#People don’t even give male mcs a chance

[a-usernamelol]

YALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!!!! MORE SCREENSHOTS FOR EVERYBODY!

Once again bringing up that I’m tired of seeing posts strictly for the female fans of the game. So here he is in all his glory, the absolute (bisexual??) icon of the franchise! Doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or a guy- or in my MCs case- something else, chances are he’s going to try his hand!

HAVE SOME FREE SEBASTIAN BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE❤️ PEACE AND LOVE ON PLANET EARTH

[ktownshizzle]

A Christmas Encore | Part 1 of 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ only. Cheesy sometimes theatrical dialogue (just roll with it please), christmas cliches, virgin and vanilla sex (written in flashback scene), penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it), reader is in an FWB arrangement with a different male character, a couple of cute kisses, yoongi’s a little messy (thinks you have a boyfriend, but flirts with you anyways), lots of pining and yearning but MC is still a baddie who is fighting capitalism, Maknae line are here

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 11k (i knowww. 😬 That's why i’ve broken it in 2 parts)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: December 28, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡 If you’ve read the teaser, I added one significant line here which I placed in boldface. Flashbacks are in italics. Hope you are enjoying your holidays! :)

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

The air in Seollim Hollow’s town hall is colder than the streets outside, though snow has been falling all day. You stand stiffly in front of Mr. Choi’s desk, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you try to keep the trembling in your hands at bay. Mr. Choi, the man who holds the fate of the cultural center in his grasp, leans back in his chair, his gaze apologetic but firm.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible. 

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines. 

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible. 

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between. 

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?” 

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady. 

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?”

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.” 

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend��” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away. 

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless. 

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long���his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

“Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands. 

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut. 

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. 

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when. 

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to. 

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—” 

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them. 

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you. 

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

:)

Part Two >

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

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@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

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@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

[sister-lucifer]

One Must Stake His Claim: Prologue 

Or: How It Started 

[Chapter One] [Masterlist]

Nightbringer Diavolo + Lucifer x Male Reader 

Genre: ? (Hard to say, it’s not really sweet enough to be fluff or harsh enough to be angst).

Summary: The first sprouts of a rivalry start to emerge when Diavolo makes his attraction to the new human painfully evident. 

Content/Warnings: Slightly suggestive but not really, just some sly implications, jealous Luci, smug Dia, oblivious MC, MC is referred to with he/him pronouns, this takes place at the beginning of Nightbringer when there’s still tension between Dia and Luci

A/N: This is stupidly self indulgent. Literally just me indulging in a fantasy i’ve been marinating in for days. I know for a fact I will be made fun of for this /lh

NOT FULLY PROOFREAD! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY ERRORS!

IF YOU LIKE THIS POST, PLEASE REBLOG! It’s easy, free, and it’s a great way to show creators some love by sharing their work!

“I want him.”

The words come out of Diavolo’s mouth so suddenly that Lucifer nearly chokes on air. 

They’re said with such a casual joviality, yet they feel so heavy, falling from the prince’s lips and crashing onto the pristine white tile at Lucifer’s feet. 

“…Y…You what…?”

“I want him,” Diavolo repeats simply, “He’s quite cute. I’m inclined to keep him for myself.” 

He nods in the direction that you just walked off in, and Lucifer looks down that hall just in time to catch the last glimpse of you before you disappear behind a door. His mouth hangs open in a terribly undignified manner as he slowly turns back to Diavolo. The demon prince laughs heartily, patting Lucifer’s shoulder as though he’s just said something hilarious. 

“What’s the look for, friend? Are you surprised that His Majesty could ever find time for genuine attraction between lavish soirées and keeping his nose in the air?”

He laughs again, rather fond of his own joke, and this time the sound makes Lucifer’s hands tremble as they resist the urge to ball into fists. 

“No,” Lucifer forces out, “I’m just surprised at your…” 

He pauses, fishing around for the right word. 

“…audacity.”

There’s a brief pause, then, before Diavolo’s laughter resumes, even more raucous than before. The prince simply can’t help himself. 

“Oh, Lucifer!” he manages through his fit, “You never were all that good at hiding your true feelings. Tell me, what about that bothers you so much?”

Lucifer is silent for a long few moments—partly because he despises trying to talk to Diavolo when he’s laughing so hard, and partly because he’s struggling to find the words to explain himself in a manner that will save his pride. 

“You talk as though you’ve some sort of…claim to him,” Lucifer begins, but he’s not sure how to continue. The last few notes of Diavolo’s laughter stop short as he quirks a brow curiously. 

“I only mean that…I wouldn’t expect you of all people to speak of him that way,” Lucifer finally says. 

“…You lie,” Diavolo says slowly. A sly grin slowly splits his face, and Lucifer swallows hard. 

“You lie,” he repeats, “there’s much more to it than that. You can hold a stone face all you’d like, old friend, but your eyes give it away. You’re angry, Lucifer. Why is that?”

Something in his voice says that he already knows, that the question is pointless and he simply wants to hear Lucifer say it for his own satisfaction. When Lucifer is silent, Diavolo only presses more. 

“Are you truly worried for the human’s dignity? Is that it? I haven’t even insulted him, and yet you scowl as though I’ve said something terrible, as if I’ve insulted his entire lineage. You’d never jump at the chance to defend your brothers that way over something so minor, but you do it for a mere human, a species you used to feel only apathy towards.  So, what is it? Do you know something about him that I don’t?”

It’s a stupid thing to even imply, that Lucifer may be privy to any knowledge that Diavolo is not. The demon prince knows all that goes on in his kingdom. 

The silence that settles over them is heavy. Diavolo is smiling with a horrid expression of self satisfaction, and it only makes Lucifer’s scowl deepen.  

Finally, Lucifer opens his mouth to speak, and he can hardly hear his own voice. 

“You have no right.” 

You have no right to take him from me, that’s what he means, I deserve him more than you do. He doesn’t say it, but they both sense the unspoken words hanging in the air. 

Suddenly, Diavolo’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Oh, but I do, old friend,” Diavolo says matter-of-factly. He places a heavy hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“If I have no claim to him, then neither do you. Surely we can agree on that, no? After all, you’ve hardly done more than frown at him every moment he’s in the room. If that was your way of courting him, I’m afraid it’s failed you.”

Lucifer growls and pushes Diavolo’s hand away. 

“I won’t let you take him that easily,” he snaps. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Diavolo responds without a moment of hesitation, “I just hope you know what you’re getting into challenging a demon.” 

“You don’t scare me, don’t even try.”

Diavolo only hums in reply before promptly turning on his heel to leave. 

“In that case,” he says with a shrug, now standing in the doorway, “you should prepare for quite the spirited battle.”

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out. 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated. 

[unscripted-if]

DEMO || PINTEREST

Lights…

Camera…

Action!

Those three words, along with the flashing of cameras and screaming of thousands of people, had made up your life for over a decade. Following your rising star into the stratosphere where you could look at where you’ve been upon your lofty perch in the sky. You were the ruler of your universe and there was nothing that’d bring you down…

… Until, of course, there was…

Suddenly in a free fall, without any chance of catching yourself in sight, you’re hurtling back to the ground with only one thought, one goal, in your mind: Find your way back up.

When a new project comes your way, new opportunities arrive with it, but nothing is ever cut and dry within Hollywood. You’ll have to put your all into this movie if you want any chance at salvaging your career.

Try to stay on script…

Unscripted is a slice-of-life interactive fiction where romance, drama, and the trivialities of life intertwine to create your story. Rated 18+ for explicit language, optional sexual content, drug/alcohol use, and violence.

Features

✰ Customizable MC: Name, gender (male, female, non-binary), sexuality, appearance, some of your past projects, and history with a few of the characters.

✰ Maintain your fan base and make sure that they haven’t forgotten about you. Will you earn more as your journey progresses?

✰ Be interviewed from sidewalk reporters to one of the biggest Late Night Shows within America. Just make sure that you make a good impression— there is such a thing as bad publicity after all.

✰ Romance one of the characters that’ll either have the crowd roaring or scratching their heads. Will you find common ground with your sworn rival? Take a chance at love with someone from your past? Give your hot-and-cold manager a shot? Time will tell…

✰ Adopt a new friend that will hopefully make your lonely nights less so.

✰ Rise back to the ranks of Super Stardom and take back your throne.

Romances

The Rival: Angel Sinclair [M/F] — Ever since you arrived in Hollywood, Angel Sinclair has been there. You’re not quite sure when, or where, your rivalry even began, only that it’s made a ton of tabloids rich with the stories they’d print due to it, and you’re even less sure why you keep running into them on the same lot you’re shooting your newest movie. Is it another twisted form of punishment? With an icy exterior that puts the Arctic to shame, you don’t think you’ve ever seen them smile— at least when they’re not in front of the camera or interacting with fans. Will you uncover more as your random run-ins start losing some of their randomness?

Route: Rivals to Lovers.

The Manager: Kieran/Kiera Walker [M/F] — Probably one of the few reasons you’re still where you are. With a keen mind, a sharp eye for detail, and an even sharper tongue, K has never taken it easy on you, and they’re definitely not doing so now. While pragmatic about their approach, they’re not afraid to tell you what they think, when the time calls for it, which is something that’s definitely caused some tension in the past. Still, you don’t know what you’d do without them; as they’ve stayed steadily by your side through it all. And you don’t think they’re going anywhere anytime soon.

Route: Slow Burn.

The Director: Spencer Hale [M/F] — Last Laugh, the title of the movie you’re now part of, is the passion project that Spencer has been working on for years; trying tirelessly to get it to the silver screen. You would know— after all you were there when they began to write it back in college. Despite not having seen them in years, the gentle look in their eyes hasn’t shifted in the slightest; even if it is a bit more wary now, they don’t hesitate in offering you the same level of kindness as before. Though, even that, still feels different, wrong somehow. Can you recover what’s been lost between you? Or will you forever be two ships passing in the night?

Route: Ex-Best Friend/Lover (can choose if they were your lover or not) || Second Chances

The Newcomer: Cameron/Carmen Rivera [M/F] — An up-and-coming star within Hollywood from the music scene. Having wanted to take a shot at the silver screen for years it’s only with this project that they’ve finally been given the chance— cast as your love interest, no less. You’re not too sure what to make of them. From everything you’ve read they’re sunshine incarnate, with a beaming smile always on their lips, that completely contradicts the darker colors that they typically wear. Something tells you, an almost bone deep intuition, that they’re an array of contradictions all rolled up into one package. Will you ever be able to uncover any of them?

