldn’t because it was the same one.”

Rumplestiltskin eyed her strangely. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if this is true, then we can kiss,” she pointed out eagerly. “True Love’s Kiss already worked once, it has no power any more.”

She had hoped he would be excited by this news, but instead he just looked pained.

“I can’t.” He looked down at the table. “You don’t understand. I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for on the strength of a theory from an old book based on a story that may or may not be completely made up. This is too important to me.”

“And I’m not,” Belle surmised sadly, taking a step back.

“Belle.” His arm reached out to grab her hand before she could go too far. “Please believe me when I say you are the best thing to come into my life in a long time.”

“But there’s something else.”

“Yes.”

Belle sighed and moved back towards him, her arm falling from his grip as she leveraged herself up to sit next on the table next to his chair.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I love you. And I want to be with you. I’d like to kiss you if we can, but if we can’t then that’s all right. Just, please, please be honest with me.”

When he didn’t reply, Belle sighed and stood from the table. This time he didn’t stop her from leaving.

~*~

That evening, as she descended the staircase, she wondered what would await her when she entered the great hall. Would Rumplestiltskin still be there? Would he try to make her leave again? Or would he be avoiding her, holed up somewhere in this vast castle where she couldn’t find him? She wasn’t sure which was preferable.

As she reached the doorway she took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever she found on the other side.

Pushing open the doors, she stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her. At the far end of the great hall, stretching all the way up to the ceiling, was an enormous fir tree, draped with red ribbons and gold tinsel. Candles were carefully nestled in the branches and a cascade of light projected around the room from their flickering flames reflecting off the gold.

She didn’t blink as she slowly crossed the hall to stand next to the tree, afraid that it was a mirage that would vanish if she took her eyes off it for a second. Once she was beside it she carefully reached out a hand, touching the delicate threads that made up the gold tinsel. Looking over at the spinning wheel in the corner, she was unsurprised to see the ivy had been unwound from the spokes and placed on a shelf nearby.

“You said work not related to the festivities was banned, so I thought this would be all right.” Rumplestilskin’s voice came from behind her, deeper and softer than she had ever heard it before.

Belle opened her mouth, feeling almost speechless. “This… this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Turning to face Rumplestiltskin, she immediately reconsidered that statement. The twinkling light made his skin sparkle in a way that took her breath away. She also noticed that he had changed into a wine red shirt with matching brocade waistcoat that became him very well.

“Happy Solstice, Belle.” He stepped forward to stand by her side. “I may not be a Royal Astronomer, but I can tell you it’s today. Tonight, if you want to be really accurate.”

“Thank you.” She took his arm gratefully and turned so they were both facing the tree. “This is… wonderful. Whatever made you think of decorating a tree like this?”

He swallowed visibly and stared straight ahead, not looking at her as he spoke.

“I lied before. When I said I had no traditions. The Solstice celebrations were the highlight of our year too. We would go out into the woods and chop down a tree, bring it inside and decorate it. Much smaller than this one, of course. Children would make decorations to hang from the branches of their family’s tree. We didn’t have much so they would use whatever they could find in the woods and any scraps they could get their hands on. Every year I would pretend to mess up a bit of my spinning so Bae could use the yarn…”

He trailed off and Belle held her breath, not wanting to break the spell that had fallen over them. She wondered if Rumplestiltskin was even aware of how much he was sharing with her. When he showed no signs of continuing she plucked up the courage to voice her next question.

“Bae? Is that your son?”

“What?” His head turned to face her, his eyes full of a suspicion that Belle was desperate to banish. “How do you know that?”

“I found the clothes upstairs,” she explained, holding tightly to his arm so he couldn’t retreat from her. “What happened to him?”

“I lost him.” The sad resignation in his voice made Belle’s heart break, but then he continued in a much more determined tone. “But not for good. I will find him again. It’s why…”

The pieces started to fall in place for Belle. “That’s why you need your power? To find your son?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s understandable.” Belle stared straight into his eyes, wanting to make sure he understood her words. “And we will. We’ll find him.”

“We?” Rumplestiltskin looked surprised.

“Yes, ‘we’.” Belle emphasised. “I promised you forever didn’t I?”

“You did. But I believe I released you from that deal.”

“Well you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Belle squeezed his arm gently as a thought came to her. “Do you still have them? Bae’s decorations I mean.”

“Every one.” His voice was quiet.

“Maybe we should put them on the tree?” She hoped he wouldn’t be upset by her suggestion. Or take it as a criticism of his own decorations.

Instead he waved his hand and a box appeared on the table next to him. Belle let his arm slip from her hands as he turned towards it. Opening the lid with a reverence Belle couldn’t ever remember seeing from him, Rumpestiltskin reached in and brought out a wonky star made of sticks held together with rough yarn. Stroking a finger over it lovingly, he reached out and carefully placed it on the tree before reaching back into the box and doing the same with a crudely carved piece of bark that Belle was almost certain was supposed to represent a snowflake.

All in all, around two dozen small ornaments of varying degrees of skill emerged from the box and were placed on the tree. When Rumplestitlskin had finished hanging the last one he stepped back to Belle’s side and they admired his handiwork together.

“Beautiful.” Belle said sincerely, wrapping her arm around his back and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Bae loved the Solstice.” Rumplestiltskin’s quiet voice broke the contented silence that had fallen over them both. “I haven’t… I haven’t celebrated it since he left.”

Belle winced. “I’m sorry if I brought back bad memories.”

“No, no the memories are good. Thank you for reminding me of them.”

“I’m glad.” Belle lifted her head to look at him, then noticed something else sitting on the table behind his shoulder. “You made mulled wine?”

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin turned and stepped closer to the carved bowl that she had used previously, filling two cups and handing one to her. “It’s Wassail.”

“Wassail?” Belle sniffed the cup in her hand. It smelled similar to mulled wine in some ways, but the underlying scent was different.

“It’s a spiced ale.”

Belle took a sip. It was earthier than she expected, but pleasantly spiced. She wasn’t sure if it would be something she would choose to drink much of though.

“It’s all right if you don’t like it.” Rumpelstiltskin sounded amused. “It can be an acquired taste.”

“It’s nice,” Belle protested. “And the bowl is beautiful. Did you make it?”

“No, it’s… Well, I suppose you could say it’s a family heirloom.”

“Really?”

“I lived with my aunts as a child and at this time of year we would go Wassailing. We would go from door to door, visiting our neighbours, singing songs and sharing spiced ale from our Wassail bowl. This was theirs, passed down to them through the generations.”

“And then it went to you.” Belle smiled. “Did you take Bae Wassailing with it?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin seemed to deflate a little and Belle instantly regretted the question. “When Bae was old enough to go he went with some neighbours and their children. I… wasn’t welcome.”

“Because you were the Dark One?” Belle surmised.

“No, I was something much worse.” He blinked then shook his head as if to clear the memories. “But I still filled the bowl and when Bae returned he would sing to me and I would drink from it. And then I would give him a small gift to thank him for his song and the ale. And speaking of gifts…!”

Belle laughed as he took her cup, placing it with his on the table before grabbing her hand, pulling her back towards the tree excitedly.

“Here,” Rumplestiltskin reached out for a small parcel she hadn’t seen before and handed it to her. “Happy Solstice, Belle.”

“Oh!” She looked at the box in wonder and despair. “But I don’t have a gift for you.”

“Belle, you are a gift to me,” Rumpelstiltskin said with such sincerity it took her breath away. “You are the Solstice incarnate, my light in the darkness. Now, please, open it.”

Following his instructions Belle untied the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to reveal a stunningly delicate gold bracelet.

“Oh, Rumple…” she trailed off, swallowing heavily. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s infused with my magic.” Rumplestiltskin reached into the box, pulling the bracelet out to clasp around her wrist. “I was doing some research of my own and I found a spell that has the power to block True Love’s Kiss. As long as you’re wearing this…”

“Really?” Belle felt the hope swell inside her. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk it?”

“Yes. Just… promise me you’ll stop if I start to change.”

Belle nodded as Rumplestiltskin leaned down and captured her lips with his. This time there was no tickling sensation, just the glorious feeling of his lips against hers. After a few seconds Belle pulled back just enough to scan his face.

“Well?” Rumplestiltskin asked breathlessly.

Belle stared into his wonderfully familiar amber eyes and smiled. “It’s working. Kiss me again.”

Rumplestiltskin returned her smile and leaned down. This time Belle reached up, wrapping her arms around him as she eagerly returned his kiss while the tree twinkled brightly beside them and, somewhere in the distance, the sun began its journey home.

[epicfroggz]

Oh that’s a very interesting analysis, especially since the BonfireVN vid has the more viper looking Serpent display the internal label as Abyssal Serpent while Messmer gets Base Messmer. So it’s most likely the reason Messmer is infested with “child” snakes is because when Marika sealed the Abyssal, she/it was pregnant and it’s forced to (somehow) lay and hatch its eggs in the sealed space… Do you think Messmer was aware of the eggs/child serpents prior to the seal shattering?

Also, as you pointed out, Messmer presumably doesn’t have a womb/vagina combo to allow himself to excise the festering brood in a “natural” way. Do you see any way he might be able to give himself and the rest relief by getting them out, or is he going to have to live with it?

Hello, thanks for the ask! (This is referring to this post, in which I propose that the Abyssal Serpent is pregnant. It also pertains to the future of my Messmer ending AU which can be found here!)

To clarify, vipers are viviparous and bear live young, so the Abyssal Serpent’s children are not within eggs. Is Messmer aware of this—yes! The serpent within is in anguish at being sealed, and torments Messmer with nightmares of its festering brood crawling inside him, unable to break free. He carries the burden of its suffering alone. Many times it has made him doubt his mother’s decision to implant the seal—there is beauty in birth, is there not? But she had always reassured him the seal was for his own good, despite the long list of painful side effects…

In the phase 2 cutscene, Messmer does not seem shocked or surprised at the “hideous new form” he takes when he removes the seal, he immediately accepts it as his own. I think this is because, while on the outside he never aged or changed over time, Messmer was aware of the slow degradation of his true inner self. His sealed form was a permanent mask hiding the horror, agony, rot—the abyss festering underneath. “Base Serpent” Messmer has always been him, and he finally gets sick of hiding it. Sick of this stagnation. He needs to feed it.

But I digress. On the fate of his brood: I joked about his 300 snake children, but I believe only six or seven of them actually survive (the ones he is able to summon). The Abyssal Serpent is starving, languishing in its neglect, and has been reabsorbing its own children just to keep itself alive, a horrific fate that brings it great pain. Messmer is desperate to save the few who are still alive, but considering they’re several hundred years past their due date and partially fused with him, he needs a bit of help.

That’s where Radagon’s egg comes in. (For the record, I have no clue why Radagon has an egg or where he got it from, but it certainly exists, so I’m gonna use it.) After consuming his mother and the Elden Ring, Messmer acquires knowledge of the Great Rune of the Unborn that resides within the egg. He convinces Rennala to let him eat it (Rennala pls you have to let him go), and with its powers of rebirth, he is finally able to expel his children. The egg also passes through him and comes out the other end, although, it has acquired some shadowy properties along the way… More on that later, but yeah, that’s how I think he can save them!

- Froggo

[moeitsu]

hi moe! ♡

I just wanted to drop in and say I love your siren!arthur fic! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

I've never read a monster au before but this has honestly opened doors for me. If you don't mind me asking, do you have any monster romance books that would be good for someone new to the genre? I've seen some before but they're kinda intimidating lol, and I have no clue where to even start. I'd love to read more stuff similar to yours! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

~ 🌸 anon

Wowow!! First of all, thank you for your kind words anon! 💖I'm touched that my work made you want to explore this genre further!! That's such a huge compliment :')

I’d love to give you some recommendations! In fact, since I’ve gotten quite a few comments and asks from people who’ve never dipped their toes into monster romance before, I’m thinking of turning this into a little “Guide to Monster Romance” post. Since you all seem to enjoy my siren!Arthur AU!

Below the cut, I’ve put together some key info and recommendations that I think will be perfect for curious readers. 😉

(also I adore the emoji anons, It feels like I have secret pen pals hehe)

Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Some definitions are in order to better understand why we enjoy this kind of romance and the distinctions between different types of attraction.

Two terms that often come up in discussions about monster romance are teratophilia and exophilia. While they’re sometimes used interchangeably, they actually describe different but overlapping attractions.

Teratophilia refers to an attraction to beings that are monstrous or deformed by human standards. This includes creatures that might have exaggerated or unsettling features—think demons, werewolves, vampires, or eldritch horrors with too many eyes (or even siren!arthur). The appeal of teratophilia often comes from the blend of danger, power, and otherworldly beauty, as well as the emotional themes of acceptance and intimacy despite physical inhuman differences.

Exophilia, on the other hand, is an attraction to the alien, the completely other. It’s about a fascination with beings that exist outside the realm of human experience, such as extraterrestrials, deep-sea leviathans, or sentient AI/robots. Where teratophilia might lean into the monstrous and grotesque, exophilia often embraces the unknowable and the strange—forms of intimacy that challenge the limits of human understanding.

Both play into the themes of desire beyond the ordinary, exploring love and attraction without human limitations. And that’s exactly what makes this romance so compelling!

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Monster romance thrives on themes that tap into deep emotional and psychological yearnings—particularly those of acceptance, transformation, and love beyond the ordinary. While every story has its own unique spin, there are some recurring themes that define the genre:

The Monster as the Outcast - One of the most common tropes in monster romance is the idea of the monster as an outsider—shunned by society (or its own people), feared, or even hunted for what it is. Whether it’s a misunderstood beast, a cursed creature, or an alien being stranded in a world that sees it as a threat, the monster often carries a profound loneliness. This naturally sets the stage for a romance built on recognition—the human protagonist is often the first to see past the monstrous exterior and acknowledge the being’s pain, intelligence, or humanity (even when it isn’t actually human).

“I Am Unlovable” - Closely tied to the outcast theme is the monster’s belief that it is unworthy of love. It may view itself as a hideous thing, unfit for companionship, or even dangerous to those who come too close. This often creates an angsty dynamic where the monster struggles to accept the affection of the protagonist, fearing it’s a mistake or that it will end in heartbreak. This self-loathing is a powerful emotional hook because it allows the human love interest to challenge that perception, proving through their actions that love is not just about appearances. (This is a personal favorite trope of mine)

The FMC’s Inner Conflict - In many monster romances, the female protagonist struggles with her feelings—how could she possibly love something so inhuman? Society, fear, and instinct all tell her to run, to reject the creature before her. But as she spends time with him, she realizes that what she initially perceived as monstrous—his sharp claws, his glowing eyes, his alien physiology—masks something deeply beautiful. She sees his kindness, his protectiveness, his vulnerability, and suddenly, the way he looks no longer matters. What once repulsed her now feels familiar, even cherished. This shift in perspective is at the heart of so many monster romances, reinforcing the idea that true love is about seeing someone for who they really are.

Beauty and the Beast Reversed - While monster romance often draws from the classic Beauty and the Beast framework, it frequently subverts the idea of the beast needing to become human. Instead, the heroine often grows to embrace the monster as he is, falling for him not in spite of his appearance but because of who he is as a whole. The monster doesn’t need to be “fixed” or transformed into a handsome prince—love itself is the transformation, reshaping both characters into something stronger.

The Duality of Danger and Safety - A fascinating aspect of monster romance is how it plays with the contrast between danger and protection. The monster is often portrayed as physically powerful, capable of great death and destruction, yet with the heroine, he is gentle. There is an inherent tension in knowing that this creature could harm others—yet chooses not to, especially when it comes to her. This taps into themes of trust, surrender, and the thrill of loving something wild and untamed. (Another favorite trope)

Transformation and Acceptance - Many monster romances explore themes of change—sometimes literally, such as when a character undergoes a transformation (werewolves, vampires, or even the heroine herself becoming something new). But more often, it’s a metaphorical transformation: the heroine evolves in her understanding of what love looks like, while the monster learns to accept himself and allow love into his life. These stories challenge traditional notions of attraction, beauty, and belonging, leaving us with the profound idea that love is not about looking perfect.

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Alright, I think that covers everything for now. I’ll stop rambling and get to the recommendations!

If you're new to the genre and looking for something soft, sweet, and packed with spice (but not too monstrous), I highly recommend the Ice Planet Barbarians series by Ruby Dixon.

The series consists of 21 standalone books, though I definitely suggest reading them in order because there's an overarching plot that adds depth to the stories. The books follow a group of human women who are abducted by aliens, only to crash on a frozen planet where they encounter the native barbarians—large, strong, and sometimes a little rough around the edges. Each book focuses on a different couple, exploring themes of survival, love, and the fierce chemistry between the humans and their alien mates. While the romance is at the heart of each story, there’s also plenty of adventure, emotional growth, humor, and hornyness, making it a well-rounded series for fans of spicy romance with a touch of sci-fi.

The IPB series also offers great representation of diverse female characters, each with unique backgrounds, personalities, and strengths. The heroines vary in age, body type, and life experience—some are strong and independent, while others grow into their strength through their relationships with their alien mates. The series features women from very different walks of life, such as scientists, artists, and everyday women, showing that love, growth, and self-discovery are for everyone.

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If you’re a fan of The Dark Tide and looking for something in a similar vein, I highly recommend Emma Hamm’s Deep Waters series.

While I’ve only read the first book so far, it’s clear that this series is a perfect blend of dystopian steampunk elements and underwater fantasy, and it deeply inspired my own story. Set in a world where underwater cities are teeming with secrets and hidden dangers, the series introduces mermen who are visually striking and alien in their appearance but have rich, vibrant personalities that bring them to life in a way that feels both unique and endearing. If you love the idea of exploring mysterious underwater realms, full of intrigue and adventure, with a dash of romance and spice, these books are sure to captivate you. They're incredible slow burns that focus on developing feelings rather than just sexual desire. Plus, the cover art is absolutely stunning!

(I devoured the first book in one sitting. It's easily one of my favorite romances!)

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Another series that is particularly easy to enjoy for new readers is the Duskwalker Brides series by Opal Reyne.

This series blends dark romance, fantasy, and adventure, offering a captivating escape into a world filled with fascinating characters, demonic creatures and unique dynamics. Set in a world where the Duskwalkers, mysterious and powerful beings, rule the land, the series centers around women who find themselves chosen as brides to these enigmatic creatures. What makes the series so appealing is its accessibility—it's easy to dive into with engaging plots, a good balance of tension and romance, and characters you can’t help but root for. (a warning, this series is VERY spicy. There is a lot of monster fucking in these books) The Duskwalkers, though fierce and otherworldly, are complex and emotionally rich, making for an exciting mix of danger and passion. With strong world-building, character growth, and plenty of steamy moments, its a great choice for readers new to the genre or anyone looking for an enjoyable, immersive experience.

(Personally, I only read the first book in this series. It just wasn't my cup of tea)

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This next series focuses on MLM monster romances, and while I haven’t started it yet, Monstrous by Lily Mane is high on my TBR list, and I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews!

The series offers a thrilling mix of fantasy, romance, and supernatural intrigue. From what I’ve gathered, it dives into the deep, emotional connections between human men and monstrous, otherworldly creatures. These monsters are more than just fearsome—they’re complex, layered beings with distinct personalities that bring an exciting dynamic to the romance. I also believe some of these monsters would fall into the exophilia category. The world-building is rich, the characters are emotionally compelling, and the chemistry between the leads is absolutely electric. If you love a dark, steamy romance with supernatural twists and complex relationships, this series is definitely one to check out. From what I've heard, they re surprisingly sweet and sad and a bit graphic. Think hurt/comfort and loads of angst. I can’t wait to dive in myself!

[symbiotic-slime]

about your tags under compulsory husbands

yes yes you may talk to me about the crossover au

actually please I beg talk to me about crossover au

hi!! sorry it took me a couple days to get around to this but YESYESYESYES I WOULD LOVE TO YAP MORE ABOUT THIS

okay so I’ve got two AUs: one serious one and one that’s a bit of a joke but i still love it

the first AU is a normal crossover. Through some Kayne time magic bullshit, Arthur and John end up in San Francisco in 2018-2019 (I think that’s when Venom 1-2 are set?). They’re after some type of magic mcguffin that will help Kayne get power or whatever, with the promise of getting them their own bodies. Basically, it’s what’s going on in s5 but with heading to San Fran instead of the 1300s. The mcguffin (idk what it is— admittedly this part is not super thought through) is being held within some type of cult made up of the wealthy elite in San Fran.

While Arthur and John are trying to figure out how they’re going to get the mcguffin, Eddie and Venom are also investigating this cult but for different reasons. Maybe the cult is like experimenting on the homeless like Drake in the first movie, or there’s money being funnelled into the organization that tipped Eddie off to something shady being done. ANYWAYS the point is both Arthur + John and Eddie + Venom are investigating the same cult, and while on the job, they run into each other and decide to temporarily work together.

Cue a bunch of shenanigans of two guys both trying to act like they are not possessed. They’re both acting super weird; they’re talking to themselves, responding to seemingly nothing. Arthur’s responses are slower, almost like he’s not actually seeing what’s going on around them. Eddie’s his usual level of crackhead weirdo, very twitchy and jumpy which gets even weirder when he’s jumpy at seemingly nothing. Both Eddie and Arthur are suspicious of the other, but they do not want to question anything the other does for fear that they’ll turn around and question them. Venom and John are the most suspicious of the other person, they know something is wrong and are both trying to guess based off of what they’re used to.

While breaking in to either steal something or get evidence of something (or both- maybe Arthur and John are planning on stealing the mcguffin during this no matter what), they get surrounded by the cultists. They’ve got weapons drawn on them and Arthur is having his typical panic attack. To get out of the situation, Eddie transforms into Venom and kills the cultists. Cue John describing Venom to Arthur like:

“FUCK OARTHUR. The man we were with has transformed into a hideous beast. He's... grown much larger and is covered in writhing black tendrils. His eyes are are a pearly white and his mouth... His mouth is huge and bristling with wickedly sharp teeth. Oh my god, Oarthur. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking EATING the cultists! Their blood is spattering in crimson smears as their limp bodies fall to the floor." (once again gotta credit my girl @cyborg-empress for this description)

So Arthur’s panicking even more now, because what the fuck just happened. Venom recedes back into Eddie so he can try to calm Arthur down and explain what just happened. John is more hesitant about staying with Eddie, but Arthur reasons that if Eddie was going to eat them he would have already done so by this point in the numerous times they’ve been alone together.

Eddie introduces Venom and explains everything that lead them to where they are today. He talks about the LIFE Foundation and Carnage (this is ambiguously set post Venom 2 divorce/make up but they’re still in San Fran not Mexico), and Venom takes a physical form to say hi to Arthur. John immediately gets jealous that Venom can take a separate physical form outside of their host. After Eddie is done explaining, Arthur decides it’s safe to tell them about John. Eddie and Arthur decide to continue working together, and now that they know more about the other person’s true identity and motives, they’re able to work together better.

Arthur and John get a chance to use their powers too. Their lead turns up dead right before they were about to divulge major info about the cult. Eddie is freaking out, unsure what to do now that this has fallen through. Arthur touches their lead and sees how they died, giving them a new lead to find who killed their original lead.

Arthur and Eddie grow closer over the course of the investigation. Through this, Arthur and John learn a lot about how to handle their relationship by talking/observing Venom and Eddie. I know it’s insane to say symbrock could help with someone’s relationship issues but I think in this case they’re more stable than John and Arthur. Especially at this point in their relationship, Eddie and Venom have learned to overcome their differences and work together as a collective, something which John and Arthur DESPERATELY need. Eddie gives Arthur advice on navigating bodysharing and also immediately assumes John and Arthur are dating. Arthur blushes and explains that no, that’s not what’s going on with them, but also inquires more into what dating your brain parasite is like. Also, after watching John and Arthur’s constant bickering, Venom has a Rosa Diaz moment and tells Arthur and John that “you two just need to bone”. Arthur is mortified, Eddie is also mortified that Venom just outright said that, but does add on that it can help dissolve tension.

I haven’t really thought much about how this ends tbh. The cult gets exposed, Eddie’s article blows up and leads to police investigations. Kayne dies, partially to get him out of John and Arthur’s lives and mostly because I hate him (I apologize if you’re a Kayne enjoyer— I completely get why ppl like him he just annoys me ajshdhdjfjd). Kayne’s death is incredibly unserious— something akin to Cletus’ death in Venom 2 where Venom just said “fuck this guy!” and bites his head off.

Once the dust settles, Eddie and Arthur get coffee together. John and Arthur are getting along a lot better, and Venom asks if they took their advice. Arthur turns very red but does not deny anything. Eddie buys Arthur this t-shirt and John vows to never tell Arthur what it says. The end.

The second AU is more of just a concept in my mind than anything solid with an actual plot. Basically, it’s a bodysharing support club where a bunch of characters from different media get together once a month like it’s Alcoholics Anonymous. So far, the characters I have in mind are Eddie + Venom, John + Arthur, and Stanford Pines + Bill Cipher. Jane Prentiss crashes the meetings every now and then to read poetry about worms and then leaves.

I hope you enjoy these AUs!!

[meowdei]

option 2 u know the details

# FAILBOY DAZAI OSAMU

Okay so I haven’t watched bsd since the pandemic and I didn’t even make it that far in the first place so there’s not too much for me to go off here besides what I know from you LOL so bear with me:

As far as writers go I think dazai is pretty into dark content especially yandere and maybe pseudocest. He writes a lot of au’s and comes up with a lot creative lore of his own but he’s pretty fond of just sticking to regular good old canon compliant fics too. He’s pretty versatile like that. But I think the best part is that he is insanely good at writing long, and very chilling dark content fics and it’s excellently planned out and paced and he knows it, too, so he’s insanely cocky about his writing 💀 and I also feel like he’s the type of guy who reads a lot of novels and is low key pretentious about it like “that fic was such a wannabe [ insert book ] but obviously they missed the main focal point that the author was trying to make, which is why their fic is so stale and….” And anyone who dm’s him on discord is like bruh . Be quiet you freak LOL. The only thing is that his smut is not bad at all, but not his strongest suit so that’s the only thing he’s a bit self conscious of as a writer.

But he has EXCELLENT characterization of you. He makes banger hc’s and posts them and reblogs them with a drabble underneath and they do numbers without making it to the main tags bc he just says the juiciest and also objectively correct stuff and it makes everyone feral. But he also reads the tags and clenches his fist like “yeah you guys can agree bc I’m always right but . Don’t agree too hard that’s MY girlfriend” LOLLLL. His masterlist isn’t even “[ Fandom ] Masterlist” it’s “Carina Masterlist” and it’s his only masterlist atm because he only fixates on one character at a time per fandom if he’s a fanfic writer and you’re the only one for god knows how long it’s been so he’s never even made a general fandom masterlist. It’s just you LMAO.

He’s vehemently no sharing. Absolutely doesn’t follow any blogs that are Carina selfshippers, absolutely does not let them follow him either LOL he softblocks or hardblocks depending on his mood. He has mad beef with Fyodor LMAO HE VAGUES HIM ALL THE TIME and the best part is Fyodor is maybe the second most, if not just as popular Carina blog, too, but Fyodor writes the actual smut a bit better and makes BANGER FUNNY SHIT-POSTS and it makes Dazai soooo mad bc I don’t see him as being quiet as funny as Fyodor HAHA. And even better is Fyodor hardly ever acknowledges his vague posts but on a rare occasion he makes one that absolutely GAGS Dazai so he has a full blown meltdown on discord to whoever will listen. It’s so funny.

I think he’s always answering hate asks too. He finds them mainly amusing I don’t think he’s the type to really care that much about what ppl say bc again . He’s objectively very very very talented at writing and he knows it—to an infuriating extent, in fact. He knows that his worldbuilding and prose are very impressive and that even the areas he’s weaker in than others, are better than most fics in the tags so in terms of writers, he’s kind of the fandom’s gold mine. The hate asks mainly come for his personality but he just responds like “yeah? And this personality is exactly her type so go cry about it” and he’s borderline delusional 💀

He gets a decent amount of comms, I think. I think he’s a little less creative about the aesthetical visions of the comms and they’re very pretty bc he comms very expensive and talented artists, but his poses and ideas for any backgrounds and props aren’t the most creative—and then someone reblogs Fyodor’s very clever and creative comm with well thought out outfits, scenery, and poses and it makes him SO MAD™️ lollll. His theme is hideous, too. It’s not even simple or lacking, it’s just straight up bad . He clearly tries to make a good theme because you can tell the attempt was there but …… his eye for aesthetics is just so bad like SO SO SO BAD his pictures are old and outdated and low key cringe and they don’t even rly match in color schemes and his ability to organize things and make them pretty and orderly and also just easy to navigate is terrible. So his blog is hideous. But luckily his layout for fics is just title, warnings, and authors note with a divider so it’s simple and basic enough that it’s not an ugly fic that people swipe past LOL. He doesn’t even bother with making a fic header but occasionally if it’s a super long fic that’s near and dear to his heart he will just get a manga panel of you and crop it and add it 💀 he gets hate asks from Fyodor about his boring comms and ugly aesthetics and then he sends Fyodor hate asks about terrible characterization and “it’s so clear you get your opinions from minors on tik tok and reddit” LOLLLLL. He’s pretty unproblematic for the most part like he makes some highly opinionated posts here and there but he doesn’t lurk other blogs nor does he send anon hate out of pettiness but he does send to Fyodor. That’s his exception. He sends Fyodor so much hate and vice versa but they both know it’s each other so if they answer the asks it’s always them passively aggressively just communicating with each other and low key the whole fandom knows it too HAHA

ANYWAY that’s all I have for now if I think of any random extra tidbits will just message you with them bc blogger dazai actually makes me snort so much he’s soooo chronically online it hurts

TY FOR JOINING MY EVENT and for helping my plan it you are my soulmate 🤞

[kiooikzz]

(Based on an interaction with my friends at school, in detail.)

