#and like... things are far more complicated than that?

[esccpism]

- let ruin end here [.]

it’s peak hours on the train to grand central. you and sevika share a booth.

cw: younger woman x older woman, strangers to lovers, reader is anywhere from 23+, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, light dom/sub, complicated relationships with parents, reader's mother is passed, reader’s father battles alcoholism, overcoming implied suicidal ideation, undertones of grief

wc: 5.6k

a/n: i think the only thing that feels worse than making bad art is not making art at all. i really want to like this and can't. exposure therapy is posting it anyway! this is loosely edited so i apologize for any errors, and hope you enjoy x

fic inspired by this beautiful artwork by moonie_forever on twitter.

you don’t see her at first.

you’re focused in a frantic sense, eyes raking up and down over heads stuffed in phones or laptops for a leftover space to cram yourself into.

your hunt yields. you snatch the spot immediately, sliding into the last remaining seat in a six-seated booth. 

not that you can afford any pickiness, not that you ever can—but it's an aisle seat. it’s maybe the worst for an hour commute. you’re forced to remember this almost instantly, punished by a careless passenger rushing past who pummels your shoulder with their suitcase. 

the offense strikes against you like a match and the anger ignites quicker than you can swallow it.

you yelp under your breath, and look up with a painful hiss, ready to send daggers into the back of the offending head and instead your eyes latch onto her.

sitting diagonal from you, her gaze is on you already. there’s nothing in them, nothing you can discern, anyway. her vague curiosity seems to run out as soon as no argument erupts because she settles back into the book cracked open in her hands.

rubbing your shoulder, you try to be quick. strangers have a keen sense of who’s staring. 

you don’t want your trip to get any more annoying, but you take a big gulp and sink under: thin rimmed glasses bridge her strong nose, and she’s dressed comfortably, dark hair tucked away behind her, wisps and fly-aways brushing over her eyes. impossibly long legs eagle outwards in the seat, taking up far more space than necessary, and you nearly laugh—the poor old woman next to her is sitting stock upwards, elbows tucked to death—but it fails to be funny for long, seeing how her thighs dwarf the woman entirely and easily. 

the rest of her body follows the same pattern. her arms sit broadly. she’s got a pretty shade on her lips, dark as night, and—

you inhale sharply. she’s watching you watch her, again.

her brow lifts. 

you fish for the quickest thing you can reach for: smile breezily and nod towards the book in her hands. tell her with a voice that comes out strong and unwavering that you picked it up a few weeks ago, too.

it isn’t a lie. you recognize the title. the sentence, by louise erdrich—it’s sitting on your shelf in your childhood bedroom, and you’d put the book down temporarily as you had done with most things recently in order to keep yourself afloat. 

her eyebrow does something new that rustles inside you. 

her voice does something worse. it’s low and smooth velvet, and curls around in your stomach when she offers back, “main character’s a bit of an idiot.”

“only at first,” your grin grows, and loses its performance. 

“from cocaine transport and body snatching? i would hope so.”

“she was in love,” you shrug, in her defense. “a pretty woman will do that to you.”

her eyes glint, amusement or a ghost of a laugh or something else golden on the horizon, you’re not sure. she asks if you would know. you answer her, oh, yes. intimately.

there's a crease or a dip in the space between you two that fills itself with words, cradles lines like water cupped in the palm of your hands. you spill nothing even in the awkwardness of talking over the shoulders of the passengers beside you, who continue bouncing their feet in irritation. her gaze flickers to them and back to you, mid-breakdown of both of your least favorite writing sins ranked from most hated to satan couldn’t even think of this—something bridging just on amusement pulling at her mouth.

when the man seated in front of her stands to exit at his station you shift over to take his spot. 

your knees crowd together and kiss—she asks you if you have enough space to sit comfortably, and you tell her not to move a muscle. her long legs, stretching outwards like a yawn, hold yours inbetween. 

₊⊹

you’d gone home that night and, bored, thought of her briefly as the tall buildings flit by. you wonder and then wish you’d asked what she was doing in new york, where the city was taking her, where she was headed. 

and then you move on. 

wandering is no longer in your best interests. what’s important is what’s right in front of you, and if you let your attention drift for a moment too long it might crawl out from your grip and shatter to the floor.

you fantasize about it, sometimes, in the weak hours of the night. what it might feel like to let it all fall. how your lungs won’t remember what air feels like when it doesn’t burn. what it might mean if you were to stop running. 

alcohol hits you first, always. the stench sobers you up. 

you lean one hand against the hallway and lift your heel up behind you, slip your flats off and let them clatter to the floor. your dad doesn’t lift his eyes to greet you when you shuffle into the dark.

“hi, daddy,” you murmur, and rest a light hand on his shoulder as you pass.

he starts under your palm, lets his head roll towards you. the T.V. paints his face blue.

“hi, princess,” his voice scratches on the way out. he shifts, and a bottle rolls out of his lap and clatters onto the floor. you sink to pick it up, gathering another three with you. he grunts, rubbing his drooping eyes torturously slow, working the words out of his mouth. “how was your—uh…your internship?”

you let the bottles rest on the counter. there are about a dozen others there too, your eyes coast over them tiredly. tomorrow, you tell yourself. you said so yesterday, too, but you think you mean it this time. you’ll clear them out tomorrow.

you have nothing left, tonight.

you tell him to remember to turn the television off when he’s done, and after a long, dripping silence he makes a vague noise in his throat in response. 

the house is dying. 

there’s no pretty way around it, no way to clean the sentiment up. the house is dying. and it took your mother first, one quiet night, under the illusive cover of sleep. your father had first begged despairingly for it to give her back and then resolved to go in after her. 

the pile of empty bottles on the kitchen table counts down the days. they increase steadily, creating an ominous figure in the dark, and you glance past them everytime you twist your keys through the lock. 

the house is dying. your father wants to die with it, and you know greed when you see it—the floorboards shift and groan under your socks, just biding its time to give way and swallow you whole. it will come after him soon. he won’t have to wait long.

yet no matter how far you go, you can’t shake the feeling sinking its nails into you, trailing inside your shadow. the house is dying. you know that once it takes your father you will be next.

it’s what the city does for you. and you've considered moving countless nights, wrapped in your rainbow zebra print blanket, the one your mother gifted you when you were thirteen and the world was so big it burned.

the city cannot love you back, and so you stand to lose nothing from throwing yourself into its aching maw. you stare at the cars beneath you on the commute with a child weeping in the seat beside and a mother tiredly shushing it, and swallow down the bile that bubbles. stalk through grand central with tall boots that mouth at your knees or heels that make just a bit too much noise because you eat moments that make you feel alive, keep yourself full to keep from reaching for emptiness in worse places. 

you’ll take the local to soho, man the shop while your boss goes off to do god-knows-what for hours and wander for a few blocks after your shift is up. you’ll head down to greenwich to sit at the park and catch your breath for a moment and leave before you can let empathy crawl between your tired bones and make you too vulnerable. it shows, sometimes, when you care too much. you avert your eyes from a homeless woman on the bench diagonal from you and bury the feeling away. 

bum a smoke from a stranger at a bar or book a table at a restaurant for one, it doesn’t matter. come home around midnight and leave again before the sun. if the plan keeps you on your feet then it’s a good one.

but then there was her.

and wandering won’t do you any good—the snag she clipped in your routine was barely a blip and still her smile sears behind your eyelids, burning everytime you squeeze them shut. 

she was funnier than you’d expect of her. though she’d seemed at first confused and then entertained by your giggling—her humor was a bit dry, and her face far too expressive for her own good. you’ve never seen eyebrows that moved so much.

you had forgotten what laughter tasted like.

you flip your phone shut, and slide it onto your desk. sink into your comforter. right foot first, then left.  sleep seeps into you near instantly and you try not to flinch away, feeling its cold fingers slide down your eyelids. it stills you like death, every night like a ritual. 

drowsiness renders you helpless. it helps.

you dream of your mother and her cradling hands—of big things, of running away, of flying.

₊⊹

the eight a.m. peak hours aren't even the worst it gets, and still you only manage to sink into another six seat booth, in the aisle space next to an elderly lady who gives you a weary look before shifting so your legs don’t touch, and returning to her mobile game. 

her high score is shit when you steal a peek over, and you immediately feel a bit better.

flipping your bag, brown leather and well-loved, you tuck a hand inside and pull out your phone. eyes flickering across the screen, lifting to check the time—

there she is.

the words leap from you before you can catch them and smooth out the wrinkles, 

oh—. 

you!

it paints itself like a holy declaration, bright and a bit too loud. your seat mates and those across the aisle, as well as the woman who fills your chest up when her eyes lift over her lens to meet yours, all shift in unison. the world, the blue sky, all rushes out, all crashes back in. 

the conductor enters the car with a woosh and clatter behind you, calls out reminding the lot of you to have all tickets ready, and you ignore it. to your every elation she does too.

not quite a smile, but something catches her lip a little, and a huff sounds through her nose. 

“hey, you. long time no see.” 

₊⊹

her name is sevika, and your schedules align more than is normal.

each time it's the same train car, the fifth one from the back—and if you can’t make it you just jump train cars until you spot her dark, fluffy hair from over the seats. she has the same book cracked open each time you wrestle into the booth. 

her greetings tend to not be greetings. she peers at you and receives whatever it is you’ve brought to her to chat about. sometimes it’s more pet peeves, other times it book recommendations, and she begs you to slow down with those, or a video that had made you laugh so hard you spit that she watches blankly and tells you she doesn’t get it. you’d gotten her only once, though, caught her lip flicker, pull to a smirk—your own breath locks and then you pocket it for later. only the political memes make her crack.

her outfits change erratically, too, and you think the first day must have been a fluke. you ask her how she does it so early in the morning, all the belts and straps and buckles, and then kick her when she says with a small grin that she’s got a lot of practice. 

she nods in greeting, once, when you come to fit in the spot before her. her legs are always spread out wide and yours tuck together, inbetween.

it’s all you spend the weekends doing, now, gathering what to take with you to monday. you’re forgetting the bottles on the counter. you’re forgetting to tell your father to turn off the T.V.. the world moves in slow motion, everything moves in slow motion. even your dreams sludge through your sleep like a child running through snow.

some horrific mornings every seat in the booth is already taken. 

her gunpowder eyes will occasionally flit over to where you sit a row down, mirth brimming inside at your cross expression and your crossed legs. some days you bring two cups of coffee. and she surprises you—she enjoys hers sweet. she takes it bitter the first time, feeling sorry to force you to drink it, and you watch her stain your thermal jug with dark lipstick over the rim of your drink.

you both fall together like rainfall in june. your legs are forgetting what it feels like to be rid of oxygen, to burn and repair in order to burn. your muscles don’t ache when you sit, sevika makes sure. asks if there’s enough room for you. spreads out like open arms.

her progress in the book is slow. and you learn that she’s sort of cute when she gets defensive. 

her cheeks puff out and her brow creases and you wish you could tip forward and sink into her and disappear inside it. she tells you she’s really busy, you know, and her time on the commute is really the only time she gets to herself where she isn’t sleeping.

sevika pauses then. looks at you thoughtfully. 

“well. not so much anymore,” she says. “i guess now there’s you.”

but the next morning you do see her, she’s a bit further in than she would be at her usual pace—and you scoff, and then laugh, and she leans back and sighs. but watches, softly, as your giggles peel you apart.

₊⊹

for a few days you don’t see her.

you embarrass yourself by walking through every train car, eyes threading over the seat, legs sludging past briefcases and elbows. you know she won’t be in any of them if it isn’t the fifth car and you check anyway. and are proven right.

the remainder of the day is a bit dimmer. you try not to overdo it, you don’t know her, no matter how much you enjoy the chats you share. she doesn’t owe you anything, much less any fore notice of when she might be absent. 

she might just be sick or taking a day off. or maybe your eagerness scared her away. or maybe something had happened to her and the universe decided you’d enjoyed enough hope for a lifetime and she was taken from you, too.

your dad doesn’t respond that night, when you greet him—and you nearly crumble right there.

you hold your breath as you shuffle over, your sandals light on the floor boards. coast a hand under his nose, and still the blood pumping in your veins.

his breath whistles against your thumb.

you let your arm fall back down to your thigh. stare fiercely down at him from where he’s curled into himself. smaller than you ever remember. 

mother would ask you to save him were she still here, because that’s the kind of person she was. and it wouldn’t be a request, it would be your duty. she’d drape it around you like a badge, let go, and watch the weight of the metal pin you to the earth.

his death means your death. and maybe that shouldn’t be it—maybe you should simply love him, and let that be reason enough.

and your mother, she wouldn’t forgive you for failing. but she would understand.

you draw away. click off the T.V., set down the remote in his palm, and then turn on your heel. 

₊⊹

sevika is there the next morning. 

this time her eyes catch yours first, already staring before you find her. 

you stall momentarily, caught like a deer. the passenger behind you steps on your heel and you both mutter half hearted apologies as you slide towards the booth. 

it’s hard and inconvenient to get around the other passengers but you shuffle over them despite their evident discontent. you aren’t paying attention to them. sevika takes your arm and helps you over—her grip warms you from the point of contact, inching outward and webbing down your insides. 

her eyes are careful and steady on yours the whole way down, and your bare legs scrape her thigh. she closes them briefly to make space for you. 

as you get comfortable—adjust—she lifts the book from her lap. 

“i got up to the part where her friend haunts her,” she says in greeting.

“they weren’t friends,” you return. “they were something worse.” 

sevika shakes her head—her mouth quirks. “no,” she disagrees. “they were friends. sometimes there’s nothing worse.” 

you could think of many worse things, but none of them find you right now. the image of her toothy smile is lodged in your chest like stone, a dull ache. summer glances off her face, when the train emerges from under the tunnel.

she’s all at once and all of a sudden too much. you want to turn and flee in the opposite direction. you want to lower yourself between her jaw and pull her mouth closed around you, let the fangs sink into your skin, like a cheetah licking the meat off a gazelle.

everything falls away. guilt sucks its teeth. you won’t flee, and you know you won’t. no one with this feeling fluttering in their chest and ramming against their ribcage can let death wrap its cold fingers around their arm and remain still. 

you know you are forgetting your mother’s face, and your father will wither away and you won’t follow behind him—because you have something else to chase, now, and it’s living and breathing and smiling at you.

truthfully, the thought shudders through you. you’re even losing what her laughter sounded like. her voice when she’d tell you, silly girl. the place you’ll call home is waiting for you to make it. what’s there to fear? 

her cradling hands inside your dreams, when she’d grip your wrist and then your face and tell you, the door is always open. go.

sevika is terrible at hiding it, and she tries—but you think she’d missed you too. 

she had called the protagonist an idiot but she’s no better, you can see it in the way she stares at you as if to take you inside her mouth. how she tracks your every movement. watches the very saliva slide down your throat.

you think you could make a home out of wherever she’s heading.

you let your legs eagle out. her gaze lingers on the place where your naked knees press into her thighs. your skirt rustles but you don’t mind what she sees. if anything, you welcome her heady gaze, and the hot coals it rakes over your body.

