#barely using main tags outside of reblogs

[bellaxgiornata]

What's Left to Lose [1/2]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k [Part two] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, angst with an eventual happy ending, pining, emotional hurt/delayed comfort, Tara is an ass, Reader smokes, Reader has a brother (nameless/description-less to be inclusive as possible)

Summary: Ever since your brother patched into SAMCRO's charter and you moved to Charming three years ago, you and Jax grew close. Despite having quietly fallen in love with him, you'd accepted your position as just his best friend–until Tara unexpectedly returns to Charming and rips him straight from you. Now you're left feeling like nothing at all to him.

a/n: I've been craving something angsty with Jax, so I wrote this little thing that's been in my head all week. There's no comfort in this first part, but I'm intending to give it at least a part two. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Jax Teller One Shot Tag List: @kmc1989

Everything had changed in a matter of just a few weeks–and you absolutely hated it.

Over the past three years since you’d moved to Charming shortly after your brother had patched over to SAMCRO’s charter, you’d gotten used to Jax calling you a few times a week. He’d often be checking in to see if you were working a shift at the hospital that night or if you had plans with your other friends, because if you were free, he'd be inviting you to hang out so he could get a break from the guys’ bullshit. Other times you’d finish a shift to find a text or a voicemail from him telling you to get your sweet ass over to the clubhouse for a party before the chaos of it had even begun. 

But your phone history showed that it had been almost a month since he last called you. The previous few texts you’d received from him had been just over a week ago, and they'd been short responses to the texts you had sent him asking if he wanted to have a few drinks with you–something that you’d both done frequently if he wasn’t wrapped up in club business–which he'd declined. Jax’s name barely ever appeared on the screen of your phone anymore.

Lately he kept telling you that he was busy. Because he was always busy now–too busy for you. Ever since Tara reappeared in Charming unannounced, stepping back into Jax’s life just over a month ago like she still belonged there, he had distanced himself from you. She'd been here barely more than a month and had already ripped your best friend away from you.

And Jax and you had always been incredibly close. While he and Opie had been best friends since childhood, the relationship between you and Jax had somehow become infinitely closer. The two of you talked about everything and anything, including some things you figured that he had accidentally drunkenly spilled to you on the nights he’d had a few too many to drink. There was just something about your relationship with each other that always felt easy and right, and you’d never had nearly as much fun with anyone else before you met Jax.

But now there were no more late nights drinking beers on the roof of the clubhouse while sharing cigarettes under the cover of a few stars while Jax vented about the direction the club was going in. No more getting high the day after a night of drinking, riding on the back of his bike to the gas station on the corner of Main Street and sharing a box of candy, a bag of chips, and a giant blue raspberry slushie as you both walked through downtown together. He didn’t seek you out at clubhouse parties anymore, didn’t step outside to smoke with you, and he certainly hadn’t incurred the look of warning from your brother that he usually received whenever you climbed off the back of his bike after one of your usual adventures. 

As you walked through the brightly lit halls of St. Thomas Hospital, making your way back towards the nurse’s station so you could finish the last couple of hours of your shift after the break you'd just finished, you’d become painfully aware of his lack of visits while you worked, too. When things were running smoothly with the club, you could count on at least one surprise visit a week from Jax during your break times. He always brought you better coffee than the shit served here in one of his tumblers from home, a satisfied grin on his face every time you thanked him profusely for it like he’d just somehow saved your life. The pair of you would usually sit outside in the outdoor cafeteria of the hospital while Jax listened to you vent about your day. You always loved when he added his own amusing thoughts just to get you to laugh. 

But those coffee breaks together had stopped the moment Tara had returned. Instead, you’d catch him in the halls every once in a while making his way towards her office, greeting you with a nod and a couple of words and nothing more. Or you might see him in the parking lot leaning against his bike, his attention fixed on his phone as he clearly waited for her to finish her shift.

Waiting for her. Not you.

You didn't understand what was happening between them, either. During one of the many drunken nights you’d spent with your head resting on Jax’s shoulder, the pair of you leaning against the wall behind his dorm room bed at the clubhouse, you’d learned that she had tried to drag him from the club eleven years ago. She had given him some sort of ultimatum, stating that he would leave Charming with her if he truly loved her. 

The way he'd spoken about that last conversation they’d had–with an agonizing calmness and a vacant look in his eyes–told you everything you needed to know that you knew he'd never say. When she left him all those years ago, she had completely destroyed him. You knew Jax well enough to know the real reason he never got serious with anyone, the reason he never let anyone get too close to him, and the reason he’d never gone on a single date as long as you'd known him. It was because of her. Because of the hurt that still lingered inside of him when it came to Tara, the hurt that had never completely healed. Because she had absolutely done a number on his heart and his trust.

That was why you’d never pushed for anything more than friendship with him, never tried to see if he felt any of the things you did those times you two were more affectionate than friends should ever be. You’d come to understand that he’d never gotten over her from the very little he ever opened up about her. It was also why you’d reluctantly forced yourself to look the other way whenever he took some croweater to his dorm room when he was wasted. You knew those girls meant nothing to him, that they weren't anything but something more satisfying than his own hand. So you let it go because you always held onto the hope that someday he might realize there was something more than friendship between the two of you. You had hope that someday he'd see it. Stupid, foolish, steadfast hope.

Until Tara came back and set all your hopes on fire.

Turning the corner of the hallway as you navigated the hospital, you felt your heart sink to your feet at the sight of the white doctor's coat making its way towards you at the opposite end of the hall. Because of course you’d have to run into her today. St. Thomas wasn’t that large of a hospital after all, it was often impossible to avoid running into her here.

The second Tara spotted you, a bitter smile twisted her lips upwards. It was the same look she’d been giving you for the past two weeks now, ever since one of the other nurses mentioned that Jax used to come here and visit you all the time before he'd been stopping by to see her. And she’d very quickly decided that she didn’t like you after that, always shooting you dirty looks or making passive aggressive comments about how haggard you looked, or hinting at you being some sort of club pussy on your nights off. Always talking down to you with that petulant smile on her face.

“Don’t you have a bedpan to be cleaning up or something?” she commented as she neared.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at one of her many attempts to demean your position as a nurse, you set your jaw and kept on walking down the hall. Giving in to the urge to break her nose–to prove to her that she wasn’t nearly as tough as she thought she was–was always so strong whenever she opened her mouth. But you’d most likely end up fired, with an assault charge, and a guarantee that Jax would only continue to keep you out of his life. So you refrained from ever acting on the impulse.

“Oh, you're trying to ignore me now?” Tara asked, her words clearly meant to taunt. Her footsteps down the otherwise empty hall came to a stop behind you before you heard her voice again. “Still pissed at me for being the one he wants, are you?”

Arms crossing over your chest, you could feel your hands balling into fists as she goaded your retreating form. Just one hit. One right hook straight to her nose like your brother had taught you all those years ago. That would shut her goddamn mouth up. But instead you grit your teeth and kept on walking.

“You will never be what he wants, you know,” Tara called down the hall after you.

Stopping mid-step, you halted in the middle of the empty corridor. Those same words had echoed in your mind for years now, usually in your own internal voice. It was a fear you’d had for a while as Jax continued to keep you at arm’s length, burning through girls in his bed like it was nothing while still only playfully flirting with you. Until he’d gone back to following Tara’s shadow like an angry, lost puppy the first chance he got. 

“But you know that, right?” she continued, clearly pleased that she’d caused you to stop. “You’re nothing but a small town nurse who gets wasted and high in her free time at that clubhouse. No better than the croweaters sucking whatever cock swings their way.”

Head whipping over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed back at Tara. “I’m not a fucking club whore,” you snapped. 

“Right,” she said with a nod, stalking towards you with far too much confidence. “Because your brother is a Son. So you think that somehow makes you better than the other girls trying to catch their attention, right?”

She came to a stop just in front of you, the toes of her shoes practically touching yours. As she leaned her face towards you in an attempt to intimidate, invading your personal space, you found yourself struggling to keep your composure. Everything inside of you just wanted to take a swing at her, just one.

“But you’re not,” she continued, voice dropping into a low hiss. “You’re just as useless and forgettable as the rest of the stupid fucking girls that hang around the club with their tits and their asses out. You mean absolutely nothing to Jax. Just as little as all the other croweaters. You always have.”

A sick, roiling sensation hit you in the gut at her words. You wanted to spit something back in her face, to tell her that she was wrong and far too fucking full of herself. But you hesitated, the month long absence of Jax from your life making you question your ability to even argue otherwise before she was speaking again.

“He’s mine,” she warned you. “He’ll always be mine. And you will never, ever have a place in his life. Not just because you don’t matter to him like I do,” she continued sharply, “but because I’ll never let you near him.”

“You don’t even know him.”

The words that you’d been wanting to scream at her for weeks every time she’d looked at you wrong or said something cruel finally fell right from your lips. You couldn’t hold them back as you unflinchingly held her glare with your own despite the way it felt like a fist was squeezing your heart in your chest as the words ‘you don’t matter to him’ repeated in your mind. 

Tara laughed bitterly before she straightened, no longer directly in your face. “I know him better than anyone,” she disagreed. “Including you.”

“You know a teenager from eleven years ago,” you shot back, hands still balled into fists as your arms hugged your chest tighter. “You don’t know the man he is now–what’s in his heart and his head. You don’t know a damn thing about him anymore.”

Tara’s lips twitched briefly at the corners, her eyes still narrowed at you as they ran up and down the length of you in silent appraisal. “I know damn well you’re not what he wants,” she spat. “You’re forgettable. Not someone worth a second look. I can promise you, he will never want you like you so clearly and pathetically want him. So I suggest you let it go and stop trying to text him asking to spend time with you before I make sure he never wants to look in your direction again.” That ruthless little grin was back on her lips. “And believe me, I could do that. Make him hate you. Make him revulsed at the sight of you.”

As much as you wanted to call her bluff, there was a part of you that truthfully was afraid that she could manage to do exactly that. Pit Jax against you, make him hate you. With the way he’d been acting the past few weeks, he hadn’t seemed like the Jax you’d gotten to know over the last three years at all. And the last thing you wanted was to lose your best friend even if it felt like you already had.

A self-satisfied smirk pulled at Tara’s lips when she saw how quickly that threat had silenced you. She knew she’d gotten under your skin finally. But before either of you could say another word, a figure appeared at the other end of the hallway. The movement caused both of you to turn your heads before you caught sight of Jax just as he realized he’d stumbled into something happening between the two of you. His expression shifted between a mixture of things so quickly that you only managed to catch a couple of emotions–surprise, guilt, frustration–before he’d thrown that usual stoic calm over his features which often made him impossible to read.

“Everything good here?” Jax asked as he sauntered towards the pair of you.

You’d been about to answer, but Tara beat you to it as she gestured a hand in your direction.

“You really need to get a handle on the croweaters “ She sent you a sidelong glare before adding on, “They clearly don't know when their mouths are wanted.”

“She’s not a croweater, Tara,” Jax replied, sounding tired. 

He glanced over towards you, taking in your posture as you noticed how exhausted and worn down he looked. He looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping well for a few days. His blonde, shaggy hair was messier and more disheveled than usual, and even the way he carried himself seemed a little off–sluggish and weary. You wondered if it was his thoughts or something else keeping him up late at night before you quickly shut those thoughts down. You probably didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’ll meet you in your office, alright?” he said, focusing back on Tara. “Just gimme a minute.”

Tara stood there eyeing you, that smugness still radiating off of her before she finally continued down the hall in the direction she'd been going in initially. Your attention remained on Jax, studying his face as his eyes followed Tara’s retreating form until it was gone. Then he ran a hand across his mouth in agitation as his gaze drifted back to you.

