#but it has ultimate winter energy for me

[sheepispink]

happy new year everyone, this is probably crap but just take it im tired

being a homebody with roommate!simonriley is a strange experience. He had told the landlord he hadnt minded having a roommate occupy the spare room but with so long and no sign of interest, he had ultimately forgotten altogether. Until one morning, the landlord had texted him and soon he was opening the door to you, standing with your suitcases and an embarrassed smile. He helped you bring it in, although he wasn't the most friendly and the both of you were dead silent the entire time.

“Dont really care what you do here. Just dont bring friends over and leave a mess, dont come home in the early ‘ours and leave a mess and dont go out and leave a mess.” You blink at him, and then point to yourself, almost unbelieving of his words. When have you ever gone out? “Yes you, who else?” He has to resist rolling his eyes, and a little smile peeks out, an awkward one but it breaks the ice enough to make him raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

.You quickly revert to your quiet demeanour, giving a meek salute in response.

“Okay, okay, yes sir, i’ll follow all the rules.”

And you did, almost too well. There was never a mess left in the kitchen, infact he hardly saw you most days he was home. Given that your shoes were never near the door too, he just automatically figured you were out partying all evening or hanging out with friends. It almost made him roll his eyes, that you could have so much energy but also just waste your life away like that. He knew you went to work on the weekdays, saw you slip out the front door quietly, and then return to your room in the evening.

It’s one of those weeks in British winter which is just freezing for no apparent reason, even if it’s barely December yet. Simon’s skin is practically about to turn blue, having just come back from a long deployment yesterday. The usual clothes he uses for underlayers had been ripped and torn throughout the mission, aswell as his usual balaclava. It was one of the toughest yet, leaving him littered in bruises and a wave of exhaustion that refuses to leave. He sighs, rubbing his temples as he lays on the couch, head resting against the armrest whilst he flicks through the tv channels.

Though his activities are interrupted when he hears a small click, causing his eyes to immediately flick over to the direction— he was sure you were out. After all, there wasn't a single sound in there all day. Has someone broken in? Did you have a dog he hadn't been told about? He’s never heard a bark, maybe it’s something quieter like a cat, sneakier like a snake even. Then the handle turns and he tenses, eyes trained and his grip tightening on the remote control. Who the hell was behind that door?

What he hadn’t expected, was to see you shivering with a frown, your hands wrapped into the pockets of the thick hoodie as you tried to warm them. You intended to grab a hot water bottle from the kitchen, since you had left it there drying the night prior. Though, naturally your focus moves to the tv, forcing you to see the full view of his bare face and eyes widened. “You’re home?!” You squeak, trying to turn back incase you witnessed something you shouldnt have, only to hit your head smack against your bedroom door. He quickly sits up himself, face tinting with colour as he practically snatches his ripped mask from his pocket and forces it on. “I should say the same to you.”

“ Its the weekend, I never go out on the weekends.” He looks at you with clear disbelief, a hand tugging his shirt down where it had ridden up on his stomach. “Your shoes ‘ave never been by that door though.“ You blink, opening the door to your bedroom to show him the shoe rack and he falls silent. “ You never come out of your room. How do you even survive?!” He watches your cheeks burn pink but he’s had enough, wanting to understand how you had evaded his senses for so long. Before you can protest he’s pushing past you, looking around your room.

“We literally have a stove.”

“This is more convenient!”

“You’re just lazy!”

He waves the self heating pan in your face and you frown, embarrassed at being caught out for being so lazy that you even make your own lunch and dinner in this room. Instead, his gaze moves over your current set up which is adorned with everything soft and comfy. He’s starting to understand after he sees the wide screen pc, the stash of snacks in your cupboard and the cans lined up. “Yknow, most keep paperwork in their cupboards.” He grunts and your hands plant on his arms, attempting to push him out of your room before you instantly recoil. “You’re freezing!”

That’s the first he’s chuckled for a while, and presses his knuckles against your cheek making you recoil like a hissy cat. “Oh come on i’m not that cold—“

“Ice on my face! Literally ice!”

His mask creases, but you’re right , there’s even goosebumps along his skin now. But damn, that throw blanket on your bed looks comfy..

“If i make ya some good food, will you give me that blanket?”

”Thi’ is so good-“ You say through a full mouth, coddled beneath a blanket as you scoff down a bowl of chicken salad. He doesnt know when he picked it up, but he has a few memories of Kyle giving him and Johnny a bowl when they didnt know what to do with the few ingredients in the fridge. “That’s ‘cause im a good cook.” You mumble something in response to his grumble, but it’s difficult by how stuffed your cheeks are, almost looking like a squirrel. It makes him want to laugh but he’s growing more tired by the minute, eyes threatening to fall. Whilst you were stuffing your face, he had gotten exactly what he was promised, currently enthralled by your heated duvet. You even have one on your mattress to warm that too, and a plushie that you can microwave— he feels like he’s in a heater heaven.