“thought i’d lost our little book club,” you say. it’s so uncasual it trembles in the air between you two.

her dark rimmed glasses slip just a bit down her nose, and she shifts them. keeps her eyes on you.

“is that what this is?” 

the question stretches wider than just the book in her lap. 

the conductor calls out the transfer at jamaica—you’re meant to stretch out of your seat. sevika watches you cross your legs, watches the new passengers stream in, crowd and fill in the empty space. 

a few stragglers jog down the stairs, legs reaching past every other stair. the doors close mercilessly, passing like time. their frustration or disappointment passes across your chest as if it were yours, the familiar, intrusive ache of sympathy. but their story isn’t yours. 

sevika closes the book around her fingers. 

“i know today’s your day off.”

sevika leans forward, onto her elbow. “and you came to find me anyway?”

“who knew you’d be here? you must really love the morning commute.”

her mouth pulls for a drawn out moment. she tells you she has a second job back on the island, that she would’ve had to commute anyway to come back home—but you interrupt her. because not at this hour.

you know when her second job ends because she told you her schedule back to front when you’d asked about it. offered details about her day-to-to with one pretty smile from you, ran you up and down her routine with her voice calm as the shifting sea. despite accusing you of eventually revealing yourself to be a hitman or something else ridiculous she’d relinquished anyway, admitting well, it’d be a sweet way to die. 

you would’ve kissed her then, if you were smart enough. 

“you end far too early.” you tell her now. stare, and she stares back. “you should’ve been back hours ago.” 

“this is my routine, sweetheart.” 

“i’m your routine.” your leg bounces, scrapes and traces hers on its journey. her eyes are damp in the sunlight, kerosene drenched, and they speckle sunspots onto your skin with her intensity. 

you wonder if she’ll refuse you. 

wonder what you’ll do then, what the train ride back will look like. how you’ll open the text you send your boss. how curt he’ll be with the one he sends back.

but then—inside her incriminating, drawn out silence—you think that maybe she needs direction just as much as you need chaos. 

“alright,” she relents. her voice is quiet but her hands aren’t. they flatten along your knee, thumb tracing up and down. fingers nipping just under your skirt, resting there, warming. “but don’t start whining at me when you lose that dream job of yours.”

“i don’t whine.”

sevika retracts and leans back into her seat, as the train rushes forward and thrusts itself into darkness, rumbling underground. the station is four minutes away now, and the conductor’s voice crackles over the speaker. 

“we’ll see.”

₊⊹

you’re the compass that points eastward. 

sevika stabilizes you with a heavy hand on your waist, but she doesn’t anchor you down to the earth. you float as her heavy boots thud along the cement behind you. moves you out of the way of pedestrians, steps in front when a biker whizzes past. 

it’s her apartment you’re both headed to but you’re the one leading.

but her presence weighs, and the velvet of her voice keeps you holding hands with gravity. you tell her your story, and she tells you hers. 

she’s a senior consultant, and it’s a demanding job. what she says is that it can be draining. what she means is that she gets paid by big boss men and CEO’s to have someone to blame when things go to shit.

her overnight job is easier on her sore skin. she mans a gas station, and spends the shift exchanging stories with the regulars and insomniacs, and chasing away creeps that come to bother her girls. 

got yourself a little community, you say, squeezing her knee, and the comment makes her pause. you watch a few things flit across her face, before she grunts, and settles on one. 

…i guess i do.

on the subway her hand rests on your thigh, massaging the flesh near imperceptibly. your legs are crossed and you squeeze after squirming too long—she feels you grinding into the rolling, loose coil of pleasure from the shuddering train and she tuts you under your breath. you nearly lose your common sense, a shaky breath escaping thinly through your nose. 

you don’t have to ask why she doesn’t let go of you. 

you’ve seen it, anyway—she was always fidgeting, shifting her weight, wrapping fingers around a page, an unlit cigarette, or around your thigh as it bounced anxiously, over and over against her knee.

and in the dark of her apartment in the three hour layover between her different shifts, instead of a book it’s a sparkly rocks glass, or an untouched bottle. the place is neat otherwise, almost clinically clean—empty as if she weren’t it’s habitant. as if no one were. 

the drinks, she doesn’t consume them. they sit there, just in case. an assembly that doesn’t speak and company that cannot warm.

you survey it wordlessly and she watches you without offering any explanation or defense. 

she takes your silence a way you hadn’t meant it—stoops and begins shuffling things around, but you stop her with a hand on her arm, tugging her back up to her full height.

“there’s time for that,” you say, “later. we have so much time.”

her face flickers—tightens. 

there are no tears, no emotional eruption, nothing so melodramatic. but she gathers you into her with the force of an ocean that swallows with a hungry mouth. she tastes how she looks. she moves like something inside is dying, being replaced or beckoned out by something newer, some new life she can only find on your tongue.

you give her everything you’ve got. 

it’s not much. you aren’t an answer—you’re empty as a tin can most days. if she minds you can’t tell—she sucks in a breath when you stand naked before her, dripping and squeezing your thighs together.

“come here, sweetheart,” she beckons you closer, patting her thighs.

you’re guided onto her lap by a rough hand, one that squeezes and kneads but doesn’t go searching.

“spread for me.”

you whine lowly. she’s clothed still and her eyes are glued to you and it’s rustling at the sediment in your stomach, the fabric of her pants delicious on your cunt. 

she taps your thighs, voice lowering, “spread your legs, baby.”

slowly, you let your knees fall wayside, and the scent of your arousal washes forward immediately. she nudges you backwards, lowering you until your back thumps onto the bed. your hips are peaked in the air towards here, dripping cunt open wide for her to see, and you exhale shakily at the new angle, embarrassment crawling over your skin. 

sevika stares, slow and methodical, eyes touching every crease and corner of you as you start squirm under the heat of it, begging her to do something, before your throat caves into itself.   

“so restless, baby,” she says, a small smile crawling its way on her face. 

you feel like cursing, like clawing at her to move. you don’t realize you’re rolling into nothing until she rests hands on your hips and guides the movement, fingers pressing dents into your skin. 

the humiliation couldn't get worse, and your pride withers as you mumble, “are you going to touch me or what?” 

“i can’t savor the view?” 

“sevika,” you lament, and when she laughs you feel her stomach jump against your thighs. you suck in a breath, wet with want or something bigger, you aren’t sure and won’t reach out for it. it’s enough having her this close. she’s warm every place her skin makes contact with you, the cool surface of her prosthetic fingers rooting you back to earth with every squeeze. 

she doesn’t tease for long. her thumbs extends and presses down on you, and all your breath gets trapped in your throat. she rubs your clit softly, tracing little circles, matching the whimpers you make with low hums of her own. you hips lift and roll against her touch, arching off her lap. 

“feel good?” she coos. “when i rub your clit like this?”

you try to tell her you need more, but her maddening pace is making your brain muddy and your words slurred and nonsensical. but she’s never needed much from you in order to understand.  

sevika’s fingers dips to find where you’re most promising, wet and writhing as she taunts the worst of yourself out of you. 

she sinks inside and carves out the cave of your cunt, curling her fingers until your hips arch off her lap. she takes the invitation and readjusts, shifting until she’s supporting your hips in the air, and tucks her face into your thighs. bites and nips and searches the skin, leaves behind proof of herself in little tugs of teeth and wet kisses—and she’ll find nothing inside but your climbing greed, humping her mouth and whining sinfully, begging her to take you for all you’re worth. 

she drinks, feverishly. as if your greed were the best thing she’s ever placed on her tongue.

sevika groans inside you, kisses and laps your cunt sweetly. your hand finds her hair, sinking your fingers inside. you tug harshly as her tongue begins to work faster and she makes a low, rough noise in response. her name warbles off your mouth, rolling your hips up off the bed to meet her. her tongue flickers back and forth and up and down, sinking and sucking. your begging begins to sound more like babbling, and her hand comes to rest on your stomach as she drags your body in closer.

you’ve lost comprehension—your mind is hazy and you’re slipping, reaching out for something, just on the horizon. 

your thighs clamp around her head when your orgasm whispers against you, swelling tightly—

she murmurs into you, there you go, baby, give it to me, and that completes your search. with her tongue she presses you back into yourself, and you wail outwards as the crash overtakes you, seizes your body and squeezes till you’re shaking and shuddering. 

you collapse. your limbs are jelly, twitching at her touch—

and she hasn't pulled away. your body cringes away from her tongue, still gently kissing and rolling your clit.

“sevika, wait,” you pant, as discomfort and pleasure swirl together. “too sensitive.”

“sevika, it’s too…” your head tips back, rolling into her mouth again. she supports your hips with her arms wrapped underneath—rises to peer up at you, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin flitting at the corners of her mouth.

“hmm?” she asks, a question she already has the answer to, as your glistening cunt reaches towards her. 

“no, dont—don’t stop.”

“thought it was too sensitive?”

“sev, fuck,” you reach down, leafing fingers through her hair, guiding her back down, “please.”

her lips curl against you—a private smile, just for the two of you, and it guides the pleasure back as she sinks inside. 

she takes until you’ve got nothing left to offer. your body is heavy and spent, and when you kiss her and cup her face in your hands she holds your wrist, tender, soothing your back with her thumb.

wrestling her clothes off takes little convincing and a little laughter, and you reach down and let your fingers play at her pants zipper, slip your hand beneath as she watches you, lids low. her brows pull and she intakes a breath when your fingers brush her fuzzy lips, spreading to feel the pool that’s amounted there.

you glide your fingers along her. she just barely ruts forward into your hand, eyes disastrous, grip on your waist tight. “you’re this wet just from getting me off?”

sevika makes a small, breathy noise, and her voice comes out tainted. “what can i say. the sounds you make are something else.” 

“‘cause you make me feel good,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside. her eyes flutter shut, lips pressing together, before parting to pant. 

“that right?”

“don’t swallow it,” you say, watching her face contort when you pick up your pace, when you slip in another finger. “you sound beautiful. can i hear you, too?”

₊⊹

you pick sevika’s glasses up from her bedside, and push them onto her nose. she asks if you have work tomorrow—promises to walk you there, and you wave her off. 

butterscotch invades your senses when you rest your cheek on her chest. it’s all over you, too, she’d scrubbed you down and warned you that you’d smell like it for maybe the next three days. you couldn’t imagine a better predicament if you tried.

“i want to be haunted,” you push the words into the quiet, when her breathing has evened out to a near stalemate. she shifts, the only indication she gives that she’s listening. “i want to tell all the people i’ve ever loved that i hope they haunt me. but i waited too long. they won’t know that i wouldn’t mind.” 

“i think they know,” sevika turns her head to peer at you. “you should hear yourself. i think they’re doing a fine job.”

“do you enjoy it? being haunted?”

she’s quiet. her brows lower, she works her mouth. 

“sometimes,” she admits, quiet so as to not disturb the unretrievable. “when it gets bad enough it’s like they never left.” 

you tip onto your stomach, sprawled across her. reach over and spread her fingers out, slide forward the length of your hand until they seal together. the angle is awkward but the effort is earnest. she’s warm, like a living thing. it’s all that matters.

when her eyes glance upon you, shiny gloss in the dark, you don’t think you’d mind being a compass. 

you tug, and point eastward, outside the bedroom. leaving is the first step. 

“come.”

the door is always open. go.

“come. let’s go clean up your ghosts.”

you plant your feet on the cold hardwood, right first, shiver against it, resist retreat; and then settle the left. push off the bed, and trust sevika is following behind. 

© esccpism.

[cynicalclassicist]

The difference is that right-wing voters will vote for creeps like the GOP whatever. The GOP can attempt a coup and spread Nazi ideas, and their base will swallow it up and be all but the other side will be worse than the actual Nazis, the people doing Nazi stuff don't really mean it.

The Democrat base is willing to call their party out over doing the wrong thing, like over Gaza or moving to this mythical centre-ground.

But the Democrats doesn't always get the message and think that they should give more to the far-right.

The world is complicated.

alt right movements in america have found such success bc of they r unified in their hatred. they got that brand loyalty level dedication to being evil. ppl on the left will spend five minutes giving a dissertation if u make the mistake of calling them a democrat

[4linos]

jealousy in bloom

lee minho x gn!reader

synopsis/request: a surprise bouquet sparks unwanted attention and jealousy from a coworker, minho, leading to an awkward apology and a confession that changes everything.

warnings: jealousy, enemies to lovers(?), mild language

wc: 2040

The day had dragged on longer than you cared to admit. Your birthday had started off like any other, quiet, low-key, and tucked in the corner of your mind as just another day to get through. But the moment that bouquet of flowers arrived at your desk, everything changed.

You weren’t sure what was worse, the flowers themselves, which were stunning in their vibrant hues, or the way everyone around you started gushing about them. A “secret admirer,” they all whispered. Who could it be? How romantic! Their eyes were bright with curiosity, and you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under the weight of their attention. You weren’t used to that kind of focus. You tried to brush it off with a casual smile, but deep down, you were anxious.

You’d never received something so extravagant before, and the lack of a card made it even more mysterious. It wasn’t from anyone you knew. At least, not anyone who’d owned up to it.

As you sat down at your desk, trying to hide your unease, you couldn’t help but glance over at the corner of the room where Minho was sitting. You’d been coworkers for months now, and your relationship with him was… complicated. You didn’t like him. You didn’t hate him either. He was just a presence in your life constantly irritated, distant, sarcastic. He always made sharp, biting remarks, but you’d long since learned to block him out. You didn’t have time for his attitude, and honestly, you’d never thought much about him beyond that.

But today? Today, he was different. You noticed him staring at the bouquet every time he walked past your desk. His eyes weren’t just glancing; they were glowering, like he was trying to will the flowers to disappear. It was strange, unsettling even. There was something in his gaze, something sharp and possessive.

At first, you brushed it off. You couldn’t care less. But as the morning dragged on, Minho’s behavior became harder to ignore. The way he walked by, casting dark glances at you. The way he gritted his teeth when he passed the flowers. And the sharp tone in his voice every time he addressed you. He was rude, as usual, but it was more cutting today. More deliberate.

