#and is it my being nice that's the issue or do I just want to feel like I have control so that I can feel safe?

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: 10 fun facts about your future spouse

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you 10 fun facts about your partner/future spouse. I hope you all enjoy it!

FREE READING: a subscription to my Patreon before February 7th, no matter the tier, will give you a free question of choice. I updated the overall look of my patreon so feel free to look!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel > PATREON Masterlist [NEW]

The extended version (10 more fun facts) of this reading can be found on my Patreon, the link of which is here

~pick a card~

Pile 1:

1. They would love to draw you as their muse;

2. They enjoy shows that have incredibly dangerous and insane stunts (because why would you want to do that);

3. They can be very catty when it comes to their words if they’re annoyed; giving shade like a high-schooler;

4. They love their alcohol, but it has to be a specific kind;

5. They enjoy beautiful gardens and would love to have one to tend to themselves (but they aren’t good at it at all, you’ll probably be helping in the future);

6. Your future spouse loves thinking back to their high-school times with old friends, re-experiencing all of it;

7. Your future spouse is open to learning from mistakes and growing from past experiences;

8. Your future spouse would love to sleep in the forest with you sometimes; just you two, or your little family if you two have kids, in the forest with some fire and marshmallows on sticks;

9. They think a fun date in the future for the two of you would be picking fruits from trees;

10. They love acting as a joke; they have a whole alter-ego.

Pile 2:

1. Your future spouse enjoys driving cars a lot; they love the feeling it gives them;

2. They have a very small friend group (around 2 friends), but they’re so close they’re basically siblings;

3. Your future spouse has a tendency to let things go their way and just see what happens, even if preparing would’ve been a better idea;

4. Your future spouse will constantly giggle if they’re drunk;

5. They really enjoy cats, and most of guys their future spouse’s have had a cat when they were younger;

6. They find celebrating birthdays difficult and will act a bit ‘against’ it, but secretly they do enjoy it;

7. Your future spouse is good at imagining things (they prefer to imagine fantasy scenario’s);

8. Your future spouse loves being with friends and having a fun drink;

9. They will be causing mayhem to get a reaction out of you simply because they are bored;

10. They have a decent amount of influence on people; but they only really use it to fuck around and have fun.

Pile 3:

1. Your future spouse can enjoy a good book every once in a while;

2. They enjoy stargazing through windows something (they don’t prefer the outside often, given they get cold very quickly and dislike a ton of layers in order to do so);

3. They like circuses;

4. Your future spouse sometimes has nightmares, they’ve had this their whole lives. They have more then usual, and enough to be an issue in their lives;

5. Even though your future spouse will claim they’re not superstitious at all, they will always make a wish at a falling star;

6. Your future spouse loves to think about moral problems;

7. They would enjoy it to have a fish as a pet;

8. They’d like to sit in a dark forest alone and not do anything; they see the situation as something very peaceful and nice;

9. Your future spouse is very detail-oriented;

10. Your future spouse is often at the back near a wall at bigger gatherings, preferring to see everything instead of standing in the middle of it all.

[ckret2]

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them." 

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk. 

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly." 

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

[tedsies]

i caved and bought the legacy collection out of curiosity

i bought it on steam by the way, no way am I going anywhere near the ea app

random thoughts as i go along:

game loaded up straight away with no issues (what a strange feeling)

got into pleasantview within 2 minutes (obvs I have no cc installed right now so its gonna be faster anyway)

a bit of a jumpscare to see the game again without reshade ngl

straight into the lothario household. don you look... different without all my defaults

screen resolution defaulted to the right size without me having to change anything by the way, which was nice

turned up all the graphics setting to max and going to visit the goth household as that always gives me lag, even vanilla

this experience is already making me realise I need to cut down my 12gb downloads folder, cos man this is so smooth and fast without all of that in my game

well everything is working perfectly straight out of the box. had no issues with multiple sims on the big goth lot

going to quit and load up again with my ui mods and defaults next (along with hugelunatic's ikea pack as cc)

legacy collection has an entirely different file path by the way, so won't mess with existing ultimate collection installs (i wouldn't have dared to do this otherwise)

okay all my defaults, ui mods and some others are now in (downloads folder is up to 3.64gb now) and everything is working fine still

ikea items as cc don't seem to be fully appearing in the catalog though? that might be a me problem but i dont know

adding in all my cas cc now, along with hood defaults and hood deco cc (downloads folder is up to 6.5gb now). i'm also adding in anything else I can think of like camera mods, user startup cheat etc etc

getting into pleasantview in less than 2 mins still

heading into cas for the first time now...

... and it loaded up within 10 seconds even with ALL of my cas cc? and this is the first time too so I would've expected major lag. normally cas takes about 60 seconds to load in my game

update on the ikea pack as cc... the build items are definitely there, but not the buy for some reason?

biting the bullet and adding in the remaining 6gb of my 12gb downloads folder

all of my cc is now in the game and loading times were about 30 seconds longer than before. still no issues

took darren dreamer to a community lot and there were no crashes/issues/lag. normally going to a community lot is very dangerous for me cos its where I get the most crashes or issues, its why all my community lots are incredibly small lot sizes

also I have the hood deco view set to extra large... normally I have to have it set to extra small just to play in a small household

i dont think I'm being delulu here to say things are running better

next up is adding in all of my mods, then after that I might dare putting in my mega populated uberhood save, and try reshade?

another ikea update: everything is showing up now. it was me being an idiot

so all of my mods are now also in (so my entire downloads folder now) and i haven't been able to trigger any crashes or pink soup yet through normal gameplay? even with extra large hood view from lots

reshade keeps crashing my game on startup... damn, what am I doing wrong

RESHADE IS NOW WORKING (ver 6.1.1)! thanks to this guide

I finally added in my uberhood save (which is packed with hood deco and and has 35 playable families).... and it's working! I also played with a household for a bit and everything was working fine

final update before I go to bed (as its gone midnight here lol)

i now have all of my mods, cc, saves, and reshade installed, and I've yet to have any pink soup or crashes (apart from the crashes when I was *incorrectly* trying to install reshade). honestly... i'm surprised. i dont want to speak too soon obviously, but things seem better. i was just playing in a household with extra large lot view on and that would usually IMMEDIATELY crash my game, but nothing happened. tomorrow i'll actually play for an extended period of time, so i'll be able to tell more for sure then.

i hope this has been helpful to at least a couple of people, and i'll leave with you a shot of my pleasantview newly loaded up in the legacy collection 😅

[minniesfiles]

BLOOM WITH YOU | month 0

After years of heartbreak and disappointment, you and your husband’s dream of starting a family seemed out of reach. But miracle was a beautiful thing.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, smut

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; heavy angst in this chapter, arguing, lots of tears, mention of blood, mention of miscarriages, mention of fertility issues, generally very sad and emotional chapter, wonwoo being a caring hubby :( , penetrative sex, missionary, squirting, creampie, love-making

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8k

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series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍24 MAY 2025 — [present]

You always thought your life was the kind people envied. You had the checklist: a career you enjoyed, a loving husband who kissed your forehead every morning, and a circle of family and friends who were there for every celebration and every stumble. It was the life you dreamed of when you were younger, the one where you imagined adulthood to be a smooth, perfect path.

Yet there was a piece of puzzle that seemed to leave the entire picture of your life incomplete, and without it you couldn’t rest.

You’ve been searching for it for three years, but it was buried somewhere deep in the unknown. And the longer you desperately tried to dig through every corner of the earth, the more exhausted you grew — physically and mentally.

Yet still, you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t give up.

It was midnight, and you were sitting by the window for hours with your knees to your chest, watching the rain pour heavily. You didn’t bother to turn on more lights or even check the time because your mind was elsewhere. You were waiting for something — anything — to break the silence that had grown deafening over the years.

And just then, you heard the sound of the front door opening. Your body stiffened, and your head snapped towards the source of the noise. He was finally home.

You watched your husband step into the house and noticed that he was slightly soaked. He must have walked from the car to the house in the rain without an umbrella, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he had even cared to shield himself.

But your anger was quicker to rise. Three hours. He finished work three hours ago. You were sitting here, waiting, as you did so many nights before, wondering where he was and why he didn’t come home. The excuses were always the same — delays, errands, last-minute shoots.

But a human could only sit and endure for so long before they reach their breaking point, and tonight was it.

You stood up abruptly and made your way towards him. Your bare feet made no sound against the floor, but your furious presence was loud. “Where the hell were you?” you barked.

Wonwoo stopped in his tracks, his wide shoulders sagging as he let out a tired sigh. He placed his keys on the table by the door, but he didn’t dare to meet your gaze. His exhaustion was imprinted onto his face, in the slight droop of his eyelids, the heaviness in his movements. He rubbed the back of his neck as water dripped from his fingers onto the floor.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” he muttered with his deep voice.

Your eyes narrowed and your anger flared hotter. “You don’t want to do this right now?” you repeated as your voice rose.

“You think I wanted to sit here for hours, wondering where you were? You finished work three hours ago. What the hell were you doing?”

“I was driving around,” he admitted after a moment, his voice barely audible over the rain hitting against the glass windows. “I needed to clear my head.”

Your laugh was short and bitter, and filled with disbelief. “Clear your head? Must be nice, having the luxury to escape whenever you feel like it while I sit here drowning in everything that’s wrong with our lives!”

Wonwoo’s head snapped up at your words, and for the first time, he looked at you directly. His eyes were tired, but there was frustration in there too.

“Don’t make this about me,” he said with a sharp tone. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel the same things you do?”

“Then why don’t you act like it? Why don’t you talk to me instead of running off and leaving me here to deal with it alone?” you questioned as you stood with a defensive posture.

“Because every time we talk, it turns into this,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “A fight. Blaming each other for something neither of us can control.”

As the unspoken truth was finally exposed, the silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Your once-bright vision of starting a family turned into a relentless cycle of pain and resentment. The hope that had once bound you together now only reminded you of what you both couldn’t have.

Three long years of trying had left its mark — never-ending doctor’s appointments, treatments, and reassurances that never felt enough. Your patience had been tested at every social gathering where friends shared pregnancy announcements, and with each passing year, the gap between your expectations and reality widened.

You both endured the isolation and the pain of waiting together, hoping for something that stubbornly refused to arrive. And now, in the wake of another failed attempt, your shared grief threatened to consume what little remained of your hope and connection.

You felt your throat tighten as your anger threatened to give way to tears. But you refused to cry, refused to let yourself appear weak. “You’ve given up,” you said quietly. You tried to sound firm but your trembling voice betrayed you. “You’ve stopped trying.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened slightly as he stepped closer to meet your eyes properly. “I haven’t given up,” he said. “But what do you want me to do? Keep pushing until we destroy what’s left of us? We’re tearing each other apart over something we can’t change.”

You shook your head, and your hands trembled as you tried to hold onto your anger. However, you knew he was right, so his words struck a deep chord within you. Both of you were worn out and, in your own ways, broken. Neither of you could seem to get around the distance left by the dream that once united you together.

In the end, the tears you were holding back finally spilled over.

“You don’t get it,” you said with a whisper. “I feel like I’ve failed. Like I’m the reason this isn’t happening for us. And every time you pull away, it just makes me feel more alone.”

Wonwoo’s face softened further, and he reached out for your hand, but you stepped back. “Don’t,” your voice cracked. “Don’t act like everything’s fine. It’s not fine.”

“I know it’s not,” he said as his hand dropped to his side. “I’m not pretending it is. But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix us.”

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, and the intensifying storm reflected the emotions between you both. You turned away and wrapped your arms around yourself as your body shook with silent sobs. You felt him watching you, felt the space between you that grew wider as each string of hope was cut off.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” you whimpered. “We had plans. We had dreams. We were supposed to have a family by now, to be happy. But everything feels…broken.”

Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching you as if he were searching for the right words. Then, slowly, he dropped the bag he was holding and stepped forward. You didn’t hear him move, didn’t feel him until his arms wrapped around you from behind.

His hold on you was warm and strong, and his muscular arms wrapped around your small frame as if he was trying to hold you together when you couldn’t.

At first, you tensed up, taken by surprise, but then you turned around and melted into him, letting your tears soak his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair, “I’m so sorry baby.”

You shook your head as your sobs muffled against his chest. “I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared we’ll never get to start a family like we dreamed. I’m scared we’re never going to be okay again. That we’re never going to be enough for each other.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, feeling his own tears rolling down his cheeks. “But you’re enough for me my love” he said, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been enough for me. I just…I don’t know how to make this better.”

As much as Wonwoo wanted to comfort you with reassurance, he could keep his feelings locked away all the time. This was the honest he could get.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him through your tear-streaked face. His red and glistening eyes met yours, and you saw the pain, the love, the desperation in them. Like your own.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you cried silently.

“You won’t,” he promised as his hands cupped your face. “We’re in this together. No matter what. Remember the promise we made on our wedding day?” he asked, and you nodded slowly,

“We’ll be okay”

You went to sleep that night, with your head resting on your husband’s shoulder while his arms were securely wrapped around your waist, thinking back to the day when everything started to fall apart. The memories played over and over like a cruel loop.

How badly you wished it was just a bad dream, a sickening nightmare that you’d shake off upon waking. But it wasn’t. It was real. The pain was too sharp, too vivid to be an illusion. And as much as you wished to escape it, every time you closed your eyes you were forced to face the harshness of it all.

▍1 JUNE 2022 — [3 years ago]

You hummed to yourself as you sliced through a bundle of fresh spring onions. It was a peaceful evening, and you were excited for your husband to come home from his photoshoot. He’d been working so hard lately and you wanted to treat him with his favorite dish — a noce pot of kimchi jjigae.

Cooking has become your comforting hobby lately ever since you found out you were pregnant. While Wonwoo was out for his clients’ photoshoots, you would stay at home to make his favourite meals so he could enjoy them when he returned home.

As you stirred the pot on the stove, your free hand instinctively went to your small, round belly. At twelve weeks pregnant, you had just begun to notice the subtle changes in your body. It was a surprise you didn’t expect, a blessing you both dreamed of.

As you reached for the ladle, a sudden sharp, searing pain shot through your lower abdomen. Your hand flew to your stomach, and you doubled over, gasping for air. The ladle slipped from your hand and clattered onto the floor.

It was just a cramp. That was what you told yourself. The pregnancy books said cramps were normal. You leaned against the counter and tried to breathe through the discomfort. But then it came again, this time sharper, radiating down your lower back. Your knees buckled, and you had to grip the counter to keep yourself upright.

The warmth between your legs came next, and it was unmistakable and terrifying. You staggered back and looked down to see blood staining your leggings. A wave of panic overtook you.

“No, no, no,” you whispered with your trembling voice. Your breathing became ragged, the pain was becoming sharper and incessant. The blood was so red, so graphic against the kitchen tile.