“Hey— I said a blanket, not my whole bed.” Finished with your meal, he supposed you’d be back to lazing around now, either gaming, watching the latest episode of your series or starting a new book to finish within the hour. “Hey— move-” You try to push him but he only grunts, already halfway to dream land. He owes you breakfast tomorrow.

[peeweekey]

8:05 | SAM

word count: 3.2k

summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.

tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol

a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!

it’s cold.

the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.

you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.

meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.

the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.

well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.

you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.

you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.

there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.

walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.

he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.

though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.

you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.

sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.

you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”

a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.

“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”

your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.

your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).

“you don’t wanna?”

“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”

sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.

he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!

you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”

sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”

you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.

“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”

sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.

how endearing.

you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.

annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.

your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.

his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.

“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”

you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”

he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”

“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”

“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”

“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”

your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.

you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.

sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—

“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”

you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.

“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”

“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”

you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”

sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.

“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.

this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.

and his mother is calling him.

“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”

you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.

though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.

there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.

though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.

“what are you two doing here?”

“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”

sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”

you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.

“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”

you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.

thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.

“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”

sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.

“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”

the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”

“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”

“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”

“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”

“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.

the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.

“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”

and embarrassing.

“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”

“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.

“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”

sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.

“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”

your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”

he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.

“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”

that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.

and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.

you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.

sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.

“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”

you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”

sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.

he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”

“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”

“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”

you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.

“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”

“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.

you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.

your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.

his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.

you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.

sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.

you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.

but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.

disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.

“oh shit.”

the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.

“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.

he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.

abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.

your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.

you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.

outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)

still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.

you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).

you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.

not when you feel so warm.

a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. ��Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - August 15-21

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1. Smart hives and dancing robot bees could boost sustainable beekeeping

“[Researchers] developed a digital comb—a thin circuit board equipped with various sensors around which bees build their combs. Several of these in each hive can then transmit data to researchers, providing real-time monitoring. [… Digital comb] can [also] be activated to heat up certain parts of a beehive […] to keep the bees warm during the winter[…. N]ot only have [honeybee] colonies reacted positively, but swarm intelligence responds to the temperature changes by reducing the bees' own heat production, helping them save energy.”

2. Babirusa pigs born at London Zoo for first time

“Thanks to their gnarly tusks […] and hairless bodies, the pigs are often called "rat pigs" or "demon pigs” in their native Indonesia[….] “[The piglets] are already looking really strong and have so much energy - scampering around their home and chasing each other - it’s a joy to watch. They’re quite easy to tell apart thanks to their individual hair styles - one has a head of fuzzy red hair, while its sibling has a tuft of dark brown hair.””

3. 6,000 sheep will soon be grazing on 10,000 acres of Texas solar fields

“The animals are more efficient than lawn mowers, since they can get into the nooks and crannies under panel arrays[….] Mowing is also more likely to kick up rocks or other debris, damaging panels that then must be repaired, adding to costs. Agrivoltaics projects involving sheep have been shown to improve the quality of the soil, since their manure is a natural fertilizer. […] Using sheep instead of mowers also cuts down on fossil fuel use, while allowing native plants to mature and bloom.”

4. Florida is building the world's largest environmental restoration project

“Florida is embarking on an ambitious ecological restoration project in the Everglades: building a reservoir large enough to secure the state's water supply. […] As well as protecting the drinking water of South Floridians, the reservoir is also intended to dramatically reduce the algae-causing discharges that have previously shut down beaches and caused mass fish die-offs.”

5. The Right to Repair Movement Continues to Accelerate

“Consumers can now demand that manufacturers repair products [including mobile phones….] The liability period for product defects is extended by 12 months after repair, incentivising repairs over replacements. [… M]anufacturers may need to redesign products for easier disassembly, repair, and durability. This could include adopting modular designs, standardizing parts, and developing diagnostic tools for assessing the health of a particular product. In the long run, this could ultimately bring down both manufacturing and repair costs.”

6. Federal Judge Rules Trans Teen Can Play Soccer Just In Time For Her To Attend First Practice

“Today, standing in front of a courtroom, attorneys for Parker Tirrell and Iris Turmelle, two transgender girls, won an emergency temporary restraining order allowing Tirrell to continue playing soccer with her friends. […] Tirrell joined her soccer team last year and received full support from her teammates, who, according to the filing, are her biggest source of emotional support and acceptance.”

