#because the day was starting out terribly

[emmyrosee]

You and Osamu do not have time for this.

Sitting in the doctors office, osamu’s knee bounces up and down anxiously, his hands covering his mouth and his body sending waves of nerves through the air.

You’ve been sick for the past week, dizzy and nauseous, fatigue coursing through your soul and rendering you on bed rest for the week. You haven’t been able to work, or help him at the restaurant, and while he assured you it wasn’t a problem, but the elephant in the room was that you didn’t feel good, and you haven’t for days.

It wasn’t until you started running to the bathroom to fight the nausea that he decided enough was enough and decided to take you to the doctor. You feel terrible, today you were supposed to help Atsumu’s wife help with hisako’s birthday planning since stupid dumb Atsumu is away due to a tournament.

(Okay, potentially that’s the nausea talking. You haven’t slept in a few days.)

“Osamu?” You ask softly.

He hums. You let out a shaky breath.

“Do you think-“

“Im trying hard not to.”

You offer him a laugh for his attempt to break up the awkward silence.

“What if im fine? Will you be mad if this is all for nothing?”

“Baby,” he assures, reaching for your hand. “I’m not playing when it comes to your health. You know that. And even if you’ve been faking this entire thing- which you’re not- I couldn’t be happier to be here, making sure.” He presses a kiss to your head, and you nuzzle into his neck.

You both jump at the sound of the door opening, a call of your name snapping you out of your mind surfing. The doctor plants herself across from you both; she looks calm, and you take that as a good sign.

“Whats wrong with her, doctor?”

“Isnt there a better way to word that?” You hiss.

His eyes widen, “you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well how did you mean it!”

The doctor chuckles, “nothing. There’s nothing wrong with her. Perfectly healthy, Miya-San.”

Osamu’s the first to let out a sigh. Then, he pulls you close eyes screwed shut as you let out a small cry of relief. You bury your face in his chest and fist the collar of his shirt, relief washing over you. You feel light as a feather, able to come out of this with an update to Atsumu’s wife that you’ll be late but you’re on your way, false alarm, and-

“Well. Nothing that won’t resolve itself in nine months.”

You two freeze. Comedically, your faces both drop and after a few seconds, you both turn to the doctor.

She smiles, “congratulations kids. You’re having a baby.”

“Thats…. Not possible.”

“Then consider it a miracle,” the doctor hums.

“But… but we-“

“Doctor, I truly think you’re…. Mistaken….” His voice trails off and he grips your hand, trying to calm himself down.

“Modern science truly is a gift.”

Your entire world spins as you try to pinpoint when and how this happened, you’d been so careful, so sure to be safe because you and Osamu do not have time for this.

But then, Osamu laughs.

It starts as a snicker, a little shake of his shoulders before it blossoms into a bigger, deeper laugh, one that comes from his chest and swirls around the room happily. When you look at him incredulously, looking at him as if you could kill him, he shrugs at you, cheeks split into a grin that’s bright enough to match the sun.

“We’re having a baby,” he manages around his laughter.

Then, you snort. In your peripheral, you see the doctor smile.

“We’re having a baby,” you agree.

[kyunniebuns]

Helloooo :3. I wanna know how Jin Woo deals with S/O who got bullied in high school because of her face and always feels insecure because of that. And also isolates and distances herself whenever people hurt her feelings. Requesting headcanons and one shot if u r free of course! :0

˗ˏˋ Entry : 061 - Sung Jinwoo x Bullied! Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[ BULLYING. Heavy depictions of depression, anxiety, body/face dysmorphia, avoidance of mirrors, idealization of self-harm/mutilation. I've been a victim of bullying so this is quite personal. Fluff Ending]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ When the flowers wilts first instead of blooming ] ¡! ❞

Pretty privilege.

Even if you're a child, you know it's a thing. Of course, you can't quite pinpoint why you're being treaed the way you are. But there is that weird inkling that something is going terribly wrong.

The boys in class often snicker at you, making fun of you for no reason in front of your oblivious face. You can tell there is some sort of mockery coming from them and that they treat other girls in class quite differently.

With the other girls, they are respectful and even trying to suck up with them? With you? They're actively snorting and getting off on making you miserably.

It's the little things they say that slowly degraded your poor mind over time.

"Your smile is weird"

"Your cheeks are too fat"

"Hey, can you quit laughing for a bit? You look ugly as hell hahah"

"It's the freak"

With the girls? Oh it gets worse.

They wont shut up about how your features are grotesque and even downright disgusting.

That's odd, you just wanted to be friends with everyone, yet here you are being the center of ridicule— Being pushed out of every single chance to make genuine connection just because they didn't like the way you look.

Well.. It isn't too bad.

There's a boy in class who befriended you. He listened to every story you have and he even laughs at the jokes you make even if you have picked them up from everybody else. If you mimic the popular kids, everyone will like you more right?...

Right?

However that same boy you thought was your friend had been secretly mocking you with his popular friends. He had been making fun of you no matter how kind and outgoing you were with him.

From then on? You started to slowly isolate yourself from everyone.

But somehow, the bullying only got worse.

It was to the point that everyone laughs at you during class and teasing you whenever you try to participate in class. They make wild noises whenever it's your turn to report.

Everyone, everyone just wont stop hurting you.

How about the adults? Surely they will help?

"... Just, try to ignore them, yeah?" — Was the reply the adults with give.

That's funny, shouldn't teachers be taking your side? You're the one who is being wronged here. You're the one who is getting the cruel end of these so called jokes.

Why is everyone making fun of you?

Even outside of the classroom and in the schoolbus— The kids younger and older than you are all a bunch of jerks who gaslight you everytime you try to be friendly with them.

One day, you decided to please everyone and sit on the floor because the pretty girls and the boys deserve it. The reward of your obedience?

Water gets poured on the top of your head and they all cackle in joy.

You went home soaking that day, sobbing miserably as your bag's contents are also drowning in water. Of course, your family confronted the school.

But the solution? Somehow eveything goes fucking downhill even more.

You're pushed out of all social circles. You're considered a goddamn freak.

And thus, the once bubbly and outgoing you had been stripped down to an anti-social and anxious loser that everyone despises. Anyone who comes across you would look at you with either pity or ridicule.

In the end? It doesn't matter anymore.

At some point, you completely gave up on trying to be friends with anyone and chose to keep to yourself. Maybe you had a few they all left overtime.

So you chose to just... Keep to yourself. What better is there to protect your already battered heart than to make sure nobody dares come close?

If being alone is what it takes to finally have the peace you've been longing for and can avoid all sense of harm— Then so be it.

Alone may you be, but at least you're happy.

꒰ .... ꒱

Meeting you is quite odd for Jinwoo so to speak. Of course, he is well aware of anti-social people who actively avoid any sort of interaction. Even small talk is considered a pure living nightmare to go through.

He tried being friendly with you and Jinwoo can tell no matter how polite and meek you are— You are actively trying to escape the conversation and find ways to shut it off.

Well, he could always leave you alone. But somehow he didn't want to. So even if you were uncomfortable, Jinwoo always attempted to be friends with you.

Slowly, he would notice the little things about you.

Such as your hair being grown in a way that obscures your little face, how you're dressed in thick clothes just to hide your body, how you're always choosing to stand alone in a corner where there is a least amount of students.

He knew of that fact that you're making yourself more and more invisible to everyone else by doing this. And he had an inkling something has gone terribly wrong for you to be this willing to isolate yourself.

Even when he managed to make you warm up to him, he knew you were desperate in making sure you don't offend him in any sort of way. He can see that way your demeanour would change if his tone shifts to a lazier and deeper sound out of nowhere.

You're studying his every movement.

Just like he is studying you.

꒰ .... ꒱

One day, he managed to convince you to come with him to go to the mall. Everything is currently boring and dull for him since there isn't much to do on the last week of the semester thanks to both of you handing everything on time. The only reason why school is still ongoing are for those students that are on the path of repeating the grade.

Everything was going well until you find yourself staring at your own reflection in a mirror.

How grotesque.

Those godforsaken awful cheeks you have, the shape of your eyes being so infuriating to look at, how pathetically built you are, how overall unappealing your appearance were.

If you could just run your cutters all of your fucking face maybe you'd be fixed.

This is why you hated mirrors so much.

They remind you of the disgustingly horrid image you have. Mirrors have a talent of showing the god awful being one is.

Because they don't lie.

These objects are made to reflect the person facing them. Despite being mouthless beings, you always had a feeling these fucking things are mocking you just for existing yourself.

Maybe you should scratch your cheek? That way you can shape them down even more—

"Don't look there." A soft, gentle deep voice calls out as a hand stretched out to block your line of sight towards the mirror.

When you look up, you are only met with a pair of kind grey orbs gazing at you as he says; "How about we go to the park instead?"

Jinwoo then moves his hand to grasp yours, squeezing it a little before guiding you out of the place.

꒰ .... ꒱

The walk in the empty park is silent and awkard, your footsteps being the only source of noise as you trail behind Jinwoo's tall and broad back.

"Sorry..." You say, lowering your head as you paused in your steps. "I ruined your shopping day."

"I was getting bored anyway, it's fine" He shrugs, waving his hand dismissively.

"Still," You purse your lips, feeling even more awful since you know Jinwoo is just being kind to you.

"You're always working hard to not make me mad, it wouldn't hurt to be a bit mean sometimes" Jinwoo reaches over to mess up your head.

"You... Are very aware of what I did before, yet you're still nice to me?"

Ah yes, that story, that story where you sent a kid limping in the hallways leaving a trail of blood from his bleeding nose. He finds it a little funny that you think you would scare him, the same bastard who put monarchs at their graves and sending god's army packing when they tried to pull another bullshit in his regression.

Still, it is awfully cute of you in his mind.

"I don't know what they did to you, or what they said that you're this anxious and afraid of ever offending me— But I only care about making you happy." He then becomes a bit flustered as he realized his own words. "W-well, I mean, hahah... That sounds so bad, I just,... Er... You're pretty cute when you smile so—"

Jinwoo stopped talking as he feels you suddenly throwing your arms around him.

"Hey..." He sighs, rubbing your back gently as he feels your tears soaking up his hoodie.

Being called cute by someone like him feels unreal, but somehow you can tell he isn't lying or just saying it to say something. Jinwoo for one has never lied to you, sure, he keeps things to himself most of the time. But he never lied.

So it's okay to trust him, right? it's okay to give him your heart even for just a little bit? With him, it feels like you;re healing a part of yourself that got broken overtime due to the bullying and isolation you had to put yourself through just so you can make sure no one can hurt you ever.

Jinwoo could only cradle you, sighing deeply as his rough fingers card through your strands affectionately. He should've reached out sooner.

Just from the raw, unfiltered and broken sobs that you are emitting— He can tell your cries are an amalgamation of sorrow, pain and loneliness that has long been brewing throughout the years of no solace.

"Joonwoo, Ae-yeong, Hajoon, Beom-shik, Eun-ae" He starts listing a bunch of names and ten other more.

Names familiar to you.

"Those are their names, right?" Jinwoo asks softly, receiving a soft nod from you.

He keeps your head firmly pressed against his shoulder as his face contorts that of pure malice. The undead soldiers hiding inside his shadows stir and whine a bit as they sense their master's temper coming to a close boiling point.

"I hope they enjoyed their sleep these past few days, a hellscape nightmares will be coming their way after all."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: I could've been more graphic but I chose to be merciful and choose this. There's more but ehnnn,,, I wanna play hollow knight immed rn<33. To everyone who is suffering from ptsd and body dysmorphia please know you are beautiful and perfect just the way you are. It'll take a long while to heal but you're not alone and never should be. Please surround yourself with happiness and cute things. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[pomegranatelifethis]

A mistake

**English is not my native language**

The place where it all began, trapped in a small room between only you and the darkness. When did being Bruce Wayne's daughter make you happy? People looked at the Wayne family's children with admiration, but no one saw you. Perhaps the biggest problem with you was that your existence meant nothing to anyone.

Days passed, you were forgotten more and more with each passing minute. How empty it was that Alfred forgot to invite you to dinner every night, that Damian didn't find you entertaining, that Dick didn't care about you... In all this chaos, you felt like you were being pushed aside. And you were hiding behind your tears, with the feeling of loneliness getting deeper with every moment.

But no one noticed.

One day, there was a terrible silence in the dark streets of Gotham. When the Joker decided to take care of you, none of the family noticed you were missing. The heroes fighting outside were so busy protecting the city that they didn't even care that you were missing. Many nights you had to go out quietly, wander the streets and come back. But you never really became a family. No one called you, no one noticed you were missing.

Everything took on a different meaning in Joker's hands. His sarcastic smile was wearing you out more and more every day. He constantly ignored you in his games and made you feel like nothing. The tortures and psychological games were weakening you so much that you eventually started to accept: No one really cared about you.

The first day, when Joker kidnapped you, no one noticed. Everything was in the past. When he disappeared a few days later, no one was surprised. A week later, no one even called you. Two weeks, two whole weeks… But there was something. During those two weeks, something changed. A void was created within everyone. They had begun to realize, but it was too late.

First Days - Joker's Games:

When the Joker kidnapped you, you were afraid of physical pain at first, but over time the psychological torture began to become a greater threat. He was starting to learn about your weaknesses, fears and pains. He was constantly causing you pain and trying to slowly break your spirit. The pain you have experienced before has never been this deep.

Your body could heal, but your soul would be much harder to heal. The Joker was testing your mental limits. At first he physically challenged you: chains, beatings, cuts… but over time he became more insidious. “Do you think your family is looking for you?” he was saying to you, there was a mocking sparkle in his eyes. “You will just be a loss, forgotten. No one will remember you.” These words hurt you more than you had ever felt before.

Every day he questioned you in some way and left you in pain. His biggest torture was leaving you alone. He left you in a room for hours, days, silently. When he entered the room, you saw him smiling. And that smile made you feel like everything was over. Sometimes he would tie you to a table and ask you to close your eyes. “Aren't you going to follow me?” he would ask, with that cold emptiness in his eyes.

The Batfamily's Realization - Delayed Guilt:

.

The Joker's Last Games - Acceptance:

As time went on, Joker broke you more and more every day. It seemed like everything was lost for you now. He enjoyed seeing you. “A family, right? “But you lost them,” he said. And one day, he tied you to a chair and said that old saying again. “No one will remember you. Your family lost you. You are also a loss that they don't remember.”

At that moment, something changed in your eyes. That old light disappeared from his eyes. You fell into such a deep void that nothing could get you out of there anymore. It only took one word to break. That word came out of Joker's mouth. “They lost you because they never wanted you.”