Your phone was on the table, a few feet away. You shuffled toward it with your blurring vision. With your hands shaking uncontrollably, you tapped on Wonwoo’s number and held your breath as the phone rang.

Once. Twice. Six times. No answer.

You knew Wonwoo barely checked his phone while working, but this was urgent. You needed him badly.

Your chest tightened. “Wonwoo, please,” you whimpered, and your voice cracked as the call went to voicemail. You tried again, but the phone rang endlessly. The pain grew worse, and tears blurred your vision almost completely. The world around you felt like it was spinning out of control.

On the third try, he finally answered. “Hey babe, sorry I was busy. What’s up?” Wonwoo said with a casual voice. You tried to speak, but the words were choking inside your throat.

“Babe? Are you okay?” his voice shifted, becoming tense.

“Y/n?”

“I—” your voice was barely a whisper, and the effort it took to speak felt huge.

Another wave of pain crashed over you that pulled a strangled cry from your lips. You couldn’t hold the phone anymore. Your phone slipped from your hand and fell onto the floor. You tried to pick it up, but your vision darkened around the edges, and before you could say anything more, everything went black.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the overwhelming brightness. The sharp light in your eyes made you wince and turn your head. Your body felt unnaturally heavy, and your limbs stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in your abdomen. When the sterile smell of antiseptic hit your nostrils, you realised that you weren’t at home.

“Honey?” Wonwoo’s voice was hoarse, and it was filled with a mixture of relief and anguish.

He was sitting beside your bed with his hand wrapped tightly around yours. His face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. His usual calm and confident demeanor was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a fragile, broken man. Something you haven’t seen in a long time since his grandmother passed away a few years back.

You swallowed hard, but your throat was dry. “Wonwoo?” you rasped.

“Hey, I'm here,” he said quickly and leaned closer. “I'm right here baby. You're okay. You're safe.”

You tried to sit up, but the effort made your head swim. “What…what happened?” you asked.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled, and he squeezed your hand tighter as he used his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“You called me,” he began. “I-I didn't know what was wrong, but when you stopped talking, I rushed home. You were on the floor, Y/n. There was blood everywhere” his voice cracked as he spoke, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

“I called an ambulance, and they brought you here.”

The air felt heavy after that. Heavy with something unsaid. You could feel it — his silence, the pain etched into every line of his face. Then, your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, feeling dread creeping into your chest.

“The baby,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “Wonwoo…is the baby okay?”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched as he froze. For a moment, he didn’t answer. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he let out a choked sob, and his body shook as he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His tears were warm against your skin, almost like you could feel his grief soaking into your skin.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stopped, and your whole body went cold as the meaning of his words sank in. “No,” you said, shaking your head. Your voice rose in panic and disbelief.

“No, that’s not true. Don’t say that Wonwoo. Don’t you dare say that.”

He pulled back with his face streaked with tears, and tried to cup your cheeks, but you pushed his hands away. “No!” you cried. “The baby’s fine. The baby has to be fine. Tell me the baby’s fine!”

Your hands moved to your stomach, feeling for something — anything — that would prove him wrong. But there was nothing. The flatness of your abdomen, and the emptiness you felt, confirmed the truth you desperately wanted to deny.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice pleading, “please…”

“No!” your scream echoed through the hospital room. You began to sob uncontrollably, shaking your head as if doing so could erase the reality of what had happened.

“No, no, no! I can’t…I can’t lose the baby!”

Your husband reached for you and pulled you into his arms as you fell apart. You hit his chest weakly with your fists as your sobs muffled against him.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, “why did this happen? Why?”

Wonwoo’s own grief broke free, and he began to cry loudly, his body shuddering as he held onto you. His cries were unfiltered and guttural, the kind of pain that came from losing something that could never be replaced.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered through his tears. “I’m so sorry my love. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save our baby.”

▍31 DECEMBER 2024 — [ 5 months ago]

It felt like deja vu, but worse. You sat on the hospital bed as you blankly stared out of the window. You could hear the monitors beeping and the muffled voices of nurses outside the door. To you, it might as well have been the exact one where your heart had broken all those other times.

You were supposed to be celebrating New Year’s Eve with your friends and family, hoping and praying the new year to come would be filled with joy you deserved with your baby. Yet, here you were, in the same room you were in all these years ago — the same white walls and the same faint scent of disinfectant.

The world outside carried on like nothing happened. The snow continued to drift down from the sky, covering everything in white. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, drinking, counting down the hours until midnight. They were making resolutions, clinking glasses, kissing and hugging their loved ones.

But here in this suffocating space, you felt as if time was frozen. There was no celebration, no fresh start. Just loss.

For the sixth time.

But you didn’t cry. You had no tears left. You didn’t scream or wail or ask why like you did all those other times. The grief settled into your bones so deeply that it didn’t need to be expressed anymore. It became a part of you, as much as your blood and breath.

Across the room, Wonwoo sat in a chair with his face buried in his hands. His body shook as he silently sobbed, and his fingers gripped his hair as though he could somehow pull himself back together. He had always been your rock, the one who always reassured you even when his own voice cracked.

But it all seemed too much to keep himself together. He was completely torn.

“I don’t understand,” he choked out between sobs, “why does this keep happening?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t move. You just kept staring out at the snow with your hands resting limply in your lap.

This was supposed to be the one. The doctors said this pregnancy was strong, that the baby’s heartbeat was steady, that things looked promising. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope — really hope.

And now, that hope was dimmed. Again.

The door opened softly, and Dr. Jung stepped inside. She was your doctor through all six pregnancies. Each time, she was the one to deliver the devastating news, and each time, her expression had grown wearier. Now, she looked almost as broken as you and Wonwoo did.

Wonwoo wiped his face and sat up straighter. His hands were still shaking as he reached for yours, but you didn’t react to his touch.

Dr. Jung hesitated for a moment before speaking, like she was trying to find the right words. But there were no right words.

“Y/n…Wonwoo,” she began gently. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

Wonwoo inhaled a sharp breath and blinked back fresh tears that threatened to fall. But you didn’t blink.

Dr. Jung shifted in her chair as her hands clasped together tightly. “I know you’ve been through this so many times before,” she continued, her voice laced with sorrow. “And I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now. But we finally have some answers.”

Wonwoo’s body stiffened, and his grip tightened on your lifeless hand. “What do you mean?” he asked with his hoarse voice.

Dr. Jung exhaled softly. “The tests we ran after your last miscarriage, and the scans we did earlier this time, have given us a clearer picture. Y/n, your womb has an abnormal structure. It’s something we hadn’t been able to see before with certainty, but now we can.”

The words floated in the air like smoke, curling around and suffocating you. Wonwoo frowned and shook his head as if trying to make sense of the given information.

“What kind of abnormality?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why didn’t anyone see this before?”

Dr. Jung’s expression softened. “It’s not something that always presents clearly in routine scans. But in Y/n’s case, the shape of her uterus makes it difficult for a pregnancy to progress past a certain point. The risk of miscarriage is significantly higher.”

Wonwoo felt his breath get caught in his throat. He the. turned to you and searched your face, but you were still staring out the window. And for the first time since he had known you, It was hard for him to read what you were feeling. And it broke him.

“There are treatment options,” Dr. Jung continued softly.

“In some cases, surgery can help. But…I need to be honest with you both. Even with intervention, the risk of miscarriage will always be there. It may be lower, but it won’t disappear completely.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath as his hands tightened into fists. “So you’re saying...it might never happen for us?”

Dr. Jung hesitated. “I’m saying that it will be much more difficult than for most couples. And I want you both to be prepared for that reality.”

You finally blinked. Your lips parted slightly, but you still didn’t speak.

You should have felt something — anger, sorrow, frustration — but there was only a vast emptiness inside you. You always thought you were cursed the second time it happened, that you were just unlucky, that fate was cruel.

But now that there was a medical explanation, you understood that it was your body. Your own body had been betraying you all these years.

Dr. Jung reached out and placed a hand over your cold one. “I know this is a lot to process. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just take the time you need to grieve.”

You slowly turned your head towards the doctor, and your voice finally surfaced after what felt like an eternity. “So, you’re saying I was never meant to be a mother?” you whispered. The words were quiet, but they cut through the room like a knife.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled. “No, honey, don’t say that—”

Dr. Jung shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Many women with uterine abnormalities go on to have successful pregnancies. It’s just more complicated, and we would need to explore options very carefully.”

You absorbed the words, but they felt far like they were being spoken through a fog.

Wonwoo reached for your hand again and squeezed it tightly. “We’ll find a way,” he pleaded. “Even if we have to try again, even if it’s hard, we’ll find a way.”

Your eyes met his then, and for the first time all night, you let yourself feel the burden of his sorrow. His hope. His desperation.

“We said that last time,” you murmured.

Wonwoo’s face crinkled, and his body shuddered with another silent sob. He didn’t argue, because he knew you were right. You both said it last time. And the time before. And the time before that.

Dr. Jung sighed softly as she stood up. “I’ll leave you both alone for now. If you need anything, just call.”

She left the room quietly and closed the door behind her. The silence that followed was unbearable.

Wonwoo finally stood up and paced towards the window. He placed a hand against the glass and looked outside at the city below. The sky was glowing with fireworks, filled with explosions of red, blue, and gold painting the night. The world was celebrating the new year that just began.

People were cheering and kissing as they welcomed the new year with laughter and joy. And here you were, drowning in loss and misfortune.

You watched the fireworks for a moment, then turned back to your husband. His shoulders were shaking again while his forehead was pressed against the glass. You should have gone to him, should have wrapped your arms around him.

But you couldn’t move.

“I don’t think I can do this again” your voice came out flat and emotionless.

Wonwoo turned to you with his eyes filled with grief. “Y/n—”

“I can’t Wonwoo” you whispered through your cracked voice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hoping just to have it ripped away. I can’t keep watching you fall apart because of me.”

He was in front of you in an instant, kneeling beside the bed as his hands cupped your face. “Baby this isn’t your fault. It’s not because of you.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “But it is. My body…it’s broken Wonwoo”

His own tears fell freely as he kissed your hands, your forehead, your cheeks, and lastly your pale chapped lips. “You are not broken, my love” he whispered.

“And we will figure this out. Even if it’s different than what we imagined, we will figure it out together, okay? Please don't give up.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was still something to fight for. But as the fireworks exploded outside, all you could feel was the weight of six losses.

You didn’t know how to carry it anymore.

▍30 MAY 2025 — [present]

The sun was warm against your skin, while the gentle breezes swayed your brown locks all over the place. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that should have made you feel light and at peace. But peace was hard to find for the past few years.

You sat cross-legged on your checkered picnic blanket, your fingers absentmindedly running through your husband’s hair as he lay on his back with his head resting on your lap.

Wonwoo was talking with his deep comforting voice, he was weaving stories from your past. He talked about memories of when you were both younger and happier. He spoke about your first date and how you were nervous as you sat in the tiny café, your hands inches apart as both waited for the other to close the distance. He reminded you of your honeymoon in Singapore, especially when you would both run into the ocean at midnight.

But you weren’t listening.

Your eyes were locked on a family that you noticed walking down the paved path in front of you. A man and a woman were holding hands, and between them were their two children.

The older girl, no more than five, pointed excitedly at something in the distance, and her laughter rang like wind chimes in the warm summer air. The younger boy, perhaps two, held to his mother’s side with his tiny fingers gripping her dress as he looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes.

You felt your chest tighten. It was the kind of family you always dreamed of having for yourself and Wonwoo. But fate had other plans.

Your fingers in your husband's hair came to a halt as your touch grew still.

The familiar suffocating ache settled in your chest, and it made it hard for you to breathe. Your throat felt constricted, and before you could stop it, a single tear rolled down your cheek.

Wonwoo’s voice trailed off. He had been mid-sentence as he told you about some ridiculous thing your neighbour did last week, but when he felt your fingers go still, when he noticed the shift in your breathing, his body tensed.

“Baby?” he called softly, tilting his head slightly to look up at you. But you didn’t respond. Your gaze remained locked on the family with your glassy eyes.

Wonwoo sat up slowly and shifted his weight until he was kneeling in front of you. His hands cupped your face and gently turned you away from the sight before you could spiral again further into pain.

“Hey,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears that escaped. “Look at me.”

You blinked as your focus shifted to him, but the sadness in your eyes remained. Wonwoo swallowed a hard lump, feeling his own chest tightening. He saw that look too many times before. He had felt that pain too.

The past five months were a battle — a slow, painful process of trying to piece yourselves back together after yet another devastating loss.

Six times. You lost six babies. And this time felt different. It was heavier, as if something inside you shattered beyond repair.

Wonwoo took time off work, just for you. And he planned this picnic in hopes — praying — that it would be a step toward healing. But now, as he looked at the sorrow in your eyes, he knew that no amount of warm sunlight or gentle breezes could erase the pain you carried.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and pressed his forehead against yours. “Please baby,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You closed your eyes as more tears slipped free. “I thought I was doing better,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I thought I was learning how to live with it.”

Wonwoo tightened his hold on your face a little. “You don’t have to pretend with me, love.”

You exhaled shakily. “I see them, and I wonder if that will ever be us.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I wonder the same thing,” he admitted. “Every single day.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — half sob, half sigh. “I hate feeling like this,” you confessed. “I hate how every happy family feels like a reminder of what we’ve lost.”

Wonwoo’s hands trailed down your waist, squeezing gently. “I know baby, I know.”

You then met his sad gaze, and looked for something — reassurance, hope, anything that could ease the ache inside you. “Do you ever think we should stop trying?”

The question was sharp and straightforward that made Wonwoo mentally wince.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. He asked himself that question before in the quiet hours of the night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to your soft, uneven breathing beside him. He thought about what it would mean to let go of the dream you had held for so long.

But letting go felt impossible.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I do know that I don’t want to lose us.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t either.”

Wonwoo reached for your hands and laced your fingers together. “Then we take it one day at a time. We stop thinking about what’s ahead and just focus on now. On us.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, and then back up at him. “And if we never get there?”

His throat tightened. He didn’t have an answer for that.

But instead of speaking, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Then we figure out what ‘there’ looks like for us,” he whispered against your skin.

A fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, but this time, you didn’t try to hold them back. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself be held.

▍1 AUGUST 2025

The motion of the crochet hook moving through the soft pink yarn was almost hypnotic. Over and under, loop and pull. You worked in silence as your fingers moved with precision. It was a hobby that you picked up when you were ten, and you often praised yourself at how good you were at it.

You weren’t making anything for anyone in particular. There was no baby waiting for this tiny cardigan. No expectant nursery filled with soft toys and pastel colors. No little hands that would reach for you, no sleepy eyes that would blink up at you in the dead of night.

But still, you crocheted.