7. Pilot study uses recycled glass to grow plants for salsa ingredients

“"We're trying to reduce landfill waste at the same time as growing edible vegetables," says Andrea Quezada, a chemistry graduate student[….] Early results suggest that the plants grown in recyclable glass have faster growth rates and retain more water compared to those grown in 100% traditional soil. [… T]he pots that included any amount of recyclable glass [also] didn't have any fungal growth.”

8. Feds announce funding push for ropeless fishing gear that spares rare whales

“Federal fishing managers are promoting the use of ropeless gear in the lobster and crab fishing industries because of the plight of North Atlantic right whales. […] Lobster fishing is typically performed with traps on the ocean bottom that are connected to the surface via a vertical line. In ropeless fishing methods, fishermen use systems such an inflatable lift bag that brings the trap to the surface.”

9. Solar farms can benefit nature and boost biodiversity. Here’s how

“[… M]anaging solar farms as wildflower meadows can benefit bumblebee foraging and nesting, while larger solar farms can increase pollinator densities in surrounding landscapes[….] Solar farms have been found to boost the diversity and abundance of certain plants, invertebrates and birds, compared to that on farmland, if solar panels are integrated with vegetation, even in urban areas.”

10. National Wildlife Federation Forms Tribal Advisory Council to Guide Conservation Initiatives, Partnerships

“The council will provide expertise and consultation related to respecting Indigenous Knowledges; wildlife and natural resources; Indian law and policy; Free, Prior and Informed Consent[… as well as] help ensure the Federation’s actions honor and respect the experiences and sovereignty of Indigenous partners.”

August 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[pastacrylic]

✨ ok muffins and i have decided to come clean somewhat about the two main fronters at least these days

first off: hi im summer rain but you can call me just rain. im a changeling, sometimes take on a unicorn form cuz my special talent is magic.

you can probably easily recognize my posts bc i never capitalize stuff and i dont usually use punctuation

🫧 Then, hi! I'm Muffins. Real name Winter Snow, but Muffins works just fine. Bubbles also works. Just PLEASE NEVER CALL ME DITZY OR DERPY. It's all I ask. I generally prefer proper capitalization and stuff when I type :3

I am NOT kinning! I'm an introject. I'm quite literally Muffins, that's how it works. I don't think I have the energy to explain how introjecting works here, so I'll let y'all do your research ^^

✨our system has like. idk at least 50 members. but i dont think yall will ever rly see most of em here unless otherwise specified

lately bubblebutt and i have been the main creatures in charge so yea

🫧 Ultimately this doesn't change anything at all for most of y'all since we will very much remain strangers, but it just feels nice for us to be able to refer to ourselves with out proper names publicly :)

[coryosmin]

Feel Better - Coryo x GN!Reader

Coryo x GN!reader

warnings: sick coriolanus, reader taking care of coriolanus, no nsfw, ooc coriolanus probably, reader notices that coriolanus has an itty bitty cold and they just want to be there for him. oh and reader and coriolanus are best friends with romantic feelings for one another. this is definitely fluff.

AN: there’s just something about vulnerable Coriolanus Snow that just makes me swoon. All terms in here should lead to a gender neutral reader but if there’s any indicators I might’ve accidentally put otherwise, please let me know! Sometimes I make mistakes and miss them 😭😭

2,000 words

Coriolanus had woken up feeling groggy. His throat was parched, his nose was a bit stuffy, and his head hurt a little bit. He didn’t think too much of it. The apartment, being so old, was prone to giving Coriolanus allergies. He was probably experiencing post-nasal drip from the dust and mold. He sit up in bed, clearing his throat. With his head hurting, he forced himself to get out of bed, grab his clothes, and head to the shower. A hot shower should help clear things up, right?

Wrong.

It didn’t help. It gave a sense of relief while in the shower but as soon as he finished and got himself dressed, he was back to feeling all groggy. Coriolanus looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the paleness in his face and the small circles under his eyes. He rolled his eyes to himself. Of course he just had to get sick. Coriolanus has a cold. It’s no surprise really. He should’ve seen it coming.

It was winter and many students at the Academy had been getting sick lately. Livia Cardew had been sneezing and coughing all day yesterday without even having the decency to cover her mouth and nose while doing so. Begrudgingly, Coriolanus walked out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom to put his socks and shoes on, grabbing his satchel as well.

Even if he wasn’t feeling well, he had to go to school. How could he land on top if he missed a day? It would be no good for him and his future plans to be the President.