Family Regrets - Lost Forever:

Bruce shook you and said, “Forgive me,” holding your shoulder. Tim, Jason, Damian and Dick were there too, but no matter how much they told you how sorry they were, it was different from what you felt. “Don't try to forgive me. "It was too late," you could say, but your voice cracked and a few tears rolled down your eyes.

The deeper the void gets as you feel how tightly they hold you. With every touch, you feel like you're being pulled back one step further. At that moment, everything they think they love about you turns into a pressure on you. When they say they want to hug you, hold you, take care of you every time they approach you, a feeling pushes you back. As you feel this, your body seems to be running away from them, but your heart is still waiting for love. No matter how much they want to hug you, your body wants to escape from them.

Bruce: Bruce's hands could feel the pain inside you as he held you tightly. But you involuntarily pull your body back. At that moment, Bruce's pitying gaze pushes you away. So much had happened that everything he did to protect you was never enough. “I can't let you go anywhere,” he whispered, but there was an increasing obsession in his every word as you couldn't even take a step. Every time he approaches you, he holds you so tightly that as you feel it, the little voice inside you says, “Don't leave me.”

But every touch of his cuts you like a knife. “Do you think you like this?” you think. At that moment, as you think about how much Bruce loves you, your body involuntarily moves further away, and you respond to every approach with fear.

Tim: Tim, everything changed when they lost you. Now that he had found you, the desire to control every moment of you was increasing. While he was watching your every move, he was pushing every limit to protect you. But every time, your body was retreating even one step. Even though he approached so quickly, every move of his pushed you further back. “Don't be afraid of me,” he was saying, but the fierce possessiveness in his approach made you feel like a pit that took you out of this world.

Every touch, every touch, was causing your traumas to come to life in your body. Your withdrawal was bringing him closer. As you thought everything was over, you were lost in time. When he said, "Stay away from me," there was a kind of bullying in those words that tried to close you down even more. But you were running away from him with every move, trying to prevent your body from shaking involuntarily every time you felt his hand.

Jason: When Jason found you, he felt like he missed every moment you were lost and buried that emptiness inside you. But when he found you, his hands really scared you. He hugs you so tightly that every muscle tightens, and as he tries to touch every part of you, you get colder and colder inside. “You won't be harmed, I promise,” he said, but there was something in that promise that turned into holding you, controlling you, trapping you completely to yourself. Day by day, Jason was becoming more and more possessive of you, but you felt every moment with a desire to escape and be protected. Every time his hand held you, every time he tried to caress your cheek, it caused invisible wounds to swell on your body.

When you said, “Stay with me,” your body didn't want to take another step towards him, and you were getting more and more tense with every movement. The heavy pressure on everything made you feel colder inside, forcing you to belong to no one. Even though you wanted to see the love in him, you didn't think you could really trust him anymore. Every violent hug pushed you back, reminding you of feelings you were sure you had forgotten. Jason's touches no longer felt like comfort, but like a threat.

Damian: When Damian found you, there was fear in his eyes, but that fear had turned into an obsession to protect you. Seeing the emptiness inside you pushed him to own it more. But those looks that were always trying to possess you suddenly pierced you. Every time he touched you, every time he leaned towards you, there was a sense of fear that pushed you back. Whenever he brought his hands closer to you, you involuntarily took a step back. When he said, "Don't run away from me," these words broke you down, along with the weakness in his voice. As your body retreated, Damian wanted to get closer. Not for you, but for fear of losing him. But with every touch, another trauma opened, and with every show of attention, you retreated more. Eventually, this obsession was causing you so much pain that you couldn't trust anyone.

Dick: When Dick found you, he wanted to hug you first, but when he noticed the tension in your body, he took a step back. But this retreat was like one step closer to losing you for him. The fact that he wanted to spend every moment with you and protect you left a painful echo in your body. He was so close that every time you escaped, he was trying to attract you more. When he said, "Don't leave me," there was so much fear in his eyes that he thought that if you took one more step back, you would lose him completely. But for you, every move became a threat. Every touch of his was pulling you down further.

Conclusion: When the Batfamily lost you, there was deep guilt within them, but what they felt after finding you combined with the emptiness within you and turned into obsessive possession. With each approach, each time they hugged you, the more fear grew inside you as you felt how tightly their hands held you. And in the eyes of each of them was a psychological pressure combined with the fear of losing you. But you felt completely lost, pushing back every touch, to the people you once thought you loved. You felt like a person left alone in fear and pain, having lost confidence.

@celestialbooks

[alagaisia]

This is true, and it’s especially true for the people that I think most is us probably encounter in our own social circles and daily lives. But I don’t think it’s true for everybody. Remember how there was that stat showing a spike in google searches for “did Joe Biden drop out” on Election Day?

I think it’s sort of like how you can’t know what you can’t know. If you don’t know that you’re missing information, you can’t go looking to educate yourself on it. And while most of the time when people talk about “living in a bubble” they tend to mean it in a bad faith, paradox of tolerance type of way, I’ve realized lately that it’s a concept that’s absolutely applicable in a lot of ways. Of course we make our assumptions about the world based on the very limited and biased sample size of people we interact with in our daily lives. You can’t talk about the benefits of being able to curate our dashes on tumblr and then say you think the people who interact with the same political posts as you make a representative sample of the American public.

I am someone who tries to be pretty aware of environmental issues in my personal habits. My family isn’t zero-waste, granola, organic everything, but we haven’t used a plastic shopping bag or water bottle since I was in first grade. As I start forming my own adult habits and thinking about having more control over my consumption, I’m identifying ways I could move towards more environmental consciousness. I know that I’m not doing the absolute most I could be doing, and that I think about this more than the people around me, but not by that much, right?

Except I work now for an organization that sends plays on things like proper sorting of recycling to teach elementary students two counties from where I live. The county pays us to bring these programs, because the residents are simply not recycling. I’ve gone along on one or two of the programs and seen kids ten and eleven years old participating in the interactive “help us sort the recycling” activity in the show who were terrible at it. Because it’s just not something their community thinks about. These aren’t rural areas, these aren’t devoid of civilization or waste management infrastructure, this is a suburb 45 minutes from the largest city in our state.

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around it, too, but trump did not win because more people voted for him. He won because record numbers of people did not vote at all. And we can blame that on individual leftists becoming cynical and disillusioned, but something like a third of the country has never voted in any election. There are people who are and always have been disconnected from and disinterested in the government and electoral politics and anything happening in this country.

And it’s wrong! I’m not saying it isn’t. Each of us has a responsibility to our communities, and the civic responsibility of voting and being at least minimally informed on what’s happening in the country is a part of living in a fucking society. It’s disgraceful. But many of those non-voters didn’t consider all of the available information and then choose not to educate themselves and not to vote. It simply didn’t occur to them. Just like the kids I encountered who don’t know how to recycle, a lot of people have grown up in families and communities where electoral politics were somebody else’s business, or for any number of other reasons I can’t begin to guess at, something that just wasn’t a priority. I come from a very politically motivated family, and I’m sure most of you do too. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t vote. I don’t know why each of them didn’t. But there are millions of people who don’t.

These problems have been building since long before 2016, but at the very least that election should have been a wake up call for the democratic party on a national level. What we needed and still need is community and individual level action on a national scale to reach non-voters and educate them on political issues and why this shit does actually affect them and does actually matter. Democrats need to stop folding to random criticism on things like fracking and instead have some fucking backbone, stick to their morals, and work to get votes through education and changing people’s minds and convincing them that these values are worth voting for, rather than changing their policies every other week based on what they think might appease people who are not going to vote for them anyway without a concentrated effort for a societal change of mindset.

Yes, there’s lots of information available, and people do have a responsibility to use that. Obviously there are plenty of people like the ones OP alludes to who are shirking that responsibility due to apathy. But those of us who know all of that know it because we are part of communities that care about accessing and acting based on that information. There are people who don’t know and don’t care and to whom it would never occur to seek that information out, because in their community, it doesn’t matter. And those are the people who I think the democratic party does have a real responsibility to try harder to reach. Politicians also obviously live in a social bubble where everybody cares about politics. But somebody needs to look at the numbers and realize that that’s just not true for the country as a whole. And then they need to do something about it.

I STILL sometimes see people argue that Trump's victory is the fault of Democrats for not being good enough at messaging, and not making it clear enough to Americans all the good Biden was doing.

I knew. Lots of people I know knew. I don't have a secret line to the white house. I'm around average intelligence. I'm not excessively seeking out news, constantly getting news updates. And yet I knew. And so did many others. The information was there for you to get at any time. It found its way to me without my actively seeking it out. Kamala Harris cannot personally come to your house and slap the tiktok out of your hands. You have to take a crumb of responsibility here.

[shorthaltsjester]

oh other minuscule moment from the finale that actually gutted me was the moment after the accord were figuring out what cities would welcome the refuges, and matt voiced some random diplomat saying byroden would offer the refugees and laura’s choice to have vex speak up and offer whitestone in response to that but THEN after opal speaking up and being like ! who is from byroden? and idrk if it was intentional on laura’s part but her body language was kind of taken aback like she found the question jarring but then vex still, despite the fact that she hadn’t been the one to speak up for byroden and is acting in her capacity as one of whitestone’s leaders during that moment, does choose to affirm that she’s from byroden. head in hands. twins from byroden save me. save me twins from byroden.

like god it makes me especially insane because vex married the I Live As Long as Whitestone Lives man who cares so deeply about the roots that tie people to the places they come from and the fact that part of percy’s speech to keyleth in that moment points out that the notion of being form nowhere because your home was destroyed is a terrible notion and that vex, who at that point in canon, was from a place that was destroyed always makes me emotional. and then fucking aabria decided to casually mention in exu when they visited byrodin that not only is there a statue to vax and vex but that in their festival there’s a whitestone colourgaurd. and just . listen man. ill start losing it if i think about vex’s growth and the way her role as a diplomatic figure in exandria is sooooo compelling as her like. End Role. bc like. it’s her, this character who struggled with forgiveness consistently, taking on a role that requires her committment to the notion that things can always be repaired if not replaced, and it echoes her personal relationships too; her hometown as a place that holds pieces of whitestone on their celebratory days, syngorn as a place that has seemingly improved its diplomatic role in exandria as vex has also improved her relationship with her father. it just makes me insane man.

[tragedy-of-commons]

HI GWENNIE !!! here for the event hehe

may i req honeysuckle + ebullience + serendipity for dan heng? 🤍

HONEYSUCKLE:  they’re making it a point to show you just how much you mean to them.

ebullience  —  a boiling or bubbling up; (figuratively) the quality of enthusiastic or lively expression of feelings and thoughts.

serendipity  —  a combination of events which have come together by chance to make a surprisingly good or wonderful outcome.

modern au but it's not obvious, fluff and mush, dan heng is whipped, so is reader, kinda fits the dahlia prompt better but shhh

“It’s fine. We don’t have to go.”

In response to Dan Heng’s reassurance, you snap your neck around to face him like an affronted owl. By the expression quickly making its way onto his countenance, he seems to regret ever speaking up, his brow pinched together in contrition and his fingers twitching as if to physically take the statement back.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you scoff, voice light. “You went out of your way to make dinner reservations on the most romantic day of the year, months in advance. Cancelling is out of the question. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You must remain resolute. Today is Valentine’s Day, and after all of the cursory couple activities that you’ve dragged your boyfriend to, you’re more than worn out. Normally you’d be bouncing off the wall in excitement at the prospect of dinner - food is the best - and you rarely go out with Dan Heng as it is! However, it’s apparent you’ve already expended all of your daily stamina.

You can’t shirk his thoughtful gesture just because you’re tired! And you’ve told him as much, which is why you’re both here, lingering near the front door in reluctant date attire.

“It’s not entirely about me,” he tells you, watching with crystalline discontent as you stalk over to him. You fidget with the silver necklace resting over his shirt while he continues. “And to be transparent, I’m not exactly looking forward to it either. I made the reservations because I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I do appreciate it! I love restaurants…” you lament. Dan Heng sighs, breath ghosting your face.

He’s really close now, and it makes you feel even worse about not feeling your best. You decide to cup his cheek in your palm while he leans into your touch, even if he’s normally embarrassed to accept such things from you. At least you’re in private. 

“But you’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. These circumstances are less than ideal.”

His reasoning is sound, and you groan, perching your chin on his shoulder, melding chest to chest with him. However, you make no move to embrace your partner, instead letting your arms hang loosely by your sides like a dejected ragdoll.

“Yeah… but I don’t want to waste the night.”

“Maybe we don’t have to.”

You blink, pulling back to level with him. “I’m listening.”

And to your surprise, Dan Heng leads you outside anyway. If you’re not going to the restaurant, then pray tell, where the hell are you going? The streets aren’t pitch black just yet - you have the periodic lampposts and sinking sun to thank for that - but you’re still perplexed. You wave to one of your neighbors as you pass his house, a very friendly old man that, earlier in the day, was giving out free bouquets to any passing couples. You remember shoving a bundle of tulips in Dan Heng’s arms while he held back an earth-shattering sneeze.

Man, you are tired. You’re not even energized enough to break from your boyfriend’s side and start up a thirty minute chat about life as humanity knows it with the neighbor! What is the world coming to? Terrible, awful, no good.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” you yawn.

“...No.”

“Really? ‘Cause you sound dangerously close to cracking.”

He pulls a face at you. You’ve learned that Dan Heng is good at keeping secrets - especially his own - but he’s a horrible liar. One time he was attempting to fib to you about what his plans were for your shared anniversary (he had none, he’d claimed), but his ears were tipped an endearing, entirely telling red. 

Also, it’s like his tongue sometimes fistfights his brain. The man you’re in love with doesn’t stutter or trip over his words very often, but he can get hesitant and lock up for an indefinite period of time. So you’re really excited - despite your low battery - that he’s going to surprise you. You know he can do it! 

Dan Heng doesn’t have to reply. The conversation has lulled into a comfortable silence, anyway; the kind of quiet that really brings out the love you harbor for one another. If you were side-by-side with anyone else, walking to some unknown destination, you’d force a cheerful smile on your face, and perhaps a bizarre non sequitur out of your mouth, desperate to keep up the banter. 

But with him, you don’t have to. You can be tired all you want without fear of being pestered by well-meaning questions or concerned glances. And Dan Heng, in turn, can say everything without saying anything.

It’s truly bliss, this life. 

“We’re almost there,” he remarks, taking an abrupt right turn. You only stop for a moment before doubling your pace to catch up, the brisk temperature coaxing you forward. “Sorry for the walk.” 

You snort. “If you’re sorry, then I must be doing something wrong.”