The soft yarn draped and pooled over your lap. The cardigan was small and delicate, made for a child who would never wear it. And yet, you kept going, because what else was there to do?

You stopped counting the days since the last you lost your baby, but the grief never truly left you. It was in everything you did, every thought you had.

When you cooked dinner, you thought about how you would have needed to make something different for a toddler. When you went to bed, you thought about how you would have been waking up to cries in the middle of the night.

Even now, sitting in your quiet home, crocheting, you thought about the tiny fingers that would have reached for the soft wool.

A deep sigh left your lips and your hands paused as you traced the fabric with your fingertips. The baby cardigan was almost finished. Just a few more rows, a few buttons to attach, and it would be complete.

But complete for who?

The unanswerable question kept lingering in your mind.

Before you could let your thoughts settle in too deeply, you heard the sound of footsteps out in the hallway. The door then creaked open, and you looked up, startled.

It was Wonwoo, standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face. He was wearing a birthday hat that was slightly crooked on his head, and in his hands, he carried a cake. It was small, homemade, and slightly uneven, with a single candle lit on top.

His voice then began to fill the quiet dimmed room as he began to sing. Wonwoo made his way towards you as he sang, and his eyes were twinkling with love.

“Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday my dear Y/n.”

“Happy birthday to you.”

You blinked in confusion, and then realisation. Your birthday. You forgot — of course you did.

When he reached the end of the song, he knelt in front of you and held the cake out with both hands.

“Make a wish, baby,” he murmured softly.

A lump formed in your throat as you looked at the cake. It wasn’t from a bakery — that you knew was obvious by looking at it. The frosting was unequal, some areas were too thick, and others were too thin. There was a smudge of chocolate near the base where he likely tried to fix a mistake.

He made it himself, and it made you tear up even more.

Wonwoo must have noticed, because he shifted a little in slight embarrassment. “I, uh…I did my best,” he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “I know it’s not perfect, but—”

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off with a broken whisper, and Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly.

You inhaled shakily as you stared at the candle’s flame. You hadn’t made a birthday wish in years. Not since the first miscarriage. Every year, you wished for the same thing. A baby. A chance to be a mother. A chance to keep what you lost so many times.

But the universe didn’t listen.

Your hands trembled a little as you closed your eyes. And then, for the first time in years, you made a different wish.

You wished for peace. For healing. For the strength to move forward, even when it felt impossible.

Opening your eyes, you leaned forward and blew out the candle. The flame flickered once, then disappeared.

Wonwoo carefully placed the cake on the coffee table before turning back to you. He noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks and frowned. Without hesitation, he reached warm hands for you and he cupped your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

His touch was so tender it made you melt into it. He knew exactly what was making you sad. He always knew. His eyes drifted downward for a moment, landing on the small pink cardigan in your lap.

His chest tightened.

You saw the way his expression changed — the way his own pain surfaced.

“Woo…” you started weakly. But he didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, full of love, and full of the things neither of you could always say out loud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you felt his breath warm against your slightly swollen lips.

“I hate seeing you sad on your birthday,” he murmured. “I just…I wanted today to be a good day for you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It is a good day” you replied.

He pulled back a little and stared at your face. “You don’t have to say that.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “But I mean it. You made it a good day.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek which lingered just beneath your eye. “I just want you to be okay.”

You swallowed hard as you glanced down at the cardigan once more. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay,” you admitted. “Not completely.”

Wonwoo’s hold on you tightened. “Then I’ll stay with you until you are. For however long it takes.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks again, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness. They were from love. From gratitude. From knowing that, even in the darkest moments, you weren’t alone.

Wonwoo exhaled softly, looking at the half-finished cardigan. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, but then nodded. “I just…I don’t know why I keep making them,” you said, running your fingers over the fabric. “It’s not like anyone will wear them.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment before reaching down and picking up the cardigan. He turned it over in his hands and studied it carefully.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “It’s unfinished.”

“So?” he lifted it slightly and inspected the delicate stitches. “It still matters.”

“Why?” you looked at him with your heart aching.

Wonwoo met your gaze, “because it’s proof that you love them,” he said simply. “All of them. And that matters.”

You stopped breathing for a second. You never thought about it like that. For so long, you crocheted these tiny garments in silence, never daring to say what they truly meant to you. But Wonwoo always understood.

He placed the cardigan gently back in your lap and kissed your forehead. “We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he whispered. “But whatever happens next…we do it together.”

You nodded slowly as your fingers tightened around the soft fabric.

Together. For the first time in months, the word didn’t feel so heavy.

Wonwoo smiled as he brushed another tear from your cheek. “Now, come on. Let’s eat some of this cake before it completely falls apart.”

You let out a genuine laugh and shook your head. “I think it already has.”

Wonwoo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

You smiled, truly smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest felt just a little lighter.

Maybe you were okay just yet. But with your husband by your side, maybe you would be.

▍3 SEPTEMBER 2025

Your body trembled under the weight of his as he slowly sank himself into you. A low grunt could be heard as he pushed past the tightness he felt around your walls, and another whiny moan when he felt his tip kiss your cervix.

“Fuck” he swore under his breath as he adjusted his position while your legs and arms were wrapped around his broad body.

The weather was getting a little cooler these days, and Wonwoo could feel you slightly shivering beneath him. Grabbing the blanket that was discarded on the side of the bed earlier, he threw it over your naked bodies.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at you. You slowly opened your eyes and gave him a weak nod.

Wonwoo cupped your face and his thumbs traced over your cheekbones, as if he was reassuring himself that you were real, that you were here, together, despite everything.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say it back but couldn't find the words. Instead, you answered him with a kiss.

You bucked your hips upwards to motion him to move, and Wonwoo let out a small hiss as his one hand slowly trailed down to your hip while using the other to support himself upright.

Wonwoo pulled out just enough for the head of his cock to remain buried in, and then in one swift motion, he slammed himself right back in. Your mouth gaped, letting out a loud gasp.

He spread your legs wider and repositioned himself to give him better access. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, then leaning in to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

He began to thrust in a sickeningly slow pace, deep enough for you to feel his cock brush against your cervix. Wonwoo wanted you to know, to feel, how much he loved you. With every open mouthed kiss he peppered over your lips, every deep rhythmic thrust, he wanted you to understand that nothing in this world would ever separate you from him. That he’d love you till the world ended.

“I love you so much” he whispered against your lips. Silent tears rolled down in the corner of your eyes, both in pleasure and love. But you couldn’t deny the pang of pain you felt either. It followed you like a shadow in everything that you did.

“I l-love you t-too” your voice broke, followed by a moan you couldn’t contain.

“It’s okay sweetheart, don’t hold yourself back” he reassured as he slowly picked up his speed. You intertwined your fingers tighter with his as he leaned in to bury his face in your neck once again.

“M-More” you cried out in pleasure as you squirmed beneath him.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his thrusts came to a halt as he pulled out completely. He pushed himself up on his knees, the blanket covering your bodies slipping off his back, and hooked his arms under your legs to pull you down closer.

And before you could comprehend anything, you felt him ram inside your tight hole in one go. You felt the air knock out of your lungs as you held onto his arm for dear life. Wonwoo only gave you a second or two to adjust before he began to pound into you mercilessly, the harsh sound of skin slapping and bed creaking filling your confined bedroom.

His fingers dug into your hips as he tried to maintain his pattern, but your cries and moans fed into his desire to go faster than he already was. The way your breasts bounded up and down, he couldn’t resist the urge to fondle with them. His slender fingers gently pinched at your nipple, causing you to let out a louder moan.

“D-Don’t stop b-baby” you whined.

Wonwoo leaned down and pecked your lips, “I wasn’t planning to sweetheart” he grunted.

Wonwoo knew you were starting to get overstimulated when your moans turned into sobs, and the way you pushed at his arms to beg him for a release.

You felt a tight coil form inside of you, ready to snap at any moment. “P-Please, I c-can’t. Fuck! Baby I-I can’t” you cried as you dug your nails into his biceps.

Wonwoo could feel the way your walls were clenching tighter which made it harder for him to control himself. “Let go baby” he said, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your trembling lips.

“Just let go”

And just like that, the coil finally snapped. Wonwoo pulled out just in time as you squirted all over this cock. Your screams filled the room, your hips shuddering as you continued to soak the bed sheets. Your husband watched with his hooded eyes as you unfolded, biting his lip.

It wasn’t often that you’d squirt during sex, but when you did, it was the hottest thing Wonwoo ever saw. And most of the time, he’d lose his sanity completely.

Wonwoo leaned down and gave you a sloppy kiss while his fingers trailed down to your soaked cunt. “Shh, you’re okay baby” he mumbled against your lips as he slowly rubbed your swollen clit in a circular motion.

When you finally calmed down, you let out a small sob, feeling overwhelmed. You never felt so good in a long time.

“You okay?” your husband asked, staring deeply into your eyes with a loving gaze. You gave him a nod and reached your hand out to caress his sweaty face.

With a soft smile and a peck on your lips, Wonwoo spread your legs wide once again. With one hand gripped on his thick shaft and the other resting on your cheek, he gently eased himself back inside you.

Your back arched and your arms flew to wrap around his muscular torso. His thrusts were more relaxed and slow than before, like he wanted you to understand the depth of his love for you.

“I love you” he whispered into your ear.

“And we’ll be okay.”

The world outside didn’t exist at that moment. There was no grief, no shattered dreams, no echoes of what you lost. There was only this — skin against skin, lips tracing, hands rediscovering the familiar dips and curves of each other’s bodies.

Wonwoo trailed kisses down the column of your throat, and paused at the rapid pulse beneath your skin. He lingered there and savoured the proof of life, the reminder that you were still here, still fighting, still capable of loving even after everything.

You let out a shaky breath as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the tension that lived in his muscles for far too long. You pressed soft kisses along his shoulder as a silent reassurance that you weren’t totally broken beyond repair.

This wasn’t just about making love. It was about finding your way back to each other. It was about healing in the only way you knew how.

“We’re okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Wonwoo swallowed hard as he rested his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he whispered back, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“We are.”

He continued thrusting into you until he felt himself reaching his edge. His moans grew louder the closer he got to his orgasm, his eyes clenching shut as he kept his face buried in your neck.

And then, he finally felt himself snap. His movements stilled as he bursted inside you like fireworks, painting your walls white with his hot sticky cum and filling you up to the brim.

“Fuck!” he dragged on the word as he collapsed over you.

You shut your eyes and and savoured the way his cum still spurted like it was never going to end. And when it did, you felt him slowly pull out. The arousal dripping from your swollen cunt was immediate. But unlike how he always did, Wonwoo didn’t gather his cum with his fingers to push it back in. Instead, he just let it flow.

The hopes of starting a family was dimming, but it didn’t diminish completely. But now, you and Wonwoo knew that you were at a point where you knew you didn’t want to force yourselves into anything. If the universe wanted to answer your prayer, it would.

As much as it hurt, you came to accept that this was what life was. Not every dream is fulfilled, but when you have someone who loves you right next to you, heartbreak and disappointment is a little easier to overcome.

And with Wonwoo by your side, sticking to his promise he made during your wedding, life wasn’t all that miserable. In the end, he was your happiness. He was your answer to your questions. He was your everything, and right now, that mattered to you the most.

a/n; I don’t know what to feel about the smut, it’s lowkey shit but hey I gave it a shot!

[cleoselene]

don't doomscroll, DO SOMETHING. Don't complain, TAKE ACTION. here are things you can do:

call your Congresspeople. If you are living in a Democratic district, this is so easy! Tell them how YOU want them to fight! Don't just sit back and complain that "Dems in congress aren't doing what I want." CALL THEM AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT. EMAIL THEM. And be nice about it, lead with the illusion that you trust them to do the right thing. "I know you don't really want this to happen, you're a good person!" methodology.

If your reps are like mine and horrible horrible monsters like Byron Donalds, then you have to make your phone calls differently. You gotta strategize these. There are two ways to do this: 1) be incredibly angry and aggressive, but filibuster about it. Don't give them any ability to get off the phone. Don't curse or insult, just properly outraged. The key here is to WASTE THEIR TIME. I spend about 45 minutes on the phone with one of Rick Scott's people once. The other way, i think is more effective, but this is better than nothing. The other way, 2) is to frame the specific issue you're calling about from the most conservative angle possible. If you're calling to support Ukraine, cry about how your daddy fought in 'Nam to stomp out communism, now you want to let a KGB guy like Putin bring back the Soviet Union? Act super fucking scared of communism. Say the words "KGB" and Putin together over and over. Talk about how America doesn't roll over for Russia, not now, not ever. This is just an example of a particular issue, but it can apply to any. My mom calls it the "sandwich technique." Lead with a compliment, then say what you really mean, and end with a compliment. People get tricked into changing their minds.

I realize this is tumblr so if you are really really that phone-phobic, apply this to email. But really, this is worth making the call for. The call cannot be fully ignored. An email can.

Join the class action lawsuit against the government for Breach of Privacy if you have Social Security or Medicare, and tell people you know who do to join it.

get involved at the local level. Agitate at city council. hell, RUN for city council. I promise you that no matter how unqualified you think you are, less qualified people have run and won. There was a town that had a golden retriever as its mayor for a while. You have to start thinking locally. You have to start doing things ALL THE TIME, not just every 2-4 years. This isn't just voting, but making your voice heard. That tumblr post about ten people showing up at a council meeting being able to change thing significantly? True. "But I live in a red area!" yeah, so do I, and that makes it even more important, since they're doing shit like banning books in schools here.

Run for office!! I just said that, but seriously, run for office!! AOC was a bartender before she got where she is now!! If I were not completely disabled, I'd do it. If you don't feel like it's for you, think of the people in your life who are capable who might be persuaded!