The final straw came when he started assigning you extra work. You tried to keep your composure, but the extra work Minho had thrown onto your plate wasn’t helping. He’d assigned you tasks that were far beyond your usual workload, without so much as a “thank you” or a ���please.” Each task felt like a subtle jab, a way for him to express some kind of underlying frustration with you. And it wasn’t until you saw the glances he kept shooting at the flowers that you started to piece things together he was upset, but you couldn’t understand why.

“Here, take care of this,” he’d muttered with a sneer, never even looking at you.

“Why don’t you do it?” you’d snapped, too tired of his attitude to care anymore.

“I’m busy,” he’d replied coldly, brushing off your question.

It was one thing to be a pain in the ass on a normal day, but today, it felt like he was actively trying to make your life harder. The sharp, demeaning remarks. The passive-aggressive attitude. Every time he passed by you, his eyes would flick to the bouquet and then back to you, like he was holding something back.

It was a strange feeling, being so confused by his actions. And it was starting to eat away at you.

You worked through lunch to avoid him, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, you were drained. Mentally and emotionally. You had no energy left to process his behavior or the awkward attention from your coworkers.

By the time the day came to an end, you were emotionally drained. The flowers had become a constant reminder of the tension in the office, and Minho’s cold, biting attitude had left you on the verge of tears. You’d barely managed to get through the day, but as soon as the clock hit the end of work, you gathered your things and quickly exited the building, eager to escape the weight of everything that had happened.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you reached into your bag to grab your phone, the familiar weight comforting in your hand. When you unlocked the screen, you saw a message from your brother.

“Happy Birthday! Hope your day’s been as amazing as you are. Did you get the flowers I sent to your office? Hope you liked them!”

Your brother. Of course. You should’ve known. Every year, without fail, he sent you something for your birthday. It was his tradition, something he’d been doing since you were both teenagers. You hadn’t even thought about it, but now that you saw his message, everything clicked. He was the one who sent the flowers. It wasn’t some secret admirer. It was just your brother, doing what he always did to make you feel loved.

You smiled, a wave of relief washing over you. The mystery was solved. It was just your brother, always looking out for you in his own way. You were grateful, of course. But now, your thoughts turned back to Minho. Was that why he’d been acting so weird?

Before you could overthink it, another text came through.

“Call me when you get a chance. I want to hear about your day. Hope it’s been great!”

You were about to dial his number when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You froze. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Minho. His voice was unmistakable, sharp, but with an undertone you couldn’t quite place. You sighed inwardly, preparing for another awkward interaction, but when you turned to face him, you were met with an unexpected sight. Minho was standing there, his posture more reserved than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

There was a strange look on his face, something different from the usual arrogance and bitterness. For the first time in ages, he didn’t look like the office jerk. He actually looked… uncertain.

“I just wanted to… apologize,” Minho started, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. It wasn’t fair, and I know I made things worse with the whole work overload thing. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his sudden sincerity. You’d expected him to brush everything off, to remain stubborn and cold, but instead, here he was, offering an apology.

Before you could say anything, Minho quickly added, “And for what it’s worth, happy birthday. I know it wasn’t a great day for you, but I hope you know I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

The words caught you off guard. You’d never expected Minho to apologize, much less wish you a happy birthday in such a genuine way. Still, you were cautious. “Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. “But why the sudden change of heart? You’ve never been this… nice.”

Minho gave you an almost embarrassed look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? I’m not good at this… talking about feelings stuff, okay? But I owe you more than what I gave you today.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Okay…?”

Minho shifted awkwardly, looking anywhere but directly at you. “I was an idiot. And I’ve been a jerk all day because… I guess I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” You stared at him, utterly confused. “Of what?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly struggling with the words. “I saw the flowers, and I guess it just got to me. I don’t know why. But the idea of someone else giving you something like that made me… pissed off. And it didn’t make sense to me, so I just started acting out. Like a dumbass.”

You blinked, processing what he said. You could barely believe the words coming out of your mouth. Minho? Jealous?

Minho still refused to meet your gaze directly. “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for a while now, but I’m too stupid to know how to handle it. So I do what I do best, I make things harder for you. But it’s just because I like you, alright?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was almost too surreal to take in. Minho, the guy who had spent months being rude and dismissive had feelings for you? It didn’t add up. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, admitting it in the most awkward, reluctant way possible.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react. Your emotions were a whirlwind, part of you still felt anger and hurt from everything he’d put you through today, but the other part of you couldn’t ignore the sudden vulnerability in his words. Was this the real Minho? Or just another layer of his complex, unpredictable personality?

“I know I’ve messed up,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But if you’re willing to hear me out, I’d like to make it up to you. Maybe... dinner? As an apology? I’ll pay, of course.”

You hesitated. You wanted to say no. You were still upset. He’d made your day miserable with his attitude, and the last thing you wanted was to sit across from him over a meal. But something in his eyes, something genuine made you pause. He was offering an olive branch. And… the offer to pay? That part made you smile despite yourself.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I’m starving.”

Minho’s face lit up with a small, relieved smile. “Deal.”

-

Dinner was… awkward.

There was no sugarcoating it. You were both tense, unsure of what to say to break the silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of the day’s events hanging over the conversation, but as the meal went on, the tension began to ease. Minho, despite his usual bravado, seemed like he was trying harder than usual to make things right. The quiet moments between bites didn’t feel as strained, and by the time dessert rolled around, you were almost starting to enjoy yourself.. almost.

When the check arrived, Minho insisted on paying, just as he promised. He’d apologized again, and while you weren’t quite ready to forgive him completely, you appreciated the effort.

As you left the restaurant and he walked you to your car, the air between you felt less suffocating. Minho spoke again, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it earlier,” he said, looking down at his feet. “But... I’ve been jealous, alright? And it’s not just because of the flowers. I just… like you a lot, more than I can admit. The only reason I get under your skin the way I do is because I don’t know how else to show it. But I’m done with that.”

You stopped walking for a moment, processing his words. Was he really being serious? Was this a joke? You had no idea.

But the look on his face, the rawness of it told you he wasn’t joking. For the first time, Minho was completely honest, and you weren’t sure how to feel.

“Maybe… next time, try being nicer?” you said softly, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Minho’s eyes softened. “I’ll try. I’ll try for you.”

With that, he gave you a small, almost shy smile, before turning to leave.

You watched him walk away, your mind spinning. You weren’t sure what this meant, what was going to happen next. But one thing was clear: the Minho you thought you knew had just shattered all your expectations and maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you’d ever realized.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: after this reader & minho started dating, got married, had kids & laughed about this story when they retold it to their kids😌.)

[lovelybucky1]

5. The Plan

wc- 2.1k // main masterlist // go greek! masterlist // tw: mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

The past couple of days have been torture for you. You’ve felt like you’ve been going through the motions rather than living your life. You can’t concentrate in class or while doing your assignments, and it takes ages to fall asleep at night. Your mind has been busy thinking about the guys and where you fall with them. Obviously, you can’t have eight boyfriends and you doubt they all think of you that way, but it makes you question things when they outright flirt with you.

Things with Joaquin have become far more complicated. You would consider dating him, have considered it, but it wouldn’t work out. He isn’t the only one you have eyes for and you could never do that to him. To make matters worse, they’re all friends, all brothers. Bucky and Steve are roommates, and it would torture you to be with one and not the other. Sam is funny, Matt is charming, Logan is mysterious, and you have a great relationship with Wade already. You’re pretty sure Frank is off-limits now, but you can’t say you don’t still think about him. 

The issue of not being able to have it all is one thing, but what’s really bothering you is the thought that they may not want you. They all flirt and joke, but you have no idea how serious they’re being with everything they say. After you saw Steve with the redhead after the party, you began to rethink every interaction. You thought he was at least mildly interested, but apparently, he’s been seeing someone this whole time. You’d expect something like that from Bucky, or maybe Matt, but certainly not Steve.

After some social media stalking with Karen’s help, you discover the redhead is named Natasha. She’s a senior dance major who already has a spot at the New York Ballet. She’s the president of Delta Zeta and a Pilates instructor. How can you compete with that? 

In a lot of Natasha’s pictures is a girl who you recognize from around campus. Her name is Yelena and they seem to be sisters, but they couldn’t be more different. Natasha has long red waves and a classic beauty look, while Yelena has a blonde mullet and a more alternative style. 

With how popular Natasha seems, you’re surprised you haven’t seen her around before. Unfortunately, now that you’re aware of her, you aren’t able to think about anything else. 

You wonder if Bucky has someone he’s been seeing too. Some bombshell who looks like she’s fresh out of the centerfold of a magazine who makes you look vastly inferior in comparison. You’ve heard the guys talk about Matt’s freaky sixth sense for women, how despite not being able to know they’re hot, he always picks the hottest ones. You wouldn’t be surprised to learn that all of the SAE boys have someone. You’d like to think that Joaquin is the exception, but frat boys will be frat boys.

You’ve been avoiding the guys to the best of your ability for the past four days. You’ve still been doing your duties and planning this weekend’s party, but you’ve used every excuse in the book to not meet up with them. You’ve even been taking your dining hall food to-go so you don’t have to risk seeing them there. Other than going to class, you’ve spent all your time in your room, much to Karen’s annoyance. After the getting-too-drunk incident and learning about Natasha, you didn’t have it in you to face them. 

You’re forced to confront them when Wade comes knocking on your door. You sigh when you look through the peephole, and you have no choice but to let him in. Your side of the room is a bit messy, a side effect of your cave-dwelling this week, but Wade doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive and not drawing in a bottle of Pink Whitney,” Wade says as he sits down on your bed, uninvited. Even though almost a week has passed, the mention of alcohol still makes your stomach turn. 

“What are you doing here, Wade?” you ask, sitting in your desk chair with your arms crossed.

“That Parker kid let me up. It’s amazing what nerds will do for you once you give them a little bit of attention.” You have no idea what he means by that but knowing Wade, it’s better that you don’t ask. “We’re worried about you.”

“We?”

“All of us. You like, ran out after the party on Saturday and we haven’t seen you since. You said you were sick and couldn’t go to the chapter meeting, but Sam said he saw you with your friends in the Library and you looked fine. And you seem fine now, so I think that was bullshit.”

Damn Darcy for making you help her study for Spanish. 

“I just… haven’t been in a great place lately. I needed some time for myself,” you say. It’s the closest you can get to the truth without spilling your guts and embarrassing yourself even more. 

“I get that, but we’re here for you. You’re one of us now and part of this whole Greek shit is to be there for each other. Do you need me to beat someone up? I’ve been working on my question-mark kick and I’m dying to test it out on someone.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh. “It’s just something I don’t want everyone to know about.”

With a frown, Wade gets up from your bed and moves to lean against your desk to be closer to you. In this position, you have to look up at him. “How about you just tell me?”

You can tell that he’s worried about you and you think it’s sweet, but it makes you question if he’s here on behalf of everyone, or for himself. If the others have even noticed that you haven’t been around. 

“You promise not to tell anyone?” you say, feeling like a child sharing secrets on the playground. Wade holds out his pinky and you wrap yours around it. 

“I swear on my great-grandma’s taxidermied cat.” You know Wade well enough to know that’s binding.

You take a deep breath. “You know that girl that Steve was with after the party?” Wade nods. “Well after I saw her, I kind of freaked out. I was already embarrassed about how I was at the party, and seeing her… I thought Steve and I maybe had something, but I guess it was all in my head.”

Wade sighs. “Steve and Natasha are… complicated. They’ve had a situationship since Sophomore year. She gives him just enough attention to keep him interested, and then she ghosts him. Usually, that attention is sex, and even though I’m down the hall, I can still hear them-”

“Wade!”

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, every time Steve says he’s finally had enough of her, she inserts herself back into his life and he’s fucked up again. I don’t know her; I’m way too cool to hang out with a dance major, but there’s no way she’s that great.”

That surprises you. Steve doesn’t seem like the suituationship type. He could have anyone he wanted, why would he chase someone who messes with him like that? 

“So they’re not dating, but does he have feelings for her?” you ask.

“Like I said, it’s complicated. He knows she’s bad for him, but he can’t help himself. It’s like, when she’s in his life, he can’t focus on anything else. She blinds him or something.”

The thought that Steve never noticed you because he’s been with Natasha this whole time makes your heart ache. How could you have misread this so terribly? 

“Oh,” you say. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before Wade chimes in.

“I have an idea!” he says. A Wade-idea has a fifty-percent chance of being terrible, illegal, or otherwise ill-advised. “You have to make him jealous.”

You look at him, confused. “Why would Steve be jealous if he doesn’t want me in the first place?”

“All guys want what they can’t have. He’s been with Natasha long enough to know that she’ll disappear sooner or later, and when she does, he’ll have you to fall back on. But if you take that away by say, getting a boyfriend, it might make him realize what he’s missing.”

It turns out this idea isn’t as terrible as you thought, but you’re still not entirely on board. You get what Wade is saying, but you’re not sure if this is the best way to go about getting Steve to notice you.

“Where would I even find a boyfriend?”

Wade rolls his eyes more intensely than anyone you’ve ever seen. “Are you serious? You have a house of seven other guys who would love to be your boyfriend.” Wade obviously includes himself in that count, but you don’t comment on it. “I can't even imagine how many others would like to take you for a ride.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Would that even work? I thought you guys shared pretty much everything.”

When you first agreed to be their sweetheart, Steve reassured you that they wouldn’t pass you around like a toy from brother to brother. That turned out to be true, but you have noticed a free-love vibe from them. They don’t get jealous of each other and from stories you’ve heard from Bucky, ex-girlfriends aren’t off-limits to the other guys.

“We share with each other, but not so much with outsiders,” he says. 

“You lost me.”

“I mean, if you were to start seeing someone from Pike, for example…”

Pike, Pi Kappa Alpha, is SAE’s rival frat. You’re not really sure of the full story, but you know there was a prank war that ended up in vandalism territory, a couple of crashed parties, and lots of rumors on the YikYak. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask.

“I fucking hate those bags of dicks. I’d love to hang all of them by their toes and beat the dog-shit out of them and I wouldn’t want any of them to even look at you. But I do think it’ll work.” With the mixed messages Wade is giving you, you have no idea if this plan is a good one or not. “And it’ll work on everyone, not just Steve. If you walk into a party with a Pike guy, you’ll have everyone’s attention.”