You can’t say you’ve ever been this way. Groceries, work, leisure - it’s all reached by taking a left, not this fantastical right. But you’re not complaining! It’s nice out, golden hour is dwindling, and all of the possible yet abundant circumstances that’ve led you to this very moment drift by in your mind like shooting stars. 

Dan Heng halts in front of what seems to be a small park. It’s contained by a chain link fence, boasts a couple of tall oaks, and is connected by a bunch of sprawling concrete paths. 

You deflate.

He turns to gaze at you, taking note of your indifference. The sky is now briefly turning a magenta color in anticipation of total sunset, bathing him in a mild warmth that will soon give way to cool in a matter of minutes. It wholly suits him.

“Is something wrong? We can go home.”

“No, idiot,” you laugh, limply shooting your arms out and gesturing to the grassy landscape, “It’s perfect. I didn’t even know we had a park in this neighborhood. How long have you been keeping this place a secret?”

Dan Heng lets you link pinkies with him as you begin the (not so perilous) journey through the green. It’s nothing like how dinner would’ve been - no clinking glasses or endless noise. It’s so peaceful. 

“Not a secret,” he sighs, “but on one of my walks I discovered the area. I was waiting for an opportunity to share it with you, believe it or not. Tonight fits the bill well.”

You hum in response, falling back into silence. The cue is understood and honored without a beat skipped, as it often goes. For the next hour or so, you stroll through the park with your other half. Nighttime descends and quickly shadows all the tempting wildflowers you’d normally pluck from the ground and take home, but you find yourself content.

I love you, your hand says as it engulfs Dan Heng’s.

I love you too, his replies ardently as it squeezes back.

event post here. network members only!

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 7) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕) #wc: 4.1k

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @jessnotwiththemess @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @mufasathatniggatho @kaylalb

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

The Bernabéu is buzzing with its usual electric energy, but Leila's mind is somewhere else entirely. Carlo's got Aurélien playing as 14 again even though everyone and their mama knows he's better at midfielder, and her phone keeps lighting up with messages from William.

Things with Will are better now – easier somehow since their honest conversation. He's back to sending her memes that make her laugh, pictures of his day-to-day life in London, even some truly terrible dad jokes that shouldn't be as funny as they are. It's nice. Normal. Like they've found some kind of balance.

Except.

Except Aurélien's been taking her on dates every night this week, each one more thoughtful than the last. No more riddles, but plenty of moments that make her heart forget how to beat properly. The 'A' pendant catches the stadium lights when she shifts, a constant reminder of... something. Not quite a claim, but definitely a statement.

She touches it absently as Aurélien makes a run down the field. He's been wearing his heart on his sleeve lately – bringing her coffee before she can make it, leaving little notes in her planner, finding reasons to touch her when no one's looking.

Her phone buzzes again:

Will: Tell Aurél trying to play 14 is criminal

Will: Man's wasted there and Carlo knows it

She smiles despite herself because he's not wrong. But then Aurélien glances up at where she's sitting, that soft smile he reserves just for her making her chest tight, and...

And maybe some choices make themselves.

The final whislte blew, and the 1-3 scoreline feels heavy in the air as Leila watches Aurélien trudge off the pitch. She's already drafting notes about temporarily blocking Divisé Media – the "fans" on there are going to be brutal, and she's seen enough racism in La Liga to know exactly what's coming.

It wasn't even his worst performance, nowhere near it. But he wasn't the Aurélien she knows he can be, wasn't hitting that level that makes other teams fear him, and these so-called Madridistas will use any excuse to spew their hate. They don't care that he's got a whole media room in his house dedicated to Real Madrid history. Don't care about the way his eyes light up talking about the club's legacy, or how he studies old matches like they're sacred texts.

The racist comments are already starting to flood in – she can see them on the monitors in the press room. The same tired stereotypes, the same ignorant takes, the same bullshit rumors about transfers like they're trying to push him out. As if he hasn't bled white since day one.

"You okay?" Jude asks as she aggressively types out social media blocking instructions.

"These fans..." she shakes her head, anger making her fingers tight on her tablet. "They don't deserve him."

"They don't deserve any of us," he says quietly. "But especially not him. Not when he loves this club like he does."

She thinks about the vintage Real Madrid posters in his media room, the way he touches the crest before every match like it's a blessing, how he studies Carlo's tactics like they're gospel.

Her phone buzzes – PR wanting to know how to handle the growing online abuse. Like there's any handling it. Like they haven't been fighting this same battle since forever.

But she knows one thing: she's not letting him near social media tonight.

Not when he's already beating himself up enough.

Not when these "fans" don't understand what real loyalty looks like.

Leila's waiting outside the locker room, already having sent emails to their social team about monitoring comments, when Aurélien finally emerges. His shoulders are carrying the weight of the loss, and she can see he's already in his head about it.

"Don't," she says before he can speak. "Give me your phone."

"Ma puce–"

"Phone. Now."

He hands it over without argument, which tells her exactly how bad he's feeling. Normally he'd at least pretend to fight her on it.

"It wasn't that bad," she tries, but he just gives her a look.

"I played like shit."

"You played out of position."

"I played like I forgot what football was." His voice is tight with frustration. "Did you see the comments yet?"

"No, and neither will you." She's already changing his social media passwords. "Not tonight."

"They're right though–"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear to God..." She steps in front of him, making him look at her. "You love this club more than anyone I know. One bad game doesn't change that."

His eyes find the 'A' pendant at her throat, something softening in his expression. "You're too good to me."

"No, I just know your worth." She reaches up to straighten his collar, a habit she can't break. "Unlike these keyboard warriors who've probably never touched a football in their lives."

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Take me home?"

The way he says it – soft, vulnerable – makes her heart squeeze. "Of course. But first..."

She pulls out the protein shake she made earlier, the one with extra everything because she knew he'd need it.

"What would I do without you?" he murmurs, taking the bottle.

"Let's not find out."

Because these "fans" might not deserve him, but she's starting to think she might.

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

The drive to his house is quiet, Madrid streets emptier than usual like even the city knows to give him space. Leila's behind the wheel because he's too in his head to drive, his fingers absently playing with the pendant she's wearing. Every now and then his phone lights up with notifications she's glad he can't see.

"Want me to make you something?" she asks as they pull into his driveway. "Your mama's chicken soup recipe?"

He shakes his head but his hand finds hers across the console. "Just… stay? For a bit?"

The vulnerability in his voice makes her chest tight. This is a different Aurélien from the one who's been romancing her all week – no smooth lines or careful plans, just raw need for comfort.

Inside, Ocho greets them with his usual enthusiasm, picking up on his dad's mood and pressing close. They end up on the couch, Aurélien's head in her lap while she runs her fingers through his curls. She can feel the tension slowly leaving his body.

"The next match-" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Is not tonight's problem." Her nails scratch his scalp gently. "Tonight we rest."

"We?"

"Yes, we." She tries not to think too hard about how natural this feels. "Someone has to make sure you actually sleep instead of watching match footage all night."

His laugh is quiet but real. "Taking care of me, ma puce?"

"Always."

The word slips out before she can catch it, heavy with meaning neither of them is quite ready to address. His hand finds hers again, bringing it to his lips.

"Thank you," he murmurs against her skin.

And maybe some choices really do make themselves.

They stay like that for a while, Ocho curled at their feet, the city lights casting soft shadows through his ridiculous windows. She's still running her fingers through his curls when his breathing starts to even out, the stress of the match finally catching up to him.

"We should get you to bed," she says softly.

"Stay," he mumbles, already half asleep. "Please."

And lord, the way he says it – all vulnerability and trust – makes something in her chest squeeze tight.

"Aurélien…"

"Just to sleep." His eyes open, finding hers. "I'll behave."

She should say no. Should maintain some kind of professional boundaries. Should remember she's technically still keeping her options open even though her heart's pretty much made its choice.

"I don't have clothes," she tries weakly.

"Top drawer. My t-shirts." His thumb traces patterns on her wrist. "Unless you're scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of admitting this is more than just dates and gifts."

The way he says it – direct but gentle – makes her pause. Because he's right. This stopped being just anything a while ago.

"One condition," she finally says.

"Anything."

"No match analysis until morning."

His smile is soft, real. "Deal."

They make their way upstairs, Ocho trailing behind them like he's supervising. She pauses at his bedroom door, a thought suddenly hitting her.

"These better be new sheets." At his raised eyebrow, she clarifies, "You know, because of..." she waves her hand vaguely, "all your visitors."

His laugh is unexpected. "It's a new bed, actually. New everything."

"What happened to the old one?"

"Got rid of it." He runs a hand through his curls, almost shy. "When you were in Georgia. Wanted... a fresh start."

Oh.

Oh.

"You got a whole new bed?"

"And sheets." He steps closer, fingers finding the 'A' at her throat. "I told you I was serious."

And really, what is she supposed to say to that? To this man who's apparently out here buying new furniture just to prove a point?

"Top drawer?" she manages, and his smile is soft with understanding.

"Top drawer."

And maybe this should feel weird – changing into his Madrid training shirt that smells like him, climbing into his ridiculous bed after taking the world's fastest shower. Maybe she should feel nervous when he slides in next to her, all warm skin and easy smiles.

But instead it just feels… right.

Even if she's not ready to admit why.

Not yet.

Dreams hit different when they become reality. Leila's been imagining what it would feel like to wake up in Aurélien's arms for months now, but her imagination didn't do this justice. He's got her in what's basically a headlock, one arm under her neck while the other's wrapped around her waist, but she's never felt more comfortable in her life.

His training shirt's ridden up during the night, leaving her stomach exposed to where his fingers are splayed across her skin. The heat of his touch makes her whole body warm, especially with how his basketball shorts are barely containing her curves. She should probably feel self-conscious about that, about how much of her is pressed against him, but there's something too perfect about this moment for insecurity.

Every breath he takes moves through her too, his chest pressed against her back like he's trying to eliminate any space between them. His face is buried in her neck, those curls she loves tickling her skin, and she can feel the steady thump of his heart.

This is dangerous.

This kind of comfort, this kind of intimacy – it makes her want things she's not sure she's ready for. Makes her think about mornings like this stretching into forever. Makes her forget about keeping options open or playing it safe.

His fingers flex against her skin and she knows he's waking up. Knows she should probably try to put some distance between them, try to maintain some kind of boundaries.

Instead, she finds herself melting further into his embrace.

Some choices really do make themselves.

Even at seven in the morning.

"You think too loud," his voice rumbles against her neck, still rough with sleep. Instead of loosening his hold, he somehow pulls her closer.

"I'm not thinking," she lies, very aware of how his thumb is now drawing lazy circles on her stomach.

"Mhm." His lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her toes curl. "So you weren't just having a whole internal crisis about this feeling too good?"

"How did you-"

"Because I know you, ma puce." He presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Know how your brain works. Always analyzing, always worried about what comes next."

She should probably be offended that he reads her so well, but it's hard to focus when his hand is sliding higher under her (his) shirt, fingers tracing her ribs like he's mapping territory.

"Aurélien…"

"Just feel," he murmurs. "Stop thinking about William, about boundaries, about what this means. Just be here with me."

The fact that he knows exactly what's running through her head should probably scare her. Instead, it just makes something in her chest warm.

"I need to get up," she tries. "Make your protein shake, check your schedule-"

"Five more minutes." His lips are doing devastating things to her neck. "The world can wait."

And really, how is she supposed to argue with that?

Especially when he's right – the world can wait. This moment can't.

He turns her in his arms, and any thoughts of protein shakes or schedules evaporate when his mouth finds hers. This kiss is different from their others – maybe because of the intimacy of morning, maybe because of how his hands feel on her bare skin, maybe because she's wanted this for so long she's forgotten how to want anything else.

The sound he makes when she tugs his curls experimentally – somewhere between a groan and her name – shoots straight through her. His response is to trail kisses down her neck, finding spots she didn't even know were sensitive until his lips discovered them.

When he hits a particular spot under her jaw, she can't help the moan that escapes. She feels his smile against her skin before he returns to that spot with more purpose, like he's cataloging her reactions for future reference.

Her inexperienced self is definitely not prepared for how this feels, for the way his hands span her waist, for how natural it feels to arch into his touch-

And then Ocho barks.

Of course he does.

Aurélien pulls back with a muttered curse, but Leila sends up a silent prayer of thanks because if they'd kept going… she was about five seconds from making some questionable decisions.

"Putain," he sucks his teeth, forehead pressed against hers. "I'm gonna let him out real quick. Don't move."

The command in his voice makes her shiver, but she also needs this moment to remember how to breathe properly.

Some interruptions are blessings in disguise.

As soon as Aurélien disappears with Ocho, Leila's up and in his bathroom, splashing cold water on her face like it might help her racing thoughts. The mirror shows her exactly what she feared – swollen lips, marks forming on her neck, hair a mess from his hands.

"Get it together," she mutters to her reflection, fanning her heated face. Her body's still humming from his touch, wanting things her mind isn't quite ready for.

This is what she's wanted – being with him, waking up in his arms, feeling his kisses. But that next step? Giving him something she's never given anyone? It feels huge, especially when things aren't completely settled.

She needs to talk to William properly. Needs to make things official with Aurélien before she even thinks about taking that step. Needs to-

"I thought I said not to move?"

His voice in the doorway makes her jump. He's leaning against the frame looking entirely too good for this early, eyes dark as they track over her appearance – his shirt riding up her thighs, her kiss-bruised lips, the way she's clearly trying to calm herself down.

"I needed a minute," she manages, gripping the counter behind her.

"To overthink?" He steps into the bathroom, and suddenly the space feels much smaller. "To talk yourself out of this?"

"Aurélien..."

"Tell me what you're afraid of." His voice goes soft as he stops in front of her. "Is it me?"

"No," she says quickly, because that's one thing she's sure of. "It's... I've never..."

The change in his expression is immediate – something dark and possessive flooding his features as understanding hits. His pupils dilate, jaw clenching like he's physically restraining himself.

"You've never been with anyone."

It's not a question, but she nods anyway, heat flooding her cheeks. She watches his throat work as he swallows, notices how his fingers flex at his sides.

Lord. She thought he was possessive before, but the way he's looking at her now? Like she's something precious and tempting all at once? She might have just created a monster.

"Ma puce," his voice is rougher now, deeper. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"But you're used to-"

"I'm used to nothing that matters." His hand cups her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip with new purpose. "This? Us? Being your first?" His eyes are almost black now. "That matters."

"I need to talk to William first," she admits. "Need to make things... clear."

"I know." He presses his forehead to hers, but there's something different in his touch now – more controlled, like he's holding himself back. "And we need to do this right. No rushing."