Focus on the real enemy. It's Republicans. It's not Democrats. Like I said, if you're unhappy with the way your Democratic rep is doing things, TELL THEM. Sitting outside the party and criticizing accomplishes nothing, it only weakens our only opposition party in this country. If you want to talk about third parties, MAKE ONE THAT'S VIABLE. But realize that will probably be decades of work. Stop complaining and start doing, start reaching out to the people who at the moment have some ability to do things and influence THEM. You can say a lot of things on the internet and expect to change the world, but you won't. (Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of me posting this on the internet, but I will be doing things, too, not just shouting into this void)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I've been seeing your post about the podcast on Octavia Butler going around and I've been wondering, why do you think people only seem to react that way too problematic relationships? I've heard an English major, book reviewer say that they should've made the girl of legal age if they wanted to write about her stepfather attempting to prey on her because it's "gross" and also acted like it was an oversight. Another one, thought a book that is famously about a predator and the author is a victim of predation and the book is marketed about predation, romanticized predation and abuse and described it as an attempt at writing romance and failing? I don't know, I've just never seen anyone get that way about murder. Anyway, hi sex witch! 🧙‍♀️

I think there are like. complex and innumerable reasons for this, but re: the murder comparisons I think for many people it's worryingly easy to imagine that someone might actually act on or want to act on #problematic sexual behaviors depicted in fiction. like, the amount of murder that most people are doing IRL is absolutely zero, so I think it's kind of easy for most folks to sequester that away in a little fantasy bubble where someone who enjoys reading about murder is as likely to actually be partaking in that interest as someone who enjoys reading about riding dragons or traveling through space. whereas, statistically, most people have sex at some point, or at least could be having sex, so it feels like a much more reasonable concern to assume that their fictional tastes might be directly reflected in their actual behavior.

which is tied to another huge issue here, which is that I think a lot of people just... never learn to engage in a healthy manner with things that yuck them out or make them uncomfortable? so they get in a headspace where it's impossible to imagine that anyone willingly engages with fiction that they don't personally 100% condone. which extends to critiques of authors like you're mentioning, where some readers can't seem to ken that there's an intention and artistry to showing something vile beyond that depiction either being the author's personal fetish or their attempt to be an edgelord. a booktuber who I otherwise like quite a lot once downgraded their review of Akwaeke Emezi's novel The Death of Vivek Oji because it features a queer sexual relationship between cousins and the reviewer found the inclusion of incest to be unnecessary, which seems to be rather missing the point of a novel that's entirely about a family being drowned by its own secrets.

and also idk many people, especially my fellow USAmericans who have a bad tendency of skewing very prudish whether they recognize it or not, are just very very very scared of any sex that falls outside of Gayle Rubin's charmed circle

and will kind of immediately start getting nervous when exposed to it without ever once interrogating why. I absolutely guarantee you someone is going to sent me an angry anon about at least one aspect of this circle asking why I'm trying to justify it, which is going to illustrate the point very nicely.

[clytemnestradidnothingwrong]

"your fear of men is completely and totally valid, and i understand."

Thanks for this very patronizing statement. We're valid? I despise the stupid baby talk that plagues this hellsite.

"but we are going to be living in a reality very soon where women and trans people will be targeted at the same time."

You all need to stop this right now. ENOUGH. "Trans" people not being able to lie about their sex and go in spaces they don't belong is NOT "being targeted". How DARE you compare such dumb bullshit to women losing our goddamn human rights. You call yourself a radfem, but all I see is another trans activist with rocks for brains.

"it's going to really break my heart if radfems allow Trump to hurt trans people and strip them of their rights."

I know you'll just plug your ears and scream LALALALA, but radical feminists didn't goddamn vote for Trump. And even if we did, we can't fucking control what he does. Nobody goddamn can!

"you can keep vouching for cis female only spaces"

Do not call us "cis".

"please don't let trans people lose their rights. don't side with Trump on that issue. we can disagree, but women cannot be happy about Trump stealing rights from trans people."

What rights would they lose? The right to lie about their sex on official documents? The right to enter and colonize spaces they don't belong in? The right to take resources from marginalized groups? The right to continue to violently threaten anyone who questions or criticizes them? The right to censor our speech and thought? The right to get cosmetic surgeries and hormone injections they don't need? What about the right to keep telling lesbians to take dick?

I don't give a single FUCK if they lose those "rights".

"women understand oppression completely, and we know what it is like for the leader of our country to despise us."

Yes, we do, and here you are, asking that we feel empathy for "trans" people, who have shown nothing but contempt for women.

"don't side with Trump on that issue."

A broken clock being right twice a day does not mean I am fully aligned with the clock. I am so fucking tired of this stupid "if you're not with us, you're against us" bullshit. GROW THE FUCKING HELL UP.

"can we have a truce?"

No, actually, we fucking can't. I will not make nice with those who despise my sex and those with my sexuality. I will not pursue peace with those who want to strip of women and gays of our spaces, language, rights, abuse, rape, and kill us (as your beloved "trans" people have been doing almost every fucking day since at least the 1960s). Fuck Trump, and fuck "trans" people.

"you can critique them but please don't be complicit in their lives being taken."

Fun fact: Using threats of suicide (because we all know that's what you're implying) to manipulate others is a textbook abuser tactic. I'm not responsible for anyone's mental health. I'm not yielding to "trans" people to keep them from killing themselves (which they aren't - there's no epidemic of "trans" suicides).

"women, please fight for trans people."

"even if we don't agree, we are in the same boat here."

We are not. We are nowhere near in the same goddamn boat. Women are in a canoe that's sinking into the goddamn sea while "trans" people are on a luxury yacht telling us we deserve to drown and acting like not being served the freshest shrimp cocktail is akin to genocide.

"we can disagree and still support each other. please.

Actually, we can't, and your beloved "trans" people made it that way by censoring, firing, and threatening any woman who mildly disagreed with them.

"trans people, i love you. i support you. i will fight for you. "

Women, I love you. I support you. I will fight for you against everyone who oppresses us, whether they're in a MAGA hat or a shitty wig.

"i am a radfem, but i am also a trans ally, because those things can coexist, even if it seems very unlikely."

No, they cannot. And you are NOT a radfem.

You may be a teenager, but I don't care. The ignorance of youth is not an excuse anymore. I'm beyond sick of you entitled little shits coming in here and lecturing women (because it's only ever women) on being "nice" to those who hurt us. You are not a peacemaker. You are not the cool headed party here. You are not fighting for the oppressed.

You have no life experience. No empathy. No awareness. Nothing. You don't know anything about anyone. You have no context, no idea what the hell you're talking about, so do everyone a favor and keep your fucking mouth shut.

You might not give a single fucking shit about other girls and women, but I do. Stop making things even worse for us.

okay radfems, those of you who are trans exclusive.

i know we disagree. i don't agree with your views of trans people. i know that trans people are valid and not our enemies. i understand you feel differently, and i understand why. your fear of men is completely and totally valid, and i understand. i know at this point that i won't change your minds about trans people, im not going to try to. trans people are not women's' enemies, but i understand your fear.

but we are going to be living in a reality very soon where women and trans people will be targeted at the same time. Trump will come for women and he will come for trans people. and it's going to really break my heart if radfems allow Trump to hurt trans people and strip them of their rights. women understand oppression completely, and we know what it is like for the leader of our country to despise us. trans people know that too. we will both have to deal with that in two months. and i'm just asking, please radfems, you can keep vouching for cis female only spaces, you can keep believing trans women are men and trans men are women, i know that i can't change that, but please don't let trans people lose their rights. don't side with Trump on that issue. we can disagree, but women cannot be happy about Trump stealing rights from trans people. women should not be supporting that. we can disagree about trans people, but please please please. can we have a truce? for four years, can there be a truce? it can be a halfway truce. you can dislike trans people but still believe they should have rights. you can critique them but please don't be complicit in their lives being taken. please.

trans people, please fight for women, and women, please fight for trans people. even if we don't agree, we are in the same boat here. we can disagree and still support each other. please.

trans people, i love you. i support you. i will fight for you. i am a radfem, but i am also a trans ally, because those things can coexist, even if it seems very unlikely. let's fight for each other. please

[hooksbooks]

Renegade Exchange '24: Her Kingdom As Great

I participated in @renegadeguild's typesetting and bound fic exchange, in which we trade typsetting/bound fic wishlists with other participants and then typseset/bind at least one fic from their list and send it to them.

This post is about the first fic I bound for @celestial-sphere-press: Her Kingdom As Great by MarbleGlove.

I was excited to see this fic on my requester's wishlist, because I've read this series in the past and really enjoyed it. I liked the imagery of the golden wheat berries from the Nearly Endless Plains being used in embroidery on clothing, so I wanted the cover to feature embroidered wheat sheaves.

My first step was to work on the book cloth. I knew I wanted something tan that looked kind of hand-woven, so I went to the fabric store and got some linen-look fabric that I liked. I also experimented with three different ways of making it into bookcloth: backed with tissue paper filled with Heat'n'Bond (right), filled with a 50/50 mix of starch paste and matte acrylic medium (bottom), and filled with the paste/medium mix with a piece of tissue paper on the back (top).

I ended up liking the last option the best, though it meant the fabric lost the slubby linen-like texture I had selected it for. I wanted to go all-in on the tan wheat-tone theme, so I also printed the text on cream paper instead of white (the right typeset in the picture above).

I also added a tan bookmark, embroidered on gold headbands, and added an oxford hollow (although this book is a bit too thin to really need it).

When I went to cover the book, I had every intention of using gold HTV foil. However, I didn't take into account how the beads would inhibit me moving the iron around like I usually do with HTV (to avoid issues with the steam holes). It didn't end well. In fact, it ended very horribly.

The foil only partially stuck, and when trying to use the tip of the iron to apply heat only on the bits that hadn't stuck, the iron left a big black stain on my bookcloth. Luckily, it came out pretty well with a bit of baking soda on a nearly-dry toothbrush. I ended up asking a neighbor for some gold paint and using some regular vinyl as a stencil, which worked out OK. I found out later that it works better if you put down a layer of acrylic medium or the like first to avoid bleeding around the edges, but you live and learn.

Technical details:

Quarto size (quarter-letter, about A6)

Sewn on tapes

Sewn-on made endpapers

Chisel-trimmed

Rounded but not backed

Sewn-on endbands

Sewn-on bookmark

Oxford hollow

The tapes are frayed and glued to the exterior of the boards

The mull is also glued to the exterior of the boards

Full bookcloth cover

Things I especially liked about this bind:

The embroidery. It turned out pretty much exactly how I had envisioned it

The filled bookcloth. I don't think I'll do it by default, but I liked how it turned out and I like having it as an option in my back pocket

Things I'd like to improve for next time:

The title. I don't mind the paint rather than HTV foil, but I didn't love that it bled under the edges of the stencil. Next time I'll try using acrylic medium to seal the edges first, and see how that turns out.

The endpapers. I've been applying my endpapers with the covers open because I was concerned that they'd pull weird and possibly rip at the hinge. Unfortunately, this causes a big wrinkle in the endpapers that does not look nice. I figured out while doing the back endpaper that it actually is just fine to apply the endpapers as I close the covers on them because of the way I taper my boards and glue the mull on the outside of the cover.

Overall I'm moderately pleased. It's the highest-effort book I've made so far, and it turned out nearly how I had envisioned it with only minor issues.

[slcmml]

teacher! charlie & reader — me + you = ♡

i don’t know who agrees with me on this, but i’ve been onto math teacher! charlie & english teacher! reader since dinosaurs went extinct..

♡ i’m thinking a middle school setting.. eighth grade, perhaps. you’re across the hall from each other, but don’t talk too often. not much apart from the shy waves in the morning and small talk while waiting outside of your classrooms to greet your students.

♡ well, that was until charlie started having computer issues. now, don’t get me wrong, he’s a very intelligent man! but he fucking hates these school issued chromebooks they’ve handed out to students.

♡ he usually assigns most work on paper since it’s math, but the school asked for him to start using ixl or fucking khan academy, i don’t know. something online that students can access in case they lose their papers.

♡ but you? you used chromebooks all the time! you weren’t cruel enough to make your students write their papers by hand!

♡ none of charlie’s students could figure out what was wrong with the chromebooks, and neither could he, so he went across the hall to get some help (all embarrassed too.. so cute).

“hi! sorry to interrupt, but i’m having trouble getting my students chromebooks to work? do you think you could help?”

♡ of course, being a nice person, you invite him into your classroom and happily help the man. you explain to him why it was broken and how to fix it etc (he wasn’t listening btw, was staring at you the entire time, he thinks you’re so beautiful).

♡ and after that interaction, charlie tries to talk to you more. (YOU’RE SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL HE JUST WANTS TO BE AROUND YOU) in the break room, he’ll ask how your classes are going, and at lunch, he’ll stop by to see what you’re doing, and even at the end of the day, he’ll check up on you to make sure you don’t stay at the school too late.

♡ his students do not fail to notice this. in fact, they encourage it. “but mr dalgeish, my chomebook is broken! can you please ask them to fix it? i want to finish my work so i don’t have to do it at home!” how could he turn down an opportunity to see you?

♡ he tells his class to keep a low volume while he leaves the room for a moment, walking over to your classroom with his student’s chromebook before knocking.

“hello. sorry, again, for interrupting. i’m not quite sure what’s wrong with this chromebook… could you help?” “oh, don’t worry about it! of course i’ll help!”

♡ you start to take a liking to mr dalgeish too.. he’s quite cute, isn’t he? :) he seems so nervous to talk to you outside of the routine good mornings, which you adore.

“so, uh, how was your weekend?” “it was nice! i got to relax and not worry about grading, so what more could i ask for?” “haha, yeah, i, uh, i agree!”

♡ your students probably get so sick of you both. smiling at him while he stumbles over his words like an idiot. one of his students probably try to stage a note, but it’s so obvious that it’s from said student LMAO.

‘dear beautiful english teacher please date me - mr d’

♡ you put a note on his desk with the note from the student attached.

‘so mr d, do you know what this is about?’

♡ oh GOD. he’s so embarrassed. he spends THIRTY minutes of class lecturing them on how that was unprofessional and inappropriate.

♡ talks to you at some point during lunch break.

“i’m so sorry about them—they can get really out of hand and they really like to meddle in other people’s business which is an entirely different conversation—” “charlie, it’s fine.” “i-it’s fine? ‘charlie’?” “oh, is that okay? i mean, i thought—” “no, no, no, it’s more than okay. i like it.” JUST KISS ALREADY.

♡ so. much. fucking. tension. YOU’RE BOTH TEETERING ON FRIENDS/MORE THAN FRIENDS AND IT ANNOYS EVERYONE.

♡ i can assure you right now, if you or charlie don’t make a move, your students or even a fucking coworker will do it for you. (enter: teacher! jschlatt and teacher! ted nivison)

© slcmml

[sprunkimortality]

[Ciqu had been waiting at the Law Office for a while now. His synthetic eyes stared down at the floor, but he wasn't really looking at it. No, his mind was elsewhere, somewhere he didn't want it to be.

He raised his paws to his face. He moved his fingers. He noticed the slight whirrs that came with moving anything on his body. They were silent, but now he could hear them clear as day. And it wasn't a sound he liked to hear. Sprunkies aren't supposed to whirr. But he isn't a Sprunki, is he? He's already realized it. He's no organic being. He's accepted it, hasn't he?

But why, then, did it still feel so strange?]

"Howdy, Ciq!"

[The familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He perked up, turning towards the door. It was Sheriff Tunner. He always appeared much more relaxed, almost tired in the evenings.]

Ciqu: "Sheriff."

[He heard himself speak, his own voice leaving a strange feeling in his mouth. He had just realized how strange he really sounds, compared to Tunner, who spoke so normally. So realistically.]

Tunner: "So, y' wanted to talk 'bout somethin'?"

Ciqu: "...yes."

