#and can still make a conversation go the way she wants and say the things she wants to say

[do-you-have-a-flag]

text of the above screenshots:

Some further clarification about things people were asking in the comments.

Tina spoke fluent English without an accent. She's either native or has been speaking it since very young.

We'd also spoken early that morning when she arrived, over the phone (woke me up where I was sleeping upstairs, but whatever, I'd rather too much communication than too little), because she wanted to clarify about the squash. She specifically acknowledged the concept of squash, and asked if it was near the kale she was seeing. I said that sounded right, and that it should be labeled. She said okay. I reminded her that if she couldn't find it, to ask my roommate for help.

The rats were on the top shelf of our freezer-top fridge so that you'd have to be leaning down to even see it, and no kale would be in its vicinity. Three people live in this house, so it's always full. Lots of options if you're gonna go rogue.

She didn't know I had snakes, unless she'd seen them in their bins in the living room, which is possible (it looks like a filling cabinet with clear plastic drawers and sometimes they come to the front). They're very quiet pets and don't even count with my landlord, so sometimes I forget to mention them when people ask about pets, as they usually are asking due to allergy concerns. So when the agency asked, I was focused on our cats. They know now, of course. But Tina had no reason to think she should be preparing a pet's meal. That was never established as something among her duties when I met with her and an agency nurse the day before to go over everything.

Also, snakes can't eat cooked meat, even if it's safely prepared. It will make them sick. So they could not still be used.

The discovery: storytime

If you want to see video evidence: investigation

UPDATE (added here since the sub automod was being weird):

Apologies for the late update. As I’m sure you can imagine, the last week was exhausting.

This is just to give what closure I can and go over how my last conversation with Tina went, the day after the incident.

When I was on my way to the cafe to escape the house last Tuesday, she actually texted me with an apology, saying “I’m so sorry, I feel so stupid and bad, this never happened before,” and offering to pay me back for the rats and the dish as I had mentioned the rats were expensive. Which is honestly more than I was expecting, but, “never happened before?” Well I sure fucking hope so! Though that begs the question, why now? Why me? I don’t know if there’s a good answer.

We agreed that she could come by the next day in the evening with the money ($15 for the rats, $30 for the dish). She declined doing Venmo or something similar. Possibly didn’t know how to use things like that, since I estimate by her comment of her grandson being my age, she had to be at minimum in her late 60s, probably older. I admit I was hesitant to have her return to the scene of the crime when it was still so unclear what her motivations had truly been, but I wouldn’t be home alone, and she had seemed sincerely contrite, if a bit defensive over the degree of my outrage.

Before the appointed time, she called me to tell me she was on her way, and then made, of all things, a request of me. She would be bringing by her time sheet, and could I sign for the two days she’d been there? I was baffled. The audacity of asking me a favor when our meeting was about her making amends, claiming that her time with me should count as doing her job, AND implying that her paying me back was to get something from me. Maybe that was why she wanted to do cash?

But at this point, I just wanted the whole thing over and done with, and it’s not like I was the one who’d be paying her, just my insurance. It was also confusing because…did that mean that she was still employed?? Surely if she’d been fired, she’d be less willing to play nice with me, would probably be blaming me more for how it affected her. At the very least, she seemed like the kind of person who would bring it up to make me feel a little bad. But maybe she wouldn’t, I don’t know. It was also strange because out of the three (now four) HHAs I’ve had at two different companies, none have ever asked me to sign a timesheet for them. Maybe some of y’all more familiar with the inner workings of these companies can shed some light here.

I was nervous when she showed up. There's something about seeing someone do something so truly unhinged that shatters the basic trust that this fellow human won’t do something else crazy, maybe something more harmful than running one out of the house. So I checked her hands through the window before I opened the door. She had two plastic bags half-full and bundled up to hide their contents under each arm. Strange choice for a weapon, so I chose faith.

There was no more apology upon greeting, she mostly just seemed in a hurry, civil but brusque, like she wanted this behind her as much as I did. While she was rummaging, I asked how she’d disposed of the dish (the follow-up to I made a video about linked in the original post if you want to see, you sickos). And as expected, the first thing she brought out was her timesheet. Sure enough, there was a place for patient signature, and as I took it and the proffered pen and set it against the doorframe to sign, I said, “We said $45, right?” just to confirm.

The look she gave me as she reached into her jacket was SO offended, and her civility evaporated. Like I was questioning her word, and how dare I. “I’m gonna pay you, I said I would.” Calm down, paranoid, was the tone.

It took all my self-control not to respond with, “You also said you’d cook the squash.” Like, yeah, lady, wonder why I would want to triple check anything we agreed to at this point. My bad.

But she did in fact hand me the wad of bills (after I’d handed back the timesheet and she’d checked it), and then she left in a bit of a huff. I just told her to take care of herself to her back.

At this point, after interacting with her again, I am of the opinion that this was simply from some form of psychosis, either a mental health thing or senility, I don’t know. Even talking to her, things were just a little off. Hard to describe, but it was like part of her attention was always somewhere else. I do not believe this was malicious or “weaponized incompetence” as many were saying in the Tik Tok comments. She had nothing to gain from this, and clearly she wants to keep her job. At this point, after the shock and horror has worn off, I just feel kind of bad for her. She clearly shouldn’t be in this profession (which, btw, she said she’s been in for thirty years??), so I more blame these companies for not being more thorough in their hiring and training process. Psych evals should be par for the course, surely.

And I know I probably shouldn’t have, it’s none of my business, but it was eating at my conscience to not express my concern. Because I don’t know what’s going on in her life. When it comes to things like reality breaks and changes in behavior, it can be really hard to see for ourselves, and maybe the people in her life aren’t saying anything, and so she’s not seeking the help she needs. So I texted her a little while after she left.

I thanked her for taking responsibility, acknowledged I was butting in, and then brought up how she said this had never happened before and how she’d seemed confused about how it happened. And that if this was a new kind of thing or there’d been other weird things happening, it might be a good idea to talk to a doctor, just in case something else is going on that needs to be addressed, as gently and non-judgmentally as I could think to say. And I ended it with “But if I’m way off base and out of line, and you’re just used to people eating like that, I apologize and wish you the best.” After a day of silence, she sent two texts, copied here:

“K thank you people make mistakes”

“God bless have a good day”

That was and I’m sure will remain the last I heard from her. I’m sorry I can’t recount some detailed confession about how it had all been a nefarious plot by some vengeful ex who’d had their aunt impersonate an aide to poison me. That would have made for a much more satisfying story.

As for my current aide situation, I’m still working with the replacement they sent to me, but have already requested a new one. She’s sane and competent, but alas, it would seem she much exaggerated her English fluency to my coordinator (who sounded resigned to such a deceit). In any other service context, I wouldn’t care, we have translator apps, but I think we’ve seen how critical clear and easy communication can be when one person is relying on another to meet their needs while sick. Others have told me how long it can take to find a good fit, so I guess I’ll just have to keep spinning the revolving door until I do.

Also, I have put in a request for the agency to reimburse me the takeout I had to get myself that day. And the oven has been cleaned and sanitized to within an inch of its life and seems okay now? I dunno, asking for a replacement or suing anyone seems like a lot of hassle (especially when I already have a medical malpractice case in the works).

Thank you to everyone for taking an interest in my harrowing experience and for your support. It legitimately turned this into something more light hearted that I can laugh at now, where it would have remained traumatic otherwise.

May your squash always be squash.

§ § ----==---- [🐀🐀🐀]

Text recounting of the full events below but oh my god please watch this person explain the wildest thing happening to them

[image text]r/trueoffmychest post by CptnSpaceCase

Today my aide cooked what should not be cooked

I have to get this out, because today feels like an actual nightmare I keep expecting to wake up from.

I'm disabled, and need help with stuff around the house. Today was the second day with a new agency and new home health aide, "Tina." I set it up so she would come by in the morning while I'm sleeping (insomnia is killer), and I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it. I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

Now, I have three pet ball pythons. They eat rats that I thaw from frozen in the fridge in a reusable plastic bag. Yes, that's where I'm going with this.

Tina couldn't find the squash, and so, obviously, that meant she should roast the first other thing she could see that was technically also encased in plastic, in a completely different area of the fridge. The FUCKING RATS. In butter and salt, in my nice baking dish.

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

And the smell. Good God baby Jesus the SMELL. It woke me up and had me gagging the moment I opened my bedroom door. Definitely not squash. Or food-smelling for that matter. At first I thought the squash had spontaneously rotted overnight and she'd tried to cook it anyway. That would have been slightly less insane and much preferable.

I had to pull it out of her what she was cooking instead when she said she couldn't find it (it was in plain sight), had to open the oven and see my snakes' dinners in place of my own and still couldn't process what the fuck was happening, what I was looking at and smelling. I don't like yelling at people and generally avoid it. Today was a day for exceptions. And at the end of my half-crazed, dissociative rant, I told her to get the whole dish and its contents and herself out of the fucking house. And to not come back.

Suffice to say, I've contacted the agency to report it and am requesting a new aide. Now I'm sitting at a cafe trying to calm down and eat something despite the scent memory that's taken up permanent residence and turning my stomach. The whole house reeks like musty, sewage-dipped pork that had been left out for a whole day before being cooked in rancid oil, and I'm not sure Febreeze is gonna cut it. I don't want to go home. 🫠😭

[poguehearted77]

Lights, Camera, Action!

Summary-> It's your first day on set and your nerves are through the roof but the cast makes you feel at home. You practice your lines, but the sparks between you and Drew are unscripted.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

You're jet-lagged, but your body has no idea. Too distracted from the abundance of nerves pumping through your veins as you walked around the enormous film lot toward the set.

You stand on the edge of the bustling Moroccan set, heart pounding as you clutch your sides. The scarf draped over your head feels both like a costume and a shield, helping you blend into the character you’re about to bring to life. Even with the months of preparation and the script readings under your belt, this moment feels surreal.

Everyone hustled across the set with purpose, knowing exactly what their job was and how to do it. You had only a fraction of that confidence as you were approached by a familiar face, one of the directors, Josh Pate.

"I can sense your anxiety from a mile away." He teases and it pulls a smile and a small breath of relief that he was friendly. With a comforting hand on your shoulders, "Take a deep breath, go grab a muffin from craft, have some water and I'll see you back here for your scene in 20, alright? I don't need any more faintings on the clock."

Once the words process, he's already gone. Fainting?? More??? With dazed eyes, your eyes scan the environment, dozens of people dressed just like you. Some sitting on the sidelines while others got into place on set. You'd even spotted Madelyn off to the side, a make-up artist lightly padding her face to protect it from the lighting as she prepared for her scene.

You took Josh's suggestion seriously, and promptly, or at least you tried to. You had no idea where to find crafts services or even if you'd be able to find your way back. "Craft Services is the first door on your left." Your head whips around with a face of slight terror in your eyes at the mind-reader from behind you. It's JD.

"How did you know?" It's the first thing you say, slight amusement and a hint of awe evident in your voice. He shrugs, "You were either looking for craft or the bathroom. It was a 50/50 shot, to be honest." He laughs and it calms your nerves a little. After a little while and a good conversation with JD, you glanced at the clock on the wall.

It became apparent you didn't have much time left. Quickly you end the conversation and head inside the room he'd directed you to. The studio was warm, credit to the Morrocan heat that surrounded you on the outside.

"Cups, cups, cups.." You mutter to no one in particular as you desperately scan for the item you need. "Here you go," A big hand is outstretched in front of you with a new cup dwarfed in its palm.

Your eyes followed up the length of the arm until they met those famous ocean-blue eyes that owned your TikTok feed for months last fall. Drew. He has the infamous buzz and soft smile as he looks down at you.

"Thank you," It's a simple response but it's the best you can do in a situation like this. Turning away from him, you fill your cup and finish its contents in nearly one sip before tossing it and rushing back to set not wanting to be late.

You rush back to set, still feeling the phantom warmth of Drew’s presence. For a moment, you wonder if this strange mix of tension and excitement is something all new actors feel or if it’s just you. The scarf draped over your head has now become a makeshift security blanket, as much for your nerves as for your character.

Josh greets you with a reassuring thumbs-up as you step into position, the antique shop set sprawling around you with meticulous detail. Dusty shelves lined with ornate trinkets, cracked pottery, and rusted brass figurines fill the space, dimly lit to convey the musty atmosphere of a forgotten bazaar. The air smells faintly of incense, which only adds to the immersion.

As the Pogues enter the set, Madelyn offers you a friendly wink, her playful energy making the tension in your shoulders ease. You remember bumping into her at one of your meetings with the writers. She's as pure as her character and it was relieving to see a friendly face on set.

Chase gives you a nod of encouragement, while Jonathan seems almost shocked to see you, probably since you'd never mentioned who you would be playing. He sends you a motion of acknowledgement anyway and you smile back.

The cameras start rolling, and suddenly, you are no longer you. As though it were a chemical reaction to the words 'Action', your brain switches to the character you've studied for months in anticipation. No longer Y/n, now Piper.

You busy yourself behind the counter. Attending to the tasks that depend on you as the owner of your antique shop. Your focus is set on the vase in your hands as you sweep over its rim with a cloth.

The bell of the shop chimes as six foreigners enter the shop, standing in a crowd with some of the most grim expressions you'd ever seen. "Vases on the left, woodwork on the right. Let me know if you have any questions." The phrase sounds ingenuine as it has only been repeated every day for the last three years.

"We're not here for some fucking pottery-" Rafe claps his hands down on the counter, you don't react. Sarah corrects him, "Rafe." You look back to the bunch, now standing at your full height,

They were filthy, covered in sand, dirt, and essentially any other grime that could find them. "We need supplies." Sarah says and you shrug, "What did you have in mind? Glasses? Lamps? Clocks?" The group lets out a frustrated set of sounds.

Pope clears his throat, "We need weapons, and we were told to come find you... the pied piper." You tug down the fabric that'd been covering your face to the bridge of your nose. Unveiling the full length of the scar that begins in the center of your forehead, runs down over your left eye and reaches your cheek.

John B whispers, "Just like he said," You make him speak up, "Just like who said. Who sent you?" He steps closer, "Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta. He said you would be able to help us." Your expression elicits a sign of understanding but quickly returns to disinterest.

"I don't help foreigners." The explosive one outbursts again, "You sound just like we do, clearly you're not from here either, so stop shitting us and give us the guns." Those cobalt orbs penetrate the window of your soul but only bring out the sinister grin on Piper's face. "Fine," Swiftly reaching behind your back, revealing the weapon they so desperately wanted, you hold them at gunpoint.

"-And Cut!" You place the gun down on the counter and Drew approaches the counter once again. "That was really good, I even got caught up in it." He places a hand on his chest to add sincerity.

"Thank you so much. I was really nervous for today, I had no idea what to expect." Someway somehow your conversation moves off to the side of the set, seated on those acting chairs.

You laugh as he brings up your fleeting encounter earlier, "I had no idea you were playing Piper. One second I handed you a cup and I turned around and you're gone." Your stomach hurts from laughing. You take a deep breath of air to stop yourself from dying. "Stop stop stop," You beg, neither of you sure what you were laughing about anymore.

There wasn't much time until you would resume the scene but in the short time, Jonathan and Carlacia invited themselves over, giving a proper introduction, sparking a lively group conversation. Being 26 put you somewhere in the middle of the cast's ages, but no one got treated any differently because of it.