The relief that floods through her is immediate. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile is soft but his eyes still hold that new darkness. "Though you might need to stop looking at me like that if you want me to behave."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to kiss me again. Because knowing what I know now?" He exhales sharply. "My control only goes so far."

She slips past him, very aware of how his eyes follow her movement with new intensity. At the door she pauses, looking back at him.

"Aurélien?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

His smile is everything, but there's something predatory in it now. Something that says when she's ready, when she's his, nothing will hold him back.

She's definitely created a monster.

But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

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

Making breakfast feels different with Aurélien watching her every move like she's prey. He's sitting at the kitchen island, coffee untouched, eyes tracking her as she moves around his kitchen in his clothes.

"You're staring," she says finally, cracking eggs into a bowl.

"Can't help it." His voice still holds that new edge. "Thinking about how no one's touched you. How no one's seen you like I have."

The eggs nearly slip from her hands. "Aurélien…"

"Tell me something," he leans forward, elbows on the counter. "How has no one…?"

"It just never happened." She focuses very intently on whisking. "Never felt right."

"And now?"

The question hangs heavy between them. She pours the eggs into the pan, finally meeting his gaze.

"Now feels… different. But also scary."

"Why scary?"

"Because you're…" she gestures vaguely at him, "you. With all your experience and models and-"

"Stop." He's around the counter before she can blink, caging her against it. "None of that matters. What matters is that when you're ready, when you're mine properly…" His fingers trace her jaw. "I'll make it perfect for you."

Her heart's definitely trying to escape her chest. "That's kind of the scary part."

"What is?"

"How much I want it to be you." She swallows hard. "But also… I'm not built like the girls you usually date."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Aurélien." She gestures at herself, at how his shorts are stretched across her hips. "I'm not exactly model size. And when people find out about us…" She trails off, thinking about the headlines, the social media comments, the inevitable comparisons.

"Look at me." His voice is firm. "You really think I care about that?"

"The media will."

"Fuck the media." His hands find her waist, spanning it possessively. "You're exactly my type. Always have been."

"But-"

"No buts." He pulls her closer. "You think I haven't noticed every curve? Haven't thought about how perfect you'd feel under me? How much I want to-"

"The eggs are burning," she cuts him off, face flaming.

He lets her turn back to the stove but stays pressed against her back. "We're not done talking about this."

"About my virginity or my insecurities?"

"Both." His lips find her neck. "Because clearly you don't see what I see."

"And what's that?"

"Perfection." His hands slide down to her hips. "Curves that drive me crazy. Intelligence that challenges me. And the fact that no one's touched you?" His grip tightens, the sound he makes is almost primitive. "Makes me want to show you exactly how perfect you are."

"Aurélien…"

"When you're ready," he promises. "When everything's settled. When you're officially mine."

The possessiveness in his voice should probably worry her. Instead, it makes her feel… safe? Wanted?

"The eggs are definitely burning now."

His laugh is warm against her skin. "Let them. We'll order in."

"You have training-"

"We have time."

And maybe that's what she needed to hear.

That he wants all of her – curves, inexperience, insecurities and all.

His breath is hot against her ear as he pulls her back against his chest, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes her knees weak.

"Let me tell you how this is going to go," he murmurs, one hand splayed across her stomach. "The first time? I'll be gentle. Take care of you properly." She can barely breathe, especially when his lips brush her ear with his next words: "But after that? You'll never ache for another dick besides mine."

The crude promise sends heat straight through her. Before she can process it, he's straightening up, moving away from her, and licking his lips in a way that should be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"We need to stop by your apartment before training." His eyes are dark with promise. "Get you proper clothes."

And then – lord have mercy – he actually smacks her ass before turning off the stove and heading upstairs to get dressed, leaving her gripping the counter for support.

Her virgin self is definitely not equipped for this new possessive Aurélien.

The Ethiopian pop-up restaurant is exactly the kind of place William would've taken Leila – all warm ambiance and cultural significance. But tonight he's here with Kemi, the journalist he met some weeks ago, and something about it feels… right.

He'd found her card while cleaning out his wallet, remembered how easy their conversation had flowed that day. The text was casual: Heard about this Ethiopian spot. Thought you might want to check it out?

Her response was quick but measured: As friends?

And honestly? That's exactly what he needs right now. Because yeah, he likes Leila – how could he not? But he's not blind. He sees how she looks at Aurélien, recognizes a battle that was lost before it began.

The restaurant itself is a masterpiece of pop-up ingenuity. Traditional mesobs dot the space, these intricately woven tables that make sharing food intimate but casual. The aroma of berbere and fresh coffee fills the air.

"Have you had Ethiopian before?" Kemi asks as they settle at their mesob.

"A few times in London. You?"

"My best friend is Ethiopian. Her mama practically raised me on doro wat." She smiles at his impressed look. "What? Surprised a journalist knows her food?"

"Surprised you're not taking notes for an article."

Her laugh is warm, genuine. "Not everything is a story, William."

The way she says his name – not Wilo, not Saliba – feels refreshing.

Their server brings out a spread that makes his nutritionist's stress levels spike from miles away: doro wat rich with complex spices, tender kitfo that melts on the tongue, various wots arranged like art on fresh injera bread.

"The trick," Kemi demonstrates, tearing off a piece of injera, "is to get the perfect ratio of bread to sauce."

She's right – the flavors explode when balanced properly. It's the kind of food that demands presence, attention.

"You know," she says as they share another piece of injera, "it's okay to take time."

"Time?"

"To heal. To move forward." Her eyes are knowing. "To let go."

And maybe that's what this is – not letting go of Leila exactly, but of the idea of her. Of what could have been if timing and hearts had aligned differently.

"You're pretty wise for a journalist," he teases.

"And you're pretty honest for a footballer." She wipes her fingers delicately. "Most would pretend they're fine."

"Are we having a therapy session over Ethiopian food?"

"Maybe." Her smile is gentle. "Or maybe I just recognize someone who needs a friend."

The server brings more injera, and they fall into easy conversation about everything and nothing – his childhood in France, her dreams of writing a novel, their shared love of art house films that make their friends fall asleep.

"This is nice," he says finally. "Just… this."

"Being friends?"

"Being real."

She nods, understanding. "No pressure to be anything else."

"Exactly."

They finish the meal with traditional coffee. Something in his chest has loosened, like he can breathe properly again.

"Thank you," he says as they walk out into the London night.

"For what?"

"For making it easy. To just… be."

Her smile is worth everything. "That's what friends are for."

He'll always care about Leila, but maybe it's time to care about his own heart too.

Starting with friendship. The rest can wait.

Sometimes the best endings are really beginnings in disguise.

...................tbd

[folkwhoreberry]

Amongst Demigods

Flirting With Fate

f1 x reader

or... the one where there are five ways to steal a heart

word count : 999

warning : suggestive jokes, english is not my first language!!!

check masterlist for more parts of this series!!

🏛️🏎️

weeks had passed since you’ve first stepped foot in camp half-blood, and you were starting to feel more settled.

you weren’t sure when it happened, but the chaos of the hermes cabin, the intensity of training, and the never-ending questions about your godly parent had become… normal. what you didn’t expect was the new kind of chaos - one involving a certain group of demigods who seemed to always be around.

——————

lando was the first. you weren’t sure how it happened, but the two of you had started spending a lot of time together. it started innocently enough: races by the lake, where he always insisted he was faster because of his sea legs, which you told him wasn’t a thing.

“come on, admit it,” he’d say, grinning as he caught up to you after another race, “you just like the view.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time he flashed that smile. “sure, the view of you eating my dust.”

“oh, dust is it now? I was more thinking of you checking out-“

“shut up, lando.”

he’d laugh, but it was never mean-spirited. you’d end up sitting by the water afterward, legs dangling into the cool lake, talking about everything from your messed-up childhoods to how he still couldn’t swim properly, despite being the son of poseidon. you weren’t really sure what you were, but lando had a way of pulling you in, making you forget everything else.

——————

then, there was charles. sweet, golden, frustratingly perfect charles. he was a natural charmer, but not in the way you’d expect from a son of apollo. he’d always find you after archery practice, usually while you were nursing another terrible shot.

“need help?” he’d ask, leaning against the target, his bow slung lazily over his shoulder.

“if I say yes, will you stop being so smug about it?” you quipped, though you always accepted his help.

he’d stand close behind you, his hands gently guiding yours, his breath warm against your ear as he gave tips.

“just relax, focus on the target, and let go when you feel it’s right.”

you’d let go, but the arrow almost never hit the target.

“I think you’re distracting me,” you muttered one day after yet another failed shot.

“maybe I am,” he replied, a playful smirk on his lips.

you laughed it off, but it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever charles was around. he had a way of looking at you, like you were the only person in camp, even when you were surrounded by people.

——————

oscar was different. quiet, thoughtful, but somehow always knowing exactly what to say when you were feeling overwhelmed. you’d started to catch him watching you during lessons, his eyes following you with a sort of quiet curiosity.

“what?” you’d ask, after catching him staring one too many times.

“nothing, just… you’re interesting.”

“interesting how?”

he’d just smile, shrugging as if he wasn’t going to answer, but there was always something behind that smile that made you wonder what he was thinking. the two of you had started to spend more time together, mostly during strategy lessons or sparring sessions, where he was always more tactical than aggressive. it was different with oscar. where lando was playful and charles charming, oscar made you feel like he saw you, like there was something more between the lines.

——————

daniel, though - daniel was chaos. pure, unfiltered, ares-born chaos. he had a way of turning every situation into a joke, a flirtation, a game.

“you know,” he said one day, tossing you a sword during practice, “there’s something about watching you swing a sword that’s…”

“don’t even finish that sentence,” you warned, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“what? it’s impressive! who knew you could be so… deadly?” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you almost dropped the sword from laughing too hard.

but then, daniel would catch you off guard. in between the jokes and teasing, there were moments where he’d be serious, like after a particularly hard fight when you were frustrated and ready to quit. he’d walk up, offering you a hand, his usual grin softened.

“you’ve got this,” he’d say, no jokes, no teasing. just simple, genuine support.

it was those moments that made you wonder if there was more to daniel than the laughter and flirting.

——————

and then… franco. he was the wildcard, the son of eros who always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin - in the best way. he’d drop by during meals, sliding into the seat next to you with that infuriatingly charming smile.

“hey,” he’d say, his voice soft but with a teasing edge, “have you always been this gorgeous, or is it just today?”

“franco,” you’d groan, rolling your eyes, but he’d just laugh, leaning in a little closer.

“what? I’m just saying, the gods clearly have a favorite.”

he had a way of making you feel special, even when you didn’t want to admit it. there was something about him, something that made your heart race when he got too close, his hand brushing yours in the most casual, accidental way possible.

“you’re impossible,” you’d tell him one day, after he’d successfully distracted you from an entire lesson just by sitting too close.

“impossible to resist, maybe,” he shot back, his grin wide as ever.

“ugh, franco.”

he’d laugh, but there was a tenderness behind his playful words, a softness that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t all games after all.

——————

and so, here you were - caught in the middle of this strange, confusing, and slightly chaotic situation with lando, charles, oscar, daniel, and franco, each of them pulling you in different directions, each with their own way of making you feel something more than just a friend.

you weren’t sure how it happened, but something was definitely happening.

————————————————————————————

@briefkittenearthquake @colpenter

a/n : wrote this during three five minute drives and lunch where I didn’t eat nothing bc fuck tummy ache🫶🏻

[slcmml]

teacher! schlatt & reader. fluff.

★ it starts with curiosity. schlatt isn’t the type to seek out friendships with coworkers, but something about you intrigues him. you’re quiet but not standoffish, reserved but not boring. he catches himself lingering outside your classroom, peeking in to see what weird art project your students are working on. he’ll lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and drawl, “whatcha teachin’ ‘em today? finger painting?” just to see you get all shy.

★ he teases you constantly. he lives for your flustered little reactions, smirking when you avoid eye contact or mumble a response. but it’s never mean—just his way of pulling you out of your shell. “y’know, i never hear you raise your voice. what do you do when a kid misbehaves? stare ‘em down ‘til they repent?” you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward, and that’s how he knows he’s won.

★ he’s a bit of a mystery to you? schlatt is loud. and cocky. and a nuisance. but you notice things others don’t—how he never lingers at staff parties, how he prefers one on one conversations over big group settings, how he sometimes looks genuinely relieved when he steps into your quiet classroom after a long day.

★ the staff definitely has a bet going on. teachers love gossip, and your odd relationship is prime material. “they have to be dating.” “no way, they’re just ‘really close coworkers’.” meanwhile, you and schlatt are completely oblivious to the speculation, too caught up in your own little world of being fucking idiots.

★ he lowkey tries to impress you. if you ever mention finding a topic interesting, suddenly that becomes the focus of his next class. “yeah, so today’s lesson is about bioluminescence. which is pretty cool, i guess. not that anyone asked, but y’know, some people might find it interesting.” literally only does this for class so he can tell you about it later.

★ you start to pick up on his social battery? i mean, despite how extroverted he acts, you notice he sometimes disappears during lunch breaks or avoids crowded teacher’s meetings. at first, you assume he just doesn’t care, but one day, you find him sitting alone in his empty classroom, quietly grading papers. you hesitate before stepping in, holding up a coffee. “thought you might want a break.” he looks at you, then at the coffee, then back at you, before exhaling. “you’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

★ he’s weirdly protective of you. if another teacher tries to talk over you in a staff meeting? he immediately cuts in, backing you up without hesitation. if a student’s giving you a hard time? suddenly schlatt’s popping his head into your room like, “need me to send someone out? jus’ say the word.”

★ neither of you realize you’re basically dating? you spend so much time together, fall into so many easy conversations, and yet, neither of you quite acknowledge what’s happening.

★ schlatt probably teases you about how “art can’t be that hard” almost all the time.

★ at some point you finally call his bluff and tell him to sit down and prove it. he tries to act all nonchalant, but he’s secretly a little nervous because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.

★ he’s stiff at first. when you hand him a brush, he just kind of stares at it like he’s holding a foreign object. “alright, what am i s’posed to do? jus’... start wavin’ this thing around?”

★ he’s used to precise measurements and structured formulas, so the whole “just go with the flow” thing throws him off.

★ his grip on the brush is terrible, so without thinking, you reach over and adjust his fingers. the second your hands touch, he freezes. you don’t even notice, too focused on correcting his technique, but schlatt is sitting there, completely distracted by the fact that you’re this close to him.

★ he keeps sneaking glances at you. while you’re explaining different brushstrokes, he’s barely listening—just watching the way your face lights up when you talk about art. at one point, you lean in to demonstrate something, and he swears his brain short-circuits for a second.