[Ciqu headed over to the front desk, facing Tunner with an expressionless face. Tunner looked back, a warm smile plastered on his.]

Ciqu: "...so. I got myself examined."

Tunner: "Examined?"

Ciqu: "I had my programming looked at. I figured that I should...learn more about myself."

Tunner: "Aw, that's real nice! Good on ya fer takin' that step."

[Ciqu's gaze turned downwards.]

Ciqu: "You don't think that's strange?"

Tunner: "Er, no. Not really. Ain't nothin' wrong with figurin' yerself out."

Ciqu: "But...I'm a robot, Sheriff."

Tunner: "And? What difference does it make, pardner? We all learn somethin' new 'bout ourselves."

Ciqu: "...not to this magnitude, however."

Tunner: "Well, yeah. Usually not. But y'know...life's like a journey on a road that's within ya. We all got different roads. Some're rocky, real rocky. Some're smooth. Some of us got dusty roads."

Ciqu: "...I don't follow."

[Tunner chuckles.]

Tunner: "That's awright. But m' point is...we all got our own struggles. But all of them are valid struggles. Big, small, whatever. Yer dealin' with 'em. We're all dealin' with 'em."

Ciqu: "...even you?"

Tunner: "Even me!"

Ciqu: "I find it hard to believe."

Tunner: "Hah, why so?"

Ciqu: "You're perfect."

[Upon hearing that, Tunner stiffened. He looked towards Ciqu, his eyes widened a little in surprise.]

Tunner: "...pardon-?"

Ciqu: "You're perfect, James. You are approachable. Friendly. You smile, and people smile back. You do things...strangely, yet, effectively. Perhaps more effectively than I do.

You fit the title Sheriff of Smalltowne. This town, with friendship as its foundation. You are...a great friend. I don't...like to think that someone like you has...unflattering moments."

[Tunner processed those words for a while, his mouth somewhat opened. Quickly, he then closed his jaw, shaking his head.]

Tunner: "A-Ah, well, I'm flattered ta' hear that! Really, I am. But I ain't perfect, Ciq. I have my own issues, my own flaws, my own moments o' sufferin'. I just...I guess it ain't very obvious when ya first look at me. But Ciq, remember. We are a team."

[He held out his paw, holding Ciqu's with a gentle squeeze.]

Tunner: "I can't do this job on my own, and I reckon y' can't, either. We balance each other, bounce offa each other. Runnin' this town's a two-Sprunki job. S-See, there are things I can't handle that you can, Ciqu. And there are things y' can't do that I can help with. And...and that's okay."

Ciqu: "...I still think you're perfect."

[Tunner's gills fluttered at that.]

Tunner: "Heh, I...I really ain't, Ciq."

Ciqu: "I don't lie when I say that, James. You are perfect. Perhaps you don't see it, but I see that you are...everything that anyone could ever need."

Tunner: "Ciq, ya flatterer. It's too late in th' evenin' fer this."

Ciqu: "I don't care. I will say it for as much as I need to. James Tunner, you are perfection."

Tunner: "Aw, stop it."

[Tunner squeezed Ciqu's paws one more time before pulling away, dusting at himself.]

Tunner: "Nobody's perfect. Not even me. But...thank you fer thinkin' that, I suppose."

Ciqu: "Can I take your picture?"

Tunner: "...eh?"

Ciqu: "In my evaluation, I discovered that my eyes are cameras. I can take photos and videos. But I don't wish to violate your right to privacy. So I am asking. Can I take your picture for documentation purposes?"

Tunner: "Camera eyes, eh? Well, ain't that nifty. Er...awright, then! I guess you can take a pic. Just...don't post it or anythin'. I ain't lookin' my best right now-"

[Click.

It happened so fast, Tunner barely had the time to process it.]

Ciqu: "Thank you."

Tunner: "...er- y' coulda given me the chance t' pose, pardner! Heheh!"

Ciqu: "I see no need for that. I understand that you must be on your way."

Tunner: "O-Oh, yeah. Well, uh, thank you fer remindin' me. Er...have a g'night."

[Tunner tipped his hat at him, before he promptly left the Office, hands folded behind him in contemplation.]

Ciqu: "Thank you for coming, friend."

[Tunner's steps halted.]

Tunner: "...no problem, pardner."

[And with that, he was gone.

Ciqu remained where he was for the time being. He turned to the shelves, eyeing the misaligned folders with a meticulous gaze. He reached his paws over and started organizing the folders, flipping through each group, sorting them chronologically.

All the while, the picture he took of Tunner remained in his mind.]

Ciqu: "...I really don't deserve to have him as a friend."

[veephoenix]

zutto — chapter sixteen | wc: 2.8k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary:  Lia and Noah return to L.A. and Jolly surprises Noah with big news.

Reading time: 10mins.

Tags and trigger warnings:  mostly fluff, mentions of Lia going back to therapy, 2 spankings.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

The sky was clear when they landed in Los Angeles. Before leaving the airport, they stopped at a Starbucks in the arrivals area for coffee and a quick bite to make up for the cheap food on the plane. Afterward, they took a cab to Lia’s apartment. 

For the time being, they had decided to stay at Noah’s place since he had his studio there and he was meant to start working asap. Lia was already used to living within those walls so it felt like the right thing for now. 

Noah dropped her off at her apartment to unpack and start a load of laundry, agreeing to pick her up later. In the meantime, he would do the same at home. 

When he walked through the door, Jolly greeted him from the kitchen, pausing what he was doing to give him a brotherly hug and a pat on the back. 

Noah had barely set his luggage down when Emery appeared in the hallway, waving at him. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and one of Jolly’s hoodies, looking very much at home. 

“Hi, Noah.”

“Hi, Em.” He gave her a quick hug. 

“Good flight?” she asked, stepping back and noticing the slight dark circles under his eyes. 

“As good as it gets. I think I’m really jet-lagged, though.”

“I’m making coffee,” Jolly announced, busying himself with the machine. “Want some?”

Noah had just had one about thirty minutes ago, but he replied, “Sure. Thanks.”

He removed his backpack and sneakers, sighing as his feet finally found relief. 

“Where’s Lia?” Emery asked, glancing over her shoulder at Noah as she walked into the kitchen to help Jolly. She retrieved three mugs from one of the cabinets. 

“Dropped her at her place,” he explained. They hadn’t been apart for more than fifteen minutes, and yet he was already missing the warmth and peace she brought him just by being around. “I’m picking her up later. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Em’s been staying here,” Jolly said, stopping the coffee machine and picking up the kettle. 

Noah raised his eyebrows and looked at Emery, who had now made herself comfortable on the couch, waiting for Jolly to bring the coffee. She gave Noah a gentle smile. 

“Nice. How long are you planning to stay?”

“As long as Jolly doesn’t get tired of me,” she replied.  

Jolly pointed at her while passing a coffee mug to Noah across the kitchen isle. “Which is never happening.” 

Emery laughed, her cheeks turning pink. Their comfort with each other was so obvious that Noah felt suddenly stupidly jealous. He was tempted to check the time on his phone. He’d told Lia he’d pick her up whenever she texted him, which he hoped would be soon—just enough time for her to sort her things and take a shower. Had it only been fifteen minutes? Because it felt like she’d been away from his reach much longer.  

Emery’s laughter blended with a sarcastic snort from the hallway. When Noah looked that way, he saw Jesse strolling in.

“I need to fall in love and get out of this house,” Jesse declared, running a hand through his hair. He nodded at Noah. “Welcome back, man.”

“Hey,” Noah said with a nod. 

“Where’s Miss Gremlin?” 

“At her place. She’ll be here later.”

“Great. Well, I’m heading to the gym, so I’ll catch up with you guys later. Oh, and if you are doing laundry, grab my stuff from the basket, yeah?” 

Noah raised his eyebrows, following him with his gaze. Jesse bent down to grab his sneakers from the shoe rack. “I just got back, and you’re already assigning me chores?”

“Consider it a welcome-home gift,” Jesse grinned over his shoulder, tying his laces. “Hope you enjoyed your holiday.”

“I should’ve made it longer,” Noah replied, but there was no malice in his eyes. He picked up his luggage again as Jesse waved goodbye and left. Noah muttered “unbelievable” as he started towards his bedroom. 

“I promise I’m not giving you guys any extra work,” Emery added from the living room, raising a hand. “I do my own laundry.”

“Beware of Jesse,” Jolly warned, dropping onto the couch beside her with the two mugs of coffee. “He’ll rope you in if you’re not careful.”

An hour and a half later—showered, dressed in clean clothes, with the washing machine running and his room semi-organized—Noah returned to the living room. 

He inadvertently interrupted a tender moment in the kitchen, where Emery and Jolly were exchanging whispers between kisses and affectionate touches. Neither of them seemed fazed when Noah walked in; Emery simply gave Jolly a long kiss on the lips, rose on tiptoes, then turned and disappeared into his bedroom at the end of the hallway.

Noah raised his eyebrows at Jolly as he crossed to the fridge, intent on finding something to eat.

“Dude, I’m so in love,” Jolly blurted out, leaning on the kitchen counter, his eyes frozen on the dark hallway where his girlfriend had just vanished.  

Noah snorted. “I can see that,” he said, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a yogurt.  

“I’m going to marry her.” 

Noah froze, the yogurt halfway out of the fridge. 

He turned slowly. “What?”

Jolly turned to look at him and shrugged. “I’m ready to marry her.”

Noah blinked once. Twice. “But,” he furrowed his brow, closing the fridge and setting the yogurt on the counter. “Wait. Are you serious? You’ve been together for what, a few months? Half a year?”

Jolly crossed his arms, still leaning on the counter. “We’ve known each other for six years. It’s not about the time we’ve been officially dating.”

“Yeah, I get that, but—” Noah blinked again, momentarily lost. He grabbed a spoon from a drawer to buy himself a moment. “I mean… Okay. I do get it, but…” His head was spinning. “I just got back from the other side of the ocean. I expected dirty socks everywhere and an empty fridge—not a bombshell about you wanting to get married. You never said much about it. Doesn’t it feel sudden?”

“Not to me. Not anymore,” Jolly’s voice softened. “She’s the one, Noah.”

“Yeah, Lia’s the one for me, too, and yet—”

“And yet, what are you waiting for?”

“What?”

Jolly shook his head but steered the conversation back to himself. “These past few weeks have been perfect. We work so well together, man. She doesn’t mind my bad habits—I don’t mind hers. We can argue and talk things through. She makes me laugh like nobody else. And waking up and seeing her there beside me is something I can’t even explain. And the sex… Fuck, the sex is good, man.”

Noah looked at him closely, spoon hovering over the open yogurt. “So, you’re totally serious. You’re really thinking about this.”

Jolly spread the back of his hands on the marble, standing to his full height. “Why would I joke about it? I’m telling you because you’re my best friend, and I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I need your thoughts.”

Noah tilted his head slightly, taking a bite of his yogurt as he considered it. “Okay, so… have you talked to her about it? Like, does she even want to get married?” 

“We’ve talked. She does. She even wants kids someday. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Noah shook his head, smiling despite himself. Could he picture Jolly as a husband? A father? No, but only because they’d been so caught up in the band, in working full time, that none of them had stopped for a second to consider wanting something more. Marriage. A family. It made sense, and honestly, Noah was sure Jolly would be great at both.

“Okay,” Noah said, his smile widening. He was suddenly infected by the same thrill coursing through Jolly. “Then it’s a yes from me. Go for it. When are you planning to propose?”

Jolly’s smile turned sheepish. “I don’t know. Haven’t gotten that far yet. We need to find a place first, a nice condo or a house. But I was thinking we could go check out rings next week, to get an idea about prices and stuff, and while we’re at it, maybe you could take a look too.”

Noah raised a slow, suspicious eyebrow at him. 

Where is he going with this?

“Why would I want to take a look at engagement rings?” 

“For whenever you grow a pair and pop the question to Lia.”

Noah stared at him.     

Jolly pointed a finger at him and gave him a sideways look. “Don’t even dare tell me you’re not going to marry her because man, you’ve been breathing her as if she was your oxygen since you were kids. It’s just because you two were stubborn as fuck to admit you loved each other that you’re not married by now.”

“I—” Noah was exhausted, jet-lagged, hungry, and still reeling from Jolly’s sudden news about wanting to get married. And now, thanks to him, he was imagining Lia in a white dress and a flower crown on her head. 

What the fuck. 

“We haven’t talked about this, Lia and I.”

“Maybe it’s time you do. This is the perfect excuse.”

Noah stared at him for a long moment, torn between exasperation and amusement. As thoughts filled his mind, he realized he didn’t even know if Lia wanted to get married. “I came back expecting dirty clothes everywhere and no food in the fridge,” he muttered, “not life advice and a push toward marriage.”

Jolly laughed. “Well, now you’ve got both. Welcome home, man.”

When evening came, Lia and Emery curled up in the corner of the couch after dinner, talking animatedly, each holding a cup of tea, while the boys finished cleaning up the kitchen. 

Somehow, Lia had mustered the energy to prepare one of the dishes Hana had taught her in Japan, and despite his exhaustion, Noah had offered to do the washing up afterward. Before picking her up, Lia had walked to the nearest supermarket to grab the missing ingredients. The moment she arrived at the boys’ house, she started cooking as if she hadn’t just spent the past twenty-four hours crossing the Pacific Ocean and trying to sleep in a cramped, uncomfortable airplane seat. Where she got the energy from, Noah couldn’t tell. 

After the kitchen was cleaned up, the five of them settled on the couch and put on a new Adrien Brody movie. Jesse made popcorn and ended up eating most of it himself, ignoring Jolly and Noah’s comments about all his efforts at the gym going to waste. 

Half an hour into the movie, Noah had already yawned three times. He was stretched out in the corner of the couch, legs extended on the sectional, with Lia nestled against him, his arm draped over her shoulders. Every now and then, she’d ask Jesse to pass the bowl of popcorn.

“I’m dozing off,” Noah murmured to Lia, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shall we go to bed?”

Lia pouted, her eyes wide open. No trace of sleep in her expression, unlike Noah’s.  

“How are you not sleepy?” He asked, frowning as he sat up a bit on the sofa, removing his arm from her shoulders. 

“Hmm…” Lia bit her lip and looked up at him, still nestled at his side with her legs curled under her body. “I may or may not have taken a nap at my place.”

Noah’s eyes widened despite the look of sweet innocence in her face. 

“Without me?” he exclaimed. 

“Dude, shut up,” Jolly told him off without looking away from the screen, where Adrien Brody’s character stood in the pouring rain, his face shadowed under his hat.  

Lia parted her lips to say something in her defense, but she didn’t get the chance. Noah stood up, and towering over her, he scooped her up in his arms, lifting her bridal-style off the couch. 

“Hey!” she protested. “Where are you taking me?”