This current moment was proof. You and Carlacia posed for a selfie she insisted on taking, honouring the 'newest member' into their family. Both leaning in over the image on her screen you share a hearty laugh. JD is captured in the background in the middle of a gnarly yawn.

"Give me the phone, Lacy. That picture is a federal offence." He threatens, not an ounce of seriousness to be sensed in his voice. "I demand justice." You're almost certain you'd have a fully developed six-pack by the end of filming just from all the laughing.

Before you knew it the break was over and you were back where you'd left off. Went through the scene once more, adjusting anything that needed to be altered and carrying on. "I'm only going to ask you once, what do you want?" You've got a tight grip on the weapon and a crazy look in your eyes.

For the first time, Kiara breaks her silence. "Chandler Groff killed our friend! We can't let him get away with it." Her pleas pique your interest, and it's evident in your expression. "Chandler Groff, The conman?" They nod slowly and you begin to fume.

"Come." You wave them over, whipping open the curtains and entering the back of your shop. Four walls filled with various weapons from swords to machine guns. "Feeling like a kid in a candy store." Cleo beams, looking at the options, nothing but revenge in mind.

"Is that a canon?.." Pope trails off, "You've gotta be ready for anything. Expect the unexpected." Pope wholeheartedly agrees while John B begins questioning your knowledge about Groff. "He wronged some friends of mine. He got away before I could get to him, and that was a good call. I would've blown his brain to bits if I got my hands on him."

Kie smiles at that mention, "That's the dream," John B mutters. "Last time he was here, he was after some magical relic, a mythical one might I add. The blue... crest?" The item is lost on you when Sarah fills in. "The blue crown." It dawns on you at the mention.

"It's real," Kie admits and all the pogues turn to her with horror at her honesty. "Groff has it and god knows where he could be with it." You think, "If what you're telling me is true... then that crown is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He can't just sell it at any auction. There's only one person with money like that. Mr. Finch."

"Where can we find him?"

"He's far. A two-day journey at minimum. You'll be forced to cross enemy territory and only locals know how to navigate the oasis under the radar. If you really are set on killing Groff, I'd be happy to lead you."

You notice an exchange of various looks between the group. "We need a second." Suddenly there's an exclusive huddle that leaves both you and the tall man at odds. He was sending daggers towards you. "Too cool to be part of their little club, are you?" Rafe stalks towards you, long intimidating strides. Displeased with your little joke.

Your faces were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate and contract now in the light from the window. "Listen. I've heard everything you said, and I'm not buying it. I don't trust you, and if you think for even a second I'll let you get in my way, you've got another thing comin'."

You noticeably gulp, it was unscripted but your nerves propelled it. He towered over you, your dark brown eyes searching his blue ones for any signs of insincerity but none was to be found. Every word he said, he meant it.

"And Cut! Drew, Y/n, amazing," Josh adds, and it's only when you hear your names called that you both back away from each other. However, it felt a little harder than normal, as if something was drawing you in.

Madison calls you over, and your feet are already on the move. With one last glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet his for just a moment.

His piercing eyes hold yours, a mix of curiosity and something unspoken flickering behind them, making your chest tighten with uncertainty. You can see it—he feels it too.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza

[violetskylights0]

Can you please do selvika if her and the reader did nnn(no nut November) like you did with vi (To be honest she would probably be like no 😭) Its ok if you don't want to

I am a Vi girl to my very core but I must give the people what they want. I thought it would be cute and short...and now we have some of the nastiest shit I have ever written. I hope it's everything you wanted and more xoxo. @starisinlovewiththemoon

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

Games we like to play (18 +)

Prostitute!reader x Sevika

Warnings: Degradation/Smut/Pet names/Kind of cute?

No Nut November. Just saying it felt ridiculous. You’d heard about it before—whispers in the brothel about Piltover clients and their strange indulgences in self-denial. You’d always dismissed it as yet another quirk of the privileged: something to laugh at, not take seriously.

And it wasn’t like you had the luxury of turning down indulgence. Working at the brothel wasn’t about holding back; it was about giving people exactly what they wanted. Or needed. You didn’t care much either way—clients came and went, their faces blurring together after a while.

That is until Sevika walked in.

You’d known her by reputation, of course. Everyone in the Undercity did. She was Silco’s right hand, the enforcer with a mechanical arm and a short temper to match. People whispered about her in a way that made you assume she was ruthless, dangerous, someone you didn’t want to cross paths with unless you had to.

So, when she first stepped into your room, you froze. The light was dim, but there was no mistaking her broad shoulders, the scar cutting across her cheek, or the way her eyes flicked over the space with a calculated calm.

You expected her to bark orders, to demand something rough or impersonal. But instead, she went to your bar cart, poured herself a drink, and leaned casually against the wall. “Nice setup,” she’d said, her tone low and unhurried.

Her behavior threw you. You weren’t sure what to make of her—this woman who seemed both entirely in control and quietly restrained. You talked for a while, about nothing in particular, and the longer you listened, the more the fear melted into something else. Curiosity, maybe. Intrigue.

A drink or two in, though? That reserved demeanor? Gone. That night, she paid for three hours—and she’d used every minute.

Since then, she’d been your only client. It wasn’t just the money—though she made sure you didn’t need anyone else—but the connection. She was different. Reserved but attentive, with a way of making you feel like the only person in the room. You didn’t put labels on it—Sevika wasn’t the type for that—but it was something. Enough to make you bold.

Which is how this conversation started.

“I heard one of my coworkers talking about it with her Piltover client,” you said, voice light as you trailed your fingers along Sevika’s arm. The sheets rustled between your legs as she came up for air and propped herself up on one elbow, dark eyes narrowing at you in amusement.

“Go on,” she said, her voice low and rough, already laced with suspicion.

“It’s this thing they do. No Nut November.” You tried not to laugh at the words, but Sevika’s expression—a mix of disbelief and amusment—nearly broke your composure.

“No... what now?” she repeated, her lips twitching into a smirk.

You bit your lip, enjoying the rare moment of catching her off guard. “Basically, it’s a whole month where you’re not allowed to... you know.”

Sevika snorted, dropping her head and rolling on her side “You’re telling me people do this shit on purpose?”

“Apparently,” you said, biting back a grin. “Some kind of self-control thing.”

“Sounds like something those Piltover assholes came up with. Too much money, not enough brains.” Her voice was dry, but the faint chuckle undercut the sharpness.

“Probably,” you agreed, laughing softly. “But... it could be fun.”

Sevika stilled, her gaze snapping back to you. “What?”

“We could try it,” you said, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Just for the hell of it. What’s the harm?”

She sat up fully, pulling her tank top back on as she shook her head. “No offense, sweetheart, but isn’t the whole point of what we do to not hold back?” Her tone was blunt, but there was an edge of curiosity behind it like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

You frowned, the remainder of your undefined “arrangement” stinging a little. But you weren’t about to give up that easily.

“C’mon, Sev,” you murmured, letting the sheet slip off your body as you stood. Her gaze flicked downward for a moment before she caught herself, her jaw tightening.

“You barely have time to visit me these days,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I know things are... hard right now. Silco’s gone. You’re picking up all the pieces. I just thought maybe this could be something to take your mind off it all. Something just for us.”

You reached up, your fingers brushing against her cheek, tracing the rough edge of the scar there. Sevika exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly under your touch.

“And,” you added, your voice dropping as your hand moved to her arm, “think about how good it’ll feel at the end of the month. Me, all needy. And you…” Your fingers grazed the hard lines of her bicep, drawing her attention.

“Pent up?” she finished for you, a low chuckle rumbling in her chest.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, she reached for your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she murmured, her voice softening as her forehead rested against yours.

You smiled, standing on your toes to kiss her. Her lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the roughness of her calloused hand as it held you steady.

“Fine,” Sevika muttered against your lips, pulling you closer as she sealed the deal. “Two weeks. But don’t think for a second I’m making it easy for you.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you pulled back, excitement bubbling up like steam in a kettle about to burst. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest flush creeping up her neck, but she turned away too quickly for you to be sure.

“Two weeks,” she repeated, adjusting her cape as if to distract herself. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You smirked, leaning against the doorway to watch her go. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

This was going to be very, very interesting.

The first week wasn’t so bad. You stuck to your usual routine, and seeing Sevika three times that week made it unexpectedly fun.

Tuesday’s visit to her apartment was a perfect example. She’d summoned you with a cryptic, “Come by tonight,” and though her tone was casual, it always managed to spark a thrill deep in your chest.

Navigating the labyrinth of Zaun’s backstreets was second nature by now, though it still carried an edge of excitement. The quiet hum of the city and the faint buzz of neon lights guided you to her door, where you knocked three times—the code you’d both settled on.

The door opened with no preamble, and there stood Sevika, framed by the dim light spilling out from her apartment. The sight of her stopped you dead in your tracks.

Her cigarette hung loosely between her lips as she fiddled with her mechanical arm, muttering something under her breath. The dark brown tank top she wore stretched tight over her chest, highlighting the sculpted curve of her shoulders, while her black boxers sat dangerously low on her hips. The disheveled look was almost unfairly attractive, and it left you feeling momentarily speechless.

Her sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours, and a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna stand there all night or come in?”

You slipped inside quickly, your pulse already quickening. She moved to her couch and collapsed into it like she owned the world, legs spread wide, exuding an effortless dominance that made your skin tingle.

Without missing a beat, you crossed the room and climbed onto her lap, settling yourself like you’d been invited—even though you hadn’t been. You plucked the cigarette from her lips and took a long drag, locking eyes with her as you exhaled.

“You know,” she drawled, her tone low and teasing, “you could always ask before you take.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” you shot back, a playful grin spreading across your lips.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Keep pushing, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice a velvet threat.

Before you could quip back, she had you pinned to the couch, her large hand encircling your throat—not squeezing, just enough to make your breath hitch. Her lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep and consuming, like she was claiming you all over again.

Her knee pressed up between your thighs, and the pressure was just enough to pull a shameless moan from you. The sound made her grin, slow and wicked.

“Ready to give up this silly little game you insist on playing?” she asked, her voice husky as her lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

The reminder of your bet jolted you out of your haze, and you pushed against her shoulders, sitting up dramatically. “You’re already trying to sabotage me!” you accused, narrowing your eyes at her.

“And it almost worked,” she said, her grin unfazed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give it up. You know you can’t say no to me.”

You scoffed, your gaze darting to the table beside you where her screwdriver lay. With a smirk, you snatched it up and held it out to her. “Give me that.”

Her brow arched, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“Well,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “since you’re paying for my time, I might as well make myself useful. You looked frustrated when I showed up.”

Her confusion melted into reluctant amusement as she took the screwdriver. “You offering to fix my arm now?”

“Depends,” you said, gesturing for her to sit back down. “Which screw were you trying to tighten?”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down and explaining the issue. You listened intently, nodding along and offering the occasional suggestion, though you weren’t exactly an expert.

The rest of the evening was spent sifting through her pile of spare parts, sharing drinks, and laughing over failed attempts to jury-rig solutions. At one point, you glanced up from the mess to find her watching you—not with her usual smugness, but something softer, quieter. The look vanished as quickly as it came, leaving you questioning if you’d imagined it.

By week two, though, things got harder—literally and figuratively. Your body betrayed you at every turn, and the tension was maddening. It left you feeling like a pent-up teenager, desperate and all too aware of every brush of fabric, every suggestive glance. But if Sevika thought you’d break first, she had another thing coming.

Which brought you to Friday night at The Last Drop. Sevika’s routine was as predictable as clockwork—every Friday, she’d be at her usual table, gambling and sipping whiskey like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was the perfect opportunity to test her resolve.

You stood in front of the mirror, applying the last swipe of lip gloss and admiring your handiwork. The black leather skirt clung to your hips, catching the faint glow of the moonlight, and your low-cut top highlighted just enough cleavage to make Sevika’s attention inevitable. You smoothed your hair, gave yourself one last smirk, and headed out.

The bouncer at The Last Drop barely looked up before nodding in the direction of Sevika’s table. You spotted her immediately, lounging like a queen among her subjects. Her cigar glowed faintly in the low light, and the subtle curve of her smirk as she leaned back in her chair set your nerves buzzing.

You approached with deliberate confidence, the click of your heels drawing eyes as you stopped beside her. “Is that seat taken?” you asked, motioning to her lap.

The table fell silent, the men and women around Sevika staring openly, their gazes lingering far too long for your liking. Sevika, however, barely glanced at you before leaning back and spreading her legs slightly in invitation.

You lowered yourself onto her lap, adjusting your skirt just enough to let her feel the curve of your hips against her. Her hand settled on your thigh, a possessive touch that sent shivers through you.

She leaned in, her breath brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “It’s cute that you thought dressing like a slut would make me jealous. But here’s the thing—they all know you’re my slut. What’s there to be jealous about when they can only dream?”

Her low chuckle rumbled through you as she tossed some chips onto the table, her hand sliding higher on your thigh.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you weren’t backing down—not yet.

Game on.

The game at the table picked up, the noise growing louder with every passing round. You barely paid attention, more focused on Sevika's drink getting dangerously low. Without waiting for her to ask, you hopped up to grab her another. Her hand delivered a quick, casual pat to your ass as you walked away, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that spread across your face.

At the bar, you scanned the crowd for a target. Spiked-hair guy slumped over near a puddle of vomit? Nope. A buzzcut woman giving you that look from the middle of the room? Way too easy. Then, your gaze landed on her: a loudmouth with an undercut and no clue about the pecking order here. Jackpot.

You sidled up to the bar, ignoring her completely at first. Tapping your empty glass, you got the bartender’s attention, who already knew what to pour: whiskey for Sevika. Only then did you glance her way.

“Looks like you’re having a hell of a time over here,” you said, flashing a playful smile.

She turned toward you, the conversation with her friend forgotten. Her eyes swept over you with a low whistle. “And I think I’m about to have an even better one,” she smirked.

Right where you wanted her. But she needed to work a little harder for it.

As she started asking about you, you casually mentioned the brothel. Her eyes lit up like it was her birthday.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head coyly, “I do give discounts to clients who know how to show me a good time.”

“Oh, yeah?” she grinned, leaning closer. “Convenient, since I’ve got some cash burning a hole in my pocket.” Her hand found the back of your thigh, pulling you in just enough to make the air between you crackle.

You felt Sevika’s gaze burning into your back from across the room, but you didn’t turn around. Instead, you leaned into the stranger’s touch, tapping the muscles of her arm teasingly.

“I think I’d like a preview of what the rest of my night could look like,” she said, her voice dropping as she tapped your chin up with her finger.

“Oh, yeah?” you whispered, your lips inches from hers. “Why don’t you show me what I’m working with?”

Just as she started to lean in, you barely had time to process the hand on your thigh disappearing. A blur of movement later, the stranger hit the floor, a guttural thud snapping the air between you.

Sevika stood over her, gripping the fabric of her shirt with one hand.

“I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of my bar,” Sevika growled, her voice low and razor-sharp. “Before I break every disgusting finger that touched my girl.”

Your eyes widened as the stranger stammered something snarky, but it didn’t matter. Sevika’s fist connected with her nose before she could finish. Blood sprayed, and the woman crumpled onto the ground.

Sevika turned to you, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing.

“Office. Now.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the back. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone with the familiar tension crackling between you like a storm about to break.

You leaned back against Silco’s old desk, arms crossed. “Well, someone’s jealous.”

Her glare could’ve melted steel. “Jealous?” she barked, stalking toward you. “It’s one thing to show up dressed like that, begging for attention. But you were practically dry-humping her in front of everyone.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Isn’t that my job? Making sure potential clients are… interested in what they see?”