★ he’s terrible at painting, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. his first attempt looks like absolute garbage—uneven strokes, weird colors, a total mess. but when he turns to you all smug like, “pretty good, huh?” you just smile softly and say, “it’s… unique.” (he knows that means it’s bad.)

★ he actually listens when you correct him. for all his teasing, schlatt really does take your advice seriously. when you gently tell him to loosen up his strokes or blend the colors more naturally, he follows your instructions without argument. he won’t admit it, but hearing you talk so passionately about something makes him want to try—even if it’s just to impress you a little.

★ you wipe paint off his face without thinking. at some point, he manages to get a streak of paint on his cheek. without thinking, you reach up and swipe it off with your thumb. you don’t even realize what you’ve done until you notice he’s completely silent. when you finally look at him, his ears are bright red. “uh—” he clears his throat. “thanks.”

★ he insists you keep his first painting. he knows it’s bad, you know it’s bad, but he shoves it into your hands anyway. “frame it. tell people it’s modern art or somethin’.” you laugh, but later that night, you do end up keeping it. it’s terrible, but it’s his, and for some reason, that makes it special.

★ the whole thing just feels a lot more intimate than either of you expected. it’s just painting, but there’s something about the quiet closeness, the shared laughter, and the little moments of eye contact that make your heart race. neither of you say anything about it, but after that day, something between you shifts—like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing was never really about painting at all.

★ ANYWAY YOU BOTH ARE FUCKING LOSERS BECAUSE LIKE CHARLIE YOU BOTH ARE TOO PUSSY TO TELL EACH OTHER YOU WANNA SWAP SPIT JUST FUCK ALREADY I DON’T FUCKING KNOW

© slcmml

[until-the-house-shakes]

Slip ups

Wolfstar raising Regulus/ Werewolf! Regulus

Microfic

-

Regulus didn’t mean for this title to become a regular thing. It genuinely started as an accidental slip up, and he was far too embarrassed to correct anyone. Plus, the idea of having others believe that Remus and Sirius were his dads instead of his actual birth parents, didn’t seem that awful to him.

As long as Remus and Sirius never found out. Because if they did, they would be over the top obnoxious about it.

-

The first slip up happened the first night at Hogwarts. Him and his new roommates were sharing small details about their lives. Barty went on about how awful his father was, and how he planned on being a much better Ravenclaw than he ever was. Evan talked about his twin sister and how he was happy they were put in the same house so he can keep an eye on her. Regulus then started to talk about Sirius and Remus, and didn’t even realize the titles he gave them until Barty spoke up.

“Wow, your dads are young. How were they even allowed to adopt you?” It was an innocent enough question, but still made Regulus beyond flustered. “Oh uh… well.. they.. it’s complicated but they’re basically my dads so… enough questions.”

The conversation then took a turn to special interests and Regulus honestly couldn’t remember what else happened that night, but ‘dads’ stuck to him like a parasite.

-

The second slip up was less mortifying, but maybe because it was also much more private than the first. It happened in the hospital wing after an accidental potion mishap. Barty was certain he knew how much fluxweed he needed to add to the polyjuice potion, but in the end, added way too much and the cauldron exploded. Thankfully nothing terrible happened, just a few burns on Regulus’ arm that Madam Pompfrey could easily heal.

“I will have to call your guardians about this. But I’m sure Mr. Lupin already knows.” Madam Pompfrey stated as he wrapped up the last of Regulus’ burns. “Great. More reasons for dad to flip out about my safety. You know he won’t even let me try out for quidditch? How unfair is that!” Regulus was so absorbed in his own pity party he didn’t even catch the title he called Remus.

Quidditch has been an ongoing fight between the three Lupin boys since the second day of school. Sirius and Regulus believe it would be a wonderful thing for Regulus to try out for, seeing as he’s been flying on a broom since last year (and really needed the friends), but Remus is far too concerned about the young werewolf’s safety. Regulus likes that Remus cares about him, makes him feel a type of love that his birth parents never gave him, but he was starting to cross a line of over protective that was annoying Regulus. He just wanted to play quidditch. Where is the harm in that?

“I see where your dad is coming from, love. He was in the hospital wing for your other father and Mr. Potter every other day due to a quidditch injury. It’s a dangerous sport.” Madam Pompfrey laughed, sending out a patronus for the DADA professor.

Regulus didn’t realize what they were calling Remus and Sirius until Promfrey said ‘other father’. Once it was clear, Regulus was bright red and quickly stuttering out “Don’t tell him I called him dad. Please. He’ll be a right prat about it.” The young kid groaned, feeling very embarrassed about their previous conversation.

The medi-witch only giggled and promised to keep their conversation a secret for the time being.

-

Months flew past and soon enough it was winter break, and Regulus only had very few ‘slip ups’ since the day in the medical wing. It wasn’t like Regulus was embarrassed to see Remus and Sirius as his dads, he just knew those two would be over dramatic about it, especially his brother, and he was never in the mood to deal with such theatrics.

Sadly, he definitely had to deal with ‘such theatrics’ soon.

It was the morning after a full, and Regulus woke up in the backyard of Sirius’ house surrounded by his brother’s closest friends. Remus was back to his normal self, but Sirius, James, and Peter were still in their animagus forms. It was pretty entertaining to see Wormy sleeping in the antlers of Prongs, while Padfoot was laid on top of Remus as a blanket.

Regulus tried to get up from the hard ground, but his plans were quickly foiled the second he placed any pressure on his left foot.

“Fuck!” The pained cry woke up all the adults around him, but Regulus didn’t care much about their comfort when his leg felt as if it just snapped in half. Why did it hurt so badly? He never was in this much pain after a full moon. What the fuck happened last night?

“Cub, it’s okay. You’re okay. What happened?” Remus instantly was at Regulus’ side. Carrying the small boy inside to safety. Even though the young werewolf didn’t remember, Remus was all too aware that last night was an awful moon. His cub kept fighting with Padfoot, and then became hyper aware of some scratch on his leg. Despite all the adults trying their hardest to keep the cub from tearing his leg apart, there were still a ton of scratches and a few large bite marks left on his poor cub.

“My leg hurts! I tried.. I tried putting pressure on it.. and I fell. It hurts so bad dad. I can’t.. I can’t” Regulus cried out, burying his head into the safety of Remus’ neck. By this point, all the marauders were shifted back into their human forms, and bustling around the kitchen to help however they can. Peter was making breakfast, James was getting clothes for the two werewolves, and Sirius was getting potions to help fix up their kid.

But everything stopped the second Regulus said ‘Dad’.

They all knew he accidentally called Remus dad every now and again, but he never once called him that in person. Never to his face.

Sirius was trying his hardest to not cry from joy.

“I know it hurts cub. We’re going to fix it okay? I promise we’ll fix it and it won’t hurt anymore.” Remus kissed the top of Regulus’ head before graciously taking his robe from James to cover up. He then helped Regulus into his own robe and started fixing his cub up with the help of Sirius.

-

It has been hours since Regulus called Remus ‘dad’, and none of them have talked since then. Not even James can get Regulus to come out of his room for a few words, and James was by far the kid’s favorite.

“He’s probably embarrassed! It’s like calling your teacher mom. You know all about that Pads.” Peter said, trying his hardest to defuse the tension in the room. He was right. Sirius used to accidentally call Minnie ‘mom’ all the time back in school, but that still felt so much different to Regulus calling Remus ‘dad’.

Remus being called dad wasn’t even an issue! All the boys thought it was an adorable and honoring title, but Regulus seemed far too embarrass to see it like that.

“He’s a kid. Let him be embarrassed by it. I remember being that age, if I did anything embarrassing I instantly had my walls up and ready to hide for days. I’ll give him some time and when he’s ready to talk, we can talk.” Remus shrugged, meaning every word he said. He got embarrassed easily his first few years of Hogwarts, and still does even to this day. While he fully believe Regulus had nothing to be embarrassed about, he understood why his cub wanted to hide away, and wouldn’t judge him for it. He would give him time.

-

Apparently all Regulus needed was a full day by himself, because by nighttime, Sirius and Remus heard the all too familiar patter of their cub’s footsteps heading to their room.

“Reg? Is everything alright?” Sirius asked once he was sure Regulus was fully in the room with them.

“… I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you?” Came the small, broken voice of their kid. Sure, they didn’t birth him, but Regulus was their kid and nothing could change that. Hell he even shared the last name Lupin! He was theirs damnit.

“Of course you can cub.” Remus smiled, patting at the open space between him and Sirius- Regulus’ favorite spot to sleep.

A few minutes of quiet passed while Regulus got settled into bed between the two men. If Sirius didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was asleep, but before that thought could go anywhere he heard a very quiet, “night dads. Love you.”

“Night kiddo. Love you too.” Sirius smiled, allowing his eyes to close for some peaceful sleep.

“Night Cub. Love you the most.”

[antinousletmehit]

I had a TERRIBLE day so may I please have some soft antinous with his sister, like some gentle moments or smt

She sat on the floor in front of Antinous, grumbling as he awkwardly tried to braid her hair.“Ow! You’re pulling too hard!” she whined, swatting his hands away.

Antinous groaned. “Stop moving! I don’t know how to do this crap!”

She crossed her arms. “Then why are you even trying?”

“Because you look like a wild animal,” he muttered, tying the end of the braid (very poorly). “There. Done.”

She reached back, feeling the messy, lopsided disaster. She turned around and deadpanned at him. “What is this?”

Antinous smirked. “A masterpiece.”

She huffed, undid the braid, and grabbed his wrist. “Fine. If you wanna do my hair, you have to let me do yours.”

He tried to pull away. “Like hell you will—” But it was too late. She pounced onto his back, shoving his hair into a dozen tiny braids, giggling as she messed with it.

Eurymachus walked in, took one look at Antinous, and burst out laughing. Antinous sighed.

—

“Alright,” Antinous said, holding up his fists, “if you wanna fight, you gotta start with a good stance.” She mimicked him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Now,” he continued, “try to hit me.” She grinned—then immediately kicked him in the shin.

Antinous yelped and clutched his leg. “You little—that’s not how you fight!”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t kick you,” she said smugly.

Antinous glared at her, then lunged, scooping her up and dropping her into the grass. She flopped like a ragdoll.

She sat up, pouting. “That’s cheating.”

He smirked, ruffling her hair. “No, that’s winning.”

—

She sat at the table, swinging her feet as she ate. Antinous watched her for a moment before suddenly gripping her cheeks.

“Why,” he groaned, squeezing them together, “are you so damn cute?”

She made a muffled noise, trying to swat his hands away.

Eurymachus, passing by, snickered. “Cuteness aggression again?”

Antinous squished her face even tighter. “Look at her! Look at her stupid tiny face!”

She bit his hand.

Antinous yelped and jerked back. “You little—!”

She stuck out her tongue and ran off, laughing as Antinous chased after her.

—

Antinous was leaning back against the wall, exhausted, when he felt a weight press against his side. He glanced down. She had curled up next to him, her head resting against his arm, eyes closed.

He sighed. “…Great. Now I can’t move.”

Eurymachus, sitting nearby, smirked. “Aren’t you gonna shove her off?”

Antinous huffed but didn’t push her away. “Nah. She’s already annoying when she’s awake. Might as well enjoy the silence.”

But as he said that, his arm instinctively wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her steady.

Eurymachus grinned. “You’re such a softie.”

“Shut up.”

—

“Let go of me!” She kicked and thrashed, but Antinous effortlessly slung her over his shoulder.

“You threw a shoe at Melanthius,” he said flatly.

“He deserved it!”

Antinous sighed, walking through the halls while she flailed. Suitors chuckled as they passed.

“She causing trouble again?” Amphinomus asked.

Antinous rolled his eyes. “When isn’t she?”

“I’M BEING KIDNAPPED!” She shrieked.

Antinous gave her a light smack on the back. “No, you’re being carried home like the brat you are.”

She just huffed, crossing her arms.

And when he finally dropped her onto her bed, she immediately grabbed his tunic, refusing to let go.

Antinous sighed. “What now?”

She mumbled sleepily, “Don’t leave.”

He hesitated—then sat beside her, arms crossed. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m leaving.”

She just yawned and curled up next to him.

And despite his words, he stayed.

[andrewminyardslawyer]

The Golden Raven predictions/theories/a few wishful thinking

Last time I got all of them correct so we'll see how this goes! Sorry for the length, there was a lot more detail and explanations this time around lmao I've posted some of these separately and will probably add more after my reread 🤷‍♂️

- Andrew and Neil go with Kevin to Cali. To keep up the childhood friend pretence, and Kevin can't go alone. Andrew talks to Jean about Bee, that she is trustworthy. Nothing extreme but like "talk to Bee" and nothing else but Jean understands (I actually doubt this is going to happen but I think if anyone's going to convince Jean it's okay to talk to her it would be Andrew based off of Jean's thoughts from TSC). I want Wymack there but I don't think he will be with practice already started for the year and the new foxes there. A potential Kevin and Renee combo because Jean needs support and Kevin can't go alone but Andrew and Neil need to stay with the team. Either way Kevin will have someone with him, he won't be able to travel alone

- Kevin and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Talks to Jeremy more about the nest and we get more information on what Riko did to Kevin

- I hope the interview is not live or recorded, it needs to be an article and I want it to be done by Renee's mom even though I have no idea what kind of reporter she is. She would be the kindest option but I don't think we're in for a kind interview. I don't think it'll be completely disastrous though. Kevin knows what he's doing, he's going all the way to Cali specifically to support Jean, the interview is to control the rumors, I don't think it will crash and burn. The Kevin Jean conversation before/after however...

- We know Jeremy's dad is (most likely) military and military often become cops when they come back. Jeremy hides from the cops (valid. ACAB)...

- someone on the team tries joking around with Jean and does something to trigger a panic attack, like splashing him with water or something

- Jean and the Coaches post

- Jean and Shane become friends. Shane is a little chaotic (he's a goalie, comes with the territory) and gets Jean to start changing how he thinks about things, he can relax a little and have fun

- Jean baby please seriously talk to Bee

- Jean crying. Please I need him to let it out!!!

- interesting to me that Jeremy's parents make him stay at the house during the week but he's free on the weekends and during the summer. Wondering if he was missing classes and he has to stay there so they make sure he goes

- mysterious potentially dead sibling is his stepfather's biologically?