Route: First Love (to them) || Age Gap

The Bodyguard: Roman Locke [M/F] — With a penchant to wear nothing but black, sometimes with muted tones of gray thrown in, you don’t know much about the individual that’s been guarding you with their life for the last five years. Only their stellar history in the Navy, coupled with a possible connection to being a CIA Agent, though that’s never been confirmed, and the other rudimentary facets of their past that any employer needs to know. However, even if they rarely speak, you know that you’re in more than capable hands and that they take their job seriously. But what happens when that professional facade begins to crack?

Route: Bodyguard Romance.

The Assistant: Harley Park [M/F] — Someone who’s very good at their job while also being everywhere and nowhere all at once. You don’t know if they’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your first meeting— with them being in a fandom shirt from a project you had done a couple of years before, with you at center stage on it. With an undeniable charm, if a bit awkward in their approach, Harley is definitely someone that’d you miss interacting with once you got the chance to do so. You just have to get them to actually interact with you first.

Route: Oblivious Love.

[darkfictionjude]

About your angst vs lighthearted games question.

So, I don't think this question truly applies to me. Well, not in the sense that I could give you a clear preference.

First things first, I will avoid both extremes. I despise purely comedic stories and what not, so if it's something like that (imagine a sitcom like scenario), I will just skip it. But I also find totally unappealing a game that is 100% bleak and where it seems clear there's 0 chance for a good ending. My reasoning is that a game without stakes is bland and a game without "reward" (aka good ending) isn't worth my time. I think a good game has both angsty and sweet and/or funny moments, but ultimately the player CAN obtain what can be considered a good ending out of it. Otherwise, why put the effort, you know? So any game I play, it means I'm under the assumption good endings are possible, even if the path there is very angsty or even hard to achieve.

Now, I do love drama, but I basically like a story that has balance. If it's only angst, I will get bored. If it's too positive, I will get bored too. I'm a sucker for hurt-comfort, so it tracks.

To give more context to my opinions, it basically all relates to interactive vs non-interactive media. In non-interactive media like movies or books, you just have to watch or read the piece of fiction you're "witnessing it", and that's it. You don't have to "actively" DO anything. Since you're not putting in any "actual effort", you don't need a "proper reward". It sounds weird said like that, but basically, because of that, I accept that sometimes a piece of non-interactive media has a bad ending or that it's fully lighthearted without stakes because, you know, I'm just there watching or reading it and I don't have to "fight for it". But with interactive media, the player puts in real effort. It doesn't matter if it's a classic RPG where you have to literally fight, explore the world and what not, or a text based game like IF and VNs where you have to make the right choices and think about your decisions. At the end of the day, you are fighting for a reward and facing the consequences of YOUR actions. And so, if I decide to do that, I need a reward at the end of the journey. Some people will say that there's catharsis in a bad ending sometimes, but I personally don't experience that. I didn't hate all bad/sad endings to pieces of fiction I witnessed, but every single bad/sad ending just left me frustrated and was the opposite of cathartic, even if it wasn't always hated per se. It was always a "not bad as a whole, but the ending was mediocre". Only exceptions are "objectively bad" endings that to me feel "subjectively good" for a reason or another, but this is too much of a case by case thing.

So yeah, all in all, I most like balance of angst and lightheartedness.

Honestly, my main criteria to decide I will play an IF are: 1 - that the game contains romance (this is not a must in other types of games, but I play IF for that specifically). 2 - that the game allows me to have a male MC. 3 - that the game doesn't have random aspects, and if it has random elements, then it has to allow saves or have checkpoints (I'm a "one canon playthrough kind of player, so I need to be able to easily recreate the same results on each playthrough, meaning if random elements are into play, I need to be able to save scum easily).

As long as these two conditions are fulfilled, I can be interested in the game. Well, obviously, some kinds of plots won't appeal to me, but most of the time it can work at least in theory.

Sorry for rambling! It's an interesting question that ties in with a lot of thoughts I have about fiction as a whole!

I’m kind of like you tbh

I don’t mind bad endings in IF but I don’t want that to be the only type of ending but I do LOVE bad endings or sad endings in other media forms

For WWC the endings I have in mind go from bittersweet to really bad. I can’t add a completely happy Disney ending cause it doesn’t fit the tone. But like the bittersweet will be 70% happy

I also only play games which allow romance and not just any romance I need it well written I’ve played IFs where the plot and writing is superb but then the romance feels flat, like it was added last minute and to fit a quota. And I see this when they do the tell and not show of romance cause like give me DETAILS.

Which is also something I don’t do in stuff like books (I gravitate towards those that have little to no romance) and in movies I like the ones where the couple don’t end up together

I also don’t play gender locked games 😭😭 and it’s for 2 reasons 1) so much of the media I’ve consumed has been about men and at this point in my life I just make an effort to go to things that have women in important roles or allow me to play as a woman 2) I like gender to be commented on in game and I just find that looking through the eyes of a woman is much more interesting (again this is my opinion)

I’m also a one playthrough person and the only things I change are romances. I do dislike that save mechanism on like Hosted Games and CoG are at the writers discretion cause I hate having to start over cause I fucked something

[justcallmefox89]

Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia - Chapter Twenty-Three

An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.

Masterlist

Return to Cordonia

Liam restlessly drums his fingers against the armrest of his seat, occasionally darting irritated glances towards Callum and Drake.  Pangs of anger and jealously shoot through him as he watches the two interact; his chest tightening as his observes the tender way Callum treats Drake, as if he is something fragile and precious.

Callum tucks a soft blanket around Drake then slouches lower in his seat, allowing Drake to comfortably pillow his head on Callum’s shoulder.  Callum presses a soft kiss to the top of Drake’s head before picking up a battered paperback and starting to quietly read out loud.  Drake’s eyelids begin to flutter, and his breathing becomes deep and even as he quickly drops off to sleep.  Callum tenderly smiles down at him and resumes his reading silently, remaining as still as possible to avoid disturbing Drake’s sleep. 

If they weren’t currently 40,000 feet above the Atlantic ocean Liam would have thrown himself out of the plane without a second thought, anything to escape the painfully sick feeling he gets seeing Drake and Callum together.

Someone slides gracefully into the seat next to him, temporarily drawing his attention away from the two men. 

“I took the liberty of making you some tea,” Hana murmurs, passing him a steaming mug.

Liam inhales the fragrant steam and takes a sip, the scalding tea burning his tongue and temporarily distracting him from his misery.  “Thank you, Hana,” he says, smiling at her gratefully.

“How are you?” she asks, concern shining in her brown eyes.

Liam takes another sip of tea, trying to collect his thoughts.  “This is a situation I never expected to find myself in,” he finally admits.

“I doubt many people do,” Hana replies, stifling a smile.  “I don’t envy you, Your Majesty.  Madeline is furious.”

Liam stretches in his seat, picking out a familiar head of blonde hair sitting several seats ahead of him.  He shrugs, unable to muster enough energy to care about his fiancée’s anger.  “It’s no secret that our marriage isn’t a love match,” he sighs.  “I’m not sure what she expects from me.”

“Probably for you to not openly stare at Drake and Callum as if you’re a jealous lover.”

The king turns his head to stare at Hana, shocked at her uncharacteristic boldness. 

She nervously tucks her hair behind her ears and clears her throat.  “Her pride is hurt, Your Majesty.  No matter the truth of your arrangement it is important to her that the two of you appear to be a loving and committed couple to the public.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to pretend,” he admits, slumping back into his seat.  “I see those two together and I remember every wonderful moment I’ve had with them, and I can’t help but imagine what kind of future we could have together.”

He speaks without thinking, unwittingly admitting to his previous relationship with Drake.  Hana smiles to herself, happy to have her long-standing suspicions finally confirmed, but allows the moment to pass without comment.

“But then I remember how easy it was for Callum to give up, to walk away from me without a fight,” Liam continues.  “And I see how easy it was for Drake to just fall into his arms and I feel… betrayed.  I’m furious, Hana.  With both of them.  And I don’t want to be, but I can’t help it.”

Hana levels him with a disappointed look and he squirms under her gaze.  “I would hope you know both of them well enough by now, especially Drake, to know that none of this is easy for them.  It wasn’t easy for Callum to leave Cordonia, but at some point he had to prioritize his well-being over the chance you might choose him.  For you their relationship came out of nowhere, but Drake was Callum’s rock during the social season, sometimes even more than myself or Maxwell.  They understand each other in a way we never will, because in many ways they will always be outsiders in court.  They bring out the best in each other.  Drake grounds Callum.  And Callum makes Drake free.”

Liam frowns, silently ruminating over her words.

Hana sighs, softening her tone.  “I understand that you’re angry, and that’s fair.  But you need to understand that you played a part in all of this too.  You decided to prioritize your duty to Cordonia, and you have to accept all the consequences that follow.”

“You know better than anyone that I didn’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice, Liam.”  Hana tentatively lays her hand over his and gazes at him earnestly.  “Drake and Callum chose happiness, it’s not too late for you to do the same.”

“I…” Liam hesitates, the very thought seems overwhelmingly daunting.

Hana squeezes his hand reassuringly.  “I will remain your friend whatever you decide, Liam.  But bear in mind that if you do marry Madeline you run the chance of losing them both forever.”

“I know,” he whispers sadly, glancing over towards the pair.  Callum has joined Drake in slumber; his cheek rests on the top of Drake’s head and he smiles faintly in his sleep.  “I know.” 

[elizmanderson]

queerness in The Remarkable Retirement of Edna Fisher

book description

when you’re an old woman armed with nothing but gumption and knitting needles, stopping a sorcerer from wiping out an entire dragon-fighting organization is a tall order. no one understands why 83-year-old Edna Fisher is the Chosen One, destined to save the Knights from a dragon-riding sorcerer bent on their destruction. after all, Edna has never handled a magical weapon, faced down a dragon, or cast a spell. and everyone knows the Council of Wizards always chooses a teenager—like the vengeful girl ready to snatch Edna’s destiny from under her nose.

still, Edna leaps at the chance to leave the nursing home. with a son long dead in the Knights’ service, she’s determined to save dragon-fighters like him & ensure other mothers don’t suffer the same loss she did. but as Edna learns about the abuse in the ranks & the sorcerer’s history, she questions if it’s really the sorcerer that needs stopping—or the Knights she’s trying to save.

find it here

okay let's talk about queerness in this book

did a thread on twitter in which I said "cishet" five hundred thousand times so will probably get banned lmao but anyway I wanted to share it here too

especially since it's late in Pride Month and I have yet to post anything anywhere about it BEING Pride Month and me being queer and my books being queer, bc I've been burnt out af. so what energy I've had has gone toward planning and writing

anyway

I say "queerness in" rather than "queer characters in" because I want to talk about queerness in the book more broadly, not least bc I'm a queer creator & this is a queer book, but I've had a lot of impostor syndrome about both those things.