“What're you doing?” he asked.

Your brows immediately drew together at the accusation in his tone. “What are you talking about?” 

Jax’s head gestured towards where Tara had just disappeared. “Talking to Tara,” he clarified. “Whatever that was clearly wasn't friendly. What're you doing?”

Lips parting in surprise, you couldn't believe he was blaming you for that tense situation he had just stumbled on. Jax had always known you to be fairly level-headed even if you were blunt and spoke your mind. You didn't start shit at the clubhouse despite the few times you'd shut a girl up when you'd truly needed to and he knew that.

“Oh, so I'm the one starting shit?” you shot back incredulously. “Is that the bullshit she's poisoning you with?”

Jax made a face immediately, his expression twisting into one of distaste. “Poisoning me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

The look on his face gave you pause before you could blurt out everything that'd been on your mind about him and Tara since she returned. But you could see the way his brows had drawn together as his eyes narrowed back at you, his mouth a tight line. He was getting pissed. At you. Something that had never happened before. You knew Tara was a topic that had often been off-limits with him in the past, so calling out her bullshit seemed like it'd get you nowhere with him, even if he desperately needed someone to yank his head out of his own ass.

“She stopped me,” you said instead. “Trust me, I have no desire to have hallway chats with her. That was all on her.”

“Just stay outta shit with Tara,” he told you, moving to step past you like he was already done talking to you. “It’s none of your business.”

Your eyes finally fell to what he was holding in his hand as he took a step forward in the direction of Tara’s office. It was a tumbler. Probably a tumbler filled with coffee. Just like he used to always bring you. The sight of it left you breathless, feeling as if someone had just slammed their fist right into your chest and knocked the wind straight out of you.

“You're bringing her coffee now?” the question slipped softly out before you could stop it.

For the briefest moment, Jax looked guilty at your question and the tone of your voice as his eyes fell to the cup in his hand. But almost as quickly, his jaw tensed and he focused back on you.

“It's none of your business, like I already said,” he snapped.

“So that's it then?” you asked, your mouth suddenly having a mind of its own. “You only have time for Tara now?”

Jax turned back towards you, that frustration from a moment ago returning and setting him off like a lit match. He tensed as he stepped towards you, his eyes narrowed into a sharp glare.

“Maybe I've been fucking busy,” he snapped at you. “You think of that? Maybe I don't have time to sit and drink with you because I've got other shit going on.”

“For a month, Jax?” you asked in disbelief. “Too busy to call or text? Too busy to talk when I'm at the clubhouse? You've been like that ever since Tara came back–you're avoiding me.”

“What?” he snapped, shaking his head at you. “You think I'm avoiding you, is that what this is? You're mad cause you're not getting all my attention? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I'm mad because you haven't been acting like yourself lately!” you shot back, waving a hand at him. “You never get mad at me like this!”

“Cause you're actually pissing me off right now!” he yelled back.

Those words quieted you, your mouth closing before another thing could come out of it. You'd clearly gone too far and now he was probably just going to push you further away. And dammit, that hurt. All of this hurt.

He pointed a finger in your face as he leaned in towards you, his voice growing dangerously calm as he continued. “Leave the shit with Tara alone, I'm not gonna say it again,” he warned you. “It ain’t your goddamn business. Stay the hell outta it.”

He didn't stand there another second longer before he turned and headed off in the direction Tara had left a few minutes ago, abruptly ending the conversation with you. You stood there watching the back of him, your eyes fixed on the reaper of his kutte until he disappeared towards her office and left you standing alone in the hallway.

A strangled, choked noise fought its way up your chest and out of your mouth before you threw a hand over it. Everything felt like it was suddenly crumbling around you, a burning ache exploding in your chest at the way Jax had just gone off on you.

Ducking into the empty room nearby, you could feel the sting of tears as you slipped inside. You abruptly shut the door after yourself before sinking to the floor, your back to the door as both of your hands flew over your mouth to muffle the sounds of the sobs beginning to fall out of you. 

That hadn't been like Jax at all. Not with you. He'd never gotten pissed like that at you before, never gotten in your face. Even when he was in a bad mood, he'd always been careful with you. Always immediately apologized the handful of times he'd accidentally snapped at you. 

But not this time. 

Warm, wet tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook with sobs against the closed hospital room door. The memory of the way Jax had looked at you just now had Tara’s earlier threat running through your mind again. How she could make him hate you, never want to look in your direction again. Was that what she was already doing?

Where the hell had the Jax you knew for the past three years gone? The one who'd held you close when you'd had a really bad week at the hospital and never minded if you'd cried on his shoulder? The one who used to make you smile with his smartass mouth, and who sent you voicemails to tell you about some ridiculous thing that happened when you'd been working a late shift at the hospital and couldn't be there to witness it? Where was the Jax who'd pick you up sloppy drunk from girls night outs with your friends and called you adorable as he made sure you got home safe?

What the hell had she done to him?

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower I

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery, hints of PTSD/bad mental health - there will be an imbalance between the owned and the owner (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic relationship at some point

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest, I swear), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters basically (for now), no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: A greek woman has been stolen from her lands, Hellas, and in the midst of questioning her faith and destiny, she ends up before the feet of the emperors.

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: In this story there will appear a few words that's either ancient greek or latin (I study the languages, I know, super cool :ppp) - so I will make sure to add a little note once in a while when a new word pops up that I feel like is important for you to know. Though bare with me as I will not include some of the words... because not even the main character knows the meaning of the words sometimes.

In the worst cases: trust your gut. Believe me, when I say english isn't that far from latin.

This is the first story on my page, so please, if you like this chapter, show support by liking, reblogging and commenting. It'll really motivate me!! Thank you in advance <333 And now, I present chapter 1 of the story "For when you flower."

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the actual name of ancient greece Hellenes = the people of ancient greece (shoutout to that one ask for calling me out <333) Aphrike = the ancient greek name for Afrika Nemesis = both a god of justice, but mostly a term for revenge when greek had committed hybris - broken the rules given by the gods, which were made to keep the world in order

I was taken from my home.

Not too long ago I was in Hellas, the land of the gods. I was surrounded by my people, by our culture. A people who remained in pain of the filth stowed upon them day after day. A culture robbed of its riches. We were oppressed in our own home – but it was still ours. Ours to appreciate in the shadows, hidden from those not worthy of the glory. It was like one people of the other claimed our land as theirs. There was no peace other than in the dark hidden from the Persians and from the Romans.

It was in the shadows we allowed ourselves to continue our faith, to pray for mercy from the almighty gods. There was no justice outside in the light. Oh, how they dragged our names in the dirt.

It was in the shadows where the statues of the great remained, statues of the house gods to whom I owed my life. There was so much they could deprive us from but not hope. Not then in our land, Hellas.

I remember the day I received my prophecy. It did not speak of the agony I now find myself drowning in, no, it spoke of a resurrection of the people, of the belief.

I was to be an oracle. A hope. It had said: “A holy war in sight, only you can conquer with might. What’s been small and fragile in the past, will then flower from your hands.”

I was never the person to question the Gods intention – on the contrary I was honored to be given such kind words from those who we were taught to fear. I was looking forward to the day the prophecy would be fulfilled, the day were I was to serve the God of all good, sun and light, truth and prophecy, Apollon.

His name has lost all worth for I was brought out of the dark – not by will. And I cried. I cried a river but none of my prayers were heard.

It all changed the day the Romans came back.

I knew of the cruel nature of the Romans – of how they kidnapped and abused our land, but I was yet still too naive to think that they never would dare to touch the sacred, the ever so respected priests and priestess of the divine. They crushed the blest spirit, the day where light was shone on the serene shadows.

In truth I was only starting to understand the practices that were expected of me to perform. Rituals. I was yet to be the oracle, humble servant of Apollon. However, I still had a title to which previous Roman soldiers had respected and truly endeared.

I still remember the roman soldier that had asked for my guidance. Oh, how his eyes lit up as truth and prosperity embraced his whole. I showed him the way into the arms of Hera, Mother of Gods. Maybe he was lying – another mockery.

Hera, Apollon, where are you?

The event of my abduction is merely a night terror in my head by now, consuming my every thought; Every nerve jolting at the irreversible pain that had been caused by the filthy, the Romans. Every second has been a battle to actively try to suppress the memory of that day, that night, that month, that year. The only memory left by now was the change of weather from Hellas to Aphrike to Rome. The grief, the wicked and the filth. And that one man.

Hellenes is now barely a wrinkle in the dent of my cheek. An echo in the weariest of nights where sleep caresses me at last with promises of new hope, a new life. Something no God seemed to care to give to us anymore.

The Gods barely matter. That’s the truth. Today, as I sit with my hands tied, I believe that they were erased together with the rest of torment. Burnt, broken and beaten. I still pray, yes, but no longer with fear as they intended, no, it was disbelief and grief – and that was no righteous way of praying to the Gods I once knew, but it doesn’t matter. What horrid thing had I done that the Gods placed me in the hands of predators to obey? A feel of surrender not only towards Nemesis but also those I now call my masters, domini.

What a horrid word.

Today I sit behind bars with hardly anything to cover up the shame of my position. I have spent maybe a hundred days in this forsaken land, learning their dirty tongue in hopes of finding my eventual master. One, who I hope would have mercy. And perhaps today was the day the Gods finally hear my prayer, or maybe I’m still naive to hope.

I’m being transferred to a place, I have yet to understand the meaning of: Palatium. The name itself placed a heavy weight on my heart like a blanket of steel. I will not give up.

The slave trader waved our carriage away. By my side are other women as well as men, men of honor. All sit mute as If our tongues had been cut off, deaf as if our ears were burnt. In silence we agree that everything has seemed a blur since that day the free became the forced.

Around us men and women dressed in silk and tunics of pride bore at the sight of us. Those who would show interest were collectors which could be seen clear as day by their make-believe costumes of the people of Hellas, Hellenes. Us. They want us, not because of our personal value, the virtue which was supposedly given to us by the supposedly righteously gods, but because of our skin, our blood. They had that in common with the men, scouting gladiators in between our honest men, the heroes of Hellas.

The injustice floods my already burning chest. My heart is beating but for what? Beating against the steel and iron like the drums of war. I bite my cheek as I feel the phantom sensation of tears flocking my arid eyes. Damn you, Gods. Despite the growing distrust I urge myself to mummer a prayer in our mother tongue with eyes squinted close: “I ask for your justice, righteous Dike, for your mercy on my soul and for whatever deed lead me here, Nemesis. Ares, I summon your war to these wasteful souls that do not honor your name. Oh, Zeus-“

“Quiet down.” The woman to the right mummer. “The Gods intended this. We will meet the ends of our suffering soon enough.” I could feel how I was quick to anger over how she sounded so reassuring – but mostly also how she was right. Peeking a look at her I meet not a woman, but the ghost of life displayed and laying across her pale face. She’s an old woman, probably not intended to see the light of day. Other than her wrinkles, there is no identity to be seen or studied. Her appearance no longer mirrors whatever woman she had been as her clothes are merely a used bag, her hair thin and shed, dead on her shoulder. She will likely be bought for nothing but labor. A prime example of a worthless slave in the eyes of the filthy.

My anger now replaced by pity. Sadness.

“Apologies.”  I slightly nod and purse my lips. I feel my eye twitch. I ponder of her name, but I choke on the words. Embarrassed, I lower my head.

The next thing I hear is a rustle. Perhaps she had read my thoughts, maybe not. A short moment of quiet follows as her hand caresses mine. Comforting. Motherly.

Maybe Hera is here after all.

