#I rambled on and on because you said ONE thing

[keehendrixx]

You Talk Too Much

dom!Terry! Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI! this story is 18+!, Smut, a hint of BDSM, breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation, oral (male receiving), P in V, solo masturbation, usage of b-word! Drug use, alcohol use.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You honestly didn’t expect your legs to be hooked over this man’s shoulders as he consistently dug into your depths. His eyes staring into your soul as whimpers came from your lips. Tonight was supposed to be a good night with laughter, drinks flowing, dancing, ect. So how did you exactly end up in this position? Well you’re mouth got you in it in the first place.

Earlier that night

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You and Terry went out with a couple friends you’ve known since moving into town. At least all of you guys were in relationships so why not make it a couples night. As you all made your way into the bar, the drinks began to pour. Your friends and you made it to the bar and began chatting.

“Girl how you manage to get Terry ass out the house?” Shay asked.

“No, for real because he doesn’t even come out like that!” Your other friend, Anissa, replied.

You chuckled.

“Y’all I honestly had to bribe him with some head to get him to come”

The two ladies looked at each other and snickered.

“Well I be damned bitch!” Shay laughed.

As y’all ordered another round of shots, you kept catching glances at Terry who was surrounded by his own homeboys. The cloud of smoke circling him as he took a puff from the blunt he was smoking. If you weren’t in a room full of people and in public, you would’ve sat your pussy on his face right then and there. He looked so sexy inhaling that smoke and letting it back out.

Your friends snapped you out of your hornified trance. Shay and Anissa asked you a very interesting question. “How is Terry in the bedroom” they both said. Your eyes went wide, but you quickly regained yourself. You smirked. “A fucking animal”, you replied back.

“Details bitch, we need details.” said Anissa

Knowing that Terry isn’t for his business being out and the open, even if it’s you telling your friends, you begin rambling on about how dominant and controlling he is.

As you went on and on, you didn’t even notice Terry creeping up on you three. He heard every single word came out of your mouth. As he came and stood behind you, Shay and Anissa’s facial expressions changed and you caught wind of that. You asked what was wrong and the only thing they could do was nudge their heads forward towards you, indicating someone was behind you. You slowly turned around only to be meet with a pair of hazel eyes.

Terry stood there with one of his eyebrows raised and him looked down at you. Your body instantly grew hot and your panties became moist.

“Baby, I thought you were with the-”

Terry cut you off mid sentence.

“Save that shit, what was said babygirl?” He came close, almost pressing his built body against yours.

“N-Nothing.”

“I heard every word you said, now I’ma need for you to go be a good girl and go wait by the car. We got some talking to do.”

Without hesitation, you grabbed your purse and sprinted to the car, you didn’t even say bye to your friends. Stay and Anissa looked at each other and muttered “Oooh”.

As you stood at the car, you seen Terry exiting the building. He unlocked the doors and you got in the front seat as he got in the driver’s seat. He started the car and drove off. He keep his gaze forward as he drove and occasionally gave you the side eye. After what seemed minutes of silence you started talking.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was talk-”

“Did I say you could speak? You’ve done enough of that tonight, but I got something for that tho.”

If you could, you would’ve melted into the car seat.

“Matter fact, lift that dress up and slide them panties to the side and play with that puss.”

“Terry..”

“Now, I ain’t asking you, I’m telling you.” He gripped your inner thigh and pulled them apart.

You lifted from the seat a little allowing your dress to rise and you pulled your panties to where he wanted them. You took your thumb and begin rubbing your clit in slow circles, while your index and ring finger slipped inside of you.

“You better not moan or cum either, I’ma teach yo’ ass.”

Your juices flowed out of your hole like a waterfall as you bit your lip to keep from making a sound. Terry looked at you and back and the road, then at the mess you were creating.

“She wet as fuck, mama. That pussy wet for me?”

You didn’t answer.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Terry demanded.

“Yes, Daddy.”

You felt your orgasm coming and you began fingering your bundle of nerves faster, Terry noticed this and snatched your hand away.

“I said not to fucking cum!” He barked as you sighed.

Minutes later, he pulled into you two shared home. He cut the car and grabbed your face, turning it to him.

“You got 1 minute to be in the room, naked, and in the assumed position. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You scrambled out the car into the house damn near tripping up the stairs as you discarded your clothes. Terry walked in a little bit while after and came upstairs to the bedroom to find you on your knees.

“Such a pretty bitch and good girl for me.” He roughly grabbed your chin making you look up at him.

He rubbed your lips with his thumb as he began shredding his clothes. There he stood in all his glory, those ripped abs, strong arms with prominent veins popping out. Your eye’s traveled down further and they stopped at his thick, long dick.

He then tied your arms behind you.

“I want all mouth mamas, no fucking hands.”

“Gotta put this mouth you got to good use for a mouthy bitch like you. Open up.”

You opened your mouth and he leaned down to spit directly in yours. He tapped his dick on your tongue and he notches the broad head past your lips, groaning at the exquisite sensation of your tongue lapping at the sensitive underside. Slowly, inch by thick inch, Terry feeds more of his impressive length into the wet heat of your mouth, careful not to overwhelm you. You slightly gagged a little when you felt his tip touch the back of your throat.

“Nah, we ain’t doing that shit. Take it.” He gritted through his teeth.

Terry fucked your mouth as if you were a human fleshlight. You felt his saliva combing with yours and you took him deeper than you could possibly imagine. Spit pooled around your mouth and dripped onto your chest.

“Fuck, just like that.”, he praises breathlessly, his grip tightening slightly in your hair. “Take it deeper, gorgeous. Show me how well you can suck this big dick.” He grunted.

“Suck my fucking dick, just like that slut.”

“You such a nasty girl for Daddy and I love that.”

Terry felt is nut coming and held your head down as he released in your mouth.

“FUCKKKK!” He slipped out of your mouth.

“Swallow it.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Now here you are, legs over his shoulders as he gave you long deep strokes of absolute pleasure.

“Mhmm, fuck Daddy I can’t. It’s too much.” You moaned as you tried to pry him away from you. He snatched your arms away and hooked them over your head.

“You don’t ever tell me what you can’t do. You take what the fuck I give you.”

You were so out of it at this point, the only thing you cared about was cumming. Terry didn’t slow down on his thrusts either. This man was literally bringing you to oblivion and back. He lets your legs down and spread them back with both of his big hands, to the point they were touching your cheeks. You could feel his tip poking at your cervix and he pushed his on your lower abdomen, causing you to scream out.

“Daddy, please! Let me cum! I’ll be a good girl and I won’t open my mouth anymore.” You barely got out as your voice was going horse.

“I know you won’t, not after I’m done breaking ya lil’ ass in.”

Terry focuses his attentions on your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his thumb as your legs quake and shake. He hums in satisfaction, the pleasure coursing through both of your veins.

“Look at her, she just drippin’ all on these sheets. Creamy pretty ass pussy.”

He grabbed your face and made you look down at the mess you were creating all over his shaft. A thick white ring of cream that coated him and leaked on the bed.

You could feel your orgasm coming and he knew it.

“You wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

“Yessss, Daddy can I please cum?” You begged him.

“Wet that fat dick up baby, it’s yours.”

Your body shook uncontrollably as you came. Terry’s thrust grew sloppier but he pulled out and flipped you on all fours. He rubbed his tip against your wet folds, teasing you with it by pushing it in but not all the way. He spanked your ass until it was red and you had tears in your eyes.

“Daddy fuck me!” You screamed.

“Greedy fucking bitch!” Without warning, Terry lines up his rehardened cock and slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in one powerful thrust. A low groan tears from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him. “FUUCKK!”

The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as Terry takes you hard and fast, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each forceful thrust. One large hand snakes around to roughly palm your bouncing tits while the other grips your hip, holding you steady for his relentless assault.

“Ouu fuck me! Fuck me with that big dick baby!”

Terry snarls in feral approval at your shameless begging, doubling his efforts to pound into your sopping pussy with animalistic fervor. The headboard slams against the wall with each brutal thrust, the entire bed shaking from the force of his passion.

Releasing your hip, Terry brings his hand down in a stinging slap to your jiggling ass cheek before reaching around to furiously rub tight circles over your aching clit. The dual stimulation proves too much, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your core.

“Cum on this dick, now!”

Your orgasm ripples through you like a tsunami.

“I’m finna nut in this pretty puss. Knock yo’ ass up! Make you round with my baby.”

“Cum in me big daddy! Please, I want your babies! UGHHH!”

With a guttural moan, Terry hilts himself one final time, grinding against your cervix as his dick throbs and pulses inside you. He buries his face between your shoulder blades, panting heavily as he rides out the intense waves of his release.

“Shit, fuck... so fucking good.” He grunts, hips twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. Terry pulls out, his softening member slipping free with a gush of combined fluids. He strokes himself a few times, aiming his tip away from your body as the last spurts of cum paint your lower back and ass.

“Next time, don’t open your mouth so damn much.”

A/N: this was my first time writing so go easy on me yall 😭.

@dxddykenn @writingsbytee @beenathembo @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @jimmybutlrr @theogbadbitch @kaylaahisthebestest- @theblacklewinsky @vivaalenaa @theereina @peachbuttetfly @callme-lover @pocketsizedpanther @nayaesworld @kimuzostar @episodes-ff @hxneyclouds @planetblaque @lrryss-vghn @luuvprincess

[cherrysurf]

Hello! I was maybe thinking to help with the writers block, that maybe you could do Katsuki helping the reader in the gym! (They don't actually know each other, but they were basically the only people in the gym and the reader, or Katsuki, needed a spotter) :]

Early morning gym session !

professional trainer!bakugou x f!reader

little ooc, yn is athletic but not super (kinda half proofread)

It was 4am when you decided to hit the gym before work, you liked waking up early to be prepared for the day and another thing about it was that there was hardly anyone at the gym during those hours, a few people here and there but that was it. The only downside to this was the fact that when you needed a spotter you couldn’t ask because of lack of people or the fact that everyone was in the zone doing their own thing. So here you are again at the gym it was 4:30am it was only you and maybe two other people as you were setting up the weights on the rack to do squats, you were trying to reach a new rep but you were hesitant just in case you couldn’t lift it backup and didn’t want to cause a severe injury on your back right before work, so you look around to see if anyone was taking a break between their sets so they could help you real quick, that’s when you see a tall spiky blonde man sitting on a bench wiping sweat off his face and drinking water, although he did look intimidating you had no other choice it was that or the group of grandmas on the tendmills you decided to suck it up and go ask him if he says no you’ll just stick to the same rep you can do by yourself. You slowly walked up to him. He was down looking at his phone with his headphones in black sleek beats just like yours but yours were blue. Then he saw a pair of shoes on the floor and looked up to see you awkwardly waved hi and pointed at your ears to signify that you wanted to say something, he took off his headphones and then said “what do you want?” in a monotone voice, “uhm i’m trying to reach a new rep but i need a spotter and i saw you were talking a break so i wanted to ask, but if you can’t that’s totally okay! i understand so you don’t need to worry about it or feel forced or anything” you said rambling “6 reps of 14 or i’m not doing it.” he said “what?” you say confused “6 reps of 14 or i'm not doing it. How do you expect to grow your glutes without a proper amount of reps?” he said almost in a snarky manner “mmh can i at least get a break in between?” you say “if you do them right. If not, you start over” he said. “Why did you ask him you” wondered annoyingly. “So why should I take your advice?” you questioned the man “because i’m a personal trainer and i know a lot more than you.” he added while taking a sip of his water “oh?” you say stunned “mhm so let’s get started before i don’t want to do this anymore.” he standing up you simply just turned around and walked to where you were while he followed behind—

the time he spent as your spotter was hell, filled with yelling about not squatting properly, how weak you were, how he squats twice as much, you were sweating so much you looked like how he looked when you approached him after it was done you laid down on the floor trying to catch your breath “that was nothing i don’t know why you are so dramatic clearly you’ve never trained properly.” he said laughing in a mocking way all you could do was roll your eyes from the lack of energy to fight him back. “So what's your name?” he says looking down at you “yn. you?” you responded heavily breathing “bakugou.” he said “i could train you if you want to get better” he continued on “no thanks i don’t want to pay for someone to yell at me” you say “free of charge for now. We go to the gym at the same time and I'll have you follow my daily routine just for a girl” he says, offering his hand to get you up, which you are shocked by how quickly he was able to get you off the ground with one hand. “free for now?” you asked confused, “think of it like a free trial if you’re not annoying and do the workouts right we can keep it free.” he shrugs “gimme your phone so i can put my number in” he said you comply handing him your phone and he returns it back before walking off “enjoy the rest of your measly work out see you tomorrow for a real workout.” he said going back to the area he was in leaving you shocked and outta breath ready to go home and shower thinking about how sore your going to be “maybe i should call out of work. I’m gonna have jelly legs.” you say groaning in annoyance.

the next couple of days of this new found routine helped you out a lot despite you coming home sore the first few days, you looked and felt better and noticed results faster than normal so one day after you and bakugou had finished the gym session you wanted to thank him, so as you both were walking out to leave and go your separate ways you stopped him “hey uhm i actually have something for you as a thank you gift but it’s in my car, would you mind if i go get it really quick.” you say nervously “we can just walk to your car so you don’t have to walk all the way back here” he said, “okay” you say as you both walked to your car it was awkward but that’s how it was if you and him were working out, you make it to your car to unlock it and pull out the gift basket with pre-workouts and a thank you car and some other gym essentials, his face was shocked at the sight of it all he rolled his eyes “you know you didn’t have to do this.” he said looking at you holding the gift basket “i know but you don’t charge me for lessons and they’ve been helping so it’s the least i can do.” you say looking at him. “Whatever, thank you I guess.” he said, taking the basket. “See you tomorrow don’t be late” he said walking off with his gift in hand, which made you smile to see that hint of amusement on his face from the gift. just as you were about to drive off you get a text from him saying “let’s go out to eat this weekend so i can tell you what you can eat for the the best results” he said which made you squeal like a little girl “okay sounds cool” you text back trying to be nonchalant but we’re really freaking out in real life excited for your little “date” with the cute boy from the gym.

a/n- thank you meeya for looking over it 😞🤞🏼, also ty darhina for requesting this? i rlly enjoyed writing it!!

[kvroomi]

the twelve days of christmas (kuroo’s ver)

summary: the twelve days leading up to christmas with kuroo and the different ways he shows you his love each time.

listening to: anything - adrienne lenker

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, domestic fluff, minor swearing, reader’s first language is english, reader has hair

author note: IM SO LATE I KNOW, but a massive late merry christmas to all who celebrate! hoping everyone is doing well these winter or summer holidays and spending time with/doing who/what you all love the most. wishing everyone well into this coming new year! may 2025 bring you wealth and good health ❤️‍🩹

i giggled to myself too many times while writing this it’s embarrassing i seriously think this is the cutest thing i’ve ever posted. also just wanted to share that the second i started writing for the final day (day 12), it turned 11:11 and i think that’s a sign

on the first day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—a single christmas ornament personalised with your initials. his fingers held the small box in a way that was both cautious and arrogant—a perfect portrayal of his well-known charm. his frame leaned against the doorway to your apartment, his cheeks flushed from the december cold and the faintest smirk decorating his lips.

you were seated on the couch, your hands curled around a mug of tea. though you loved winter, it just happened to be one of those evenings where the world outside felt grey and cold. you supposed your long day was partly to blame, though you’d almost immediately forgotten about it the second you stepped inside, because there he was; he who was always warm and always golden.

“on the first day of christmas,” he began dramatically, “your loving boyfriend gifted to thee…” trailing off, he held the box aloft like it was the climax of some grand performance.

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed though very amused. “is it socks? please tell me it’s socks. i feel like i’ve been dropping very unsubtle hints.”

your own interest had piqued just from your rambles alone, your mind unconsciously racking through endless possibilities of what could be in the box. now your body has shifted from casually leaned up on the back of the couch to sitting at the edge, eager to find out what gift awaited you.

“socks?” kuroo scoffed, shutting the door behind him with his foot. “do i look like the kind of guy who gives socks on day one? socks are at least day four material.”

“ah, my mistake.” you purse your lips in apology before taking a sip of your tea and watching as he sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours.

“wait, hold on.there’s more gifts coming?” you whipped your head towards his in realisation.

kuroo smelled faintly of pine. whether from a nearby tree lot or just because he insisted on using a “woodsy” cologne, you couldn’t tell. he simply shrugged sheepishly in response and you gave a wearisome huff.

“alright well… go on then, magician. what’s in the box?”

with a theatrical wave, kuroo opened the lid. inside was a single christmas ornament: shiny and delicate, etched with your initials in exquisite gold lettering. it caught the dim light of your living room and scattered it like tiny stars.

you stared at it for a moment, caught off guard by how sweet it was—intimate, even. it wasn’t that kuroo was incapable of romance. he was, in his own teasing way… but this felt different. it felt a lot more thoughtful.

“an ornament,” you said finally, reaching out to touch it. “wow... this is… weirdly adorable. are you feeling okay?”

“don’t ruin it,” he hushed pretending to be offended, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “i thought we’d start a tradition. every year, one new ornament. you know, build up a collection. by the time we’re old and grey, we’ll have a whole tree full of memories. romantic, right?” he winked playfully.

you blinked, caught between laughter and something warmer and deeper. “that’s actually—wow. that’s disgustingly sweet, tetsu.”

“i’m just full of surprises, babe.” his hand dipped gently into the box and handed you the ornament, fingers lingering against yours. “just don’t get too used to it because tomorrow’s gift is going to be hilariously impractical.”

you turned the ornament over in your hand, the gold initials shining faintly. “okay… i just can’t get over how my initials are way prettier than yours? if this tradition continues, i fear we might need to just skip out on an ornament with your name so the tree stays pretty.”

“pffft, it’s not my fault you’ve got better branding,” he grinned as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “if it makes you feel better, next year i’ll go full kuroo—big and bold. i’m thinking something shiny and impossible to ignore. perhaps an ornament shaped like my face instead?”

you laughed, leaning into him. “i’d hang it front and center, right where everyone could see it.”

his smile softened. “great. that’s where i’d want it to be.”

you stayed like that for a while, his hand tracing slow circles on your shoulder. outside, the world was cold and distant, but thanks to kuroo, it felt like the season itself was bright, and full of beginnings.

on the second day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—two matching christmas mugs lined with photos from your recent photobooth trip. kuroo lied yesterday when he said today’s gift was going to be “hilariously impractical” but he wouldn’t tell you until you found out yourself. the box was suspiciously light when he handed it to you, his grin giving away both everything and nothing at all. he’d ambushed you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you prepped your nightly tea with a knowing look.

it was day two of his so-called “twelve days of christmas” series, and if yesterday’s ornament hadn’t been both weirdly heartwarming, you might have been more cautious. but this was kuroo—the fun was in the gamble.

“i know you’re dying to see what’s inside,” he urged, the teasing lilt in his voice as familiar as his cologne. “guess. it’s the perfect gift for someone like you.”

“someone like me?” you narrowed your eyes, glancing between him and the box. “what’s that supposed to mean? should i be insulted?”

he placed his chin between his index finger and thumb, thoughtfully. “hmmm… insulted, no. concerned, maybe. thrilled? definitely.”

you scowled at him before turning to open the box slowly, drawing it out just to see him fidget. inside was a white mug—unassuming, plain, even. too plain for kuroo. you turned to him, mug in one hand and the other on your hip.

“wow,” you deadpanned. “a mug. revolutionary. thank you tetsuro for single-handedly redefining the art of gift giving.”

“ah-ah.” he wagged a finger in front of your face, grabbing the mug before you could set it down along with the other mugs in your extensive collection. “this isn’t just a mug. this is a magic mug.”

you blinked. once. twice. and three times before stuttering out a “sorry?”

he sauntered to the kettle, pouring hot water into the cup with the flair of a magician revealing the final act. you watched almost agonisingly slowly, as the heat spread and the surface began to change. the once white mug was now fading to colour. your breath hitched as the image emerged: a photo from your last impulsive photo booth trip.

there you were, mid-laugh with your face tilted toward his. his grin was wide and toothy, hand half-raised as if mid-gesture. the next frame showed your cheeks puffed in anger, while kuroo looked genuinely alarmed with one hand outstretched as if apologizing. and the cherry on top of the final frame? pure love—his chin buried in your shoulder with your hands on either side of his cheeks, squishing his face into something utterly ridiculous.

you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and unfiltered. “oh my god, this is what you chose?”

“what can i say?” he pushed himself back against the counter, watching your reaction with a soft sort of pride. “i’m a sucker for authenticity and you look adorable in that last one.”

“adorable?!” another laugh bubbled from you as you gestured wildly at the cup, now fully transformed. “i look like i’m wrestling you into submission!”

“exactly,” he uttered, completely serious. “it’s very ‘us.’”

half-exasperated, half-melting under the sheer absurdity of it all, you replied. “i’m going to use this in every meeting i have. i’ll be sipping from this in front of clients and coworkers.”

he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “perfect. let the world know you’re stuck with me.”

cue the classic eye roll. the warmth in his voice, the way he let his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm—it disarmed you, as it always did.

“well,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, “i guuuueeeesss i do need a mug for tea.”

“that’s the spirit.” he picked up his own matching mug, the photo identical but reversed. “and now, when we’re apart, you can look at me squished like a pancake and remember how much you love me.”

for the third time, you couldn’t help but laugh again, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

his voice dipped low as he kissed your temple, “here you are loving me anyway.”

and he was right. of course he was right.

on the third day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—three of his favourite, special, christmas recipes. he arrived at your door with a snow-dusted grin and a peculiar sort of confidence—though that was nothing out of the blue. he held a single envelope; it was a little worn around the edges, with your name scribbled across the front in his messy, self-assured handwriting. no grand box like the past two days, no wrapping paper, and no telltale jingles of something extravagant. all that was held between his fingers was the envelope.

“is this a love letter?” you asked, pulling him inside by the sleeve of his coat to stop the cold from clinging to his cheeks. his cheeks were a warm shade of pink and had you had stared at them any longer than you already had, you would’ve kept him outside just so you could stare at how soft he looked for even longer. “because i gotta say, day three seems a little early for declarations of undying devotion.”

“ha ha, not a love letter,” he responded sarcastically, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his coat. he stood in the middle of your walkway with his hands on his hips, watching you with that unshakable kuroo observation. “though if you want one i could probably draft something up. i’d write about your eyes, your laugh, and the way you snore when you’re—”

a single flick to his forehead to stop him before he could finish, and he lets out a laugh, all mischief and charm.

“okaaay, what’s in the envelope, then?” you asked, shaking it lightly as you moved toward the kitchen. naturally, kuroo followed like he belonged in your space.

“three gifts in one,” he announces, tapping the counter. “an entrée, a main course, and a dessert—recipes straight from the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic.”

you nodded, taking in what he said and ending it with a shrug. “the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic? huh, sounds legit.”

“oh, it’s legit,” kuroo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “these are the recipes that made my grandma call me her favourite. this—” he jabs at the envelope in your hand before continuing, “—holds recipes my teammates still beg me to make whenever i’m back home. they’re recipes that are, dare i say, iconic.”

you opened the envelope, pulling out three sheets of paper each written in his handwriting, complete with small drawings in the margins.

as your fingers traced the edges of the paper, the room shifted. the glow of the kitchen lights softened, the air thick with something quiet and familiar. you’d awaited a playful gesture—a joke gift wrapped in kuroo’s usual brand of teasing. perhaps something loud and irreverent to match the way he filled a room, but this? this was different.

the ink on the pages flowed sweetly from one side to the other—slightly smudged in places. you knew it spoke of hours spent leaning over a counter, a pen in his hand and you in his mind. each word carried a history with memories of family kitchens—laughter echoing through the years, a tradition he was choosing to share with you. it was so intimate in a way that pressed against the deepest crevices of your heart, unexpected and unspoken. it was like being handed the key to a door you hadn’t realized you’d been standing in front of.

all you could do was glance up at him, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you hadn’t yet let go. “this feels… so personal,” was all you could squeeze out, quieter than you meant to.

kuroo who was against the counter, watched with an expression that was almost unreadable, his usual smirk replaced with a smile. “it is,” was all he said, and the weight of those words settled over you like snow on the branches outside.

it wasn’t just recipes. it wasn’t just a gift. it was a glimpse into the places he didn’t offer easily to the world—the spaces he reserved for family, for love, for you. the realisation unfurled slowly like the first bloom of warmth on a winter morning.

“hey,” he murmured whilst stepping closer, his hand brushing against yours as he gently laid the pages down onto the kitchen counter. “don’t overthink it. i just wanted to give you something real. something that… feels like home.”

you glanced down at the pages. the first was for an appetizer: roasted chestnut and butternut squash soup. there were notes about how the squash needed to be caramelised just right, along with a drawing of a smiling chestnut wearing a christmas hat.

the second was the main dish: honey-glazed ham with a cranberry-orange reduction. beneath the instructions he’d written, ‘if this doesn’t make you swoon, i’m giving up on holidays forever.’

the third was dessert, of course. written in black ink was his family’s secret recipe for gingerbread cookies with notes on how to make them crispy on the edges but soft in the middle. there was a poorly sketched gingerbread man doing a backflip in the corner.

“tetsuro,” you whispered reading through them, the thoughtfulness sinking in. “these are actually amazing.”

“of course they are,” he responds, moving to stand behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at the recipes. “but they’re not just recipes. they’re invitations.”

“invitations?”

he tilted his head slightly, his hair brushing against your cheek. “to make them. together. think of it as a bonding exercise. or a relationship test. can we survive one kitchen, one oven, and three recipes without a holiday meltdown? high stakes, i know.”

now you really couldn’t hold back the laugh. folding the papers back into the envelope you continued, “so, what happens if we pass this ‘test’? what’s the reward?”

he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice warm and teasing. “you get to keep me, obviously. and maybe some awesome leftovers.”

you turn to face him, envelope in hand. your chest settles with the same feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen. “you know,” you lean in slightly, “for a guy who smuggles his personality in through bad puns and bad jokes, you’re actually kind of romantic.”

“kind of?” he echoed, feigning offense. “i just handed you the culinary equivalent of my heart, and i get “kind of” romantic?”

you kissed him, cutting off his fake tirade. your hands find their way to his collar and when you pulled back, his grin was smug but softer, like he’d just won something only the two of you could understand.

“now, which recipe do we ruin first?”

on the fourth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—four candles, each paired with a scent from a particular memory you had through every season that year. the snow on his shoes had melted into slush by the time kuroo had arrived home from work, boots squeaking on the wooden floors as he entered your apartment. dropping his scarf onto your chair and his coat on another, he finally let himself fall on the armrest of your couch. low and behold, balancing on his leg was yet another box, significantly larger that the past two he had gifted you already.

“are you here to redecorate or ruin our furniture?” you asked, looking up from your laptop as you glared at the wet spots forming around your couch.

“i bring gifts,” he announced proudly like a dramatic oracle. “four of them, actually. one for every season.”

you hummed. “wait! let me guess, a pinecone for winter, a seashell for summer, a pile of wet leaves for autumn—”

“wow. you really have not been giving me any credit, even after yesterday’s absolute banger of a gift!” kuroo interrupted while you snorted next to him, watching as he scooted closer to you on the couch and handed you the box. “this, my love, is the culmination of hours of research, consideration, and—you’ll be surprised to hear—minimal swearing.”

you sat up intrigued, raising an eyebrow and peeled the lid off. nestled inside were four candles, each carefully labeled with a card on top in his handwriting which had looked like it had been scrawled by a caffeinated bird—you found it so endearing

“spring: cherry blossoms and rain-soaked pavement,” you read aloud, pulling the first candle out.

“‘cause of the park!” kuroo winked at you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “y’know, when we tried to have a picnic but you spent half the time yelling at me to stop stepping in the puddles?”

“tried is the keyword there,” you retorted wittily, though your lips curved into a frown at the memory. “and you splashed mud on my shoes.”

“you mean i decorated your shoes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

the summer candle came next, and the scent of salty air and something faintly fruity filled your nostrils. you froze.

“the beach,” it was such a distinct memory for both you and kuroo, “the one with the frisbee game…”

“where i heroically rescued it from that evil seagull,” he finished, and when you looked up towards him, his grin was unapologetic.

“you ate shit running away afterwards.”

“unnecessary details, babe,” he shook his head, waving a dismissive hand.

autumn smelled like spiced cider and faint traces of smoke, the memory wrapped around you like a worn flannel—cool nights, warm hands, and kuroo pointing at the sky with wild confidence as he made up constellations.

“that one’s kuroo’s cluster,” he’d sleepily said that night, pointing to a random spot in the sky. “because it looks like it forgot what it was doing halfway through.”

that candle earned a spot on the coffee table.

finally, winter. the label read ‘evergreen and vanilla latte’ and as soon as the wick was lit, the room was filled with something achingly familiar. the scent of him—of mornings spent curled up together with his laughter spilling into your coffee like the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t speak for a moment; you didn’t trust your voice. instead, you reached for the winter candle again, holding it like it might explain something to you if you focused hard enough.

“i thought they might be nice to have around,” kuroo added, his tone quieter now as he watched you with that expression he wore when he thought you weren’t paying attention. “like, if i’m not here or something. you’d still… have the moments. or the scents. or—okay, i’m bad at explaining this.”

“you’re not,” this time you were the one to interrupt him—though your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly at the edges.

his grin usual returned, soft and crooked. “you’re not gonna cry, are you? i don’t have tissues on me.”

you snorted, swiping at your eyes before any tears could fall. “i’m just impressed. you managed to make yet another gift that’s thoughtful and functional. what’s next? a calendar with all the dates we’ve argued circled in red?”

“now there’s an idea,” he laughed—big, loud, and very kuroo. resting an arm along the back of the couch, he sighs. “but that’s for next year. for now, you just get the candles. and me, obviously.”

“ how lucky i am,” you mocked, though when he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours, the words fell into the warm silence between you.

“you are, actually,” his voice was low and teasing, “because i really am as great as i smell.”

for once, you didn’t argue.

on the fifth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—five flowers all wrapped up in a bouquet he designed himself. it was just after sundown when kuroo was unlocking the door and stepping inside of your home. the paper he held was crinkled in his grip while the flowers peeked out at odd angles, a mix of bold colors and delicate whites. you cocked a brow at him, eyes wandering and questioning

“is this day five?” you gestured to the bouquet. “don’t get me wrong, i’m so grateful… but what’s the theme here, tetsuro? did you run out of budget or is this an act of minimalism?”

his grin was slow and easy, the kind that always seemed to have a secret tucked behind it. you learned to accept it. he laughed, stepping past you and into your apartment, leaving the cold trailing behind. “i may have argued with the florist over ribbon choices—but that’s besides the point.”

“wha—” he handed you the bouquet with a seductive wink. as you took it, you noticed the odd composition—a single red tulip, a deep purple iris, a white daisy, a bright yellow sunflower, and a pale pink rose.

“five flowers for five things,” stepping back to watch your expression, he continued, “each one is for something i love about you.”

and just when you thought it wasn’t possible for kuroo to surprise you anymore than he already did, you were proven wrong again. stilling, you let yourself feel the weight of his words as they settled into tge tips of your fingers. “you made this?”

“mmm, well i designed it,” he corrected, the smugness now tempered by something a little more humble. “technically i only arranged it. poured my soul into it though. the tulip’s for how bold you are. you’ve got this way of standing out even when you think you’re blending in. it’s infuriating, honestly.”

you ran your fingers over the tulip’s petals, and his voice softened as he pointed to the next.

“the iris is for how much smarter you are than me.” there was no bite in his tone. “don’t get a big head about it, i still beat you at trivia night last month.” you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already moving on.

“the daisy? for how annoyingly kind you are. to me, to strangers, to stray cats in alleyways. you make everyone feel like they matter.”

your throat tightened as his fingers brushed over the edge of the sunflower.

“this one’s for how much light you bring into my life. it’s cheesy as hell, trust me i know, but…” all he offered was a shrug, his grin faltering for a split moment. “i mean it.”

he hadn’t looked up at you yet, still in a dream state as he gazed at the last flower. pausing at the rose, his hand dropped back to his side. his pitch lower, more intimate, when he said, “and the rose is for how much i love you. no explanation needed for that one.”

the only sound you could hear was the faint of the bouquet as you shifted it in your hands. for a moment, all the teasing and the wit and the usual sharpness between you dissolved into something quieter—something raw and real.

“tetsu,” you said softly, but you couldn’t find the words to follow.

if there was one thing you loved more than his gifts, it was his dorky lopsided grin. “i told myself i wouldn’t get all sappy,” he scratched the back of his neck. “but you know how i get around flowers. turns me into a total poet.”

“not a very good one,” if there was one thing you could manage while holding back tears, it was witty retorts to kuroo’s words.

“yikes,” he feigned hurt, but his smile didn’t falter. “so, do you like it? orrrr should i just stick to chocolates next year?”

you looked down at the bouquet. gazing at every colour, at the thought he’d put into every flower, every scent, every message hidden in their petals—your heart ached with the weight of it.

“i love it,” you whimpered, your voice trembling just enough for him to catch it. “i love you.”

his smile softened, his hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face. “good,” his voice was warm. “because i’ve got seven more days of this, and i’m not letting you return a single gift.”

on the sixth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—six different ways to say “i love you” in different languages. kuroo waltzed into your living room on the sixth day of his increasingly elaborate holiday gifting holding a small stack of cue cards in one hand and an overly confident grin on his face.

“alright,” he began, dropping onto the couch beside you, “today’s gift is educational: a little bit of culture, a little bit of romance.”

setting your mug of tea down in interest, you were skeptical—like always. “if this ends with me being serenaded in bad french, i’m locking you out.”

he loudly gasped in offense, clutching the cue cards to his chest. “excuse me? my french is impeccable.”

“your french is embarrassing.”

ignoring you, he flipped the first card toward you, reading it aloud. in his handwriting were the words, je t’aime.

“see? classic,” his accent was questionable at best. “it’s romantic, it’s timeless. and you can’t deny that it sounds a little better than just ‘i love you.’”

“except when you say it like that,” you teased.

he pretends to be unfazed, choking back a laugh and your playful jab. he revealed the next card: ich liebe dich.

“this one’s german. it’s efficient and to the point like a well-engineered car,” he said, adding a dramatic comparison. “say it back. come on. ich liebe dich.”

“i’m not repeating that.”

“coward,” he muttered, flipping to the third card: ti amo.

“now, this one is for when i’m feeding you pasta,” he gestures extravagantly. “picture it: candlelit dinner, spaghetti, me leaning over the table like i’m straight out of an old Italian film. “ti amo.”.”

you snorted. “more like you spilling marinara sauce on your shirt.”

“uncultured,” he sighed, shaking his head.

the next card read, saranghae. he held it up with a bit more reverence.

“this one’s korean,” he explained. “it’s sweet, right? got a nice rhythm. saranghae.” there was a pause, almost in quiet contemplation, before kuroo then added slyly, “you’re swooning right now, i can tell.”

“oh, absolutely. weak in the knees,” you said straight faced.

“perfect. that’s the goal.”

the fifth card: te quiero.

“spanish. it means ‘i love you,’ but it’s also like, ‘i care about you.’ multifaceted. practical and emotional,” he said, tapping his temple like it was a genius move.

you smiled, “are you planning to take me on a multilingual tour of love, or are we stopping here?”

“patience, my love,” and kuroo flipped to the final card. aloha wau iā ʻoe.

“that’s hawaiian,” he said, his tone softer now. “it’s not just ‘i love you.’ it’s… bigger than that. like, ‘i carry you with me.’”

he grinned, setting the cards aside. “see? i’m not just a pretty face.”

“you’re insane,” you shook your head, your voice betraying the warmth blooming in your chest and the small smile that lingered across your lips.

“and yet,” he teased, leaning closer, “you’re still here. must be the german.”

“definitely not.”

on the seventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—seven handmade coupons for morning coffees made by yours truly, (kuroo). you woke up to the sound of him humming in the kitchen, the smell of coffee curling through the air and gently rolling you awake. when you stumbled into the room (still half-asleep), he greeted you with a little stack of paper slips tied together with string.

“good morning, sleeping beauty,” he pushed a warm cup of coffee into your hands. “your seventh gift awaits.”

you squinted at him and then at the handmade coupons he held out. each one had “one homemade morning coffee” written across it.

“coupons?” you questioned flatly.

“not just coupons,” he quickly answered, moving to send a flick to your forehead. “these are artisanal. limited edition. handcrafted with love.”

“they look like they were crafted by a toddler.”

“ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest as though wounded. “but fine, let’s break it down. seven coffees for each day of the week, exactly how you like them. frothy milk, not too hot. just a dash of cinnamon, because i know you pretend not to like it but secretly, you love it.”

he had read you to filth. “and what happens after i use up all seven?”

“oh, you’ll be addicted by then,” he replied with a charismatic wink. “i’m just playing the long game.”

toying with the crumpled paper and inspecting them more closely, you notice one of them had an additional note scribbled in the corner: bonus: i’ll even let you take the last sip of my coffee ;)

you shook your head in disbelief. this was so unlike kuroo. with furrowed brows, you turned to him, “you hate sharing coffee.”

“uh, correction: i hate sharing coffee with other people. with you, it’s an act of love.”

“and when can i actually make good with these?” you asked, tucking the coupons into your pocket.

“whenever you demand it,” he bowed, “i’m at your service always—currently a barista for hire. oh but i must say, full disclosure, my latte art is limited to blobs.”

“blobs?”

“abstract hearts,” he clarified with a grin. “call it modern—trendy, if you will”

kuroo’s coffee was as much of an experience as it was a drink. the surface of the latte was crowned with an ambitious attempt at foam art—what could generously be described as a heart. a faint dusting of cinnamon kissed the frothy top, swirling faintly as the steam rose.

it definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was him—warm, unpolished, and just a little disordered. you could already imagine it in your head, the endearing way he would’ve tilted his head, squinting at the cup like an artist critiquing his own masterpiece.

you laughed, shaking your head at the thought. kuroo must’ve thought you were laughing at his response because he was quick to be defensive.

“hey, all hearts are beautiful,” his arms were sternly crossed against his chest as he stared down at you. “besides, you drink it—not frame it.”

so with a nod, you sipped the coffee in your hands. to no one’s surprise—he’d made it perfectly, nailing everything down to the faint sprinkle of cinnamon you always pretended not to want.

“okay,” you clapped both your hands together enthusiastically, setting the mug down and pushing all the coupons into your pocket. “you’re on the clock for the rest of the week. let’s see if you can actually make seven cups as good as this one.”

kuroo smirked, holding the cup up like it was his greatest triumph. “challenge accepted. but don’t get used to this level of service. i’m not planning on opening a café any time soon.”

you feigned a groan of anguish, already mourning the image you had of him in an apron with his name embroidered across the front in your head.

“oh, you’re definitely opening a café,” you teased. “i’m making it my eighth gift request.”

“dream big, babe,” he laughed, sending a pinch to your cheek before walking towards to living room. “for now, enjoy the best coffee in town, made by the best boyfriend in the world.”

it was silly and over-the-top. yet, as you watched him carefully pour milk into another mug for himself, you couldn’t help but smile into your own coffee; there might be something dangerously romantic about a man who knows your drink order better than you do.

on the eighth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eight slices of your favourite pizza. the pizza box was waiting for you on the counter unwrapped. the unmistakable aroma of your favorite pizza in the air—an irresistible invitation. kuroo, sitting at the dining table, watched you approach it with an excited smile.

“eight slices,” he gestured grandly as he stood up, both hands present the box to you. “one for each day of christmas so far. thoughtful, isn’t it?” he pretended to flick back a long piece of hair in an attempt of confidence.

“you know i’ll eat this entire thing in one sitting,” you felt like you could cry from happiness, already reaching for the lid.

“exactly.” he tapped his temple. “a gift that vanishes is a gift you can’t overthink. i’m saving you from existential dread.”

you laughed, thanking him as you opened the box. there it was: your favorite pizza, glistening like a treasure chest filled with molten gold and perfectly crisp toppings. the ultimate kicker? each slice had been marked with a sharpie inside the box.

“tetsuro… what are these labels?”

“guided eating,” he straightened up.

sure enough, written beside each slice in his looping handwriting were notes:

slice 1: for courage, because braving multiple years with me deserves a medal.

slice 2: for patience, because i’m pretty sure i’m still not folding the laundry right and you fix it every time without any complaint.

slice 3: for joy, because watching you smile is better than any christmas lights.

slice 4: for forgiveness (in advance), for what i might say during monopoly later.

slice 5: for luck, because you’ll need it to beat me at monopoly later.

slice 6: for love, because i can’t put that in words so i’ll give you pizza.

slice 7: for adventure, in case you want to try pineapple on your pizza next time.

slice 8: for tomorrow, unless you eat this one too. which honestly, i think you should.

you couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or throttle him for being such an over-the-top sap.

“this is such an odd gift, tetsu!,” you couldn’t stop laughing, though your eyes stung and your chest ached in that intimate, tender way he always managed to conjure.

“oddly perfect?” he sheepishly replied, grabbing a slice and handing it to you. “come on. start with courage.”

immediately you took a bite and sighed. it was exactly as good as you remembered. somehow knowing he’d gone through the trouble of this strange display made it even better.

“you’re quite weird,” you said, wiping your lips with a napkin.

“oh come on, you love me,” he bumped his hip with yours.

you glanced at the box and then at him. you thought about how much of yourself he’d somehow folded into this simple, silly gift—your personality and your habits.

“i do,” you admitted, because how could you not?

as you grabbed the next slice: patience—you decided that eight slices of pizza might just be the most romantic thing you’d ever been given.

on the ninth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—nine random, sweet text messages that pop up randomly throughout the day. the first one buzzed into your phone just as you were pulling on your coat, the frosted morning sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

tetsu: on the 9th day of christmas my true love gave 2 me

tetsu: one notification 2 make u smile.

tetsu: good morning, 2 my favourite person ever.

it was simple and playful—and it did its job. you did smile. giddily tugging your scarf tighter against the chill, you headed out the door.

the second one came while you were waiting for your coffee, a notification cutting through the quiet of the café.

tetsu: if i were a latte, i’d want 2 b the one in ur hand rn

tetsu: u always pick the good ones

you almost rolled your eyes but found yourself chuckling into your sleeve. he had a knack for being perfectly timed and charming simultaneously.

by the third, you realised this wasn’t a coincidence. he was going to send you nine, sweet, little messages throughout today.

tetsu: just saw a dog wearing a little sweater and thought of u

tetsu: not sure why

tetsu: both equally adorable.

it hit your phone as you walked past a store display of knitted scarves, the kind you knew he’d wrinkle his nose at and insist were “over-engineered neck warmers.” you texted back a sarcastic ‘wow, smooth’ and almost swore you could hear his laughter from wherever he was.

the fourth through sixth arrived like little spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, scattered throughout your day.

#4 tetsu: if i told u i missed u, would u roll ur eyes or tell me 2 hurry home?

tetsu: asking 4 science

#5 tetsu: totally random fact

tetsu: u’re the best person i know

tetsu: not random enough?

tetsu: fine. penguins have knees

#6 tetsu: it’s scientifically proven that texting u makes me 87% happier

tetsu: i just ran the numbers

by the seventh text, you were incredibly flustered. not because they were overly romantic (he always balanced it with his wit), but because they were clever, thoughtful, and wholly attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair.

the eighth came as you were locking up for the evening, fumbling with your keys.

tetsu: i’d offer 2 carry the world for u but u’re doing a pretty good job carrying it urself

tetsu: don’t work 2 hard

it was such a simple set of words, but it hit you in a way none of the others had. its tenderness slipped through your defenses. naturally, you stopped—fingers tightening around your phone wondering how someone could make you feel so seen from miles away.

the ninth and final message arrived when you were home. you were peeling off your layers and finally sinking into the couch when you felt the vibration in your pant pocket.

tetsu: if love was measured in words then nine texts wouldn’t come close

tetsu: but hey, it’s a start

tetsu: c u soon

the doorbell rang almost immediately after and you couldn’t help but giggle as you opened it to find him standing there with snow in his hair, a grin on his face, and two cardboard cups of steaming hot chocolate in his hands.

“nine texts weren’t enough,” he said with a shrug. “thought i’d deliver the tenth in person.”

you let him in with a kiss. still laughing, you decided that no matter how odd or cheesy his efforts were, you wouldn’t choose to have him any other way.

on the tenth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten silly little drawings of you. the tenth day of christmas came as quickly as the past couple days had. after dinner had been packed away—dishes done and table cleaned, you and kuroo sat across each other at the dinner table with bowls of ice cream in front of you. it was then that from under the table, kuroo pulled out and handed you a mismatched stack of papers tied together with a velvet ribbon that looked suspiciously too elegant for something he’d own. you gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. “did you steal this ribbon from one of my gifts?”

“i repurposed it!” he defended, nudging the stack closer to you from across the table with his spoon and air of mock grandeur. “quick! my magnum opus awaits.”

you untied the ribbon, and the first thing you saw was a piece of cardboard with what appeared to be a stick figure rendition of you sitting cross-legged on a couch. above it were the words, “my muse, lost in thought (translation: watching trashy reality tv)”.

“what the—?” you interrupted yourself trying to suppress a laugh as you turned to the next page. a receipt from your local grocery store confused you, but once you flipped to the back, you saw it. kuroo had sketched a profile view of you mid-yawn, the exaggerated swoop of your hair curling over your head like a wave.

“it’s art, obviously,” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a closer look. “it’s called ‘ten views of my love in her natural habitat.’”

“oh my god, you’re impossible,” there was a familiar warmth growing in your chest—one you had been feeling every day this week.

you flipped through the rest:

a coffee sleeve: sketched was you, deep in concentration with a mug in your hand, sitting on the couch with the caption, “she said she wasn’t a morning person, but look at her with that coffee. magnificent.”

the back of a to-do list: sketched was you, mid-argument with your stick-figure arms dramatically flailing with the caption, “terrorising me because i forgot to do the laundry (but she’s right).”

a post-it note: sketched was you, reading a book with the words “too pretty to be distracted” written at the top in kuroo’s terrible handwriting.

by the sixth drawing, it was on the back of an old takeout menu—you stopped trying to hide your grin. “you’re actually pretty talented, you know that?”

“ridiculously talented,” he grinned back. “and ridiculously smitten.”

the seventh was your face, exaggerated into cartoonish proportions and drawn on a torn piece of fabric. the caption read, “she said i couldn’t draw so i gave her big eyes. now she’s anime”

by the time you reached the tenth which was a hasty sketch of your hand holding his, drawn on a napkin from your favourite restaurant—you felt the laugh catch in your throat. beneath the image, he’d written: “a masterpiece: her, letting me love her.”