Her growl reverberated through the room as she closed the distance between you. “Yeah, well, from now on, I’m your only client that matters.”

Your smirk widened. “Sevika, are you trying to make us exclusive?”

She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “This isn’t about some stupid game. You’ve been trying to drive me insane since day one, and guess what? You did it. Congratulations. Now I’m gonna make you regret it.”

“Funny,” you teased, hopping up onto the desk and letting your knees fall open just enough. “Seems like everything’s going exactly according to plan.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she just stared at you. Then, with an exasperated chuckle, she stepped between your legs, her hands landing on your hips.

“I knew you’d be the death of me,” she muttered, before grabbing your neck and crashing her lips into yours.

Every ounce of frustration and tension boiled over in that kiss, her grip firm and unrelenting as if to remind you exactly who was in charge now. And this time, you didn’t argue.

You had made out with Sevika plenty of times before. But as her tongue slid into your mouth this time, it was different. There was no pretense, no playful back-and-forth teasing. This wasn’t just a hookup, and you weren’t just some random conquest.

She wasn’t kissing a prostitute. She was staking a claim.

A moan escaped your lips as she pushed you back against the desk, the edge digging into your lower back as her frame towered over you. You gasped when she climbed on top of you, her weight a deliberate reminder of how much control she had.

Her lips trailed from your jaw to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks that you knew you’d see tomorrow. “I think I’ll start by ruining this little outfit,” she growled, her voice dark and rich. “Since you’re so set on showing the Undercity what’s mine, I’ll make it easier for you.”

Her metal hand traced up your waist, the cold edge of her finger sending shivers down your spine. You barely had time to process her next move before she dragged it sharply upward, slicing clean through your top like it was nothing.

You inhaled sharply as the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed. Sevika sat back for a moment, her eyes raking over you with a hunger that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Much better,” she muttered, her lips quirking into a wicked smirk as she leaned in, her nose brushing against yours. “But you’re not done paying for that little stunt at the bar, sweetheart.”

Her hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanna play games?” she teased, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Fine. I’ll play. But we both know how this ends.”

“Do we?” you shot back, your voice breathy but still defiant. “Seems to me like you’re the one losing your cool.”

That earned you a sharp laugh, her teeth flashing as her smirk widened. “Keep talking,” she said, her voice low. “Let’s see how long you last before you’re begging me to stop.”

You opened your mouth to make a smart ass comment  but it was already to late as she started pinching one of your nipples with her real hand. 

‘Look at these already stiff. You really are a fucking whore.” Sevika said aggresily spitting on your chest before leaning down and licking it to spead over your left nipple. 

You started moaning as she swirlled her tongue and lightly bit at your nipple as your hands shot to her hair. She made sure to leave a few hickeys before quickly tearing through your mini skirt as well quickly dropping to her knees and pulling you to the edge of the desk. 

You groaned, your head tipping back as Sevika pinned your thighs nearly flat against your shoulders. The contrast was maddening—her metal hand icy against your left thigh, the sharp edges biting just enough to tease, while the warmth of her calloused fingers on your right thigh sent sparks shooting through your body.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice low and taunting as her eyes roamed over you. "Can’t decide if you like it rough or soft, huh? Guess I’ll just give you both."

Her grip tightened, the cold metal sending a shiver up your spine as she leaned down, her breath ghosting over your neck. The deliberate pressure of her hands, one hard and unyielding, the other impossibly warm and strong, had you arching into her without thinking.

“Keep making noises like that, and I might just keep you pinned like this all night,” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the needy whimper threatening to spill out. But Sevika caught it, her smirk practically audible as she shifted her weight, her metal fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Thought so,” she growled, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat.

You loved when Sevika treated you like a ragdoll with no other purpose than to her pretty little fucktoy and cum. And you were already close to cumming thirty seconds after her tongue started dancing across your clit. The sound of Sevika slurping up all of your juices made you go wild. 

You felt her hand on your right thigh move to your entrance groaning at the feeling of her two fingers stretching you out. 

“Cant believe this pussy is so greedy sucking my fingers in. It’s almost like you get off of me degrading you huh” Sevika moaned continuing her assault on your clit with her tounge.

“Well I’ll make it worth your wild hm? Cum on my fucking fingers like the greedy slut you are.” Sevika engouraged instantly sending you over the edge as your legs began to shake as you called out Sevikas name. 

You barley had time to cathcn your breath before Sevika told you to stand up and turn around to brace yourself against the desk. 

You heard her undoing her pants and feeling something kind of warm and hard against your entrance.

“Thought I would wear this think out to see if it was comfortable enough to bring over to the brothel. Didnt know it would come in handy so soon.” She said pressing into you as the object slid inside of you wour jaw falling slack from the sensation. 

‘W-what is that- oh my god.” You said gripping the desk.

“Saw some women talking about this thing when I was up in Piltover running some collections. I think they called it a strap? Figures your sloppy pussy would take it in one go.” Sevika said starting to roll her hips so the strap started moving in and out of you. 

You had never felt something so good your eyes rolling back as she picked up the speed. 

She gripped your hair with one hand as she moved her knee between yours using her muscular thigh to push you bent leg up on the desk. Increasing her speed even more. 

It felt so fucking good you didnt even have control of what was flying out of your mouth just expletives and Sevikas name.

As the slapping sounds began to echo through the room you felt yourself getting close again As Sevikas grunts sounded like a melody against your ears. 

“ Go ahead screm it louder baby. Let everyone in the bar- no everyone in the lanes know who this pussy belongs to.” She grunted bringing her hand down on your ass with a hard slap as she continued ramming into you. 

“Fuck it’s all yours Sev! S-stresching me out so good.” You slurred feeling your orgasm washing over your. You thought she would slow her pace but as your orgasm began to calm Sevika kept punding into you.

You felt your eyes roll back getting light headed from the pressure. A new feeling building in your stomach. 

“I know you have more in you hm? Show daddy how well you can squirt all over my strap. She said smacking your ass again. 

You shrieked her name cursing her out as you felt a sudden rush followed by a feeling of wetness shooting all over your leg as Sevika groaned at how well you were taking it. 

Sevika finally slowed her pace, her movements deliberate and torturous as she eased out of you. The rush of sensation left you dizzy, your body slack, and your legs threatening to give out entirely. You stumbled forward, but Sevika was quick, catching you effortlessly.

She chuckled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through you as she scooped you up into her arms like you weighed nothing. Carrying you to the worn couch in the corner of the room, she settled down with you perched in her lap, your body still trembling in the aftershocks.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, your voice breathy and ragged. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but the accusation carried all the heat you could muster. “First, you tell the whole damn bar I’m your girl, then you ruin my favorite skirt, and then you fuck me like that?”

Sevika smirked, her hand idly tracing patterns along your thigh. “Mm, don’t forget—I also carried your pretty ass over here.”

“Not the point,” you shot back, though the warmth in her touch had your indignation quickly waning.

Her smirk deepened, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “I think you’re forgetting something,” she murmured, her voice thick with self-satisfaction.

You tilted your head, confused and still trying to regain full control of your brain. “What?”

Her grin was almost feral as she leaned in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I won your stupid game.”

The realization hit you like a slap. “Oh, hell no—”

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, cutting off your protests with a possessive kiss that left you breathless all over again. When she finally pulled back, her smug expression had you torn between wanting to strangle her and kiss her again.

“Face it,” Sevika said, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction as her hand trailed lazily up your spine. “You can’t resist me. You never could.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the smug arch of her brow and the way her fingers tightened just enough on your waist shut you up fast. Damn her for being right.

Sevika’s laugh rumbled through her chest as she leaned back, utterly victorious. “That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice teasing as she rested her head against the back of the couch. “Guess that makes me the reigning champion, huh?”

You huffed, your pride smarting, but the way her arms tightened around you, grounding and comforting, made it impossible to stay mad.

“Fine,” you grumbled, resting your head against her chest. “But next time, I’m taking home the crown.”

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” Sevika murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “We’ll see.”

[igglemouse]

Monday feels like the perfect day to make pancakes, banana pancakes, to be more specific! Then again, isn't every day perfect for pancakes? There's something about them, maybe it's the scent of them that fills the kitchen with a warmth only associated with morning, maybe its how soft they are and how, coupled with syrup, they just melt and fit perfectly on your tongue and aaaahhh...This new house with its spacious kitchen has brought a spark back into my cooking!

As usual, Pascal makes it over to the table for breakfast, a tradition at this point, but today there is something different. It's his clothing, he's all dressed up, buttoned up, crisp pants, no sweat. Did he miss his morning workout? Is he sick? Injured? I won't press, maybe he's finally realized he pushes himself too hard, no, I have something else on my mind.

"I was thinking about our last convo," I start hesitantly, ignoring the temptation of my pancakes for a moment. "It might be a sooner rather than later kind of thing." I'm surprised to say it because the thought of having another baby feels overwhelming. I mean, my Watcher, it's a lot to go though. Does it get better the second time? Am I really ready to submit my body through that again?

"Oh, Frida," he says just before taking another bite of his pancake. "I see that look in your eyes," he teases.

"What?!"

"That look!" he teases again, a grin growing on his face. "All you have to do is ask!" Oh, that's what he means. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks already.

"Pascal, I'm serious!" I shoot back because I am! This is a serious subject! "I just mean...if Flora is to have a little brother or sister, shouldn't they be close in age?" That's better for them, right? Allows them to bond a little better, I would think but I think by now Pascal is thinking more about the practice of making babies than the end result of it.

"Mmmhmm, they should..." See?

"Look! Ugh, nevermind!" I huff, giving up and waving away the now corrupted conversation we were having. "Do you even like your pancakes? You've barely touched them," I add, trying my best to steer it away from him and his morning wood.

"Oh, yeah," ugh, that grin is back on his face, I can't help but giggle. "No condoms moving forward then, right?"

"Pascal!" I blurt out with my fork clanking against the plate.

Alright alright, I wouldn't admit it at the table but I'll admit it to you now. I'd like another. Maybe just one more! My little Flora can't be an only child, she seems to enjoy attention a little too much but isn't that just all babies? They need so much love! Still, two feels right.

But for now, the rain is going to keep me inside which gives me a perfect chance at just sitting down and working on my socials. This is what I do now. Promote my social media, push my videos, and just try to grow my audience little by little. My first video does alright, nothing amazing or viral but a solid debut. It gives me enough hope to continue and to maybe think that there might be a future here for me with this. At least I won't have to worry about some old man trying to ruin my business.

And yes, I do spend some time working out because, I can't help but worry about my weight. I know I shouldn't, it's completely normal to add weight after creating a complete human being, but the thoughts creep into my head anyway. I just worry about Pascal out there playing a road game in some faraway city and at some night club before a pair of boobs gets put into his face and...yeah, let's end that thought right there. I want to look my best, not just for him, but for me too!

But maybe I've pushed myself too hard today because now I've broken out in a rash! Red little splotches all over my arms and legs and just everywhere! Not a good look. I don't imagine this is attractive but thankfully there's medicine for it.

By the way, I called Anthony. Or at least I tried. I'm not sure why but I felt like he should at least know. He'll never meet her, that I'm sure of, but I don't know, I feel like my grandparents, my mama, you know, people I've never known, would tell me that I should. It's fair for him to know. Just to know. It feels like if I don't tell him it'll be something I'll feel slightly guilty about for the rest of my life. If what Candela said is true, he saved my life, whether he meant to or not, so he should know that I'm doing well.

But the joke was on me, he wasn't available. A guard or someone, don't know, answers instead and asked if I wanted to pass along a message and in that moment I froze. I told him never mind and he told me times in which Anthony had phone privileges if I wanted to call back. I don't think I will now. The moment has passed. Maybe its just fate that he'll know.

Back to happier things, like making dinner for my new familia or at least trying to. Pascal made it a little harder because he walks right into my kitchen in nothing but his swim trunks which is incredibly distracting. I pause mid chop just to stare, wondering what he was up to and then figuring this is probably the continuation of our conversation from this morning. He's trying to tempt me! I can't help but chuckle because its both cute and endearing.

"Mi querido, what are you wearing?" I challenge, rising an eyebrow as he turns to face me which only makes it worse because I've always been a fan of his body and suddenly I'm reminded why I did fall for him. His goofy charm and his smile!

"My swimwear!" he announces with pride. "We do have a little pool and I wanted to check it out!"

"Must you walk around in it?"

"I think you should walk around in yours a little more!" He fires back with the cheesiest wink I've ever seen in my life, it brings a reluctant smile to my own face.

"I-I don't know! I'm still a little hefty, I might not even fit my old stuff. Maybe a one piece or something like-"

"I'd love you all in one piece!"

Ah well...well, we will eat dinner first and maybe we'll see about that later.

But unfortunately, after our dinner, little Flora had her own demands which naturally comes before my own desires. So, instead of spending some intimate time with Pascal I was called to feed her and change her diaper and just play with her and let her know that she is loved! Just the things a mama must do!

But while Frida was attending to the needs of little Florencia, Pascal was attending to his. Every day his Social Bunny account would light up with interest, messages from a variety of different women, all thirsty for his attention. They knew he wasn't single and knew he was a father, but for some, that made him all the more enticing.

Usually, Pascal ignored them, thinking of them more as annoyances and distractions, but one in particular stood out to him. Sofia Prats, a model and aspiring actress located in Del Sol Valley. She was a striking beauty with dark hair that seemed to contrast perfectly with pearlescent skin and a full smile that sat perfectly before observant eyes. She carried herself with a bold kind of confidence, a woman who was used to getting her way. She had sent him a few messages, wondering if they could meet. Pascal didn't answer, not yet at least, but he did spend some time scrolling through her Simstagram feed and enjoying her pictures...

Frida Varela - Next Episode 9.3

[scudismystud]

You’re on the right track but I think there’s more to it than that though. Spoilers under the cut.

Gale was told from a very young age that he would be a great wizard so he has to shoulder the expectation that he has to become one again after his falling out with Mystra (which I am of the opinion they were both wrong it wasn’t him just messing up with her- she was also using him but that’s a whole other conversation). Gale believes his only worth is if he is a great wizard and that is so heartbreaking. This is why he is so willing to sacrifice himself at the drop of a hat. He believes that if he can’t be as powerful as he was with Mystra and heralded as a great wizard instead of a great disappointment that he might as well give his life in a heroic way. He desperately wants to be great - like he views Mystra to be.

The reason he talks about her so often is because he wants to be her. This is clear when you reach Act 3 and he starts talking about the idea of becoming a god himself. Gale has megalomaniacal tendencies and will either pursue them if left to his own devices by the player because he just wants to be great. It isn’t until the player chooses options to tell him that he isn’t defined by his magic or grand power that Gale starts to realize he has worth just being himself outside of magic and Mystra. Yes he will always love magic but he becomes aware that it’s something he can enjoy without having to idolize Mystra in the unhealthy way he does through the first act of the game.

Relating back to your analogy, I think this is more of a case where Disney had all of the legal software to draw and you show talent from a very young age and everyone says you’re going to be the next great artist so Disney CEO hires and then starts sleeping with you when you’re of age. As you get older and your relationship is getting closer (at least on your end you believe the relationship is equal) you start asking for better software you know the ceo is using but they keep telling you that you aren’t good enough.