Suddenly the world begins the spin as the carriage suddenly stops and puncturing whatever hope, the woman had planted and sown. Dizziness takes a hold of my consciousness. The world seems to blur once more. I feel my body become weak and heavy. Her hand on my cheek. Her shoulder next. She saves me from the floor. She holds up me upright.

Our movements become flashes. The world so dark. The next thing I know, I’m on marble floor.

The air here seems heavy and loaded with scents of war. It strikes and pokes my insides like spikes. Carefully I tip my head up to look around at the surroundings – only to meet the toes and the feet of a man, sandals of a noble.

“You brought a weakling into the house of gods?” The sandals huffed. “Surely, you must be pulling some kind of cruel joke.”

It’s like his voice barely made it through his gritted teeth but I cannot see. The muscles in my neck ache. But I feel her hand. The woman is still holding me. It calms my nerves, and I seem to forget the pain.

“And an old woman.” I watch the right foot tap and as it jingles with all its riches. “I cannot believe this… this… insult! This is an insult – towards the gods, let alone the emperors! What will they think?”

“I reassure you; she was fine a moment ago! One of our finest samples!” I recognize this voice to be the dealer, the man who bought me off the coast of Aphrike.

“How am I supposed to make any of these women presentable?” The sandals raised his voice slightly but were quickly to draw a breath. “Out.”

It sounds as if the words were venom, shooting from the teeth of a python. No doubt that this man has power.

“But-“

“No! I said out. Before the emperors see these-“

“See what?”

The atmosphere changes.

A new pair of sandals makes their way across the floor, scraping whatever dirt there is up. A pair of feet who seem too weak to bear the heavy burden of its body or its mind, erratic in its every move. And yet so weary and tired.

And then there were quiet.

It feels as if a minute passes by before any other word is being spilt. The burdened speaks again, marginally more distressed: “Speak up for I wish not to be left out.” The voice takes on a child-like attitude, one which knows no laughter, only squabble and snappiness of the upmost impatient kind. A part of me wishes to look and console this unfortunate soul.

The fancy sandals jerk. “Sorry, my emperor, I was just telling this joke of a seller off because of this abomination of a delivery. I assure you; I am picking only the upmost desirable for you. Ones in the best of health.”

A wish now broken.

“And what do you know about health?!” The voice snaps as if the sandals words truly had offended its entire bloodline – its apparent noble bloodline. Filth.

“That was not-“

“OUT!” It screeched. The sound of a blade rings in the room, making me lower my head by instinct. Blinking, I feel a pain ache in my heart flashing, not of physical pain but of pure agony within my soul. Memories, nightmares flash before me. The thick scent becomes recognizable. My dearest friend as of the last year. The smell of iron. Of blood. The only proof of life and of worth.

Once more it blurs. My soul cannot take this torture any further.

“Caracalla! Calm down!” Is the second to last thing I hear.

“Geta! He is-“ Is the last thing I hear.

I remember them faintly. Their names. The fear that infiltrated my home, my people.

The twin emperors; Geta and Caracalla.

Oh, how I resent them

Next chapter

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[mikaylathenerd5]

One of These | Roman Reigns

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Pairing: Roman Reigns × Shiloh Lucero

Summary: Roman never thought he’d want to share his space with anyone—until her. What started as one quiet night over dinner has turned into something bigger. Now, the two of them are building a life together, one soft moment, one box, one heartbeat at a time. From the first unspoken invitation to the last kiss in the kitchen, this is the story of finding home—in another person, and in yourself.

Content Warning: None

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: A girl literally have too much time with being on summer break lol but my loves you wanted more of this pairing so I do hope you love it ✨

✨🖤 If you haven’t read You Already Do — the one shot that started it all — you can catch up HERE first! 🖤✨

Before we begin—🖤 I just want to say thank you in advance for reading, reblogging, commenting, and sharing your reactions to my work. Every note, tag, and ask means more than I can say. This is a story about choosing softness, about finding home in the quiet moments. I hope it wraps you in warmth today. ✨

“Letting someone in means handing them the match and trusting they won’t burn the house down. But sometimes... they light the fire that keeps you warm instead.”

The world outside Roman's condo was washed in gray—quiet rain tapping against the windows, the occasional rumble of distant thunder low and sleepy in the clouds. The scent of honey garlic salmon still lingered in the air, softened now by the citrus in Shiloh’s dish soap and the clean warmth of fresh towels stacked on the counter. Soft lo-fi music played from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter, barely louder than the weather outside.

Shiloh was barefoot, wearing one of Roman’s long-sleeved black shirts and a pair of soft sleep shorts. The shirt swallowed her frame, dipping off one shoulder, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she rinsed the last of their plates in the sink. Her curls were up in a loose bun, a few tendrils sticking to her neck from the steam and warmth of the kitchen. The yellow glow of the under-cabinet lights softened her silhouette.

Roman leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with that rare, unreadable look he only ever wore around her—part awe, part peace, part something he hadn’t figured out how to name yet.

Not like she was a guest. Not like this was temporary.

Like she belonged there.

He didn’t speak at first, just stood there taking her in—the way she hummed quietly under her breath, swaying a little, the way she stacked the plates like she did it every night, the way she always reached for his mug first when unloading the dishwasher. There were two mugs on the counter drying—hers pale pink, his matte black. She always put them side by side.

"Tupperware?" she asked, glancing back briefly. "I’m packing up the rest of this salmon before it mysteriously vanishes again."

He smirked. "Bottom cabinet. Behind the protein powder I don’t use."

She laughed, soft and easy, and Roman felt something in his chest shift. He didn’t know what it was exactly—maybe a realization, maybe surrender. But it curled around his ribs and settled in like it belonged.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been over. She had a toothbrush in the bathroom. A silk bonnet draped across his nightstand. Her favorite tea tucked in the cabinet next to his protein bars. Her fuzzy socks hidden between couch cushions. She’d spent more nights in his bed than in her own over the last month.

But something about tonight felt heavier. Not in a bad way. Just...full. Like his home was holding its breath.

Roman stepped into the kitchen slowly, bare feet silent against the tile. He rubbed his jaw, searching for the right words. His voice was low when he finally spoke again.

"You ever notice how you already live here?"

Shiloh paused, sponge still in her hand. Her fingers tightened slightly, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a flicker of tension passing through her shoulders. She turned slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her expression softened—curious, slightly wary, like she wasn’t sure what she was stepping into.

"What?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "You do. You got your mug next to mine. Your scarf’s on the back of my chair. You rearranged my spice rack."

She smirked. "That was a crime scene — cinnamon does not go next to oregano."

Roman chuckled but didn’t look away. "I like the way it feels when you’re here."

Shiloh turned fully, drying her hands on a dish towel before leaning back against the counter, the fabric twisted between her fingers. Her brow furrowed a little like she wasn’t sure if this was casual or serious or somewhere in between.

"What are you saying, Ro?"

He moved closer, stepping into her space until only the hem of his shirt and the flicker of something unspoken separated them. He didn’t touch her—just stood close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to breathe in the faint scent of coconut and hibiscus on her skin. His eyes were steady, but there was a tension in his shoulders.

"I’m saying," he murmured, "I want you to stay. Not just for dinner. Not just overnight. I want you here. Like...really here. Your stuff in the drawers. Your name on the mailbox."

The rain picked up outside, a steady hush behind the windows. It filled the silence like a third heartbeat.

Shiloh blinked slowly. She didn’t answer right away. She looked at him for a long time, like she was weighing what it meant to belong somewhere. A thought flickered—sharp and familiar. Stillness had never lasted in her world. It always came before the shift, before someone left, before something cracked. What if he changed his mind? What if she took up too much space, the way others said she did? This kind of certainty always scared her. But the quiet in Roman’s eyes didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a door.

And Roman didn’t rush her. He just stood there, breathing through the nerves crawling under his skin, hoping she could feel how real he meant it.

Finally, she exhaled—something quiet, something shaky—and nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "I’ll stay."

Roman didn’t grin. Didn’t celebrate. He just stepped forward, finally letting himself touch her face, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Good," he said, voice thick. "Cause this place already knows you. You might as well call it home."

Shiloh let the dish towel fall to the counter. Her hands lingered in the air for a moment, as if they weren’t sure what to do next, then slowly lowered. She took a quiet breath, grounding herself in the weight of his words, the safety of his presence. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, face tucked into his chest, and Roman exhaled like he hadn’t taken a real breath in days.

He murmured into her hair, soft and almost smiling, "Even with my terrible spice rack?"

She laughed against his chest, and just like that, the heaviness between them cracked open into something tender. Something right.

Roman didn’t fall asleep that night.

He held Shiloh close in the dark, one arm around her waist, the other hand resting where her ribcage rose and fell against him in the hush between raindrops. She slept easily—like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.

His room smelled like coconut oil and her vanilla body butter. The lamp glowed amber in the corner, casting a soft glow across her overnight bag and the folded hoodie she always wore when she stayed late. There were no boxes yet—no tape, no clutter—just the early traces of a shift not yet unpacked. But the thought of her doing it—waking up here every morning, falling asleep here every night—settled something in him he hadn’t realized was restless.

He didn’t move or fidget, barely even blinked. Just lay there, breathing her in like it was something sacred. Something still. Something rare. The kind of peace he never let himself get used to.

It scared him, how badly he wanted it.

It scared him more how natural it felt. Like something he’d always been waiting for without realizing it. Like ease wasn’t supposed to be earned in pain.

He’d spent most of his life keeping people at arm’s length. Even the ones he loved. He’d let people in before. And every time, they left with pieces he never got back. But Shiloh had crept in quietly, wrapped around the edges of his routine until she became part of it. Folding his laundry without asking. Cooking for him even when she was tired. Laughing at the way he got grumpy when someone messed with his gym bag. She didn’t poke at his walls—she just leaned on them. Warm. Patient. Solid. Unlike others who pressed and prodded, who tried to climb them or knock them down, she simply stayed. And somehow, over time, the weight of her presence made those walls feel less like protection and more like a cage he didn’t need anymore.

He kissed her shoulder before the sun came up.

"You really staying?" he whispered, even though she couldn’t hear him.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, brow soft, breath even. She didn’t answer.

He smiled into her hair and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Roman was in motion before she even woke.

He’d brewed her favorite tea, cleared out another drawer, and texted Solo to ask if he still had the toolbox. He just needed to tighten a couple screws in the dresser—nothing urgent, but it mattered now.

Before leaving the room, his eyes caught the kitchen. Her mug still sat beside his on the counter, pale pink and untouched from last night. He stared at it for a beat longer than he meant to, feeling something settle behind his ribs—something like certainty. Side by side like they always were. He took one last glance at her sleeping form, curled under the throw blanket she always dragged across his bed. Her fingers twitched lightly like she was dreaming, face tucked into his pillow.

Yeah. She was really staying. Her mug in the kitchen. Her hoodie on the chair. Her name already stitched quietly into the edges of his day.

And maybe—just maybe—that meant he could, too.

The late afternoon sun was just starting to dip when Roman’s truck backed into the curb, golden light flashing off the windshield as he threw it in park. It had been a few weeks since that quiet night in Roman’s condo, when a simple dinner turned into something bigger—something permanent. Since then, boxes had been packed, logistics sorted, and plans made with the kind of calm chaos that only love could hold together. Today was the day Shiloh officially moved in.

The air was thick with Florida heat and the scent of rain from earlier showers still clung to the pavement. A few kids down the street shouted over a basketball game, the rhythmic bounce of the ball punctuating the steady hum of cicadas. Just ahead, Jaida and Rhea were already at the front door, laughing as they fumbled with the spare key Shiloh had given them weeks ago. Both of them turned with grins that stretched wide and unapologetic, Jaida waving a coffee in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

“You’re late!” Jaida called, her braids swinging behind her as she popped open the front door. “We’ve already claimed the good bathroom.”