“Bedroom. To sleep. Good night, guys.”

“Help?” Lia called over Noah’s shoulder, but despite her theatrics, she was smiling, nearly laughing, and she had to admit it felt nice to be carried to the bedroom.

“Sweet dreams, lovebirds!” Jesse said. Next to him, Jolly and Emery laughed, waved their hands and said goodnight.

Once in the bedroom, Noah kicked the door shut behind him. Then, without warning, he threw Lia onto the bed. She landed with a soft thud, her hair fanning out over the gray comforter. 

“That was so romantic,” she deadpanned, stretching before rolling onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. She watched Noah with a raised eyebrow as he pulled off his hoodie and tossed it onto the armchair where Lia liked to curl up and read. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, still giving her that mock-offended look she knew was just an act. “Almost as romantic as my girlfriend taking a nap without me.” 

He walked over to close the curtains, then switched on the lamp on his side of the bed. 

“And dramatic,” she added.  

He stopped and gave her a long look. Two seconds later, his open palm landed on her butt with a sharp slap.

Lia gasped, eyes going wide. 

“Did you just spank me?” 

“Should I do it again for clarification?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grinned, and another smack followed, firm but playful. Even through her cotton leggings, a tingling sensation spread through her. She pressed her legs together, unable to look away from him, her cheeks warming. 

He studied her reaction, enjoying this as much as she seemed to. He arched a brow at the realization. “You likethat, don’t you?”

Lia tilted her head to one side, lifting her feet off the bed and lazily crossing her ankles. “Maybe.”

He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he reached for one of her wrists, pulling her up. “Come on. Let’s brush our teeth. Then we’re sleeping, because I’m actually dead.”

“Hum,” Lia pouted, but got off the bed and followed him barefoot to the ensuite bathroom. 

The moment they got under the covers, sleep was the last thing on their minds. 

For the next half hour, they talked—about the next day, about Lia’s return to therapy, about how she planned to attend a yoga class beforehand. She had work to catch up on, so she’d spend most of the day at home, while Noah would head to the studio with the guys. 

As they lay tangled up, Lia’s bare foot lazily brushing against his calf, she mentioned she was thinking about taking on more illustration jobs while the band focused on creating new music. It seemed like a good way to stay busy. She could focus on designs for new Bad Omens merch later. 

“That’s a good idea,” Noah murmured, voice thick with exhaustion but still engaged. “You could also think about exhibiting your work.”

“In a gallery?”

“Yeah. Your art is sick. I’ll never get tired of saying it. You should put it out there more. Not just through the band’s merch. I told you before.”

The idea of her illustrations being displayed for people to admire—or worse, to judge—didn’t really sit right with her. 

“I like being behind the work,” she said. “Just making things and putting them out there without having to… explain them. I don’t want to do artist talk or anything.”

Noah turned his head on the pillow to look at her. “Then don’t. You wouldn’t have to. Just exhibit the work and let it speak for itself. People will see what they want to see.”

“Yeah, and what if they see something that isn’t there? I’d want them to see what I see.”

“Art isn’t always about making people see your vision,” Noah said, thoughtful. “It’s about them feeling something. Doesn’t matter what. They don’t have to understand it. And you don’t have to explain it.”

Lia exhaled softly, letting the thought settle in the quiet between them. Maybe.

She rested her head against his shoulder after a while, pensive. Silence stretched between them as she mulled it over. “I don’t know. Maybe someday. I just like things the way they are right now. Making art without the pressure. Just… creating for myself first, you know?”

She paused, waiting for his response.

When she didn’t get one, she lifted her head slightly and looked up.

Noah’s breathing had deepened, his lips slightly parted, the steady rhythm of light snores filling the room.

“Of course you’re asleep,” she muttered. She lifted her head a little, watching him in the dark— the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyelashes fanned against his cheek, the soft exhale of his breath.

Leaning in, she brushed her lips against his in a whisper of a kiss. “I love you,” she murmured before tucking herself back against him, letting sleep finally take her too.

— prev. chapter | chapter seventeen

Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lacy1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini | @dominuslunae | @todressabladeupinred

[butchisrevolution]

dolly dog man readthrough #5

PART #1 BC MY ASS CANNOT STOP YAPPING

for whom the ball rolls

THERE IS SO MUCH TO ANALYZE IN THIS BOOK

holuy shit now they're tackling minority power struggle, racial discrimination and class war in dog man . wtf

is this that autism speaks thing or am i tripping

asl dogman my beloved

that must be stressful for li'l petey. like, you have two dads, the one you were created by and the one that adopted you. you have an deep rooted emotional attachment to the one who created you despite his flaws, "even crack babies love their mama", but you look up to your adoptive dad so much more because he aligns with your values. he does what's considered the right thing.

but he also has an innate dislike to your birth father, due to issues that predate you, issues you can't rectify. you know your birth father is trying to fix them, but you still have to watch your adoptive father unlearn his distaste for him. you know it's getting better, but it hurts just to see it. even one glimpse of hatred towards someone you love BY someone you love hurts immensely. but you just have to watch and wait, do what you can and stay optimistic because it's out of your control.

also, i like the artistic choice that every time there's an important or moving piece of dialogue it just shows their silhouettes and a color corresponding to the feelings that it brings up. its a nice touch

FUCK YEAH ANARCHY!!

also

my fav polycule . the gang is back together again. YES

from an analysis standpoint, he's feeling super insecure right now. he definitely doesn't want them around solely because he feels inferior to their parenting skills and thinks it would be too painful to have them around due to that. he also thinks his kid would like them more than him, which probably is making him feel unloved and unwanted. his kid's hesitancy is feeling like a rejection of him, which makes him question his identification with being better than his own father. he's thinking this subconsciously, of course, i don't think he's currently self aware enough to realize that

THE CONTRAST BETWEEN THIS SCENE AND THE PREVIOUS SCENE WHERE HE MADE HIM SLEEP IN THE CLOSET AGHH

THE CONTRAST AUGHHH

THEY'RE DOMESTIC NOW

WHAT DID I SAYYYY . IT WAS NEVER ABT DOG MAN AND 80-HD IT WAS ABOUT HIM. AND HIS DADDY ISSUES

shiiiiit

YESSS.. NOW THAT HE HAS CONFRONTED AND DISCUSSED THE ROOT OF HIS DISCOMFORT HE CAN FOCUS ON WHAT'S BEST FOR ALL OF THEM WITH LESS INSECURITY. BUST

my shaylas... theyre sharing the custody... my fucked up gay polycule... i am overjoyed

aweee... my shaylas ... <3

they r figuring out their family struggles and finding a healthier dynamic. this is great

also this is a rlly funny bedframe considering my petey npd theory.. LMAO

this is also literally just like what sleeping in a bed with an actual cat is like

generational mental illness confirmed. this is how u give ur kids disorders

oh baby. ow. he was repressing the guilt with cognitive dissonance, excusing it by thinking li'l petey wouldn't remember, but now that they've finally aknowledged it he has to confront it.

the symbolism in the last panel. the noises are scaring li'l petey. he's literally trying to shield him from the generational trauma :(

[uceyliyahh]

SNEAKY LINK

Summary: After having a one night stand with each other Kiyana and Jey decided to become sneaky links until she grew attached to him will he be able to feel the same as her?

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso x Kiyana

word count: 4381

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @luvrsluxe @celesteheartsjey @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld

Ø1

"We can form an attachment together,"

"No strings attached, no catching feelings for one another,"

"Simply just being sneaky links and post on our close friends,"

"If one of us catches feelings the attachment is over with,"

KIYANA As I settled into my chair, a talented makeup artist worked their magic on me in preparation for my Vogue cover shoot. Having modeled for two to three years, I began my journey as a teenager, and now, as an adult, I can truly appreciate how this career has enriched my life in countless ways.

This weekend, I have an exciting fashion show on the horizon, and I feel incredibly blessed and grateful for the chance to be surrounded by other amazing women. There's even a possibility of spotting some celebrities! As I was getting my makeup done, I couldn't help but scroll through Instagram and noticed a message from my best friend, Liv.

IMESSAGE 💬 Liv🌸: heyyy girly how's it going? Yana💗: it's been great Liv I'm getting my make up done at the moment Liv🌸: that's great I heard you have an upcoming fashion show this weekend and was hoping you could get us some tickets? Yana💗: yeah sure I can do that who's all coming? Liv🌸: Me ofc and dom, your brother, and the usos Yana💗: Jey and Jimmy? Liv🌸: yeah, I told them so much about you they actually wanted to meet you whenever you aren't busy Yana💗: I don't mind got any plans for tonight? Liv🌸: actually yeah! We were all thinking about heading to the club tonight if you're down 💁🏼‍♀️ Yana💗: hell yeah I'm down girl wym 😭 Liv🌸: cool where something sexy girl so some men can holla at you

"Kiyana you're on in a few minutes hon," Patrice said as I nodded my head.

Yana💗: girl bye, but I gotta go I'll see you tonight? Liv🌸: yes ofc girl have fun 💋

I set my phone on the table and glanced in the mirror, giving my hair a quick fluff and ensuring my makeup was flawless. Satisfied with my appearance, I rose from the chair and made my way to the photographer for the photoshoot.

"Kiyana! Hi dear it's so nice to see you again," Nathan said as we gave each other a hug.

"Same to you Nat, I'm so excited for the weekend," I said.

"I heard hon! I'm so happy for you!" We both smiled at each other feeling excitement for me.

As our conversation came to a close, it was time to shift gears and focus. I stepped into the center, with Nathan expertly guiding me on how to pose for the camera. His assistance was invaluable. The flash illuminated the scene as I struck various angles and poses, ensuring that each shot was magazine-ready for Vogue.

I showcased my curves with confidence, striking poses while Nathan cheered me on. His encouragement made me feel empowered, and as he leaned in to capture my face in a shot, I felt even more radiant.

We paused our photo session as I approached Nathan to check out the shots. They turned out so amazing that I could easily see myself going out on a date with me!

"Nathan you're just a great photographer," I complimented him.

Nathan grinned and said, "You know the saying about me—let's take a few more shots before we pick the ideal cover for Vogue, shall we?" I nodded in agreement and returned to my pose in the center.

After my photoshoot, I settled into my chair to carefully remove my makeup, ensuring that every trace was gone. Just as I was focused on my task, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I was greeted by Nathan, his face lit up with a warm smile.

"Kiyana you did great work today for this photo I know everyone is going to see your face on the cover magazine of vogue,"

That warmed by heart, "aww thank you Nathan I'm glad to have you as my photographer I love everyone on this team that helped me shaped into the person I am," I said.

 We embraced warmly before stepping back from one another. Nathan felt like the gay best friend I had always wished for; his kindness and genuine care were truly remarkable, and he passionately pursued what he loved.

"I'll see you walk down the runway this weekend?" I nodded my head as we bid our goodbyes.

I had just finished tidying up my face when I noticed my phone lighting up with a text message. Curiously, I picked it up and saw it was from my brother Cody.

IMESSAGE 💬 BigBrother💪🏼: Hey little sis, how's it going? Yana💗: Heyyy brotherrr I just got done with my photoshoot for vogue magazine and I'm finna head home to get ready for the club that Liv wanted me to come to BigBrother💪🏼: club? Do I need to be there for protection? Yana💗: Cody I'm fine nothing isn't going to happen to me besides I heard Jey and Jimmy were showing up if you want to slide by BigBrother💪🏼: I mean them are my boys so I might come thru Yana💗: greaaat also I got everyone's tickets for this week also just wanted to let you know 💁🏽‍♀️ BigBrother💪🏼: appreciate it little sis can't wait to see you out there shining bright like a star 🫶🏼 Yana💗: thank you brother I love you BigBrother💪🏼: I love you too Yaya imma let you get going ttyl Yana💗: ttyl

I tucked my phone into my purse as I reached for the keys to my 2017 BMW. Before stepping out, I took a moment to tidy up my space and bid farewell to everyone on the team. As I stepped outside, I noticed a fan approaching me.

"KIYANA! I love you so much you're such an inspiration to me may I get a picture and autograph?" The fan said.

"Of course hon!" I knelt down to meet the fan's height, allowing them to capture the moment with their camera. As I took a look at the photo, I couldn't help but smile at the image of myself. I then signed the picture, adding a personal touch with a kiss mark to make it even more special.

A fan expressed their gratitude with a warm hug, and I encouraged them to keep pursuing their hopes and dreams, reminding them that success comes from dedication and hard work. As I settled into my car, I inserted the keys and pressed the button to start the engine, ready to drive forward.

As I reversed out of the driveway, I enjoyed some tunes from my Apple Music playlist, keeping a watchful eye behind me to ensure the coast was clear before heading toward the gate.

༊*·˚ As I fluffed my afro and glanced at the clock, I realized it was nearly time to hit the club with my girl Liv. I was thrilled to carve out some time with her, especially given how busy our schedules can get. I applied some lip gloss, enjoying the satisfying "pop" sound as I smoothed it over my lips. I took a moment to admire my outfit for the night, feeling confident as the dress hugged my curves perfectly.

As I made my way downstairs, I picked up my keys and purse, eager to get going. I slid into my car, the familiar sounds of Sabrina Carpenter's "Bed Chem" filling the air—my absolute favorite track. With the GPS guiding me, I backed out of the driveway, excitement bubbling as I headed toward the club.

As I drove, the melody of the song played in my mind, and I couldn't help but reflect on my past. Growing up in Atlanta, Georgia, my brother Cody and I navigated life without our father, who was often absent. Our mother was our rock, tirelessly working to provide for us while he was off pursuing who knows what. It was a challenging journey for her, but her strength and dedication shaped who we are today.

When she learned about my aspirations in modeling, she shared her concerns about the industry, highlighting the dangers that women like me often face, particularly regarding drugs and scandals. Despite her worries, I reassured her that I would become a star and one day buy her a new home. Unfortunately, Cody beat me to it, and I can't help but feel a deep resentment towards him for that.

At nineteen, I had a clear vision of my future, fueled by the excitement of becoming a model known for my unique beauty. It was then that my father reappeared in my life, drawn in by the buzz surrounding his daughter's newfound fame. Despite my mother's encouragement to reconnect, I felt no obligation to welcome him back into my life. The past was complicated, and I simply couldn't bring myself to do it.

My mother instilled in me all the essential lessons, particularly about love and relationships. I was truly passionate about being a devoted partner. I often envisioned a future filled with marriage and children, ensuring my mother wouldn't feel lonely while Cody and I pursued our own paths in our careers.

I longed for a partner who would cherish me, pamper me, and envelop me in love, just as I would do for them. Unfortunately, I never found that kind of luck, especially when it came to protecting my virginity.

Yes, I'm still a virgin so what? I wasn't going to give up to anyone—or so I thought.