You then find out there’s a hidden software online that you’ve been told is an altered version of Disney software. You download it in the hopes of bringing it to Disney ceo thinking they’d be happy you found upgraded software for them but then they’re mad at you. They cast you out of their circle.

You then get a virus from that program that is going to slowly kill your computer if you don’t keep letting it eat your files and even though you can still use your other programs from Disney they don’t work like they used to so you can’t make art as great as you once did. You then are told by that ceo that they can stabilize the computer temporarily but you should get rid of your computer which would also kill you in the process.

On top of that you also find out the software you had downloaded never belonged to Disney to begin with. You find out other software has always existed but the public cannot be trusted with it according to Disney CEO. You find out you’ve been misled by the CEO for years and there’s so much more out there you could sharing with the world. You then start to pursue making yourself a CEO convincing yourself you’ll be different than Disney CEO.

I do think comparing Mystra to a CEO is very fitting because she does have a horrible power imbalance to the relationship she has with Gale so he sees her in a good light despite all the things she does wrong for way too long. I don’t think Mystra is evil but I do think that what she did to Gale was wrong and warped him into the man who thinks he needs to be a god to be worthy of being alive. To reiterate again this is why he is constantly talking about her. He wants to be her. He wants infinite knowledge and magic.

At least that’s what he wants if left to his own pursuits. If you romance him, he then starts to think of a future with you. He still talks about Mystra but it isn’t in the idolizing way it was before (“you make me forget my goddess” line my beloved). He comes into his own as a character who could see himself being happy as Gale Dekarios the man instead of Gale of Waterdeep the great wizard.

I feel like people don't grasp that Gale keeps talking about Mystra because (among other things) he's obssessed with magic.

I think it's hard to understand because in our world, any skill is an existence in and of itself but for a rough example,

Imagine if Disney had a monopoly on drawing. They were in charge of all of the drawing softwares, they own all of the art supply companies and hell, maybe they even own paper.

Now imagine you royally mess it up with the CEO of Disney. You love to draw but anytime you draw, it's ultimately seen or controlled by Disney. It must be rough. I feel for him, I really do.

Mystra isn't just some goddess connected to magic. Since most people can only safely access through the weave and Mystra manages the weave, as far as Gale is concerned, Mystra IS magic.

[patolemus]

Wip Thursday

Got tagged by @gege-wondering-around and @dontcallpanic so here you have another snippet for my demon!stiles au!

“So. I know what this thing is,” because there comes a point where your only option is ripping off the bandaid, and also, Stiles has exhausted all his other resources. “The good news is I know how to get rid of it.”

“And the bad news?” Derek already sounds like he doesn’t want to know the answer. Stiles would feel guilty, he really would. Only, Derek brought this on himself, really, letting Stiles into the pack all those years ago. He should just accept that Stiles will do his thing and rest easy.

“Uuuh… I’m going to have to talk to my Father and that always sucks,” and he’d been doing so well, too, dodging his messengers and little notice-me calls. The fire had been a little too on point, though.

“The Sheriff? What for?” Scott tilts his head in that way that makes him look exactly like a puppy. Stiles has a sudden urge to squeeze him until he bursts.

Heh, good old cute rage.

“Oh, no, not my dad. My Father. Completely different people,” Stiles is met with blank expressions. Huh. Right, the puppies don’t know who his Father is. Eh. Not his problem. Derek can explain it to them on his own time. “Anyways, it’ll be a pain in the ass because I’ve been trying to avoid his calls for a while now and he’ll be so clingy and smug, but I’ll take one for the team,” he says, ever so graciously. Ugh, Belial is going to be unbearable, too. Stiles is so not looking forward to that conversation.

More blank stares. Stiles smiles, nods once and turns around. He’ll have to go kill an animal or something for his sacrifice, since his Father still refuses to get signal on Hell. So messy. Stiles hopes his Father understands he won’t be returning until he gets stable wi-fi connection because he is not giving up Google.

“What? Stiles that explains nothing!” Lydia says, exasperated. Stiles doesn’t know what she’s talking about, he made perfect sense of himself! “You haven’t even told us what this thing is!”

Oh. Okay, maybe that one’s on him.

Please don't take this seriously. I beg of you. Also I know this makes absolutely no sense at all but it will be. Eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. Tagging @oldefashioned @salty-fryingpan @novasillies @hedwig221b and of course @dontcallpanic and @gege-wondering-around again, thank you so much for the tag!

[kurishiri]

15.5 . . . “ the memory engraved in my body ”

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— 🍷 his side story, chapter 15. this is the one you need to reach alfons bond level 22+ with in order to purchase.

— cw: alcohol consumption.

Alfons: And to see you deceived just like that——I see you don’t really hold that thing called ‘love’ for me.

Kate: ...!!

I chose words that would purposely hurt.

Just like that, her eyes wavered, teary.

Kate: I... I really, truly—!

Alfons: Loved me? ...Or what, did you mean to say love?

I asked, a mocking tone in my voice, and her palms, which had pushed against my chest, gripped tightly at my shirt, causing it to wrinkle.

It would be nice were she to throw away these feelings she had toward me on her own volition, but——

(Reality just isn’t so nice, after all.)

Kate: Just why... would you do such a thing...?

K: Why do you have to reject me so much... just over me saying ‘I love you’?

Tears fell from her cheeks as she spoke from above.

They were very much like stars falling from the night — so pure, and so beautiful.

(——So much so, it’s like the moment I touched her, I would end up getting burned.)

Kate: Not once did I say we had to be official.

K: All I wanted was to like you, and be by your side… and yet…

Alfons: …Because I find it a nuisance.

A: The fact you had fallen for me, and the fact you like me even now... all of it.

I used those sharp words to deeply pierce through her heart.

Such words seemed like such a sin toward her straightforward feelings,

and, compared to her words, which so resembled pure stars, mine were akin to shattered glass sinking down the gutters of a back alley.

Alfons: All this was meant to be was an entertainment that lasts but a month, and then letting it end the same way.

Kate left the room, and when I descended the crumbling staircase,

The friend with a wound on his eye was standing at the entrance to the hidden, dilapidated room.

Man with a wound over his eye: To think you suddenly came in with a memo saying ‘Stay at the pub until I call you. If you come then, your drink’s on me’——

Man with a wound over his eye: I was wondering what in the world was going on.

Alfons: Hehe... thank you for your cooperation on that matter.

Man with a wound over his eye: If getting perfumed and greeting a lady when she woke up was all it took for some free booze, anyone would do it.

Man with a wound over his eye: So it was to get that ‘little robin’ to give up on you?

Man with a wound over his eye: You always up and run away, fading right out, so if she could make you go to this length, well what a lady she must be.

Alfons: Indeed, you can tell me that again.

I could dodge her at every turn, push her away, but she would still put her energy into her love without so much as getting discouraged,

so left with no other choice I threw away what little of a good heart I had left to break her to pieces.

(Unable to deceive herself into thinking this wasn’t love, but instead all a misunderstanding...)

(What a poor, darling little miss robin.)

Man with a wound over his eye: If you wanted me to make love to her for real, though, I would be fine with that too.

Alfons: Now that won’t do. I’ll have you know despite all appearances, I happen to be a gentleman who despises hurting women.

Man with a wound over his eye: ...I doubt that.

Alfons: Do you now?

Man with a wound over his eye: How would I know. Well, I’ll leave the payment to you.

My friend didn’t bother to seek the truth, instead leaving the conversation like that and disappeared into the night city while laughing.

——This pub was open 24 hours, so it was lively regardless of time.

Exchanging greetings with several acquaintances and taking a seat, the bar master lifted his brow, as though exasperated.

Bar master: And here I thought you wouldn’t come back til the morning. You’re back early, aren’t you?

Alfons: I so dearly missed seeing your face, you see.

Bar master: I’m anything but happy being missed by an arsehole. Pay up for that friend of yours.

Alfons: Goodness, so cold.

While making small talk, from the back of my mind, I remembered her, who had been sitting next to me just a few hours before.

—— Flashback ——

Kate: Alfons...

K: ...I won’t put the blame on you or anything else anymore...

K: So please, make love to me.

—— End flashback ——

—— Flashback ——

Kate: Just how bloody cruel can you get...!!

K: I don’t understand, why would you lie to me like this!? Help me understand...

—— End flashback ——

She did not say, ‘Why did you do such a cruel thing’——but rather, ‘Why did you say such a lie?’

From the start, she had seen through my lie that another man had made love to her.

(...Just where did I slip up?)

(I stayed silent... could it be body temperature? Or the shape of my body? The movements? Or smell?)

At the very least——even if she couldn’t see with her eyes, she was able to confirm that it was indeed me.

All that to say, there was no doubt that the memory of me had been engraved in her body.

Bar master: That’s a pretty long face.

Alfons: That it is, could I ask for your consolations?

Bar master: Of course, this is a shop to share such things. For a price, that is. What’ll it be?

Alfons: Quite stingy now, aren’t we... well then, I’ll have a sherry perhaps. Any type is fine.

Bar master: A sherry? Not every day you get that.

Alfons: ...Is that so?

Indeed, I felt that I normally didn’t drink sherry.

That said, I sought out the intoxication from the liquor, so I wasn’t so caught up on the type it was.

Yet the name had slipped so easily out of my mouth, I tilted my head as I took the glass filled with a dark mahogany color liquor.

The moment I took in that mellow, sweet scent though, I remembered.

(Ahh... this was the liquor that she had drunk this afternoon, isn’t it.)

—— Flashback ——

Kate: I... don’t like it... when others touch you...

K: ...Whatever, I know I’m... just like a kid t’you...

—— End flashback ——

(...Considering she was downing this sweet sherry, I would say her taste is like that of a kid’s.)

When my lips met with her, who was still blindfolded, her tongue did indeed have the sweet taste of the sherry.

But, for a reason beyond me, I felt that the kiss I shared with her was far sweeter than the liquor I was drinking now.

Alfons: ...Master, could you see if the carriage at the back of the shop is still there?

Bar master: What? Don’t go ordering the bar master around like that.

Alfons: I’ll get your mooost expensive liquor. In a bottle.

Bar master: ...How many?

Alfons: How does ten sound?

The bar master clicked his tongue and flipped a middle finger at me before leaving the back to the alleyway and coming back the next moment and shaking his head.

Bar master: It’s not here anymore.

Alfons: Is that so, then that’s a relief.

Bar master: Is it the lady who drank with you that went on the carriage?

Alfons: You’re quite in the know, aren’t you?

Bar master: Sending her back alone in the wee hours of evening, some sexyman you are.

Alfons: That’s just how it is.

Bar master: ...If you care about her enough to prepare a carriage, the least you could do is send her off.

Alfons: ‘Care,’ huh... I suppose.

A: I didn’t want to put her in any physical danger,

A: but I did need to instill so much shock in her that she would want to forget it all... so it was all a necessary measure.

Bar master: Not so sure what you’re getting at there, but what I do get is that you’re one hell of a shitty bastard.

Alfons: Ahha! I would expect nothing less from you, master, knowing me to the tee.

It took time for memories to fade.

That went for the memory of me engraved in her body... and the memory of her in mine.

But time seemed to have a knack for passing like it was melting away, unexpectedly so.

If she was going to go back to her uneventful, warm everyday life from long ago, then even more so.

Alfons: ...It would be great if you could find a man who can heal the wounds of a lost love and become happy.

Before I knew it, the glass in my hand was empty.

The sweet flavor of the sherry lingered on my tongue, staying there without fading away for eternity.

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masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️ ╱ comms 🤍

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment, send an ask off anon, or dm to be added or removed!

[ch-4-eri]

hmmmm can i have aaaa claire fucking you on her motorcycle? 🎀

Claire X fem!Reader.

sorry for taking too long to post this. Been too anxious to write properly but here!! Hehe.

Smut under the cut girlies, public sex and a little bit of scratching here and there, enjoy 🫦

You and Claire have been sitting on her motorcycle, but she was facing you, her slim legs placed on the red seat, her eyes staring into yours as she drew mindless circles on your thighs.

“What are you thinking about?” She mumbled, rubbing your thigh softly underneath the skirt you had on, the brisk breeze lifting it up slightly as she took notice of the panties you had on, very basic ones she adored.

“It’s nice out here.” You chuckled, looking at her hand as it was moving boldly across your skin, “just nice?” Claire teased, raising an eyebrow as her eyes searched into yours as you notice the way she glances down at your lips then back up to your eyes in that grin of hers that makes fire elevate inside of you.

“Nice not good enough of a word for you?” You mumbled, confused as to where she’s getting at, it’s a ridiculous conversation really, you and Claire could blab about random things that make no sense for hours, just to hear each other’s voices.

Claire shook her head as her other hand was on your other thigh as well, bringing you closer on her bike as she let out a giggle, it was adorable. “A night like this deserves more than just ‘nice’ pretty girl.” She adds, her hands going all the way up to your upper thighs, her thumb rubbing the outline of your panties, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips as she gauged your reaction to her bold advances, out in the open like that.

You gripped her wrist and glared. “We’re not home.” Was all you said as she rolled her eyes playfully. “There’s no one out here, princess..” she says, her movement stills nonetheless, she wouldn’t do anything you don’t want her to, although she’s desperate for a taste.

She’s right, the place she parked her motorcycle in was completely deserted, all you can hear is the wind blowing and random crickets as it was late and dark. “You’re serious?” You ask, nervously looking to the side.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it.” She mumbled, her hands going inside your skirt and grabs the fat of your hips.

“We can’t do anything here.” You insisted, the space on her bike was cramped, there’s no space to do anything let alone even sit further an inch. Claire clicked her tongue, grabbing your thighs once more. “You could bend over…” she whispered, and you knew immediately what she meant.

And that’s how you found yourself in such a position, bending over her bike as she slammed her tongue into your pussy from behind. Her hands gripping your thighs apart as she ate you out like she was starving for it, your moans echoing through the dark of the night, bringing your hand over your mouth. “Don’t hold back, doll.” She smacks your butt, reaching a hand out to take your arm off, same one that had you covering your mouth.

“What if someone— heard.. hah..” you moan, leaning forward into the bike and panting, “nobody’s gonna hear anything, just focus on how good it feels, hm? Or I’ll be very mad… like not letting you finish… letting you sit there in your cum soaked panties the entire night without anything.”

Claire was back on her knees as her tongue was back inside of you, her tongue would tease your hole, tease your clit as she giggled breathlessly at the way you squirmed on her bike, keeping those pretty thighs apart.

“Claire—“ you gasped, the knot in your lower belly ready to snap at the brutal slamming of her tongue against your throbbing cunt, your hips jerking backwards to fuck into her face.

“Oh shit someone’s in here—“ Claire jokes, making you gasps and stand up straight but she quickly laughed, catching you off guard as you were panting and trying to get yourself together, watching the way she laughed as your face reddened in embarrassment.

“Jesus, doll— relax will you?” She grins, her smirk soft while grabbing your hips and flipping you properly to face her. “You still wanna cum huh? Now— eyes on me.” Claire patted your hips and lifted a leg while you leaned against her bike, your only source of support.

She hooked your leg around her hip as she stared at your pussy, her gaze softening at the way it was puffy and sensitive. “Awh look at her..” she mumbled, pouting teasingly, your cheeks red in embarrassment at the way she addressed it, she melted you and she knew it.

She went to her knees again and placed your leg on her shoulder instead, her mouth engulfing your delicious pussy all over again. She couldn’t get enough of it, the taste, the way you squirm and how good your pussy feels was like a drug to her, Claire moved a finger teasingly inside of you while finishing you off with her tongue, your moans returning loud and desperate as you rode her face, blabbing random nonsense as you were so ready to cum.