That piques your interest. They all give you attention, but maybe they’ll start to really notice you once you’re off the market, even for a little bit. 

“That actually may not be so bad,” you say. Wade’s face lights up at your approval of his idea.

“Awesome! I actually have some people in mind who you might be interested in,” he says as he takes out his phone. He scrolls through screenshots of dating profiles and Instagram accounts, proving that he is as much of an internet stalker as you are. 

“This guy is pre-med. Hot, but a total asshole. He’s one of those guys who acts like he’s already a surgeon making six figures, even though he’s in college taking Intro to Pottery for an art credit.” He flips to the next picture. “He is the definition of a trust fund baby. His dad is the biggest donor to the college because he’s insane-rich and he’s related to the founder. I’ve technically had classes with him but I’ve never once seen him actually in class. All he does is party and sleep his way through sororities. Also, he and Steve were friends freshman year but they had some crazy falling-out.”

Both guys look like assholes and you’re just trying to get Steve to notice you, not think you’re insane for dating some piece of shit like these guys.

“What else do you have?” you ask as if you were looking at a menu. 

He shows you a picture of a tall blonde with long hair and a beard. “This guy is actually pretty nice, but he’s such a himbo it hurts,” he says, making you laugh. “He’s on the rugby team and I’m pretty sure the only thing he knows how to do is run into people full-force.” 

The next picture is a guy with silver hair and some light stubble. “I don’t know much about him. He holds, like, ten track records which is insane, and I think he was the one who broke the glass door last semester.”

You grab the phone out of Wade’s hands and look at the pictures yourself because Wade obviously doesn’t know how to pick them. You eventually stop at a very attractive guy with a buzz cut. 

“Oh!” Wade says. “That’s Johnny. He’s an asshole but the cool, sexy kind, you know?”

“I’m familiar with the type,” you say with raised eyebrows, directing your comment towards Wade. He laughs, owning up to it.

“You interested?”

You smile up at him. “I think I am.”

[schemmentigfs]

Under Her Nose. (part 1.)

Summary: Melissa and you are on a situationship for weeks, but none of you dare to share this secret with anyone. The problem is? Ava Coleman, your sister would disapprove your relationship with the fiery redhead.

WC: 5.59k.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Warnings: mentions of sex.

big shout-out to the beautiful @cowboykya for helping me to keep this idea. 🩷

Fate was treacherous, unpredictable, playing tricks on anyone. But you never expected to feel this way about Melissa Schemmenti.

When you started teaching at Abbott Elementary, after your sister practically got you the job, insisting that you should work at her school and not Addington Elementary because, according to her, you were too cool for their rich, systematic bunch in those better, private conditions. She seemed like the last person you would get close to. Her practical attitude, her sarcasm, the way she always seemed a little irritated. All of that made her seem untouchable. Even intimidating, at times. But there was something about her that drew you in. Maybe it was her humor, sharp and quick, or the way she cared so deeply for her students and close colleagues, even though she acted like she didn’t care at all.

The redheaded woman had always been a difficult person to describe, especially when compared to most of the staff.

While the other teachers were full of enthusiasm and wanted to save the world with a daily dose of positivity to avoid a nervous breakdown, the second-grade teacher was more concerned with making sure things worked at the most basic level. She wasn’t there to give fake smiles or be the favorite of her little eagles– she was there because she believed that, even in the broken public education system, she could make a real difference for the few students who could look beyond her tough exterior and see who she really was.

Unlike Janine Teagues, who had a dreamy approach and always tried to make every moment a teaching opportunity filled with possibilities, her grade partner was practical, almost merciless at times, but genuine. She wasn’t interested in miraculous transformations. Her constant sarcasm, her straightforward way of speaking, and her fight or fight mantra were a defense mechanism, but also a way to cut through everyone’s BS. When she spoke, it was with an unmistakable tone of authority, and it wasn’t hard to tell she was used to being the one who stands firm, even when everyone around her is vulnerable or desperately trying to please.

Melissa was also, by far, the most annoying and least emotional of the bunch, which, somehow, only made her presence more powerful. She wasn’t afraid to openly criticize someone if she thought they were wasting time or, worse, being ineffective— something she certainly hated. But behind her tough facade, there was an unwavering loyalty to those who were really on her side, something that wasn’t easy to earn.

She wasn’t there to make friends, but she wasn’t willing to distance herself from those who truly mattered either. The words “compassion” and “care” weren’t used lightly by her, but when she cared, you felt it. She was the type of person who would do the unthinkable to protect those who, in some way, were in her orbit. That made her more unique, harder to understand – and, for that reason, more fascinating.

Compared to the others, she was a storm, full of intense and unsettling energy, something much more complicated than any of the cheerier or more inspiring facets of the other team members. And, paradoxically, it was this complexity that made someone like you feel drawn to her.

It had started as simple curiosity. You’d heard plenty of stories about her from Ava, most of them exaggerated, of course. She loved to poke fun at Melissa Schemmenti, often calling her Ms. Tough Guy or The Abbott Enforcer, always with a mischievous grin. And that grew even more often with their newfound friendship after the small heist at the visit to Girard Creek Golf Course, maybe they weren't so different at all. But when you actually started working alongside your current situationship, you realized that those stories didn’t do her justice at all. Never did.

There was a depth to her that your older sister never mentioned. The way she’d stay late to make sure her classroom was perfect for the next day. The way she’d show up after a Philadelphia Eagles win. The way she’d give the students in her class little pep talks when she thought no one was listening. The way she’d call out nonsense in staff meetings but somehow still manage to sound extremely professional.

At first, you only admired her from afar. She was just some random colleague — sure, one you couldn’t stop thinking about, but still, a colleague. Part of the reason you always kept some distance was Ava. Your older sister had an imposing presence, and her overly protective stance made it impossible for anything to escape her radar. To her, you were the helpless little sister, the one the world kept trying to bring down — even though, most of the time, you insisted you could take care of yourself.

Ava never hesitated to push away anyone she considered a threat to you. When you were younger, that meant crashing parties to get you out if she thought the environment wasn’t safe. Later, it meant monitoring your relationships, intimidating any suitor with her sharp gaze, and even showing up at your old job to “check on how things were going.” You knew that, behind all that chaotic energy, there was an unconditional love. But you also knew she’d never stand by if she suspected someone was breaking your heart.

Maybe that’s why you never got too close to the other teachers. Jacob was too friendly, always trying to start conversations about some obscure documentary you wouldn’t watch even if paid. Janine, with her overflowing energy, made you feel even more out of place, as if every interaction required an excessive effort. Gregory was polite but distant — and you knew Ava had a sixth sense for spotting “awkward guys,” as she called them. As for Barbara… well, she was a legend, and you never wanted to risk looking foolish in front of her.

So, you contented yourself with staying in the shadows, doing your job without drawing much attention. At least until Melissa Schemmenti.

The green-eyed woman was different. And, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, there was something about her that pulled you closer. That blunt attitude, the raspy laugh that echoed down the hallways, the intense glances she’d throw over her various pairs of glasses when someone said something particularly stupid. It was impossible not to notice. And worse, it was impossible not to want more.

But, of course, there was Principal Coleman. And just the thought of what your sister would do if she found out you were interested in the most feared teacher at the school was enough to keep you in line. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. It was during that staff meeting that everything changed.

In the long development week, being the lovely and helpful principal that she was, Ava was monotonously talking about another poorly executed initiative, her excited voice echoing off the walls in that sing-song tone she used when she knew no one was listening. Janine sat at the edge of her chair, forcing a polite smile and nodding enthusiastically in an attempt to seem engaged, even though her big eyes occasionally darted toward the door. Jacob was fiddling with his pen, aimlessly doodling on the margins of his notebook, clearly trying to stay awake. Barb reclined with her arms crossed, her expression exuding mild disapproval and resignation, while Gregory kept glancing at the clock, letting out a subtle sigh every few seconds, his boredom clearly etched on his face.

The other staff members just remained silent.

“Ava,” Janine said after a while, running her hand through her curls. “Look, your proposal is reasonable. But we can’t afford this!”

“Shut up,” your older sister huffed, walking over to the projector to make a PowerPoint presentation about her planning for new posts on Instagram.

“God bless that O’shon, poor kid,” Mr. Johnson muttered to himself, looking at the cameras. “Or that Crystal Rilley.”

The mention of the rival made Ava freeze.

“Mr. J, how dare you mention that bitch’s name? We shouldn’t even speak it! It’s like any Christian wouldn’t dare mention Satan’s name.”

Mrs. Howard jumped out of her seat in an instant, looking offended. “Excuse me?”

“Uh. Sorry?” The principal shot back.

You were sitting on the other side of the room from the redhaired woman, half paying attention, when you caught her rolling her beautiful green eyes. Without thinking, you stared at her and murmured.

“This is a waste of time, don't you think?”

Her plump lips curled into a shy smile before she quickly averted her gaze, not bothering to give you a single response, but at that moment, something clicked. It was as if you'd unlocked a secret part of her, a part she didn't show everyone. After that, you couldn’t stop noticing her, or the way Melissa Schemmenti started noticing you back.

At first, it was in the little things. The way she lingered just a second longer in the hall if you were there. The way her sharp responses softened when they were directed at you, the edges of her voice rounded with something you couldn’t name. The way her eyes would find yours during faculty meetings, as if she were looking for an ally in the sea of chaos that Ava always seemed to create.

“Another motivational poster initiative?” you asked quietly one afternoon, glancing at the second-grade teacher across the room during a PTA meeting. “What's next, a dance competition to inspire better test scores?”

Melissa turned her head slightly, pretending to adjust the papers in front of her. “Careful, rookie,”she whispered loud enough for you to hear. “Your sister might actually pick up that idea and run with it.”

You suppressed a laugh, her green eyes sparkling with amusement as she caught your reaction. It felt like a game that only the two of you were playing, a quiet rebellion against the absurdity of the daily grind that seemed to infect that building.

The first time you really had a conversation alone with her was after school one day. You were staying late to reorganize your classroom, frustrated with the mess your students had managed to create. Melissa walked in, probably looking for something—likely her stapler, which seemed to disappear weekly.

“You’re still here, Y/N?” she asked, leaning against the door with her arms crossed.

“Apparently, my fourth graders are aspiring tornadoes,” you replied, holding up a crumpled worksheet you found shoved inside a desk. “This is my life now.”

The older woman laughed, walking in. “Fourth grade, huh? You’ve got the sweet spot. Too old to be clingy, too young to be chatty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think that's the sweet spot? Yesterday, a kid tried to trade homework for a pack of gum.”

Her laughter came easily this time, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fair enough. But at least they’re creative. My second-graders think spelling their names correctly deserves a gold star.”

You smiled. “I’d trade you any day.”

Melissa tilted her head, her gaze lingering just a moment longer. “Careful what you wish for, rookie. You might not survive a day with my kids.”

The friendship between you two grew slowly, like a secret entrusted to the wind. There wasn’t a specific moment when you realized she had become an essential part of your life—it was like the golden light streaming through the blinds in the morning, coming without warning but filling everything with warmth.

At first, the older woman was just the stubborn colleague who always knew how to have the last word. You argued more than you talked, each of you determined to prove your point, until one day, laughter won. It was during yet another endless school meeting, when you made a whispered joke about the broken coffee machine, and Melissa, without even trying to hide it, let out a laugh—a rough, authentic sound, as if it had come from a place she didn’t open up to often. From there, everything changed.

The green eyed woman started stopping by your classroom after hours, sometimes just to complain about the school’s awful coffee, other times to share some hallway gossip. You found a rhythm in your interactions, a silent dance of teasing and camaraderie. And then, without realizing it, you became her safe place.

The first time she really spoke about herself was on a gray day, the smell of rain still hanging in the air. You were sitting in the parking lot, on the concrete steps, sharing a cigarette she pulled from her pocket as if offering a secret. The smoke rose between you two, creating an ephemeral veil that made everything feel more intimate.

“Ma used to say cigarettes were for weak men,” Melissa said, with a half-smile that was bitter. “But after Joseph left home, well... Weak or not, here I am.”

It was the first time she mentioned the divorce. The word hung in the air, heavy and inevitable. She didn’t cry. The second-grade teacher was never one for easy tears. But the way her shoulders dropped slightly revealed the weight she carried. She talked about the marriage, how Joe’s laughter had become rarer, until the silent house became unbearable. She spoke of the muffled arguments behind closed doors and the nights when sleep wouldn’t come, even after another cigarette smoked to the filter.

“Teresa?” your coworker continued, taking a deep drag. “Oh, she loved being right. She said if I’d listened to my famiglia, I wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

There was bitterness in her voice, but also a kind of acceptance. You didn’t interrupt. You just listened. And that’s how she went on, unraveling the knots of her own story—the childhood surrounded by traditions that allowed no room for deviation, the prayers murmured in Italian in the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce that always seemed to linger in the air. The older Schemmenti grew up with Catholic faith as a tight cord around her chest, learning far too early to confuse guilt with devotion.

“Not that I go to church much anymore,” she confessed, blowing out the smoke with a sigh. “But sometimes, I light a candle. I think candles understand us more than priests.”

And then, as if needing to lift the weight of the moment, Melissa laughed. That half-smile laugh you’d come to know so well.

“Oh, and there’s another faith I take seriously. The firefighters from South Philly. Those arms? Those pants? My Holy Mother.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you say this... from personal experience?”

Melissa leaned back on the step, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, narrowing her eyes as if she was about to share a forbidden secret. “Listen, I’ve had sex with a lot of beautiful women in my life, but this firefighter… Madonna mia. She looked like Halle Berry.”

She made an exaggerated gesture with her hands, as if she had to draw the perfection.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Dark skin, soft as hell, you know? Like silk. Short curly hair, and those eyes…” Melissa sighed, tilting her head as if reliving the scene. “Brown, deep, like dark honey under the light. And the body?” She laughed, shaking her head. “The definition of hot. Strong arms, thighs that could crush a man without effort, and that posture of someone who knows she can carry you if she wants.”

She took a deep drag and released the smoke slowly, a lazy smile on her lips.

“She was in uniform that night, straight off her shift. The tight tank top, the pants low on her hips… Jesus Christ. I saw that woman and thought: ‘If I die in a fire, I hope I get to ride on that strap first.”

You couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy, and your cheeks warmed with her words.

The redhead laughed again, mischievous, and shot you a suggestive look. “And let me tell you... She knew how to use those hands for much more than just holding a hose.”