“You don’t even live here,” Roman muttered, slipping out of the truck. He slammed the door shut with a little more force than necessary, and his expression was pure exasperation.

Rhea smirked. “Might as well get used to it. You’re about to be outnumbered.”

Shiloh gave Roman a nudge with her hip, eyes gleaming. “Play nice.”

Naomi hopped out from the passenger side of Jimmy’s car with her arms already full of folded blankets and labeled storage bins. “Don’t start fighting before we finish moving the plants, please. I promised Shiloh’s cat I’d keep his vibe space intact.”

Roman groaned but took the bin from her without argument.

“Yo, what’s this?” Jey’s voice rang out as he walked in carrying a box labeled candles + lotions. “You got a whole spa in here or what?”

“It’s called self-care,” Shiloh called back, amused.

Solo trailed behind him, expression unreadable as always. “That’s box seven marked ‘bedroom stuff.’ You moving in or opening a store?”

Roman shot them both a look. “Y’all touching her stuff like you’re not replaceable.”

Jimmy smirked, already sliding into the kitchen. “Man’s in love and suddenly everything’s off-limits. Don’t break the Shiloh pillow, it’s sacred.”

“I will throw all y’all out,” Roman muttered.

“Sure you will,” Jey grinned, slapping him on the back. “After you fold her pajamas and light a candle or two.”

“Hey,” Jimmy called, strolling up behind Roman and handing him a cold bottle of water like it was a peace offering. “Think of it this way—you finally got a house full of women who like you. Enjoy it.”

Roman looked around—at Naomi giving orders like a general, at Jaida already turning on the Bluetooth speaker, at Rhea helping Shiloh carefully unpack the box of incense and candles—and exhaled through his nose. “Remind me why I let y’all talk me into this.”

“Because you love her,” Jimmy answered simply.

Roman didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t have to.

Inside, the condo was already alive with motion and music. The smell of fresh paint still lingered faintly beneath the scent of palo santo and lavender. Shoes were scattered near the door, a half-unpacked box of throw pillows sat beside the couch, and the sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains they’d hung just last week. Roman lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. The scene before him looked nothing like the place he'd once come home to in silence. For years, this space had echoed—too clean, too quiet, too bare. He remembered standing in this same spot alone, late nights after matches or workouts, with only the hum of the fridge and the flicker of the streetlights outside. It hadn’t felt like a home. Just a place he happened to live. But now? Now it breathed. Now it held memories-in-progress and the woman who made it all feel intentional. That contrast stung a little—in the best way. Because he remembered what it felt like to be the man who never let anyone get too close. And now here he was, watching his whole damn life shift with the weight of one person’s presence. He wasn’t used to this—to joy without it falling apart eventually—but he was starting to believe it might stay.

He caught sight of Shiloh standing barefoot in the center of the room, her eyes closed as she breathed it in like it was hers already. She smiled to herself before stepping toward Rhea, humming softly to the music. The moment lodged itself in Roman’s chest—quiet, whole, undeniable.

Shiloh caught Roman’s eye as she passed, mouthing a quiet thank you. He didn’t respond. Just tugged the brim of his cap down and lifted another box off the truck bed.

Naomi sidled up to him and bumped his shoulder. “You soft as hell right now.”

“Shut up.”

“Uh-huh.”

The front door opened again, and Roman assumed it was Jey or Solo arriving with the last of the boxes. But then—

"Roman!"

His mother’s voice. Sharp, familiar, and cutting straight through the noise like it always had. Roman froze. His heart stuttered, caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

His mother’s voice.

He turned slowly, heart already in his throat.

There she stood. Dressed sharp but casual, arms crossed, mouth already twitching into a disapproving smile. And flanking her, just as unannounced, were his two sisters.

“Oh my God,” Shiloh whispered, halfway to the hallway. “That’s your mom?”

Jaida was frozen, Rhea quietly lowered the incense, and even Naomi looked caught off guard.

Roman closed his eyes and counted to five.

“Y’all really couldn’t text first?”

His mother walked past him like she owned the place, eyeing the half-unpacked boxes, the music, the energy. “And miss the chance to see the woman who finally got you to act right? Not a chance.”

Roman sighed. “Welcome to the chaos, Ma.”

His mother turned back toward the door, arms still crossed. Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. He loved her, but damn—she always did know how to bulldoze into his life like a freight train, no warning and no brakes. A muscle ticked in his jaw, caught between irritation and reluctant affection. “And before you ask how I knew—ask your cousin.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

Jey coughed into his fist, suddenly very interested in the floorboards.

“Don’t look at me,” Jimmy said, backing away with both hands up.

Roman gave him a long, slow look that said betrayal without a single word, then narrowed his eyes in mock offense, like he’d just been stabbed with a butter knife. He pointed a finger at Jey. “You? You’re on dish duty for a month.”

Jey threw up his hands. “C’mon, man! It slipped!”

“I’ll make sure you slip when I wax the floor,” Roman muttered. “He was the one on the phone last Sunday, rambling about throw pillows and candle scents.”

Jey muttered, “I just said it was cozy in here. Maybe accidentally mentioned someone was moving in.”

Roman stared at him. “Accidentally?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “That’s how I knew to wear flats.”

She smiled, tight but warm. Then turned to Shiloh. “You must be her.”

Shiloh swallowed. Then nodded.

“Good,” his mother said. “You’ve got a kind energy.”

She glanced back at Roman, her expression softening further. “He don’t bring people around. Never has. Not unless it’s serious. So the fact that we’re standing here? That says a lot.”

Roman’s stomach tightened. His mother never said shit like that lightly. Not to anyone. Not about anyone. The fact that she said it in front of the whole damn family—he felt the words land somewhere deeper than pride. Maybe this was realer than even he’d let himself believe.

One of his sisters chimed in with a teasing grin. “And that he’s letting anyone touch his stuff without having a meltdown? He must be in love love.”

The other nudged Shiloh with a wink. “We’ve been waiting to meet the woman brave enough to deal with his grumpy ass. Welcome to the family, girl.”

Shiloh laughed, nerves easing. “Thanks... I think.”

Roman groaned from across the room. “Y’all done?”

His mother didn’t look at him. Just smiled at Shiloh again. “Let him pout. He’s always been like that. But he loves hard. And if he’s picked you, then you’re something special.”

Jimmy wandered over, grinning. “You should’ve seen him last week, Ma. Tried to rearrange her bookshelf and nearly had a meltdown when he couldn’t find his protein powder afterward.”

Jey snorted. “Man was out here talkin’ about balance like it’s a feng shui situation.”

“Don’t forget the day he vacuumed twice ‘cause her cat shed on the rug,” Solo added, deadpan.

Roman shot them a glare. “I will deadbolt this door behind y’all.”

Naomi leaned against the kitchen counter. “Aw, he’s just a softie wrapped in tattoos and trauma.”

Shiloh tried to hold in her laughter, cheeks pink from all the attention.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Tattoos and trauma? You just described half this family.”

Shiloh blinked, caught off guard by the quiet approval. It reminded her of the times she’d sat in awkward silences in other living rooms, smiles tight, conversations strained. No one had ever looked at her like this before—not with ease, not with trust. For once, she didn’t feel like she had to prove she belonged. She just... did. Something in her chest cracked open—this was the first time she’d ever been acknowledged like this by someone’s family. Not just tolerated. Welcomed. The smell of garlic bread wrapped around her like a hug, and for a second, she thought of all the nights she’d wondered if this kind of softness could ever be hers. It settled over her like warmth, equal parts grounding and overwhelming.

Roman’s sisters were already making themselves at home—laughing as they moved through the condo like they’d been there a hundred times before, teasing him about Shiloh’s scented candles and pastel mugs. One grabbed a broom. The other offered to organize the spice cabinet. Someone turned the music up just a bit, and Shiloh’s cat wandered into the room, weaving through legs like he owned the place.

Roman looked around at the loud, messy, loving hurricane, the scent of garlic bread wafting from the oven and an old-school R&B track crackling faintly from the Bluetooth speaker. The aroma reminded him of holidays at his grandmother’s place—tight spaces, louder laughter, and too many hands in the kitchen. Back then, he’d watch the chaos from the sidelines, never sure where he fit. Now, the chaos felt like home. He’d willingly invited it in—people who knew how to make noise, take up space, and still leave room for him. For a moment, his mind flashed back to the echoing quiet of his old apartment—days when silence stretched longer than it should, when meals were eaten standing up, half-distracted, with no one to ask about his day. That life had been simpler. Cleaner. Lonelier. He remembered the way he used to keep one cabinet empty, just in case. Now, there was music in every corner, people in his space, voices layered like harmony, and the faint scent of Shiloh’s favorite lavender oil curling around the edges of it all—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like too much. It felt right.

He wasn’t a man of many words.

But right then, watching Shiloh laugh with his mother in the kitchen and Jaida pretend to fight Rhea over who got the better closet, he knew:

He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

The condo was quiet now.

After hours of laughter, unpacking, and unexpected family arrivals, everyone had either gone home or crashed in guest rooms, leaving behind the hum of the dishwasher and the faint echo of old-school R&B still playing low from the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. Outside, the moon hung low, spilling silver light across the patio and casting faint shadows against the sliding glass doors.

Roman stood there, barefoot on the hardwood floor, hair still damp from a recent shower. He held a half-eaten cookie in one hand—chocolate chip, the kind Shiloh liked to bake when she was stressed. He’d stolen it off the cooling rack like a kid who thought no one would notice.

The glass door reflected a different version of himself. Less armor, more softness. He stared for a beat longer, then looked past his reflection and out into the quiet street.

Behind him, he heard the light pad of footsteps.

Shiloh emerged from the hallway, wearing one of his oversized shirts and a sleepy smile. Her curls were piled up in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She didn’t say anything at first, just walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"You stole my cookie," she murmured.

He smirked, not turning around. "It was lookin’ at me funny."

She snorted softly. “That’s your excuse?”

“I'm sticking to it.”

She leaned up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of everything they didn’t need to say out loud.

“I still can’t believe your mom just... showed up,” Shiloh said after a while, voice muffled against his back.

Roman chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her chest. “I can. She’s been crashing my peace since 1999.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “She was really sweet to me.”

Roman finally turned, cookie forgotten as he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. “That’s ‘cause she likes you. If she didn’t, you’d know.”

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her temple, then another along her cheekbone. Shiloh tilted her head, inviting the attention, and their noses brushed before he kissed her mouth—slow, lingering, the kind that spoke without words.

Shiloh tilted her head. “You think she really meant it? What she said? About me being good for you?”

He studied her face, thumb brushing against the edge of her jaw. “You’re the only thing that ever slowed me down. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

She blinked. “What do you mean then?”

Roman exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking past her like the words weren’t easy to pull from his chest. “I mean... I used to move like I had something to prove. All the time. Everything felt like a fight. But with you, I don’t feel like I’m losing ground by being still.”

Her throat tightened, but she nodded, leaning into his palm.

He tipped her chin and kissed her again—this one deeper, slow and reverent, like he was trying to memorize the taste of forever.

“That night—when you asked me to move in—I didn’t think you meant it,” she admitted against his lips. “Not really.”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

“I know. I just... I’ve never had this before.”

He bent forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You do now.”

They stood there in the glow of the moonlight and the hum of a home finally feeling like one. His fingers grazed the hem of her shirt, slipping beneath to find the bare skin of her back, rubbing gentle circles there like he never wanted to stop touching her.

After a beat, Shiloh pulled back with a sly smile. “You still owe me a cookie.”

Roman grinned. “I’ll bake you a whole damn batch tomorrow.”

She raised a brow. “You? Bake?”