“Come on, please, please baby give it to me.” Claire begged inside of you, her tongue slamming into you so much harder and faster, the flat of her tongue touching your clit as it made you shudder against her bike, rattling into the grass beneath you, “fuck!” You panted, your boot digging into her shoulder blade as she scratched at your thighs.

“Fuuuuck, Claire— hnng—“ your body was writhing in pain and pleasure, Claire was so high on the taste of you unable to see she’d caused you pain but fuck you loved it, you loved her, her thighs were rubbing together as she continued pleasuring you, Claire was just as loud as you were, the squelching muffling her lewd noises.

She could tell you were close by the way you were riding her face, your boot still digging into her back as you pulled her closer, finally one push of her tongue against your clit made you scream in pleasure as you almost fell to your knees, Claire’s grip on your hip stopping you from doing so as she let you ride your high against her face, her mascara melting all over her pale cheeks, your cum smeared all over her red and swollen lips.

You both stayed silent afterwards, too fucked out to even talk, Claire came into her own jeans at the way you tasted as her orgasm hit her like a tons of bricks, she carefully put your leg down from her shoulder, patting your soft thigh as she noticed the scratches she’d left, kissing them softly as her eyes apologized on their own.

“I think you’re the best girl ever, I love you.” She whispered, standing straight and helping you wear your panties again, pulling your skirt down as she gave your warm cheek a kiss. “Let’s get you home, pretty baby.” Claire said as she pulled herself together to ride back home, giving you her helmet, then taking off with your arms tightly wrapped around her waist from behind.

[bloomeng]

dick wasn't really flirty when he was white

I agree that Devin Grayson’s time writing him amped him up several notches but it didn’t come from nowhere either.

One thing I want to acknowledge is that Dick didn’t just suddenly become a non-white character after Grayson introduced that, for many writers at the time this was another piece of canon that went ignored. For instance in the 2008 Titans run (not written by Grayson but is post 1996 run that she did write for) I don’t remember them ever mentioning his heritage but he’s treated as a white character as far as I can tell and yet he’s still flirty… not that I personally like this version of him.

But to not split hairs I’m going to look at the 80’s version of him.

So starting off Nightwing has always been drawn as a sexy character who women want. Most super suits tend to be skin tight but the “discowing” look that he was first introduced in 1984 also has that iconic V-neckline. Even when it’s changed later I always got the impression they were trying to aim for someone who felt trendy. I mean his girlfriend is literally a model and a princess. He’s supposed to be this cool attractive dude.

Then there’s the fact that DC has been fighting the Dick Grayson gay allegations for years because while he was Robin parents were concerned that his relationship to Batman was too…. well. Anyway if I’m not mistaken that’s why they ended up making Robin younger and Batman’s ward so as to combat that. But they still to this day try to constantly pair him off with women and it’s a huge focus of his character. See while Jason and Tim have also had multiple female love interests the writers often have a hard time selling that they really care about the romantic relationships in their lives. With the exception of Tim and Steph their stories don’t revolve around their romantic interests as much. Versus Dick who is constantly shown to be interacting with women. His relationships romantic or platonic just tend to be richer. He appears to be a very tactile person which isn’t necessarily flirtation but it definitely lends itself to that. (Dw I’m not implying that he’s flirting with Donna here)

It’s intentional that they make him have these conversations with Kory while naked in bed. They really need you to know that Dick fucks. Nothing they’re saying here is inherently flirty but the way things are staged lends an impression. And even when he doesn’t have agency the writers are still inventing ways for him to kiss women.

The point is he’s a bit of a sex symbol. But that’s just the context.

Flirting doesn’t have to be over the top or sexual. Dick isn’t out here using pick up lines or anything, but we got to see a lot of his relationship with Kory and they are sickeningly sweet. They profess their love to each other frequently. They use pet names. They’re shown generally being in love. And just because that flirting is happening in the context of a committed relationship doesn’t make it not flirting.

Anyway 🤷‍♀️ hope this made some sense. I don’t thinks he’s a casanova type character but the flirting is present.

[1queasycrow]

EDIT: HEAVY VEILGUARD SPOILERS soz y’all I thought I had put this in, this is why we shouldn’t post at midnight after a long day of work

Ok we all agree blightmance Neve is the Good AngstTM but I ask you this: What about the Neve angst of not taking down the wards? Think about it.

Before the big battle, Rook and Neve have that conversation where Neve walks out. (Extra angst if you chose red dialogue options)

When do the tables turn, Rook? Because they do they always…

I’m here for you. I meant that. I still do.

The gods can break that promise for you.

You’re acting like they already have. Like I wouldn’t try…We’ve been in danger since we met. What’s different this time?

This time I know I…

Why can’t you say it?

What if I can’t tomorrow?

Then on Tearstone island they have a little makeup banter where Neve makes Rook promise to come back safe.

Rook. What I said before…I want things to go our way. I do.

I know.

Just find a way out. Can you do that, Trouble?

I can if you can.

Then Rook chooses to put Bellara, Neve’s new little sister in harms way by taking down the wards and there’s definitely some feeling of disapproval there.

Which is (one imagines) worsened when this leads to Bellara being kidnapped by an evil god tentacle. So possibly some harsh words are exchanged, but there’s no time, their window of opportunity is closing, so she worries for Bel but feelings will have to wait until after they’ve killed some gods.

THEN they manage to kill said god but lose a team member AND in a blinding flash Rook just disappears, no body, no trace, not even the dagger.

And so Neve is left to mourn the one she loved and her only family (if you saved treviso) for weeks alone.

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟜

𝐞𝐠𝐨

↳ A risky company decision meant to catapult your new and emerging group into the limelight also has the unique side effect of launching you straight into the crosshairs of something that will change everything.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [7,0k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

"I was there, yeah, and I saw what I saw," Sunwoo interrupts. "We're close, you don't have to lie to me. You're interested."

You meet silence upon walking into the entryway of the apartment.

There are signs of life still; quiet bumping and movement behind closed doors further away from you. An ambiance of questioning and unsureness mingling in the air despite no one being there to grace you with it. A heavy breath escapes you finally now that Sunwoo has left and the door stands between what was once you and him, relieved that this portion of it all has come to a tentative close.

But you know it will be short-lived.

One of the doors to a bedroom eventually cracks open, slowly drawn apart as if the person standing on the other side is carefully checking for safety. Your attention perks up and your eyes find Miyoung's through the sliver she has made, and once the surroundings have been adequately surveyed, she finally steps out and into the living room.

The expression on her face gives you little to ascertain from it, but what you can find is a slight, barely-there frown digging into the corners of her lips.

"He can't come around here like that," Miyoung says.

"I know." Your shoulders slump immediately, and you easily give in to the fact of the matter. "I… didn't know he was coming. It won't happen again."

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if attempting to find something deeply laden within your words and yet completely unspoken. Miyoung is kind but attentive—perfectly capable of picking up on the nuance around her—and right now, that fact frightens you.

She chews on her bottom lip just a bit and then says, "Look, we're going to be in this for a very long time together, at least, that's what I hope. I don't want to pry and I don't expect to know every detail about your personal life but…" Miyoung pauses, and it feels suffocating between you. "But… Is there anything we should know about you and him? I know the history and all that but the way you two act together seems different."

"No! No, of course there's nothing!" you're quick to say.

"If you're like, seeing him, or interested in him or something, I just think it'd be better for all of us to navigate the situation if we know about it."

"I'm not! We're not like, involved, or anything like that! We just… met, and I guess we get along and the fan-idol thing is kind of humorous to him so he has taken a bit of a liking to me but it's not anything like that. We're really just friends." Already, you feel as though you've given away too much by saying that word, despite the lies previously riddled within the explanation. So, you make an effort to correct the stance and go forward with a far more simplistic "Friendly. We're friendly."

"Do you like him?" Miyoung asks, plain and simple and out there in the open, impossible to ignore. 

The question just about bowls you over. It is so firm and left with no room for misinterpretation that your anxiety spikes, especially as it is coming off of the back of a very strange conversation only just had with the exact man in question.

"What I mean is," she adjusts, "is there any chance that whatever is going on between you two now, could eventually turn into something more?"

You tell her no, but for some inexplicable reason, it does not feel good to do so.

Two months down, two more to go.

During what becomes clear to you as the final conceptual meeting between your members and the team directors, the remaining questions that have been hanging in the air in relation to your group's future are finally answered.

Thankfully, it is all good news. You will debut as ten, with no further cuts to the line-up being made. Yourself and the girls all share bright, relieved smiles and caring physical gestures; the fear of more loss no longer dampening the promise of a stage that is soon to come.

The group is called MVNE, and though it is somewhat strange, it fits the current landscape of active and debuting groups in your overall space. It is pronounced as moon, and conceptually, your appearances will match it rather perfectly. A dark and mature concept—and with no underaged members on the team, you're able to breathe a sigh of relief—because the next round of mood board ideas shown to the room certainly does lean into something a bit more edgy and sex. Cutting edge and immensely risky for a newly debuting girl group, but rather fitting of the vibes in relation to your labelmates.

You are promised that it will all start off rather slowly, and that the group will not be pushed into shock-factor choreography and revealing outfits straight away. The directors are honest and upfront about the fact that there will be many risks, and they have every intention of turning away from what is more commonly looked for and accepted in the public currently. This will make your life and job harder, and the comments that are posted online may not be as kind as if you were to debut with a softer, more demure essence. However, you are not looking to take a simple road, and thus, the challenge is more than accepted.

In fact, this is hardly news. The auditions were fairly obvious in what they had been searching for, and though the concept had at the time been very much into its infancy, the casting directors had spoken openly about what it was that at hopeful may or may not have been signing up for. Naturally, anything can change in the journey between then and now; you're thankful that it has not.

Spirits are high by the end of the meeting, and though there is another schedule waiting just after it, all of the girls wear wide smiles as they make their way out into the hallway. Woori finds you immediately as your managers shuffle you down the hall, and slings her arm around your shoulders.

"It's happening," she sing-songs. "I'm so excited! Really glad we didn't get stuck with doing a cute concept after all, I had been hearing rumblings…"

"You know as well as I do that the cute concepts will come, nobody sticks to one thing forever."

"I know, but I think it's promising that the company is willing to take a different path rather than the one of least resistance. I think this will be good for us. Not easy, probably much harder, but good."

You hum at that, agreeing with the thought behind it. "Well, we have a great leader, so no matter what happens, we're gonna be okay."

Woori's eyes narrow, scrutinizing you playfully. "Already buttering me up, are you? Trying to be the favorite? Or are you hopeful that the shippers get a hold of us and run wild."

Laughing, you purse your lips towards her as if with the intention to kiss her and say, "Ooh, now wouldn't that be fun?"

"Aren't you a little wrapped up already?" she replies, a particularly suspicious inkling dripping from her tone. "What's the boy-toy going to think about it all?"

Hearing Sunwoo being passingly referred to as your boy-toy is something of a fascinating development, alongside of him and your relationship to him being discussed with such ease. You reel ever so slightly, though you make an honest attempt to force any reaction back.

"My what now?"

"Oh, come on! You think I didn't hear about him coming by late at night to see you?" Woori says. "I hear about everything now and I will continue to hear about it in the future! Though I will admit, it's a little messy to have a well-established idol coming to the trainee dorms. Who knows who might be following him."

Yes, I agree, but unfortunately trying to tell Sunwoo anything in regards to logic is something of an impossibility. You can't say it, but you think it just as strongly and instead you settle on a simpler response of, "He should know better, but I told him he can't come around like that. It won't happen again."

Woori snorts at that, seemingly disbelieving of your words just as much as you are. "I don't know a lot about him, but based on what I've heard, that sounds incredibly unlikely," she says. "Sunwoo has something of a reputation of… well, just sort of doing whatever he feels like at any given moment, and maybe he'll think about it later."

Spot on, you think.

"Are you excited about the photoshoot?" she asks then, comically rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. Woori will be popular amongst the public, for sure. Impossible not to love. "I think it's going to be really interesting, groups don't really get to do things like this. When the directors said they were going to take risks, they sure meant it."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be surveying the reception online for a few weeks after it's all released," you say.

In fact, you have done your best to put the whole thing out of your mind ever since hearing about it a few days ago. Sunwoo had messaged you with some excitement in relation, and though you feigned matching his intrigue, all you could do was stew in the worry that the thin veil that stands between you and him may quickly come to an end.

Co-ed group engagements are rarely done, for the obvious reasons pertaining to idol-fan relations and the image that idoldom is meant to sell. Idols don't get into relationships with anyone but their fans, and they certainly don't make any efforts to express a romantic or physical interest in someone working within their same space. 

Today, you're going to pretend to do both.

"Sex sells, whether idol fans want to admit it or not, and someone out there is going to be incredibly intrigued by the chemistry between us and them. It's a long shot for sure, but I'm looking forward to it."

You cannot, under any circumstances, be paired up with Sunwoo.

Hilariously (to him,) this outcome is precisely what he is hoping for. You had received paragraph after paragraph on your phone about all of the fun little ideas that he has for the shoot; hands on thighs, lips edging just close enough to the flesh of your neck or face. He had seemed delighted by the whole thing, while you screamed until passing out silently inside of your own head.

Then,  ideas of your own begin to trickle through despite your best efforts to avoid them. Even now as Woori revisits the topic, images of Sunwoo's hand pressed against your hip, or warm breath feathering lightly across your lips has the tiny hairs across your skin prickling and standing at anxiety-ridden attention.

Anyone but Sunwoo.

The room for the shoot is up a few levels where the much larger staging offices are located. Twenty-one bodies are meant to fit in here—not counting staff—and thus the need for space is of the utmost importance. The door is already pried and held open by the time your group arrives, and before you turn inside, you hear voices that are all too familiar to you already in attendance.

Your heart races. His group knows the truth, but yours, does not.

As expected, the staff is friendly and professional, and though it is going to be an incredibly long day stuffed into this studio for shooting, you're very much aware of the fact that it could be far, far worse.

There are beverages and snacks set aside on a long table off to the side, and ahead of that is a massive pile of electronics; lighting and photography equipment litter the vast, open space, and further ahead of that is an incredibly massive and elaborate set.

Make-up is done in the same room and off to another side, but fittings are set into two of the other rooms just next door to this one. MVNE outfits are simple and sexy but far from revealing. A lot is left to the imagination but everything fits just right and frankly; you and the girls look fucking amazing. When Woori, Miyoung and Kaia turn into the hallway from the fitting room you've left not long before, your jaw drops. They all look stunning.

"Wow." The single word is all you can muster up at first, eyes wide in amazement. "You look incredible. Whoever gets paired with you three are going to be the luckiest guys of the day."

"Funny you should mention that," Woori says, her index finger jutting into the air and demanding attention. "I have received information! We're all going to cycle through a few different potential pairings, take a bunch of photos with each based on, I don't know, probably visual vibes or whatever, and then whichever pairing looks best in post is what's going to be going up for the world to see." One eyebrow perks up as she looks at you specifically, and then she says, "Even better odds for you."

Your eyes flicker between Woori, Miyoung and Kaia, but quickly you land back on the first. "Are you all in on this, or something? What am I missing here?"

"No, if I had my way that man would not be coming around, much less having his little delusions fed by you," Miyoung says. "Woori likes it, though. She thinks it's cute, for some reason."