I figured out I was queer later in life & am a woman-presenting person w/a male-presenting partner. I've questioned my gender & sexuality repeatedly & ID'd differently over time, which is why I like "queer." I don't have to re-explain myself a dozen times. I'm queer. that's that.

but having figured out my queerness later, and having a relationship that presents as cishet, it took a long time for me to overcome feelings of ~not being queer enough~ (and sometimes I still struggle with them).

similarly, my MC is an apparently* cishet woman, unlike the MCs of many books that appear on queer book lists at this time of year. just like I took a long time to start really engaging with my community bc I worried I wasn't ~queer enough,~ for a long time, I didn't call this a queer book bc I worried it wasn't ~queer enough~. if people asked if the book was queer, I'd reply with a laundry list of explicitly queer characters rather than saying yes

fuck that though lmao. this is a queer book. let me count the ways

1. found family

as found family is so important to many queer people - by connecting us to our community, by welcoming us when bio family casts us off - found family is central to REMARKABLE RETIREMENT. while there are queer romantic arcs, the found family is the most important relationship in the book.

2. queer labels

some characters get explicit labels. Benjamin is gay. Clem is ace. queer labels are important bc they give us the ability to describe our identities and experiences! however...

3. undefined queerness

while labels are important, queerness isn't about fitting into new boxes. it's about smashing the boxes apart.

even if characters don't have specific labels applied on-page, they're queer. they don't need to claim a specific label for that to be true.*

*caveat that some media avoids using labels to pander to queer audiences w/implied queerness without ~alienating~ cishets by stating "this character is Not Cishet"**

that's not what I mean

I mean e.g. in OFMD queerness is inherent even if WORDS like queer/ace/etc aren't used. OMitB is another example (specifically Mabel) and Good Omens is yet another.

**caveat to my caveat that some media is queer-coded & avoids queer labels rather than being explicitly queer because network execs or whoever won't allow explicit queerness.

this is not the fault of the creators. sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference.

but anyway.

in REMARKABLE RETIREMENT, several queer characters are queer without using specific labels.

in some cases this is bc it doesn't come up or isn't important to them to express in the moment. like Clem is bi, but she's not worried about being bi. she's worried about being ace, because she's still kind of questioning that about herself, and she's worried it might cause problems down the road if her crush is >:[ about her not wanting to have sex. so she uses the word "ace" to describe herself in this scene but not "bi," even though she's both.

in other cases it's bc they don't have the language. Kiernan's sense of attraction and desire is described in a way that seems graysexual or demisexual (or both), and Red's sense of desire is described in a way that seems ace-spec, but neither of them use those terms, because neither of them know those terms. despite the lack of terminology, many ace readers have identified multiple ace characters based on description or experience. the lack of a specific label doesn't make those characters less queer.

similarly, some characters have not yet had this realization about themselves. which leads us to...

4. questioning

okay, back to my first asterisk of the post.

Edna is by all appearances an old cishet woman.

for most of the story, that's how she seems. that's what SHE thinks, even. she's a cishet old grandma adopting every queer young person she can find.

BUT THEN

Clem explains aceness to her

and Edna has a brief crisis bc wait a minute this sounds like her??

ultimately, Edna has too much to worry about right now to spend time questioning whether, at the age of 83, she might be somewhere on the ace spectrum

so it doesn't come up again

but that moment of crisis is THERE, & that too is queer

5. queernormativity*

I write queernorm worlds, largely bc I viscerally hate coming out lmao

it doesn't mean everyone's a queer scholar

like Clem has to explain "ace" to Edna, bc Edna thinks blankly of a deck of cards & doesn't understand what that has to do with sex

but it DOES mean queer folks get to just be and do

*caveat that this is not remotely to imply that a story is less queer if its world ISN'T queernorm

it's just a way in which MY story is queer

6. all the queer characters

not gonna do a list (even though my original idea for Pride Month when I was young and optimistic and thought I'd have energy to do it way back when was a list of queer characters), but virtually every character in this book is queer in one way or another

on twitter this is where I ended because 6 seemed like a good number for Pride since June is the sixth month, but tumblr gets a bonus

7. the author is queer

happy pride, buy my queer book

[gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun]

In defense of trashy ya dystopias

Okay, I’ll admit it: Hunger Games is an excellent book. It is powerful and well crafted, and deserves to be an eternal classic. I’m not sure any of the ya dystopias that followed it were quite so good, and I understand why they get mocked so often. Still, I think they deserve a better rep than they get.

Now, I understand that some ya dystopias are really, really bad. The only literary criticism that would call them good art would be a reader response based method that just says “well, some people like them so they must be good!” I don’t think that’s exactly how art works, but to an extent, that’s true. If a book inspired someone, encouraged them to read, and broadened their view of the world, who are we to say that it’s not worth reading? No matter how terrible a book is, it can at least make someone a bit more passionate about reading, and that’s value enough.*

First, I have to talk about Divergent. It makes me sad how many people hate that series. There are some valid criticisms, but most of it doesn’t make sense to me. People accuse Tris of being flat and basic, saying she’s an overpowered Mary Sue of a blank slate. That in particular confuses me. Tris isn’t dull and underdeveloped, she’s depressed. She’s reactive because she doesn’t care enough to be proactive. She’s numb, which comes across as her being unemotional. Now, we can debate whether that makes her a bad choice as a main character, but I won’t stand for her being painted as a bad character.

I was horribly depressed when I read Divergent. Watching Tris made all the difference in my life. I related to her when she threw a chair from the roof and watched it shatter on the concrete below, wishing she could follow it. I would have followed her to her death when she convinced herself that dying for her friends was noble sacrifice, not suicide, not the easy way out. I nearly cried when she realized at the last moment that she didn’t want to die, that she had to choose to keep going. I watched her build her life back up, even through the misery, pain and loss. I watched her find happiness, and I broke down when she gave it all up to protect someone else, someone who was trying to throw away his life out of guilt and grief. She sacrificed everything she had to give him a chance to fight through it and become someone better. She would have done the same for me. I needed to keep going, to honor that sacrifice and follow in her lead. Tris taught me to fight, and I am so grateful.

The Maze Runner was one of my favorite series. My longest completed story I’ve written was a trilogy of (unfortunately very straight) TMR fanfiction. I know it’s pretty garden variety dystopia, but it was very meaningful to me.

I think part of what made it special was having a male protagonist. Most ya dystopias are centered on teen girls, the intended audience, and while TMR could have used more diversity of gender in the cast, it was nice to see myself in the main character (although I like to believe I’m not that stupid). Thomas is also a very competent MC, which is always appreciated, and it feels earned more than Gary Stu-ed.

TMR has, despite not having any canonical evidence, a lot of gay ships in the fandom, probably because the boys all have a ton of chemistry and there are no girls (pretty much). I was deep in denial (see my straight fanfic), but TMR still gave my budding queerness a place to grow. While insisting that being gay was wrong and my homosexual crushes were Not Gay, I still managed to have very strong feelings on which Maze Runner ships are correct (Newt X Alby and Thomas X Minho, Newtmas shippers fight me). Being represented, even if I didn’t know it at the time, was so important to me.

Lastly, TMR taught me bravery. It taught me that even if things are just going to get worse, you have to try and make it out. I look at the world around me, and it’s not hard to imagine the Flare, or WICKED gaining power. Us kids have been handed the burden of fixing the world, and I need all the courage I can get. Like I say in my fanfic (the AWWWB series on Wattpad, first book called Good Grief), “Maybe the universe is just cruel. But… if we don’t know what’s outside of the Maze, then we’d better hold on to the fact that it’s just as likely to be a good place as a bad one.” We have to keep hoping that something better is coming eventually, even if it never does. We have to keep fighting.

I don’t have any others in mind right now, but I want to hear about other books (dystopian or not) that made more of a difference than they’re given credit for. Seriously, I want y’all to defend Twilight, to champion the Matched series. Tell me how they changed your life.

*note: books that spread harmful messages are different than poorly written books, but that’s a whole conversation by itself, so we’re going to be idealists in this post and pretend that’s not an element while acknowledging that in the real world it’s a true and harmful thing

[cadybear420]

Cadybear's Reviews- A Courtesan of Rome

Welcome to the fifteenth official Cadybear's Reviews post! Ironic that this is the fifteenth. Unfortunately this is about 10 days late for Ides of March this year. Today I'll be talking about A Courtesan of Rome, which I have ranked on the "Platinum Tier" at 9 stars out of a possible 10. My last playthrough of this story was around November-December 2021.

I’m rather fond of this one. 

This is one of the few MCs where it makes sense for them to have a lot of pre-set aspects about them, and for the record they did do a fantastic job establishing it via the flashbacks. And even then, they also manage to give us enough player agency by allowing us to choose her motives, methods, and goals. So it’s a very neat and fair balance between pre-set and flexible. 

This is also one of the few pointfully genderlocked books– while male courtesans did indeed exist in Ancient Rome, they’d likely have had vastly different experiences to that of female courtesans. Chances are, the male MC version would have so many dialogue changes that it’d basically be an entirely new book. Don’t get me wrong, I’d definitely love to see a male MC version of this story, but I can understand why PB would genderlock it. 

Admittedly the story can drag at times, and the “8 years ago in Gaul” flashbacks can be a bit of a trudge (granted they do set up the story well), but it is worth it. My only real problem is that according to some fans who are history experts, this story does stray a lot from historical accuracy. But I guess not every periodical story is gonna be perfectly historically accurate. 

That, and also the way they handled Xanthe is just… not good. Other people have explained it better, but basically, in a general sense, Xanthe isn’t much different from MC. Both are courtesans as per being victims of human trafficking, both are forced to rely on seduction to survive and overpower men– but the story villainizes Xanthe, while MC is pushed as heroic and morally grey/complex for the exact same shit. All because… Xanthe is kind of catty towards MC?

I didn’t think much of it in either of my two playthroughs, but I’ve seen other people bring it up and looking back… it’s too major to ignore. It’s hypocritical at best, and has some very troubling (racist) implications at worst. Especially in a book that’s meant to be an empowering periodical womanhood story. So it did end up bringing the book down a tier. 

We rightfully bitch about the cheap “straw loser villain woman who exists solely to have exaggeratedly bad behaviors solely to make the MC seem better” and “pitting women against each other just because they want/do the same thing” tropes all the time in Choices stories like TNA, FCL, and TBB; and while I do still rank those books much lower due to having more objective problems overall, the trope is much more unforgivable in this book given the context. 

However, while the story does have some pretty major problems, it does also have a lot of good aspects going for it that did make me mostly enjoy it. But who knows, my opinion might change after a replay. 

I will also say, it’s really fun to diamond mine this one for OG HSS Book 2. Getting to stab Caesar and then taking down Principal Isa right after. So I do have a bit of a soft spot for the book in that regard. 