His smirk widened. “Alright—I’ll stand behind you and stir while you bake. Still counts.”

Shiloh laughed, and Roman pulled her in tighter, one hand resting against the small of her back. He dropped a final kiss on the top of her head and held her there like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

Then, quieter: “You remember that night you made cinnamon cookies ‘cause you couldn’t sleep?”

She looked up, brow furrowed slightly. “At my old place?”

“Yeah. I showed up around 1 a.m. with nothing to say and everything on my mind. You didn’t ask. Just gave me a warm one and let me sit on the floor next to you while you cleaned the kitchen.”

Shiloh smiled, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “You fell asleep against the fridge.”

“I felt more at peace than I had in years. Didn’t realize it then, but that was the first time I ever felt like I could stop running.”

She didn’t respond right away—just rose up to kiss him again, slow and certain, and let it linger.

And just like that, the quiet wasn’t empty anymore.

It was theirs.

A few weeks later

It was a rare day off.

Sunlight spilled across the bed in thick, golden slants. The world outside could’ve been buzzing with noise, but inside Roman’s condo, everything was still. Shiloh lay nestled beneath the comforter, eyes open but unmoving. Roman’s arm was wrapped snug around her waist, his chest pressed to her back, his soft snores brushing the back of her neck.

She didn’t dare move. Not yet. Not when this was the kind of morning she used to dream about—a quiet life wrapped in strength, warmth, and someone who loved her so deeply it made her believe in stillness.

Somewhere in the background, the soft jingle of her cat’s toy bell echoed as he batted it across the hardwood floor. The scent of last night’s cinnamon lingering faintly in the sheets made the moment feel even softer—lived in, real.

Here, in this bed, was warmth and weight and breath syncing between two bodies who had finally learned how to rest.

Roman stirred minutes later, burying his nose into her neck before pressing a kiss into her shoulder. Then another at the nape of her neck. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "You smell too good to be legal," before tightening his arm around her.

She smiled into the pillow. "Morning, Mr. Reigns."

He groaned. "What time is it?"

"Too early for chaos. Not too early for kisses."

His lips found her skin again. This time, a little slower. A little lower. Hands sliding under the hem of her shirt, fingers stroking softly over her stomach like they’d been molded just to memorize her.

She hummed. "You’re not even awake yet."

"M’awake enough for this."

He didn’t push further—just a few lingering touches, a lazy kiss, the kind that lingered long after lips parted. A kiss that said you belong here. A kiss that reminded her that love didn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes, it was just breath and skin and the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

Eventually, they got out of bed—reluctantly. Shiloh threw on one of his shirts, oversized and worn, while Roman padded barefoot to the kitchen in sweatpants, hair still tousled.

He insisted on cooking breakfast. Shiloh offered to help. He declined. Firmly.

"I got it," he said, already cracking eggs like he was auditioning for a cooking show. "I have a system."

"Your system includes burning toast and undercooking bacon," she said, hopping up onto the counter with a coffee mug.

"Slanted criticism for someone who once exploded a bag of popcorn in my microwave."

"It was one time!"

He flipped a pancake that was already looking a little too crispy around the edges.

"You’re a grumpy domestic alpha," she teased.

"And you’re distracting."

He kissed her forehead as he passed, his hand trailing briefly down her spine. She swiped the spatula from his hand just in time to salvage the last pancake.

The cat pounced nearby, batting the bell toy into the pantry door with a thunk. Roman side-eyed it. "Your son’s got too much energy this early."

"He’s thriving," she said, smirking. "He’s got two parents now."

Later, while putting away dishes—his shirt hanging off one shoulder, toes bare on cool tile—Shiloh found a small folded scrap of paper tucked in the back of the silverware drawer.

Roman’s handwriting, messy but bold.

You make this house a home.

She didn’t say anything. Just folded it carefully and slipped it into her journal—the one she only wrote in when something mattered.

And when she kissed him minutes later without a word, he knew exactly why.

Not everything needed explaining. Not when it was already written into the walls, the warmth, the rhythm they were slowly building together.

And this—this quiet kind of love—was exactly what they both needed all along.

Remember I was outta trust I didn't ever wanna fall in love I didn't ever wanna care too much But he changed my mind — Ella Mai, “One of These”

Author's Note 📄:

If this one shot resonated with you—if you felt the weight of that quiet love, smiled at Roman trying so hard to make space, or teared up a little when Shiloh tucked that note away—please like, comment, reblog, and share your thoughts. 🖤✨ Every tag, comment, and ask lets me know that these moments mean as much to you as they do to me. I hold them close. Here’s what I’d love to know from you:

💬 What would you like to see next from these two? 💬 Which moment in this one shot hit you hardest? 💬 Are you craving more softness next, maybe some spicy, or is it time to explore deeper layers of their intimacy?

And if you want to follow this story as it grows, be sure to join the main taglist. Just send me an ask or reply below—I’d love to add you. 🖤

🏷️ @star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03 @justazzi @fearlesschimera

@skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox @reginawhorge01 @purplementalitybluebird @jeyusosqueen

@brianochka @diamondlifeee @perksofbeingbeautifulyetsobroken @cyberdejos2 @transparentphantomface

@sayyestoheav3nn @kianaleani @sxvual @vebner37 @sexyblacksimper

@dopematicdiamondz @behavior619 @annfg8 @ayeeeitsmiracle

@ariiaellbtheedonn

@romanreignsluver1 @ashykneee @fame-ass-ers @baybehkay @queenofklonnie22

@blackchickinthedesert @thekittysmeow @rollinssection @punksyeet

[officialdaydreamer00]

Marionette on a string

in which your significant other was dragged to a local theatre to see your performance on stage

pairing: (slight) idia shroud x actress!yuu/reader

contents: long drabble, lower case intended, the title should be used for my angstier ideas i swear lmao, a tiny pinch of fluff, reader is yuu and yuu is reader, gender neutral reader and narrated by you/yours, irene losing their mind over ride the cyclone (2016 cast specifically) and decided to add it in their fic, just idia and ortho reacting to the musical :D mainly idia

★ the daydreamer speaks — my third entry for my tumblr sister @cloudcountry's sweet shroud summer 2024!! disposing the worms bc they block my path to temporary shut down :D

do i tag? yes, i do. my main idia liker: @edith-is-a-cat, others: @identity-theft-101 @ferris-the-wheel @xen-blank @twistwonderlanddevotee @loser-jpg @lemonchuu @escha-evenstar @dove-da-birb

remember to comment or reblog if you enjoy my work!!

"Ortho, when will Yuu-shi show up on stage?"

"Should be in a few minutes, brother!"

idia briefly question his life decisions when ortho barged into his room, then proceeded to drag him out through the bustling streets of sage island. he could barely heard him mentioning something about you, what with acting and the local theatre.

well, he was about to find out.

as they both sat down in the darkened room, idia suddenly felt conscious about his fire hair glowing, a bit anxious with the judging eyes of others in the room, and pulled up his hoodie hood. he thanked the seven for the small amount of people in the room, which was less than he would expected there to be.

ortho whispered to him information he needed to know about the musical. about the summary, the characters, and the cast, to which he was pleasantly surprised to see you in the role of jane doe.

so an unidentifiable person, he noted, keeping an eye out to see your performance.

after a while, the narrator presented the final person, and you appeared in all your doll-lile glory, taking the spotlight. it was an unsettling introduction, he'd give you that.

the show went on, and idia's gaze never left you. your fellow actors and actresses did a great job with their own songs, which were quite a whiplash of emotions with how quickly the songs changed genres.

and then came your song.

and oh dear sevens, your voice.

"... Woah. "

"Yuu-san is amazing, aren't they, big brother?"

"Yeah... They really are..."

it was hauntingly beautiful, yet melancholic and painfully emotional, it sent chills down his spine. he couldn't imagine you could hit all those high notes, yet you did them so well. though, he only took his eyes off of you for a second, and you were already in the air, flying all over the place.

confusion was an understatement, but he brushed it off in favour of vibing to your, now that he thinks about it, kind of messed up song. he couldn't help but be enraptured by your stellar performance.

the show ended with a light and hopeful song, and a familiar melody as a callback to its opening. he was a bit disappointed that it was over, but he quite enjoyed it.

ortho noticed his brother's little smile. he smiled behind his mask, satified with the result.

mission "get idia outside" was a success!

[pianostarinwonderland]

maybe skully isnt dead 🤯 [half copium half srs]

listen. ik ive been on copium for a while. ik we all are, ive seen twitter, tumblr, and everyone’s tags on my posts when they reblog

BUT PLS HEAR ME OUT. IM SO SERIOUS RN WHEN I SAY: if u wanna be technical about it, if u wanna stretch it out somehow, you can argue that the game never outright states that skully is dead, only that the skully we met was from hundreds of years ago.

“but mamsir pianostarinwonderland, how in the fuck can that be???? we HEARD that invisible kiss” LET ME COOKKKKKK 🔥🔥🔥 I SWEAR EVERYONE, I AM COOKING U JUST HAVE TO HEAR ME OUUUUUUUUUUUUUT— knocked out

Ok serious time, let me mansplain to you all the possibility of Skully being alive

Establishing first of all, Twst has kept Skully's nature vague

Simply put: we don't know if Skully is human. In his live 2D, Skully's ears are completely covered. Even in his illustration, we can barely see his ears. It's an interesting design choice. However, in his chibi (which wasn't revealed until Episode 5), we can see his ears aren't shaped like a fae, but are round like that of a human.

However, it's pretty hard to think he's human either, when we consider his "moshi, ne moshi" greeting in Episode 1 and its connection to the supernatural. Voiced, to be noted. Exactly what kind of creature he could be is currently unknown, but because this part was voiced, it's something we need to pay attention to at the very least.

In regards to his mortality, the only clue we're really given is Skully himself saying that he may never meet us except through Halloween, which implies a lifespan similar to a human or something similar. But Skully doesn't know how far into the future that the cast is from. Heck, does he even know of his nature?

Now, addressing that invisible kiss...

I feel like this is the main thing that told all of us that Skully is long gone. Heck, if you catch me in my right mind, I might just tell you that yeah, that should be enough proof that Skully is dead! Little signs from the dead such can manifest in similar ways to what Jamil and Leona sensed: hearing a kiss and feeling a kiss on your hand.

(unfortunately i'm not in my right mind so you're getting my dumb reasons why i'm arguing for otherwise)

However, if Skully is gone, I find it interesting that this is the way they decide to show it. We already know from the very first Halloween event that ghosts can manifest all year round in Night Raven College due to the high concentration of magical power in the area. Outside of that, they cannot be seen. If they really wanted to confirm with the audience that Skully is a ghost, they could have had him appear as such at the end, when they all returned to Night Raven College.

But they chose a scenario where people can draw a lot of conclusions from it: Is their senses getting fucked over as they wake up? Are they still reeling from the magic of the book? (though rationally, we know that Leona is not one to be easily stunned, so the first question is at the very least easy to dismiss)

I've also seen some people theorize that he's using invisibility magic during the invisible kiss scene. And well, while I find that funny, it makes me wonder if he could be some other kind of spirit that's not dead. Like an undead of some sort, which the residents of Halloween Town are. Heck, Azul's card line about Skully talks about how he seems to fit right at home with the Halloween Town residents. Again, we don't know Skully's true nature, but the possibility of him being a species that can turn invisible is interesting.

Moving on, we have what Dire Crowley stated about Skully

At the end of the event, Crowley tells us that he found Skully’s portrait while rummaging through the storage and shows it to us and the 11 boys who went inside the book

What he tells us is that Skully J. Graves is a NRC graduate from hundreds of years ago, before Crowley was Headmage. Note that he only was appointed for the position 100 years ago; the Skully we met is at least from around 200 years ago. During his NRC years, Skully got to share Halloween to NRC. It was a hit, and when he graduated, he spread Halloween all over the world in his travels.