Kaia shrugs. "I'm fairly indifferent so long as you don't blow up the group."

"It's romantic!" Woori whines, seriously displeased by being the only person in attendance not willing to succumb to the whims of the alleged fairytale at hand. "What a cute story! She was his fan and then an idol at the same company and they fall in love? How could the public not love that!"

"Very easily, if history is anything to go by," Miyoung reasons.

"You guys are no fun. No whimsy."

"Right," you interject, hopeful to move the topic away from your personal involvements. "Then do we know any information about what the staff has in store for us?"

Woori shrugs and says, "Beyond me and Sangyeon—on account of both being the leaders of our groups—no, I've not heard anything else."

This is worrying, if the intent is to pair based on potential similarities in group formation. You are a dancer, as is Sunwoo—though his position is perhaps more closely tied to that of a rapper. A coldness rushes down your spine at the thought, your hope in being spared dwindling fast.

"Only one way to find out, I guess," Kaia says, "Shall we meet our fate?"

The girls walk ahead of you, and as you linger just behind you inhale a deep, sharp breath and are left with little more than hoping for the best.

Standing in front of the set, it's only now that you're really able to take in the full display of it.

The vibe is something akin to a sultry, romantic bar. Dim lights sprawling over gold accents on dark wood furniture and deep burgundy upholstery. The kind of place that a man might take a woman that he is not meant to be seen in public with; it's sort of genius, all things about this concept considered.

The shoot director calls for you then, and walks with you to the set and where he specifically wants you to be. Nestled inside of a corner, there is a half-moon shaped booth with a table and faux-alcoholic drinks immaculately placed atop. The seat is not comfortable—hell, it's hardly even real—but it gets the job done and looks good enough to the eye that no one who looks at the photos will be at all aware that you can feel a plank of wood poking painfully at your thigh.

"You might have an easy day," the director says in passing as he begins the finishing touches for the lighting and the cameras. "We're fairly certain of who we want to go with for you."

Oh god.

He steps away to take a spot behind the line of equipment, and you are then surrounded by two stylists sent to add some additional finishes to your own look. Your line of sight to the outside world is cut off by the bodies, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching and the director telling whoever it is that you are already set in place. Your heart pounds so hard inside of your chest that it seems impossible that neither of the women can hear it; echoing inside of your ears and making your stomach churn. It's stiflingly warm under the lights, so hot. Too hot. A waft of dizziness finds you, but you cannot pass out during your first major shoot leading up to your debut, and especially not on account of simply having to take photos with a man. No matter who he ends up being.

The women lean back to get one final look at you, and with a smile and a nod, they send themselves on their way and disperse.

It's the moment of truth, and once your eyes fall upon him, you're not really sure what to think.

There he is. Standing in front of you with his hands shoved into perfectly ironed black slacks. All black everything, in fact; save for the burgundy tie loosely hung around his neck as if it has already been found by the hands of a woman hopeful to undress him.

A small smirk sits perked into one side of his lips, his eyes dark and sharp. Black hair messy with intention, all a part of a detailed look.

He is not Sunwoo, but you have spoken before.

Fansigns have a funny way of ensuring that you have engaged in some form of conversation with all of them at some point in time. You realize only now that during those years, your sights had been so firmly set on Sunwoo that you'd never given yourself time or space to acknowledge any of the rest in the same sort of intricate, specialized way.

Taking slow, thoughtful strides towards you, Juyeon slides into the booth beside you and greets you with a wider, more inviting smile.

"Probably not what you were aiming for," he says, lightly jesting. "Hopefully you're not too disappointed."

"No, not at all!" You don't mean to sound so eager, but truthfully, it is the best case scenario and you find difficulty in masking how absolutely relieved the sight of him makes you feel. "It's nothing like that, really."

"Good then, easy work for us. Make sure you let me know if you're uncomfortable with anything, work like this can get a little…"

"Strange," you say, finishing the thought. Juyeon smiles and hums an agreement.

You knew what the shoot was, and what the creative direction of it had been aiming for, but being in it is a whole different experience, you are soon to discover.

The first handful of poses and motions are simplistic; a closeness to your bodies that might allude to something more being behind it all but moderately expressed to truly drive the point home. With little time, however, Juyeon's body finds further closeness to your own at the direction of the talent on the set. His palm finds your knee; large hands that practically dwarf it in size, a careful lean of his face closer to your own, an arm draped over your shoulders to hold you closer into him.

He smells very faintly of some fragrance, but mostly all you are able to catch is the cleanliness of his hair from being freshly shampooed. Juyeon's touch is so thoughtful; confident but wholly in-tuned to any potential reaction to him that you may have. As his face creeps closer, the feeling of his body near to your own begins to spread an unanticipated warmth through your form. He has always been attractive—impossible not to take notice of such a striking appearance—and now that he is here with you like this, for the express purpose of selling the exact thing that you find yourself to be personally experiencing, your stress in relation to it all but melts away.

You turn to face him, lips only centimeters away from making contact and his eyes fall immediately to look at yours before crawling back up to revisit the lost gaze.

Juyeon's breath is soft but warm against your mouth, and though you are so close to him that your sight is severely impaired, you do see the slow and slight upturn to one corner of his lips.

His hand offers a light squeeze to the top of your knee, and before you have a chance to take proper notice of it, the pressure is gone.

The director howls something from behind the lines of equipment and it practically startles you out of your skin. You realize then, in that moment, that you had completely forgotten that you are in the company of onlookers whilst wrapped in Juyeon's presence.

He creates space between the two of you, and with a smile Juyeon says, "See? Easy stuff. Sort of figured it'd be a quick wrap-up when I found out it was you I'd be shooting with."

Your head cocks to the side inquisitively. "Is that so?"

"Of course. No one better I could have possibly been paired with."

A slow smile edges onto your lips no matter how much you aim to fight it, and as the staff hustle about to ready themselves for the next shoot, your attention begins to wander at the feeling of being watched; and being watched you are.

Tucked into the back of the room, though not so far away that you are unable to ascertain his expression, stands Sunwoo with arms crossed over his chest and eyes fully locked on you.

For a moment the eye contact remains firm, that is, until he rolls his in a rather unimpressed manner and slinks off completely out of sight.

The response is shocking.

Baffling would be your word of choice, though you opt out of saying as much upon being pressed about it. Debut for MVNE is now only a week out and the days are ticking by both painfully slowly and with unfathomable velocity. The photos are out, and though you had previously told yourself you would not succumb to the interest of public perception, you find that knowing of it is going to be utterly impossible.

It's good. Really good.

On the way down to the company cafe, even the regular staff throughout the halls are on their phones and mingling amongst one another to collectively ooh and ahh at the sights to behold. You haven't seen the pictures—not since the day, and not after retouching—so really, you have no idea what it is that everyone seems to be making a fuss about.

Today is dance, like so many other days for you. Good is never good enough, and you severely doubt that there will ever come a time in the future where you are content with the progress you have made. Just like any other art, there is always room for improvement. It never finishes, never finds an end, is never truly completed; this is no different.

Your thighs are a little sore on account of going at the choreography especially hard in the weeks leading up to the final date. Logically, you know that you must take it just a bit easier on yourself so that you can maintain the health required for the amount of schedules that you are soon to be thrown into. Early mornings and late nights will come, and come and come again. You have to be able to weather the storm.

But, your condition is fairly good, all things considered, and with a coffee and a croissant soon to be consumed, you will be ready to take on the day.

You walk through the doors and at a table just to the side, Woori and another one of the members—Nara—are sitting with an ample display of food items and much like everyone else around here today, completely glued to their screens.

Woori's attention pops up at the sudden intrusion of your being there, her expression lights up and a hand rips towards you to tug you down to the chair beside her. "Look!" she says, and nearly demonic she sounds. "Holy shit, this turned out amazingly!"

"People really like them," Nara interjects, and the disbelief in even her tone is evidence of the fact that none of you could have predicted this outcome. "Lucky me getting paired with Younghoon, a fan favorite, that guy is."

"No kidding," Woori says, and though she is in agreement, her head is shaking as if she isn't. "I just can't believe it, I thought for sure we'd be getting eaten alive in the comments."

Your eyes narrow questioningly. "Are we… not?"

"No! Not even a little bit!" Woori tips her screen towards you and scrolls through all of the comments, most with a large amount of upvotes considering the newness of your team, and now the shock catches you as if it is contagious from the others. "I mean sure, there's the stray hating ass bitch here or there, but mostly it's being well-received, and the best part…" She pulls her phone back to her, does some more scrolling, then typing, then scrolling again, before showing you what is there once more.

It's numerous entries about your photos with Juyeon, in particular.

"Seems like your spread is the most popular. Would you look at that."

"What? Seriously?"

You snatch the device from Woori as if it doesn't belong to her at all and take on scrolling for yourself. You said you wouldn't do this, but now that the initial layer of doubt has been shoved aside, it's free range for your viewing pleasure. There's posts—a lot of posts—of people praising your shoot with Juyeon. Comments often talk about how your aesthetics pair well and how the chemistry is through the roof, how good you two look together, and even some stray comments about shipping this moving forward.

You're in a particularly interesting spot where you know more than most of Juyeon's popularity among the fandom, and even outside of it. Easily, being paired with him could have landed you in a precarious and uninviting place, yet somehow; that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm genuinely shocked," Nara reiterates, words that have likely been said over and over again today already. "Somehow, we all stuck the landing."

"They're really good photos," Woori says, and yanking her phone back, she scrolls to a snapshot taken during that brief, single moment in which Juyeon's eyes fell down to your lips. She turns the screen to face you with your demons and then says, "This one is especially good, maybe Sunwoo is out of the running after all."

"Running for what?"

The words startle you, because the voice is not one you are expecting to hear. You lurch to the side, because it comes from behind and above you, and turning back to look, Sunwoo is standing just above you and seemingly none too amused about whatever it is he has had the misfortune of eavesdropping on.

"Look!" Woori, all too delighted to show off these photos and their reception to any and everyone with a second to spare in appeasing her, shoves the phone up to Sunwoo's face.

Watching him intently, Sunwoo's expression does not change. He does not smile, he does not falter in any evident, explicit way. His eyes linger on the screen in front of him, he blinks a few times, and then with complete, statuesque stillness he simply says: "Cool."

"Oh my god, that's it?" Woori says, beyond disgruntled by the response. "You know, your photos with Serri are getting a lot of love too, if you even care!"

"I saw this morning," Sunwoo says, with no emotion present in his tone. "I don't think she and I had as much fun doing it as some other people might have, though."

That comment grabs Nara's attention, happy to voice her dissatisfaction in any situation, at any time. Her lip twists into something akin to a snarl and looking at Sunwoo she says, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Easy," Woori warns, because they are in no position to be talking down to him regardless of the reason.

"Just glad everyone had a good time," Sunwoo says, and though there is a perkiness to his tone now, you know him well enough to notice the fakeness heavily embedded within it. His attention falls specifically to you then, and with an equally phony smile he continues the thought with, "And hey, Juyeon is single, so feel free to go for it!"

If your surroundings were different, this conversation would not be unfolding the way that it is. Sunwoo is taking full advantage of the fact that because of your current company, you are unable to offer any pushback in relation to the way that he is behaving. While not completely unlike him, you haven't ever been on the receiving end of his expressive and sometimes emotional outbursts, and though you do not feel as though you are deserving of it, the conversation previously had at the dorm all those weeks ago now sits unignorable at the forefront of your mind.

Is he… jealous?

Obviously, and regardless of what he may say when pressed, the answer is emphatically a yes. This fact is foreign to you; something that you are not at all equipped to maneuver given the current state of affairs not only in your own professional life, but in conjunction with his own.

And more than anything else: you thought you were both in agreement.

For a few long moments, you and Sunwoo stare at one another, and once he appears satisfied with your inability to question his motives, he bids your table farewell and makes his way across the room towards where Eric and Changmin are waiting.

You let out a heavy exhale, but you are far from out of the lion's den just yet.

Woori and Nara are both staring at you, something you do not have to confirm by actually looking at them, and thus, your eyes remain closed in thought as you attempt to make sense of anything that appears to have been brewing unbeknownst to you.

"What the hell was that about?" Nara asks, breaking the silence that hangs in the air.

None of this makes any sense without context, you think. If you just tell them about your history, it could be easier. They would understand. 

"He's…" You begin to say it, the rest of the confession sitting on the tip of your tongue, but as your eyes open slowly and the weight of their gaze becomes all too apparent to you, once again you become frightened by the possibilities that could be awaiting you. 

"He's nosy, I've come to find, and a little worried about doing co-ed work, so I think even when this is received well he's concerned about the next time. If there's a next time. I don't really blame him. It's a risky line we're all walking."

Nara rolls her eyes, but seems relatively placated by the explanation. Woori, however, remains fully fixated on you.

"Is he worried about doing co-ed work," Woori asks, "or is he more worried about other people doing co-ed work?"

She presents it as a question, but based on the look on her face when she does and the way her heavy eyes are locked upon your own, you know she isn't really asking one.

Nights where you stay far too late are becoming much too commonplace, but the jittery drive of debut hanging just around the corner often leaves you with a restlessness that nothing can seem to quell. Nothing except more practice.

The rest of the girls have long since left to go home, and though Woori had messaged you about dinner waiting for your return, it's going to be cold now, so there is little reason to hurry back. You're a little sore and covered with a sheen of sweat by the time you call it quits, and carelessly shoving your belongings into your bag, you head out into one of the many empty hallways of the company building.

Not so empty, as you are soon to find out.

You aren't anticipating finding anyone sharing the space, lingering there leaned against the wall next to the doorway and so when you do, you nearly shriek from the start.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

Sunwoo pushes himself to an upright position, arms crossed and an accompanying roll of his eyes as if bored with your theatrics. "Who else would be here?" he asks.

"Well, no one. That's kind of the whole reason that you just scared the shit out of me."

"Ta-da." There is no exuberance behind the expression he gives.

His hood is tugged down—a rare occurrence—and so all of that fluffy hair and sharp features are fully on display. Sunwoo makes no effort in displaying anything but precisely what he is feeling, and what he certainly appears to be feeling is abject annoyance at something. 

"What?" you say, "What is wrong with you? And while we're at it, what was that back there earlier today?"

His eyes narrow as he looks at you, surveying what stands before him in a way that you cannot quite parse through. He doesn't reply immediately, but irritation he harbors is plainly evident without so much as a word.

"So," Sunwoo begins, "Juyeon, huh?"

"Oh, god." Exasperated, your shoulders slump and eyes roll comically exaggerated. Rather than engage in this, you shove past Sunwoo and throw a hand in the air as you walk. "I'm not doing this with you!"

"What? I'm wrong because it raises some interesting questions?"

You wish you could keep walking away from this, let it lie precisely where it is and allow Sunwoo to stew in whatever bizarre jealousy he seems to be wading in. However, you stop, and with your back still turned to him you say, "And what questions are those?"

"Like, what's the difference between him, and me? You've been jumping through all these hoops to make sure nobody ever finds out about us but Juyeon is perfectly up for grabs? He's an idol too, you know, and one exceptionally close to me in ways that wouldn't look as simple as you might think they would." Your head snaps back to look at him, and Sunwoo shrugs as if the gesture is meant to drive the point home. "He might not be me, but he's too close to not have to worry about what people might say, especially since at least some of our history is now common public knowledge," he says.