Cody is incredibly protective of me; whenever guys come near, he shoots them a fierce glare that suggests he could easily take them down. I totally get it—after all, I'm his little sister. As I finally arrived at the club, I noticed it was absolutely packed tonight.

I pulled into the parking spot and switched off my car, eager to step inside the bustling building. As I made my way through the crowd, I found it challenging to see over the heads of those around me. The energy was electric, with the DJ spinning "Give" by Genia, and the dance floor was alive with people moving to the beat.

As I navigated through the bustling crowd, I spotted Liv enthusiastically waving her hand to catch my attention. Making my way to their table, I was greeted by the sight of all her colleagues from work gathered around.

I couldn't help but notice a striking figure seated nearby. His brownish mullet hairstyle framed his face perfectly, and he wore an all-black ensemble that exuded confidence. A Cuban silver chain glimmered around his neck, accentuating his muscular physique. I found myself captivated, especially by the intricate tattoos that adorned his body, drawing me into a mesmerizing trance.

Would if be wrong to be eye fucking be him like this?

Liv brought me back to reality with her voice, and as I turned to her, a smile spread across my face. She invited me to sit beside her, and we embraced warmly, sharing a moment of connection.

"Girl, you look absolutely stunning tonight the outfit is definitely eating," Liv said making me tuck a strain of my hair behind my ear.

"Stoppp I got enough compliments from today girl," I said while rolling my eyes.

In that moment, I noticed him staring at me with his captivating, hooded brown eyes, sending a wave of nervousness through me like I had never experienced before. "Everyone, this is my stunning best friend Kiyana, a gorgeous model, and Kiyana, meet Jey, Jimmy, Bianca, and Trinity," Liv said, introducing me to the group. I shyly waved at them, but my heart raced as I locked eyes with him.

He gave me a playful wink, and I could feel my cheeks burning with warmth before he began to speak.

"Hi guys nice to meet ya'll" I said.

"So Kiyana you a model for real?" Bianca asked as I nodded my head.

"Absolutely, I've been navigating this since I was nineteen."  She seemed taken aback when I mentioned it, considering the immense pressure that comes with being a legal adult in this industry. However, I can genuinely manage it all.

I shared all my model photos with her, including the one I took earlier today for Vogue magazine. Both she and Trinity were captivated by my features. I also caught a glimpse of Jey sneaking a look at my pictures when he thought I wasn't watching—a clever little fox, indeed.

"You are an incredibly gorgeous girl, and I can only imagine how many guys are drawn to you." I chuckled at her remark, shaking my head in response to Cody's protective nature. Honestly, no one would dare approach me, and that's perfectly okay.

Liv started pouring me a shot of Hennessy into a shot glass, and as I downed it confidently, I could feel the energy of the girls around me cheering me on.

I've always been a light drinker, which means that even a small amount can hit me hard, especially when I'm behind the wheel. But this weekend is special—I'm celebrating my very first fashion show!

"Let's celebrate my best friend fashion show that she's going to be in this weekend guys!" Liv said while pouring us some more Hennessy in the shot glasses.

I never expected to find myself in this situation tonight. I hoped Cody would choose to stay home with his wife and my adorable niece instead of coming out. As we hit the dance floor, the energy was electric, and we lost ourselves in the rhythm, dancing closely and enjoying every moment.

As I lost myself in the rhythm of the music, I suddenly felt a firm hand encircle my waist. A surge of panic almost made me scream, but then I realized it was Jey behind me, his neck gently resting against my shoulder, perfectly syncing with my movements.

He leaned in close and softly murmured in my ear, "Kiyana, isn't it? You look stunning tonight, mama," Jey said, his deep voice smooth and rich like vanilla.

I gently draped my arm around his neck, leaning into him as I prepared to respond. His touch was soft and reassuring, setting the perfect tone for our moment together.

 "I appreciate the compliment, sir. You appear quite dapper yourself. It's amusing how you're observing me in silence, isn't it?" I remarked, noticing the soft chuckle that escaped him.

"I aimed to leave a positive impression, Mama; I certainly didn't want to push you away." Push me away? He's quite the comedian! I can tell we're still in sync, moving together to the rhythm. That's when I turned to face him, feeling his hands on my hips as he playfully squeezed.

I felt a warm, fuzzy sensation inside, but I brushed it off since I was already quite tipsy. I noticed his gaze shifting from my lips to my eyes. "So, you're a model? Those pictures looked impressive from what I could see," he remarked.

"You could have simply asked to see them instead of trying to be clever and sneaky."  We both share a laugh, gazing into each other's eyes.

 I was drawn to his energy, even though we were both tipsy and a bit drunk. He had a vibe that was impossible to resist. As he leaned in closer, our lips started to move together perfectly, and I could hear the cheers from everyone around us. In response, I playfully flashed them the middle finger.

I could sense his firm body pressing against me as we engaged in an intense, passionate kiss. His tongue danced within my mouth, igniting a powerful spark of desire that surged between us.

"You wanna finish this at my hotel?" Jey muttered softly.

I agreed with a nod as he lifted me by the thighs, effortlessly grabbing my purse and keys. I momentarily forgot that I had driven her, but it didn't matter. I had already handed Liv my car keys so she could return my car to my place..

"Kiyana finna get some dickkk tonight!" Liv shouted as I gave her the middle finger knowing that this hoe knows imma a virgin.

Jey gently set me on my feet as he unlocked his car doors. Once I settled into the vehicle, I was immediately struck by the delightful scent and the stylish interior. I fastened my seatbelt just as he started the engine and began to reverse out of the parking lot, making our way to his hotel.

༊*·˚

OMNISCIENT Kiyana and Jey were irresistibly drawn to one another, their hands exploring as they shed their clothing. In a passionate moment, Jey lifted her by the thighs, carrying her to the bed where he gently pinned her down, positioning himself between her legs.

He began placing wet kisses on her body all the way down to her belly and her moist wet cunt right now Jey's face was between her thighs kissing her thighs gentle as she quiver around his touch.

"She's so pretty mama, pretty ass pussy," Jey said as his lips began kissing her wet cunt gentle causing her arch her back in pleasure.

Jey was French kissing her pussy swirling his tongue around her clit as she moaned his name softly only for him to hear she didn't tell him that she was a virgin that would probably throw off his game but that didn't matter because they were both drunk and will forget about this situation.

He gazed up at her seeing her squirming around him as he held her down making sure she didn't go anywhere this would be a one time thing for him since he already had a fling going on with Jaida at the moment.

Kiyana was tugging on his brownish mullet while bucking her hips around his tongue matching his movements as she rolled her eyes in the back of her head.

This was something she never experienced before with all of the men she dated but Jey he was a while different breed, she felt him slowly sticking two fingers inside of her pussy and began pumping them in and out of her.

"O-oh...F-fuck..." Kiyana moaned gazing down at him watching him work his tongue around her sensitive bud.

Jey pulled back her folds before going back in to French kiss her clit thrusting his fingers deeply into her, curling his fingers into a "c" watching her crumble underneath him.

"Mhm, give me that shit," Jey responded back.

His tongue continues to flicker up and down feeling that she was about to cum within a second feeling her pushing his head deeply into her pussy.

Kiyana felt a knot going down inside of her stomach while bucking her hips and down nearing her orgasm throwing her head back into the sheets.

"J-Josh...I'm finna..cum..ouuu fuck...Its coming!"

Kiyana let out a satisfying moan escape her lips as she rolled her eyes in the back of head letting her intense take over her body meanwhile Jey was slurping all of her milky white cream as it coated his beard so well.

He could feel her thighs shaking violently kissing them gently to soothe her before pulling his fingers out of her seeing the rest of her cream on it.

When she had seen how big he was it almost scared her wondering if it'll fit her seeing how long and thick it was he chuckled at her while getting a condom ripping it from his teeth before placing it on his dick.

He pulled Kiyana towards the edge of the bed pinning her legs back as he aligned himself in her entrance, Jey slowly push himself inside of her as she gasped feeling her body shaking at the pressure.

"You good mama, I gotchu princess," Jey reassured her as he began giving her slow deep strokes.

He was fucking her gently like he almost knew that she was a virgin due to her reaction to him pushing himself inside of her, but this was a one night stand it didn't mean anything right?

The warmth of his body between hers did something to her that she couldn't even put her finger on it.

"Oh my god fuck," Kiyana moaned, breathlessly as she dig her nails into his back.

"Never had someone dick you down like this huh?" He hummed as he circled his hips, relishing the sound of her pussy made when he went in and out of her empty hole, "pussy feels so good mama,"

Jey planted wet kisses on her body comforting her letting her forget about the pleasurable pain that she was feeling at the moment while speeding up his pace a bit.

Kiyana's moans were filling up the room hearing nothing but his hips slapping against her thighs while she was scratching his back causing him to hiss but he didn't mind.

He wrapped his hand around her throat pounding into her gummy walls while she tried to push him away but only for him to pin her arm down in the process.

"Un-un, take this big ass dick. Be a good girl for me," he grunted sending her to the oblivion.

At this point she had tears forming in her eyes due to the pressure that she was feeling did she feel like an idiot for giving it to a man that she didn't even know?

"Fuck Jey I can't, I fucking can't ouuu," She begged as he gripped her throat tightly.

"Take this fucking shit," Jey was fucking her silly throwing his head back in pleasure seeing her breaking into pieces because of him.

She didn't know how much she could take gazing into his dark eyes there was nothing but lust in them the way he was biting down on his bottom lip was so attractive to her but she felt them tears streaming down her face as she covered her face.

Jey wasn't haven't it he wanted to see how good he was fucking her, "remove yo' hands from yo' face lemme' see how good I'm fucking you," when Kiyana didn't obey his commands he gave her a slap on the thigh causing her to whine as she removed her hands from her face.

"Look at you taking daddy's big dick so well, you gon' lemme' coat that pretty face of yours with my nut mama?"

"Y-yess fuckk I'm finna cum Jey..." she warned him feeling another orgasm creeping up on her.

Kiyana began rubbing her clit chasing her orgasm as Jey fucked her inner walls deeper and deeper making her take every single inch of him hearing a choked moan escape her lips.

Jey was losing himself inside of her feeling his thrust getting sloppier and sloppier each second watching her rubbing her clit turned him on so much.

Kiyana let out a loud moan feeling herself coating his dick up with her milky essence rubbing her clit intensely while rolling her eyes in the back of her skull.

Jey had slammed inside of her one last time before removing the condom grabbing her by the hair coating up her face with his warm seeds shooting ropes after ropes on her face causing him to let out a satisfying moan.

She even opened her mouth to get some of his nut inside of there tasting the saltiness of his cum he let go of her hair making her fall onto the bed looking all defeated and tired.

Kiyana felt her heart racing as she watched Jey head toward the bathroom. Struggling to regain her composure, she placed a hand over her chest, trying to steady her breath. Just then, she heard his footsteps approaching again and looked up to see him extending his hand toward her.

She took hold of his hand to lift herself up, but her legs felt so weak that she nearly stumbled. Jey quickly caught her by the waist, looking down at her disheveled appearance. With a gentle touch, he retrieved a warm cloth and started to wipe her face, which was smeared with remnants of their passionate encounter.

"In the morning we will forget about this aight?" Jey said as she nodded her head.

But did she really want to forget about this?

Kiyana successfully tidied her face and then slipped back into her underwear and bra, all while gathering the remainder of her clothes.

"Where you going?" She gazed up at him without saying anything.

"I was going to get a Uber home," Kiyana replied as he shook his head.

"Nah, just stay here for the rest of the night. I'll take you home in the morning mama," he said as Kiyana didn't want to protest as she felt tired due to the session that they just had.

As she settled into the bed, seeking comfort, Jey gently wrapped the blanket around them. Just as she was about to close her eyes, the vibration of her phone interrupted her peace. Kiyana reached for it and saw that Cody had sent her a message.

IMESSAGE 💬 BigBrother💪🏼: Hey where are you? you good? Yana💗: yeah I was way to drunk to drive so Jey took me to his hotel room to spend the night BigBrother💪🏼: Jey? As in my best friend Jey Uso? Yana💗: that's your best friend?? BigBrother💪🏼: yeah yaya he took care of you right?

'Yeah, by fucking the shit out of me and giving him my virginity'

Yana💗: he did, he said he was going to take me home in morning BigBrother💪🏼: good well I just making sure you was okay I'll text you in the morning get some rest love you 🫶🏼 Yana💗: I love you too gn

She set her phone on the dresser beside the bed and glanced at Jey, who was already fast asleep. That was her signal to finally get some much-needed rest too.

She is likely to put all of this behind her and return to her usual routine by tomorrow morning. With the upcoming fashion show this weekend demanding her attention, it's essential that she stays focused and not let any distractions cloud her mind.

Sneaky Link

yaonlylivonce, americannightmarecody, therealnathan, and others liked your post.

yanasworld: Such A Beautiful Dime 🙂‍↕️💗 yaonlylivonce: that outfit was eating tonight girl did Jey take care of you? 👀 yanasworld: @ yaonlylivonce yes he did americannightmarecody: glad you had fun little sis can't wait to see you this weekend yanasworld: @ americannightmarecody thank you brotherrr ❤️ therealnathan: SHES TAKING IT HONEY 😩😘 yanasworld: @ therealnathan I love you so much 😭😭 uceyjucey: damn looking good as fuck mama yanasworld: @ uceyjucey 👀👀

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uceyjucey just followed you! trinity_fatu just followed you! biancabelairwwe just followed you! jonathanfatu just followed you!

A/n: back with another story lol, Will Kiyana forget about the one night stand that her and Jey had or get attached due to her giving her virginity away to him?

Anyways hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 66 Trepidation Posting

Well, dear void... I begged for Seitei War lore and a finger curled on the monkey's paw. Where to even begin?

Rough TL of the editor's notes:

First Page: 封じられた記憶… [fuji rareta kioku...] "Sealed memories..." Last Page: 妖刀も妖術もなくただその剣技で- [yoto mo yojutsu mo naku tada sono kengi de-] "No enchanted blades, no sorcery, just swordsmanship-"

Iori Lore and Dad Stuff

What a cute creature.

Her fake last name is Yoshiura (吉浦): 吉 (yoshi) for good luck/joy and 浦 (ura) for bay/creek/inlet. Nothing particularly interesting or exciting about it but it has a nice sentiment.

I'm in a better headspace now so I can do some thinking that needed to be done last week. Let's take some notes about the current arc and it's continued focus on one of Kagurabachi's key themes: Daddy Issues™.

Chihiro: lost his dad through tragedy, memories haunt and drive him. Was loved dearly and loved his father back in return. Acting on his grief in violent ways.

Hakuri: lost his dad through abuse, let go of his memories and found closure on that front. Was loved dearly then discarded but never stopped loving his dad.