I'd like to take a little detour first to discuss something that's been weighing on my mind: Some people have thought that Crowley is lying to us when he speaks about Skully and his achievements, but... I don't see why he would lie. For one, there is a decent chance that Crowley might not have gotten to see Skully. Even if he did, it's even more unsure if he was involved in Skully's affairs.

However, there's one main reason why I do think that Skully got to live a fulfilling life instead of facing an overblot that killed him or some other tragedy. I'd like to dedicate a longer post to this matter, but to make it concise, I think through Skully, Twst is starting to establish something new regarding their history. I think that historical teachings, folktales and stories, and rumors that are well-known tend to be lies or twisted truths. Whereas those that are obscure and not known are actually what occurred. Skully is called the King of Halloween who's done so much to spread the holiday to the world, yet not even NRC students, who should be the first to know considering that Skully is an alumna, know of him. Although there may be other reasons why that's the case, I like to think that at the very least, Skully's obscurity indicates that he did live the life he wanted and succeeded in working for a future that generations after him can enjoy.

Anyway, that actually isn't the main point of this section of the post, but I kind of want to air that out first. The main point is that Crowley only really said that Skully is a former NRC student from hundreds of years ago who traveled around the world to spread Halloween. But he never told us where he was buried or whether he saw his ghost roaming NRC. He never said anything about Skully being dead.

He probably said the hundreds of years ago bit, carrying the assumption that of course, Skully may have passed away. But we have to remember that we have long-living species in Twisted Wonderland. Fae that were students 200 years ago are very likely to be alive now. Crowley himself is a long-living creature, having been Headmage for 100 years. I think with that in mind, it's important for him to emphasize that Skully's gone if he really is. But he never mentioned it. Therefore, there is a good chance that Skully might just be somewhere else. That or Crowley just doesn't give a fuck where his alumni go, and I might be thinking too deeply about the absence of certain words. Honestly, that's a pretty good chance too.

Lastly, we have the scene where Jack Skellington gets shot down but survives it

Here's where it gets a bit more into speculation, but you're going to have to hear me out.

In the movie, Jack Skellington gets shot down by the military for impersonating Santa Claus. When the Halloween Townspeople watched it, they all despaired, and the mayor started declaring to all that Jack has been blown to smithereens and proclaimed him dead.

But that's not what happened: we find Jack landing on an angel's statue, alive and definitely not blown to smithereens.

And considering that Skully is still very much twisted from Jack Skellington... do you think the writers are pulling a similar move? Making us think that he's dead, just as the townspeople thought he was dead, only for us to learn eventually that he's alive.

This of course depends on what happens eventually in the sequel. From the way things are proceeding, what happened in the Lost in the Book with TNBC is events prior to the movie, and we could very well have the sequel be set during the movie events. (If you ask me, I kind of doubt that actually. I feel like Skellington got inspired by Skully's love for Halloween, enough to stay true to his identity as the Pumpkin King, which would mean the movie wouldn't happen the way we know it. So if anything, I feel like TNBC 2 would focus less on the actual movie and more on the side games where Oogie takes over Halloween Town and even kidnaps Santa and other people, but I admit, that's a stretch, especially considering that we will get Santa giving Halloween Town a taste of Christmas)

Of course, this post is really just to let some of my copium out. Rn, it's still safe to assume that yea, Skully's dead. And though I am coping hard for Skully to be alive, with the way Twst treats the dead, it's not exactly a bad thing. Ghosts continue to stay in NRC like they're living people. They honor the dead, and let the dead live among them. And even if he is in the afterlife and not stuck in the mortal plane, I have faith that Skully did live a fulfilling life that may have been forgotten but clearly changed the world. :'D

[mothdruid]

Within the past 72 hours the TGM fandom got a fire put under it's ass, for lack of a better term/phrase. Even though I'm not as active in the fandom anymore, it did make me want to talk about a few things. This isn't the first time that I've had to make a post similar to this, usually speaking about reblogs and keeping your fanfic writers feeling wanted within the fandom spaces, but today I'm going to talk more about fandom etiquette and my experiences in fandom spaces. So, if you want to hear my opinion on fandom etiquette, how I learned fandom etiquette, and my thoughts about the doxing situation that has happened, keep on reading.

My Fandom Experience.

The first fandom that I was ever a part of was The Hunger Games fandom in the 8th grade (if you don't include my anime fandoms). I was 12-13 at the time. This was when I was first introduced to Tumblr and being involved within a fandom online. At the time I was super young, barely even knew who I was as a person, let alone in a fandom space. All I did was reblog little gifsets and fawn over Josh Hutcherson. I remember getting my first hate anon, even though I didn't do anything that would generate that to even happen. Even when I was 12-13, I couldn't understand why anyone would send a hate anon. That was when I found out a friend of mine found my Tumblr and actually secretly hated me, so she sent me hate anons. Still, before I knew it was her I didn't understand.

Fandoms were a formative part of my childhood. I think that main one that helped form me though was the Supernatural (yeah, I know, eye roll), Naruto, and The Hobbit fandoms. I had made friends on Tumblr and Instagram through these fandoms. During these times was when I had first started consuming fanfiction. Specifically, destiel and thilbo fanfiction. This is how I started to find the things in fanfiction that I loved, and the things that I hated. Instead of sending hate to the writers for their thoughts and stories that I didn't agree with, I would back out of the story or just scroll past. Not only that, I also started to use the filters on AO3 constantly, ensuring that I was only reading the fics that I knew I'd enjoy. Also, I was careful to read warnings and tags prior to reading the fic. Never once did I blame the writer for something that I knew I didn't like and accidentally read or read for see what it was about.

After high school was when I started getting into fanfiction writing. I've written for a lot of fandoms during this time. The IT movies, Total Drama, Haikyuu, Attack on Titan, Marvel, Bridgerton, Top Gun: Maverick, and currently ASOIAF. As a writer I've never gotten hate, thankfully, but I have had a lot of friends that have. It's sad to see so many people who take the time to write, whether it's enjoyable or not, receive hate. As writers we are simply expressing our creativity for the things that we love. Since posting fanfiction on tumblr, I have experienced a lot of people pestering for new updates and when the next fic is, and so have a lot of other writers on here. Even though people only know us as a little icon and username, fanfiction writers are people. We have lives outside of writing fanfiction. Everyone also isn't the same type writer. One person may easily write multiple fics every week, some of us take longer, and some of us are even just passion writers (me lol).

The TGM fandom has been one of the most negative fandom experiences I've ever seen/had. It is full of some of the meanest people/anons I've ever seen. From writers being attacked for fic ideas, people being sent hate for something that the anon has full control over, and people constantly expecting new stories to read on the daily. Yes, I do know that other fandoms have these issues, but it seems to be almost a weekly, hell, even daily thing within this fandom. A lot of the issues that I see happen in this fandom are from people who don't understand fandom etiquette.

Fandom Etiquette.

If you had noticed there was a few things I put in bold above. These are key things that I learned during my time that attribute to fandom etiquette. So without further a do, I'll list out some fandom etiquette rules that I follow all the time.

Don't send hate anons to people

Block/unfollow people you don't like

If you don't like an idea or fic, don't read it

Read through all warnings and tags that the writer provided

Use AO3 filters

Don't blame the writer/creator for reading things they created that you actively know you don't like

Writers/Creators aren't "content farms"

There are people behind these blogs/usernames, treat them like someone you'd see on the street

Writers/Creators are expressing love/passion for something, don't hate them for doing that

If you see something fandom related that you don't like, scroll past it or ignore it

YOU CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE (ESPECIALLY ON TUMBLR)

The Doxing Situation.

For those who are unaware but decided to read this anyways, recently there was a writer (Mama Mayhem) on here who got doxed from another writer in the fandom. Mayhem has since lost her job due to the doxing. This was apparently from her breaking HIPAA by posting a picture into a private groupchat/discord. This picture was posted almost a half year ago. Meaning that the person who reported/doxed Mayhem had known about this picture for months and only recently decided to do something about it.

I'll start by saying that I also work in healthcare, and know many other people here who do. I understand that a HIPAA violation is 100% an offense that gets you fired. I'm not excusing the HIPAA violation if one did occur.

Some people have brought up the idea that maybe the person that reported the picture, and doxed Mayhem, was doing it out of the goodness of their heart. Due to the timeline of it all, that doesn't seem likely. I had a previous coworker get fired for HIPAA violations and it took a total of a week from the initial report for her to be gone.

The biggest thing I want to convey is that TWO WRONGS CAN HAPPEN AT THE SAME TIME. Yes, if Mayhem violated HIPAA, it is wrong. But at the same time, the person held onto this information for months only to use it out of spite, pettiness, and cruelty, is wrong.

My Thoughts.

Due to Mayhem being doxed, a lot of people have decided to leave this platform, take indefinite hiatuses, stop writing, or move to AO3 exclusively., and I don't blame them. I'll be honest, I'm thinking about moving to AO3 exclusively now. AO3 feels a lot more rewarding in my experience. I already only post my fics for ships to AO3, so why not just post everything on AO3 (which I usually do).

I think a lot of people have forgot what it feels like to feel shame in something they say or do. When I say this, it's directed towards people who send hate or do other malicious things in fandom spaces. Fandoms were never this clique-ish and mean. I think it has to do with the pandemic, meaning that a lot of people who would have never joined a fandom did because they weren't allowed to do anything outside of their house. So, those mean girls that made fun of fandom girlies (g/n) previously, joined the fandoms and decided started bullying the people within them.

This situation is super shitty and people are now scared. It makes complete sense, especially after seeing someone, that many of you were close to, be doxed. A lot of people are scared of it happening to them now. I don't think this fandom will be the same after this situation, but who knows, maybe everyone will just forget and move on. Either way, I think I'll be taking a step back from the TGM fandom. I'll still be here, but until further notice, I won't be posting any TGM fanfiction. Maybe a gifset/picture here and there, but I don't think this is a fandom I feel comfortable writing for anymore.

If you've read all of this, thank you.

[utilitycaster]

#reblogging for the “see: girlfailure” tag#caus I have opinions on the insular fandom memeification of characters but I don't - as this post highlights - have the words for it#but I keep those to dms caus anytime I or a friend has challenged it in a public space it gets shot down#it reeks of my troubles with the general fear of using the word woman these days and how it's girldinner this girlmath that#also what do you call as intentional character traits vs a flopped dice roll

(via @distant--shadow)

so I agree and this is interesting to me because what always frustrated me about "girlfailure" outside the more general issue of "um, coquette/bimbo/girl dinner/uwu soft divine feminine cottagecore domesticity don't you mean u want to braid her hair is actually TRUER feminism than being the surly woman who loves math and sword fights and hates sewing" and the fact that, as you said, it mostly came from bungled dice rolls and no real intent, is that the same people who call her a girlfailure insist that Imogen is the main character. And like, she kind of is! And yet - and I've said this about Imogen and Laudna in the context of their relationship but I'm going to not include that because I actually don't think that's even relevant, it's about them as individual characters as well - people want them to simultaneously be The Main Character or at least heavily in focus and also never, ever have any agency. Like, they want "capable" to mean that everyone likes you, and not that you are a person who makes hard choices for the better.