"It was a photoshoot," you say pointedly, desperate to reason with him and airy exasperation heavily laced through your words. You turn fully, somehow finding your way back towards Sunwoo in firm, serious steps. "A photoshoot. We all did it. You did it, too. I don't know what you think is happening but—"

"I was there, yeah, and I saw what I saw," Sunwoo interrupts. "We're close, you don't have to lie to me. You're interested."

You throw your hands into the air, the only way you can think to expel the excess energy from this conversation bubbling up inside of you.

"I guess! What do you want me to say? It was a photoshoot with a theme and I was paired with someone that I'm attracted to. The chemistry was there—sure—it doesn't mean anything, though. I'm not going after Juyeon." You take a pause to collect your thoughts, and the next thing that comes to you, you blurt out without the kind of consideration that it most certainly requires. "And besides, so what if I was?"

That piques Sunwoo's interest, because his eyes widen in a kind of shock that is less telling of his not expecting it, and more akin to that of someone surprised that a type of truth has finally come out.

"Right," he says, "You can just be honest."

"There's nothing to be honest about, nothing is happening."

"Yet."

The anger that you feel starts to become unbearable, along with the continued dancing around a subject that is obviously, in some way, tormenting the both of you. Somehow, somewhere along the way, something had changed and you'd apparently not had your wits about you in the necessary ways to notice it. You get it, you've been busy, but the lingering sense of you missing a rather large piece of this puzzle that exists between you and Sunwoo has now reached its limitations, and with a deep inhale, you allow all of the acting, all of the shrouded veil that's meant to stand between yours and his relationship and plainly say: "What happened? I thought we were both on the same page about this."

The next couple of moments linger between you two in silence, a matched gaze that never shifts away as if either of you are waiting for the other to break. Eventually, Sunwoo huffs a laugh and shakes his head. You easily recognize it as disbelief.

"Were we on the same page, or did you just write the page?"

Sunwoo isn't a planner, and is hardly even that of a rule-follower. The reply released something of a floodgate of history and conversations shared between the two of you in your months as friends leading up to your trainee period, and you wrack your brain for the moments in which Sunwoo himself laid out the terms and conditions for which the two of you are meant to abide.

But all that comes to memory is them being laid out by you.

"It's always just been about you, and what you want, and what you think is best for the both of us navigating this," Sunwoo says. "And you know, admittedly, that's probably for the best in reality. I accept that, that's why I've always just been happy to go along with it because hell, I'm not really in the market for potentially blowing up my career, either."

Chest tight and heavy, you watch Sunwoo as he gently admits to this fact, as well as the underlying admittance that you are now left to believe lies buried deep underneath it. A rule you decided upon, a conclusion that you had forced yourself to remain held strongly to: Kim Sunwoo is firmly and decisively off the table.

Regardless of how much you may have wanted otherwise.

He gives a noncommittal shrug, lifeless in its effort and then says, "I've seen how women get around Juyeon, I get it. And you know what? He's great. But…" Sunwoo's voice drifts away for a bit, as does his eyes from you before eventually returning and continuing on to say, "It's not that different. It'll be the same kind of headache in the long run. Maybe you think it'll be better—easier—just on account of him not being me, but it won't."

Your heart pounds in your chest, nearly dizzyingly aware of what this means for your future and your past. Everything from then leading up until this very moment now must be viewed through an entirely different hue. All of those meetings; every smile, every shared secret, and every gentle offering of physical affection—though few and far between—now uncovered to be the one thing that…

You had sort of always really hoped for.

But more than anything else, this fucking frightens you, and as a result the only thing you can say in response to it under the warm hallway lights and Sunwoo's expectant, hopeful gaze is: "The history makes it different. You'll look…"

"Like an idol who preys on his fans, I know, I get it," Sunwoo says, though there's little care in his voice for the fact. "I've sat with that for a long time, I've had no other option than to do just that, but what am I supposed to do? Just…"

There's another pass of silence between you.

"Do nothing? Pretend forever? Hope it goes away even though from here on out I'm going to have to see you even more, probably work together even more." He chuckles under his breath, turning his head away as if the next thought is utterly comical to him and says, "Watch you date my bandmate, then pretend I don't care about that, either?"

"You've really got to let this Juyeon thing go," you say, lightly joking in an attempt to bring up the mood.

"What I'm saying is there's no path of least resistance here for me. All of the options are shit, so I figure if they're all shit then…"

Sunwoo's hand finds the sleeve of your jacket, and before your wits are able to find you, your back is pressed into the wall that previously stood right beside you. Your breath catches in your throat, unwilling to release a breath in fear that doing so may break the immersion of this single, brief moment in time. The skin across your arm crawls, the little hairs raising from the light, tantalizing feeling of foreign fingertips ghosting across your jawline. His body boxes you in place, warm breath feathering ragged and stuttering over the flesh of your face, and when you're finally capable of gathering yourself enough to take in the sight of Sunwoo's face so close to your own; his eyes fall from yours, to your mouth. Those fingertips at your jaw smooth down to your neck, the other hand holding firmly at your waist in a way that he has never touched you before—as if unwilling to ever let go—and it feels like fire being pressed against your skin.

His lips take yours, and the kiss is confident and sure in ways you cannot begin to fathom. Sunwoo does not waver, does not shy away from gentle nips of teeth into your bottom lip, or the way that he quickly takes more once your head cocks, your mouth parts, and you invite him to take even more.

This feels right, and yet, it cannot ever happen again.

end of act 1! happy to hear if you're enjoying it thus far 🩵

[burningcheese-merchant]

What does Spice and Jack like to do together?

It's unbearably hot here and I hate working. One more ask, for realsies this time, because fuck everything else

"What do Kratos Burning Spice and Atreus Pepper Jack like to do together?" Sorry, I wanted to do that lol

Spice travels back and forth between the Golden Cheese Kingdom and the Spice Ridge by himself a lot (for work, basically), and he brings Jack with him whenever he can (after Paneer was born, he started either taking them both or alternating between them each time so they get an equal amounts of trips with him). He actually likes when his son joins him to do stuff, even if it's "boring" king/leader duties (which Jack does not find boring, he actually is legitimately interested in things like that and likes that his dad takes him to his "work")

They go on hunting trips often, too. Spice got him in on that early - as soon as he could walk in a straight line without tripping lol. Paneer doesn't like hunting (she actually really loves animals and doesn't want to hurt any ever), so it remained purely a father/son activity. They'll go out for a while - a few hours usually, or even a few days if Spice wants to go somewhere far for a challenge - and hunt game together. They lock onto/track something and work out a plan of attack, so to speak. They both have very different ways of doing/approaching things, both on a hunt and in general (it's those clashing personalities again), so they try to meet halfway and think of something that works for them both. They actually work quite well together and make a good team. (As Jack ages, Spice grants him a little more control/authority of their hunts, to see how he handles taking charge of something like that. Jack does well, for the most part. It makes Spice really proud.)

Jack likes to tell Spice about things he learns (he likes telling both his parents, really). Jack is very smart and even more curious, so he tends to pick a thing or two up every day, even if just a bit of obscure trivia - and he likes to share it with his dad, because he actually likes hearing what Spice has to say about stuff. He'll show him books, he'll bring Spice with him to the library when he can so they can read books together (I honestly think Spice is a smart guy, or at least I headcanon him as such. He was the Herald of History; it's canon that he used to enjoy having deep, open-minded discussions with others, particularly about history, so I think that lends itself to Spice being reasonably intelligent, even wise to some degree). When he was little, he'd just walk up to Spice with a book in hand and climb into his lap, then either ask him to read it to him or ask to read it together. (While Spice no longer fully possesses the patience he once had to entertain people's thoughts and attempts at conversation (he regained a decent amount, but a few millennia being violently antisocial kinda damages your people skills lol)... he has all the patience in the world for his son, so he's happy to indulge him.) Somewhere underneath this behavior is Jack's inherent need/want to get closer to his father, because (as I've mentioned in another post) they're so different from each other otherwise and he doesn't want that little gap between them to exist. They don't always understand each other very well and Jack doesn't like that. And there's still that little nagging insecurity in his heart that Spice is disappointed in who he is and he's not "worthy" of being his son, so it sometimes leads to him trying too hard to "prove" himself to Spice in one way or another. He knows his dad is smart, and he knows his dad will at least indulge him when he wants to tell him stuff, so that's the avenue Jack most often takes. "Look, Father, I know lots of things like you do. I know/want to know history like you do. I'm like you, see? Am I doing a good job?" Some sort of thought process like that. It's sad and unnecessary, but Jack doesn't really understand that for a long time (that "not knowing how to communicate with each other" thing doesn't help)

They also like to spar. Spice always made the biggest effort and took on the biggest role in training the kids in combat, and that reflects in him having one-on-one fights/sparring sessions with them both often. It's one of the ways he likes/tries to bond with them the most; he never loses his taste for battle even as a better man, and he wants to share that excitement with his children. He fights them for practical reasons and also just for fun. Jack views sparring more as a way to let off steam than to have fun (not that he doesn't have fun, though), so he doesn't necessarily always dig this every single time (because he's not upset about something all the time, you know?), but he rarely turns Spice down when he challenges him, so.

And this is more when Jack is little than any other time, but - Spice likes to pick him up and carry him around places. Jack will sit or perch on his shoulders and they'll walk around together. Just a father/son stroll, just because. Jack likes it because it makes him feel tall (Spice is like 6'5" minimum in my headcanon lol). Spice knows it makes him feel tall, so he helps his son pretend he's tall for a little while lol. They do this a lot less after Jack gets past toddler age; Jack thinks it's a little embarrassing to get piggyback rides when he's older... He just sticks to walking by Spice's side like a "mature" person then. But... Sometimes he misses clinging to his dad and feeling tall, so he'll just go ahead and fly up and perch on his shoulders like he used to. And Spice just lets him do it, whenever he wants, without any issue, because he likes being seen and admired as this larger-than-life figure (figuratively and literally) by his kids

[therowdymagpie]

No because I NEED to ramble about The Princess and The Dragon(TW: Spoilers for the Pristine Cut.):

I got such whiplash from this vessel...she is just...SO aufghughaurigh, so unexpected and wonderful, one of the sweetest and kindest vessels in the game. Not to disregard the others, like the Shifting Mound has said, they are all different manifestations of our love for her and her love for us, but the Dragon (I call her The Dragon) FEELS different.

Literally I love the Specter route which the Princess and the Dragon derives from because we have a chance to have an actual, normal(kind of) conversation and because she is dealing with what happened in a realistic manner, sure she's angry at us but she really doesn't care, she just wants "to go home, wherever that is". But it's very important for the game to apply a certain Uncanny valley to her and every other Princess even the one from the Hero and the Princess, so that they have a reason to be dangerous, capable, slightly dehumanizing them at times, which OK SM and LQ aren't actual people but still the vessels just become something other than what we have been led to believe.

A ghost, a demon, a predator, a literal god, an eldritch horror made of blades, all of them are formed by our beliefs and expectations, they are the ways we perceive her, they are perspectives. It is a very skillful way to subvert the damsel in distress character that the princess has been shoved into, she is never JUST a princess and yet at the same time the Dragon is the only princess that is actually very human in how she confronts the fact that we are who we are and we do what we do to her with such Grace and forgiveness.

Now when it comes to the other Princesses, even if the Damsel is technically an innocent as well and doesn't try to kill us, her always trying to "make us happy" is the thing that immediately sets her off and gives us an excuse to believe she is strange and off-putting. Even the witch and the thorn , who make us feel terrible for hurting them at certain times because one can present a certain remorse and the other is simply broken so much that there's nothing else to hope for. Both of them immediately back pedal into being hostile if you hurt them again though, since that's what they have to do to survive. I could go on for each vessel but no matter how much we dig into the psyche of the princesses and find out that they have a genuine reason or a not genuine reason to kill us at all, they are all trying to survive and follow their nature, they all progress for their characters with a predictable unpredictability.

But the Dragon? She is SO forgiving, so kind, especially when in some cases, she shouldn't even be. We've killed her twice yet, much like the Specter, she doesn't hold a grudge, doesn't try to immediately kill us afterwards, she isn't following some twisted narrative of doing something that was always meant to be. She is just...curious and trying to understand why we're doing this, how she can get on our good side, how to work together to make the best of this situation. Out of all the vessels, I think she is the purest manifestation of Swifty's belief every time we see her that 'we are the only thing like her and she's the only thing like us', so they should be together, try should try to get along…right?

Also a funny thing I noticed is: The fact that we see things from her perspective kind of gives more leverage to some of the other princesses for being mistrusting and hostile, I mean we're a terrifying bird thing that is often quiet, holding a Knife and doesn't always answer you, often doing unpredictable actions…I wouldn't trust this either. And STILL, she says that even though we look scary, she doesn't mind, "Looks aren't everything" and tries to communicate with us, at the same time not being completely helpless. She speaks her mind, tries to be assertive and bringing up good points during the entire time.

Basically what I'm trying to say is, The Princess and the dragon feels like the most Princess character in the entire game, even more than the Happily ever after, even more than the Damsel, exactly because out of all the princesses she has the capacity to understand us and we have the capacity to understand her, it is so incredibly human and surprising.

For the first time ever we are dealing with someone who is painstakingly our equal, not above or below us, not our better, not our worse, not something out of our understanding but simply? Another confused inmate in this Twisted Concept, that tries to create the best case scenario where we both survive like us. The Shifting Mound calls her the empathetic heart...it's the first time we see her perspective of US for a change, it's how we have truly become ONE, even more so than The Wild and that breaks me...

[slothquisitor]

Brittle Bones

Summary: In which Lucanis’s new reality sinks in and he realizes just how fucked up the team he’s now part of is. Eventual Rook/Lucanis, 2.8k.

Also on AO3.

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During his yearlong imprisonment in The Ossuary, if Lucanis had thought about freedom at all it was only in a nebulous, abstract sort of way. It had been important not to dwell, not to spend too much time on longing or hoping or wanting. He had always been taught that emotion was weakness, and he was good at emptying himself of it. He had to be. Besides, hope and optimism might have clouded his only goal: survive. 

And he had, and now he’s out, and he’s dropped back into the world, into his life, but nothing is the same. Treviso is occupied by the Antaam, Caterina is dead, Illario is unwilling or unable to see the danger they’re all in with Zara still at large. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d been told that the elven gods are not only real but that he’s expected to help kill them. And then he’d willingly followed Rook through a magical mirror to the fucking Fade. 

He asked for work, didn’t he? And this is the last contract Caterina ever made, and he never was good at telling her no. And alive or dead there is some part of him that cannot refuse. And there is a larger part of him that desperately needs this job, the reassurance that after a year and a demon, he is not so different from before. Killing Calivan, fulfilling his outstanding contract had helped somewhat, but he knows he is out of practice. That’s fine, it gives him something to focus on. So, he treats the Lighthouse like any other job. 

The first thing he does is learn the place, taking stock of his surroundings. He meticulously charts the place, peering into every room and making note of every entrance and exit. This entire dilapidated place makes the backs of his eyes itch, but a few hours later he has a mental map of every room and hallway and stair. The Lighthouse is a sprawling mess of a place, but Rook insists that they’re safe here. Which is all fine and good, but he isn’t safe anywhere. Not like this. 

His next order of business is informed by the first: his own lodgings. It’s an easy choice to settle on the pantry. Rook did tell him he could have any room, and it’s not a real room, but it is what he needs. It’s furthest away from everyone else, putting at least three doors between him and anyone else’s rooms. The door opens inward, which means he can block it, but he can’t be locked in. It’s also dark and dank and not terribly inviting. He doesn’t plan on sleeping much anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s comfortable. It’s better if it’s not. 