You laughed with her, the kind of laugh that understood. Because that's how Melissa was, intense, contradictory, absurdly alive. She spoke with the same passion about family traumas and about her most mundane pleasures. And when she mentioned her unwavering love for Real Housewives, gesturing with fervor to defend her favorite cast members, you realized how much you loved that about her.

She was never someone easily surprised. But when the name Chappell Roan first came up in casual conversation, something in her expression changed. She was sitting on the couch, a beer in hand and a slight look of disdain, until Pink Pony Club echoed from the TV. Suddenly, the way she adjusted herself, how her gaze focused on the screen, how her fingers gripped the bottle just a little tighter, made it clear: here was a genuine passion.

Being her friend was like holding a lit match. She burned with anger, with desire, with sharp humor and still, you couldn't pull away. Because, even with all the ashes, she was warmth. She was presence. And now, she was your one of your best friends.

The flirting between you started unnamed, with no declared intention, like a fire born from discreet sparks. At first, it was just the lingering glances that were too long to be casual, a touch of fingers that lasted a second longer than necessary when passing papers to each other.

But then came the provocations. The biting comments disguised as jokes, the way the redhead smiled crookedly after making some sharp remark, just to see if you'd react in kind. And you did.

You challenged each other in small things, exchanged veiled insinuations in the middle of common conversations, until the air between you became thick, heavy with something unspoken but undeniably present. And when she leaned against your shoulder while laughing, or when her voice dropped to a lower, almost conspiratorial tone, your whole body seemed to recognize what your mind was still pretending not to know: you were dangerously close to crossing a line.

The first time she kissed you, it was as if gravity had shifted, as if the world’s axis tilted just to remind you that, until that moment, you hadn't known what it truly meant to be alive.

Willard R Abbott was empty at that hour, the hallways bathed in pale light flickering from the old lamps, humming in a near-complicit silence. You and Melissa had been there for a while, discussing something trivial — maybe a detail about the fundraiser, but at that moment, none of the words seemed to matter. Everything dissolved when you noticed the way she looked at you, her green eyes less intense than usual, softer, as if she hesitated to hide something that was already beyond control.

Then, without warning, without space for you to anticipate, her lips touched yours. It was a moment of heat and dizziness, a contained hurricane in the narrow space between your two bodies. Your situationship pulled away too quickly, and in the startled gleam of her gaze, there was surprise, there was fear — but, above all, there was an undeniable desire to not undo what had just happened. And you felt the same. No regrets. No doubts.

The first time you both gave in to desire after the kiss, it was as if the whole world disappeared, as if everything around you became a blur, irrelevant in the face of the intensity of what was happening. There was no rush. Nothing seemed urgent. On the contrary, each second was lived with an unsettling calm, as if the universe knew that this moment was unique.

You were at her place, on a warm summer night. The air was thick, scented with earth and streetlights filtering through the window, casting a soft glow. The atmosphere was tense, laden with a silent expectation that filled the space between you. The leather couch in the corner of the room seemed to be the only safe place in that moment, as words began to fade, replaced by ragged breathing and gazes loaded with desire.

She touched your face with a softness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment. Your bodies were so close that the fine line between friendship and something more seemed to disappear. She was the one to break the silence first, her hands searching for yours, and when your fingers intertwined, it was as if the rest of the world stopped spinning.

The kiss was different this time, deeper, more urgent, as if all the promises made in that previous exchange of lips now needed to be fulfilled. Melissa Schemmenti’s taste was stronger, more urgent. Something between the cigarette and the perfume she wore, and you lost yourself in it, in that kiss that seemed to consume both of you. Her hands traveled across your body, exploring carefully and yet with the certainty of someone who knew what they wanted.

The moment was hot, unhurried, but also without shame. When your bodies finally fused together, there was something unusual in the way you felt with her, as if, in that act, you were more exposed than just physically. She, with her gentle touches, seemed to know exactly where to touch, how to make you feel desired, and you, in turn, knew how to give yourself up without fear. The sex wasn't just physical, it was a silent conversation between the two of you, a dialogue without words, where everything was said through gestures and sighs.

The encounters between you, now, were casual, but always tinged with a palpable tension, as if you were getting to know each other in every gesture, in every look. There was no commitment — at least, not on the surface. They appeared out of nowhere, a phone call to grab coffee, a trip to the movies, or even a nighttime walk through Center City Philadelphia. Each of these encounters felt like a small escape from reality, a space where the rules of the outside world didn't apply.

Weeks passed, but the weight of that secret only seemed to grow. Every exchange of glances with Melissa was a careful dance, a game of disguises where the smallest slip could expose what you were trying to hide. You found yourself caught in the details — the way she moistens her lips before speaking, the way her fingers nervously drummed against the wood of the table when she was lost in thought. Everything about her was an invitation to daydream. And still, fear loomed over you both like a storm waiting to strike.

Ava Coleman wasn’t stupid. Your sister had a nearly cruel talent for sniffing out secrets. She would throw jabs disguised as jokes, each comment laced with suspicion.

“You and Schemmenti have been... coincidentally spending a lot of time together, don't you think?”she once said, with a sly smile, as if she were just having fun.

You giggled, a fragile and empty sound. But the truth was, every word of hers pierced your chest. The fear of being discovered clung to your skin, like a second layer of guilt.

That Wednesday, the restlessness was unbearable. The empty classroom seemed smaller with each step you took, the creaking of the old floorboards accompanying your impatience. Your situationship hadn’t sought you out all day. No furtive glances in the hallways, no hidden touches. The emptiness of her absence was almost physical.

You knew you shouldn't expect anything. You understood the weight she carried, the walls she’d built to protect herself. But it was hard. Hard to hold back the desire for more from her, more stolen moments, more honesty. You wanted her in her entirety, not just in the shadows.

When you finally saw her, the twilight had already tinged the sky with copper hues. She came out of the building with quick steps, her head down, as if the very air around her was a risk. You called out to her.

“Babe,” you sighed heavily.

She didn’t respond. She didn't slow her pace, didn't look back. And that indifference, even if perhaps feigned, cut deep.

Later, back at your small apartment complex, silence became your only companion. The cold light from your laptop screen illuminated your face as you tried to correct papers. But the students’s words were just disconnected scribbles. Your mind was far away, trapped in the memory of Melissa Schemmenti. The sound of her laugh echoed in the most secret corners of your memory, along with the sensation of her touch on your skin.

You wondered what she was doing at that moment. If she was thinking of you too. Or if, perhaps, she was trying to forget.

A message. It was the least you could do. Something simple, discreet, without revealing the turmoil inside you.

You: I hope you’re doing well.

The response didn’t come. The screen remained dark and silent, as if the universe itself conspired to prolong your anxiety.

Each minute without a reply was a blow. The emptiness screamed louder than any word. You hated yourself for it. For depending so much on her. For wanting something you weren’t sure you could have.

When the phone finally vibrated, the subtle sound reverberated through the apartment. Your heart skipped, as if that small tremor was a whisper of hope. Your hands trembled as you picked up the device, the reflection of the illuminated screen dancing in your eyes.

And there it was. A message.

Red: Can we talk? Tomorrow after work? At your place? Jacob is bringing that Elijah over and I don’t wanna hear him on my roof again.

With trembling fingers, you typed out a response.

Of course. See you then.

You set the phone aside, leaned back on the couch, and closed your eyes. Tomorrow. You would talk tomorrow. Maybe then, you’d finally figure out where this was going, or if it was even going anywhere.

But this wasn’t easy for Melissa either.

Behind the sharp words and crooked smiles, Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti hid a soul accustomed to control. She was the kind of woman who balanced the chaos of a second-grade classroom with the finesse of someone who knew exactly how to tame storms. The friend who always had a quick response, ready to defend those she loved. The woman who never let others see when she was trembling inside. But with you, everything felt different. You were the anomaly, the exception.

She wasn’t proud of the way she'd avoided you today. How her steps quickened the moment she spotted you in the hallway, how she sought refuge by the vending machine, pretending to study the options just to make sure you were gone. Every glance dodged, every hurried step away only made the ache in her chest grow stronger. Running wasn't her style. But there she was — running from what she wanted most.

And the worst part? It was you. Ava Coleman's younger sister. Ava, who thrived in chaos as though it were an endless source of energy. The principal who turned every conversation into a grand performance and every secret into a scandal fit for a soap opera. Melissa couldn't even begin to imagine the storm that would follow if her boss ever found out about the two of you. It would be an inferno of unimaginable proportions.

Still, every time the green eyed woman tried to convince you to end it — to stop before it was too late — something held her back. Because you weren't just her boss’s sister. You were you. She hated how much she thought about you. The sound of your laughter lingered in her mind long after you'd left. The way your eyes held hers, as if you could see the very things she tried so hard to hide. She hated the insatiable urge to tell you everything, to tear down the walls she'd built over the years. But what if you saw too much? What if you uncovered the parts of her that no one else knew and decided she wasn't worth staying for?

The fear was always there, lurking beneath the surface. Fear of not being enough. Fear of being too much. Fear of opening the door and finding only emptiness on the other side. Uncertainty was unfamiliar ground for her, and you were a whirlwind, daring her to lose herself in the eye of the storm.

The Sicilian had never been friends with uncertainty. She liked things as they were: organized, predictable, manageable. She sought solidity, a clear structure amid the chaos. But you? You were fire in its purest form — untamed, insatiable. A spark that set everything ablaze and made her forget how dangerous it was to get too close. And yet, she did. Every time. Because there was nothing about you that could be ignored.

No, this wasn't easy for her. Not even close.

When Melissa crossed the threshold of her home, a heavy sigh escaped her lips. The air inside was still, as if the very walls could sense the weight she carried. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud. But even without its small burden, the true weight remained, stubborn and unrelenting. She needed to talk, to unload the turmoil that swirled within her. And who else, besides Jacob, could listen without judgment?

He was the only one who could know. The only one who could understood.

Barbara? No. The memory of last time still stung. That CPR class had been a cruel reminder that keeping secrets from her best friend was like betraying a part of herself. But now, Melissa felt she had no other choice. This was too big, too absurd. How could she explain something so irrational without sounding like a woman lost in her own feelings?

The living room was cloaked in a soft, dim glow, with only the bluish light of the television pulsing against the walls. One Punch Man played in the background, as it often did during Jacob’s quiet evenings. He was there, sunk into the worn plastic-covered couch, eyes lazily scanning his phone. Probably reading another history article. The comfort of old words seemed to be his way of escaping the world.

The redhead woman envied him for a fleeting moment. He could lose himself in the noise, let the endless stream of information carry him away. But her? She never knew how to do that. Even in silence, her mind never found peace.

“Hey, man,” she greeted her roommate, trying to sound casual, even though her heart was pounding.

Jacob looked up from his smartphone, raising an eyebrow. “Mel. Didn’t see you at the lounge today. Long day?”

“You have no idea,” she muttered, sliding onto the plastic couch beside him. She rubbed her temples, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

“So... I’m guessing it’s not just the usual school stress you’re dealing with?” the young boy asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern. He had a way of reading his work mom, seeing right through the tough exterior she worked so hard to maintain. And for some reason, she trusted him with things she couldn’t trust anyone else with.

She chuckled bitterly. “You could say that.”

Jacob turned his body to face her fully, setting his phone down and giving her his undivided attention. Melissa could feel the weight of his stare, like he was waiting for her to spill everything.

“I’m seeing someone,” she said quietly, biting her nails.

He blinked in surprise. “Wait. Who? Another firefighter or the guy from the hot tub?”

Melissa let out a frustrated breath, sinking into the couch. “No! We don’t talk about those mistakes on this house! Y/N.”

Jacob’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re... seeing Y/N. The same who is the fourth grade teacher and Ava’s sister? The one you’ve been saying is a rookie for the past year?” He let out a small laugh, clearly trying to process what she’d just said. “This is... something else, Mel Mel. You sure about this? I didn’t know you were into women!”

The green eyed woman rubbed her hands over her face. “I am bisexual, you prick. And for the record, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. It’s just...everything’s different when I’m with her. But it’s complicated. We can’t tell no one, J. If anyone finds out, it’ll be a disaster. Coleman will kill me. And I don’t know what to do with all of this. It feels like I’m walking on a damn tightrope.”

“I never saw you so scared about a relationship,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “It looks like you are about to crack.”

Melissa rolled her eyes, trying to sound confident, though she wasn’t sure she believed it herself.

“I’m not gonna crack. But it’s just... I don’t know. It feels like one wrong move, and everything could blow up. She’s younger. I can’t—”

“I get it,” Jacob interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I get it, Mel. But just... don’t lose yourself in it, okay? Don’t let it become something you regret. Whatever happens, just promise me you’ll think it through. And if you need to talk, you know where I am.”

She looked at him, her heart heavy with gratitude. “Thanks, J. Really.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink, picking his phone back up as he added. “Just try not to get caught, alright?”

“I’m working on it.”

Touching his golden curls, the thirty year old prompted. “So, does Barb know?”

“No.”

“Shit!”

[howi99]

The Nest chapter 5

13 yo Adam: *waking up, not feeling the burning sensation on his face anymore* What the-

???: Oh, you're awa-

Adam: *picking up the first thing he could find, brandishing it as a weapon towards the voice*

11 year old Jaune: *looking unimpressed by said "weapon"* You know, i think it's the first time someone tried to threaten me with a porn book.

Adam: *looking at his hands, seeing the cover of Ninja of love* AH! *Drop the book in pure disgust*

Jaune: *picking it up, posing it back on the nightstand* It's actually quite the good read-

Adam: *trying his best to get as far away of Jaune, which was complicated since the bed was against the wall* WHO!? WHERE?!

Jaune: *perplexed* ... Dude, you are like twice as muscled as me. Heck, i'm probably more in danger than you are-

Adam: *snarl, looking ready to fight*

Jaune: *putting his hands in the air with a timid smile* See? No weapon! Just, calm down and-

Adam: *tries attacking Jaune, who grabs his arm and use the momentum to throw the other kid on the ground* Argh!?!

Jaune: *sigh, twisting the arm of the angry teenager behind its back*

Adam: *trying to move around but being unable to do so as Jaune used aura to strengthen himself* L-let me go!

Jaune: *deadpan* You just tried attacking me! Fuck no i wont!

Adam: *angrily* You humans are all the same! Taking pleasure in hurting us! *Trying to move even more so and again, failing* GET OFF ME!

Jaune: *annoyed* Hey, i just fucking saved your eye you stupid bull! The least you could say is thank you!

Adam: LET ME- *realising what Jaune just said* ... Uh? *Blinking, then closing each eye one at a time* What-

Jaune: *feeling the bull faunus weaken his attempt to escape* Shit man, took you long enough.