- Thanksgiving break. Cat and Laila go to one of their families, leaving Jean and Jeremy alone at the house. Jeremy is required to attend Thanksgiving dinner and Jean is invited so he's not alone and Jeremy's step dad/grandfather wants to "get to know the new teammate"

- Annalise using the term investment for Jean seems like....a Choice. Pair that with Jeremy's meticulous tracking of money and his family restricting how much he gets, it seems like Jeremy has been irresponsible with money in the past

- Jeremy family event obligation. It was mentioned that if "If the Con-gressman needed a picture-perfect family for photo ops, the Knox family was duty-bound to dress up and smile bright for an exhausting number of cameras" (congressman is his step grandfather)

- "but there's bound to be a jerk or two once you pass four kids." Once you PASS for kids. Jeremy has more than Bryson, Annalise, and one mysterious probably dead other sibling. Potentially none dead and just cut contact? Maybe took sides with Jeremy's bio dad

- Jean's parents contact him some how but honestly I think if that's going to happen it will be in the third book. I feel like that part of the story won't really start rolling until then, like publicly.

- a scene with Jeremy talking to his therapist

- I feel like Jeremy's mom didn't marry his stepfather until recentlyish. Like the thing that "tore their family apart" was their parents divorcing after whatever went down Jeremy's freshman year. Or maybe they were divorced before that but still on speaking terms and the Event changed that.

- we find out what Jeremy's stepdad actually does. We know his step grandfather is a congressman but no information about his stepdad

- more of a personal wish but I don't want Jean to drink alcohol, like ever. I want him to learn how to work through things without it, I want him to avoid it because he doesn't want to become dependent on it, doesn't want to risk it

- Jean is average at pottery at first and that frustrates him that he isn't perfect at it immediately but it helps him learn that it's ok to not be good at everything or that slow progress is more sustainable

- depending on the timeline, Jean birthday. One of the team asks him when it is and they make a thing out of it on the day. Or no one knows but the coaches have it marked and one wishes him happy birthday during practice and the team, mainly the main trio/floozies, are like why didn't you tell us ☹️ and get him a few small things

- more Elodie conversations. The trio finds out

- find out what happen with Zane and Grayson but it's because Zane gets in touch with Jean after Grayson dies and they have some sort of discussion about it

- i've seen a million theories about Jeremy's backstory but none really bring his father into it and I think we need to focus on that a little bit more. Jeremy says he doesn't like people calling him by his last name, Knox, which must be his biological fathers last name because his stepdad's name is Wilshire. And he says ' "I've never been to Europe. Dad's been stationed there a couple times, but.." He shrugged and didn't bother to elaborate.' My immediate thought was military but with his mom remarrying a man whose father is a congressman makes me think Jeremy's dad might be more in that type of work than military because how else would she be in the same sphere as a congressman's son. Maybe high level military. Anyway! Jeremy doesn't want to use his father's last name either so something definitely happened with him as well. Whether it's two different things or all the same as the "scandal" Jeremy's first year. I don't really have a set theory about it but I do think he is involved in some way

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

I'm not anywhere really near or into Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but since the second game released recently, I've seen a lot of new attention on my social medias, particularly around Henry and Hans' relationship

And I, very obviously, love queer characters and relationships, and even moreso the canon ones, so I watched the IGN video explaining how one might romance Hans in the second game

Man. I was blown away.

By now I've played a handful of rpg's and romanced a handful of npc's, but not ONCE has the dialogue and action of a confession scene ever felt quite so real and as beautifully acted

I have almost zero other context about the games or characters, yet I haven't stopped thinking about that romance scene in days

That you build up the affection and genuine care for Hans through dialogue choices feels completely non-forced, and you can tell that Hans enjoys your presence and respects you immensely. Henry gently encouraging and helping Hans when he's uncomfortable, always concerned about his wellbeing. There's such a solid foundation of mutual trust that even I, as an outside viewer, can tell that both men truly would put their lives in the others hands

And then the confession scene itself? Henry coming to say goodbye, and because of the work that has been put in to convey Henry's feelings of care and devotion for Hans, it's Hans himself who starts the conversation. He tells a story that he 'doesn't have his own words for', displaying that he's uncertain about how this might go, but knowing that it needs to be said before Henry leaves. He's both deflecting and projecting, using this story as a way to cushion the segue into his own feelings, or the blow of rejection should it come. And as Hans imagines something terrible happening to Henry, he immediately gets emotional, voice shaking, knowing he'd be unable to help

There's a small moment as Henry reassures that he'll be alright, when he places a hand on top of Hans' and this small, delightfully hopeful smile appears on Hans' face. I take this to be the moment where Hans believes that Henry has understood his story, and his way of confessing his feelings, and that Henry feels the same way about him. Then Henry stands, moving to leave and Hans' smile drops. Perhaps Henry's confidence falters here, and before he can reciprocate his true feelings and kiss him, Hans is running on adrenaline and courage and pulls Henry into the kiss instead, before he can second-guess himself

It's awkward, uncertain. Hans has this almost crushing grip on Henry like he's barely sure what he's just done, just that he couldn't let him walk away without doing something . And when Henry turns his head and steps back, noises of shock and breathlessness, Hans jumps back like he's been burned and spurned. He's stammering and stuttering out an apology, quiet and upset, unlike his usual self

Hans' body language as he turns away, making himself smaller, making more space between them than is necessary, it displays how he thinks his actions have just been perceived - that Henry doesn't feel the same way, he just ruined a perfectly good friendship, he's made himself look weak. He rubs at his mouth like he wishes he could remove the feel of Henry's lips against his own, tries apologising again, gasping for air, screws up his face in anxiety or anger for his recklessness......

Then Henry makes his own decision and speeds back over to him, pulling him into an even more crushing embrace and kiss, before they make their way over to the bed

The acting direction here in this scene is just so delectablely real . It looks and feels like I'm a fly on the wall of a real life confession, where both men are less than certain about their futures, and even less certain about how their relationship is perceived in the others eyes. Hans is visibly scared of rejection when Henry turns his back, Henry is visibly coming to terms with what he wants in this moment

The reactions are the most natural thing in the world, especially in a game that strives for realism. There was clearly a great deal of care that went into writing and directing this relationship, and with how naturally it progressed to this climax

And I think that's where the divide is for me, when I think about the romance options in BG3 or other rpgs, because there is something more flowery and shiny about those romances that I've experienced. Like they're too perfect, too polished and rehearsed, no room to have any fuck ups or moments of imperfection. But it's the awkwardness and show of non-positive emotions and reactions, rather than immediate lust and experience, that really pins the Henry and Hans scene above the rest

There's probably more I could say, and I'm sure there's more that others who know these characters and the games could say, but I just wanted to get my thoughts into some words and hope that it strikes true with someone else

I don't think I've ever seen a romance scene in a video game, that has felt so genuine as this. A thousand kudos to the actors for Hans and Henry, and the writers and directors for this marvellously curated scene ❤️

[letmereedusyou]

i'm not yours - part 10

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but you returned to being friends, right?

Aaron is throwing a birthday party in the mess hall, and Daryl asks Y/N to go for a supply run with her. The party is going great until certain someone decides to ruin it.

words: 3.5k

warnings: allusions to sexual activities, swearing

A/N: Hello, muffins! I've had a week of an absolute writer's block! I honestly could not write a singular sentence without hating it! 😫 But here I am, with the next part! Enjoy!

Read previous part: part 9

"Aaron, what the hell is all this?" you ask, stepping into the mess hall for breakfast the next day.

After the conversation last night, you spent most of the evening trying to convince Daryl that you are well enough to get out of the house and start living your normal life again. You showed him the bruises and even took a few deeper breaths to prove a point. He reluctantly agreed, even though his face said, "no way in hell, you're not ready". Reminding him about your resilience and perseverance, you ruffled his hair a little, which made him grumble and scoff, but his smirk told you he secretly enjoyed that.

Stepping closer to the boxes on the table, you looked inside and saw a lot of different decorations. There were shiny, silvery and gold chains that looked like Christmas tree decor, some colourful balloons and even some crazy string. You smile seeing everything and then look up to Aaron who stepped closer to you.

"It's for my birthday party tonight," he explained quickly and grinned ear to ear.

"Your birthday is today?" your eyebrows shoot up. You don't even remember when was the last time you celebrated your birthday. Mostly because it’s hard to track days and years without a proper calendar.

"Well, somewhere this time of the year. And here," he says, and picks up a folded card from the table and hands it to you. It was a handwritten invitation, beautiful cursive letters on the white, sturdy piece of card.

"Thanks," you smile, touching the letters. "This is amazing."

"I've got Eric to thank for that," he chuckled.

You nod understandingly. Eric was a teacher in the past life, so maybe he picked up the cursive writing from that? Although, all the teachers at your school had a terrible writing. Perhaps, it was a hobby, or he learnt it so he can create stunning Valentine's cards for Aaron. The thought made you smile — the thought of someone loving another person so much they pick up a new hobby or a skill to make them happier was quite endearing.

"Looking forward to it," you say to Aaron, patting his shoulder lightly and swinging the card in front of you.

You go to get some food from the buffet counter and then sit down at one of the tables that weren’t cluttered with boxes. You eat it quickly, so you don't get in a way of Aaron decorating, even though there were multiple people all over the place, taking their sweet time. Somehow, though, he was weaving through the crowd and making it work. Impressive. 

Your tray hits the pile of dirty ones in the corner, and then you walk out, taking a walk to the lake.

The day was cloudy and cold, so you wrap your jacket around you a little tighter, standing on the edge of the water, looking at the reflections of the sky slowly moving. Bugs and frogs around it, creating ripples in the water, distorting the image. It was kind of peaceful and quiet. The mornings in Alexandria were your favourite. Most people were still sleeping, only a few were rushing around to change the shifts on lookout tower or going on supply runs. From where you were standing, you could see Deanna already working in the garden, picking off weeds from the ground.

You stay around for a little while, just enjoying the peace, before a hand was placed on your shoulder. It made you jump and turn around quickly, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You were faced with Daryl. He quickly removed his hand and put it up in a defensive pose.

"Coming in peace," he says and puts hands down to his sides. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. I guess I have PTSD now," you huff a laugh and cross your arms on your chest. It was only a half joke. You knew that it was true - your mind turned into a fight or flight mode with unexpected touches. "You?"

He nods before speaking. "I have an offer."

"Listening," you say slowly, elongating the whole word. You were curious.

"I need a supply run partner for..."

"Yes. Let's go."

You don't let him finish and already started walking off in the direction of the armoury, when you feel a hand gripping your arm and pulling you backwards. Your body, once again, tenses, even though you know it was just Daryl. You sigh and glance at Daryl, whose brows are furrowed, and he looked like he was fighting the eye roll really hard.

"A few rules first," he says firmly, not letting go of your arm.

"Rules?"

"Rules," his repeated answer was enough to make your eyes squint at him. Your lips pursed. "You gotta follow them, or you're not coming."

"What rules those may be?"

"Well, for starters - you let me do the majority of things. Getting supplies, killing walkers, all of it," he gestures dismissively.

"So, what's the point of me going?" you ask, shifting from one foot to the other. "If you're going to do all the dirty work, what is my role in this?"

"Covering my ass," he says, and finally lets go of your arm. "And company."

"Oh, so you need company now?"

"Yours? Always."

His words made the familiar warmth inside you spread across your chest, but you push the feelings you have for him deep down, so they never get discovered again. You smile gently, thinking about months you weren't able to banter and joke with him. Months that you've spent apart, because of your mouth not connecting with your brain but your heart once in your life. You were beating yourself up for it. You knew if it didn't happen, you'd never lose Daryl. Not only that, but you'd never lost all that time. And you decided that it wasn’t worth it. So you’ll stay as far from those feelings as possible.

“That all the rules?” You ask with your eyebrow up.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "The second rule is - always stay behind me. No matter what."

"Okay," you look him up and down, trying not to smirk too hard at how serious he was about the rules. Was he trying to protect you? Maybe. But what happened to a man that believed you could take care of yourself? "Okay, what else?"

"Do not run off like you used to," he says, pulling on the strap of his crossbow. "I gotta know you're around and safe."

So he is trying to protect you and keep you safe.

It's true. You used to run off during the supply runs all the time. Whenever you saw something worth checking out or heard the walkers roaming nearby, you were off like you were going on an adventure. It definitely felt like it sometimes. Some people described you as a person who gets off on the adrenaline, the excitement of finding things or killing the undead with your machete was always visible on your face, which made perfect sense. You despised being bored, so looking for new things to get you at least a bit excited was your thing.

"That all?"

“Yeah, I think so,” he nods.

„Okay. Deal, but I have one condition, too.”

You say it with a mischievous smile. You knew he was not going to be happy about the condition. Daryl hated parties, especially ones where people were close together in confined spaces of four walls. It was a fucking nightmare for him. Too close, too crowded, too sweaty, too unnecessary. You knew that even mentioning it would make his eyes roll to the back of his head - the idea seemingly the worst.

Even though you knew he might refuse, you still wanted to ask. You secretly wanted him to go with you. The idea of him watching over you, especially since the attack, seemed nice. Something about his gaze on you felt like a warm blanket. His words brought you back to reality.

“What’s that?”

You cleared your throat. “I’ll be a good girl, and follow your rules-," you say slowly. You could see his head tilting slightly to the side, and he crossed his arms on his chest. "-if you go to Aaron’s birthday party with me tonight.”

Just as you thought, the suggestion made his eye roll, and he huffed and groaned unhappily. The idea of attending something he didn't have to was not appealing at all. He stared at you, his hand rubbing his temple like he was trying to find an excuse or reasons not to come. You felt the need to make your own rule, because if he can do it, why can't you, right? His face visibly changed, and his eyes closed for a minute, as if trying to keep cool and collected. After a minute, his eyes open and he shoots you a hard look.

"Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah," you smacked your lips together. You simply could not contain the smile on your face.

Daryl took a deep breath and whistled it out. His head shook slightly in resignation. His lips were invisible with how hard he squeezed them together. Deep hate for crowds comes from his childhood as well. You remember him telling you about getting lost in a mall for hours and crying his eyes out, trying to look for his mama. Turned out his mum was too high to actually give a fuck about leaving her son in a mall. And the security guard was not much of a help either. And somehow, the police didn't care that much. They just dropped him off at home and gave his mum a warning. Wild times, the 1970s.

"Fine," he said finally, and you grinned even wider. "Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face. You creep me out."

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he rolled his eyes, but you could see in his eyes that he wasn't the least bit annoyed at you. He found it amusing how you always challenged him, made him socialise and left no space to argue. It was always the thing he liked about you.

After the entire day on the supply run, you made a plan to meet up with Daryl at the entrance of the mess hall so you could walk in together. They always say that it's better to have company when you attend parties. It's less stressful, and it feels like you can rely on someone. Daryl agreed with a nod.

You decided to wear a dress. It wasn't often you had an opportunity to wear anything like it these days. It's usually cargo pants and plain tops. You took a quick shower and brushed your hair, pulling it onto a low bun, and you put on an above-the-knee, faded green dress. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you knew something was missing — like jewellery or a clutch bag to make it more elegant — but in the zombie world, there is no such luxury. You pulled out a pair of worn-out black heels from your wardrobe, a pair of them never worn or even tried on. You picked them up from a supply run years ago and this is the first time you wore it.

You made your way towards the entrance of the mess hall, and you saw Daryl standing there, illuminated by a soft light coming through ajar doors. He certainly made an effort to at least change his clothes, now wearing a dark blue Henley and black jeans, which you appreciated. His hair was still messy and he was smoking a cigarette. He looked so hot, all you wanted to do was to drop to your knees and…

Noooo, bad thoughts. Bad.

You close your eyes for a second, once again pushing the entire variety of feelings stirring inside of you down. You were not going back there. Not now, that you finally have your best friend back, and your life feels normal again. You smiled at him, approaching, and his eyes seemed to take you in, scan your figure up and down. There was something in his eyes that you did not recognise.

"You clean up well," you say cheerfully.

"So do you," he says, his voice a tiny bit hoarse and unfamiliar. He clears his throat once and looks at the slightly open doors of the mess hall. "Shall we?"

"Yeah."

You both get inside and the soft music and conversations hit your ears. Some people laughing, some people even dancing. You look around at the perfectly decorated mess hall, the ribbons on the ceiling and balloons on the floor, some crazy string falling down the curtains and walls. It wasn't much, but you could definitely tell it was a birthday party. Or any type of party, really. You look to your right, but Daryl was gone, making his way to the makeshift drinks table. The chuckle escaped your mouth. Of course, he needed some liquid courage to be able to stay at this party longer. You decided to leave him be and talk to Aaron to wish him happy birthday, and socialise with a few of other people.

You get your drink delivered by Daryl. You didn’t even have to tell him, and he didn’t ask either. He just knew you well enough to bring you some red wine in a fancy-looking glass (probably taken from one of the fancier mansions Aaron went on a supply run to) and you thanked him quietly. He then walked over to the side of the room and leaned against the wall, taking a sip of his whiskey, his eyes watching you.

He nurses the same glass for the entire party, slowly sipping on it, but the liquid doesn't seem to be draining at all. He stays near you throughout the party. It wasn't an over the shoulder watching, not at all. More like a `making sure you're safe` way which truthfully made you feel a little more at ease.

You spotted Leah at the party an hour ago, and you fought your instincts to go over to her and give her a piece of your mind… Or a piece of your fist, depending on how that conversation would go. But you stayed rooted between a group of people you were talking with. She seemed to be staying away from everyone, including you, but every time you and her locked eyes, her lips curled into an eerie smirk, and only you knew what it meant. She was also staying out of Daryl's way, avoiding him like fire, never coming close to the spot where he leaned against the wall. You weren't sure if Daryl was aware she was here, but chose not to bring any attention about it to him. Instead, you went to grab some more wine.

As the time passed by, you decided to have a break from socialising and rest where Daryl was resting. You turned around, but he wasn't there, your body suddenly tensed up a little before you realise he probably went for a cigarette or to the bathroom. Sipping on the wine, you lean against the wall, and you look around, your eyes immediately fall onto Leah's figure.

She was wearing her usual, head-to-toe black outfit, and her hair was tied together in a loose plait. Her blue eyes seemed to be scanning the surroundings, making sure no one was paying too much attention to her. And no one was. She was like a ghost. Was she a ghost? Did you really have that much wine that you’re hallucinating her? 

You furrow your brow. She smiled from ear to ear and then started making her way to the stairs that led upstairs, where Alexandria kept supplies. In a spur of the moment, without thinking about it twice, you decide to follow her.

You push yourself off the wall and make your way through the crowd, your blood pumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. You see Leah climbing up the stairs, and then she disappears around the corner. You trot up as well and you stop. Looking around, you realise there were way too many doors, and you were way too tipsy to check all of them. Also, what the hell are you going to do when you confront her? Talk to her? Threaten her? Beat her up? Well, you certainly wanted to.

"What are you doing up there?"

Daryl's voice jolts you up, and you turn on your heel,  looking down. He was standing in a corridor, between the stairs and the walls, looking up at you with a puzzled expression. You take a deep breath and let it out.

"Nothing," you mumble.

"Okay," he didn't sound convinced, but he decided not to push it. You step closer to the baluster and leaning forwards. "Get back down here then."

You blink and suddenly everything is dark and the only source of light is a moonlight filtering through the windows and an open door. The soft music stops. Your ears pick up a creak behind you, but before you can turn around, your body gets pushed and the crack of the landing baluster echoes through the air. You fall down, and it feels like everything suddenly was in a slow motion. Somehow, your body clashes with Daryl's and you both fall down to the floor with a thud, grunting loudly. His chest cushioned your fall, and you look up at him, hands propping at his sides. For a minute, you just stared at him. He was even more beautiful up close. You shook his head, to get rid of these thoughts. His eyes were fixated on the landing upstairs, and his face scowled, showing a tiny wrinkle in his forehead.

You scramble to your feet and straighten your dress, pulling it down, and he follows suit.

"Are you okay?" He asks, scanning you for any type of injury.

"Yeah. Are you?" Your eyes look towards the people pulling into the hallway with curious looks on their faces.

"Nothing I cannot handle," he answers. He seemed so far away with his thoughts that you didn't bother to ask again, even though you wanted to make sure.

His eyes drifted upwards again, and your anxiety spikes. Did he know? Did he see? What did he see? Leah? And if so, was he planning to do something? Should you tell him that you also know?

Aaron and Eric push through the crowd of people and their eyes widen at the sight of you, Daryl and a broken baluster, laying in pieces on the floor. They come up to you and ask what happened, Aaron's hand land on your shoulder and his other hand reaches up and picks some splinters from your hair. You explain in as few words as possible, and they listen with shock painted across their faces.

Eric finishes his drink in one swig, and sighs deeply. "I just painted that a couple of days ago," he looks at the broken pieces of wood on the floor. He wasn't mad, he even seemed weirdly excited about it. Maybe because painting and decorating was the thing he enjoyed the most, here in Alexandria.

You mouth a “sorry” to him, even though it wasn't much of your fault, and you quickly say you'll clean up the mess, so everybody could go back to partying. Aaron and Eric round up the people and shoo them back to the mess hall. They turned the music on and up, and someone screamed out something about the party just getting started. You sigh, and you look at Daryl, who already started picking up the broken wood. Joining him, you take the pieces out and to the shed. The wood will probably be repurposed — either used to repair or to burn in fireplaces during winter.

Daryl was quiet for the whole process, and you could tell his head was preoccupied. Looking at him, you didn't know if you should mention anything or if you should just leave it be. You suspected he might have seen Leah. You knew it was Leah who pushed you down, there was no way that it was someone else.

After all the wood is stacked in the shed, you turn to him and open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gon' go home," he says, looking at you. "Don't want to be here any more."

"Okay," you say, nodding. "Walk me home?"

He gives you a little nod, and you walk to your house in silence. His hands were in his pockets and the air was thick with questions and anger. You were 99% sure he saw her upstairs, because why would he be so cryptic right now?

Once you both reach your house, you try to invite him in for another drink, just to prevent him from doing something stupid, but he refuses, making an excuse of being too tired. There was no point in arguing with him, so you just let it go and watched him disappear into the night, silently praying he’s just going home.

[tophat-69]

Vander and Silco - First Meeting

When I started writing for Arcane I wasn't sure if I wanted to write Jayce/Viktor or Vander/Silco first. I landed on Jayce/Viktor because the idea for "it's the good, defining itself" pretty much took over my life to the point that I was putting out a chapter a day for 22 days. But I backburnered a prequel fanfiction of Vander and Silco, to get back to later. I'm not quite ready to commit to it, but wanted to put out there what would be my first chapter. I'm hoping you enjoy it, because I'd like to revisit the idea and keep going someday. So, for now--enjoy Vander and Silco meeting for the first time in the mines, and the start of a partnership.

To be honest, on first impression Vander’s not actually all that impressed. 

“Hey-hey, slim! How was lockup this time?”

It’s midday at the mine, not that anyone would be able to tell if it weren’t for the whistles that echo down into the depths. The only lights in the drift tunnels come from their headlamps, and there’s a sort of liminality to that—it could be dawn or it could be midnight, and in the tunnels they would never know. All they can see is directly ahead of them, and everything else is shadow and rock, like blinders for the beasts of burden that they are. 

As the forward line, their crew is down deep enough now that stopping for meals is almost as miserable an affair as chipping their way through rocks, the kind of heat that makes the heavy protective gear suffocating, the kind of humidity that has Vander’s hair plastered to his neck and forehead beneath the hard hat, and his shirt melting into his skin under the leathers. 

“Still dank, dark, with terrible food and worse company. So, roughly the same as being down here with you lot.” There are a handful of hearty laughs at the dry sarcasm coming from within the echoing cavern, the kind of shared bleak humor that comes with working in the shittiest conditions known to man and, apparently, spending time in prison too. The voice continues with a sly undertone that lends itself well to the affected accent of the Promenade. “Still, food on the table and a roof over my head and topside footing the bill. I’m considering the merits of making it my summer home. ‘Stillwater Manor’ sounds very refined, don’t you think?”

As they stump into the echoing depleted cavern, tobacco smoke curls through the air, though smoking down in the mines is a dangerous game to the point that bringing a match or lighter down is highly regulated. Yet the thirty hewers of their shift fan out to sprawl onto the rough stone floors on either side of the cart rails, and all of the more experienced members of the crew seem to be taking this as expected and normal, throwing out greetings as they haul out their lunch pails and settle in.

Taking off their protective gear is more than just against regulations, it’s a stupid idea: yet there’s a helmet hanging from a rivet in one of the support ribs of the walls, head lamp pointed down to illuminate a book in the lap of a shadowed figure comfortably sprawled out lounging while the rest of them busted their asses. In the dark and with the light focused on the book in front of him, all Vander really gets is a glimpse of stick-thin legs resting on top of the thick leather uniform jacket as if it’s a cushion. 

Vander’s not even really a tight-ass about the regulations. Just someone who understands why these particular rules exist, and how dangerously stupid it is to ignore them.

So, overall--not the greatest of first impressions. 

“You ever consider not getting arrested, Silco? It’s getting to be a pain in the ass for the foreman to pull you out of there.” Cray may be their shift supervisor but down this far he’s just another one of them, putting his back into it to lead by example. Until Vander came along he was the biggest of the crew and did that just in productivity alone, and he’s a well-respected and liked man overall. But leading by example extends beyond hauling rocks and apparently means plunking himself down next to this ‘Silco’ and hooking his helmet off of the bolt, dropping it down onto his head and then thumping his loose fist on top of it. As Vander settles nearby, feet braced against the rail, he can hear Cray’s voice lower, his tone a warmly affectionate warning. “Keep your helmet on, kid. We had a rib pop about a month after you were pinched. Sully didn’t make it out.”

“When they’re given the choice between having me break rocks up there and break rocks down here, I always end up back in the mines. Congratulations, even Stillwater thinks this is a worse punishment than prison.” There are a few of the men who have clearly done time as well who raise their canteens in a toast to that, and the echoing clamor of ribald and lively conversations pick up, letting the newcomer drop his charismatic performance to respond to Cray. He sounds different without a crowd to perform to, and Vander has to strain to listen as he sits nearby and opens up his thermos of leftover stew. “I heard the news when I came in. He was a good man, it’s going to be hard to replace him. …Though I assume that’s why we have the eavesdropping newcomer.”

When the headlamp swings his way, Vander turns and squints against the glare of it being directly aimed at him until his eyes adjust to the light.

Vander’s second impression is an entirely different matter. 

For Vander’s first job, he had been a dockhand where the River Pilt met the Conqueror’s Sea, saltwater and freshwater slow to mingle in the estuary. The brackish waters were a pretty shade of blue-green under the too-bright sunlight, beautiful and troubled, river eternally forced to cede to the overpowering force of the ocean. 

Staring into brilliant, challenging eyes, Vander’s second impression is just ‘pretty.’ Which is probably stupid to think about a dirty little thing so grayed in coal dust that it looks like he’d rolled in it, no matter how striking his eyes are under direct lamplight. 

“Vander, Silco. Silco, Vander. He’s a cousin of mine, so maybe try to be nice to him?”

“Half of you up in the sumps are cousins and all the rest of you call each other siblings. I’m not going to ‘be nice’ to any of them until they prove they’ve earned it.”

It’s an interesting way to phrase things, almost like a slip of the tongue. There are damn few people in the world who would consider the Sumps to be ‘up’ from anywhere at all, even in the undercity. You’d have to be looking up from the bottom of the fissures or the mines themselves to see the world that way. That combined with the Proms accent doesn’t make sense, but Vander just files it away for now as he offers an amiable smile and an extended hand.

“Well, let’s just hope I can earn it, then. Pleasure to meet you, Silco.”

It’s hard not to feel like he’s being dissected when under the glaring bright light of Silco’s headlamp, sharp eyes assessing him. It certainly makes it easier for Vander to do the same without it being awkward, despite being the only thing the other can see clearly for that moment. 

‘Slim’ isn’t a surprising nickname—he’s built small and wiry, all limbs and no bulk to him. There’s a shrewd, wary intelligence in his eyes but one of them is bloodshot; beneath the coal dust Vander suspects he has a black eye and a gash on his cheekbone that he’s trying to conceal. Stillwater wasn’t the picnic that he wants to pretend it was, and the second he’s in direct light it’s obvious. Vander’s nineteen and he’d estimate Silco’s seventeen or eighteen, but he talks as if he’s been a part of this crew for years, he’s gone to Stillwater more than once in that time, and he is perhaps overly comfortable in the mines. 

And he’s a snarky shit who doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to shake Vander’s hand. 

Instead bandaged fingers bring his cigarette back up to his lips as he drags in one last deep pull before stubbing it out on the toe of his boot and pushing himself to his feet, Vander’s outstretched hand completely ignored.  

“Charmed.” His voice is dry, sarcastic, and then he’s back to the show of it all again so others can hear. Illuminated from below by Vander and Cray, they watch as he tucks the book into the small of his back to be held in place by a cinched in belt, then tugs on a uniform jacket. “New rule number one of these mines, Vander. If you see your blaster run, you get the hell out and if I tell you to stand clear you stay the hell out. Cray, I’ll be at the third inbye. You haven’t done anything with it since I’ve been gone.”