Coriolanus walked out to the main room, the cabbage soup already boiling on the stove. Tigris was standing there, sipping a cup of tea as she waited for the soup to finish. She looked up at Coriolanus, seeing his pale complexion and the bags under his eyes. “Oh, Coryo,” Tigris said, placing her tea down. “You look ill.” She said, walking over to him. She felt his cheeks and forehead, pursing her lips. “No fever though.”

“I’m fine,” Coriolanus muttered, his voice certainly hoarse. It hurt a bit to talk.

“Are you sure?” Tigris asked, concerned for her cousin. She walked back into the kitchen, pouring some warm tea for Coriolanus. She handed him the mug. “Drink.”

Coriolanus grabbed the tea cup, taking a sip. It definitely helped to soothe his throat. But it was just regular black tea which ultimately, he knew, didn’t help sore throats at all. “I can rest when I get home from school,” Coriolanus replied, looking at Tigris. “I’ll be fine.” He gave a small smile to soothe Tigris’ worries.

“If you say so, Coryo.” Tigris replied, serving Coriolanus a bowl of cabbage soup.

Coriolanus began to eat the soup, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. He forced himself to eat it because something is better than nothing and if he were to survive the day, he needs as much energy as possible. He ate as much as he could stomach before stopping. He drank the rest of his tea before standing up. “I’ll see you later, Tigris.” He said, getting ready to head out the door.

“Take care of yourself, Coryo. If you start to feel worse, please come home and rest.” Tigris said, looking at her cousin.

And with a simple nod, Coriolanus left the apartment and began his walk to school in the cold weather. He sniffled as he walked to the Academy, the cold temperature making his nose run.

Coriolanus arrived at the Academy, seeking refuge in the warm building. The cold helped to at least clear his head from the fogginess. As Coriolanus walked through the hallway to get to his class, he felt someone take hold of his arm, interlocking it with theirs. He looked down to see you with a smile on your face.

“Good morning,” You greeted, looking at at Coriolanus.

“Morning,” Came the sound of his voice, hoarse and stuffy.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at Coriolanus, stopping in your tracks with him. Though you didn’t remove your arm from his. “Are you feeling okay?” You asked softly, looking up into Coriolanus’ blue eyes. You could see the bags under his eyes and the more pale complexion that was outside of his normal pale complexion.

Coriolanus simply nodded his head. “It’s just a stupid cold,” He said, reassuring his friend. “It’ll go away quickly.”

You hummed in response. “Just don’t overwork yourself, Coryo.”

The two of them walked to class together, sitting down at their desks.

As the day went on, Coryo’s symptoms got worse. Coriolanus tried his hardest to pay attention in his classes. The fogginess from this morning was coming back and he began to feel hot but cold at the same time. His throat was hurting more than it had been earlier. He sniffled every few minutes. He even began to develop a small cough! Which unlike Livia Cardew, he covered because he actually had the decency to try not to spread his germs. He was even going to the bathroom frequently to wash his hands, thank you very much.

And as he tried to get through the day, you noticed how bad he was starting to feel. By lunch time, Coriolanus had grabbed his food and sat down. But hardly had the appetite to eat it. And usually, Coriolanus would munch down his food immediately. You sighed to yourself as you looked at your friend. You cared about him a lot and didn’t like seeing him so ill. He used to get colds a lot when the two of you were kids and it was always you who would take care of him as you had the financial means to do so.

“Coryo,” came the soft tone of your voice as you put a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time you go home and rest?”

Coriolanus shook his head no in stubbornness. “I’m fine, Y/N. Please don’t fret about me.” His voice was so hoarse and he sounded so nasally, you couldn’t help but pout in sympathy. “Just trying to get through the day.”

“Sleeping would help.” You said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Your other hand moved to his face, feeling his forehead. “You’re burning up, sweetheart.”

Coriolanus leaned into your touch, the coolness of your hand providing a relief that he didn’t realize he needed. “I don’t want to go home though.” He said softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

You gave a small smile. “Then let me bring you to mine.” You replied in the same tone. “I’ll take care of you.”

And with that, Coriolanus couldn’t deny you. He knew he couldn’t focus on anything else. His body was on fire while also being so cold. He felt miserable and wanted nothing more than to sleep. “Okay,” He agreed, opening his eyes to look at you. “You’re probably going to get sick though too.”

“And I’ll have you to take care of me.” You smiled, looking at Coriolanus.

So, the two of you left the Academy early. You had told Sejanus to let the professors know that you had taken Coriolanus home due to him not feeling well. You and Coriolanus arrived to your high end apartment after a bit of walking. Coriolanus looked as miserable as he felt. As you walked into the apartment, you were grateful that your father was working and your mom was out and about.

Coriolanus took his shoes off at the entrance, just as he usually does. You did as well. “Go lay down in my bed. You need to rest.” You said softly, looking at Coriolanus. He simply nodded and didn’t say anything else, walking to your bedroom. He took his uniform jacket off before crawling into your bed, covering himself with your lush blankets. Your bed was so soft and welcoming. Coriolanus couldn’t help but sigh in contentment as he closed his eyes and eventually, sleep consumed him.

Coriolanus awoke awhile later, still feeling relatively the same. Except when he awoke, you were sat right next to him with a cold cloth on his forehead. You smiled as you saw his blue eyes open. “Hey.” You said, smiling. “I had one of the maids make you some chicken noodle soup.” You spoke in a soft tone. “Would you like some?”

Coriolanus gave a small smile, unable to help himself. He nodded his head slightly, sitting up in the bed. The maid walked over, placing a tray in Coriolanus’ lap. He looked at the soup, remembering the times when you and him were kids and that time the both of you got sick. Your mother decided to take it upon herself to take care of both you and Coriolanus, ensuring that you both got the nutrients and medications necessary. Chicken noodle soup had become one of his favorite things because whenever he saw it, he thought of you.

“Thank you.” He whispered to you before eating the soup. He relished in the taste as he hadn’t had it in a long awhile. Coriolanus couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten sick like this. It must’ve been years ago. Really only four years but who’s counting? So yeah, Coriolanus might’ve actually been counting. But to be fair, it’s really good soup.

You simply smiled as you grabbed the cold cloth off of his forehead. “You’re welcome, Coryo.” You whispered back. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Coriolanus couldn’t help the burning in his cheeks. He was grateful that his cheeks were already flushed from the fever otherwise, it definitely would’ve been obvious that he was blushing. He cleared his throat and continued to eat the soup.

When he finished eating, you reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a glass of water and some pills for Coriolanus. “Here. A fever reducer and some anti congestion medication.” You said, smiling softly at Coriolanus. “It’ll definitely help relieve some symptoms.”

Coriolanus grabbed the glass of water and took the pills, swallowing them before drinking the water. He handed the glass back to you. The maid came back to grab the tray from Coriolanus’ lap. “Now lay down, Coryo. Get some more rest. I’ll let my mom know when she gets home that you’ll be spending the night.”

“Will she be okay with it?” Coriolanus asked.

You simply smiled and nodded your head. “Of course, sweetheart.” That nickname always made Coriolanus’ heart flutter. “You know she cares about you as much as she cares for me.”

And with that, Coriolanus smiled a small smile before laying back down. “Stay with me?” He asked, getting himself comfortable.

You nodded your head. “Always, Coryo.” You whispered to him, your e/c eyes looking into his blue orbs.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and holding it to his chest before closing his eyes. He was laying on his side, facing you. He was almost asleep when he heard, “I love you, Coryo. I hope you feel better soon.” Your tone had been so quiet and soft, as though you didn’t want to disturb him. And Coryo couldn’t help the small curl of his lips as he drifted off to sleep again.

So, maybe getting sick wasnt so bad. Especially because he had you to take care of him.

And a few days later when he felt much better and you had come down with a cold? He stayed with you at your house to help take care of you. Because Coriolanus loves you too.

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

Watching the fireworks and all I can think about is:

“But upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky” — LDR, Ride Monologue

A year ago, I was still in medschool. Already ill, but still studying 12 hours a day for my board exam while I was at my fiancée’s. It was the first NYE in years that I didn’t feel alone. I was with the woman I loved and her beautiful children and lovely family. It was the happiest winter I’ve had in a long, long time, despite all that was going on.

I wanted to be a doctor. A better one than those that had taken a year to diagnose what I already knew I had only to then tell me “there’s nothing more we can do for you.”

Now I stand before the debris of everything that I was. I barely recognise myself. I barely believe that I still exist.

A couple of years ago, I had started medschool, and I was doing well there, I was passionate and it was where I belonged. Spent days in the biochem lab or the dissecting hall and came home late to write my silly fanfiction. I’d even sometimes write them at medschool between lectures or on the train. I did my art, played instruments, sang, edited, filmed silly thirst traps and so on. Then I met my girlfriend and I was happy. It was the peak of my life, I’d thought.

And then, thanks to the negligence of my former doctor and genetics, the illnesses that I’d unknowingly had all my life, got so much worse and ultimately left me bedridden and with barely any quality of life. I had to quit medschool/request a break due to illness, which was approved.

I can’t stand for more than 5 minutes without threatening to pass out. Can’t sit for more than an hour and stay focused, lose my train of thought when I stand up. Need an hour in the morning before I can halfway safely get up, three before I can function. I need help washing my hair, doing chores and cooking and can’t really leave my house. My joints subluxate multiple times a day and I get awful nerve pain when in a flare. I can’t take a bath or shower without ending up on the floor as soon as I get out with a pulse of 150 bpm. It all makes me feel incredibly unattractive. I’m pale, my skin is dry and flaky, my eyes have dark circles, my lips are chapped, and I’m using a can.

I feel ugly.

My writing has slowed down dramatically but it’s the only thing I can still do somewhat decently and I’m being evaluated for disability. My brain, that has been the only thing I could rely on all my life, is forsaking me. It’s demanding to be fed like it used to when it was still a sponge, but when I feed it, it gets too much. And so I’m perpetually bored and overwhelmed at the same time.

I wanted to be a doctor and a writer.

And even though I’m still aiming to try publishing, I’m not sure I have enough energy to do it. I was supposed to get married in 2025. Now I have to attend my best friend’s wedding on my own. And I know it’s my fault, because I got bitter and most of all, because I lost hope. And at the same time, it’s not my fault.

The truth is, I don’t know how many more years I can live on 10% of what I used to be and I don’t want anyone to have to go through this with me. I’m not going to do anything stupid anytime soon. But I can’t do this forever if there is no treatment or hope for improvement on the horizon.

And as always when my life goes to shit, I got attached to another actress more than twice my age. And Patti is keeping me afloat right now. She’s so full of life that I can’t help but feel a little alive as well.

“But upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky” — LDR, Ride Monologue

Happy New Year.

[dreamii-yume]

(Pretends that I haven’t been gone for over 8 months)

It is time to eat! 🗣🔥 I have returned! …And what did I miss? 🫡 Not much? Okay, that’s good lol

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Toge Inumaki (Jujutsu Kaisen)

♥︎ Warnings ♥︎ Yandere | Non-Con/Dub-Con | Referring to Inumaki by His Last Name | Usage of “Senpai” Because I Don’t Know How to Translate Honorifics | Aged-Up Characters | Hurt/(No)Comfort | But It Ended Up Hurting Anyways | Female-Insert Reader | Cheating | NTR | Corruption Kink | A Subtle From of Mindbreak(?) | AU Where Shibuya Incident Never Happened | Reader is kinda menhera herself tbh

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

“I’m sorry for not being there to accompany you with your mission, Inumaki-senpai.” Gentle hands ran down his somewhat swollen cheek, before the cold, yet delicate texture of a gauze replaces it and eases the sting. “Dr. Ieiri needed me for something, and it was a priority mission, so…”

“Salmon Roe.” Toge Inumaki replied, almost immediately—Holding out his hand to cut you off as if he already knew that you were about to go on a tangent. For the inexperienced, conversation without words are something of an impossible feat, but for the years that he was mentoring you, Inumaki has gotten confident of your understanding skills. It’s kind of learning process that most of his friends developed overtime, so he’s never worried that both of you would have some form of miscommunication anytime soon.

With that said, you sighed in relief at his innocent gesture. “…Alright, then please allow me to at least use my curse technique on you.” You suggested, but the moment Inumaki felt your cursed energy spiked in an incredible amount, he knew he didn’t have a choice anyway. Not only because it was your job, but he never planned to refuse your technique if you give him a chance to experience it. Just from this close distance alone, he could practically melt at the feeling—Like a warm fire in a winter night, gently embracing his body in a comforting manner.

“…Salmon.”

Rejuvenation as they call it…An innate cursed technique that you’ve developed while you were studying with him at Jujutsu Tokyo High. It’s not much when it comes to combat, since its only special feature is, as the name suggest, rejuvenation—The power to replenish the user’s body of lost cursed energy, and ultimately cutting back whatever physical consequences of the user’s cursed technique is. It was a shame that by Jujutsu regulations, it was considered a “cursed” technique like everyone else’s when in truth, it can very well be compared to a blessing in disguise for people like him.

Call it a senior’s pride or something like that, but Inumaki thoroughly believed that you’ve naturally developed a technique that he can greatly appreciate because he was the one who raised you better as a sorcerer than your own teacher ever did.

To think that you were but an ordinary civilian when you came in here felt like a fever dream. No relations to curses, sorcerers, or anything—Just a rare case of a normal person possessing a higher cursed energy than most people that they were able to see curses from a very young age. You were a chick fresh out of the egg when you arrived, an outsider to the world of Jujutsu, and Inumaki back then just found himself teaching you on a whim.