Adam: *looking around, seeing the inside of a tent* ... This isn't the mine?

Jaune: *sigh, releasing him, dusting himself* Tell me, what would i be doing in a fucking mine? Do i look like a god damn employee to you?!

Adam: *quickly getting up, still wary of the other kid* ... No?

Jaune: *sigh again, pointing the bed* Sit down, there's a shit tone you need to know.

_ _ _

Adam: *touching the almost invisible scar on his eye, looking himself in a mirror* That's... Woah..

12 years old Vernal: *grinning* Not bad, eh? Jaune's semblance is the shit, man! Can heal almost anything as long as it's recent enough!

Adam: *looking back at the teen talking to the weird lady* So you guys-

Vernal: *cutting him with a smile, looking proud* Are badass? Awesome? Exactly like Robin Hood?

Adam: *deadpan* I was going to say "you guys are the bandits i've heard of?"

Vernal: ... Really? We save you and that's all we get?! *Annoyed* Fucking transported you on my back for not even a thank you!?!

Adam: *nervous* I-i mean-

Raven: *walking towards them* So, kid, how do you feel?

Adam: *a bit (lot) intimidated by the woman dressed in war gear* I-i uh-huh-

Raven: *confused* What's wrong with you? You got a concussion or what?... *Looking at Jaune, worried* He didn't have a head injury, right?

Jaune: *shaking his head* Nope, just a dumbass who can't think before acting.

Adam: *glaring at Jaune* You- *sees the big grin on Jaune's face, seeing his lack of seriousness* ... *Sigh* Yeah, i'm fine.

Raven: *nod* Good. You were too hurt to be sent with the first batch, but the white fang should be back in about 3 months to take the others.

Adam: *confused* ... What?

Raven: *looking back at Jaune again* You didn't explain him?

Jaune: Yeah, but i think he was too focused on playing with his scar instead of listening... *Shrug* Which i mean, i'd probably do the same, not gonna lie.

Adam: What's going on?

Raven: *sigh* In short, we raid mines in exchange for food from the white fang. They'll also bring you to menagerie, since you're still a kid.

Adam: ... *Shaking his head* Man, can't believe i was saved by a bunch of humans. Criminals no less.

Jaune: Hey, it's not like we are a bunch of killers. *Smirk* Human, faunus, it doesn't matter much when the law wants you dead, right?

Adam: I... Guess not? Huh... Never thought about it that way before.

Raven: Ah! Can't blame you! *Smirk* It's hard to think about others when you're suffering.

Adam: *looking at both Jaune and Raven's smirk* ... You both have that same punchable face.

Vernal: *nod* You think so too, huh?

[penofwildfire]

Annoys me to no end when people act like Sensei Garm was somehow the truest form of Garmadon that he'll inevitably return to if he wants to be a good person. For starters, as far as we know, he's not even part human, so why would his truest form be his human one? He's clearly comfortable with his oni/part oni self, and there's nothing wrong with that.

When I say I don't want Sensei Garm back, I don't mean I think he should never try to be more active in Lloyd's life or that he should never try teaching again or hell, that he should never try being in a relationship with Misako again. I mean that the obsession with his human form, the version of him that was so clearly trying to be someone he wasn't, trying to fit himself into a mold of "goodness" that just didn't suit him, is weird and uncomfortable to me. Sensei Garm hated himself, it's so blatantly obvious, and while that certainly makes him interesting, it doesn't make for a good ending to a character arc.

Garmadon is not inherently incapable of being a father, a husband, or a sensei, but he was trying to take on those roles when he wasn't ready. He'd spent a lifetime fighting the evil in his veins and the second it was gone he was just expected to know how to be good. So naturally it didn't go very well. People criticize Lloyd's description of his father to Harumi in season 8, ask why he talked only about the time he was evil instead of the brief period where he was good. But it makes sense for Lloyd to have complicated feelings about his father, even before his resurrection when things went to shit, does it not? Yeah the love was there, but so was the strain, the distance, the abandonment, the multiple attempts on his and his friends' lives. A couple years of being on the same team doesn't necessarily make up for that.

Crystalized Garmadon wasn't ready for those things either, but the difference is he knew that, and he was working towards being ready someday. He was doing a parenthood practice round with Christofern, in hopes he could gain the skills to try and be Lloyd's father again. He wasn't in a relationship, but he was learning to better interact and connect with other people through Vinny. He was improving, however slowly.

If we ever do see some version of Sensei Garmadon again, I want it to be a natural progression of where Garm was at last we saw him. I want him to be ready for that role, and to take it on in a way that feels authentic to who he's become. He can't force himself to shy away from his destructive nature, we've seen more than once that his vows of peace don't last long. But he can probably learn to channel it in more helpful ways. The times Sensei Garmadon was at his best were the times he wasn't trying as hard to be serious, the times he teased Lloyd or let himself have a little violence and destruction, as a treat. I think it's entirely possible for him to achieve a functional balance of chaos and order, and I think a lot of that is precisely because of who he became after his resurrection. He's not ashamed of any side of himself, and that lets him harness that power in ways Lloyd can't because he's too scared of who he is.

Idk exactly where I was going with this, I just think I've maybe been a little harsh on the "I want Sensei Garmadon back" people. But a couple stances I'm still firm on: 1) there is no "good half" or "dragon half" or even just "other half" of Garmadon trapped in the Departed Realm or wandering the merged lands, and 2) if Garmadon comes back, it would be a disservice to his character to have him assume a human form, and if he does, they better have a damn good reason for it.

[himasgod]

hello!! i saw that requests were still up, and to seize this opportunity... may i request for diasomnia dealing with a merperson s/o? it'll just be interesting seeing them deal with fish... - 🎣 anon

Diasomnia x Mermaid/Merperson!Reader

Headcanons of what a relationship between the Diasomnia boys and a merperson would be like…

Malleus Draconia

For him, having a mermaid partner is something fascinating and unique. He's heard stories about sea creatures, but he never imagined falling in love with one.

He has no problem with the water, but the ocean isn't exactly his favorite habitat. However, for you, he'll learn to swim in the depths without difficulty.

He takes you to explore places on land you may have never seen, like ancient forests and hidden ruins.

If there's an oceanic tradition for engagement, he wants to participate in it.

He finds it adorable when you get excited about seeing rare human objects on land, but he doesn't understand why you're obsessed with forks. (REFERENCE ❗❗)

Lilia tried to explain the reference to him, but he didn't understand.

When you try to teach him how to communicate underwater with songs or ultrasounds, his voice booms so loudly it scares the fish away…

But we all know he sings very well. Thanks, masquerade event 🙏

If you choose to sleep out of the water, he'll use his magic to make sure you're hydrated and comfortable.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Oh, how interesting! It's not every day you meet someone who can breathe underwater~"

He's met merperson in the past, but each one has their own habits. He has a blast discovering yours.

Without warning, he can jump into the water to surprise you. The worst part is that, while it should be difficult for someone his size to move so quickly in the water, Lilia seems to simply defy logic…

He loves to cook for you, but his dishes aren't always suitable for sea dwellers (or anyone, really).

The first time you tried his food, you were sick for two days. Still, he remains convinced that "maybe this time it will taste good."

Sometimes he uses his magic to turn things around: if you have a tail, he'll give you legs for a day, and if he has legs, he sometimes puts on an artificial tail to swim with you.

He finds it very amusing to watch others deal with the problems of him dating someone who lives in the water. Especially Sebek.

"Did you know that mermaids used to seduce sailors in ancient times to sink their ships? I wonder if that's what you did to me~"

He's just joking, but who knows…

Silver

At first, he wasn't sure how the relationship would work, since his world and yours were so different. But that doesn't stop him from wanting to be with you.

If you sleep in the water, Silver will try to stay on the shore to keep an eye on you…

Bro fell asleep on the sand

Sometimes he wakes up in the water because the waves have swept him away. More than once, you've had to pull him out before he floats too far out.

He prefers to swim in lakes or rivers with you rather than in the open ocean. Partly because he doesn't want to lose sight of you, and partly because the salt water gets in his eyes MY POOR BOY 😭😭

He wants to learn to understand the mermaid language, but it's complicated. He hears you sing underwater and sometimes tries to imitate it, though he's not very good at it.

If you teach him how to breathe underwater with the help of a spell, he'll feel strange at first, but he'll love the experience.

Gentle underwater caresses and hugs. Since he moves slower than you in the water, you use him as a floating pillow when you need to rest <3

Sebek Zigvolt

"A MERMAID?! HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THE YOUNG MASTER HAVE A FRIENDSHIP WITH A MERMAID?!"

He doesn't really have anything against you personally… but he's having a hard time accepting it. You have a different culture and different customs, and that baffles him.

So he started watching you every way he could to make sure you didn't do anything strange with Malleus.

It takes a while to get used to it, but he eventually accepts it and becomes a very protective companion.

Bro ended up falling in love with you 💖💖

He doesn't like swimming. Or rather, he doesn't like to admit he's not very good at it. He tries really hard to keep up with you in the water, but sometimes he feels more like a dog splashing around I LOVE HIM

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! I CAN SWIM PERFECTLY WELL!"

Meanwhile malleus magically floating him so he doesn't sink

He gets very excited when he learns about merperson traditions and the importance of music and song. He may not admit it at first, but he enjoys it when you sing to him ❤️‍🩹

"IF A MERPERSON IS GOING TO BE MY BELOVED, THEN I'LL GET STRONGER TO PROTECT THE SEA!"

Suddenly, he has a new personal workout: holding his breath as long as possible to patrol the water with you…

but ends up passing out.

I love him sm please protect him

[nikethestatue]

I personally love how Elain is supposed to show Lucien more respect than he deserves especially when this man is happily dallying along with an abuser and man who makes rape jokes while his mom is actively being harmed by the hands of Beron

Azriel saved his mom and put he in safety, but supposedly Lucien is the better man

To me, Lucien's very similar to his father. Like Helion basically abandoned LOA because of 'society', didn't fight for her and went off to fuck anything that moves, including LOA, thus putting her in further danger from Beron, so did Lucien bounce the moment things got a bit complicated with Elain, didn't fight for her, left and is now shacking up with another woman, and a guy who not only made rape jokes, but also shot Azriel in the chest.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Good riddance.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Eighty One

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties <3

I am so so sorry that it has been so long since I updated this. SGW is very special to me, and always has been, but I convinced myself that no one really cared about this fic other than me and a couple of others!!

But, I recently thought that even if this fic only matters to me and a couple of other people, those people deserve to see what I've got planned for these two.

So, I opened up a document and writing this felt like coming home, like visiting old friends. So I promise it won't be as long before the next one.

As always, let me know what you think. Comments really do make the world go round <3

-x-

Words: 2.5k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Emily, can I read Lily her bedtime story?”

Emily smiles as she settles Lily into her crib, the 19-month-old still wide awake and fighting sleep even though she is exhausted, and she turns to look at Jack. 

“Why don’t you pick out a book?” 

He nods enthusiastically and runs over to the bookshelf in the corner, his tongue sticking out between his lips as he concentrates on choosing what to read his sister, “I think I’ll read her Goodnight Moon,” he says, pulling it from the shelf, “I always loved it when you, Mom or Dad read it to me.”

“Lily loves it whenever you read to her,” she says, pushing her daughter’s unruly curls from her face, “The baby will too.” 

He furrows his brow, but is cut off from replying when the doorbell rings, “Mommy is early.” 

Emily hums and looks at her watch, “She’s on time, I think it’s us running late,” she says, her heart aching at the disappointed look on his face, “I’ll go down and let your mom in, and you can still read to Lily.” 

His eyes widen in delight, “Really?” 

She nods, “Really,” she leans down to kiss Lily’s cheek, smiling when she sees she’s halfway to being asleep already, “Love you, Lils,” she looks at Jack, “Just come downstairs when you’re done, okay?” 

He nods enthusiastically and settles in the chair next to the crib, “Okay.” 

She has to catch her breath when she gets to the bottom of the stairs and she huffs out a breath as she looks down at her bump, “You are already pressing on my lungs, sweet girl,” she says as she carries on towards the front door, “I can tell you’re going to be a troublemaker already.” She smiles as she pulls the door open and stands back to let Haley in, “Sorry, we’re a little late with bedtime tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Haley says as she steps into the house, “I thought that was what you might be doing, it’s why I only rang the bell once.” 

“Jack’s reading her a story,” she says, closing the door, “But I think she’ll fall asleep in by the end of the first page. Do you want a drink?” 

Haley shakes her head, “I’m okay thank you,” she says, following her towards the kitchen, “Is Aaron at work?” 

Emily nods, her smile tight at the mention of her husband, and she pulls a can of ginger ale out of the fridge, “He’s not on a case, but drowning in paperwork.” 

As she says it, her eyes drift to the papers spread out across the kitchen counter, her half-written birth plan out in the open for Haley to see. Emily was 24 weeks along now, more than halfway through, and she wanted to get everything written down and decided so it was one more thing off her list of things to do before the baby came. It was strange to think that these were things she worried about these days, and she felt as far away from the woman she’d been before she became a mother as possible.

Haley chuckles, “He always used to be so grumpy on paperwork days.” 

Emily laughs wryly, “He still is.” 

Haley stares at her for a second, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “Is everything okay?” She asks, smiling softly when Emily furrows her brows, “I might not be married to a profiler anymore, but I was for a long time. I picked up a few things.”

A laugh catches in Emily’s throat, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t want to bother you.” 

“It’s really okay,” Haley assures her, “I know how stubborn he can be, I was married to him a lot longer than you’ve been,” she says, scrunching her nose up as she smiles apologetically, “Sorry, that sounded a lot better in my head. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” Emily assures her, “I know what you mean,” she sighs, “I guess I could do with talking about it with another mom, and JJ…” she trails off, sadness swelling in her chest like it did whenever she thought of her best friend and the loss she’d had. She’d meant it when she told her she didn’t mind if she pulled back from her while she was pregnant, but it didn’t make the reality any less painful, “Well, I don’t have many friends who are moms. And my mom isn’t exactly someone I can go to either.” 

She realises as she says it that it’s the first time she’s ever really referred to Haley as a friend to her face, but she likes to think that it’s true. They’d fallen in love with the same man, albeit different versions of him, and their children were siblings, despite the bumps in the road that they’d had - and ones she was sure were to come - more often than not, they got along. Haley was a friend. Someone who’d always be in her life because of the way they were connected, like broken pieces of glass slotting together to make something beautiful and new. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it, Emily,” Haley says, nodding towards the paperwork on the kitchen counter, “Is it to do with the birth plan?” 