[fictomorph]

Any Objections? (Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth TF/TG/MC)

This story contains female to male TF, character TF, and identity death as well as Wrightworth shipping/romance.

———————

“Looking for something in particular?”

A voice disturbed Griffin, who was currently hunched over the top of a display case, filled with rings, all of them beautiful, finely crafted….and expensive. He jolted up, meeting the eyes of the clerk.

“Oh...yea.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly chuckling. The clerk looked him over, trying to read him for what he wanted. Decently groomed short chestnut hair, a purple polo shirt and pressed jeans, brown leather dress shoes...probably had something decently important later today. And considering what kind of jewelry he was looking at….

“You’re proposing later, aren’t you?” Griffin paused, nodding.

“How did you?...” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Ugh, yeah. But everything’s so expensive...I’ve been saving for practically a year and even then I can barely afford any of the good ones!” The clerk watched him as he went back to pouring over the rings, struggling between getting his loved one something they deserved and something he could pay off.

“Actually..” He perked up, holding a finger in the air as his icy blue eyes pondered a thought. “I think we might have a set of rings in the back for decently cheap, $100, $120….but they still look rather nice and are of high craft. Would you like me to see if we still have them?”

Griffin nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “Really? Oh thanks, man, you’re a lifesaver!”

“Ah, no problem. My job is to help people find what they’re looking for, after all! Now if you’ll excuse me…” He walked off, headed into the forbidden parts of the store unknown to the commoner. After a few minutes, Griffin (who had started scrolling through Twitter) was brought back to reality by the sound of something being set on the glass in front of him, along with the clerk’s statement of “Take a look”.

Two small ring boxes were laid in front of him, one coated in red velvet and the other in blue. He lifted the red box, popping it open to reveal the contents inside. A rose gold band, with two small diamonds and one ruby crowning it. The edges of the band flares, giving it a ruffled pattern almost like creased fabric. Ooh...this would be perfect for her! He picked up the blue box, inspecting its hidden treasure as well. It was a similarly simple pure gold band, two sapphires on either side of a diamond tucked away in a golden four-pointed star. He looked back to the clerk, grabbing both of them as he fidgeted his wallet from his pocket.

“You said these were…$120?” The clerk nodded, leading to Griffin slamming the money on the counter. “Oh man, thank you so much! She’s gonna love this, I-I can’t thank you enough!” Placing the ring boxes in a bag for him, the clerk waved as another satisfied customer ran off.

The rest of the day was as normal as it could be for a day leading up to such a big event. Griffin called to double and triple-check his reservations were still in place, re-washed and ironed everything he was wearing for later, and took an intensive shower. Everything had to go perfect for tonight. Soon enough, after what felt like both no time at all and a full eon, his doorbell rang. Answering it, he was met with the face of his beloved Kelly. She had dressed similarly nicely, a long somewhat shimmery orange dress accompanied by a pearl necklace. Her blonde hair had been neatly curled at the edges, letting it frame her face in a rather flattering way.

“You look nice.” Griffin stuttered, eyes darting across the room as she chuckled.

“Thanks. You too.” She grabbed his hand, leading him out the door. “C’mon, we should get going. You said this place was expensive, and I don’t wanna miss our chance to eat $100 steak.”

The car ride over was nice, Kelly looking out the window at the late-night city’s lights. Her eyes drifted over the scenery, soon enough settling on the restaurant they had arrived at. She had known it was a fancy place, but she didn’t expect it to look quite this nice. The building had strings of fairy lights dangling from it, and as they walked in, she took note of how well everyone was dressed. She started to think she might’ve underdressed for the occasion.

“Mr. West? Ah yes, we have your reservation. Please, follow me.” The waitress led the two to an empty table, one which happened to be on the patio. A nice open space, no one else outside, illuminated by the moonlight….it was perfect. Griffin kept a hand on the two ring boxes in his pocket, waiting for the perfect moment.

Whatever was above must’ve taken a shine to them that day, as the dinner went perfectly. Their food was cooked to perfection, the wine the servers brought out was a rich palette, and all night the moon and stars were perfectly visible and bright. As Kelly polished off her second glass of wine, he gripped the boxes tighter than he ever had before and sighed.

“Hm?” Kelly placed her glass down, focusing on her partner. “Something wrong, Grif?”

“No, it’s just….we’ve been together for a while now and...you’re really important to me. I

realized I found something I don’t wanna lose. So….” He took the red box from his pocket and held it out to her, letting her see as he popped it open. “Will you marry me?”

She gasped, grabbing the box as she teared up. “Oh my God….yes!” His heart pounded out of his chest as she slipped the ring on, admiring it. He had taken the shot and hit a bullseye.

“The best part?” He held the blue box in his hands, showing its contents to her. “They’re a set. We match!” Putting his own ring on, Kelly practically pounced on him as she pulled him into a hug that turned into the two holding each other’s hands, rings resting against each other. It felt like a moment that would last forever…..until they withdrew their hands in shock.

“Ow, something shocked me!” Kelly rubbed her hand, surprised by the indignant interruption.

“Yea, me too….might’ve been some static electricity or something in the rings.” Griffin explained to the best of his knowledge. That was a thing that could happen, right? Metal conducted electricity.

“Mhm...probably. Felt a bit stronger than static, though. It was just...weird.” She unconsciously flexed her fingers to fully shake the feeling, although a new, even stranger one replaced it. Her hands began to shift, growing broader and more well-groomed, like they belonged to someone from the upper class. Though the expected tightness of the ring becoming too small for her fingers was strangely never present…

“Maybe you just aren’t taking your wine well.” Griffin chuckled, taking her hand in his in an attempt to comfort her, only to realize how large it was compared to mere moments ago. He gulped, feeling his hands become a bit more comfortable in holding hers, the change nowhere as near as drastic as Kelly’s but still something concerning. His arms tensed, swelling with a slightly toned layer of muscle new to his form. He took his hands from Kelly’s, looking over them. Sure, he admittedly never held his wine the best, but he’d never hallucinated before, and he’d definitely never actually felt it.

“Grif? Do you think someone put something in our food?” She took a longer, more well-built arm to her chest, feeling the fat layered on it melt away and replace with an admittedly not too shabby set of pecs. “Wh-What?” Her face flushed, eyes widening at the realization that whatever was happening to them had decided to shift her sex around.

“I’d like to see whatever drug can do something like this at all, let alone this fast!” He gripped onto a chair’s back, groaning as his back popped, leaving him slightly taller and, as a cursory scan of his new body would reveal, sporting a new set of abs. “Woah...this is...something.”

Kelly, meanwhile, was not as enthralled with her changes as Griffin was. She felt awkward enough in her dress already, and the cracking of her spine and toning frame didn’t serve to help. What only made things worse was the notable pressure she felt from her high heels, confirming her fears as the sides of the shoes gave, leaving her feet exposed in the cold night air. “Ugh….just kill me now….”

“Hey, cmon, don’t be like that.” Griffin pulled her into a hug, grinning in an attempt to ease her fears. “This probably won’t be that bad.” She looked up at him, desperate for some form of comfort. It was probably just the changes, but...he looked so much more handsome than usual. His jawline was sharper, his eyes had cooled to a soft smoky grey, and his formerly chestnut hair had burnt to a dark black, even changing how it was styled into a striking slicked back and spiked look. Something about it was…..familiar and comforting.

Griffin swept a bang from her face, letting him look at her shifted face. He let out a quiet gasp, her heart sinking.

“I-Is it bad?” She clasped her hands together, still feeling the ring.

“No, you’re...you’re gorgeous.” His hand rested against her cheek, taking everything in. Her face had gained this strong stoic look to it, almost statue-esque. His hair had faded to a platinum, combed into a set of bangs that perfectly framed his face and made similarly pale eyes stand out. “I...wow.” He’d never felt this strongly towards...anyone. He took one of her pearls in his hand, only to let go of it as he realized it had gained an odd fabric like texture.

Kelly watched as her pearl necklace flattened and softened, the chain around her neck becoming the same silk as the pearls now were. She brushed over it with her hands, the string now a rumpled scarf of some sort...what was the term? The word “cravat” suddenly popped to mind, albeit she didn’t know where from. Yes, that was right.

Griffin coughed as something tugged against his throat, looking down to see a bright red tie had formed around his neck. More notably, where it touched seemed to sap the red from his shirt, leaving it pure white as the still-blue edges tugged away from itself, leaving him with a formal white undershirt topped with a sapphire blue suit jacket. “Guess they have a stricter take on business casual than I thought…” He awkwardly joked as he watched the blue spread down to neatly pressed dress pants, his changes finishing with his shoes expanding slightly and shifting into dark leather.

Kelly brushed her face, slightly flushed from Griffin’s new form. …..Griffin? Was that right? No, that...that wasn’t it. What was his name, though? As she thought, her clothing underwent its own metamorphosis, bleeding into a combination of a black vest and a deep red suit jacket, albeit this one more high quality than her partner’s. The material shared its conquest of her wardrobe with her partner’s changes, as the ends of her dress wrapped around her legs into fanciful perfectly tailored wine red pants. Her shoes even got a second shot as the heels flattened to the ground, a refined pair of leather dress shoes.

“Is...is it over?” The two looked at each other, Griffin pausing at his new voice. It was young, nothing too outstanding on its own but probably could be with some power put behind it, like some form of objection.

“I...I believe so.” Kelly gasped, putting a hand to her throat as she felt her new Adam’s apple. The voice it had given her was a rather pleasing one, deep and proper, the voice of someone who really knew what they were doing. “My...this is all so….” She didn’t get to finish her thought as she trailed off, Griffin taking her hands one again.

“Not what I expected to happen tonight, either. Can’t say I’m too mad though.” Kelly blushed, Griffin’s face equally red as he leaned in for a kiss, which she gladly reciprocated. That simple act sealed the two’s fates as when they pulled back, a different, more fitting set of memories and personality traits belonged to the pair.

“Wright....must you be this extravagant?” He looked around the patio, taking in the almost storybook-like picture the two found themselves in.

“Of course. Nothing else for my Miles.” Edgeworth turned his head, leading Phoenix to giggle.

“You’re an embarrassment.” He tried to come off as his usual stern self, but the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips was his lover’s cue to keep going.

“Hey, you know how I get when drunk.”

“I suppose I do, Feenie.” Miles slipped his hand into his partner’s, only for the two of them to pause and investigate the rings they didn’t remember putting on.

“Guess I was a bit more drunk than I thought….” He looked away, rubbing his neck in that ever-so-Wright way. A pause of awkward silence, before he sighed and reconnected eye contact. “Hey um….even if we don’t remember it...would you still...you know…”

“Of course, you idiot.” Edgeworth full on smiled, a rare sight, and grabbed Phoenix’s hand once again, planting a kiss on his cheek. Even if they didn’t quite remember how they got here, this proved to be the best night of their lives.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

What is your take on the Supreme Courts decision to to uphold the ban on race as a deciding factor for admission to college?