“it’s dumb, i know,” kuroo slowly started, suddenly shy and scratching the back of his neck. “but i seriously couldn’t help it. i see you everywhere—on receipts, on napkins, in coffee sleeves. you’re just…always there.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly, holding the napkin like it was something precious.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you leaned into the chair, kuroo’s head resting atop your own and the stack of silly little drawings sitting in your lap as you went through everything again—your ice creams long forgotten as they melted under the light of the kitchen.

on the eleventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eleven “i’ll do it” moments. he appeared in your doorway that saturday morning, sleeves rolled up and hair a little disheveled. there was an air of martyrdom with his presence so exaggerated you almost thought violins were to start playing.

“i’ll do it,” he announced, almost parallel to delivering the opening line of a shakespearean tragedy.

you looked up from your laptop, alarmed “do what?”

“whatever it is! dishes, laundry, taking out the trash, assembling that ridiculously complicated shelf you bought because it “might come in handy.” ” he punctuated the last word with air quotes, tone laced with theatrical suffering. “today, i am your humble servant. point, and i’ll fix.”

you guessed your skepticism must have obviously plastered over your face because he was quick to add, “no catch, promise.” he held his pinky finger up, “it’s my eleventh gift to you—eleven ‘i’ll do it’s.’”

leaning back with your arms crossed, you gently nudged your laptop aside. “this feels suspicious.”

“suspiciously romantic,” strolling into the room and perching on the end of your bed, he continued. “think about it. eleven acts of selfless service—that’s love language gold.”

“this feels morally wrong,” you both laughed.

kuroo stood abruptly, gesturing to the room like he was on a game show. “okay, quick demo. that pile of laundry in the corner? i’ll fold it. the trash bag sitting by the door? out it goes. oh! and because i’m feeling generous…” he paused dramatically, turning to you with a grin. “…i’ll even organize the pantry.”

you swear your jaw dropped so hard it hit the ground. “no… the pantry? seriously?”

“the pantry,” he repeated solemnly much like a knight vowing to slay a dragon. “i know how much it bothers you when the bowls in there aren’t lined up in order of size. don’t think i haven’t noticed.”

you felt equal parts amused and touched as he grabbed the laundry basket and made good on his first “i’ll do it.” kuroo knew you well enough to know that you’d recognise this wasn’t just about chores. he knew you knew that was his way of showing you he saw all the little things—your frustration at the overflowing trash, or your quiet sigh when you couldn’t find your favourite tea.

by the time he had reached the third task which happened to be untangling the mess of cords behind the tv—you were leaning against the doorway, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“you know,” you began quietly, “you could’ve just gotten me something easy… like socks.”

“i know i said socks were day four material, but they don’t say ‘i love you,’” he didn’t look up as he wrestled with a particularly stubborn cord. “this does.”

and somehow, amidst the clatter of pots being reorganized and the triumphant “got it!” when he finally untangled the cords—you felt a quiet, glowing gratitude. love wasn’t always grand gestures or elaborate gifts. sometimes it was just someone rolling up their sleeves and saying, “i’ll do it.”

on the twelfth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten handwritten love letters, a diamond ring, and a promise of an eternity together. you were both walking home from a dinner out, the snow nipping at your nose in the late night. kuroo had insisted you both went for a stroll around your local park before returning home. as you both sat on a bench under a lamppost to take in the coldness of night, he handed you an envelope so unassuming that for a brief moment, you thought he might’ve brought you a pack of gum. the paper was a little wrinkled, and the whole thing seemed as if it had been wrapped in a rush. yet like all his other gifts, it was unmistakably kuroo—disorderly in execution and precise in intention.

he stood up and rocking on his heels, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets nervously. “open it.”

you cocked your head at him, confused and caught off guard by his sudden change in behaviour. “you’re really leaning into this whole romantic streak, huh?”

“leaning into it?” pitch rising as he parroted, mock offended. “i practically invented romance.”

“pfft—” you snorted, “—and humility, clearly.”

and then he was back as quickly as he was gone, grinning sharp and bright. though there was something else beneath it—a quiet flicker of nerves, but it was small enough for you to dismiss it. it was strange the way he wasn’t rushing you or teasing like he usually did. but you tugged the envelope open all the same, your hands suddenly clammy as you unfolded the paper and lifted the top open.

inside nestled neatly were folded sheets of paper. you could tell that one was numbered, the familiar slope of his handwriting filling the margins in messy loops. you tilted your head.

“love letters,” he replied, as if reading your thoughts.

“love letters?” you repeated it like it was a foreign concept.

there it was, that familiar feeling of your chest tightening as you pulled out the first letter. the paper felt heavier than it should have—like it was carrying the weight of something unspoken. you unfolded it carefully, your eyes scanning the page.

the first letter was a story written in his usual casual, boyish tone. it recounted the first time he realised he was in love with you. not in some grand, sweeping moment but in the tranquil stillness of a rainy afternoon 4 years ago when you’d fallen asleep on his grandma’s couch, clutching a bowl of popcorn like it was a lifeline.

the second letter was an apology for the moments he’d been too stubborn or too sharp-tongued—for every time he made you feel anything less than adored.

the third unraveled you entirely.

“if I could give you my eyes for a day, you’d see the world exactly as it is. beautiful, messy—and always better when you’re in it.”

you swallowed hard and set the letter aside. each one felt like a little piece of him, stitched together in ways he rarely allowed himself to be seen. by the time you reached the ninth letter, you were dizzy from it all, vision blurry and nose running.

the ninth letter was the shortest, just two words in his handwriting, “almost there.”

the tenth letter you found written inside the envelope, barely visible unless you were looking for it. it read:

“you’ve always had this way of holding the universe together without even realizing it. let me hold something for you in return.”

you hesitated upon finishing, fingers brushing the edge of the paper and heart thundering in your chest. looking up, you were confused when kuroo was not standing in front of you. it was then that you felt it, the feeling of knowing something impossibly sweet and devastatingly clever was present.

so you turned around, the paper slipping from your hands.

kuroo kneeled there, uncharacteristically still. between his two calloused fingers was an open box, and inside a delicate ring. the usual grin he had was gone now, replaced by something softer and steadier.

“i didn’t write this one,” he confessed quietly, looking away embarrassed. “because i wanted to say it out loud.”

he whispered your name, soft and certain like it was a promise in itself.

and just like that, the world shifted, tilting slightly off its axis as it stopped spinning.

all reblogs and likes appreciated!

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I saw you write for Ghost, if you want could you do some fluff with him? No pressure🥰

Till last breath

a/n I had this story in my drafts for over year and it’s been deleted on multiple occasions but I guess we are bringing it back cause I always had a soft spot for it… idk

warning: injuries, blood, guns, shot wounds, hurt comfort our favorite. Our oc’s nickname is Sugar. Have fun.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours. Couldn’t both allow himself to and equally as much even if he tried Simon knew that his mind would not still enough for even a restless slumber. You spent exactly 43h 37min and 59s being held hostage. And still, he’s here running over every single second of when you were there. Cold cell. Waterboarding. Knives. Their hands on you. It’s as if it’s all now permanently engraved in Simon’s brain. A new scar to carry. New guilt to bear.

His head snaps to the side at the sound outside his room. There’s a commotion and he knows he should move but he can’t. Not until there’s a harsh knock on his door. A relentless one. Forcing him to pull the blanket off his body. “What do you bloody want?”, Ghost grunts the doors slightly agare as he stares at the person in front of him. “Moving base, cap said it’s not safe”, Soap says calmly, bags beneath his eyes. He too had been restless. Not leaving Ghost’s side the whole time the operation was in motion. “Now?”, Simon’s tone is a lot different now yet still sharp enough to not appear weak.

“No, I got dressed at 3 am because i love it”, Soap rolls his eyes before stepping back to make room for the running soldiers. “Fucking hell”, Ghost grunts, running a hand over his mask. “30 min”, Soap nods making Simon grunt as he shoves the door closed only to be met with his teammate's foot in between the door. “What now?”, Simon sighs but he knows the look on Soap’s face. Knows what he’s about to say. “Can’t get to Sugar’s room, she must have locked herself in”, he nods towards the door right next to Ghost’s. “She’s not in the medical?”, he frowns glancing over. “Despatched herself an hour after we got her there. Just double check…”, Soap rambles on but Simon can’t listen, won’t listen to it, “I will”, he nods sharply moving back. “With the number of sedatives”, Soap shakes his head and that’s it. That’s all it takes for Ghost to snap, “Soap. I. Fucking. Will.”, he practically growls before kicking the door shut.

His head rests against the wood for a moment as he lets himself breathe. Just for a moment before he springs into action. Crossing his room in no time. Showing things into a bag. “Hey”, he’s slowly reaching out. The clammy skin he is met with makes his insides turn. But he knows he has to. There’s no other way. A little groan fills the silence followed by a pained whimper. “I know, I'm sorry but we need to go, they are moving base. Someone must be on our ass”, Simon says quietly, listening to the uneven breathing.

“I should have tied you to the bed in med”, he says through gritted teeth as you slowly peel your eyes open. “Can you move at all?”, he knows that it’s the stupidest question ever with the injuries that you have. “Simon”, it’s barely a whisper but it’s enough to leave him defenseless. “Don’t speak just nod or blink”, he softly cups your face, “Let’s try to sit up, yeah”, he can sense the dread yet you nod, his arms moving across your shoulders as he slowly lifts you. The pain on your face makes him want to scream. And then your head lulls back. “Shit”, he winces himself before lowering you down. The bandages all soaked in blood screaming at him.

“That bad”, you whisper, eyes not leaving him. He doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched so hard it hurts but he needs that pain now. Needs something else running through his head. “You’re hot”, his palm rests against your forehead. “Are you hitting on me lieutenant?”, you manage to pull a pained smile making Simon shake his head, “You’re a mad woman”, he grunts. “Mad for you”, you mutter watching his eyes snap at you. “Bloody hell”, he murmurs throwing his head back. “Now who’s hot and bothered?”, you try to chuckle but it only results in a pained expression. “If you weren’t bleeding out in my bed I would throw you over my shoulder”, Ghost threatens only making you smile, “Don’t threaten me with a good time”, just he’s not ready to joke and it shows.

“How bad?”, his voice is firm as he looks right at you. “It’s manageable”, you whisper but you can tell that he doesn’t buy it. “Y/n… We don’t keep shit from one another”, he leans forward, cupping your cheek. “Really bad”, you can feel tears prickling your eyes but you refuse to give in the panic. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, I will make it better”, Simon kisses your cheek, before resting his forehead against yours for a heartbeat. “Come on, I will carry you”, he muses, pulling back. “But the walking order”, you protest, knowing the base rules like the back of your hand. “I will shoot them in the shins so they would have to crawl themselves”, Ghost states casually. Yanking the blanket from the bed wrapping it around your body. He knows it’s the fever that makes you shiver so badly but still, after hours in that cell…

The clammy burn of your skin against his neck makes his insides twist. He endured so much. Seen so much torture and pain. Yet none of it made Simon feel this bone-deep sickness of watching your already frail body go weaker. “Do you still want to get that pottery set when we get back?”, he knows that he’s pulling shit out of his ass now, trying to keep you awake. To keep you up. Until he can change your bandages in the truck. “You hate pottery”, you frown slightly. “I’ve been thinking about a design to paint on it” He hadn’t given it much thought. You had been testing his limits. But saying no to you was another thing Simon struggled with. And now looking at that slight smile on your lips it feels more than worth it. “Did you?”, you whispered, voice raspy as you clung to him.

“Yeah, maybe we could paint a mug for one another”, he suggests stepping past the chaos in the hallway with calculated ease. “You do like your tea”, you whimpered against his skin. I like you more, he screamed in his head. “Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you hurt?”, your palm moves over his heart. One that has been doing overtime ever since. “I am unharmed I’m just… worried”, he admits because what’s the point in lying. “Why”, the question makes Simon want to scream. “Fucking hell, Sugs, I feel your blood seeping through my shirt and fingers and you look like you’re one step from crossing the threshold”, he practically cries through gritted teeth.

Your fingers reach up to his neck, gently brushing the tight muscles before inching beneath the material of the mask. Ever so slightly. Skimming over his jaw. Feeling the stubble prickling the pads of your fingers. “Look at me”, you mutter, but his face doesn’t move. “Simon fucking Riley”, you grip his jaw, pulling his face down as he halts. “I will pull through”, you say firmly feeling the edges of your vision blur. “You fucking better because I would not make it out without you”, his words leave a pang in your heart but you manage to give him a slight smile, “Tell that to me one more time when I am not…”, and that’s it your head falls against his shoulder. Body going limp making Simon hold onto you even tighter. As he steps to the outside his worried gaze is quickly replaced by the iron steal one. Cold enough to kill the stupid ones who dare to meet his eyes.

“Over here”, Price doesn’t ask but Simon can read his cap without words after so many years together. So he simply shakes his head. “Nurse is already insane. Back seats are just for her”, Price claps him on the shoulder. Simon doesn’t speak. Can’t find it in him. He would crack and he can’t crack. His shoulders droop with ease when his eyes land on Price’s wife, medical bag already open. A drip hung from the roof of the car. “Our trouble maker”, she grunts spotting you two and instantly moving to make room for Ghost. “She got wounded…”, Simon starts but she simply places a hand on his palm gripping onto you, “I know, honey, Price told me everything”, Simon is about to thank her and plead with her to do what it takes as he carefully lowers you onto the back seat when a sharp voice rings out, “She can’t be here”.

“Pardon”, Ghost turns back, facing the chaos once more. “The rule.. she didn’t… you carried her and this is an emergency evacuation”, the first-year-old nearly trembles as Ghost fully stands up, towering over him. “Ghost, stand back”, Price places a warm hand on his back but Simon doesn’t move. “Who do you think you are?”, the lieutenant’s voice is full of malice as he sizes the soldier up and down. “She should be left behind she’s our weakness”, there’s no rational thinking as Ghost reaches for Price’s gun aiming it at the boy before firing it right into his thigh. The scream that rings out is enough to drown out the commotion.

“Crawl if you can”, Ghost grunts through clenched teeth. “That is out of line, I will…”, the soldier whimpers, tears staining his cheeks. Ghost aims the gun at his head. “Ghost, last warning”, Price claps a hand around the back of his neck, “Think about Sugar. She needs you. Push it down”. Your name seems to breathe a sense of sanity back into him. Pointing the gun to the sky Ghost fires at the air one last time. “Listen closely you fucking scums”, his whole troop is quivering. The pathetic look makes Simon’s blood boil. “That’s my fucking wife bleeding out in that car right now”, he growls, pointing the gun back at them, “If you have a bone to pick feel free to. But you will have to go through me to get to her”, he holds eye contact with them for a heartbeat before shoving the gun at Price’s chest and climbing into the truck.

“Move your piss bags”, Soap’s voice rings out, “Before I leave you running next to the trucks”, he’s shoving the soldiers by the uniform before glancing at the open back. At Ghost crotched down by you, the scared palm resting against your forehead. “Fucking wife”, he mutters glancing at Price. “Don’t look at me, I found out only because I know how to make my wife talk”, the captain shrugs before motioning for Soap to get in too.