He’s doing his best to ignore Spite. Even if Spite isn’t taking very well to being ignored. Last night, he’d hit him in his temper tantrum. Lucanis is used to that, but Rook, Neve, and Bellara…they had stared at him, afraid of and for him. He won’t let that happen again. He can do this job. He can work. 

And that brings him to the biggest job of all: observation. There is plenty to learn about the other inhabitants of the Lighthouse. And it’s only been a day or so, but he’s good at watching. Harding keeps to herself, rarely emerging from her room beyond mealtimes or if she’s going somewhere with Rook. She’s clearly grieving and Neve seems to be offering her a distant sort of understanding, but there’s something else running through it that he can’t quite put his finger on. All four women are consciously and specifically kind to one another, but there’s something frail…brittle about the whole group. Every conversation he witnesses is laced with a fragility of everything they aren’t saying. 

He doesn’t trust a single one of them. It’s not that he’s concerned that he’s in immediate danger or anything, but he hasn’t survived this long through blind trust of anyone or anything. Bellara is the easiest to read, her every thought and emotion that doesn’t come through her many, many words, clearly present on her face. She’s brilliant but easily distracted, and he’s noticed the way Neve tenses whenever Bellara fawns over her, the way her smile grows just a little forced. And then there is Rook. 

Under all the bluster of humor and sarcasm lies her poorly concealed secret: she’s overwhelmed at being somehow in charge of all of this. She’s quick to take responsibility for her hand in releasing the gods, though it sounds as though allowing this Solas to continue with his ritual was probably going to be worse. Probably. She also clearly feels responsible for the cuts and bruises on Neve’s face, but no one is talking about it. He can tell he’s right by the way they don’t talk about it. Even so, Rook’s quick to laugh and faster to smile even through her clear and persistent worry as she tries to buoy up everyone else’s mood. It takes Lucanis less than a day to conclude that this whole group of women are holding each other together with the tremulous threads of hope and a shared cause. 

He’s a mess himself, so he’s not exactly in a position to judge. 

“You have files on everyone?” he asks, sifting through the pile of papers Neve handed him when he walked into her office. He suspects that these are the public files, the ones left where anyone could read them. The real ones she’s probably keeping better hidden. Probably encoded too. But still, what she thinks is safe to share will still tell him much about this new team of theirs. 

Neve doesn’t trust him. But that feels right. He wouldn’t trust him either. Neve’s distrust at least feels familiar. She is calm, collected, and distant. She’s being nice to him despite the clear distrust, and unlike other inhabitants of the Lighthouse, she hasn’t threatened to kill him yet. At least Spite is quieter in her office, he suspects it has something to do with the wisps.  

Neve doesn’t even look up from the notebook she’s writing in. “Of course.”

He opens up his own file, curious what she’s learned. Most of it is the basics: the structure of the Crows, the Talons, and his relation to Caterina. But then there’s a list of his jobs in Tevinter. One in particular catches his eye. “I didn’t think anyone knew about the hit on Magister Dravenus.”

Neve looks up then, mouth twisting in a wry smile. “Not everyone knew that he was part of the Venatori.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Her smile widens. “He was three days dead before the murder was reported. That gave his slaves time to get to the Shadow Dragons. Not many assassins give a shit about a magister’s slaves.”

If that’s his tell, he’s not about to be mad about it. “Professional courtesy. My contract was for him, not his household.” Somewhere in another time, he can hear Illario complaining about his having too much of a heart for his line of work. 

“And helping his slaves was simply a side benefit?”

It had been the right thing to do. “Sure.”

He’s given the wrong answer and he knows it by the way Neve’s mouth turns down, but that’s the only indicator. He returns to the files, opening up Rook’s. Rook’s and Bellara’s are the thinnest by far. Bellara’s isn’t exactly a surprise, since she’s spent most of her life in Arlathan Forest. He’s surprised that Neve has anything on her at all. 

Rook’s is more interesting. He learns her given name for one: Camina Ingellvar. Where the moniker Rook came from is still a mystery that Neve’s file doesn’t solve. But there’s something else. 

“Rook was kicked out of the Mourn Watch? What does someone have to do to offend a group of necromancers? ” Between her Nevarran accent and her manipulation of spirit energy as they’d fought their way through The Ossuary, he’d quickly figured out Rook was a mortalitasi. He’s not exactly thrilled about it, seems like a waste of a good corpse in his opinion, but she had rescued him, so he’s not about to be overly picky. 

Neve looks up from her work, rolling her quill between her fingers. “Everything I’ve learned is in her file; it’s not as if Mourn Watch interpolitics made the Tevinter papers. The way I understand it, she disobeyed an order and pissed a lot of powerful people off. She wasn’t removed, but she’s officially listed as ‘on sabbatical’ and apparently that’s the same thing.”

He has a hard time imagining Rook purposefully doing anything to piss anyone off. Even with an ancient elven god in her head and two others supposedly wreaking havoc across Thedas, she’s maintained an enviable optimism. 

“Things are strained with her and Harding,” he mentions casually.

“Did I tell you Varric Tethras was the one who hired me for this job?” Neve asks. 

Ah. Finally, a name he has heard before. “No.”

In this, some of Neve’s carefully constructed aloofness falls away. “At Solas’s ritual, things went sideways fast. Varric tried to reason with him, but Solas killed him. Afterward, it was so strange…we tried to tell Rook what happened, but it was like she wasn’t there. Like her mind was somewhere else. It was terrifying, but she did hit her head pretty hard, so I let it go. The first day or two she kept talking about Varric as if he was still here. She’s stopped doing that, but she goes to the infirmary a lot.”

She shrugs. “Everyone processes grief differently. I think Harding resents how easily she’s carrying on as if nothing has changed.”

He thinks of Illario’s clear carelessness, of the way he keeps telling himself Caterina is dead as if this time is the time that the words blow will actually land, that he’ll feel something, anything. “Grief is hard.”

People come in three types: Family, contracts, and enemies. He’s still trying to figure out who exactly his are while also feeling out this particular contract. He’s no stranger to working with others, to making alliances and contacts to get him what he needs to get a job done, but this is…different. This is a team and he’s somehow been included in it even with everything that he is. 

And isn’t. 

Later, with a fresh cup of coffee, he retreats into the pantry he’s claimed as his room. He’s tired, but when isn’t he? He’s been awake for days on end during jobs before, so this should be easy. Besides, with enough coffee anything is possible. 

“Not keeping. Your promise,” Spite grumbles, but there’s no rancor in it.  

Lucanis isn’t sure what the demon keeps going on about. He’d kept his side of the deal with the demon. Some part of him was convinced that once he was out of The Ossuary, Spite would go too. That it hasn’t happened that way is…inconvenient. 

Abomination. That is what he is, he supposes. But even in that, he’s not quite right. Because his demon doesn’t have control all the time, only when his slips. When he lets his guard down. So, he won’t be doing that. He sips more of his coffee. It’s passable, but he really needs to get back to Antiva and get some quality coffee in this place. Also groceries. There’s hardly anything edible in this place.

He hears footsteps approaching and he freezes, hand already reaching for his hidden dagger. But the steps are casual, leisurely even; Rook’s by the sound of them. There’s a hesitation at the door as if she isn’t quite sure if she should knock or not. He wonders what the hesitation is about, but then he glances at the demon pouting in the corner and wonders no longer. 

A moment later, she knocks anyway. He maintains his position leaning against the wall. “Come in.”

She’s not in her armor but instead wears a simple blouse and pants. That means this is a social visit. He tenses a little, hoping that with her reappearance that Spite isn’t going to violently demand to speak with her again. She’d looked rather horrified by the whole thing. He’d prefer not to have a repeat. Spite is clearly interested, but he is quiet. For now. 

She smiles as she enters the pantry, her purple eyes glancing around the space. Neve’s file didn’t tell him her age, but he guesses she’s a few years younger than him. She’s elven, but not Dalish, and she plays with the ends of her long, brown hair when she’s nervous. She’s doing it now. “I…uh…just wanted to drop by. See how you were settling in? You know we have other rooms, right? You don’t have to sleep in the pantry.”

He forces a smile and a twisting truth that’s not quite a lie. “Are you asking why the trained assassin prefers a quiet, unassuming spot with good choke points?” 

If she catches any hint of a lie, she hides it well. “Well, so long as you’re comfortable then.”

“Thank you.” He’s not used to such concern over his comfort, but he can see that this is Rook’s way. 

“Is…uh…Spite here?” she asks. 

“Here,” the demon replies, with a sing-song lilt of his voice as he stalks a bit nearer to her.

Lucanis sighs. “Perpetually.” 

Rook nods once and then addresses a spot she clearly assumes Spite is. She’s about three feet off. “Spite, you are quite welcome here as well, but there will be no more hurting Lucanis. Am I clear?” 

Lucanis is surprised at how firm and unyielding her voice is, at the sharp edge the usual light-hearted sarcasm has given way to. He suddenly sees the person from Rook’s file, the one who would disobey an order, make the call that needed to happen if she believed in it enough. She’s talking to Spite, but it’s him who has the ridiculous compulsion to stand a little straighter. 

Spite approaches him. “I want. To Talk.” The demon is insistent, but not in the same way as last night. 

Lucanis can’t help but smile. “She asked you a question.” It’s nice to be able to needle him back for once. 

Spite glares at him and then at her. “Not. Hurting.”

“I think that was agreement to your terms, but it’s hard to say,” he shrugs. 

“Thank you, Spite,” Rook replies with a smile. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

She looks utterly confused. “Do what?”

“Talk to him.”

She crosses her arms. “But he’s standing here in the room. That would be rather rude, don’t you think?”

“Rude. Yes. Want to talk.” 

“Don’t encourage him. I’m trying to get rid of him, not make him more comfortable.”

There’s an emotion in her eyes he can’t quite place, isn’t sure what it means. It feels familiar, almost disappointment. He worries he’s managed to say the wrong thing again. “If we can help you with that, we will. Are you sure you’re okay being here?”

He’s a professional. Of course. “I’m fine; Spite won’t be a problem again.”

She looks surprised at his response and then immediately sorry. “I should have been clearer. You just lost a family member. I know you said you needed to work, but if you have responsibilities in Treviso or if you’ve changed your mind now that you’ve had some time to think about it…”

Oh. More…concern for him. He wants to appreciate the sentiment, but he can’t go home anyway. Not like this. Caterina is dead, and it is only because he is free…but he’s not really free so what has he really gained and what has he lost?

He doesn’t say any of that. 

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a contract, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. Besides, I owe you a debt, and after a year in that hole, I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back.” It’s the last contract his grandmother made, and he intends to see it through. 

“Alright then, if we’re going up against gods, we’re going to need all the help we can get. But…uh, I’m glad you want to be here.” She smiles before she goes, something soft and honest and true. 

He’s almost sorry to be alone again until he realizes that Spite was hanging on every word. 

[clementinebriar]

Graham says the duck thing again, and she almost checks out of the conversation right then and there. It’s only his explanation almost immediately afterward that gets her to stick around, though she does throw Graham a look of slight derision when he further insists his grandmother would like her. Guy probably doesn’t realize just how much he tends to get under people’s skin — thinks she’s starting to get under his, in fact, with her quip about Alec. It’s a fact of life, much like anything else is: the sky is blue, the grass is green, and eventually Clementine Wood gets hard to swallow. So she waves the notion off again, as she’d rather not be humiliated in front of someone the Lacrosse King talks about with such fucking reverence. “I’ll take a rain check,” she says, though doesn’t point out that the rain check will most likely never come. She won’t insult Graham’s intelligence — he could very well know she’s bullshitting him. But the fact remains she doesn’t really care, does she?

She’s especially bitter now that Graham tries to one-up her in terms of friendship with Alec — we go way back, he says, and Clem can do little else but scoff. “Yeah? So why’s he never mentioned you before?” she asks, voice posed as a challenge. “I’ve known him since we were in diapers, Oswald. He’s had plenty of opportunities to say something about you to me.” Alright, that’s unfair. Alec could very well have mentioned Graham at some point to Clementine — and it could have very well been during one of the times she’d tuned him out, which happened more often than not in high school.

But she’s not going to concede to that point — she’s stubborn, and a bitch, and it’s better Graham gets that now than before he wears her down enough to maybe actually get her to accept dinner with him and his grandma. Besides, she and Alec were practically thrust out of their mothers’ wombs inseparable — despite how much shit they give each other, Clementine doesn’t think there’s anyone she’d so readily go to bat for. “So if you’re just making shit up to take the heat off you, try something else,” she sniffs haughtily, taking the photo paper without much fanfare, balancing it against her hip as she gives Graham a long, skeptical once-over. 

Then the guy says sorry, and Clementine wants to pull her hair out. Can’t he just be a dick? It’d be much easier to end this conversation on a less culpable note if he could just stick to being some busy-body asshole who’s been wasting her time. Instead, he’s inviting her to dinner with his grandmother, apologizing for inadvertently insulting the most important person in her life, and still giving her free photo paper. Jesus Christ, Clem’s a fucking monster, comparatively. “Just—” she huffs, frustrated. “Whatever, it’s fine, could you just—” she waves her arms around, photo paper and all, gesturing wildly at the man in front of her. “I don’t know, call me a bitch or something? You’re freaking me out.”

"duck a l'orange," he repeated, as if that would make any difference. "it's roast duck with an orange glaze. a julia child original recipe that will blow your mind!" when clem made the point about graham's grandmother hating her, he couldn't help but laugh a little. nana dottie was a lot of things, but she was even less pretentious than him most of the time. in a lot of ways, she was proper based on old-fashioned notions of how she should act in public. behind closed doors, she was much more relaxed and, honestly, cooler than graham was. "i was just trying to be nice... it's been so long since we actually talked to one another, and my grandmother always says the best way to get to know someone is to share a meal with them," the look on his face could have won him a runner-up title for 'best dejected puppy-like pout.' "nana dottie would not hate you, trust me. i actually think that she'll have wished that she had a grandchild like you. i wouldn't be surprised if she invited you to thanksgiving dinner."

alec was his friend, too, and although it's childish graham couldn't help but feel a bit possessive. "alec and i are 'fucking nerds,' as you so politely put it, together. we go way back, clem," he staked his claim to poking jabs at their shared friend. it wasn't like graham had been such an asshole in high school that he hadn't spent time with kids outside of the jock and cheerleader crowd. he had gone to alec's shows and hung out when it was just the two of them. "i love the guy, i'm not just trying to piss on his intelligence. it was just a joke, okay? even alec laughed it off," he adjusted his tie to avoid saying anything else that might hurt them both. "look, i am sorry... i guess i got too excited about catching up, i didn't think about how talking about your friend might hurt you."

he followed her into the copy room, his attention directed towards a fresh ream of the photo paper she had come for in the first place. "right, sorry, i forgot," he sheepishly apologized for the third time in the past couple of minutes. "i'm happy to supply photo paper whenever you need to stop by city hall. no one really uses the stuff anymore, anyways. we mostly use regular printer paper." graham grabbed the brand spanking new ream, plus the already opened stack, and handed them to clem. "i'm sorry for all the hassle, hopefully this was worth the walk and talk," he added as the fourth in a long line of owed apologies.

[bunnyboy-juice]

my best friend just told me she's gonna show me her regular ass grocery order when she gets home and i seriously cheered as if she said she was coming over Right Now