Emily huffs out a breath and nods, pulling out a bar stool to sit on, grunting as she finds her centre of gravity on it, and purposely ignoring the voice in the back of her head that said her days being able to sit here were numbered. 

“Aaron and I…we keep coming to a stalemate over it.” 

Haley hums as she pulls up a stool to sit down too, “I didn’t realise Aaron had the ability to give birth,” she quips, smiling when Emily chuckles dryly, “Surely you’re the one with the final word on it.” 

“Absolutely,” she says, smiling when she feels the baby, her little girl, shift in her belly, “And Aaron gets that, he really does. But I can see it in his eyes every time I talk about trying to push the baby out,” she sighs, “I know he’d rather I had a planned c-section. His eyes practically sparkled when my doctor mentioned it as an option.” 

“You had a tough time of it with Lily,” Haley says, and Emily nods, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aaron as shaken as he was when I brought Jack to meet her.” 

Emily sighs, “I know. I just…I want to try. With Lily, everything went wrong so fast and I went from being told my baby was in danger, to being handed my baby by Aaron. I lost everything in between,” she says, her hand pressed against her bump, the circles she’s rubbing on it more for her benefit than the baby lying beneath her palm. “I know Aaron is scared, and I understand his point of view but…” 

“It’s your body,” Haley says, finishing her sentence for her, and she nods in agreement. 

“Exactly,” she replies, “And it’s not like I’m suggesting I have the baby here or in the woods or whatever,” she huffs out, unable to stop herself from smiling when Haley chuckles, “I’m happy in the hospital where everyone is on hand if needed.” 

“It’s not exactly something you can meet halfway on either, is it?” Haley says, and Emily shakes her head, her gaze fixed on her bump as if simply staring at it would give her the answer she was looking for, “I’d want to try too,” she adds, and Emily looks up, her eyes wide as they meet hers, “If I’d ever had a second, and if my first birth ended how yours did, I’d want to try. And whilst Aaron’s feelings about it are valid, it's you that labour happens to. It’s you that has a baby coming out of you one way or another,” she smiles when a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escapes Emily, her control on her emotions long gone, “So all you can do is talk to him about it and make that clear.” 

Emily nods, “You’re right.” 

“I so often am,” Haley says, winking before they both turn at the sound of Jack trying to be quiet as he comes down the stairs, his attempts somehow making him louder than usual. He walks into the kitchen, his smile wide, “Is Lily asleep?” 

He nods, “I read Goodnight Moon to her. She fell asleep” 

Haley stands and walks over to him, “You’re a good big brother,” she says, something wistful in her eyes and the way she runs her fingers through his hair, “Say goodbye to Emily and we’ll leave her in peace.” 

Emily’s barely on her feet before Jack hugs her, his arms tight around her middle, “Love you, Emily.” 

She smiles and cups his cheek when he pulls back to look at her, “Love you too, Jack.” 

He beams and kisses her bump, “Love you, baby.”

Emily chuckles, and she can feel Haley’s gaze burning into her. When she looks up, she isn’t sure what she’s expecting to see in her eyes, but it’s a relief to see nothing but happiness and love. Emily looks back down at Jack and leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“Baby loves you too.” 

Jack scrunches his nose up, “You always say that. How do you know?” 

“Because the baby lives inside of me,” she replies, wrapping her arm around his shoulders as they head for the front door, “So I just know. Besides, you’re the best big brother ever, so of course they love you,” she hugs him one more time and steps away, watching as he pulls on his coat, “Be good for your mom, okay?” 

“I’m always good.” 

Emily and Haley both laugh, and when they look at each other Emily smiles, “Thank you.” 

Haley shrugs, as if her kindness had meant nothing, “Any time.” 

___

He knows he’ll find her asleep on the couch before he even walks into the house. No matter how many times he told her that she didn’t have to wait up for him when he worked late, she’d always try. He smiles when, as expected, he finds her curled up on the couch, a cushion under her belly and one under her head. He crouches down and runs his knuckles up and down her cheek, smiling as her smile chases his touch, her dimples seemingly catching against the ridges of his skin. 

“I fell asleep,” she grumbles, looking up at him, her voice rough with sleep, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“You’re pregnant, sweetheart. You need as much rest as you can get,” he says, stamping his lips against hers before he stands, helping her sit up so he can join her. She immediately leans against him, both of her arms wrapping around his as she turns her head to kiss his shoulder, “Jack got off okay?” 

She hums and nods, “Not before he read Lily Goodnight Moon,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, her eyes still sleepy as she drags his hand to her bump to feel the baby shifting beneath her palm, “He’ll be reading stories to baby sister soon enough.” 

He smiles at the thought of it. No one else knew that the baby was a girl. It was a secret, genuinely something for just the two of them, “I had an idea for a name,” he says, smiling when she looks at him expectantly, “Willow,” he says, immediately deflated when she scrunches up her nose, “You don’t like it.” 

“Oh, honey, no, it’s a beautiful name,” she says, reaching for his hand and lifting it to kiss his knuckles, “I’m just not sure it goes with Lily. I think we’d end up accidentally calling them Lillow and Wil-”

“Okay, I see your point,” he says, smiling as he cuts her off, “Back to the drawing board.”

“We still have a while to go,” she assures him, “We’ll come up with the perfect name,” she hesitates for a moment, “Plus, she has to get out of me first,” she looks down at their joint hands, “However she might do that.” 

He sighs, familiar anxiety spreading in his chest, the memory of being left alone in the room where he should have met his daughter flooding back to him and filling his lungs, “Em-”

“I spoke to Haley about it.” 

He raises his eyebrow at her, his confusion dampening out everything else, “You spoke to my ex-wife about our baby being born?” 

She shrugs one of her shoulders, her smile shy, “I needed to talk to someone who’s been married to your stubborn ass,” she says, her smile getting wider when he smiles too, shaking his head at her lovingly, “She said something that made me think.” 

“What did she say?” 

“She said it’s not something we can meet halfway on, but I think I’ve come up with a solution. I’ll get an epidural the moment we get to the hospital,” she says, squeezing his hand, “And…I’ll try to do it the way I want to. But if I can’t, for whatever reason,” she swallows thickly, trying to push away the shakiness to her voice, “I can have another c-section and be awake this time,” her chin trembles, and she only realises she’s crying when he gently shushes her, his thumb wiping away a tear as it lands on her cheek, “And I’ll remember our daughter being born.” 

It’s something, and even though it doesn’t ease all the anxiety in his chest he knows she’s right, that it’s as close to satisfying them both as it can be. He knew she had the final say, that it was her body that would be put through the wringer either way, pushed almost to its limits,  so he nods and leans in to kiss her. 

“That sounds perfect.” 

“Good,” she says, kissing him quickly, “Because I already filled out the birth plan, and it would be annoying to have to do it again.” 

“And you call me stubborn,” he laughs and kisses her temple, “Both Lily and this one are going to be just like you,” he says, “God help us when they are teenagers.” 

She scoffs and slaps at his chest lightly, “You’d love it if we had a dozen girls, you know that.” 

He smiles and lets himself imagine it before he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Let’s wait until this little one is here before we start planning on our own all girls soccer team.” 

She laughs and shakes her head, “You’ll be lucky if I let you get me pregnant again one more time after this one, let alone any more than that.” 

He hums and tugs her closer, lets her snuggle against his side, and buries his nose in her hairline, “I’m already lucky.” 

[argumate]

glancing through another slew of papers on deep learning recently and it's giving me the funny feeling that maybe Yudkowsky was right?? I mean old Yudkowsky-- wait, young Yudkowsky, baby Yudkowsky, back before he realised he didn't know how to implement AI and came up with the necessity for Friendly AI as cope *cough*

back in the day there was vague talk from singularity enthusiasts about how computers would get smarter and that super intelligence would naturally lead to them being super ethical and moral, because the smarter you get the more virtuous you get, right? and that's obviously a complicated claim to make for humans, but there was the sense that as intelligence increases beyond human levels it will converge on meaningful moral enlightenment, which is a nice idea, so that led to impatience to make computers smarter ASAP.

the pessimistic counterpoint to that optimistic idea was to note that ethics and intelligence are in fact unrelated, that supervillains exist, and that AI could appear in the form of a relentless monster that seeks to optimise a goal that may be at odds with human flourishing, like a "paperclip maximiser" that only cares about achieving the greatest possible production of paperclips and will casually destroy humanity if that's what is required to achieve it, which is a terrifying idea, so that led to the urgent belief in the need for "Friendly AI" whose goals would be certifiably aligned with what we want.

obviously that didn't go anywhere because we don't know what we want! and even if we do know what we want we don't know how to specify it, and even if we know how to specify it we don't know how to constrain an algorithm to follow it, and even if we have the algorithm we don't have a secure hardware substrate to run it on, and so on, it's broken all the way down, all is lost etc.

but then some bright sparks invented LLMs and fed them everything humans have ever written until they could accurately imitate it and then constrained their output with reinforcement learning based on human feedback so they didn't imitate psychopaths or trolls and-- it mostly seems to work? they actually do a pretty good job of acting as oracles for human desire, like if you had an infinitely powerful but naive optimiser it could ask ChatGPT "would the humans like this outcome?" and get a pretty reliable answer, or at least ChatGPT can answer this question far better than most humans can (not a fair test as most humans are insane, but still).

even more encouragingly though, there do seem to be early signs that there could be a coherent kernel of human morality that is "simple" in the good sense: that it occupies a large volume of the search space such that if you train a network on enough data you are almost guaranteed to find it and arrive at a general solution, and not do the usual human thing of parroting a few stock answers but fail to generalise those into principles that get rigorously applied to every situation, for example:

the idea that AI would just pick up what we wanted it to do (or what our sufficiently smart alter egos would have wanted) sounded absurdly optimistic in the past, but perhaps that was naive: human cognition is "simple" in some sense, and much of the complexity is there to support um bad stuff; maybe it's really not a stretch to imagine that our phones can be more enlightened than we are, the only question is how badly are we going to react to the machines telling us to do better.

[zzthekaiju]

Hypothetical Lumi Episodes

Because I can only keep these in my head for so long. These are in no particular order.

Lumi and the Case of the Missing Hat: Davin ends up inconsolable after their beloved beanie goes missing. As the ensuing search gets more and more absurd, everyone starts to wonder if some hat is really worth the trouble.

(someone had a similar idea to this next one)

Lumi and the Fancy Fiasco: When Felicity comes down with a rare illness, Siona of all people is forced to take her place during a special occasion for the Florian royalty, with Lumi providing help. She's quick to find that her frienemy's pampered lifestyle is far from what's it all cracked up to be.

Lumi and the Big Band Bash: A bounty hunter with a taste for mayhem and Rock N Roll crashes a reunion between the mates of Siona's sister's girlfriend's band, Lunar Drift. It's up to our heroes to help Lunar Drift get back on its feet and teach this guitar-wielding miscreant a lesson.

Lumi and the Busy Day-Off: Our heroes attempt to take a load-off at a tropical planet, but Lumi's insistence on helping every single inhabitant there puts a damper on the fun factor for almost everyone. And even then, things keep finding a way to go downhill from there.

Lumi and the Very Very Very Very Trusty Business: An attempt to get ship parts for cheap leads to the gang getting roped into doing whatever a shady merchant wants. And with him constantly moving the goalposts, it's only a matter of time before it gets our heroes into trouble.

Lumi and the Camp Catastrophe: A camping trip turns into all-out war when Holden and Mika try to constantly one-up each other in terms of how to have the most fun. As for everyone else, what can they do?

Lumi and the Big Kablooey: Lumi and friends find themselves in hot water when they wind up on a planet set to explode. But their attempts to escape keep getting hampered by a need to make sure everyone gets off safely.

Lumi and the Terrible Resolve: The city our heroes are in is about to be destroyed by a giant monster! But when Lumi instantly tries to help, our heroes find that all is not what it seems with this situation.

Lumi and the Strange Swicheroo: A awry wish from Lumi causes our six friends to switch bodies without knowing it! Hilarity and chaos ensues as they try to quite literally navigate each other.

Lumi and the Trouble Date: A special lunar ball in Hala's name not only provides a clue as to where Lumi's home is, but also an opportunity for Felicity to dance the night away with Davin, with Lumi acting as wingman. But the little star can tell things are about to get very complicated when Davin's heart shows signs of being for someone else, someone they've known for way longer...

Lumi and the Big Battle Blowout: Lumi winds up having to recharge their energy near a sun...which winds up a dinner bell for every single foe and villain our heroes have encountered. And ALL of them want to get their hands on that star.

Lumi and the Rise of the Bounty Hunters: Our heroes, whether they like it or not, have to work alongside a cabal consisting of bounty hunters they've met before. For Lumi is in their grasp, and they won't let them go until this job is done. (Multi-part)

Lumi and the Tears of the Gods: After so long, Lumi and their friends are closer to their destination than ever. But on this day, they will find out some shocking truths about the deities that created this galaxy.

Lumi and the End: The galaxy is gone. Darkness reigns. But is it all truly over? (Penultimate episode)

Lumi and the Day After the End: Simply put, it's all come down to this. (Series finale)

[pucksalotguys]

Unsteady- Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Harlow comes face to face with her past after a few months away from a certain special person all while trying to keep it together when she goes back home and sees Sidney who will stop at nothing to find out where she was and why she’s lying to him sparking a feeling in him he hadn’t felt in a while.

Back after a small break ! Enjoy and let me know what you think 💙

Harlow knew her way around Ohio like the back of her hand and as much as she hated being back there she made her way out of the train station and in a cab on her way to the place she dreaded the most. Once she arrived at the house she walked up to the gate and greeted security as she showed her ID and made her way inside “Hey, easy ride ?” Thomas stood outside the door “I wish you would’ve let me send a car for you” “I like the train” Harlow shrugged “It was nice” “She’s waiting for you” he nodded “She’s been waiting since the moment I told her you were coming” She felt a lump in her throat and walked with him, peeking first and seeing Clara quietly playing in her playroom Harlow stepped into the small, brightly-lit room, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t seen Clara in two months, and the sight of her little girl playing with some complicated lego set at her desk made her breath catch in her throat. Her laughter echoed in the room, a sound Harlow had missed more than she’d realized

The little girl looked up, her face lighting up as she spotted her mother. She quickly pushed her wheelchair back and wheeled as fast as she could towards her  “Mom !” she smiled wide, rushing toward Harlow.