“I just opened a brown girl who’s an 810 [SAT].”

“If its brown and above a 1300 [SAT] put them in for [the] merit/Excel [scholarship].”

“Still yes, give these brown babies a shot at these merit $$.”

“I am reading an Am. Ind.”

“[W]ith these [URM] kids, I’m trying to at least give them the chance to compete even if the [extracurriculars] and essays are just average.”

“I don’t think I can admit or defer this brown girl.”

“perfect 2400 SAT All 5 on AP one B in 11th”  “Brown?!” “Heck no. Asian.” “Of course. Still impressive.”

“I just read a blk girl who is an MC and Park nominee.”....

“Stellar academics for a Native Amer/African Amer kid.”....

“I’m going through this trouble because this is a bi-racial (black/white) male.”

This, as noted by Coleman Hughes in his recent "10 Notes on the End of Affirmative Action" post, is the ugly racist reality of "Affirmative Action." The above logs from Harvard's chat system come directly from the Supreme Court documents. This is how the sausage is made. This is racial discrimination.

If what these institutions are doing is so good, then it's curious that this process is not made transparent. Harvard were even insisting that they don't do it, simply because they changed the name so that, technically, they were telling the truth. Shouldn't they be proud of their "equity" work? If it's something that's good, own it.

A lot of the discourse around this is exactly the same tactics we've seen with CRT and gender stuff: "Literally nobody is doing this, but if they are doing it then it's a good thing and you're a bigot for trying to stop it. But nobody's doing it so that's why we have to stop it from being banned. Because of the fact it's not happening." #KettleLogic

They should also be honest with applicants. After all, Harvard's motto is Veritas (i.e. "truth").

https://colemanhughes.substack.com/p/10-notes-on-the-end-of-affirmative

Imagine if every college rejection letter contained an honest account of why every kid was rejected. Imagine, for example, if the Asian-American kid who would have gotten into Harvard were she not Asian received an honest statement attesting to that fact in her rejection letter: “We regret to inform you that you’ve been rejected in part because you are Asian-American. Had you been black or Hispanic with otherwise identical qualifications, we would have accepted you.” 

Coleman didn't go further, but I'd like to suggest the text for an acceptance letter: "We're pleased to inform you that you've been accepted to Harvard. This has occurred in part because of the color of your skin. Had you been white or Asian with otherwise identical qualifications, we would have deemed you as unsuitable."

Welcome to Harvard.

These institutions are neither transparent nor honest. This fact alone suggests they know what they're doing is wrong.

This is the result of what Harvard's system produces.

Sources:

https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/22pdf/20-1199_hgdj.pdf - Case

https://www.aei.org/op-eds/is-it-time-to-replace-race-with-class-in-affirmative-action/ - Chart

That is, an Asian person in the top 90-100 range on the academic index (higher scores are better) has a lower chance of acceptance than a black person in the 30-40 range.

Let's be frank: this is about expensive social signaling. Luxury beliefs.

Expensive, because it throws both black and Asian people under the bus. It's a way for elite progressives to signal how Good™ they are, without doing anything. Because it means they never have to wonder what could be done to actually lift black academic performance upwards, instead of lowering standards.

There's some suspicion that the quoted tweet is a parody account, but the fact it's so hard to tell these days means it kind doesn't even matter.

"You see that over here students are struggling, and instead of helping them more, you say, 'alright, well, we'll accept your failure.'" -- Dr. Amir Whitaker

If you're trying to "solve" academic disparity in the gap between high school graduation and university admission, you're out of your damned mind, you're over a decade too late, and you have no clue what the causes are, and therefore whether your "solution" will even do anything.

For example, it's uncontroversial that SAT scores correlate to study time, and that lower study time also corresponds to lower household income.

[ Source: https://www.brookings.edu/articles/analyzing-the-homework-gap-among-high-school-students/ ]

Why, and how can we address this, are all very interesting and worthwhile questions to pursue; there are few studies of enquiry that would be more noble and worthwhile.

Here's the thing: Roland Fryer did uplift very low performing black students to above the level of white students. But it took hard work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8xWOlk3WIw

• "Aggressive Human Capital Management" - i.e. firing lots of teachers "You ask the teachers what you think you need to educate these kids. We got answers like, 'well, all we need is smarter kids.' I said, 'all you need is a new job.'" • Extra time "If you're behind, you either got to spend more time, or ask the white kids to please take Thursday and Friday off." • Small tutoring groups • Use data to drive instruction • High expectations and no excuses for failure

All of this is doable. It won't even cost all that much. But doing the hard work around student study time, performance expectations, staff management, etc, isn't as glamorous as online screaming to show off your progressive bona fides by calling everyone a racist. #MoreHomework isn't a hashtag that's going to go viral. And there's a certain class of person - usually white progressive elites - who wants to claim that the above common sense, pragmatic list is some kind of cloaked message of racism. "bLaMiNg pOc iNsTeAd oF DiSmAnTLInG SyStEmIc rAcIsM" or whatever. You know the song; it's the same one they always sing.

There are dozens of other problems in the way the US education system works which I've talked about before: teaching reading the wrong way; stupid woke classes in fake-math rather than real math; the lack of a fixed, defined curriculum; the pathological avoidance of teaching content. Many of these issues are magnified at the lower socio-economic classes. The failures in teaching reading, for example, can be offset among those in the middle-class if you're engaged in reading at home with involved parents and access to books. In poorer households with parents - or indeed, single-parents - who are time-poor and where books might not be as plentiful, the deficiencies of the education system aren't as likely to be mitigated at home.

So the problem often isn't an issue of race but of poverty. People pay attention to it as it affects race, but that misses the rest of the forest.

Remember the Harvard academic decile rankings table I posted earlier? It comes from an article by Ian Rowe titled "Is It Time to Replace Race with Class in Affirmative Action?" It makes, obviously, the case that assistance should be applied at the level of socioeconomics, not race. The idea that middle and upper-class black people - and yes, most black Americans are middle-class - need assistance, while poor whites, such as the Appalachian areas, do not and are "privileged," is pretty perverted. It assumes black people are incapable, while also redirecting help from people who would benefit from it, simply because they're white. It makes gross assumptions about everyone, while helping very few. If you help poor people, you'll help poor black people as well. Which is what the left used to be about. Remember those days?

I mean, have you ever actually looked at the Nation's Report Card? It's a portrait of a broken, inadequate education system.

[ Source: https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/dashboards/schools_dashboard.aspx ]

My point being that by the time you're talking about admission to university, it's already too late. This should have been addressed right from the beginning as children start school. Then you would have closer parity in terms of academic results, and closer parity in academic admissions.

One other thing that should be mentioned is something I recall John McWhorter discussing which is called "mismatch."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CU3hQfyEKQ

Studies on mismatch show that those lowered academic standards cause black people to attend schools where they're less likely to earn degrees than they otherwise would be.

That is, throwing a student of average academic capability into an elite institution is more likely to have them either fail out or drop out. It would be better to have them attend a university better fitting with their academic ability.

Especially as it relates to ambition. Why everybody needs to aspire to a pretentious, expensive - and let's not forget, woke, as clearly demonstrated - university as Harvard is beyond me.

“I wouldn't want to belong to a club that would have me as a member” -- Groucho Marx

Maybe that's just me, though.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0465029965/

Mismatch: How Affirmative Action Hurts Students It's Intended to Help, and Why Universities Won't Admit It Sander and Taylor have long admired affirmative action's original goals, but after many years of studying racial preferences, they have reached a controversial but undeniable conclusion: that preferences hurt underrepresented minorities far more than they help them. At the heart of affirmative action's failure is a simple phenomenon called mismatch. Using dramatic new data and numerous interviews with affected former students and university officials of color, the authors show how racial preferences often put students in competition with far better-prepared classmates, dooming many to fall so far behind that they can never catch up. Mismatch largely explains why, even though black applicants are more likely to enter college than whites with similar backgrounds, they are far less likely to finish; why there are so few black and Hispanic professionals with science and engineering degrees and doctorates; why black law graduates fail bar exams at four times the rate of whites; and why universities accept relatively affluent minorities over working class and poor people of all races.

And even for black students who legitimately make the admissions standards, their framed Harvard certification will have a cloud permanently cast over it. Did the black Harvard-attending economist you're interviewing for your company get there by merit or by lowered standards? Should you even bother with Harvard graduates any more?

Some of the other discourse is like "you're going to stop affirmative action..." - i.e. racial discrimination - "...but you're not going to stop legacy admissions!?" This is literally WhatAboutism. Both things can be wrong and unfair. "This thing being wrong justifies us doing this other wrong thing."

This case is about race-based selection, filed by Asian students who were being racially discriminated against. The case was not about legacies. You don't rule on a case that nobody has presented. And as far as I know, legacies are not explicitly in violation of the U.S. Constitution. If you think legacies should go away, then make the case. Find something in the Constitution, find a legal precedent, or make a challenge some other way.

But don't make excuses for perpetrating one wrong thing on the basis of another wrong thing.

Coleman's analysis is interesting and goes into depth, so is worth a read.

I won't reproduce the whole thing here, but the headings are worth a read at least:

“Affirmative Action” is a Euphemism for Racial Discrimination

“Affirmative Action” Affects the Elites, Not the Masses

The Benefits of “Affirmative Action” are Dubious

Mismatch is Real

“Affirmative Action” is Not the Product of The Civil Rights Movement

Quotas are a Red herring

We’re Confused About Diversity 

Affirmative Action as Reparations?

The Equilibrium Will Change

If Not Affirmative Action, then What?

Finally, what I will say is that it's simultaneously interesting, gratifying and alarming all at the same time to witness the open and proud denunciation of the "colorblind" ideal espoused by MLK Jr, by people purporting to be "progressive."

When you criticize "equity" as discrimination by authoritarians to artificially manufacture their pet outcomes, people sometimes act like you're just making it up. Then a reaction like this happens and people start saying the quiet bit out loud, proving you right. Not that you necessarily want to be.

[korgbelmont]

Male MC (Nick Taylor) x Stacy Green

A few weeks after the Blade of Morella was returned to it's home, a new portal has opened, and a visitor has arrived.

Written in the present tense

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations, @jerzwriter

Warnings: Mentions of death, swearing

Word Count: 1701

Notes: I don’t own these characters, they are the property of Pixelberry Studios.

Ash made on cooltext.com

It Lives In The Woods logo edited on Photoshop

Forcing himself out of bed after a night of what feels like a perfect nights sleep, Nick heads out to the kitchen where he grabs a coffee and a piece of toast. He finds Stacy at her desk writing an article, her eyes glued to the screen.