Maybe it's because I'm playing Baby's First RPG right now, but the deal with RPGs and I think(?) especially this one, is you must make every choice and it is laden with consequences (not that I as a D&D player, or, you know, a human woman, am unfamiliar with that already) but what drives me nuts about the just a silly guy! girlfailure! she chooses to be good and therefore is good narrative for Imogen, and the "stripped of choice" (another highly repeated turn of phrase) for both her and Laudna is that it's untrue and it means nothing. For all my criticism of What Doesn't Break, Laudna makes choices. I frequently dislike them and wish they had more gravity, but she does make them. She doesn't make every choice - notably, her death and Delilah's presence are huge things that happen to her without her input - but even while barely herself she frequently brushes off Delilah. You can imagine the dialogue trees and the paths she takes, to intervene or not. She decides to renew her pact; she decides to run into the desert. Imogen decides to attack the villagers with lightning to defend Laudna. She decides to leave, she decides to keep burning their rivals in the Twilight Mirror Museum, she decides to tell her mother that she won't join her, she decides not to help assassinate her mother.

Fearne has a wonderful line when she's talking with Chetney after shardgate, in which she explains that she's terrified of making bad choices. Not of being a bad person, but of making the bad choices. And that's the thing. You cannot choose to be good. You cannot choose to be bad. At least not in any general sense. You can, however, make choices that harm people or help them. You constantly must do this. You can stray, or change the type of choices you've made, but they do accumulate to a point, eventually, where it becomes harder and harder to stray. However, the premise of D&D is very much that your character hasn't become locked in, yet. Is Imogen making choices that will be better for other people? If the world rests on her shoulders, is she making better choices for the world?

This is perhaps the core theme of this campaign, dating as far back as Downfall. Aeor made their choice - many, many choices. The gods made theirs. Ludinus kept making his, over, and over. It's particularly resonant among the women of the campaign. Obviously there's Fearne, and I've covered Imogen and Laudna, but going over to the Crown Keepers, Morrigan becomes a paladin in a few short weeks - an immense choice. Fy'ra advises others on what they are going to do. And Opal is where she is now because in one moment she put the crown on her head - and in doing so, ceded further choice in the long run. The deities of both fate and free will in this world are given considerable presence in this story, and both use female pronouns.

Maybe I'm making a mountain of a molehill, but I don't think I am. I really do think people cling to "girlfailure" and act like we're just being meanie haters who don't believe Imogen is good because she can be the central character who has power to change the world and the narrative; or she can be pure and innocent of all wrongdoing. she cannot be both. No one can. And deep down I think the "girlfailure" proponents prefer a useless innocent girl to a powerful woman who sometimes makes choices or does things that hurt other people. So I don't think that one's just harmless meme-ing, and if you want to see Imogen as an exceptionally important part of this narrative I think you have to reject the girlfailure, and anyone saying "oh it's just a joke" is either unthinkingly repeating or is pushing a story where Imogen is just a MacGuffin without agency, and neither is worth, in my opinion, listening to. Someone "stripped of choice" in real life is worth our pity and deserves our assistance but they make for a pretty terrible fantasy protagonist, and it's maddening to see a woman in the center of the story and then to be attacked if you want her to be treated like a person who, as a result of being a key protagonist, holds particular power and isn't just a girlfailure.

[hermitdream]

about the notes thing, i think part of the reason is that some people in this fandom are scared to like things. i'm a lurker (considering making a sideblog soon!), but if i had a dream team blog i would never like anything because my main blog is a dsmp blog and as much as "likes are private!" on tumblr, if you have certain settings on you can sometimes see posts that people you follow like on your dash. and the broader dsmp community (outside of dreblr) leans very dranti... i want to be able to enjoy my dsmp content without being blocked into oblivion. idk my situation might be very uncommon and strange but even outside of mcyt many people have negative opinions of dream because of dranti propaganda spread around. like, people who have never seen a dream video but saw a google doc sent around about all the terrible things dream supposedly did, and now they have dream fans on their dni. tumblr users finding out someone is secretly a dream stan can be much worse than finding out someone is a kpop fan. idk that's just my theory. dtblr has a lot more lurkers than most fandoms, so a 100 note post could easily reach 300 people.

interesting theory, and I do think it's probably true in some cases! I wrote that post more as an appreciation for how good we are at reblogging and how it makes us feel closer as a community, like it might just be the two particular fandoms I've been in recently but there's barely any memes, discussions or textposts in general in the tags, just updates or fanfics (self inserts for the kpop group), gifsets and moodboards rarely, so the almost 200 likes to 15 reblogs (not to mention none of them have anything in the tags) also shows how there's barely any community (unless you're reading the self inserts, I imagine there would be more talking amongst others for those but idk about that I've filtered out like 30 tags to not see that stuff).

but yeah, tumblr mechanics are weird sometimes, and wider dsmp being drantis is shitty for a lot of fans and society in general given they are ignorant to learning the truth if it means they have a reason to hate dteam. looking forward to welcoming a new dteam blog! (:

[sxpphotales]

introduction

Yo. My name is Cain / Ash / Gemini / Alipede. I don’t care what you call me ngl. You can even call me Sappho based off of my username. Suit yourself. I use any pronouns too so no stress on wtv you call me. I’m aroaceflux / demiace (?) with a heavy fem lean. However, I do feel attraction to certain men. I am an author and a reader. You will see me reblogging any type of post about my beautiful wives and occasional husband.

My requests are open any day because I’m generally unemployed. The only rules really are don’t be impolite or rush me (cause i write on tumblr for fun, not genuine commissions), don’t request nsfw (cause i don’t feel comfortable writing it), and don’t be a creep to me. Done? Yeah. My DNI list is pretty tame ngl. Idc if you jokingly insult me every now and then, just don’t make it serious. And preferably no zoophiles, pedophiles, or any of the weird sorts around here, yeah? I want a safe space. This is a oc / cc x reader only zone. I will write cc x cc content in another blog if I want to.

Some of the fandoms I’m in: Haikyuu, Demon slayer, Genshin impact, Honkai star rail (barely), Squid game, COD (mainly MW2 but I’m watching other gameplays too I swear), Harry Potter golden trio, The Outsiders, Supernatural, Kpop demon hunters, Daily dose of sunshine, Resident Evil (I know all of the games and watching gameplays soon), Brooklyn 99, Killer peter, Love and Deepspace, Alien stage, etc. Just ask me.

Some of my beloved wives (and the men too ig): Valeria Garza, Kate Laswell, Ada Wong, Carlos Oliveira, Laufey, Marilyn Monroe, Hedy Lamarr, Lady Dimitrescu, Uriel, Elle Fanning, Anya Taylor Joy, Shuri Von Neuschwanstein, Kaeya, Soap, Horangi, Mother Miranda, Cho Hyun ju, Kang Sae byeok, Cho Sang woo, Hwang In ho, Kim Seo wan, Regina George, Cherry Valance, Neuvillette, LADS MC, Zayne, Arthur Morgan, Park Min su, Robin, Ningguang, Don Quixote, Meursault, Hua Cheng, Mira, Lee Byung hun, etc. (way too much 😭)

Some of my kins: Jake Peralta, Red Velvet Cookie, Todoroki Touya, Till, Sigma, Atsumu Miya, Topaz, Ji young, Alipede / Johan, Dean Winchester, Jang Bong hwan, Ryu su yeol, Song yu chan, Dong go yoon, Caleb, my own ocs, Kang Dae ho, Alexander Hamilton, Fred Weasley, Tao, Tony Stark, Mira Kano, Karube, Rody Lamoree, Riddle Rosehearts, Ibara Saegusa, Wanderer, Childe, Kirishima Ejiro, Rengoku Kyojuro, etc (again, way too much).

Requests are, once again, always open. Don’t be afraid that I’ll bite you. I’ll reblog my current list of upcoming fics / headcanons / posts every once in a while, so please check that out if you’re interested.

I might do some canon character x original character content every now and then because well I have a LOT of characters I like. If you wanna keep updated on that, I suggest reaching me out on Wattpad.

I have three accounts. One main, one side, and one for my oc x reader content. I also have another tumblr where people can request from my most recent fic IMPACTO original male characters x reader. I also have AO3 but I haven’t done anything to it. Request anywhere and say anything. I don’t mind. Feel free to contact me there. Overall, that’s it. Thanks gang. Hope to see some requests. Remember, I take both female and male requests. I just write female a LOT more because I’m a gooner. But I like writing male cc x reader too.

if you wanna be on a tag list for certain fandoms or characters, js dm me. i’ll usually respond and add you immediately.

[femslashfeb]

HELLO ALL

TLDR

No reblogging from the blog this year - posting prompts tomorrow the 31st

For the past few years I've very much struggled with reblogging everyone's activity in the tag. So this year I will not be doing so.

(OR maybe I will? I just don't want to commit)

Even if I knew how to make a bot that reblogs - a lot of people still use the unique tag to tag outside challenges. So I've always had to hand submit. However it became too stressful for me and for the past few years I ended up avoiding it until later weeks or even months.

If you noticed I didn't finish reblogging last year so- I've just given up on that.

Honestly I've struggled a lot with depression for the last 7 years or so. It's been harder and harder to find my way back to tumblr. It doesn't help that my phone can barely handle the amount of apps it already has.

My main account @puff-pink hardly ever updates because of my big sad. And I don't know if I'll ever get back on the horse in the same way I did before.

Some of you know me as an artist, and tho I still churn out subpar art for my day-job I've struggled a lot to make art for myself during my depression. Partially because one year I overworked my hand - and still deal in continual wrist aches. Even the weeks I don't pick up a drawing tool.

I intended this challenge for myself and maybe the small fandoms I was in at the time. But it took off among writers and creators of all types across all fandoms.

One year I even tried to tally the most popular fandoms but there were honestly too many to keep track of- and I stopped after the first three pages of submissions.

I don't claim to have invented the concept of FemSlash February. Before I started the prompts I swear I had heard the phrase somewhere. Tho not sure where. Perhaps it had been amongst my friends on Skype. Back when I had online friends and Skype(I'm still not sold on Discord🤷‍♀️).

However that January I thought it would be fun to partake in a challenge of some kind. But scouring tumblr and the general internet. I could only find half hearted efforts on fanfiction sites from years past.

I'm so proud of all my Sapphic creators on here that have partaken every year. Even if I've never shown favoritism or awarded anyone. I do notice those that actually complete the challenge AND those that keep coming back each year(looking at you H20 writer(I don't remember your username but there's a mermaid writer that's a writing machine)). I truly am proud of you especially in my shriveled state of creativity. Thank you for your efforts. For your hype. And for your love of women of all kinds across all the universes.

Each year I'm surprised to find even more categories I never thought to include. From mood boards, to doll photography, to ofc the classic art and writing. May your pencils forever be in union with your sister mediums.

On that note. There is a strict NO AI GENERATED ART or writing this year.

Not that I could physically stop anyone who does use AI. But I do not want that sort of thing associated with this challenge. It's become scarily good in 2023 to the point it can't always be identified. So I simply ask for the honor system when it comes to AI generated creations.

That being said. If you've made it to the end of this post:

Prompts will be posted tomorrow.

I usually prefer to give yall more of a buffer, but I've been busy. Both with Big Sad, rescuing some feral cats, my own life, errands, chores and work.

If you're still here- here is a preview of the first three days.

FEB 1 - black

FEB 2 - spring

FEB 3 - cake

The 14th as usual will be some sort of Valentine romance type theme(haven't decided specifically yet) and as always there will be a Rest Day.

Expect some repeat prompts. In the past I tried to avoid them but idc anymore.

It's also a Leap Year this year so expect one extra prompt to throw off the symmetry of what's normally 28 days.

Thanks for coming back this year. And thank you to those that still check on this blog.