[christiannerd]

My boyfriend and I got together shortly before my IBS symptoms started to get worse. He was there for me to comfort me after I had just lost most of a day to my symptoms, when I was having an emotional breakdown wishing I could just be normal. He was there for me when I had to quit my job because of my illness. When we eat together, he's careful to avoid food that'll cause a flareup. When i went to visit his family, he reminded me to pack my meds. When I told him that some of my disabilities are genetic, and that any kids we may one day have would likely inherit them, he said with no hesitation that they'll be lucky to have a mom who already knows what they need. When I accidentally start infodumping (I'm also AuDHD) he just smiles and listens, and when I stop and apologize for rambling, he reassures me and says he enjoys listening to me talk. He's never been bothered by my irregular eye contact, and he's careful about my sensory issues too. Recently, he's been trying to make fidget toys, and he's been giving me the prototypes.

I used to think that being disabled in all the ways I am made me unlovable. My physical disabilities are seen as gross, and my developmental ones are seen as annoying and obnoxious. But somehow this guy came along and he loved me first, and he waited on me while I was being oblivious, and instead of being off put by my disabilities, he's concerned for my wellbeing.

Your disabilities do not make you unlovable. Someone out there will love you for who you are and when you find them it's the most beautiful thing. There are people out there willing to stand by you "in sickness and in health". I'm so thankful to have found one.

anyway if anyone tells you that nobody would want you for being disabled they're a liar and not worth listening to. disabled people can be cute, attractive, and desirable. not "despite" being disabled but just for who they are. it doesn't matter if you have scars, or inconvenient symptoms or some visible difference. everyone is worthy of being loved

[chanranghaeys]

🎥 chemistry read

in which junhui’s casting director gets a little bit too jealous during a chemistry read

pairing: actor!junhui x afab!casting director!reader word count: 2.1k+ genre: hurt, comfort, nsfw rating: r-18. nsfw, mdni! tags: established relationship, JEALOUSY, fluffy ending, reader is mentioned to be smaller than jun, i claim no accuracy over the movie industry processes nsfw warnings: heavy makeout, petting, voyeurism (if you squint?) a/n: mainly inspired by lana condor and noah centineo’s chemistry read for “to all the boys i’ve loved before” and it still lives rent-free in my head because it made me feel so, so many things. also my first nsfw-rated fic oh my. took me a while to make sense of where the story was going but it seemed all roads led to this. credits to @strxwberry-skiess, @diamonddaze01, @haologram, and c for beta reading because this took a village to get out!! thank you bless your souls 🫶

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Do you believe in the red string of fate?”

“The what?”

“The red string of fate. Have you seriously not heard of it?”

Jun was pulling out all the stops for this one. He had cranked up his charm to the max level evident in the smiles and subtle glances towards her direction. He knew exactly what he was doing.

It was sickening.

You were sitting on the opposite end of the screen in another room. Yes, you chose to go into a separate room today.

“It’s to see the literal on-screen chemistry,” you said. “We can’t have the face-to-face chemistry not translating well on camera.”

Just as well. You’d had enough of them making heart eyes at each other right in front of you anyway.

Today’s schedule was packed with absolutely no time for breaks in between and no time to even sit for a proper meal which you knew you’d only get by the end of the day.

And no time to actually sit down with the actor you were working with—who you were also lucky enough to call your boyfriend.

If you too were an actor, you’d truly believe that Jun was the perfect fit for you. It was something about his carefree presence and easygoing demeanor that turned shy when praises were directed at him no matter how much he deserved it. It was something that made you want to keep rooting for him.

He saw precisely that in you: your unwavering dedication and quiet support, whether in giving him insider tips and tricks to get ahead or letting him run wild with his character at every casting call. It was something he had never seen so strongly in someone during his time as an actor.

“You remind me of my members,” he told you the very first time you had coffee together—as colleagues who were on the verge of becoming something. “They’re my brothers. And I mean that in the best way possible! Not that you’re my brother in the messing around and crazy kind of way,” he quickly added when you raised your eyebrows in question. “I mean in the ‘always being there to stand by your side no matter what’ kind of way.” He sips from his drink nervously. “Don’t ask me to explain please, because I will not stop rambling until I say something even more stupid than I already have.”

You laughed because he’d already rambled more than he usually did. As a casting director, it was your job to match actors to roles that suited them perfectly. But as people, you both could say you did a mighty good job in matching each other’s quirks and freaks.

Professional mode on during work, you two agreed. And you two did very well on that promise.

But bringing her in for the role made it infinitely difficult for you to keep up your end of this deal.

“She’s an old friend of mine! We worked together on one of my very first projects, the small ones I used to tell you about.” He said this when you asked about her. You knew all that already, of course—it was part of your job.

But when the two finally met again in person, you saw it. As a casting director, your professional instincts felt it. You saw it in the way they instantly gravitated to each other, the way their eyes both sparkled, the way their hands naturally connected even after all those years apart.

They were perfect for the role.

And in your head, a small voice continued the thought you didn’t want to touch.

They were perfect for each other.

It was the same voice nagging in your head throughout the duration of the chemistry read. You knew this scene by heart as if you were the one auditioning for the role. You’ve watched how many callbacks and chemistry reads of this scene. And you knew what came next.

After the back-and-forth dialogue was a moment of silence, followed by a lingering gaze, which was sealed with a kiss that escalated to a bed scene. It was a pivotal moment in the film so it had to be perfect.

You’d almost been desensitized to your boyfriend doing such scenes—professional mode on as always. But all that work crumbled the moment you saw their eyes lock onscreen. Slowly, slowly, their faces inched closer together to meet in a kiss.

Your eyes burned. Your fist clenched as you saw his hand fist in her hair. Your jaw tightened when you saw her lips land in the corner of his jaw. And just as he brought her head down on the couch, the director called “Cut!” and you stood up to walk out of the room, not without feeling a stray tear fall down your cheek.

Jun heard the slam of the door and jerked his head toward the sound. That was all it took for him to know what happened.

He wasn't the only one to notice. Jun found the director’s eyes meeting his with a knowing look. “Alright,” the director started. “Well, they don't call it a chemistry read for nothing!” Scattered laughs filled the small room. “Thank you to both of you, that was absolutely amazing.”

The producers took the actress aside for a few words with other managers and staff. Your presence was notably absent.

Before Jun could slip away, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “That was the best read so far,” the director said.

“I know,” and with his eyebrows raised he continued, “I heard the door.”

The director just gave him a lighthearted laugh. “I’m sure we all did. But you know she would agree.”

Jun knew. So while everyone was preoccupied, he glanced at his manager—who already knew what he’d do—and set off to find you. It wasn’t a hard task because he opened the nearest door to the stairwell and found you leaning against the wall.

You met his eyes when you heard the door open, following him and his slight smile until he ended up a short distance beside you with his shoulder against the wall. You were adamant about not wanting him to see you break. You’re a professional, right?

“You know it’s not real,” he starts.

You scoff. “How is it not real when it was right in front of me?”

“Stop that, green isn’t a good color on you.”

“What?” Jarred, you look down at your staple all-black ensemble. “But green’s my favorite color. You told me you liked me in green.”

“Not when it’s green with jealousy.”

It took you two seconds to register what he said. The corner of your mouth twitched involuntarily at the quip. “I am not jealous.”

Jun barely held in a laugh. “Yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“I’m not!”

“Jealous you’re not the one I was kissing?”

“No, I—”

“Jealous you’re not the one I’m holding?” He reaches out and loops his finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer, closer, until you’re both joined at the hip. He shifts to effectively pin you against the wall with his height. You shiver against his touch when his fingertips graze the base of your neck.

“Now, you stop that,” you breathily let out.

“Stop what?” He asks oh so innocently.

“This.”

“No. Not until I prove to you how real this is.” He grabs ahold of your hand, and places it somewhere you did not expect it to go: right over his clothed crotch.

He was wearing loose slacks, a piece that could easily hide things that need to be hidden. But if there was one thing you did know about Jun is that he gets hard quick and easy and it takes him a while to calm down. With your hand on it, you could feel it was anything but hard.

“You know me. You tell me if that read did anything remotely close to what you do to me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but before you can let out a reply, his lips land on yours. His actions catch you off-guard and you instinctively clutch onto his arms and your last bits of sanity. Just as quick, he breaks away and grabs your hand again to return it to where it came from.

“Keep it here, love. I need you to have the proof in your hands.” He brushes a stray hair from your face, and you see your own desire in his eyes reflected back to you. He leans in, but stops short of your lips, leaving you to chase after his touch. The smirk that followed was telling of his thoughts. He was teasing you. God.

You had no more patience for his fun and games. You could feel the pent-up frustration building. Whether from anger or sexual arousal, the line has been blurred irrevocably. With your free hand, you latch onto his hair and pull him in aggressively into an open-mouthed kiss.

It was at this moment that you both decided to think “fuck it” to all modes of professionalism.

He takes advantage of your open mouth and wastes no time diving deeper. You find yourself reciprocating his kisses, pulling him in closer as if recreating the scene you watched him do but making sure it was imprinted with your mark on him.

“I love you.” You hear it whispered, feel it muttered against your lips. “I love you, and only you,” he continues in between kisses. “I love you.”

And there it is: the proof you could feel quite literally in your hand, at the crux between his legs. If you weren’t too in the heat of the moment, you could almost laugh. He decided to prove his loyalty to you by showing that he did not get a boner during the chemistry read. It was your lips and your hands, and yours only, that could do this to him. It was peak Junhui.

But now, you were only aroused beyond comprehension, apparent in the pit of your core and the slick pooling in your panties. You squeeze him through his slacks and he moans lewdly in your mouth, echoing in the empty stairwell bearing witness to this obscenity.

He starts kissing and licking down your neck as you feel his hands snake under your blouse and your bra to squeeze in return, earning a gasp from your swollen mouth. You fist the hand you had in his hair tighter, fully aware that you are indeed messing it up and you will very much get a word from his stylist about this.

Your ringtone effectively silenced all other sounds you both made before things could go any further. You both stopped to look at each other with expressions that were hard to decipher whether in alarm or in exhilaration.

“Hello?”

You hear your director on the other end. “So have you two kissed and made up yet? Not literally, I hope.”

From the corner of your eye, Jun chuckled. You cleared your throat, but your voice was still a pitch too high when you replied, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Alright, now come on back here. We have dinner prepared for everyone, including the new girl. We still need to talk about her.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Now, okay? We’ve been stalling for you two.”

Ah, shit. “Okay. On the way.” You dropped the call and looked at Jun leaning back against the wall, whose hair he managed to salvage and whose clothes were almost presentable. You couldn’t say the same for your half-open jeans and messed-up lipstick.

Wordlessly, he pulls you in and helps tidy you up—fixing your hair as you put your clothes back together and wipe off the stray lipstick from your face.

“For the record,” he says as he tucks your hair behind your ear, “whatever chemistry you see on the screen is only because I have you in my head to draw inspiration from. There’s a reason why people close their eyes when they kiss. It’s you I see every time.”

You usually love it when Junhui rambles like this. You still do now, but you also recall his “green with jealousy” line and it fills you with embarrassment.

“It’s just…it looked so real. It felt so real. That was the best chemistry read out of all of them.”

“So I was told earlier.”

“It made me feel so many things.” The exasperation was evident in your voice.

He takes your hands this time and holds them tight. “I’ll make you feel even more things, I’m sure. But I will not let you forget that I will make you feel loved the most. Okay?”

You sigh. You love him. “I love you, Jun.”

“I love you, too.” He raises a hand to press a kiss on your knuckles.

“Also remind me to call building security. I must tell them to delete that footage from the stairwell.”

Jun gives you a quiet smile, one full of mischief. “Not without securing a copy first. For me. Please?”

“I thought we were professionals!”

“We could add professional rule-breakers to that title, you know.”

Hmm. You reconsider his request. Yep, you could definitely match his freak. Perfect chemistry.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: inbox is open for requests or additions to taglists!

[starryeyedstray]

it's christmas eve and it's been ages since hank has gifted anyone anything, but hank decides connor deserves at least one present for his very first christmas. here's the ao3 link if you prefer reading there <3

Connor opens the box and inside is a black tie embossed with a triangle tessellation pattern. It's simple but would match his jacket perfectly. He studies the tie closely and his LED switches from blue to yellow. 

“I’ve, uh, saw that you must have lost your tie at some point. And you always seem a bit frustrated when you try to straighten it and it’s not there. So I, uh, figured a tie might be good,” Hank rambles because Connor is just staring at the tie in silence and his LED is yellow and spinning and Hank thinks maybe Connor hates it. He’s never been a good gift giver and it’s been years since he’s given one so maybe this was all a mistake. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.” 

Connor’s head snaps up. “No, I like it. It’s just…” And he stares down at it thinking again. 

“What is it? C’mon, you won’t hurt my feelings if you say you don’t like it.” 

“No, it’s just ever since the night I infiltrated Cyberlife Tower, I haven’t worn a tie. I wasn’t adhering to Cyberlife’s dress code they programmed into me. It felt like I was making my own choice. But you’re right, Hank. I find myself reaching up to fix my tie even when it’s not there. And I wonder if maybe I’m still stuck in my programming. Like I can’t escape Cyberlife’s design.” 

Hank watches Connor stare at the tie a bit longer his eyebrows slightly furrowed. Hank narrows his eyes as he contemplates what Connor said. “You think you’re still stuck in Cyberlife’s programming because you want to wear a tie.” 

“Correct.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor,” Hank says with a bit of exasperation. “It’s just a tie! It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be a fucking symbol of non-deviancy or whatever; it can just be a tie. Just because Cyberlife told you to wear a tie and you happen to like wearing one, doesn’t mean you’re not alive. You can wear the tie because you like it not because Cyberlife told you too.” 

“But what if I only like it because Cyberlife programmed me that way?” 

“Then fucking throw it away. Or wear it for special occasions. Or never wear a tie again if you really think that will give you peace of mind. I don’t know. You don’t have to overthink every little thing you do, kid. It’s okay to stick to what’s comfortable especially when you’re facing a lot of new things. The fact that you want to wear a tie says enough about your deviancy. You’ve said it yourself before, machines don’t want things.” 

Connor stares at Hank as he internalizes his words. He did like wearing ties and appearing professional and tidy. He knows Cyberlife programmed him that way, but maybe Hank’s right and that’s okay. Maybe he didn’t have to change everything about himself right away. Maybe that didn’t mean he was any less alive. 

One side of Connor’s mouth twitches up into that half smile he always does because he hasn’t really learned how to smile fully and genuinely quite yet. His LED is blue again. Hank can’t help but grin as Connor removes the tie from its box. “Thank you, Hank. I really like it.” 

Connor lifts his collar up and wraps the tie around his neck, but Hank stands. “Come here, I’ll tie it for you.” 

“I know how to tie a tie, Hank.” 

“Just let me do it for you,” Hank insists walking to Connor’s side of the table. 

Connor obliges and stands so Hank doesn’t have to crouch down. Hank couldn’t remember the last time he had tied a tie, but he remembers his dad showing him how to tie a full Windsor knot and he does the same wordlessly. Connor watches Hank, and there’s a softness to his weathered face. A ghost of a smile on his lips. Connor wonders if Hank is thinking of Cole and how he never got to teach him how to tie a tie. It makes Connor wish he didn’t know how so Hank could teach him.  

Hank finishes and pats both hands on Connor’s shoulders. “All done, son.” And then Hank freezes because he realizes that he just called Connor son and he doesn’t know how to take it back and he’s not sure he wants to. 

But Connor pretends like he doesn’t notice though now he’s certain that Hank is thinking of Cole. “Thanks, Hank.” He straightens the tie not because Hank tied it crooked, but because it’s a habit and Connor finds something comforting in the action. He smooths the tie against his chest saying, “Now, I just need to buy myself a new tie clip.” 

“Hang on, I think I have one you can use,” Hank states and he almost ends the sentence with “son,” but stops himself as he quickly goes into his bedroom.  

Connor looks down at his new tie and he wonders what it would be like to be Hank’s son. But he pushes that thought away because he doesn’t want to be a replacement. Plus, androids didn’t have families.

Or at least, he didn’t think it was possible, but his thoughts drift to Kara and Markus. Kara acts like a mother to Alice, and Markus considers Carl his father. Did that mean that they were family? Could a family transcend beyond the bonds of humans and extend to deviants? Perhaps, androids didn’t have families, but maybe deviants could. 

Maybe Connor could.

happy holidays everyone~! this little piece is for the island winter wonderland event ran by @island-of-misfit-deviants which is the dbh discord server i'm in. we're all very welcoming so feel free to join us!!!!

[starrbar]

Yeah, I also have legit never seen someone outright hating Silco or saying he's purely evil or something? And me not seeing it doesn't mean it never happens, but I was just legit surprised to hear that anyone would feel that way about him in the first place.

I don't think season 1 fucked up with how they portrayed Silco as a villain because I feel like part of the experience was him starting off as this one-note nyehehe spooky eye Bad Guy ™ and then shocking us when he shows genuine care for Powder/Jinx and also more generally having more nuance to his character than the first couple episodes show. And I do think some of the things he's done are condemnable, but I also never took that to mean his goal of independence wasn't worth fighting for, nor that it was wrong for him to use violence to achieve it. On top of that, the narrative shows that Vander has problems of his own. He isn't effectively protecting the Undercity, only maintaining a status quo, and what he did to Silco was beyond fucked up. I think he's wrong that "violence isn't the way", and I think the 1st season demonstrates that.

I AGREE that the showrunners have shit politics though, and that those shit politics show really glaringly in season 2. I've heard some criticism of how season 1 handled a few topics and I agree with those points too, but season 1 felt like trying and at least mostly succeeding to be progressive and make meaningful commentary on classism, and then season 2 was straight up like "just kidding, the rich oppressors and police are the good guys actually, and it's your fault as the oppressed for being too angry about it! Just forgive people and they'll meet you halfway!"

Like. EW.

I agree that the level of disgusting messages in season 2 need to be acknowledged and pointed out. I just don't know if I really see the other connections personally? But I could be wrong. I'm just one person rambling a bit, and I'm sorry if I said anything insensitive or wrong. Not trying to be confrontational or even "correct" the OP.

Can I just say that I really fucking HATE how the majority of the Arcane fandom praising Season 2 is deeply in the mindset of Piltover in reality? Like, it's not even funny, and I don't know where to begin.

I'll just start with Silco because he's this huge metaphorical character who is clearly written as the embodiment of a long list of sociopolitical agendas in the real world. And before I start, pardon my English, since it's not my first language.

I know y'all in the Anglo-American sphere tend to focus more on classism, inequality and police brutality theme. But the way I see it, THAT and every single dialogue plus the specific word choice of Silco & Sevika literally SCREAMS of postcolonial discourse (I guess F. Fanon is most well-known to y'all) and even some part of M. Foucault's philosophy, etc. I'm writing "etc." because the list will go on forever if I describe all these creepy historical parallels between the depiction of Zaun's internal conflict and what real countries that have been (or still are) colonies went through, and what real colonizer propaganda looked like during that time—like how those characters who fight for the nation's independence are the big bad villain and psychotic monsters who need "redemption arc" therapy, while those who cooperate with the oppressors are the good-hearted familial heroes of this story.

So upon reflection, if this fandom were to be a collective intelligence, we should have asked ourselves, "Is this show truly not problematic for portraying such a character as villainous?" and thus, "Is this show thematically implying far-right propaganda?" even before Season 2 presented us with this insane plot that glamorized the militaristic fascist aristocrat proclaiming martial law as a 'romantic revenge arc'.

But what did the majority of the fandom do since 2022? They were so busy shitting on this dead villain, claiming he has done so much wrong that he doesn't even deserve to be praised as a character. So instead of trying to understand where this character's point of view is coming from, they blindly hate him to the point where they are now fabricating a list of crimes that he didn't even commit, editing false information on the fandom wiki profile.

What's more frustrating to me is that I thought the problem was media illiteracy all along, but oh no, I was being way more optimistic than the reality. Now that I’ve read all these interviews from the showrunner and main writer—Linke and Overton—I get the sense of why Season 2 turned out like that. The more they babble on about this show, the clearer it becomes that they don't even acknowledge how messed up their political views are, which are so far-right. Taking the seemingly-centrist line doesn't make you fair, you're just passively siding with the oppressors. And lesbian sex scene doesn't make this show "progressive", in fact, hiding oppressor fantasy behind a rainbow flag makes it even more treacherous.

So yeah, I think critical voices should be much louder than this, but watching the majority of this fandom neglacting problems only to praise the show? I think my hope for humanity kind of get lost more and more as time passes, lol.

[misteria247]

It Started with Coffee

Stanley Pines wasn't the type to believe in love. For him love had happened once, and that had ended up with him nearly losing his car to a woman he thought had felt the same. So for a very long time, he carried on. Focusing on what was important to him, rebuilding the portal to get Ford back and taking care of Mabel and Dipper as well as Soos and Wendy. And he was content. Until one day, he wasn't. And it was because of one man in particular who threw a wrench into everything.

Fiddleford H. Mcgucket.

Fiddleford for the longest time, to Stan was nothing more than old man Mcgucket. The town crazy hick who lived with the raccoons and who tried to talk to him on occasion in his half sane ramblings. Then Weirdmageddon happened and suddenly Fiddleford was around more often than not. And with that, came the recovering inventor's attempts to talk to him. At first Stan didn't try to respond back, not wanting to entertain the hillbilly because he was missing his twin. It worked for awhile until one day when the stubborn old coot crossed the line. It was morning and Stanley along with the kids and his brother had decided to go to Greasy's to get breakfast. Along the way they'd run into Fiddleford and Ford of course invited him along as well as the kids. Stanley didn't protest, not wanting to ruin their excitement. It was when they'd been seated and were getting ready to order that it happened.

Ford had begun to list off their orders, and accidentally messed up Stan's. The younger twin was going to leave it be. Not wanting to bother his brother with something so trivial when the skinny bean pole from beside Stanford spoke up.

"Ah wait! Stanferd you messed up Stanley's order, he takes his coffee with 3 sugars. He likes sweet things."

Fiddleford was met with a wide eyed stare from his best friend. Mabel and Dipper were also staring, jaws open in awe. Stanley meanwhile just looked at the genius, dumbfounded.

'How in the hell did he notice that? It's not like I broadcast it to the whole world.'

The con man thought, puzzled and annoyed that he couldn't put said puzzle together. Once the shock wore off, the group of five slowly again resumed conversation. But all the while Stan's gaze continued to flicker towards Fiddleford. Confused and wanting answers. It was when their meals and coffee were finished and Dipper awkwardly and shyly said goodbye to the waitress. (Pacifica he believed her name was). That he finally got the chance to somewhat corner the other man. He walked slower to match Fiddleford's pace, letting the kids and Ford walk further ahead of the two of them. And once far enough Stanley finally looked at him.

"How did you know?"

Stanley's question seemed to catch Fiddleford off guard. Hazel green eyes behind glasses snapping to meet dark brown. Fiddleford opened his mouth to respond before closing it again, looking suddenly sheepish and embarrassed.

"Ah well, I uh developed a habit of sorts. Whenever I have a right old time trying to remember people who are important to me. I'll start watching em and making mental notes about em...."

The country hick rambled, looking nervous and uneasy. Stanley just stared, stunned. Fiddleford had thought he was important enough to remember details about him. And not just details anyone would know, but details miniscule enough to be overlooked.

"Yer implying I'm important enough to remember?"

The con man asked, unable to stop the disbelief. The other man looked at him again, eyes wide with his own disbelief.

"Yes?? I reckon so?? Why wouldn't I?? You're important just as much as everyone else."

Fiddleford said suddenly firm in the statement. Stanley just stared, expression unreadable for a beat before seeming to come to a conclusion.

"Heh, whatever you say Mcgucket. If you're gonna be doing that, then I'm gonna have to start doing it too. Can't have just me being important."

Fiddleford's eyes flashed with something in that moment before a grin came on his face.

"Alrighty then."

Stanley didn't believe in love. Didn't believe in the word nor what people said about it. But......maybe he can learn. Especially if this man was willing to stick around. Perhaps, there was such a thing. If Fiddleford continued to throw that wrench, then maybe Stanley could come around to believing it.

[mxtantrights]

Sé que se puede, se puede amar

a/n: anddd he strikes again. when I said I was down bad for this man I really meant it. it's bad. anyways this isn't gonna be a two parter (I know I said that last time but this time I mean it!! mostly)

for the sake of this fic: Armando and Mike are still working on their relationship but they are close enough to have each other's phone numbers, Armando is out of prison, he didn't kill the chief, Armando is in some form of therapy.

also based on this song which I've had in my playlist forever.

Armando knows things about life. Like how to aim a gun to kill and how to aim a gun to send a warning. He knows the difference between a friend and an enemy. He knows that life isn't fair, that it's messy and takes no prisoners.

Of course in therapy he's learning to see the positives. He gets to wake up every day in a bed, under a roof, with food to eat and a family (of sorts) to talk to.

And all of those things do him just fine. He just feels like there should be more. Like there is something missing.

This is why, and the only reason why, he pulls out his phone and calls Mike. It takes three rings, and on the third Armando is ready to hand up and text him saying it was a butt dial. But Mike picks up.

They both greet each other. Mike asks how Armando is doing. Armando should say okay, or fine. But he doesn't really want to lie. So he tells the truth which is still a bit rare for him at this point in his life.

He tells Mike about this feeling he has in his chest. How quiet his apartment is and how boring it looks. How when he's done with work, he hangs out with the only co-worker he can stand and then shuffles home.

Mike jokes with Armando that he's missing a love life. Which Armando doesn't take seriously at all. He's a good looking man in Miami, he's not missing out on anything.

Then Mike tells him that there's a difference between whatever one-night stands he's had and the real thing. Mike goes on a tangent about his former ways and how he's glad he wrapped it up and fell in love with his now-wife.

They end the call joking around with each other, Mike tells him to stay out of trouble, and Armando tells him to not hold his breath.

But as Armando falls asleep that night, or tried to, Mike's words hit him. All the meaning less hook ups, hook-ups that he might've wanted to be more. He was searching for something and he didn't even know it.

-------

THREE WEEKS LATER

There are boxes in the hallway up to his apartment. It makes him do a double take. It made him highly suspicious but it's still something he's working on getting used to. Not exactly trusting other people out right but not thinking the worst without having evidence to do so.

Armando hears the elevator ding. He took the stairs up, because it was coming down from the forth floor. From his floor. Whoever it is could be his new neighbor.

He turns around, wanting to see who it is.

Seeing you isn't like how they describe it in the movies. It's not like he's instantly in love with you or something. This is real life, that's not how it works.

But he sees you, with a box in your hands. In a short sleeve pink shirt and a pair of jean overalls. And you come walking his way, with a smile on your face. And he doesn't smile at people. Never to be polite, never to ease tension or awkwardness.

He smiles when you stop just a foot in front of him.

"You must be my neighbor. I'm sorry for all the boxes." you say.

"Don't worry about it. Do you need help?" he asks.

He never offers to help people. But it just came tumbling out of his mouth before he could think any better. He didn't know you, he doesn't know if he can trust you, but here he is offering to move your stuff in.

You ramble about how he doesn't have to, but he just takes one of the boxes that line the hallway floor into his arms. You lead the way to the apartment across from his and key open the door.

When he puts down the box inside your apartment you offer him a bottle of water. He jokes that it was only box and there are a few more he wants to help you with before he can earn a water from you.

So as you head back down stairs to get more boxes, he moves the ones in the hallway inside your apartment. Most of them pretty heavy. He can see why you were just lining them up instead of bringing them in one by one.

The two of you talk friendly, which his also something he doesn't usually do. Armando? Friendly? Either he says nothing or he says something that would get him smacked. Or at least that's what his mother always said.

It takes about an hour and change to get all the boxes inside your apartment.

When you finally get the last one inside, you exhale in relief. Then you go over to the fridge which only has a carton of eggs, milk, a measly half opened package of bread and a case of hard seltzer. You offer him one now.

He takes it, leaning against the wall. None of your furniture is ready to sit on.

You talk casually about what you do for a living, why you moved to Miami, where home is, etc. He learns things about you then and wonders if this will be a one off.

He's the one to cut it short. Armando says he's got early hours tomorrow so he's going to go. Which isn't true per say. Yes he has work but he doesn't need to leave because of that. It's not like he's going to go to bed right at this moment.

But he also doesn't want to take up your time. You obviously have somethings to unpack. He doesn't want to keep you any longer. So the two of you say goodbye.

-

A MONTH LATER

He's starting to think he's weird. He's weird, he has to be, for noticing these things about you. Like what time you get up in the morning because he can smell your breakfast through his apartment. Or which days you happen to have off because he can smell your cleaning products.

He's weird. Definitely.

Mike said he has a crush.

Out of all the things Armando was expecting Mike to say, it wasn't that. He's a grown man! He doesn't have a crush on you! That's stupid. He likes running into you, and when you two have time to talk you do.

But he doesn't have your number. He hasn't been in your apartment since he helped you move in. And you've never stepped foot inside of his.

He doesn't have a crush on you. He doesn't really even know you.

Well he knows that you moved to Miami because of a better job opportunity and to be closer to your family. While you liked the east coast you didn't really think of staying there your whole life.

Okay he knows a little bit about you. But only what you've told him. It's not like what Mike said over the phone. There aren't little things he notices you do.

A knock comes from his door. Armando isn't expecting someone so at first he doesn't answer.

There's another knock. Then he can hear your voice calling out his name. He gets up from the couch quickly. Quicker that he likes.

He unlocks then opens the door.

There you stand, a case of coronas in your hand.

He notices right away that you look good. He always thought you were good looking but you look really good right now. You're in a little black dress, and your hair isn't in it's usual state.

Damn. He might have a crush on you.

"Had a bad date, wanted to hang out with someone that doesn't make me want to throw myself off a very tall building." you say.

He opens the door wider, and invites you in. And he feels like a dog for closing the door after you and taking in your full figure. He'll punish himself later, when you're gone.

You take a seat on his couch like you've been here before. You sit all comfortable like, against one of his pillows. You take out one of the glass bottles.

Armando thinks to himself he doesn't know where he put the bottle opener. But then he sees you take out your keys and bend the cap open. He laughs to himself.

He joints you on the couch. Taking a beer for himself and sitting across from you. He opens the bottle on the end of the coffee table. And you laugh at him.

"You know the date wasn't that bad." you speak.

Armando's eyebrows raise, "So what did it?"

"When he started talking about how he wants to get back into stocks. How he misses the rush and feeling like he's on top of the world." you answer.

Armando makes a face. He knows guys like that. Guys that wear the cleanest suits and do the 'finest' drugs. Only to be the worst men walking earth because of how they treat others as objects.

"What made you go out on the date with this loser anyways?" he asks.

You shrug your shoulders and take a swig of beer.

"Thought I would try the dating scene in Miami. I've been proven wrong." you reply honestly.

Armando takes you in for a moment. You were looking for something too. He doesn't know why that thought makes him a little bit happier than before. That you could possibly be in the same boat as him, looking for something a bit more.

You seem to notice him not answering so you wave your hand in his face. But he's not dozing off, he's looking right at you. So when your hand goes left to right his eyes follow your movements.

"I suppose you have no complaints in the dating department." you say.

Armando shrugs his shoulders this time, "I don't."

There's a silence. He watches your face scrunch in confusion. You're too smart. Armando has a way of answering sometimes that is truthful, if you read between the lines.

You're reading between the lines very quickly. Like you see through him.

"As in you don't have complaints, or you don't date?" you ask.

He chuckles and leans back into the couch.

"There are no complains because I don't date." he answers.

"Oh. Wow I just thought because you're good looking and you seem kind-"

"You think I'm good looking?" he cuts you off.

There's a smile on his face. The front row of his teeth showing. He's happy that you find him good looking. He's not saying anything is going to happen between the two of you. But the prospect of it seems, fun.

You laugh, "Of course I mean come on. That's like not even subjective, that's pure fact."

"Wow. Did you have a drink before this? You're bold tonight." he replies.

With that you take the glass bottle and raise it up to you lips. You finish off the beer and set the empty glass back down on the table to your side.

"Don't lie, you like it."

-

A WEEK LATER

He thinks you're doing this on purpose. Yes, when you showed up in that dress the other night that was an accident. A happy accident. But ever since then it's like you've been on his radar.

Just doing things that pique his interest. More than usual.

Like when you were re-painting your front door in that short sleeve and overall combo. He doesn't know what it was about that outfit but he'll never forget it.

Or that time when you asked if you could use his shower. Your was down. Which, he knew about because the landlord had said that whole line was down for the day. You came over in the cutest robe and all your shower products.

He's losing his mind. At least he thinks so.

Thats's the only reason why he's waiting up for you. He got home five minutes ago but he's leaning against his door and playing on his phone.

Because he's losing his mind over you.

He hears the elevator ding. He doesn't look up from his phone yet. Not yet.

"Armando?" you ask.

He looks up.

You've got a bit of a pout on your face. He can't help the smile on his face. You walk up to him, your feet shuffling against the hallway floor. Your bag is slung over your shoulder.

"Hey." he says.

"Are you locked out or something?" you ask him again.

He thinks, there's an idea. Should he though? It wouldn't be very honest of him. But he isn't really feeling like being honest will get his mind off you.

"Forgot my keys at work." he says.

You move over to your own door. He watches as you unlock it and open it wide, gesturing him inside. He peels himself off his door and walks into your apartment.

He feels you behind him, you close the door.

"If you want a drink you're shit outta luck. Forgot to get some this weekend." you say.

He chuckles, "That's alright. I'm just waiting for my coworker to drop my keys off."

"Oh yeah, how far out are they?"

Armando knows how to lie. He's been lying his whole life. Doing those jobs for his mother, being a part of the world he was in. Lying was like breathing. If you didn't do it, you didn't last an hour.

But remember he's losing his mind.

So he comes up with the only answer that he can think of.

He watches you take off your shoes and take a seat on the couch.

"An hour."

You tilt your head at his answer. He had said before that his job was only twenty minutes away. So of course an hour seems like an unreasonable answer.

"I thought-"

He cuts you off, "someone else closed up. so he has to come from his place, which is about twenty minutes in the other direction."

In his head that makes perfect sense. It's just confusing enough to not be pondered for too long. You nod your head, and shed the blazer off of your body.

He joins you on the couch, resting his bag on the floor. His bag which as his keys inside. He'll be sure to not kick it so you don't hear the jingle of the metal.

"How was your day?" you ask, an emphasis on your which means your day sucked.

If he couldn't already tell by the pout you had when you strolled off the elevator.

"Nothing new. But I think I wanna hear about what has you so stressed." he answers.

You sigh, "I'm just bring passed grunt work. I hate it. But I'm new so I can't really say no."

"You want me to come down there and knock some skulls?" he jokes.

You laugh.

"No, I promise. Thanks for the offer though Hercules." you tease.

You see, that right there. That right there is what gets him. You do these things, you say these things and he doesn't know if you possibly feel the same way he does.

You suddenly get up, heading for the kitchen. You do it with a smile. He watches you in pure amusement. He doesn't know why.

When you come back, you have two beers in your hand. It confuses him for a moment. You seem to be able to read his face.

"Well, I figure if I stopped lying, you would too." you say.

You put his beer on the coffee table in front of you. Then you open yours and take a sip. His eyebrows raise on his forehead.

"Okay. I have my keys." he says.

You nod, "So why were you waiting outside of your door?"

"I was waiting for you."

You sit up at that answer, "because..."

He lightly chuckles.

"Because I think I'm going crazy." he answers.

"Crazy about what?" you ask.

"Crazy about you."

You smile wildly, "You just made my day so much better."

-

THREE MONTHS LATER

Armando knows you have an affect on him. But he didn't notice quite the affect he has on you. How could he? He doesn't really put it together like that.

Yes, he knows you like him. You like teasing him. You like riling him up a bit. You also like hearing him talk. Whenever he decided to say more than four sentences you were always so ready to listen.

Which is why he didn't notice that affect he had on you when he said those words a few moments ago. You asked him to repeat it.

You're standing in between his legs as he sits on the couch. His hands are comforting you, rubbing up and down ont he back off your thighs. Your hands are around his neck.

"I said I want to go to bed with you." he repeats.

You look around the room. Which makes him laugh. Of course there is no one else around. Even if there were he would only be talking to you.

He brings you in by the waist, looking you right in the eyes.

"You heard me querida." he says softly.

You smile widely, "I know but I just can't believe you would say something like that. I mean you're making me melt."

He kisses your stomach though the button up shirt you're wearing. You run your hands through his short hair as he does.

He looks up at you.

It's been three months of dates, late night texts, and dropping by each other's places. He didn't think he'd get here. To this point in his life. Asking for something so mundane. To go to bed with you.

But right now that's all he wants.

After a long day of work, he just wants to change his clothes and have you sleeping next to him. He wants to see your nose twitch in your sleep like it usually does. During a movie night at his place you fell asleep and he saw it for the first time. Couldn't get it out of his mind for days.

"Do you have a change of clothes for me?" you ask quietly.

He nods his head, "I have everything. All you have to do is say yes."

You smile.

"Take me to bed, 'Mando."

He wastes no time. With no other words he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and carries you to his room. You latch onto him and nestle your face into the crook of his neck.

Armando wants to remember this feeling forever. It's not love. Not yet. It's the possibility of falling in love.

[numberonetacostan]

In s1 Bomb says Taco only knows French and some other words and I feel like this could mean a few different things.

She already knew French (somehow) and just used that to her advantage.

Simple lying.

Or she learnt a whole ass new language idk

They never actually talk more about it and if I'm being honest with myself it was probably just a throwaway line but I am allowing myself to be delusional for two reasons.

1. It would be funny

2. Using it for tacomic, the idea of Taco saying something romantic in French but immediately switching up if Mic asked what it meant.

(This is just rambling so if it doesn't make as much sense as I hoped I apologise 😔)

Hi there!!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for sending in an ask!!!! :D Especially one about Taco speaking French!!!!!! I AM THE LORD EMPEROR OF FRENCH SPEAKING TACO.

I HAVE PERSONALLY GOTTEN IT CONFIRMED BY JUSTIN THEMSELF TWICE. ONCE IN DURING A STREAM IN WHICH I ASKED IF MEPAD COULD CHANGE HIS LANGUAGE SETTINGS AND SPEAK FRENCH WITH TACO, WHICH THEY SAID WAS SOMETHING THAT COULD HAPPEN, AND IN A CAMEO I BOUGHT IN WHICH JUSTIN, AS GOO, CONFIRMED THAT TACO HAD "REAL FRENCH-SPEAKING POWER"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE SPEAKS FRENCH GUYS IT'S TRUE IT IS IT IS IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Anyways uh sorry im very passionate about taco speaking french. Mephone just programmed her with it. He watched movies with french and british villains and couldn't pick when he was making his own antagonist so she got both. She's, uh, Brench. Fritish?

Her trying to romance Mic and changing it up when she asks what it means is so very cute!!!!! I am also terrible at socializing like Taco is, and I have an easier time saying things when I'm not using English too!!!! Oooooo, it's so sweet!!! She can say the most poetic stuff in French, but English? She stutters through even one (1) attempt at flirting.

Also surprise surprise I'm putting my Mepad and Taco French speaking propaganda here!!!! I don't think he'd know she speaks it before meeting her, but he'd hear her talking to herself in it and casually change his language settings so he can speak with her!! She'd be startled by it at first because she's never spoken French with anyone else before, but I think it would make her happy!!!! She's already opened up emotionally to Mepad, I think them being able to communicate in a way that no one else can understand would be reassuring for her and even help her to talk more about her feelings. I also think she could ask him, like, how to socialize in French. She isn't sure how to respond to something in conversation? Isn't sure if what she wants to say is rude or not? She can privately ask Mepad in French!!!! hnnnnngh language speaking emotional intimacy my beloved.

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

(Wanted to keep this in the tags but it got too long.)

I don’t really go here, so this might not be my place to say. I wasn’t part of the time. Wasn’t there when it all happened and the last thing I want to do is come off as someone who can’t read the room of “you had to be there” and come off incredibly stupid. I only just fell into this rabbit hole, after all.

Which, mind you, I only stumbled upon the DSMP in fucking 2024 because I broke my own rule and ended up reading a Minecraft fanfic and then another one and another one and then promptly went off the deep end. And then hyperfixation hit, and now there’s no way out.

Sorry, I’m rambling. But, uh, what I’ve noticed is that the DSMP, like so much media before it and so much more to come after it, was built on friends messing around, having fun, and turning random bullshit into something big/pos. And yeah, I know the nostalgia has been tainted and tangled with everything that has come out since, and I don’t blame anyone for feeling a bit sick about it. But it was a moment. A fleeting, chaotic, messy piece of time that mattered.

Tommy did a video on it called, “Was the Dream SMP actually bad?” And while it was fun and very endearing to see his take on it, seeing all the love people poured into this fandom – it hit me. The reason wasn’t deep or shallow. The DSMP wasn’t perfect, yeah, but it wasn’t some grand evil or shallow piece of mediocrity, either. It was just people goofing off and letting us lot join in on the ride.

OP said nostalgia isn’t a crime, and damn, if that isn’t one of the realest things I’ve ever heard and it’s something I think more people should talk about. Sure, nostalgia shouldn’t be the only thing keeping you going – it can’t be the respirator keeping you alive. But it isn’t some sin. You don’t need to punish yourself for holding onto the good parts. You don’t need to be the condemned and play judge, jury and executioner.

I came to this fandom half a decade after it’s creation, but it still feels as brilliant as the bards that sung of it in the early eras. Yeah, some of the things that we thought were diamonds turned out to be burnt plastic. That doesn’t mean the rest don’t shine. That doesn’t mean we can’t still find joy in it.

Guilty pleasures are a thing, yes. But I think the majority of it is off. You don’t need to feel guilty for loving something that lit up your life, that made the dopamine rush in, that gave you happiness when you needed it most.

Let yourself love what saved you, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Yknow what I'm actually tired of so many people getting mad when Tommy and other dsmp members bring up the server because "it's been 4 years get over it" when it's like.... I still think about my middle/high school minecraft servers with friends all the time and we make the same dumb inside jokes from it over a decade later, and that's WITHOUT having a massive fandom obsessed with our server and friendships and constantly being reminded of it by strangers. And that's such a normal thing to be nostalgic of fond memories with friends. And yeah absolutely some fans take it too far bringing it up too often BUT also we were all locked up during covid's peak and it was literally impossible for some people not to get parasocially attached when we spent more time watching these streamers than with our own friends/families in many cases. And I don't *want* to think about that server so much even to this day years later. I didn't want to waste literally hundreds of hours (thank twitch recaps) watching everyone's pov of block game even back then. but mental illness is a bitch, hyperfixation is a hard thing to fight, and I'm not blaming myself for being reminded of it when it was one of if not the worst period of time for our generation and the only escape we had was a dumb minecraft server we weren't actually on (though I argue the fans were absolutely "a part of" the server in a sense as a hefty chunk of the lore came from fans). And that said I know when to sit on those thoughts without saying anything in streamers chats, and I know not everyone knows how/when to do so

Idk man just let people be is the main thing i'm trying to say nostalgia is not a crime

[keepmovinjunior]

i just wanted to talk about something (under a read more bc it is out of character)

everyone is here for their own reasons, and that's cool. i totally get that. i'm not about to tell anyone how to spend their time or operate on their own blog.

i, personally, am here for fun and that's it. i'm here to write. i'm here to ramble about fictional characters and have silly little interactions on the dash / expand on my character's relationship with your character's. my real life has its own stressors (i have a great life but obviously not everything is peachy keen and being someone who is politically informed and inclined, i want to have a safe space in which i am not interacting with that type of content that i can retreat to for my own relaxation). at the end of the day this is, as i said, playing tumblr barbies for me (and most likely for most people). it's a game and it's not that serious. in fact, it's like. not serious at all.

some people are here for community and friendships and that's totally fine. i'm not against making friends, either, and i do really like and appreciate a lot of the people i interact with often and on a daily basis, even if i don't know most of you well at all. we engage in the same hobby and we're all aliases behind a screen but i really do enjoy talking to many of you. however, at the end of the day, if i don't make friends here, that's fine, too. i'm just chilling!

having said that, i've been around for a long time and have, of course, made friendships, had relationships, gone in and out of certain blogs, etc. and this is not a hobby i think i will ever outgrow (probably will just have less time for during certain periods of my life - and most people probably will experience that). i've had falling outs, i've had moments of being uncomfortable with certain people, i have had headcanons and sometimes even some of my own graphics lifted from my blog by others of the same muse, i've even had whole ass relationships with other writers in which i was very hurt. but here's the damn thing, ok: i never, ever, not even once, had a public DNI that other people had to adhere to to write with me, tried to call someone out or incite community wide drama by dragging other unrelated people into what happened over my own personal experiences, or tried to control anyone else over it. i always understood that not everyone is going to feel the same way, or have the same experience, with another person. i understood that dealing with my feelings about the situation was on me, and it was in my own best interest to learn how to move past or live with what happened. if i felt uncomfortable with seeing that other person around, it was my own responsibility to handle my own feelings as i saw fit, and no one else needed to do that for me. this is just good philosophy toward life in general, but, as it applies to tumblr: if i couldn't handle seeing someone on this platform and co-existing in this space, i would leave, sign out, or just. literally do anything else. i knew that my own friends and my own fun is what i should focus on.

there is a feature on tumblr called filtering. you can blacklist tags and users. you can filter things that make you uncomfortable if you want to stay but don't want to see those things. you can unfollow. you can block. you can literally do anything else, and you don't owe explanations for that. or, if you can't handle it even with those things done, you can sign out and leave and invest your time in something healthier and more relaxing. this is a hobby.

by all means, have your DNIs, make your call outs (leave me out of those, though, because i guarantee you that unless this person is a sexual predator, groomer, or scam artist, i am not going to care, especially if i have no relationship with anyone else involved in said drama) and will think you're ridiculous for it. just know that the moment you start to try to control how other people operate, you will lose out on a lot of really good experiences and just make this a more miserable place for you to be.

the best healing is exposure and love and support. it's not focusing on what other people do or seeking out spaces in which you will be triggered because you enjoy being a victim.

take it from me, a 30 year old queer woman who has gone through my fair share of loss in life: it's not that serious. it's really not.

[d1ana-m0nd]

╭─► ❝Rogue Maiden❞

One Piece! Various × Female! Reader || Written by Diana (d1ana-m0nd)

➢ Description : The fourth maiden is often underestimated by her peers, hidden behind a veil of secrecy and countless masks. Raised in a world with psychological danger, she learned to shield herself from attachment and harm. With an uncanny ability to read between the lines and always on guard, her true strength lies in what she conceals.

➢ Link : Masterlist

Character Profile┊A bud adorned by thorns

The Pastiche Island is an island filled with prideful - though they prefer being described as ambitious - women. Women who are skilled with their respective crafts like: exploration, literature, mathematics, science, philosophy, politics, and all forms of art. If you were not skilled in any of the aforementioned subjects, you were deemed useless as a woman and as a human being. Knowledge and skill are the sign of prestige and perfection to everyone on this island; Which is why young girls are rushed into perfection, fearing they would be rejected by society.

Though a former Whitebeard pirate was against this, she turned to you with a grouch as she rambled on and on about how you should not take part in the upcoming screening test. To her, you were but a child, she has yet to discover you possess qualities that were beyond a child's capabilities.

“I'm telling you kid, that test will just make you feel miserable!” The blue-green haired woman insisted as she hastily chopped the vegetables for the stew, “You're still eight years old, you have four more years till the actual test-”

Abruptly, you spoke up, tilting your head at your adoptive mother. "Are you just saying that just because you don't want me to go through the same thing you went through?”

Astrid, the former whitebeard pirate, stopped midway through dicing vegetables just to glare down at you for well… being you. In her eyes, you were just a smart and arrogant child, she was well aware of what you were capable of. However, she knew the maidens better than your child mind could comprehend. They were nothing like the average girl, there is a reason why they have a league of their own even at the ripe age of 12 years old.

"I'm not you, so I won't fail the test.”

The older woman gritted her teeth as a tick mark appeared on her forehead with a smile whose corner's were twitching from irritation. Astrid had to hold back colorful words knowing you were just a blunt brat that did not have a filter. Despite the words coming from someone so small, your words left a bigger impact than the cannons she used to wield back in her pirating days.

The blue-green haired woman set her kitchen knife aside and massaged her temples, "Even if you did take the test, what would you gain? The future is uncertain, don't take any stupid risks-”

You looked up at her with a heavily blank stare that took her mother aback, her usual brash self silenced a mere stare that said ‘Are you for real? ’. The sweet situational irony that these words were uttered by a former pirate who are commonly associated with words like ‘stupid’.

"Oi, oi, oi, you cheeky little runt! Don't try to turn the tables on me.” The older woman barked but you were not fazed by it.

“My past experience has nothing to do with you-"

“Then, why can't I take the test?" You countered with a question, trying to understand her mother's words, because throughout the whole conversation her mother never gave her a proper answer.

Astrid swallowed hard as she simultaneously hardened her glare towards her child, “You just can't! I know taking the test is tempting, and it can be helpful for your future but, the people upstairs are a real piece of work. Even if you did good you'd just-”

"Then watch me, you won't know till we see the results.” You casually quipped.

Your adoptive mother found herself taken aback once again, in awe of her child's boldness. In spite of the fact that you had monochromacy, you would think the child would have a limited view on the world but she didn't let that hinder her potential. She shone brightly no matter how limited her view on the world was.

Admittedly, Astrid was envious of her child's confidence yet, she could not help but doubt your capabilities. She knew it was normal for kids your age to be boastful and overconfident but, she knew for a fact that you are not like other kids, she has witnessed it firsthand. However, that tinge of doubt lingered at the back of her mind and she could not help but feel guilty for this.

Since that day, Astrid was adamant from keeping you to take the test, she did her best to dissuade you but, she was failing to do so as you were just listening to her as her words came out from ear to another. When the day came, you went to the screening test behind your adoptive mother's back. As the day came, you were skimming through the test with ease yet, it took you a while to finish thus leading you to be the last person to finish.

The moment you walked out the test room, you met your adoptive mother at the lobby, who fell asleep with your lunch cradled in her arms. You sat by your sleeping mother's figure, as you did your best to take away the lunch from her without waking her up. In doing so, you were eating your lunch in peace which caught a certain silver haired woman's attention who was passing by the hallway.

As dinner came around, you and your siblings assisted your mother in preparing dinner for everyone in the orphanage. In doing so your mother began distributing a meal for each child. When it was your turn, your mother gave you your meal for the night then, smacked the back of your head and proceeded to feed the next child.

Your older sister, Nana, merely snorted and wore a cheeky smile as she realized the predicament you were in. “Someone's in trouble~", as her narrow eyes and bangs framed her teasing look.

“Oh please, the old hag is just being dramatic", You scowled as you played with your meal.

Just in cue, the said ‘old hag’ slammed the table with her open palmed hands, making the other kids jump in their seats, whilst you maintain a poker look.

“Don't ‘old hag’ me, you little prick! I swear if you fail that test, don't come crying to me because I already warned you but your stubborn arse refused to listen." She placed her hands on her waist.

"Not like I was planning to, you have a lot on your plate.” The child's response elicited anger from her mother only to be interrupted by Nana’s statement, "You should go feed Vicktor and Belaine, They might get hungry from crying.”

The older woman clicked her tongue, fury still evident on her features, then angrily stomped away, leaving you and Nana by yourselves once again.

The pink-haired girl sat next to you as she looked down at you with a small smile, "You know you could just tell her you're taking the test to help her and the orphanage.”

“She'll just get insecure again and feel like she's a terrible mother," You bluntly remarked. When in reality, you didn't know how to express your gratitude.

Nana cooed as she teasingly twirled her pointer finger, “Aww~ Y/N’s too shy to tell mama that she wants to help around~"

To which you happily struck the back of your sister's head with an empty steel plate.

In the first faction, a quartz building that towered over the capitol. Its sides and the cracks are gilded with gold and black, mostly the white quartz outshining the city, the colors were loud and extravagant yet, the designs were simply designed. The same colors that were used dominated the first faction’s architecture style. In contrast to this, the people who walked upon the streets of the first faction wore elaborate, posh, and colorful clothing, akin to how peafowls strut their feathers to attract the opposite sex. But, these people dress to flaunt their wealth, practically screaming ‘I’m far more worth stealing from.’

The building that towered over the capital, it is where the same silver-haired woman from before is visiting. At the moment, the mysterious woman entered Lady Rosaceae Lilith's office to visit the fellow maiden

Lotus Yīng-qǐ whistled as she peeked over Lilith's shoulder, “Wow, that kid seems like a suitable apprentice. Are you taking her in?”

"I'll consider it for now, I need to evaluate her further though.” The beautifully ebony woman with long white dreadlocks with pink ends, whilst gold accessories were attached to her hair. “The proctor noted that she was the last kid to finish in every test. In addition, based on her medical papers, she's too weak to be a maiden.”

Yīng-qǐ raised her brow at this statement, to which the woman with white dreadlocks corrected, “Physically weak I mean. For a bud, she's nearing her blooming stage, despite only being eight years old. There are still some thorns here and there but, I can work with her.”

In spite of her harsh criticism of you, Lilith's smirk is not erased. Not because she was looking down on you but because she could not help the anticipation and excitement building within her. Seeing someone with your capabilities was rare.

Your test scores:

Exploration: 78/100

Literature: 93/100

Mathematics: 80/100

Science: 92/100

Philosophy: 94/100

History: 90/100

Politics: 75/100

Art: 98/100

Athleticism: 49/100

The silver-haired woman thoughtlessly nodded along, as she took away the other papers that mindlessly sat on top of Lady Lilith's desk. “This Emilia girl,” She murmured in awe, “It looks like she's a good candidate."

“Just good but not perfect." Lilith sighed as she played with the gold accessories in her dreadlocks.

Yīng-qǐ adjusted her glasses feeling a bit awkward, the other maiden changed the subject instead. “So, why'd you make Y/N take 9 different tests while Emilia took 4 different tests?”

"Just to check the legitimacy,” The long white haired woman in dreadlocks hummed casually, as she took the papers back from her fellow maiden. "Y/N is from the 4th faction after all, the education system there isn't on par compared to my faction yet, she kept passing. In the academics department of course.”

“As for Emilia, I didn't need to check on her much. She's from the 1st Faction so I expected as much from my own people to do well, just disappointed that her scores weren't higher than that child from the 4th faction."

The silver-haired maiden bit her inner cheek to prevent herself from pissing off the other maiden and to point out her biases. Jokingly, Yīng-qǐ wore a small smile as she adjusted her round glasses then remarked, “You could just say that you were paid off by Emilia's parents to not delve further."

“Oh please," Lilith let out a scoff as she threw a subtle glare at Yīng-qǐ, “I don't need money to know that my own people are smart, they are my people after all, it's only expected they do well.”

The Rouge Maiden's Character Profile:

Weapons:

Chained blades - A whip made of blades.

Parasol-Gun - A parasol with a gun and shield hybrid feature.

Gun - An extra gun with sea prism stone bullets

Abilities:

Masking - An ability to copy people’s combat style and mimic their personality or energy.

The Bloody Maiden’s Abilities:

Hemokinesis / Blood Manipulation - Constructing objects by shaping and solidifying it.

Serenade of Life - Enhancing the maiden's strongest points (For instance, Kudapal Y/N’s speed and accuracy)

Bloodlust - User's senses are heightened, especially when it comes to the person's sense of smell. They can also consume blood in order to recover from their injuries.

Crimson Edge - A sharp object becomes sharper when the maiden infuses their blood with the object.

Blood Art: Alla Prima - A special move made by Kudapal Y/N, wherein its a series of randomized attacks mixed with haki, masking (fighting styles she has acquired), and her original fighting style. The special move goes on till she runs out of blood.

Bloodbath - The user uses their blood splatter or blobs to stop in mid air then explode when the user gives the signal.

Scarlet Piercer - A regular bullet that's enhanced by the maiden's blood, it can only be used twice. The bullet is sharper than a regular bullet.

The Maidens of Pastiche Island are:

Kadupul, Y/N - 4th Faction, The Maiden of Artistry

Appearance - (insert your appearance)

Lotus, Yīng-qǐ - 3rd Faction, The Maiden of Philosophy and Politics

Appearance - A woman with narrow eyes, silver hair with side swept bangs and the tail of her hair settling on her left shoulder.

Ringelblume, Emilia - 2nd Faction, The Maiden of Mathematics and Science

Appearance - Tanned skinned girl, orange hair with yellow roots, half twin buns and half down.

Rosaceae, Lilith - 1st Faction, The Maiden of Exploration and Literature

Appearance - Ebony skinned woman, long white hair in dreadlocks with gold accessories attached to it and pink gradient along the ends.

➢ Taglist :

➢ Note : If your username is crossed out that means I cannot tag your blog. I suggest you either follow my blog and turn on your notifications or you turn on your subscription to the masterlist. [ EXAMPLE ]

[mayormonty]

mayor can you tell me a story maybe

"Oho! Of course I can, chap!" He says, "Not many care to listen to this old man's ramblings, y'see."

"Eh... what should I talk about?" He asks himself, "Well... I'm sure I've blabbered on long enough about my dear Kamilla... how about a story about Mayor Thayniel?"

"Well, y'see... back in 1976, Thayniel n' I decided we would go hiking one nice afternoon. Now Thayniel did always like himself a good hike, yessiree! But ol' Monty here preferred other things, like playin' ball, or surfin'... but because ol' Thayniel had this trail he reeeaally wanted to travel, and he wanted me to tag along... Well, I'd put him through a fair share of things, so I agreed. Oh boy oh boy, was that an experience." He guffaws, "So I went out, ready to go an' meet up with Thayniel so we could go on this hike together. There wasn't a speck in the sky, it was hot, hot, HOT, and the sun was bearin' down on me like crazy! So I said, 'Thayniel, are you sure about this? 's mighty hot out today, and I don't reckon this'll be a short hike either... You sure this is a grand idea?' And boy oh boy, he looked at me like I was crazy! He said, 'Monty, are you scared of some heat? Come on, let's do this. It can't be that long, and we can take breaks in the shade if we need to.'"

"So I said, 'Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.'" He pauses.

"The hike went along swimmingly, for the first half an hour..." "I wasn't wrong, it was a scorcher out there... But boy did we not expect this! It started POURIN' outta nowhere! One second, it was a sunny day, the next, it felt like we were stuck in the middle of a hurricane!!" "We were soaked to the bone, you best believe it! My goodness me, you should've seen the look on our faces!"

"Heh, I still don't know how the weather changed so suddenly... maybe it was a warnin' to not go ahead?" He speculates.

"Ehh, I thought it would've been too hot, but no! It started pourin' rain instead! So we did what we could! We ran back... but the ground had become muddy quickly, making it extremely slippery! I fell backwards and slid through the mud! Thayniel tried his best to help me up and ended up slipping too! At this point, we'd gotten mad."

"It was hard gettin' back with all the rain and the wind blowing even more water into our faces... Aha... but we ran outta there looking like two wet cats! Going home was humilitating, but at least the rain had left as soon as it had came... Aye... we were a crazy bunch when we were young..."

"I'm sorry if that wasn't the story you were expectin', I have plenty more interestin' ones... it was just the first one that came t'mind. Sorry lad!"

[dirthamen-enjoyer]

me just rambling about dragon age lore. spoilers for veilguard under the keep reading line.

i wish they had gone down the route of solas not telling the full truth of the evanuris. "they're tyrants and slave owners!" (paraphrase) but in actuality when they get released (ALL OF THEM BC I WANT TO SEE ALL OF THEM) it reveals that there are factions within. those who were actually awful tyrants, those who were lesser evils who never truly helped either side, those that were either secretly or openly helping solas in his rebellion. like imagine the idea of the evanuris that helped him willingly sacrificing themselves to create a stronger seal on the prison. or like the idea that they were genuinely betrayed and have a conflicting relationship with solas after being locked away for so long. i don't like that all the gods are just "tyrants and slave owners." give us variety. not everything should be so cut and dry. and yeah, i don't like that they're just all spirits :/ keep them mysterious immortal beings while solas is the spirit that is used and turned towards the conflict and war.

i also think taking the gods of a diaspora, especially one with clear influences, and making them all evil with no real moral ambiguity wasn't really the best way to go... i understand gods not being morally perfect because many gods within our religions aren't, but there are few that are just "evil" with nothing else to them.

i was going to talk about the reveal that elves are originally spirits that used the titans to become physical and the resulting war, but i got carried away and i think it might be it's own post lol. (it was more about the titans than elves)

i personally don't really like that idea that much because i don't think we need to be given explanations on how races are created. we don't fully know how dwarves came to be, only that dwarves lived with titans. we don't know the full story of qunari, we don't know the full story of humans. so why do we need to know the full story of elves?

i also don't like how the blight changed. i get why, because it can be used by ghilan'nain and elgar'nan, but it also just feels like a copout so they can use it more as a mechanic within the game. popping boils and making puzzles from the blight. taking away how it completely destroys land and taints every single being that comes into prolonged contact with it was not a good change in my opinion. the blight as it was and the taint adds pressure and consequences. they kind of did it with d'meta's crossing, but after that it "changed" more. show us ghouls, show us land actually dying. i loved walking around the western approach, seeing how the blight completely changed the land. i loved finding the silent plains concept art recently.

and to be honest, i don't know how i would have connected creation of the blight to a specific event so i'm not going to really talk about it.

oh and the old gods of tevinter. lame reveal that the dragons were just thralls of the evanuris. taking all these religions and connecting them to one group of people doesn't bring me joy. it makes the world smaller and it takes away the fun of fantasy. as an avid "let the gods being mysterious gods" person, i think the old gods of tevinter should be their own thing. have them be another enemy of the evanuris. you talked about multiple wars? there. another war. maybe it could even be the final wars that started while solas had his rebellion? and the forgotten ones are the old gods, locked away in the abyss (deep underground), while the evanuris are locked away in the sky (the black city / fade).

"how would the tevinter people worship them if they are locked away before humans are said to come to thedas?" easy. retcon. they already love doing that with little things. and honestly i feel like this would be a retcon that most people would not mind as much as other retcons. or, you know, expand on what yavana said in the silent grove about a time before the veil and high dragons in the sky.

was gonna say more but i don't know how to word it well so okie dokie i'm done rambling.