Suna and the Miya twins were alone at lunchtime, sitting on a picnic table in the courtyard as students played basketball on the outdoor courts behind them.

Atsumu and Osamu sat on the same side of the table, Atsumu on the left and Osamu on the right. Suna sat opposite of Atsumu, facing the both of them.

Suna and Atsumu were chatting as Osamu had AirPods on, humming along to some song while tapping his fingers on the table.

Suna, who was bored out of his mind, groaned and complained about not being entertained and not wanting to join the students playing basketball.

Atsumu, who was completely unbothered and also had AirPods in, chose to just ignore Suna’s complaints.

Suna: “You guys wanna do something?”

Osamu shrugged and Atsumu looked bored now.

Suna: “Have you guys seen that trend where one has headphones on and they’re blasting music while the other person is mouthing a sentence to them?”

The twins nod in unison, picking up what Suna was putting down. They decide to play.

They wanted to capture the moment just so they could look back at it and laugh so Atsumu began recording on Suna’s phone as Suna would mouth a sentence to Osamu.

Suna began the game: “You—“

Before he could barely let out a word, Osamu was distracted by the song in his ear. He was moving around his arms and humming out the melody of ‘buttons’ by the pussycat dolls before actually singing out the words obnoxiously.

Suna, who was completely unbothered: “Show him too”

He points directly to Osamu as Atsumu pans the camera to him, it showed his hideous upper body dancing skills.

Suna, who was forced to start again: “You.”

Osamu, who couldn’t hear his own voice: “YOU?”

He repeats loudly but nobody pays attention because they’re playing basketball.

Suna: “Are.”

Osamu: “ARE!”

Atsumu was struggling to pan the camera back and forth, he then decided to turn the phone horizontally. The angle ended up to be horrible so he went back to the normal one almost immediately.

Suna, who whispered the words: “A”

Osamu, who shouted them: “A!”

Suna then shook his head and waved his hands gently.

Suna: “Oh, no—no, wait… restart.”

Suna opened his mouth again to begin the new sentence until he was cut off again.

Osamu: “Not that?”

He toned down the volume of his voice, still bumping along to the music in his ears.

Suna: “You”

Osamu: “You?”

Suna: “Are”

Osamu: Are??”

His volume picked up again and he dragged on the words.

Suna, who was barely audible on the iPhone speaker: “Going”

Osamu: “coming…?”

Suna for some reason, nodded along with Osamu and continued.

Suna: “To—“

Osamu had cut him off again: “To the tree!”

He was singing along to ‘The Hanging Tree’ from ‘The Hunger Games’.

He stopped and it fell silent before he erupted into a loud laughter that made even Suna and Atsumu join.

Suna began the sentence again from the start. Osamu eventually said ‘going’ instead of ‘coming’.

Suna: “To”

Osamu: “Toooo?”

Suna: “Be”

Osamu: “Beeeee?”

Suna: “A father.”

Osamu hesitated for a second, thinking about whether or not he read his lips correctly.

Osamu: “A father?”

His eyes widen in shock.

Osamu:

Osamu, who yells: “NOOOO!!!”

All three of them burst into laughter as Osamu shakes his head comedically.

Osamu continues on the joke, pointing to the opposite direction for some unknown reason: “Abort it!”

Their laughter carries on as Osamu looks down at his phone and pauses his music, acting melodramatic as Atsumu can’t contain his giggles and sniffles.

Atsumu and Suna’s voices then begin to overlap one another:

Suna: “Too late! We’re already five months!”

Atsumu: “Fuck—I don’t think I was recording!”

Atsumu hands the phone back to Suna as the laughter dies down and Osamu’s voice is heard in the background, running on with the joke with a much more monotone voice.

Osamu: “No—no we’re not.”

Suna takes back the phone as Atsumu explains himself: “I think I was recording the wrong fucking part…!I was too busy laughing…”

He stifles a laugh.

Suna: “Nah. He’s dumb guys.”

He ends the recording there, it turns out Atsumu did indeed record.

There was a part two where Suna mouths the words to Atsumu but that one is much longer and I’m fairly lazy… (Osamu had my lines in this skit.) hope you enjoyed this crack post.