❤️🧡🤍💜🩷

Keep loving girls

-PuffPink

[sugarthedraws]

🖊- Taberu or Scrapie

well scrapie's lore is secret for now so :)

(also this is my art blog so i'll answer here and reblog to my main, future asks given to the wrong blog will not be answered like this)

clears throat

Taberu was born to a pair of loving, if not perfect parents. They'd always had a mild distrust of ability users, but nothing insane, nothing irrational, given they could generally ignore their existence. Taberu themself was a bit of an odd duck, they never really seemed to get full from food, but other than that they were a normal kid.

Until one day, when Taberu was ten and playing in the park, a game of tag went horribly awry when an ability suddenly manifested in Taberu's ever-hungry soul, a mouth suddenly appearing on their palm and tearing a chunk out of the child they'd been chasing.

Their parents were horrified. They thought that they could starve the demon out of their child by locking them in the basement. Coming back a few days later and Taberu had become seemingly feral, using their new ability- the ability to summon mouths on any surface they were touching, and take no damage from anything they may have eaten- to tear apart the furniture in the basement, bite marks on the walls and a frantic, terrified look in the child's electric blue eyes.

So their parents bought a chain and locked them in place, where they would survive in the darkness off concrete and their own flesh for six years. Six years spent absentmindedly gnawing on its chain in a crazed state, praying for a way out.

And then the chain gave way.

It snuck out onto the streets and lived as a dog for months, barely aware of its own existence and barely able to think of anything other than the hunger that pressed at its mind.

It was eventually found by Shark, leader of a mafia called XY, starving in an alley. It was brought to the headquarters and treated as a human for a few days before growing hungry again and attacking Shark, attempting to eat him.

And so it was locked in a room again. Kinder, this time- it was given a longer chain, and food and water, but still treated as a dog. Slowly, as it was treated more and more gently, it was granted more freedoms. A name. A longer chain. Trips outside its room. After a while, they even took the collar off. And slowly he remembered how to be, perhaps not human, but a person.

[sillysaurus]

☆ about me ☆

𓈉 ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

૮꒰˶ᵔ ତ ᵔ˶꒱Ა ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ this is my agere blog, sfw/nonsexual!!

☆ u can call me lucario, silly, or nothing

☆ i am a boy, he/him

☆ bio age: 18

☆ permadreamer/regressor (?)

☆ i have and regress because of: autism, trauma, and mental illnesses

☆ sfw furry, agerefur, kinderfur (whatever the sfw term is)

☆ other info: aroace, gay/mlm, greyplatonic, physically disabled (EDS), punk, alternative

☆ i post all kinds of agere content (no specific aesthetic, multifandom), art, picrews, game content, cartoon content, plushies, rare irl pics, headcanons, mood/stim/outfit boards, etc

☆ i take requests for posts: request info

☆ kins and comfort characters

☆ posts where i give information/talk about myself/experiences/regression/vent will be tagged #personal , if you'd like to know more about me <3

☆ my instagram is si11ysaurus (my username everywhere is either sillysaurus or si11ysaurus)

☆ sideblogs:

@agere-school project

@burger-bugpup agere account for an oc

@agere-tokiposting metalocalypse

things i like!!

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱Ა ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ blue! 🫐💙🩵📘🌀💤

☆ dinosaurs and prehistory 🦕🦖

☆ animals! favs: marine and bunnies, i also really like pigs 🐾🐇🐷🐛🦑🐡🪼

☆ outer space 🧑🏻‍🚀🌙🪐💫⭐️🚀🌠

☆ stuffies 🧸

☆ clowns/clowncore 🤡🎪🎟️🎭🎡🎠

☆ puppets, costume performers, animatronics

☆ puzzles, legos, toy food, trains, construction cars, monster trucks 🧩🚂🦕🥣🚜

☆ halloween and other spooky things 🎃🍭🦇🍿🌑🍫🕸️🍬🧟‍♂️

☆ alternative styles/aesthetics ♠️⛓️🖤

☆ weirdcore and liminal spaces 👁️🍄🖼️🔆

☆ games: animal crossing pocket camp, stardew valley, slime rancher, cookie run, pokémon, minecraft, my singing monsters, twisted wonderland, poppys playtime, mushroom oasis

☆ tv: craig of the creek, rugrats, the nightmare before christmas, tmnt, metalocalypse, ed edd n eddy, the BFG, clarence, curious george, octonauts, summercamp island, alvin and the chipmunks, KND, pokémon, kindergarten the musical, we bare bears, regular show, sherlock hound

DNI (do not interact)

૮꒰ - ༝ - ꒱ა ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

if u post/interact with nsfw/kink of any kind, especially age kinks: ddlg, abdl, ageplay, babyfur, dualcom, etc. post/reblog smut or anything like that. (i am not anti kink in general, but even outside of regressing, age kinks make me extremely uncomfortable, so dni nsfw littles of any kind)

proshippers, radqueers, transID, pedos, zoos, lolisho

bigots, conservatives, capitalists, republicans, terfs, etc. (idc if im not going to post about politics, i am still punk 24/7)

if u have triggering themes on ur account: gore, self harm, pro anorexia, thinso, excessive blood, etc. (agere content about horror sources is okay!)

use/support generative ai

if u ship, make headcanons, write fanfiction, etc about real people, not actors in a role, but like youtubers or band members

if u interact anyways/ur account makes me uncomfortable in a way thats not listed, i will just block you

BYF (before you follow)

૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

i wont put religious people on my DNI because i am not against any religion, but most of the time religious things are triggering to me, so i do have the tags blocked and i probably wont follow u if u post a lot about it, please dont sent any religious requests

if u happen to find my main/find out who i am, please dont share (im closeted)

i am a blunt and aloof person, so i might not seem kind but i promise im trying my best to be! (im autistic)

not interested in making friends, but we can still be moots, i encourage interactions <3 (i am greyaplatonic and have social anxiety)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

🐇 🐰 💙 👑 🔇 🚹 🌧️ ❤️‍🩹

[ace-n-mooch-daily]

💚♠️Welcome to Ace n' Mooch Daily♠️💚

Here's a simple rundown regarding the blog!

Only run by one person, Mod Chive, (@julas-little-spot)

This blog contains any images related to either or both characters, mostly doodles by yours truly. Submissions are always open so feel free to drop some!

When submitting posts, please refrain from sending anything NSFW as I am a MINOR. Mildly suggestive and a few sex jokes are fine, but please don't overdo it

I encourage people to request for doodles! Keeps the blog alive since there's not much content of these two

Ace is a raccoon without face markings in this blog so uh, there's that

As much as I respect hcs and ships, please, no AceMooch. Had dealt with too much shit with the shippers there, eugh

While I don't have a DNI here, just don't be an asshole. Also I WILL block certain blogs on sight

I might reuse some posts from another daily blog I run because these two barely have any content both in canon and fan content

Unlike the other blog in question, I'll probably answer questions in character with a text box. Link to the text box generator here

We have our own Discord server here!

Tags in the blog!

#acen'moochdaily - Daily posts. Usually queued at 12AM-1AM PHST, but not always guaranteed

#not acen'moochdaily :( - Non-request asks towards the characters, very rare reblogs, announcements, etc

#feisty hijacking - At least once a month would there be a post unrelated to the two characters. Still falls under the acen'moochdaily tag even if they're not present

#ace speaks - Includes Ace dialogue in the text post/textbox for asks

#mooch speaks - Includes Ace dialogue in the text post/textbox for asks

#[character] takes over - only used for asks if a character outside the two is present (and is the main speaker)

#mod chive - Hey that's me! :D

#mod chive has a live breakdown - used for me talking in the description

Dividers source

That's it for now! This post will be updated whenever necessary!

[idontwikeit]

oh i 100% agree that they don't actually like loustat/louis. they are mainly just lestat fans. they do not give a shit about louis and it's obvious in the way they treat him outside loustat. he only matters to them if he is able to be talked about in relation to lestat. it's why you see these horribly racist takes about loumand, them comparing sexual prowess between lestat and armand, armand being the only actual evil vampire around, not their poor white man. i went on reddit, because i hate myself, and people are scared about the trial because armand will manipulate everyone into seeing lestat as the bad guy.... because physical violence and abuse towards two black characters still means nothing or it's just black people lying to these people. i'm sorry for ranting in your inbox, it's just such a shame that a well written show with phenomenal actors like iwtv is cursed with these people (and a willfully ignorant and/or incompetent promo department who emboldens them as well)

their antiblackness is truly so transparent with them going oh i love gothic romance i love imperfect characters, but immediately turn to defend lestat or criticize the story-writing when it comes to portraying lestat as abuser and toxic and a privileged white man, and attacking louis and claudia. And not to mention being extremely quick to demonize loumand, and judge Armand based on his backstory as dismissal but quick to use lestat's trauma to defend him...like the bias towards non-white characters are so palpable it's disgusting. Even sometimes fans of dev/il's minion irked me out as they are much more fanatic towards it than loumand and seems to treat it as a buttjoke, and I feel like it has to do with a white man in a relationship idk? I still remember when I first watched s1ep7 with the Armand's reveal and I was so excited I checked out iwtv spoilers tag (which I never did back then) and the first posts I saw were oh Armand must be mind-controlling Louis and wow Louis looks so fake, it just took me out. And there are so many big iwtv blogs that are openly racist and getting tons of reblogs coz ppl don't know it's just so infuriating. They just made the fandom so insufferable I won't even venture into reddit and twitter like yikes

don't even mention the marketing department they are so damn incompetent i have no idea what their strategies are like c'mon they cancelled the good s1 podcast with a great host for some unknown youtuber that isn't even good at nuanced questions, barely any good cast interviews and it's like tv insider got everything and NO jacob & assad interviews at all when they are the mains in s2...and all to make memes on social media and pandering to book fans i'm just mad

[corethetrueidiot]

•Core's (not) Beautiful Tumblr Blog•

harmonious bell chiming at your doorstep

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Hello!!! im Core :] a dumb 17 year old on the internet that got given a phone way too early in life. oh, i also draw and animate. cool right?

My main-main interest at the moment is project sekai because miku virus got to me. Its a Horrible virus. So ill be posting abt that from now on since twitter turned to shit and i got tired of it !!!!! (if you were my oomfie on twt pls inform me so that i can fb!!! i usually am not able to recognize yall right away!!!🙏)

I am an emunene and polyniigo artist !!! i barely draw any ships that arent any niigo monoships or emunene!!(ones outside of that are only as a treat....)

The art youll mostly see here are abt my faves!! ( oshis have a * on them.you will see them alot.) Mainly Nene**, Emu*, Mizuki*, Kanade*, Airi, Saki, Minori, Ena, and Kohane. Other character's art is pretty rare to see around my account....but requests will be avalible if you wanna see your fave in my style :3

Other details that are probably important:

- they/them pronouns. only comfortable with friends calling me by he/him

-Im Puerto Rican. Latino. Hispanic. arroz con gandules. What ever you ppl call it (basically i speak spanish and english)

-my bday is in 4/20

-i am extremely interactive!!!! i also dont mind dms or asks so pls ask away or yap away 🙏!!! i always love making new friends slowly but surely so pls dont be scared of talking to me or interacting with my posts!! ^_^

-DNI if your a shitty person in general. im not a fan of shitty people and i wont hesitate to block you.

-I use IbisPaintX to draw and Flipaclip to animate. occasionaly Flipnote Studio

-i may be autistic.

if you wanna know a Bit more abt me consider looking through my rentry

Consider supporting me on Ko-fi if you like my art! Link to that here

Go through this tag if you wanna see my art: #the core art tag

Go through this tag if you wanna read my stupid posts: #core rambles

Go through this tag if you wanna see what i reblog for whatever reason: #core's reblog tag

thats it basically! you rlly wont find me anywhere else other than here from now on but if you still use twt and i know you, you can ask for my priv :]

(subject to changes if i change hyperfixtations!!! for now it will be project sekai but tomorrow?who knows......(joke))