Nick - Working on anything fun?

Stacy - Just typing up my interview with Kamilah.

Standing behind her, he leans down and kisses the top of her head. She reaches up, running her hand through his hair.

Stacy - The black hair suits you, you know.

Nick - Still getting used to it. It's one thing to dye it. But given the circumstances, it feels weird at times.

Stacy - I know. It's why I left you to sleep this morning. First night in ages that you actually looked peaceful. Might be worth speaking to Dan, get it out of you.

Nick - I'll manage.

Stacy - Nick...

She tears herself from the screen and stands, holding him.

Stacy - Don't be one of those people. Please...

Nick's phone starts ringing and he grabs it from his pocket.

Nick - It's Ava.

He clicks answer, putting it on speaker.

Nick - Hey, Ava.

Ava - Hey, Nick. Got something... different for you.

Nick - Different?

Ava - Portal to another dimension with someone just come through. Asking for you by name.

Nick - What?

Ava - Tall. Purple hair.

Nick - What?

Ava - Says she's the from the Ash Empire.

Nick - What?!

Stacy - How about you stop saying what and we go look at this. Ava, where are you?

Ava - I'm in New Orleans. Been doing some work with Ivy.

Stacy - Okay, we can book a flight this afternoon and fly out either this evening or tomorrow.

A moment of silence passes before Ava speaks again.

Ava - She said she's willing to wait.

Stacy - We'll see you tomorrow.

The line goes dead and Nick pockets his phone, confused.

Stacy - You okay?

Nick - Confused. What the hell could this be about?

Stacy - I don't know. But don't think about it for now, okay.

Nick takes a deep breath, trying to process the information.

The next morning, the couple arrive at the Graveyard Shift bar and find Ivy and Ava sat in one of the booths with the purple haired woman Ava mentioned sat with them. She locks eyes with Nick and stands.

Valax - Nicholas Taylor?

Nick - Uh, just Nick is fine. And you are...?

Valax - My name is Valax of Morella.

Nick - Wait? Morella?!

Nick looks to Stacy, and she can see that there is fear in him. She keeps hold of his hand, stroking with her thumb.

Stacy - What do you want with Nick?

Valax - There's remnants of beings who sent the blade of light and shadow through. Their hopes are to use someone as a way to open up a portal and invade this realm.

Stacy - Like a signal.

Ivy - Sounds like it. And they have that signal now.

Ava and Ivy give Nick the same look as Valax.

Nick - Me...

Valax - Correct.

The strength in Nick's legs give out and holds himself up by placing his hand on the table nearest to him. Stacy balances him, turning to Valax.

Stacy - Is there a way to stop Nick being a signal?

Valax - There is. And I can do it.

Nick - How?

Valax - By taking out the residual shadow left within you from the sword.

Ava - Sounds easy enough.

Valax - It'll hurt. And there is a chance that the shadow could fight back and potentially take you over again.

Stacy - What?!

Valax - Or it could potentially kill you. Taking the shadow out of someone has never been attempted before.

Nick sits down, the weight of Valax's words sitting on his shoulders.

Ivy - Is there anything you need?

Valax - Somewhere quiet.

Ivy - I have somewhere. I'm guessing we should get this done sooner rather than later.

Valax - That would be preferable.

Nick - I'll meet you there.

Valax - There isn't time.

Nick - I just need a moment.

He takes his leave, heading out. Stacy and Ava follow after him. Outside they find him sat on a bench. They sit either side of him.

Stacy - I won't ask if you're okay.

Nick - Furthest thing from it right now.

Ava - This has to be done. From what Valax told us, if we don't, it could mean something worse.

Nick - Yeah, guess we can't have that.

Stacy - Ava, can you give us a moment?

Ava stands, heading in the direction of where she's been working with Ivy, leaving the couple alone. Stacy takes Nick's hand in both of hers, her breath shaking as much as his.

Nick - So this could be it for me. Completely.

Stacy - No. Don't think like that. We'll get this out of you, then have some fun here in New Orleans for a few days.

Nick can't help but smile at her hope, resting his head on her shoulder.

Nick - I love you, Stacy. So much.

Stacy - I love you too.

They remain like that for a little bit, Nick taking in the scent of her perfume for what could be the final time. After what feels like not long enough, they both stand, heading to join the other three.

Strapping Nick to a chair, Ivy and Ava check the tightness.

Ava - How's that feel?

Nick - Like it should hold.

Nick looks up at Valax.

Nick - So what exactly happens with this remaining shadow once it's out of me?

Valax - I can destroy it. And then I'll return home.

Nick - Simple enough.

Valax - If it doesn't ki--

Stacy - Please don't.

Taking a deep breath, Nick nods at Valax, steeling himself.

Nick - Let's do this.

Valax nods and reaches her hand out, shadow engulfing it. Nick feels something in his chest tighten, and it only gets worse.

Nick - Ah! Fuck! Ah!

Valax - Just hold on.

She closes her hand into a fist and it's then the pain hits Nick like a bus as his entire body tenses.

Valax - Come on... Let go of him...

Nick cries out in pain as Valax's straightened arm begins begins bending, pulling the shadow more and more from Nick. As the pain takes him over, he can feel more than just the shadow leaving him. Valax uses her other hand, letting shadow engulf it to pull the shadow once and for all from Nick. The shadow covering her hands turns to light and she surrounds the shadow pulled from Nick, and the light crushes it, soon leaving nothing.

Ivy - Is that it?

Valax - It's done.

Stacy - Nick!

Stacy rushes over to Nick, his head hanging with no sign of life. She places her hand against his heart.

Stacy - Hardly a beat.

Valax - Let me...

Valax creates light in her palm and presses her hand to his heart. Nick brings his head up, taking in a deep breath. Ivy and Ava quickly work to undo the straps and he nearly falls to the ground. Stacy catches him, holding him close to her.

Stacy - I got you.

Nick looks up at Valax.

Nick - Thank you. You weren't kidding about the pain though.

Valax - I did warn you.

The couple stands and Stacy keeps hold of Nick.

Ava - So is that it? No more chance of something coming and killing us all?

Valax - It is done. There's just one thing left I wish to do. Give me your hands, Nick.

Nick - What for?

Valax - You'll thank me for this.

She takes his hands in each of hers while Stacy keeps an arm around his waist. One hand lights up with light and the other shadow and Nick's veins on his wrists take the colour of both. Valax seems to pull a bit of each from him and crushes them together. She begins widening her hands from each other and as the gap becomes wider, the light and shadow intertwines, and begins taking form. The magic around her hands fade and she takes hold of a black and silver sword, handing it to Nick.

Nick - What's this?

Valax - Made from the a piece of the light and shadow already within you.

Nick - Should I be worried about how a small piece created this?

Valax - No. If it was more of one than the other, then yes. But I could feel within you how balanced it is. There may be more to you than you realise. But this will serve you for as long as you live.

Nick - Thank you.

Stacy - Thank you for saving him.

Valax - Of course. I've known love, and wouldn't wish it be taken from anyone. But now I must return to Morella and inform that the threat is over. Live well, Nick Taylor.

Nick - And you.

Valax opens a portal and steps through before it closes, leaving the four.

Nick - I think I want to sleep for a month.

Ivy - There's a room here you can both use.

Stacy - Thanks.

Long after Ivy and Ava have left, Nick and Stacy lay in bed with Stacy holding Nick.

Nick - I wonder if this means the black hair will start to go.

Stacy - If it does, I'll miss it.

Nick - I just hope it grows out back to it's natural brown.

They both laugh as they talk into the night, and soon enough sleep takes them.

MORELLA

Meeting with Tyril Starfury on a balcony, Valax gives him a nod.

Valax - They can't use him to open a portal anymore.

Tyril - Good. If we're to deal with growing remnants of the Shadow Court, we need to keep them in this realm.

Valax - Agreed. But if it should come to it, I believe Nicholas Taylor would make for a valuable ally...

[wri0thesley]

lI have a friend who has played Honkai since CN release and we agreed that Otto is both an asshole and a tragic figure.

I’m sure other anons have already told you about how awful and creepy that guy can sometimes be. Like the cloning, the experiments, the obsession with Karen… Still, one thing that struck me out is that, from another POV, this is just the makings of a tragic character - we hate him so much because he did OUR girls dirty and we love our girls. But to the core of it, Otto doesn’t do all of this because he enjoys torturing girls or experimenting or finding the limits of humanity. He does it to revive Karen.

(And in the end, it isn’t even revival he settles for, this man literally goes into an unexplained and impossible place where the tree responsible for creating alternative realities is, and forces it to grow branches where Karen survives. At the expense of his own existence, I think? It’s been a while. Thus Spoke Apocalypse was truly a masterpiece.)

I’m more of a fan to the “head canon” that Otto treated Karen more as a God and a figure of faith for all the good in the world than his lover. Thus Spoke Apocalypse sees him lamenting the fall of heroes (Karen) while the wicked and the evil (him and others) live on.

BUT ANYWAYS… BUT ANYWAYS… Continuing on. Otto doesn’t do it out of malice NOR the goodness in his heart, he’s just doing it for the sake of reviving Karen at any cost. I think he spared his eventual granddaughter on a whim and nostalgia, and then eventually grew feelings for her. While he wishes that Teri was out of harms way in his goal, he would not stop in his footsteps just for her, not when Karen is on the other scale. My friend and I agreed that he was a complicated figure that’s very very very easy to hate because 1) he’s the villain that kickstarts the tragedy of our tuna 2) he experiments 3) he treats almost everyone as dispensable pawns 4) he loves a woman who is gay for another woman and people want him to stop 5) it takes a while for his character to release all the juicy bits.

But despite all of that, the organization he created for the sole purpose of reviving Karen and which committed atrocities in the background, is ALSO responsible and vital for humanity’s continued victories against honkai. Their strongest Valkyrie, Durandal, is a good woman and she is aware of what the organization does, but in an earlier plot she confronts an escaping tuna and rebuts with how millions of humans are still alive BECAUSE of Otto’s organization. I don’t remember all the points, but technical consensus if we are speaking of lore alone, Otto has kept humanity afloat for the past few centuries because of his organization, his deeds, his obsession.

Perhaps he would have had a better story if only he didn’t fell in love with Karen (who’s so good it can either be endearing or disgustingly hypocritical) and instead fell in love with someone else who wasn’t as absolute good as Karen (the girl decides to walk to her death herself… in CN servers the opinions on her are split between liking her or hating her).

On the other hand, if he hadn’t been obsessed with the tragic end of Karen and did many atrocities in her name, humanity probably would have ended up dead or way more trashed than in canon. But probably it doesn’t matter who, as long as it’s someone Otto loves, if they died in any way at any point, he’s the kind of obsessed person who would do anything to revive them or give them another chance to survive - at any cost.

Hm. Technically he could be the Male MC of a romance manhua that ended with the heroine dead, and second season is him t trying to revive her and he’s the villain?

COUGH COUGH

A lot of people comparing Luocha and Otto a lot (obviously hahaha) but I kinda hope Hoyoverse doesn’t pop out with another Karen that Luocha obsesses over. For one, it’d be hard to replicate Thus Spoke Apocalypse when Otto had 500 years to germinate his foolish plan. For two, Hoyoverse just stop torturing my man and his alternative characters with these unrequited love plots and GIVE HIM TO ME!!!!!!!☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Anonymous asked: Void Archives is Void Archives, but he looks like Otto apparently because when the guy entered the Imaginary Tree in Thus Spoke Apocalypse and was erased out of existence, Void Archives decided to, on a whim probably, take on his looks when he interacted with OTHER characters.

I think Void Archives takes on Otto’s image when he speaks with Welt at some point in HI3. Plot is kinda difficult and unless you micromanage all the notes it can be difficult…

Anonymous asked: There's also a theorie that's the coffin Luocha carry has the dead body of Kallen (the lesbian dead crush)

Anonymous asked: Also the HONKAI game developers love putting Otto, welt and Kevin in idol dresses for some reason

me trying to keep track of all of these things you guys are telling me about the alternate version of a man ive seen in game for about ten minutes and desperately want to bone:

dfnjbkgfjnkb no but i do appreciate it!!! i do not think i will ever play honkai because it seems so complicated (and 'fantasy game' and 'space game on a train' are easy concept that i am SO into), but it is nice to know from the people who know Lore what is going on! i am sure playing other honkais would give me a good/better idea of whats going on but hopefully hoyo are also aware star rail will be lots of people's first honkai and not make it too reliant on knowing so much! <3

[seoafin]

Oh absolutely! And honestly, as much as it pains me, I think ily!mc would probably break up with megumi before he tries to break it off and he would take it SO HARD. So many things would pile up!

Things would get so busy and he’d be so tired that he’d be really short with her and keeps pushing her away until ily!mc has had enough.

I’m torn between him letting the break up happen and being like “I’m fine whatever, I won’t have to worry about their safety anymore” even though he’s so upset and thinks about it every day or immediately apologizing and feeling guilty for the next several days. and if they went the break up route ily!mc would be open to getting back together if he approached her, cause she misses him too!

and the only comfort gojo offers (if u can even call it that) is just saying something like “well the jujutsu world isnt for normal people” or “maybe u should get strong enough to where you don’t have to worry about that” and then Megumi would probably internalize it but he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her and he would just end up spiraling. rip!mc would probably encourage him to make up with her because she believes he deserves happiness like that. He wants to be selfish and have her by his side but also he doesn’t want her too close for her own safety.

To add something a little light hearted, I think he would use his demon dogs as look outs sometimes whenever they’re out together. One time they came over and ily!mc was petting them all over while megumi was trying to act like he didn’t know where these dogs even came from.

if you're getting relationship advice out of all things from gojo you know you've fucked up 💀

irly!mc is emotionally mature enough to tell megumi that a relationship is the last thing he needs rn bc she knows megumi is hiding something from her and that it's stressing him out, and that they should break up stay friends. the thing is megumi has abandonment issues so i think irly!mc would have to be the one to gently broach the topic of a breakup bc the thought of breaking up wouldn't even occur to him until someone says something. he's just so desperate to make it work. bc he loves her. i did write her as being able to see curses so maybe she does know about megumi being a jujutsu sorcerer but he does his best to keep irly!mc separated from all that. which is getting increasingly hard considering being a jujutsu sorcerer is a large part of his life and to an extent his identity. a whole side of him he refuses to show her.

but also irly!mc wouldn't be above being just a little petty and trying to rile him up by getting him jealous. she'd be like 'no need to walk me home. a friend of mine is picking me up!' casual male name drop. or 'oh yeah he asked me out. do you think i should give him a chance?' feigning ignorance. all while megumi is secretly seething bc he knows she's popular and well liked LMAO

gojo going "if it's any consolation—" then proceeding to say the worst things Ever is so Him 😭 he's so horrible. he deserves every single relationship woe he gets from rip!mc. rip!mc would be soooo concerned though. all she wants is for megumi to be happy. he's just an extreme overthinker though help

[friedbaekhyunandeggso]

Reason ~ ch. 24

pairing: female oc (devon alba) x levi ackerman

tropes: instructor x cadet, strangers to lovers, male mc falls first

warnings: angst/slow-burn, strong language, upcoming smut(18+ readers only for those chapters pls 🙈), incoming feels :(

brief summary: This story takes place a few years after the Fall of Shiganshina. Devon Alba is in her final year of the 101st Training Corps (844-847), due to her success as a cadet she gets the chance to meet Captain Levi. She doesn’t think too much of him until he catches her in the midst of doing something that she isn’t entirely supposed to be doing. But surprisingly, this leads to something unexpected...

ch. 1 [...] ch. 23 | chapter 24 | ch. 25

“Devon! Get over here—now.”

Devon froze—suddenly alert.

Did I mess something up?

The bookstore had been a hassle to deal with today-due to the sale going on-but luckily she had been assigned to restocking the shelves. Although it wasn’t completely unlike Larsa-her manager-to yell, it would have to be the first time in a while that she yelled at her.

Devon quickly climbed down the mini ladder and made her way to the register where Larsa was.

“Yes?”

Larsa stood with her arms folded, giving her a stern look up and down before saying, “I’m taking you off the schedule for the rest of the day.”

“Huh?”

Larsa turned her around while shoo-ing her, “I don’t need an extra pair of hands around the store today.”

“What—but my cart-“

“It's fine, just leave everything as is and get your butt outta here.”

Devon blinked-completely confused, “Are you.. sure?”

“Yes, yes. Now go.” Larsa insisted before continuing to assort a box of books before her.

Devon took a slow step back. She frowned as she headed back to the staff room to grab her bag.

That was odd.

Larsa didn’t normally let people off early—especially for no real reason like that.

Didn’t need any more extra hands around the store?

Larsa always liked to be over-staffed rather than understaffed.

She grabbed her bag from the backroom before slowly heading to the front of the store—still completely lost in thought–until she overheard Larsa's voice.

“It was so cute, he came in here all formal and nervous. He was asking what time she got off work and I told him, but after he told me why he was askin’ I couldn’t help but let her go ea—“

“Bye, Devon!” Iris’s voice suddenly piped up.

Devon blinked-startled-she hadn’t realized that she’d entered their line of sight. 

Iris waved exuberantly while Larsa-who stood alongside her-still appeared somewhat austere.

What were they talking about?

Devon waved, “Bye.”

She pushed open the door of the bookstore only to stop short when she saw Levi standing outside.

His black hair was ruffled slightly-from the passing breeze-as he stuck his hands further into his pockets. He was wearing a black dress-shirt with matching pants. The only color he wore was a dark gray suit vest.

She noticed his cravat was missing, instead he’d left the top button of his collar open. She’d found his cravat on the table this morning, he must’ve forgotten to grab it last night.

“Levi? What are you doing here?”

He took a step closer to her. The darkness of his outfit brought out the paleness of his features. His sharp gray eyes stood out against his eye bags.

“It was too late to celebrate your birthday last night so I thought.. we could do something today.”

Her eyes widened as he looked away. He looked almost.. shy.

“You want to… celebrate my birthday?” The words almost felt too surreal to say.

It was truly the last thing she would’ve expected Levi to want to do. Afterall, he’d already gotten her a cake so she thought that was more than enough. She hadn’t even expected him to buy her a cake–or anything, in fact.

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke, “If you want to..”

Her eyes lit up, “Yes-yes, I’d-um-I’d love to.”

He dropped his hand from his neck, a flash of relief passed over his face before he met her gaze.

“There’s a festival going on for Paradis’s anniversary or some shit. You want to go?”

She remembered seeing signs up about such a festival occuring—she hadn’t realized it was today. Apparently this town had that festival every year. The townsfolk looked forward to it.

“Yes.” she nodded.

He outstretched his elbow for her to slip her arm through.

She hesitated-only for a millisecond-before slipping her arm through. She tried to act unphased by the sensation that went through her once they made contact but she knew she was red. Even if walking arm and arm together was a small gesture, she couldn’t help but find it… romantic.

She quickly dismissed the thought.

“Let’s go.” he murmured.

The two of them walked side by side, heading towards the direction of the festival—completely unaware of Larsa, Iris and Piper pasted to the window to watch their encounter.

“Aren’t they just the darn cutest?” Larsa gushed.

“Ah! They really are,” Iris complimented before pouting, “When will my husband take me to the festival?”

“At least he’s doing something for her birthday even if he’s late.” Piper muttered before shaking her head, “Can’t imagine what it’s like to be with a military man.”

The festival was-in one word-incredible. Devon didn’t think she’d ever seen this many lights at once—or this many people.

She subconsciously squeezed Levi’s elbow and he drew her closer.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She glanced at him before looking past him at the array of food stands.

She nodded, “I want to try that.”

He followed the direction of her eyes and spotted a vendor handing a customer a grilled vegetable and chicken skewer. They were bound to be expensive due to having meat but he didn’t care. He wanted to try it too.

He went over and asked the vendor for two skewers.

Devon’s eyes widened at the total but didn’t comment on it because Levi seemed unbothered—as always.

Sometimes she questioned if he was really from the Underground. He didn’t seem to care about spending money at all. She didn’t understand the point of buying an apartment just to rarely use it—he slept at scout headquarters anyway. He also didn’t seem the least bit concerned about purchasing a cake for her.

And she knew cakes were expensive. They were considered a luxury to her.

In the barracks, on her birthday Imada, Monty and Keith would give her their baguettes from their meals as a part of their gift since they knew she liked food. She appreciated it more than they knew. So-to her-having cake felt rather grand.

“Here.” Levi handed her a skewer.

She took it and bit into it at the same time he bit into his.

Her eyes widened. It was so good she couldn’t even exclaim it. She scarfed it down within seconds. She didn’t realize meat could taste so good.

She looked up and blushed when she saw that Levi was only halfway through his.

The corner of his lip curled upwards imperceptibly when he saw her empty skewer.

He glanced over at the vendor, “Can I please get one more?”

“What-“ she cut herself off before looking down.

“You didn’t have to.” she mumbled.

He slipped the empty skewer from her fingers and tossed it alongside his into the nearest trash can.

“I know.” But I like watching you eat, is what he didn’t say.

The vendor handed her a skewer and she took it. She devoured it almost instantly.

He fought to contain his smile, “You want more?”

“No. I’m good, thanks.”