“We hit solid on that one about three weeks after you were picked up, slim. I could have asked for another blaster since mine decided to spit in an Enforcer’s face, but then I’d have a harder time convincing them we needed you bailed out.”

Standoffish towards newcomers or not, it’s clear that Silco’s deeply embedded in the crew and they’re looking out for their own. Mining communities are tight-knit like that, and they may squabble among themselves but they’re viciously protective of each other among outsiders. It’s one of their best qualities, and has carried over into the culture of the Sumps. The Enforcers picked up the youngest member of the forward line, and they raised enough hell to get him back out a little early by grinding their operations to a crawl. 

“I’d thank you, but now they’re making me work off that bail so I’m doing this for half my take for about as long as I’d have been behind bars. Which as far as I’m concerned means I’m not being paid to be nice to any of you.” Cray grimaces, but Silco’s wry, slanted smirk doesn’t slip as he shoves his tied-back hair up into his helmet and grabs up a leather toolbag. Wedging a rod through the strap, lighting a safety lamp, and tucking a stub of chalk behind his ear, he then waves a hand lazily as he lopes into the dark. “Tell Myra not to wait the cart on me at shift’s end. I need a chance to get some prospecting done while you’re all out of my way. Draw straws for who’s going to butty me, because I’m blowing something up tomorrow one way or another. ”

“Try not to make it one of us!” One of the miners pipes in, and Silco huffs his amusement as others laugh, but he’s disappeared into the dark, just a narrow silhouette and an uneven bob of a light as he heads to the tunnels, voice echoing back to them.

“Half pay, so I only half promise.”

Vander frowns after him, and based on tone he’s fairly sure Cray is doing the same. “Don’t mind Silco. He takes a while to warm up to people…”

“Your blaster is limping and beat to hell from being in prison. He’s going to get himself killed.”

“The limp isn’t from Stillwater, it’s why he got himself picked up in the first place.” Cray passes over a hunk of bread for Vander in exchange for a portion of the stew, and together they eat side by side. Vander doesn’t have to ask him to explain, his silence says enough. “We had a shitty roof bolter, it’s why the rib popped on Sully too. Too much strain on a pillar ended up with a rockburst. Snapped Silco’s leg like a twig, and it’s only because he’s a fast little bastard that his leg wasn’t just crushed and him along with it. He went from the medical tent straight up to the first Enforcer he saw, picked a fight and let them think they fucked up his leg. So, Stillwater foots the medical bills and gives him three hots and a cot while he can’t work to feed himself or keep a roof over his head anyway. He’s done it before, and him being a kid usually lands him a short stint, too. We’d have left him in for another couple of months to finish healing up...”

But they were threatening to replace him. So Silco is back with a half-healed leg in a job that requires him to be fast on his feet or be caught in his own blasts, doing overnight deadwork that isn’t even going to get him paid, and still dryly quipping with the people who screwed up his plans to let himself heal. 

He’s also not really a kid anymore, so the trick with the Enforcers isn’t going to get him leniency in sentencing for much longer if he goes and gets himself injured again. And it’s clear he’s not exactly making himself friends in prison, either.

“Don’t draw straws.” 

Silco needs a partner, but whoever is stuck with him loses the chance for production bonuses while they’re paired up, and risks being blown up alongside him. Vander has a roof over his head, can get by on the daily wage. Plus he’s pretty sure he could throw the cantankerous little shit over his shoulder and book it faster than Silco can run right now. 

Cray’s scrutinizing him, light bright on Vander’s face again, but he just dunks stale bread into three day old stew and continues eating. 

“…Well, guess we’d better get you the gauntlets, then.”

[numberonetacostan]

(What I have for) Feral Taco :3

Hello my friends!!!^^ Here is the long post to go along with the drawing of feral taco I made the other day because people showed interest!!! :D It made me so very happy. I apologize if this au isn’t as neatly put together as some others I’ve posted, I straight up did not expect to be typing this out. I thought this would be an au that stayed in Loomy’s daydreams but then people asked so here we are!!! :) Please enjoy!!!!

So Taco’s mental health is absolutely awful after Mic leaves her. Just terrible. So bad. And instead of teleporting away with Mepad’s comatose body after Mic quits the game, she just… gives up. Leaves him there, and walks back to her home in the woods, which I like to think of as being on the other side of the island. Judging from the map we see Mepad display in episode 14, the forest stretches out nearly to the other end of the island, yeah? I tend to think Taco only goes to the edge and area closer to the hotel to meddle in the competition and talk to Mic. As for her actual living space, it’s much easier to stay hidden deep in the forest on the side of the island that everyone else doesn’t live on. So that’s where Taco is. Alone. For quite some time. Season 3 happens, season 2 ends (Without the disaster that the finale was, solely because it doesn’t work well with the timeline of this au. So, uh, Cobs tripped and fell off of MeCloud and caught on fire and died. Suitcase decimated Knife in uh. Jump rope contest. Or something. Good with everyone? Good.), and the show has been on hiatus for a good few months, as a nice break for the cast before season 4 starts. Other than Taco, who has just been alone and getting worse for quite some time now. 

SO! The bulk of this would start around the time that said hiatus will be ending, all the contestants are at the hotel, including those who normally live on Paradise Island, because Mephone is getting ready to announce the next season, including who’s going to be participating! (They still don’t know he made them. This is about TACO. We’re not doing finale stuff here.) Most importantly, out of all of said contestants, are Bot and Goo. This is a Loomy AU you thought there’d be no propaganda in here? No. Taco will form relationships with whoever I please. So, Bot and Goo being Bot and Goo, go and play in the woods!! They’re exploring!! Having fun!! Playing tag, hide and seek, and enjoying nature!!! They stay relatively close to the hotel, for safety purposes, but end up going just a tad too deep into the woods as it’s getting dark. And it’s not called the Perilous Woods for no reason, hm? There’s some real Perilous stuff in there!! It could be a bear, a big snake, a wolf, a dragon, whatever you please since we lack a real world would-be location of Inanimate Island and thus we don’t really know what sort of wildlife would be there. I mean, I have a theory or two, but that’s not the point. Anyways, Bot grabs Goo and bolts. Neither of them are particularly edible, but they can’t be recovered by MeLife and would rather neither of them get maimed, yeah?

They get away from the danger, yay! But now they’re quite lost. Not yay. And now it’s become evening, so it’s dark. Bot does glow in the dark, at least their plush does, but we’ve seen how dark that forest can be during the day in episode 9. They’re nowhere near bright enough to see more than a foot or so ahead of them. And with how dense it is, it wouldn’t be easy for them to extend their legs and look back towards where the hotel is. So, to reiterate, they’re very lost in the thick, dark forest. Not good. Spooky noises all around, two very scared little guys. Especially when they hear rustling in the bushes, coming closer. And closer. And closer. And out from the darkness, they see a single eye staring at them, and scream!!! Until a flashlight is clicked on, and a very confused and unimpressed Taco is looking at them. She’s significantly more crack than she was the last time anyone (Mic) saw her, with one of her eyes whited-out and unseeing, but it’s definitely her!! And she’s holding some fishies skewered on a stick!!! Remember the fishies they’ll come back. 

Now, I don’t think Goo would really know much about Taco, if he knows about her at all, but Bot would definitely have heard about her, at least by virtue of having Fan as a Dad. But! They are very lost, and Taco is kind of their only option here!! So Bot asks her for help!! They’re lost, and need to get back to the hotel. Taco doesn’t really respond, but just sort of continues on where she was walking. Bot tries to get her attention again, but she doesn’t say anything. Once she reaches the bottom of a large shrub though, she holds the bushes open behind her, indicating that they should follow. So it seems like she’s gonna help them get back!! Bot and Goo both try to talk to her while they’re walking, but she doesn’t say anything back. Just keeps looking ahead, occasionally stopping to listen out for any potential predators. After a bit of walking, though, it turns out that she hasn’t led them back to the hotel. She pushes the top off of a stump, and points down, indicating for the two of them to go inside. Obviously, when a disheveled homeless woman you only know through tales that don’t paint her in a good light wants you to go down into a mysterious hole, you would not be too keen on doing so. 

So, Goo is spooked, and Bot’s not liking it either, so they insist Taco lead them back to the hotel. Taco shakes her head, and points down into the stump again. They insist again, Taco points again. They get nowhere, until Bot gets fed up, and turns around to try and search for the hotel on their own again, to which Taco stops them, and finally speaks. And it’s pretty obvious why she wasn’t talking before, because her voice sounds awful. Taco hasn’t spoken at all since Mic left. Why bother? She doesn’t have anyone to talk to, and she’s too upset to be talking to herself. So, her voice is quite hollow and hoarse, when she tells Bot that it’s too dangerous. The hotel is too far, and there’s too high a risk they won’t make it with all the perilousness in the Perilous Forest. If Taco, who’s lived there for years were to go, it would be one thing, but with Bot and Goo? Who are in the forest for the first time? No good. She’ll take them back once the sun’s come up, but for now it’s safer for them all if they take shelter for the night. 

Bot isn’t connected to MeLife, and Goo would quite frankly be happy to not be in the scary dark forest, so they concede and go down into Taco’s hidey hole house with her. It’s… well it sucks. It’s just a big hole. There’s a pile of leaves and moss. Uh. There’s a couple lemons. That’s uh. That’s it. Goo is trying to be a nice little fella, as he is, but he can’t really think of anything particularly nice to say, so he just ends up saying “This is a …place you got here!!” Taco is not amused. She sits down on the dirt floor and gestures to the moss/leaves pile. It’s relatively untouched, since although it was where she used to sleep, she hasn’t slept much for a while now, yeah? As Bot and Goo sit down (or whatever Goo does… just kind of droops a bit I suppose) Taco starts preparing the fish to eat!! With… her bare hands. Or rather, claws. She probably did have tools at one point, but after everything she gave up on maintaining them, and they became rather useless. So, she just does it by hand, wiping the blood and gore off on the dirt walls/floor or even her own lettuce. Quite a disturbing sight. Bot gives a polite but strained “no thank you.” Goo nearly cries. And this was not Taco’s intention!! We already know how bad she is with other people and their feelings, and she’s been in a depression for months!! This has just become the norm for her, she is not trying to scare them!! And doesn’t feel good when Goo is upset!! But of course, this is Taco being faced with emotions, so she fumbles around a bit, taking back the fish and trying to give Goo a lemon with the hand that isn’t soaked in fish blood!! It’s sour, but she does not have any other food stored up. She didn’t leave her little hidey hole for quite some time after her break up, so any storage she had is all used up. Besides, I think Goo would enjoy sour things well enough. Bot is a robot so I’m assuming they technically don’t need to eat and would just chill and let Goo enjoy his lemon. 

So Bot and Goo snuggle up and go to sleep, Taco sits in the dark for a few hours because she doesn’t trust them in her den unsupervised and also has barely slept for months <3. But once light starts seeping in from above, she wakes the two of them up to start the trek back to the hotel. Which, they realize as they start walking, is a pretty long trek. So, to fill the time, Goo tells a story!! For hours. Bot does their best to pay good attention!! Taco wasn’t paying attention when he started talking, much less midway through hour 3. And, remember earlier when I mentioned that you could imagine any sort of creature to be the thing chasing Bot and Goo? Well, not this time. I love bears, they’re cuddly and fluffy and don’t actually attack humans that much. Because they prefer fish and fruits and vegetables. Now, consider who of our three characters here would be absolutely scrumptious for a bear to eat. Because she’s full of vegetables. So, a bear comes and tries to eat Taco, Bot and Goo are quite rightfully very frightened, and Taco pulls out her space shooter, shoots it like a sick horse, and keeps walking. The founding members of the cheer factory are surprised, and have to scramble to catch up with her after a moment, because what the actual fuck was that. Well. I don’t think Goo knows the word fuck but still. They ask fair questions, like about how often she gets attacked by bears and why she has a gun, but Taco isn’t talking again and just keeps walking. Goo doesn’t go back to his story, so they just end up walking in silence, until they reach the edge of the forest!! There’s the hotel!! Hooray!! Taco points to the hotel, and immediately turns around to leave. Goo and Bot do thank her for helping them get back though, even if she doesn’t say anything back. 

They are immediately swamped upon entering the hotel. Fan is sobbing while holding Bot, and Test Tube is joining the hug even if she isn’t crying out the entire Atlantic Ocean. Goo is very much checked up on and doted upon too, even if none of the other contestants are his parents, they all probably have a mutual agreement to keep an eye on such a little and whimsical fella, yeah? But anyways, uh, the others had been looking for them for more or less the entire night and very much want to know where they’d disappeared to, of course!! So they explain getting lost and running into Taco which makes the air turn rather awkward, since she’s such a taboo topic in the hotel. When asked how she was, Bot and Goo mostly just look at each other like (⚆₋₍⚆). That would be even more concerning. Goo eventually just says a little “mm, well… if you don’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t say anything…” Because. All they have to report is that she looked terrible, barely spoke, had blood on her half the time, and killed a bear that tried to eat her without flinching. And that’s. Very concerning. 

I honestly don’t have as much to say from here, since as I said I never expected to actually be sharing this concept, so it’s still really more of a concept rather than an au, but I’d say a small group goes to check on her here, and with Pickle’s permission (remember, only Knife and Soap know Mic had worked with her), offer her a room in the hotel. I mean, they still don’t like her, but Bot and Goo’s description of her ripping into fish with her bare hands for sustenance and having a nearly-falling-apart shell, they feel it pretty inhumane to not try to help her, yeah? And Taco is not having it. She opens up her little stump-roof-thing when Bot knocks and they and Goo call for her, but immediately slams it shut upon seeing they’ve brought more people, and refuses to come out, even when offered the hotel room. Taco is in the pinnacle of her self-hating era here, like she is doing so fucking bad. Remember when Brian said she’d be way worse off without Mepad? Well, here she is without Mepad, very much worse off. She believes herself incapable of changing!!! She would think going into the hotel would be the worst idea ever. She’d think she’d probably kill someone or steal something. She’d think OJ is an idiot for trying to let a kleptomaniac with a history of violence into his and the others’ place of living. 

And it would take quite a lot for her to be convinced, not even to go to the hotel just for a visit or an actual meal, but just to leave her den when she isn’t 100% sure no one else is around. Maybe it would be Mic. Maybe it would be Mepad. Even Balloon or Suitcase. It could be a combination of all of their respective efforts, that maybe things could turn out alright for Taco. Who knows. Not me because I have genuinely told you guys all I have for this concept at the moment. I’ll probably have more eventually but I would feel bad for making you all wait and also that eventually could be days or months so might as well put out what I have lol. 

Hope you all enjoyed!!! <3 sorry if this one sucked byeeeeeeeeeeeeee