He loves watching you use your curse technique a lot more than he could ever admit—The control you have on your breathing, heart rate, and flow of curse energy was spectacular. You always make sure that you won’t hurt yourself in the process by giving too much, but at the same time, you knew exactly how much a current person needs for a complete rejuvenation. His favorite part had always been when you’re done, the way your eyes would snap back into your normal cheerful self after being in a trance like nothing happened. It never fails to make him smile.

”…Well, do you feel a lot better? Is there anything else I could help you with?” Your voice quickly got Inumaki back on high alert as he was in a trance himself. He just couldn’t help it sometimes; he could feel your cursed energy flowing in him in just the right amount that it was way too comfortable to just ignore.

Inumaki tilts his neck in a snap, feeling a satisfying crack from each side before giving you a thumbs up. “Pollock Roe.” He said with confidence to mask the embarrassment he feels inside. He would never say it straight to your face, but as someone who receives this treatment from you a lot, it’s not much of an exaggeration to say that he was addicted to the feeling. He’s a bit…sensitive on how you will react to this information, so he’ll keep it to himself for now.

“Well, that’s great then~!” You said, as he felt your observant eyes on him again—Constantly looking for any injury you might’ve missed, but your work was as flawless as ever. “At this point, please just get plenty of rest as always. If you notice anything else that feels wrong, please refer to Dr. Ieiri as soon as possible.”

Inumaki couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the way you speak during work mode, it’s professional but it just wasn’t the normal cheeky junior he knew. So, with a mischievous look on his face, Inumaki pulled on your cheek slightly with judging eyes. “Mustard Leaf~?” He teased as you flinched at the contact.

“Ow, ow!” You exclaimed, yelping like a kicked animal until Inumaki let go eventually. In an instant, you pouted and rubbed on your slightly reddened cheek. “W-What was that for, seriously…!?”

Inumaki only pointed at you nonchalantly with two fingers. “Tuna, Tuna.” He stuck out his tongue which only puts an irritated vein on your forehead—But somehow, you knew what he was trying to say.

Instead of snapping like how you originally planned, you sighed. “I know, I know…” You said, eventually smiling in defeat. “But it’s work, you know? I have to be prim and proper when it comes to work.”

Inumaki hummed, eyes glancing to the side as if he hadn’t learned his lessons at all—In fact, he just wanted to catch your attention, that’s all. “…And you should be careful around your own work too!” Then came in you scolding him in the end. “Please stop rupturing your vocal cords every time you go on missions! I am not treating you next time, do you hear!?”

“Salmon Roe~” He heard what you said, but it was like the words go through one ear and escaped to the other—He didn’t have any intention of listening to your advice at all. If rupturing his vocal cords was the minimum requirement to come visit you again, then so be it…Besides, he knows you’re lying anyways. He just can’t see you refusing service to anyone who’s in need of help, what more of it if it was him?

“Ugh, why do I feel like you’re not taking me seriously at all…?” You grumbled under your breath but ending up shaking your head anyways. Eventually though, you smiled in a silly manner, just what Inumaki was hoping for. “No, whatever…Just have a good day, Senpai.”

Hearing that, Inumaki finally gave you his famous close-eyed smile to show his excitement. “Salmon~!” He replied enthusiastically after seeing that familiar attitude of yours for the day and quickly pat your head. You giggled as he hopped off the bed, raising his hand slightly to wave at you as he headed out for the door. “…Kelp.”

With one last smile, you waved back at him before going back to your desk, probably checking for the mission you’re assigned to next.

Honestly, for someone who came from humble beginnings, you were making quite the name for yourself as a sorcerer in the Jujutsu world. Non-combatant cursed techniques are rare as it is, and for someone to have one that defies the very definition of a curse and turning it into something of a blessing—It’s no wonder you are highly valued by the higher-ups. It’s hard to imagine that just a few years ago, you were someone relatively unknown and though you did had some help from the teachers like all other students, you still had to teach yourself on how to differentiate between what is a curse and what is not.

Regardless, Inumaki can freely shrug about it now—He was glad you developed a technique that was beneficial to him, and that’s all it matters. You were good friends, on top of being senior and junior back in school, so your relationship with him was undoubtedly better than the rest. Maybe he’s a bit boastful about it, because who wouldn’t want to come home from a long and exhausting mission, only to lay down and be doted on by your cursed technique?

The feeling of a sore throat has been something of a wild fantasy to him ever since you mastered your craft, so what else was there to complain about?

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the Hornii?