He turned towards the vendor, “I’ll get you another-”

“No!” she clutched his arm, “I’m full! Seriously-“

The glimmer of amusement in his gaze made her stop speaking mid-sentence.

Her brows furrowed, “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“How much do you think I can eat?” she rebutted.

“Oh, I know you can eat.”

She rolled her eyes.

As they made their way through the crowd, she quickly became the one leading them through. She was eager to see each and every stand.

She tugged at his arm, “Let’s go to that one.”

She gestured with her spare arm towards a hair accessory vendor. He glanced over before heading in its direction.

She released his arm and excitedly looked at each clip and headband. She didn’t notice the way he stood over her and watched.

She didn’t know he’d buy her anything she pointed at.

She picked up a studded silver hair side comb and slipped it into her hair.

She glanced towards him—suddenly feeling a bit nervous as she asked, “How does it look?”

He was quiet for a moment, his steel gray eyes examining her before he reached up and slipped the hair tie out of her hair–letting her low ponytail fall loose. Her wavy hair now rested midway down her back as he he pocketed her hair tie.

“Better.”

She gasped slightly before smoothing her hair down with her hand, “I thought.. you didn’t like my hair down.”

“I lied.”

She awoke the next morning with a smile on her face. She blinked slowly, wondering if last night had been a dream.

She glanced over to check if her teddy bears were still there. To her relief, they were. Levi had sharp-shooted them for her yesterday.

She hadn’t even said she wanted it. She simply pointed at one when they’d passed a vendor and stated that it was cute. Then the next thing she knew, they were in the line to attempt to win it. In order to get a teddy bear you had to hit five moving targets with a dart gun.

He hit all ten.

As a result, she now had two teddy bears to keep her company.

She shook her head before sitting up.

He’s ridiculous.

She stood up and made her way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She was parched.

Just as she retrieved a glass from the cabinet she caught sight of a note on the counter.

She immediately set down the glass and grabbed the note.

‘Gone for a while - expedition’

She stared at the note for a while before setting it down with a sigh.

It was a few hours past midnight when he’d entered the apartment.

Just as he expected, the apartment was dark. Not even a flickering light under her door.

He was supposed to leave for the expedition this evening but Erwin had postponed it until dawn of today—so he only had a few hours left.

And he wanted to see her.

He glanced at the kitchen table to see that his note was gone.

His head whipped around when he heard a slight shifting sound.

There she was—laying completely still on the couch, deep asleep. The shifting sound had come from the book laying open on her stomach, it was slipping down her side and was now hanging halfway off the couch. It seemed she had fallen asleep in the middle of reading.

He quietly approached her sleeping frame.

Her lengthy, dark hair was splayed over the couch’s ledge and her face was completely expressionless as she slept soundlessly. She was so pretty it hurt to look at sometimes.

He gently took the book from her hand and set it down on the coffee table.

He stared at her a moment longer before bending over her and slipping his arms underneath her. He lifted her limp frame easily as he headed towards her bedroom. Her sweet, strawberry scent filled his senses.

He lightly kicked at her room door with the tip of his foot and luckily it gave. He walked into her room and set her down on the bed as carefully as he could.

His heart tugged slightly at the sight of her sleeping so peacefully. She made sleep look so warm and inviting. He almost craved it, sleeping like that—without a damn care in the world.

He sighed before bending over to grab her blanket. He froze when he saw the two teddy bears he’d given her sitting neatly against the wall, at the edge of the bed. It was almost as if she was showcasing them.

He forced himself to not think too much of it as he draped the blanket over her. He couldn’t help but remember a time where he’d caught her doing the same once—when she’d been in the middle of giving him a blanket and he’d caught her wrist.

He almost wished she’d wake up but the other part of him-the better part-told him this was good. It was better like this.

So she didn’t have to see how torn he was.

It was ironic really—having her so close and yet so far. Just like how she’d been with her dream of being a Scout.

He’d stolen that from her.

He was the biggest hypocrite and he knew it. He’d taken away her dream job and still continued to do the same exact, ‘dream’ job he’d stopped her from.

He couldn’t quit now even if he wanted to. The Scout regiment gave him a value that he didn't think he could have. Even if he didn't care about the accolades the job provided him with, it gave him purpose. A purpose that somehow only he could fulfill. He knew Erwin saw it too-which was why Erwin needed him, even if the shithead never said it directly.

And he was more than positive Erwin would’ve valued her.

She would’ve been another asset to the Scout regiment, like himself. The scout regiment needed assets. They needed strong, diligent, steadfast cadets and she was an exemplary student.

But he was selfish.

And it was because of his selfishness, that he prevented himself from having her. He simply didn’t deserve her.

If he pursued her then he’d be putting her through something he didn’t deserve to have—something she didn’t deserve either.

He could almost picture the fear that would encompass her mind and body every time he’d go on an expedition. He knew he’d pictured it—he’d pictured it the second he saw her bruised and battered body on the infirmary bed. If he hadn’t already known she was alive and attacked by a cadet, she could’ve easily looked like one of the countless dead, titan trampled, scout bodies he’d seen.

It was then he realized that that was a possibility for her. That if she became a scout and went on expeditions with him—if he took his eyes off of her-even for a second-anything could happen to her.

Even if she was almost as skilled as him, anything could still happen.

Even if she survived, she wouldn’t live unscathed in the least. She would suffer and suffer and suffer…

He would know.

So he’d made a decision, a decision that altered her life. A decision that he sometimes wished someone had made for him.

Sometimes he wondered if he’d stunted some groundbreaking growth for the regiment by preventing her from joining. Or if he was decreasing “humanity’s” odds by keeping her here.

Despite both possibilities, he didn’t regret it. This was the choice he’d made—the decision he felt he’d regret the least.

And he refused to make any other choices regarding her. He’d already acted selfishly enough, so he wouldn’t drag her down any further.

He was counting on her to leave him—to make enough money and get on her own feet. Her life was hers now, the possibilities were endless.

He’d give her the apartment if she needed it. They both knew it was more useful to her than him anyway.

He just needed her to not depend on him—which she was doing quite well already. 

He was the one struggling. He was the one depending on her without even realizing it.

He tried so hard to keep people out and yet she’d managed to weasel her way in. He couldn’t find it in himself to not care about her anymore.

The best he could do was hope that his feelings would pass—that someday he’d stop craving her. It felt impossible really, the intensity of his need for her was incomparable to all else. But he knew it would be easier on him whenever she decides to leave him, like everyone else.

When that day comes, he won’t stand in her way. He’ll try to find peace in the fact that she found something to willingly seek after-or another place to call home. He’d put aside his selfish need of wanting to be around her all the time—to hear her laugh, her smile, her touch. He’d shove it all aside for her sake.

As long as she was safe and happy, deep within the walls—it would make his life easier.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

His knuckles skimmed over her temple, down her cheekbone-with the utmost delicacy.

He didn’t want to go.

He shouldn’t have spent so much time with her yesterday. It was an addiction he couldn’t afford.

He needed to restrain himself more whenever he got back.

His hand fell as he sighed. The mere idea of that sent a wave of exhaustion through him.

He let himself linger a bit longer, subconsciously memorizing every detail of her before he was deprived. This expedition was going to be a long one so he knew he would be.

Bye, Devon.

His hand clenched into a fist at his side, resisting the urge to touch her once more, as he turned on his heel and headed out the door.

[regulusblackmylove]

bl YOU should read bc my picky asf ass loved them !

(1st Edit) Assuming that you have nothing to read and is in dire need of a bl manhwa, and since I don’t gatekeep to ppl idk online, here’s my recommendation on either very cute or very sexy or just my very picky ass enjoying it a lot more than I should type of BL. Almost all of them are 18+, and if not the title will italic + bold. The only bold ones are 18+, and the choice to go on and read or not is depend on u. If they have trigger warnings, I’ll put it under the summary. READ it before u go into the manga, don’t complain later.

(2nd Edit) Ok, so ig I accidentally publish it lol but anyway it is now an updating list & pls remember I am extremely picky so it will take a while to update the list but do not fear, my loves as recommendations will flood to you with my sincerity.

1. Don’t Get Me Wrong, Boss!

Lim Iro is a BL writer, and a pretty successful one at that! His last project was lavished with praise by everyone… Well, almost everyone. Under pressure from his unimpressed parents, Iro is forced into applying for a “real” job. But instead of a cover letter, he accidentally submits an unreleased extract from his book instead! Disaster! Or maybe not…? Faced with Iro’s unconventional application, Baek Ho-ryung, the dashing CEO of Beus drinks company, is intrigued. But once Iro joins Beus, will his office life begin to emulate his steamy writing…?

Review, it’s very cute and the boss is just funny as hell. Tho, I don’t know if he is red flag or a green one. I would say greenish red flag and the shou/mc is just fucking green flag. He’s so cute, I physically cannot.

2. Nirameba Koi

Apart from the fact he’s in the student council and has quite strange tastes, Shima is an average, low-profile, quiet high schooler. Therefore, he doesn't understand why Ryuunosuke, a sports student, always glares at him every time they cross paths. Shima doesn't want to draw the punk’s attention, but the instinctive hostility of Ryuunosuke towards him troubles him, and he wants to know why the other boy hates him…

Review, sunshine x grumpy troupe but expect this time the sunshine is the gong & grumpy is the shou. It’s so cute, & the story just solid 10/10 for me. I love this so much, and the gong is on another level of being a simp when someone glares tf at u but I unfortunately understand him. Ryuu-san is just the cutes AA.

3. Unmeiteki Lovemeter

Kai Shizuki is an ex-idol who is considered a prince at school, but he has a secret. He can see balloons above people's heads that give away their true emotions towards him. One day, while being chased by fans, Shizuki is unexpectedly saved by Shinozuka, the supposed bad boy. Even more surprising, Shinozuka's balloons are bigger and glossier than any Shizuki has ever seen before.

Review, IT. IS. SO. CUTE. If you need something to boost yourself after so much stress day, I would say, this is DEFINITELY the go to manga for that. Not much drama (imo) & not much angst, it’s just plain fluff. I am so in love with this CP. The gong is just so…. simp. He’s me fr.

4. Tonari No Usutsuki

While aware he’s attracted to the same sex, Takase has been living and lying because of his pride. One day, he gets to know Ito, who is always waiting for his male lover at a cafe. Takase, who was interested in how Ito always gave his true feelings to his lover, is strongly shaken by the unrelenting Ito whose tears are pure with the betrayal. However, even though he wishes to be more than friends, he can not say that he’s gay.

Review, I just love the green light gong and the second chance that shou get in love because so true baby bag that green flag who’ll slave for u.

5. Hoppe Ni Himawari

A story about a cute chubby guy in the gardening club who admires his classmate, the baseball team captain.

Review, this cures my depression, my gastric problems and my life problems. Thank you.