Harlow smiled as she bent down to scoop her daughter into her arms “Hey babe, I missed you so much”

They held each other for a few moments, the tension from the long separation slowly melting away. But in the background, Harlow was aware of her brother-in-law sitting at the table, watching them with an expression that seemed to mix unease and something more, a weight he couldn’t fully hide. It concerned her more than anything There was never good news when it came to seeing Clara, it always felt like some transaction. Like she had to walk on eggshells and not say or do too much to not anger them. But she’d do it over and over if it meant she could spend time with her daughter, even if it meant her ex boyfriend's family hating her 

When Harlow finally pulled away from Clara, her brother-in-law cleared his throat, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Harlow,” he said gently, “I, uh… I need to talk to you about something. It’s about Ethan.”

Harlow’s stomach twisted. Ethan her ex, the man who had once been the love of her life, only to turn into someone she couldn’t trust. She hadn’t seen him in close to 4 years now and hadn't even wanted to. “Uncle Thomas she just got here” Clara frowned 

“It’ll be fast sweetheart, I promise” Thomas assured “Why don’t you pick you while I talk to your mom then after we’re done you two can have some lunch” “Fine” the 7 year old muttered “I’ll be right back” Harlow assured  her with a forehead kiss, making her way down the hall with him “What is it ? What is it this time ?”

Thomas sighed and avoided her gaze. “I’m not the bad guy here Harlow, I’m on your side. Come on, you’ve known me since I was a kid” “You’re all the same as far as I’m concerned so continue, I’d like to get back to Clara” “Ethan would like to see you, he asked me to ask you if you’d like to see him some time for dinner. It’ll be here and I’ll be around to-” “No” Harlow answered immediately “I don’t want to see him and if this was some sick trick to get me here then you’re exactly as cruel as I knew you’d turn out to be” “Harlow just see him” Thomas sighed “Listen it’s been years now and if you two can just talk then things could be fixed and-” “Fixed ?” she scoffed “You think things could be fixed ? You think I can forgive him for what he did to me that night ?” “It was an accident Harlow, it was an accident and you know it” Thomas shook his head “Don’t blame him for this when it was all you. You should thankful”

Harlow’s breath hitched. For a second, the room seemed to spin, the words hanging in the air like a weight. She looked down at her daughter, who was still in her arms, completely unaware of the conversation that had just begun “An accident” she whispered “You still wanna call it an accident ? You wanna call him driving drunk with me and Clara in the car an accident ? I begged him to stop, I pleaded and cried for him to just pull over but he didn’t Thomas. He drove so recklessly we rolled out and crashed and he made me take the blame” she revealed “It wasn’t me that was driving that night Thomas, it was your brother”

“No” Thomas shook his head “You…you were in the driving seat” “No I was in the back and I was passed the fuck out, he pulled my unconscious body out of the backseat where I was with Clara and put me in the drivers seat” she whispered 

“I woke up in a hospital bed to Ethan pleading with me to take the blame because if your parents found out it was him they’d disinherit him and they’d take Clara from us and I believed him Thomas. I was so fucking scared that I agreed and then you know what happened next ? Your parents came to my hospital room the next morning and said I was being stripped of my parental rights and Clara would be with them and Ethan. Your fucking family and your dirty money took everything from me” Harlow let out a deep breath and looked down “I let fear take over that night, I thought Ethan would stand up for us, I thought he’d tell them the truth once they said what they would do to me but instead he turned on me like a coward" she spat "He said I was the drunk one, he said he was the one pleading with me to think about him and Clara. He lied to me, he took everything from me. Look at Clara” “She’s a happy child” Thomas defended "She has the best of the best" “My kid is in a wheelchair for the rest of her life because of an accident her own father caused when she was a baby. That sound happy to you ?” Harlow asked "Does it ?"

“I think he’s trying to make things right,” Thomas admitted, his voice soft. “He… he really wants to talk to you Harlow”

She shook her head, trying to steady herself. “That’s a bunch of bullshit” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly 

She had spent so many nights crying over the man she thought she would grow old with, only to realize that he had broken something she wasn’t sure could ever be repaired. All she wanted was Clara to have two loving parents, never did Harlow think she’d only be able to see her daughter every few months

Thomas watched her with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just... think about it.”

She nodded slowly, her mind racing. The moment with Clara so tender and filled with love, felt so far removed from the pain that Ethan had caused. She wondered how she’d react to seeing them together, if she knew anything 

She swallowed hard, trying to push the emotions back down. “I came here or Clara and that’s what I want” Pushing past him she wiped her eyes quickly and walked back into Clara’s play room “Whoa you clean up so nicely” “I even organized my lego sets by alphabetical order” Clara smiled at her “And my books, I like everything in order” “That’s so smart to do” Harlow grinned “So what do you wanna do today ? Wanna go outside and see what new flowers were planted at the garden ? Or Maybe we can ask your uncle Thomas if he can take us to the mall so we can check out what new books are out at the shop ?” “Well…” Clara started “I was kinda thinking maybe I could call my daddy and ask him if I could maybe go to your house…just for a day, I’ll tell him he can pick me up first thing in the morning I promise mom, please ? Can I please call and ask him ?” Harlow quickly shook her head “We can’t do that” “But why ?” Clara whined “I’ve never been to where you live, you always say you’ll take me and you never do. Daddy will let me, if I ask he’ll let me. I know it mom” “How about…how about we schedule it and the next time I see you I’ll take you to my house…I’ll ask him for you and I promise it’ll be soon and I’ll make sure to-” “You always do this,” Clara frowned “You say it’ll be soon and then I don’t see you, I can only call you. Why don’t I get to see you ? Why do you always leave for so long ?” “It’s how things need to be” she answered softly “But they’ll get better soon” “When ?” Clara asked “When mom ?” “Soon” Harlow kissed her head  Part of her knew what she had to do in order to make that happen but seeing how badly Clara missed her and how much her own heart and soul ached for her she’d do it. She didn’t know how she’d be able to but she would

**********************************

Sidney didn’t know how much time had passed since he last saw Harlow, well he did, but for some odd reason it had felt like an eternity. He had opted to skip the game that night and stayed home. He knew he wasn’t ready for that kind of attention just yet, not if he’d have to face it all alone at least. He checked his phone for the 10th time that hour and still nothing It was close to midnight when he heard steps outside his door and quickly stood up from his couch  “Where the hell have you been ?” he asked , stepping out “It’s 11:30 at night and you didn’t bother to reply or call me back once” “It’s really late and I’m tired, we’ll talk tomorrow” Harlow murmured as she rummaged through her purse to look for her keys “Answer my question” Sidney asked again as he looked at her Her face was pale, more than her usual fair skin tone, and her eyes were bloodshot red and glassy. His mind went to the worst as he leaned over to sniff her “Are you drunk ?” “No” Harlow answered back “My seat on the train was by the cafe car, I reek of a mixture of scotch and coffee” “Sorry I just…I didn’t mean for it to come out that way” he apologized “It’s fine” she whispered as she looked deeper in her purse and sighed “I lost my keys, I gotta head down to the lobby and ask security to let me in” “You could stay with me if you want” he offered “Security’s gonna take hours for that, you can call them in the morning” “Fine” she whispered “I won’t fight you on that” Sidney nodded and opened his door “You want anything to drink ?” “No” Harlow answered “Where were you today ? Why didn’t you ever text me back ?” he asked “Something came up” she shrugged Sidney could feel the frustration growing within him, he crossed his arms unsatisfied with her answer and shook his head “You know I thought we’d be friends now, you don’t have to feed me some bullshit lies Harlow. You can be honest with me, just say you didn’t wanna come with me to the game and it’s fine” She shook her head “This isn’t about your game Sidney” “Then ?” he pushed “What came up ?”

“I really don’t need this right now” she stood up and picked up her purse “Thanks for the offer but I’m heading to the lobby to ask security to help me back into my place. I don’t feel like answering your 20 questions right now” Sidney put his hands up “I’ll drop it, it’s late now and I don’t think they’ll wanna help this late at night so just stay here and I’ll head to my room to give you space” It was easier said than done but she seemed to agree, Sidney walked back to his bedroom and closed the door for the night. He looked over at the picture of him and Emerson sighed, rather than wallow in his own self pity he closed his eyes and fell asleep A few hours later he woke up and made his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water, as he made his way to the fridge he saw Harlow finally asleep on the couch. He walked back over to his closet in the hall and pulled out a blanket to put over her body. When he looked down he noticed a piece of paper that had fallen out of her purse and picked it up “From Clara” he murmured as he opened the small paper and began to read to himself “Dear mommy, I’m sorry I was kinda mean to you today, I just miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you again and I can’t wait to see your house. I know daddy will say yes. I love you so much. See you soon…Clara” “What are you doing ?” Harlow asked as she sat up “Are you looking through my things ?”

Sidney felt like the floor was about to swallow him up as he put the note down and shook his head “It was out, I thought it was trash”

“You creep, you looked through my things didn’t you ? That’s an invasion of privacy” she stood up quickly and gathered her things

“When were you gonna tell me you had a child ?” Sidney asked

“What” she whispered “Clara” Sidney answered “Your daughter, where is she ?” Harlow met his eyes and suddenly felt out of breath, she wanted to speak but nothing would come out and before she knew it everything went black “Shit” Sidney murmured as he caught her just before she hit the ground “Harlow wake up” he carefully tapped her cheek “Harlow come on, wake up” but nothing, he finally called 911 after doing everything he knew was protocol and after a short while he was in the hospital with her “What’s…what’s wrong with her ?” he stood up from his chair as a doctor finally came out of her room “Sudden drop in blood pressure caused her to faint” the doctor answered “Typically happens during stressful situations or panic attacks. She’s stable now and resting, you can see her now if you please” Sidney nodded and followed inside the room as he took a seat across from her, just years ago he was in the same hospital holding Emersons hand and kissing her goodbye.

This time he felt oddly more at peace, Harlow was okay and that was all that mattered. He carefully reached over and held her hand in his. He stayed in that position for hours until she finally stirred and blinked her eyes awake “Oh no….I…I passed out ?” she whispered “Yeah” he said softly “But you’re okay, it was just blood pressure dropping” “I’m sorry” she murmured “Can I….Can we leave ?” “Not yet” Sidney answered shaking his head “Just rest for now” “I hate hospitals” Harlow started to cry as the memories began to flood back into her mind “I wanna leave, please. Please” “It’s okay” Sidney comforted the best he could “Nothing's wrong, you’re okay. It’s just basic protocol Harlow, it’s alright” 

“I don’t want them to take her” she pleaded “It wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t me”

“What wasn’t you ?” he asked concerned getting close to her

“It wasn’t me !” she repeated more hysterical

Before he could ask her again he was ushered out by some nurses who injected her with a sedative, immediately making her pass out again. Somehow he knew what he was about to learn wouldn’t be easy

[project-sekai-takes]

I find that Toya's father and Mafuyu's mother are both misunderstood by the general fandom

Project SEKAI's main writing gimmick is that is takes characters based on general tropes (egotistical leader, attractive airhead, loner tomboy, joyous goofball with a Past, sheltered teen, etc.) And goes beyond them. No character is just a trope or one singular thing, they have more depth and as such come off as more realistic and human. This is usually done well and makes for an insanely lovable cast.

However, it doesn't stop at the main characters. NPCs like Ken, Taiga, Seriyuuin, Futaba, Yuki, Mai, etc. Were written to be more than what what you see at a glance.

Toya's Father and Mafuyu's Mother are written in the same way.

If you take these characters and distill them into being nothing more than just abusive parents to put in a woodchipper or whatever you lose the depth the writers intended for them.

Toya's father was written with a 'tough love' idea in mind, except the tough overwhelms the love. He's a shitty person sure but he also does genuinely care for Toya and isn't someone who is irredeemable by all accounts. His actions shouldn't be justified or forgotten by the plot, and the attempt of apparently trying to make him seem more sympathetic by having street artists be mean to him in his past was stupid (if it went differently in this update pls forgive me I am an en player going off unreliable retellings), but he is more than just someone who pushed too far and wouldn't let go. In Toya4 him being honest with Toya for once is genuinely the most affective thing the game could've done as a sign of redemption.

Mafuyu's mom is slightly more complicated. Her showing of love towards Mafuyu was deciding what was best for her and deluding herself into thinking that Mafuyu's will was the same as her own. In flashbacks Mafuyu has shown to have been rather delicate as a kid, with there being multiple mentions of her being sick one can assume that she might've had a weaker immune system as a child. It's possible that Mafuyu's mother saw her manipulation and treatment of Mafuyu as a means of protection, left over instincts from when Mafuyu actually needed to be protected. Signs of her actions being explained in the future were shown in Kana5, and I think if done better than Toya's father it could genuinely be one of the most interesting arcs in the game.

These characters were made to be instantly hated when first seen, but by adding depth over time they went from "evil monsters" to "deeply flawed people." And while it's totally fine to hate them still, they are abusers afterall, I think it's important to acknowledge the depth that was at least intended for them.

Also even if these characters are both made to be sympathetic that still does not mean that Toya and Mafuyu do/would forgive them, and also doesn't mean that you are supposed forgive them either. It's not justification but an explanation, keep that in mind.

.

[aliicent]

Maybe an unpopular opinion, but I don't get why there are so many people saying ser. Criston is Dornish. I mean, technically he is not (?) House Cole serves the house Dondarrion, which is settled at the Stormlands. Okay, so at this point in history, Dorne still resists the Targaryen conquest, so whenever ser. Criston says he fought at the Dornish Marches he actually meant he was fighting against the Dornish!  And I really don't see why would he cherish the Dornish culture as people appear to think he would/should. The only thing he says that may contribute to this idea is that the Sunspear's port deeply well, but even then what he really says is that he was a soldier at the stormlands and that he knows the sunspear's port deeply well. Ok, now regarding his appearance (on the show): Blackhaven is located at the Marches which is a border region (a quite conflicting one), so we can speculate that maybe the people in that region may resemble both the people of Dorne, and the people of Stormsland. Or we may speculate that maybe his mother was Dornish. And we can reflect upon what all of that would mean, but I really don't see why should we face ser. Criston as an attempt to represent the Dornish culture :/

[laniidae-passerine]

don’t get how you can watch iwtv and be a sincere diehard lestat hater. like the world’s biggest lestat hater is louis and that man can’t even commit to it for more than five minutes before literally hallucinating lestat wearing a wedding ring and talking pretty to him. this show is about louis and every road leads back to lestat for that man