Iori: lost her dad through his own guilt, trying to recover her memories of him. Was loved dearly and seemed to love him back in return. The memories she had with him were so upsetting that she passed out when she got them back.

Hiruhiko: mostly unknown right now, but clearly special to John and spoiled a bit by him. Surprisingly wholesome relationship despite how unhinged he is. If he was truly adopted like many fans think then John was probably a doting dad from the start.

So the "similar" traits based on what we know are...

Lost Their Dad: Chihiro, Hakuri, Iori

Dad Murdered/Killed: Chihiro, Hakuri

Dad Deliberately Abandoned Them: Hakuri, Iori

Were Always Loved by Their Dad: Chihiro, Hiruhiko, Iori

Dad was Burdened by Guilt: Chihiro, Iori

And the "unique" traits are...

Abused by Their Dad: Hakuri

Clings to Memory of Dead Dad: Chihiro

Dad Forgot About Them: Iori

Spoiled Brat Thanks to Dad: Hiruhiko

Chihiro and Iori are the ones being directly compared right now. They both lost their fathers, but Samura's a real piece of work compared to what we know about Kunishige. He chose to forget her in order to protect her whereas Kunishge went into hiding to stay with Chihiro. One child forgotten on purpose, one clinging to memories because that's all he has left.

Yeah, Samura's not winning any "Best Dad" awards any time soon- but it's hard to blame him when we see what the family was enduring because of his reputation after the war. Any half-decent parent wants their kid to grow up without having to see that kind of stuff. Samura just let guilt have too much influence over his choice on how to manage it, in my opinion. Kids should have a bit of say in how they're raised too. Not a lot but at least enough be able to feel seen and heard.

As for the other two, Hakuri and Hiruhiko are in pretty good shape. Hakuri's still smarting over the loss of his dad most likely, but he got the catharsis he was craving when Kyora finally acknowledged him right before he died. That particular wound can start to close up and heal as Hakuri moves on through the story, unlike Chihiro and Iori's at present. And Hiruhiko seems to be in the best spot out of the four as John's special little guy who can do whatever he wants. Spoiling kids isn't being a good parent but Hiruhiko's in a pretty good state all things considered- probably the best out of the four. We have plenty more to dig in with him so this'll get revisited once development happens or new information drops.

But yeah. Chihiro being rightfully angry at Samura for deciding to sever the parent/child bond so lopsidedly tracks with his unresolved trauma. Of course he thinks he wouldn't want to change a thing about living with his father. He's still deep in mourning and floundering in the morass of grief he uses to push himself forward. I wonder if we'll get commentary on this at some point... it's such a core aspect to his personality and the story that it might be saved for the end.

Iori's choice is left for another chapter but I have a feeling she'll agree with Chihiro and keep the memories despite the pain and danger they bring. Samura's guilt needs to be addressed and the daughter he chose to forget should have the biggest part in confronting him about it! The story can become an escort mission of sorts to keep Iori safe until that happens, which leads to easy action so hooray for us.

Perception and Being Perceptive

Yeah, he is. But that's not all.

And here we go, we're back to how people look at Chihiro and judge him without knowing the truth. Samura, Kunishige, and the other Bearers are "heroes" who seem to have some rather serious crimes buried in their pasts. Chihiro is a "murderer" stricken with grief killing those who try to destabilise society. Simple, no-frills parallels between guys drowning in guilt that anyone can pick up on.

What else is going on here? Well, those who were saying the hotel was inspired by John Wick are almost certainly correct with sorcery and fights being forbidden within it's walls. The Manager and his staff/followers enforce this with his own sword technique: Reigen One Sword School/Style (no relation to Reigen Arataka of Mob Psycho 100 fame). 礼 (rei): salute, thanks, gratitude, etiquette 玄 (gen): mysterious, occultness, profound

How... polite?

No, that's not Kumeyuri, and anyone who asks gets a bonk on the head for not paying attention.

Small note that wasn't kept in EN: Hiruhiko refers to Toto as "Toto-san", which is cute. He respects her and/or she's older than him.

Of course Toto summons Hiruhiko in so he can begin his own training arc by facing off against the hotel's staff. The bloody pin being used to tie his hair back will definitely not inspire a ton of fan art, trust me. It will be a Hiruhiko-free week everywhere (RIP my feeds). But Hiruhiko's really racking up the service industry experience between being bonded to Kumeyuri with it's geisha spirits and learning how to fight from hotel employees using a polite sword fighting technique.

Other than that, it's not clear if Kuguri's in this hotel or not but chances are extremely good that we'll get more hot-blooded action next chapter as Hiruhiko and Chihiro both learn by doing. Maybe they'll meet again, maybe not. The only guaranteed thing is that Sumi and Moku are wasting their time by prepping the seal on the roof because Iori's not going to want it even if it's finished before another dramatic escape is made.

Desperate cope theory while I'm here: maybe we can see Hakuri again soon since he and Hiruhiko have that "what is friendship, anyway" thing going on with Chihiro. That cut from Hiruhiko yapping about battling to the death as "equals" to Hakuri on the page turn in chapter 54 is still eating at my brain, yes. And Chihiro just reminded us that he feels inferior to Hakuri (he's gonna become his samurai it's canon no one can take this from me). Depends on how the next chapter plays out but I'm hoping. Dying. I'm dying without Hakuri. Please I miss him so bad just one new panel is all I'm begging for.

"Truth"?

OK. Time to let the brain worms squiggle freely over about two pages' worth of Seitei War information.

So, first... a translation note (sigh). The subject of how the war ended will probably come up now that the beginning of it was given to us (or at least, a particular version of it).

Chapter 9, if you forgot. Thank you Hella for catching this when I was all set to yap about the implications of an armistice vs. other ways to end a war.

How the war ended is still a mystery but it might not have actually been an armistice as implied by the English translation of the signboard. The word used in Japanese to describe it is 終戦 (shuusen), simply "end of war/cessation of hostilities" in a formal and pretty final way. The method could have been anything: surrender, peace treaty, and so on. An actual armistice would use 停戦 (teisen - temporary ceasefire for negotiations), 休戦 (kyuusen - a short-term truce/suspension of fighting), or 偃武 (enbu - mutually laying down arms but without the finality of shuusen) to describe both sides agreeing to pause the fight. So there might not have been mutual feelings that the war needed to stop for both sides' benefit like an armistice would imply, leaving a lot of room for the losing side to build up resentment.

Of course we all know that peace treaties coming from armistices can do the same thing if they are crafted poorly- The Treaty of Versailles used to end WWI is probably the most well-known example in the West. But the ambiguity exists in Japanese and should have stayed in English in my opinion. Folks who remember this signboard from early in the manga might be confused if it turns out the end of the war wasn't so peaceful or mutual after all.

With that out of the way, I want to talk about how fucking suspicious the story of how the war started is.

Keep in mind that Chihiro, Iori, and the Masumi don't know the truth of what actually happened- they're only recounting what they were taught or read about.

"But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked" this is not.

小国 (shokoku): small country. NOT the actual name of the place, just describing it for what it was. "Twenty-two years ago... a 'small island nation' appeared in the south-east seas..." would be more accurate. (Thanks as always, Hella.)

So, right out of the gate, a whole damn country appearing out of nowhere full of people using magic rocks to attack the mainland sounds like something straight out of a child's fairy tale. You're telling me that Japanese Atlantis rose out of the ocean and became hostile right away, completely unprovoked? That's the kind of framing used to justify showing a foe no mercy. It's an essential part of successful propaganda- dehumanise the enemy, make them seem unknowable, monstrous, and imminently threatening.

The datenseki bit is especially interesting. How did these undersea people have natural compatibility with a stone named as if it came from a meteor?

雫 (da) - drop, trickle 天 (ten) - sky, heavens 石 (seki) - stone

And in such quantities that they could wage a war with it, despite it being rather scarce? (Only 250kgs exist per Sojo in chapter 11; same weight as nearly 12 average-sized countertop dishwashers in Freedom Units.) I suppose a giant meteor could have dropped in the ocean on their territory, or they could have mined it from the seabed, but I don't believe this conveniently simplistic version of events for a second. Not after so much emphasis was put on how shady the Kamunabi is and that they are hiding a lot of shit from the general public.

I doubt an island rose out of the sea as the story claims at all, honestly. While Japan does sit on the Pacific Ring of Fire and sees little islands pop up then vanish back beneath the waves all the time, one big and stable enough to have a whole nation's worth of people on it would not have gone undetected for so long. It beggars belief that the mainland didn't know they had a whole bunch of people living off the coast underwater unless they were using sorcery to hide from sonar and exploratory/research missions.

My bets are on this "invading" nation to have been a populated island that existed for a while and for some reason -probably related to the datenseki- war broke out between them and the mainland. Classic grab for resources, discontent with the mainland rulers vs. the island's own government, everything's still on the table. Maybe they were a long-lost fragment of society that tried to reintegrate, who knows?! But does anyone really think a war that started with such one-sided aggression out of the blue would have the population reacting to the people that saved them like this?

Not exactly a "hero's welcome".

"Disappear", "Atone for your sins", and "mass murderer" painted on the side of someone's house with garbage dumped in front is not reflecting the sentiments of people who are happy that the threat to everything they know and love was dealt with. That's outrage! Probably something to do with how the enemy was "wiped out" (JP:掃討 [soutou], cleaned up/swept clean/mopped up, specifically of enemies.) Sounds like the so-called invaders from Japanese Atlantis were thoroughly eliminated...

Iori is very young here, probably elementary school age. So this is a few years after the war in an unknown location- there's a chance this was on the enemy's island, but why would he live among the remaining enemies? He doesn't need more guilt than he already has, seriously. Also, since he was reputable as the fastest swordsman alive when the blades were being handed out, he most certainly wasn't a defector from the enemy's side. Thus I believe this scene takes place on the mainland.

It seems to me like it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows after the war so the Kamunabi came up with a publicity campaign and squashed the truth somehow. But that doesn't erase the memories of the people involved, either as participants or witnesses. I'm extremely curious as to how other members of the war generation remember things. The blades themselves were only used in empty fields (according to Azami, ch. 9) so the Kamunabi could spin that any way they wanted and likely did. But if that was the case, then who saw what and told others to kick off the harassment campaign? Are there mainlanders who dissent to the Kamunabi's rule because of that information not being completely suppressed and thus help out the Hisaku- like Kyora and the Sazanamis were implied to be doing? Remember, Kyora wasn't quite manipulated as thoroughly as Chihiro recounted to Uruha in chapter 48. He definitely had some personal and/or political sympathies with our favourite group of silly bad guys:

Chapter 22. "Dissidents" aren't business rivals or competitors- they're specifically political opponents against the current regime. The term used in Japanese (異分子 [ibunshi], outsiders/alien elements) has slightly different connotations but can mean the same thing.

This is what I meant by the monkey's paw curling at the start of this post. We got crumbs that only really raise more questions instead of answering anything. For now I am still clinging on to the theory of the Seitei War being a civil war... mostly because I don't know if the author intends to tell a story with blunt commentary on the misdeeds of Imperialist governments.

Possible Real-World Influences

Hakuri has nothing to do with this, I just miss him.

So, I know a lot of people have Attack on Titan's swerve into "What the Hell, Author?!" territory still fresh in their minds and I do too. What Hokazono-sensei's setting up here has some eerie similarities with a corrupt government hiding a lot of shit and the mysterious enemies being more sympathetic than they should be... I just hope we don't take the same route of "both sides were bad, so the military needs to protect us all and destroy the worse evil" that seems to happen a lot in these WWII allegory stories.

Not to get political about an action manga, but the discussions in Japan over how to teach younger generations about what went down in the WWI and WWII eras are pretty tense right now. A great deal of emphasis is put on the suffering of the people that happened after Japan was nuked twice -which was a tragedy- but the real story is lost in the debates about what and how much to teach. There's a lot of folks who want to minimize and omit lessons about the war crimes the nation committed in China, Korea, the Philippines, and the rest of the Pacific. There are even a handful who vociferously defend them as "necessary" things that happened during wartime.

I see a lot of this reflected in Kagurabachi's arc right now. We've been told several times that the Kamunabi's version of events can't be trusted and that there's something awful that was covered up. The Hishaku want some secret to come to light and it will almost certainly have hugely negative impacts on the Kamunabi, the Bearers, and likely Kunishige too. Chihiro needs to know what happened as a core part of his character arc, and it will probably come with the realisation that the conflict he's embroiled in is much more complex than a simple revenge mission can solve. Whatever the truth of the situation is will shatter his worldview.

Where Attack on Titan failed in executing this sort of plotline was making the Titans a genuine threat that needed to be put down after revealing what they really were. You don't set up obvious real-world parallels to groups that have suffered greatly in the past just to say they were a real threat all along. You don't downplay government's corruption and cruelty with "well the other guys weren't great either". But this isn't an AoT blog so I'll stop there.

I don't see a reason to be nervous about Kagurabachi making the same mistakes right now after the sensitive writing around difficult topics from previous arcs. I'm paying close attention to where the Seitei War information crumbs lead us, though. I'm interested in most things the author has to say if it's well-told but I'm not going to stick around for justification of jingoist ideology. I also hope that the author will be able to tell the story he wants even if it happens to go against the government's prevailing sensibilities.

We don't know yet where this will go so I'll just wait and watch with a bit of trepidation. I trust Hokazono-sensei to not repeat mistakes author authors have made, but he could well make new ones as an author writing his first-ever serialisation. I just want whatever comes of this plotline to have something interesting to say like the others before it...

We'll leave it here for today, dear void. Thanks for reading all this if you got through it and let's sit tight for some awesome hotel fight action next week! Say something nice about yourself once a day in the meantime. Every other or even just one day is fine if that's all you can manage too- we all start somewhere.

[burning-academia-if]

Hello and welcome to another update! January was busy with work and my health is still on the mend lol however!!

Writing for Chapter 3 is finally done! Now I just need to go through and edit/code in everything! Granted, coding will probably take up all of February due to the fact that I've rarely been home for a variety of reasons and thus don't really have access to my computer but honestly the fact the writing is done is such a relief LMAO I've been working on it on and off for so long, it's nice to almost be done with. I haven't put together all the scenes, so I don't know the exact word count, but I know for a fact it's the size of an average novel at this point and I hope it being that long makes the wait worth it! There's a lot of branching in chapter 3, which is where most of the word count came from, so it definitely won't feel that long playing it but I hope people who replay have fun with all the little things to do and different branches lol

With that said! I'll be looking for beta readers to help with Chapter 3. I'm mostly just hoping to catch all the coding issues I'll 100000% miss. The forms for that will probably go up in either late February or early March if everything goes well! I want to have most of the coding done before I set that up. I'll keep y'all posted in case anyone is interested in that.

Thanks for the patience will I figure out irl things LOL we're almost there for real this time!

And finally, here's the monthly preview: