#I’ve been stewing on this one for days

[kuzcosources]

Ouija ask meme!

Spell out a word and the mun will answer according to each letter. (Individual letters are fine, too!)

A - Does your muse believe everything is absolute? Or do they believe that anything could be changed if they tried hard enough?

B - If your muse had to write a book, what would it be about?

C - What are the most severe consequences to their actions your muse has suffered?

D - What are your muses deepest desires?

E - Does your muse consider themselves an empathetic person?

F - Does your muse believe in fate or fortune? Why or why not?

G - What are some things your muse is grateful for?

H - Where does your muse consider home? Physical or metaphorical?

I - Is your muse intuitive? Do they rely on their instincts or luck?

J - What would your muse go to jail for? What are they willing to put themselves on the line for?

K - What does your muse consider themselves knowledgeable in?

L - What lie is at the center of your muse’s world view?

M - What would your muse do if they were a millionaire? If they are already wealthy, what would they be doing if they didn’t have money?

N - Is your muse a positive or negative person?

O - What does your muse do if they’re overwhelmed?

P - Does your muse have powers? Do they abuse said powers or do they use them for good?

Q - What is a quirk that makes your muse stand out?

R - Is your muse religious? Do they believe in a higher power? How do they feel about religion in general?

S - What scares your muse? What terrifies them to their core?

T - What is a truth about your muse personally that they refuse to acknowledge?

U - What is your muse hiding under their bed?

V - Does your muse have paralyzing vulnerabilities? If so, what are they?

W - What’s wrong with your muse?

X - Does your muse rely on drugs such as Xanax or any OTC (over the counter) medication?

Y -What was your muse’s youth like?

Z - Is there a specific time where your muse is at their zenith (their most powerful)?

YES - Would your muse be considered a yes man? If so, why?

NO - What is one thing your muse will say no to, every time asked, no matter what?

HELLO - What’s your muse’s way of greeting people? How do they say hello?

GOODBYE - Is your muse prepared to say goodbye when they die? Are they ready?

[kuroananosanji]

I’ve heard CNetz complain about how the anime would add extra shit that makes Sanji worse for the sake of comedy (like the pervert gags) but if I stick to the manga I’ll miss out on all the cute fillers and anime-only moments but I’m too early into One Piece to juggle both the anime and the manga ARrdtsgabbaj I’m dying help a sister out

[kiradical]

“Everything I did was in your best interest”

Mother fucker how was telling me I’m not your daughter (only to hurt me, mind you, not because it was true—it’s not, I literally couldn’t be anyone else’s daughter) in my best interest?

How was not being supportive of my interests in my best interest?

How was deciding not to let me keep doing the ONLY ATHLETIC THING I EVER GAVE A SINGLE SHIT ABOUT so you could afford more shit for your cars or whatever in my best interest?

I could go on and on but I’m not gonna because I’ll just get angrier. I just needed to get it out.

[reporpoisedphantasies]

.

[rawbin-hsr]

I hate when I get a request I wanna do soo soso bad but I CAN’T DO IT because it’s SUCH A FUN REQUEST I want to do it PERFECTLY so I just sit around marinating in my own wishes to respond to it perfectly……… Like no I can’t half-ass this I need it to be the best thing I’ve ever written because what if I never get to rewrite it if it turns out bad ?????

[slimslamflimflam]

“think of the children!” no. you aren’t. the people in power couldn’t give two shits about the children. the people in power look away when it comes to genuine concerns about children the second it impedes upon their lifestyle, their beliefs.

and you know what it is that bothers them so? children wanting safety. children not wanting to live in fear of being murdered. children who want to be loved and accepted for who they are. children who are raised to be those kids you hear others complain about on social media because nobody was there to teach them better. they don’t know better because they quite literally can’t.

oh but it’s for the kids, right? protect the kids, right? turn a blind eye to death and discrimination and neglect, right? that’s how we’ll protect them, right?

[daincrediblegg]

Dragon Age resurgence will not be good for you all. I WILL be annoying about how the aeducan warden x alistair was always the best shit this time and also call out every single elf/cousland x alistair shipper out for calling them “smol beans” as though dwarves aren’t even there and you could have been one too if you weren’t a coward

[redhotarsenic]

Wild how much better I can focus on simple tasks when there’s caffeine in my system

[moonstruckme]

would you write a part two to whimsy!reader totally knowing remus’ secret? i feel like r would be so sweet and casual about it that remus would cry

Thanks for requesting!

cw: post-moon werewolf Remus, mention of blood and wounds (no description)

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.4k words

The boys usually send you away this time of month. They try to be subtle about it, encouraging you to go visit your family or sleep over at a friend’s house, but you’re not one to let the full moon pass you by without notice. It didn’t take long for the pattern to reveal itself. 

Still, you don’t argue when James gifts you tickets for you and a friend to see a band you like out of town. You know they’re all most comfortable doing things the way they always have, and you worry that letting slip what you know would do more harm than good; Remus would be anxious and upset, and the other boys would only be doing more damage control than they’re used to with you around. So, you let the full moon pass you by without complaint. 

The next day, however, when you know James and Sirius will have gone to work and left Remus to rest and heal, you sneak into your apartment. 

The fact of Remus’ ailing is immediately obvious; the boys’ things are strewn all over the place, evidence of James’ and Sirius’ running about without Remus to pick up after them. There’s a pot of half-eaten stew that’s been left to cool and congeal on the stove, an abandoned roll of bandages on the coffee table, and the entire apartment smells like disinfectant and heartache. 

When you find Remus in the bedroom, your heart aches, too. He’s sleeping, but even in rest his face is pinched with discomfort, and there are several bandages visible above where the bedsheets rest halfway up his torso. It’s about what you expected, but it still makes your eyes burn. 

You try to let him sleep as long as possible, working with the environment first. You open a few windows to get out the smell and let in the new day, clean the common spaces, start your lavender incense burning in the bedroom. You’re brewing tea when Remus pads into the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Oh.” He startles to see you. “You’re back.” 

You’re startled, too. “Hi, I’m sorry,” you say, hurrying over to the windows to shut them. “Did I wake you? Is it too cold in here?” 

“No.” Remus looks wary, watching you flit about the living room like he’s not sure he’s actually woken up. “It’s nice. When did you get home?” 

“Just this morning. I didn’t see the sense in staying another night, and anyway I wanted to be with you.” You make your way back around the room to him, taking his jaw gently in your hand. His skin is warm to the touch. “How are you feeling, lovely?” 

You feel more than see Remus’ face tighten. “I’m alright. How are you?” 

You let him go, giving him a small smile. “Better now that I’m back with you, thanks for asking.” You go back to the stove to stir your pot. “If you’re warm, you don’t need to keep that blanket on for me. I’ve already seen the bandages.” 

You hear his quiet intake of breath, and then a few moments later the sound of the blanket dropping to the floor. 

“Are you in the mood for some tea?” you ask without turning around. “If you want to get back in bed, I could bring it to you there. I don’t imagine standing is very kind to your legs right now.” 

You’ve been reading up on wolf versus human anatomy. If Remus’ transformations work the way you think they do, the bones in his heels and legs would have to either break or otherwise shorten and elongate to create the legs a wolf needs; you can’t imagine it’s a painless process, or that he’s not still feeling the effects of it now, so soon after the moon.

For a dense handful of moments, Remus lingers on the edge of the kitchen. But soon you hear his footsteps, heavier than usual in a way that makes your stomach hurt, go back towards the bedroom. You finish making his tea and bring it to him with a few pieces of his chocolate. 

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed, propped up on pillows and watching the smoke curl up from your incense with a haunted look in his eyes. 

“Hi,” you say softly. He accepts the tea and chocolate with a quiet thanks. “Do you think it might help things if I opened the curtains? Some sunlight might be good for you.” 

Remus hums his assent. Everything becomes crisper once you let the light in. Remus’ dark circles and the blood visible through his bandages, but also the healthy flush to his cheeks and the strength of his body beneath the dressings. 

“What is this?” Remus asks you, sipping his tea. 

“Bay leaves. It’s for pain relief. It helps more if you put it directly on the wounds, but I didn’t think you’d want to mess with your dressings any more.” 

He nods. Sighs. “Come here, dove. Come sit.” 

You’re eager to comply. You round the bed to avoid crawling over him, settling against the pillows beside your boyfriend with your shoulder touching his. A support, if he needs it. 

“What’s the incense for?” he asks. 

“It’s lavender. It’s also good for pain, but I thought it might help you sleep as well.” 

Remus nods again. He turns to you, his eyes some mixture of distressed and resigned. “Why are you doing all of this?” he asks. “Why did you come home?” 

“Remus,” you say gently, “we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

His brows hook in the middle, a small crumbling. “But you know already.” 

You cradle his face in your hand. Your voice is soft. “Yeah.” 

You pull Remus towards your chest when he starts weeping. He dampens your shirt while you comb your fingers through the hair at his nape, saying nothing. Steam wafts up from his tea until it doesn’t, but that’s okay; you’ll make him another cup when he’s ready. 

James and Sirius are surprised to find you when they come home. 

“Angel—” 

“Shh.” You cover one of Remus’ ears with your hand, his head in your lap. “He’s hardly slept all day.” 

James lowers his voice, setting his bag down on the floor. “When did you get here?” 

“This morning.” 

“But you were supposed to be away until tomorrow afternoon.” Sirius climbs up onto the bed. His expression goes tender as he looks down upon Remus’ sleeping face, and the kiss he presses to your lips is gentle.

You card your hand through Remus’ hair. “I didn’t want to be away from him,” you admit softly. “I understand why you want to do things without me on the night it happens, but I’d like to help before and afterwards at least.” 

Sirius’ brow pinches, his eyes narrowing cautiously. 

“When what happens?” James asks you. 

You speak softly, not wanting the words to potentially agitate Remus in his sleep. “The transformation.” 

There’s a thick pause. 

“Who told you?” Sirius asks. 

“No one had to tell me.” 

There’s a quiet chuckle from the end of the bed. James kicks his shoes off, crawling up the covers to meet you. “I told you she knew.” He gives you a kiss, soft and syrupy sweet. “Thanks for looking after him for us, sweetheart.” 

Remus grunts, coming awake. “James,” he groans. “Your knee is on my leg.” 

“Oh. Sorry, love.” James moves, then bends down to give Remus a kiss of his own. “Did our angel take good care of you today?” 

“Better than this.” 

“That’s the moon talking,” Sirius says flippantly, though the hand he uses to rub Remus’ shoulder is exceedingly gentle. “That’s something you’ll learn as we go along, gorgeous. He loves us, really.” 

You feel your brows pinch. “I thought he was as nice as always today.” 

“Wonder why,” Remus mutters, but the look he gives Sirius is teasing. 

James gives Remus another kiss, standing. “I’ll get you some of your soup.” 

“Oh, I…” You give him a sheepish look. “I washed that down the sink. It got left out, the meat was bad. There’s tea on the stove that should help him heal faster, though, if you want to get some of that.” 

James and Sirius stare at you. 

“Seems like we should’ve brought you in on this a lot sooner,” Sirius says after a moment. 

You shrug. Remus mumbles something that sounds like agreement.

[wonderjanga]

Imagine Billy and Mary and Freddy say from the start that they're siblings.

And the three of them somehow are all homeless street kids. Chaotic little gremlins.

And one day Black Adam sees them transform and is like 'WHAT THE ACTUAL-'.

And you choose what happens next-

Teth didn’t even know how this happened. Or, well, he does, but he’s still having a hard time comprehending it. See, he was minding his business in an appropriate(suspicious) disguise while scouting Fawcett for the Champion. As for why he was looking for the champion, it was because the man was missing. The champion having disappeared was suspicious, considering the man washed over his city like a hawk. Anyways, he was walking around when all of a sudden he just spots this child with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen with a little girl who also has the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. The little boy unfortunately noticed him.

Billy: “Can I help you, mister?”

Ah. Adam was staring. Though, that was mostly because the young boy looked strikingly like Aman. Anyways, Adam didn’t even know how it happened, but one moment he was talking to the kid, the next he was giving him a bunch on Kahndaqi currency as if that’ll be useful to the boy. The kid still took it though.

Billy: *bright ahh smile* “Thanks, mister!”

Black Adam: “Yes…” *wondering if the kid used mind control for a moment* “I am now off to go torment Captain Marvel. Good day, stupid children.” *flies off*

Mary, Freddy, and Billy: *offended* “Hey!” *watch him go*

Billy: *still watching him fly off* “…Adam really sucks at disguising himself.”

Freddy: “No duh, he literally said he was gonna go torment you.”

Mary: *picks up one of the coins Adam gave them* “Do you guys think we could trade this with a fairy for money? They like shiny stuffs.”

Billy: “We probably could.”

Anyways, fast forward, three months and Teth, whenever he was in Fawcett, which was unfortunately becoming more and more frequent, kept feeding and giving money to these three little urchins that are somewhat (it’s actually more than somewhat, but he would never admit it) tolerable.

Then, the fateful day came. The children were standing at their usual spot, and Adam was flying over. Then, the blasted little old bald fool with the glasses, psoriasis or Savana or whatever his name was started attacking. The children ran into an alleyway, and because of the fact Adam could care less about Savannah he flew after them because the alleyway looked shady. He was then greeted with the three of them… transforming… into his worst enemies. Specifically, the one who looked like Aman, Billy, transformed into the Champion.

After the fight with Sivana…

Black Adam: “You…”

Marvel: *startles* “Black Adam! What’re you doing here?” *suspicious*

Black Adam: *ignores him and is kind of angry monologging* “I’ve… I’ve been giving you three money and food for months… You’ve been making a fool of me!”

Marvel, Junior, and Mary: *share looks with each other cause ‘uh oh, he knows*

Marvel: “Uh… well, no. We all actually eat all that and make good financial choices. All the money I get from my job goes to rent, and on top of that we all work odd jobs for food and utility money. You’ve been a great help.” *super duper sincere*

Junior and Mary: “You’ve helped us a lot, mister!”

Black Adam: “You’ve still been making a fool of me! Also, why do you three have the power of the Living Lightning?! You’re children!”

Junior: “So?”

Black Adam: “So, none of you should have anything to do with the Rock of Eternity or being the World’s Mightiest Mortal!”

Mary: “That’s more the Wizard’s fault, not ours. Or wait no, that’s Billy fault cause he’s the one who gave us our powers.”

*silence*

Black Adam: “…I can’t believe I’ve been fighting children the entire time.”

Junior: “I know, right? And you still lose.”

Black Adam: *wants to get angry at that but just can’t muster it* “I…” *in his mind says ‘f this’, turns around and flies off*

Adam basically stewed in anger while in Kahndaq before he came back after like a week and started feeding and giving money to the kids again. He now just ignores the fact that he knows Billy is Cap and just chooses to believe that they’re two different people and still fights him.

[burningembers91]

Rare - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature

On Display

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Crime of Passion

Synopsis: The Salesman wants to play a game with you. But when he changes the rules, so do you

A/N: I am immensely proud of this series. It’s unlike anything I’ve written before and I love exploring the darker sides of characters. This particular fic is probably my favourite so far. I wanted to thank everyone for the frankly mind boggling love I have received on all my fics so far. Thank you ❤️

It had been two weeks since your mysterious man in the grey suit had saved you. Two weeks since you’d given in to your desires. The day after he fucked you so hard that your bed slats broke, an entirely new bed arrived. One with a plush, cream, fabric headboard and a mattress that felt like you were sleeping on a cloud sent straight from heaven.

His heroics in the alleyway, the transition from something psychological to physical had changed the dynamics of your relationship. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel himself falling under your spell. It was a constant struggle to maintain the upper hand, to continue the illusion that you were entirely at his mercy. But you both knew it was a mutual torture, that each of you had the other twisted so deliciously around your respective fingers. The other night he had come so close to telling you his name. It had been so long since he’d spoken it, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what is was anymore. But there was something about you, something deliciously dark bubbling after your soft, shea scented skin. You could be the death of him, this beautiful femme fatale. He wasn’t quite ready to relinquish control to you though; he still wanted to try and break you.

You received a phone call one day, requesting your attendance at an incredibly high end dress store in Myeong-Dong. As you made your way through the doors, the eye watering price tags made your jaw drop. You could never in a thousand lifetimes afford a dress like this; but you knew someone who could.

You were whisked into a private area, where several women with tape measures took measurements of your body. They didn’t speak to you, didn’t answer any of your questions. You were there less than five minutes, after being instructed to return to the store the next day to pick up your purchase.

“But I didn’t order anything,” you exclaimed, “can you just tell me what’s going on.”

“Our client is very discreet,” the store manager responded. “Please arrive promptly tomorrow to collect your purchase.”

You couldn’t text Mr Grey Suit to ask him what he was up to. You still weren’t privy to any personal information about him, including his phone number. He didn’t come to see you that night, leaving you to stew in your own thoughts about what he could have possibly ordered you.

The next day, you arrived at the time requested, and were once again greeted by the store manager who handed you a dress bag, with a note attached. I will see you tonight, 7pm. DO NOT LOOK IN THIS BAG UNTIL THEN. I will know if you do. You headed home, desperate to look inside the bag. You didn’t dare though, you had absolutely no doubt he would know if you took a peek.

Your grey suited man arrived at your apartment at 7pm sharp. He nodded appreciatively at your immaculate hair and makeup, cupping your chin in his hand as his eyes explored yours.

“Tonight,” he explained, “you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. If you disobey me, you will be punished. If you perform satisfactorily, you will be rewarded.”

“If I perform satisfactorily?” You scoffed. “I didn’t realise I was a circus monkey.”

He wiped his thumb along your lower lip, smearing the lipstick you’d applied not 10 minutes ago.

“You will do exactly what I say,” he growled. “Now, get dressed into the gift I gave you. And clean your face up. You have 5 minutes. Do not keep me waiting.”

You did as you were asked, presenting yourself like a piece of meat on a platter for him. He nodded approvingly, his hand trailing down the burgundy silk of the evening dress that fit you like a glove, the one he’d had made especially for you. You were a vision, an angel sent straight from heaven. He wasn’t going to tell you that though; he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

He took you to the most expensive restaurant in Seoul, where a private room had been set up especially. The staff were very discreet, and he’d need exactly that for what he hand in store for you tonight. You sat down opposite him at the small table, classical music quietly playing through the speakers. The room had no windows, lit only by the dimness of the candles dotted around the room.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Mr Grey Suit said. “I’d expect you to eat every single bite.”

Champagne arrived, followed by oysters. You hated oysters with a fiery passion, but you forced yourself to finish every single one. You refused to show your distaste for them, refused to grimace as the slimy substance slid down your throat. Next up was steak, rare, the meat still oozing blood into to your plate, seeping into the accompanying potatoes. Your stomach turned; you hated red meat. You hadn’t eaten it since you were 10, the smell of it sending your stomach churning.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the metallic smell of the dead animals blood seeping into your nose.

“Are you disobeying me?” He asked, tutting as he tucked a linen napkin into his shirt. “I’m supposing you want to be punished then?”

“Please,” you choked, “anything but steak. I can’t, it’s the smell.”

“Stand up.” He told you. You stood to attention, ignoring the rising bile in your throat. “Come here.”

You did as you were told, your breath hitching as he pulled up your dress to your waist.

“Bend over,” he instructed. You obeyed, hearing the sound of his steak knife slide through the fabric of your lace underwear. You cried out as a sharp, swift slap was delivered to your right cheek, quickly followed by another, and then another. Each hit was harder than the last, tears streaking your face. The mixture of pleasure and pain was exquisite and yet so unbearable.

“Will you do as you’re told now?” He asked, his breath slightly ragged. You were soaking wet as you nodded, and he to resist sliding his fingers inside you. He was supposed to be punishing you after all, not giving you what you wanted.

You sat back down, the skin of your ass stinging as it made contact with the leather chair. Mascara smudged your cheeks, your face flushed. You looked down at the rare steak, then back up your mystery man. He was smiling so smugly at you; he clearly thought he’d won this little game. You smiled sweetly back, picked up your knife and fork, and sliced into the meat. You did your best to ignore the blood that seeped from it. You hardly breathed as you ate, swallowing the bile that continued to rise. A flash of anger contorted his usually handsome features; you were besting him yet again.

You proudly showed off your empty plate, sweat peppering your forehead from the immense effort. You refused to show you him how unwell you felt, choosing to down your glass of champagne to remove the metallic taste from your tongue. He begrudgingly poured you more, both of you smiling as you tried to figure out the others next move.

“What do I get then?” You finally asked, when the silence became too much.

“I’m sorry?” He said, dabbing the corner of his napkin as he surveyed you.

“You said if I did everything you asked, you’d reward me,” you reminded him.

“Ah,” he chuckled, “but you didn’t do everything I asked.”

“Yes, I did,” you snapped back. “I wore the dress, I ate the oysters and the fucking steak!” Eating that piece of meat had almost made you sick, but you’d done it. And he was reneging on his end of the bargain.

“But I had to punish you before you would eat he,” he smiled.

“And I did,” you hissed back at him, fists clenched under the table. “You can’t do this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” he whispered.

You looked him up again, his smug face looking entirely slappable in that moment.

“And so can I,” you decided. “Goodnight.” Throwing your napkin down on the table, you headed for the door.

“Wait!” His voice was desperate, panicked. He didn’t want you to leave. You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He looked uneasy, wondering why his game wasn’t going the way he wanted.

“Fine, you sighed, “I’ll stay, but you’re going to play one of my games now.”

You fucked him on the floor of that private dining room, straddling him as you pressed the steak knife to his throat, the one he’d used to slice off your underwear. He quivered underneath you, entirely at your mercy as your slick, tight walls swallowed him again and again. He came with a strangled cry, thrusting his hips up into you as you drained every last drop of his seed.

Leaning down, you planted a single tender kiss on his lips.

“Goodnight, Mr Grey Suit,” you whispered. Standing up, you left him lying there on the cold marble floor, his cock still hard and his breathing ragged.

He had seriously underestimated you. What had started as a game of control, was now something entirely new to him. For the first time in his life, he was entirely at someone else’s mercy.

[jiminomenon]

model! karina taking care of sick assistant! reader

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 1.6k words

summary: after days of absence, jimin assumes her new assistant, y/n, has quit like all the others—much to her frustration. determined to confront her, jimin shows up at y/n’s apartment unannounced, only to find her bedridden with a high fever. as jimin begrudgingly takes care of her, the two begin to understand each other in ways neither expected, softening the edges of their fiery relationship.

from my series: the devil wears prada

jimin’s day had already been a disaster.

the designer she was supposed to meet canceled at the last minute, her favorite coffee shop got her order wrong, and to top it all off, y/n—her brand-new assistant—hadn’t shown up to work for the past three days.

sitting in her pristine, sunlit penthouse, jimin scrolled furiously through her phone, her jaw tight with irritation. no texts, no calls, no excuses. just radio silence.

“unbelievable,” she muttered, tossing her phone onto the coffee table and crossing her arms. she’d hired y/n on a whim, thinking the sharp-tongued assistant could handle her demands better than the revolving door of incompetents before her. it wasn’t just the job that made people quit—it was her.

she was aware of her reputation: bratty, spoiled, the daughter of some chaebol family who never worked a day in her life until she got bored enough to pursue modeling. but jimin had fought hard to prove she wasn’t just her parents’ money. she worked long hours, pushed herself through grueling shoots, and demanded perfection from everyone around her. if that made her a little harsh, so be it.

still, y/n wasn’t supposed to quit. not like this.

“she said she wasn’t like the others,” jimin mumbled, kicking off her heels and pacing the room. “she looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘i’m not scared of you.’ so what happened? couldn’t even last a week?” she threw her hands up, annoyed at how much this was bothering her.

her other assistants barely lasted a month, but at least they had the courtesy to formally resign. y/n’s silence felt like a betrayal. she’d let herself believe, for once, that she’d found someone who wouldn’t crumble under her demands.

after another ten minutes of stewing in her frustration, jimin grabbed her keys. “fine. if she won’t come to work, i’ll bring work to her.”

jimin found herself standing outside a run-down apartment building that was nothing like the high-rise luxury she was used to. she wrinkled her nose as she climbed the stairs, the paint chipping off the walls and the faint smell of something fried wafting through the halls.

when she reached y/n’s door, she knocked sharply, her patience already worn thin. when no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time.

“y/n, open up!” she called, her voice echoing through the hallway.

finally, the door creaked open, and jimin froze.

y/n stood there, leaning heavily against the frame, her face pale and damp with sweat. her usually sharp, confident demeanor was gone, replaced by someone who looked weak and exhausted. she was wrapped in a blanket, her hair disheveled, and her eyes struggled to focus.

“ms. yu?” y/n croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

jimin blinked, her irritation melting into confusion. “what… what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m sorry,” y/n murmured, clutching the doorframe to steady herself. “i didn’t mean to disappear. i’ve been really sick, and my phone—” she trailed off, coughing weakly into her hand.

“you’re sick?” jimin repeated, her voice softer now.

y/n nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “i wanted to let you know, but… i couldn’t even get out of bed. my phone’s dead, and i—” she broke off, her legs wobbling beneath her.

jimin stepped forward instinctively, steadying her. “hey, hey, sit down before you pass out.”

she guided y/n back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. the space was small but cozy, filled with warm tones and personal touches—books stacked on the coffee table, a knitted throw draped over the couch, and photos pinned to a corkboard on the wall. it was a far cry from jimin’s sleek, minimalist penthouse, but it felt… lived-in.

y/n collapsed onto the couch, her blanket still wrapped tightly around her. jimin crossed her arms, looking down at her. “why didn’t you call someone? a doctor? a friend?”

“didn’t want to bother anyone,” y/n mumbled, her eyes fluttering closed.

jimin let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “you’re ridiculous. so ridiculous. do you know how worried I was? i thought you quit! i thought you were just like everyone else!”

y/n opened one eye, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her condition. “you were worried about me?”

“don’t make this weird,” jimin snapped, though her tone lacked its usual bite. “stay here. i’m getting medicine.”

“you don’t have to—”

“shut up and rest.”

when jimin returned an hour later, her arms were full of shopping bags. she’d gone all out—cold medicine, fever patches, soup, electrolyte drinks, even a plush blanket she’d seen at the store and decided y/n needed.

she moved around the apartment like she owned the place, heating up the soup and pouring a glass of water. y/n watched her from the couch, her face a mix of gratitude and amusement.

“you’re really bad at being mean, you know that?” y/n said weakly.

jimin shot her a glare, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “don’t get used to this. i’m only doing this because i need you healthy and back at work. you’re the first assistant i’ve had who doesn’t cry when i yell at them.”

“aww, you care,” y/n teased, her voice hoarse.

“eat your soup before i pour it on your head,” jimin grumbled, though the corner of her lips twitched upward.

as y/n ate, jimin sat beside her, scrolling through her phone but occasionally glancing over to make sure she was drinking enough water or taking her medicine. the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional sound of y/n’s spoon clinking against the bowl.

“thank you,” y/n said softly after a while, her eyes heavy with sleep.

jimin waved her off, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. “just get better, okay? i don’t have time to look for another assistant.”

y/n smiled faintly as she drifted off, her breathing evening out. jimin stayed where she was, watching her for a moment before leaning back against the couch with a sigh.

the silence in the apartment was comforting. jimin sat at the small dining table, absently scrolling through her phone as y/n finally drifted off into a feverish sleep. the earlier chaos—the confrontation, the unexpected discovery that y/n wasn’t the flake jimin had assumed—still echoed in her head.

her thoughts wandered back to their first meeting. jimin had sized y/n up within seconds, assuming she wouldn’t last more than a week. sure, she looked determined enough, but determination didn’t mean much when you were thrown into the chaos of jimin’s world. still, something about the way y/n had spoken—timid at first but sharper as the day progressed—had intrigued her.

and that first confrontation. jimin chuckled softly to herself, remembering the way y/n had stood her ground, staring her down while everyone else cowered. it had been the first time in a long time that someone dared to challenge her, and it had left an impression she wasn’t willing to admit out loud.

she glanced over at y/n now, curled up in her blanket, her features softened in sleep. it was strange, seeing her like this—vulnerable, quiet. the fire that usually lit up her eyes was dimmed by exhaustion, but it hadn’t gone out entirely.

“you’re ridiculous,” jimin muttered under her breath, more to herself than to y/n.

after a moment of hesitation, she stood and began moving around the apartment again, tidying up where she could. she wasn’t used to this—helping someone else. sure, she had assistants, stylists, and an entire team dedicated to making her life easier, but she’d never actually cared about the well-being of any of them.

maybe it was because y/n didn’t treat her like some untouchable star. she called jimin out on her nonsense, pushed back when she went too far, and didn’t seem to care about her status or her wealth. jimin wasn’t used to that.

she paused by the couch, watching as y/n shifted slightly in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. without thinking, jimin reached down and adjusted the blanket, making sure it covered her properly.

“you better get better soon,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m not doing all this for nothing.”

when morning came, y/n woke to the smell of something warm and delicious. her eyes fluttered open, and she saw jimin standing in the tiny kitchenette, stirring something on the stove.

“are you…making breakfast?” y/n croaked, her voice hoarse.

jimin glanced over her shoulder, her expression as sharp as ever. “what else would it be? i’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but even i can handle instant soup.”

y/n tried to sit up, but jimin was at her side in an instant, gently pushing her back down. “don’t even think about it. you’re staying in bed until you’re better.”

“ms. yu, you don’t have to—”

“shut up,” jimin interrupted, her tone light but firm. “i already told you, i need you back at work. the sooner you recover, the sooner you can start making my life easier again.”

y/n managed a small smile, her heart warming despite her exhaustion. “thanks, ms. yu. really.”

“don’t thank me,” jimin said, setting a bowl of soup on the table beside her. “just don’t make me regret hiring you, okay?”

y/n chuckled weakly. “no promises.”

as jimin settled back into the chair, her arms crossed and her usual haughty demeanor firmly in place, y/n realized something. the train ride to seoul had been the start of a dream, but it wasn’t the city or the job that made it feel real. it was this—finding her place, finding someone like jimin, who made her want to push back, fight harder, and stand her ground.

[theusisthebadplace]

I’m getting real tired of the whole “addiction is an excuse for bad behavior” line. Have you ever been addicted to anything, anon? Have you ever loved someone else who was?

There is such a strong difference between something being an excuse for bad behavior and something informing poor behavior. Some of you are such black and white thinkers. To you, addiction = bad so an addict = bad. And I’m here to tell you, it’s not that simple. It never ever is that simple.

I am so thankful that when I die, the entire freaking world will not be holding a giant microscope to my every. single. action. Because I gotta tell y’all, I have done bad things. I have made bad choices.

What if I told you that my abuser was a good person who lost their way. What if I said that?

What if I told you that the person who abused me isn’t known as an abuser to everyone? That there are people for whom, if tomorrow my abuser passed suddenly and tragically, they would mourn him? Now I’ll really throw you for a loop- what if I told you I would be one of them?

It really just shows me that some of you are so incapable of nuanced thinking. There are so rarely good people and bad people in this world. Addiction is a disease, but it’s the only disease we still assign so much personal responsibility to. And I think that’s because some addicts do recover and some do make amends. But not all of them do. And for some addicts, the disease they face swallows them whole before that time.

If you’ve never experienced that, or if you’ve never watched someone in your life run towards destruction with abandon, then thank your lucky stars. Because there is no pain I can think of like watching someone you love, someone with a good and kind and wonderful heart succumb to this before your very eyes and not be able to save them from it.

you don’t have to “personally know addiction” to know that was his excuse and anyone trying to point blame on that and dismiss all the violent shit he did to others (especially women) should look in the mirror. you’re the gross ones. get a grip.

i was in a tumultuous relationship with an addict for three years. you don’t know what the everloving fuck you’re talking about.

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

[aventurineswife]

Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

[p0orbaby]

The Dog House

summary: leah misses date night, she tries to make it up to you

warnings: leah being leah i guess…

a/n: based off this request !

word count: 1.2k

-

Leah’s been distracted lately. It’s not that you’re not important to her—you are—but there’s a lot going on. Training, media obligations, a sudden obsession with learning to bake sourdough bread for reasons you don’t quite understand. And her house is full of these massive jars of starter that she’s named things like “Gertrude” and “Stephen” and “Samantha.” Stephen’s the strongest one, apparently. Not that you care.

You’re trying to be supportive. Really, you are. But it’s getting weird.

So when you text her a gentle reminder about date night, you’re half-expecting a response that sounds like it’s written by one of those clunky bots—like, “Of course, darling! Can’t wait to see you tonight! ❤️❤️❤️” That’s what she’d usually do. Instead, you get nothing.

Hours pass. You start to get annoyed. Then you get anxious. Then you start wondering if maybe Leah’s planning some big surprise and that’s why she’s not responding. You imagine her secretly arranging a rooftop dinner with fairy lights and a string quartet, where she’ll confess she’s been so preoccupied because she’s actually writing a book about how incredible you are.

But then you come back to reality and grasp she probably just forgot.

By 7 PM, you’re pacing around the flat, wearing the outfit you picked out two days ago—a dress you specifically bought because Leah said you looked “so fucking sexy” in red, even though it’s so tight you can’t even breathe properly. Your makeup is perfect, your hair is styled, and you’re sitting on the couch, stewing in a potent cocktail of Chanel No. 5 and disappointment.

Finally, you text her again.

> Hey, you on your way?

Nothing.

Ten minutes later, still nothing.

By 8 PM, you’re starting to wonder what the protocol is for someone forgetting a date night. Do you call? Do you show up to their house with a “We need to talk” face? Do you… dump them? No, that’s too extreme, even though it would make a great story for your friends.

Finally, at 8:13, your phone buzzes.

> Shit. Be there in 20. Promise. Don’t hate me

You almost laugh, except you’re too irritated to find anything funny right now. Twenty minutes? Twenty minutes is nothing. She probably still smells like whatever alien protein shakes she drinks after training, which you pretend to like but secretly think taste like a mix of chalk and regret.

But you wait. Because you love her. Or because you’re a sucker. Or both.

Leah arrives at 8:42, disheveled and clearly not sorry enough. She’s holding a Tesco bag, which is never a good sign. Tesco bags mean last-minute attempts at forgiveness, and you don’t care how cute she looks in her sweats.

Okay, you care a little, but still.

“I’m so sorry,” she says as she bursts through the door, dropping the bag for life onto the floor like she’s just run a marathon. “I lost track of time”

You cross your arms and give her a look. The kind of look that says, Really?

“I know, I know,” she continues, talking at a speed that suggests she’s trying to cram a day’s worth of apologies into the next thirty seconds. “I’ve been so caught up with—”

“—Stephen?”

Leah blinks. “Stephen?”

“Your sourdough. Stephen”

“Oh. Right.” Leah runs a hand through her hair, which only makes it messier. “I might’ve forgotten to feed him, too”

“I’m sure he’s devastated,” you say, deadpan.

“I’m devastated,” Leah says, doing her best impression of someone who’s sincerely regretful. She takes a step closer, giving you that puppy-dog look that normally melts you but tonight just feels like she’s trying to disarm a bomb. “But I have a plan”

You raise an eyebrow. “A plan?”

“Yeah. A plan to make it up to you.” She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s about to reveal a new Tesla or something.

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Does it involve anything that’s not in that bag?”

She laughs, and you can’t help but soften a little. She’s got this laugh that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay, even when she’s screwed up royally.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing the bag and heading to the kitchen. “Trust me. You’ll love it”

You don’t follow her immediately. You want to see how this plays out before you commit to pretending everything is okay. So you stand there in the doorway, watching as she pulls out ingredients that don’t really go together.

“Leah, what exactly are you planning to do with pickles, chocolate syrup, and a single red onion?”

She grins at you like she’s just cracked the code to the universe. “It’s a surprise”

“I’m surprised you even made it here alive if that’s what you’ve been eating lately”

Leah’s grin doesn’t waver. She’s on a mission now, and there’s no stopping her. “Look, just sit down. I’ve got this”

You sit, but mostly because your feet hurt in the heels you’re wearing and the sofa is closer than the bedroom. Leah’s bustling around the kitchen, and you can’t tell if she’s actually cooking or just making noise to buy herself more time.

Minutes later, she emerges with a tray. The tray has candles on it, which is at least a step in the right direction. Then you see what she’s made.

Two plates of what can only be described as… nachos. But they’re not nachos. They’re a weird interpretation of nachos where the tortilla chips have been replaced with some kind of protein bar, the cheese is… okay, there’s no cheese, and the toppings are just random things she found in your fridge.

She sets the tray down in front of you with the pride of a five-star chef presenting their signature dish.

“Voilà!” she announces, beaming.

You stare at the concoction in front of you, then back at her. “Leah, what the hell is this?”

“It’s my way of saying sorry”

You look at her, then at the nachos again. “You could’ve just said ‘I’m sorry’ like a normal person”

“But this is better,” she insists, her enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s like, an experience”

“Yeah, I’m experiencing regret,” you say, eyeing the “nachos” with suspicion.

Leah laughs again, this time a little sheepishly. “Okay, so maybe the food’s not great. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“You’re seriously expecting me to eat this?” you ask, poking at one of the protein bars with your fork like it might bite back.

Leah’s face falls just a little, and suddenly, you realise that she’s actually trying. She’s terrible at this—so, so terrible—but she’s trying.

And that’s why you love her.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh. “But if I get food poisoning, you’re sleeping on the couch”

She grins, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. “Deal”

You end up eating the nachos. They’re awful, but Leah’s so happy you’re eating them that you can’t help but smile. She’s sitting there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and you can’t help but remember that this is her way of showing she cares.

After dinner, she pulls out a bottle of wine—an actual, normal bottle of wine—and the two of you sit on the sofa, talking and laughing until you’re both too tired to keep your eyes open.

She falls asleep first, her head on your shoulder, snoring softly. You’re still a little annoyed at her, but you know she’ll make it up to you in other ways. And tomorrow, you’ll probably laugh about this whole thing.