This Sinfic was in one of my WIPs folder (Yes, I have a folder full of unfinished Sinfics and ideas ☠️ I’m a loser) and I had to travel back to the memory lane on what kind of plot I was trying to cook 8 months ago 😭

I think my goal was to write a  Sinfic is that proves that dialogue is not at all needed when it comes to fucked-up love ♥︎

[mirai-e-jump]

Animage January 2024 Issue Kamen Rider THE WINTER MOVIE: Gotchard & Geats Gotchard Main Cast Interviews (translations below)

Publication: December 8, 2023

Clear it! The strongest Chemy catching game!!

In order to seal the 101 Chemies released into this world onto cards, Houtarou Ichinose (Kamen Rider Gotchard) searches for Chemies every day with his friends from the Alchemy Academy. One day, he meets Ace Ukiyo (Kamen Rider Geats) fighting against some Jyamato monsters. Behind the scenes is Chemy X Wizard, a level number 10 supreme wizard.

Kamen Rider's Winter film will be released again this year, featuring a dream collaboration of Kamen Riders from different series. The main highlight includes Houtarou and other Gotchard members, and Ace and other Geats members being divided into teams to take on the ultimate Chemy catching game. It's the unique charm of this work that features the familiar search for Chemies from Gotchard, and the characteristics of Geats, where Kamen Riders do challenging games, which have been "combined!" The dialogue between the characters of Gotchard and Geats that you can't normally see on TV is a must see!

The presence of Geats Chemy, who looks exactly like Kamen Rider Geats, is also a point of interest. Centering around X Wizard and Geats Chemy, the drama between humans and Chemies, which is the real appeal of Gotchard, is depicted on a scale that only a film can provide. What will the encounter with the new Chemy and Ace and his group bring to Houtarou and his friends?

Junsei Motojima (Houtarou) x Reiyo Matsumoto (Rinne) Fujibayashi Yasunari (Spanner) x Abe Oto (Renge) Rikiya Tomizono (Sabimaru) x Kumaki Rikuto (Minato)

"Double" the expected chemistry!

-Is Spanner, a mood maker, the complete opposite of the person playing the role?-

"The first quarter has passed since the broadcast started, what has the response been?"

Motojima: I feel that the number of messages of support have gradually increased. At talk events, there were those who would say to me, "I'm cheering for you," and those who brought support fans (uchiwa), and I think I'm starting to actually realize it myself. It makes me incredibly happy.

Matsumoto: I have the feeling that I'm gradually getting used to being on set. I'm now trying to expand my range of acting by taking on new challenges every day, and reviewing my own performance to see how I can improve it.

Fujibayashi: As the story progresses, there'll be more scenes that delve deeper into each character's individuality. My desire to see the stories we've filmed, including this film, as soon as possible has become stronger since the broadcast started.

Abe: Up until now, I haven't appeared regularly in dramas, so I was really happy, and when I heard a kid next to me on the train talking about Gotchard, I thought, "What a great response!"

Fujibayashi: Did they realize that you were Renge?

Abe: I don't think they noticed (laughs). I'll do my best to get them to notice!

Tomizono: At first, when I played the role I thought, "Who is Sabimaru…" But, as he interacts with Houtarou and the others, I gradually felt that I was building up my own image of Sabimaru's character. I'd like to carefully build up Sabimaru's growth in the future, and I want to do my best to make tablets more popular (laughs).

Kumaki: It seems that there are events at kindergartens and other places where they hand out Gotchard cards, and my friends send me pictures of their children receiving the cards. When I see this, I realize that I'm creating these children's dreams, and that joy is my driving force.

"For the photo shoot, we got the impression that Fujibayashi-san was at the center, and that everyone else had a relaxed mood, but is Fujibayashi-san also "in charge" of things on set?"

Fujibayashi: No, I don't think that's the case.

Tomizono: He's got so much energy, and I feel like he raises everyone's spirits.

Abe: That's for sure!

Motojima: Even when we greet each other at 5 a.m., I can't believe how energetic he is.

Kumaki: It's so early in the morning that everyone else isn't fully awake yet.

Fujibayashi: Lately, I've been paying attention to everyone's mood and greeting them in a calmer manner.

Everyone: (laughs).

Kumaki: You've become an adult, huh?

Fujibayashi: I've become an adult (laughs).

Motojima: But, when we're filming early in the morning, having Yasu-kun (Fujibayashi) around makes me feel more energetic.

-Appearing together with Geats, filming was peaceful from start to finish-

"In this work, Houtarou and his friends split into teams together with the members of Kamen Rider Geats to take on the ultimate Chemy catching game."

Motojima: It's interesting that we're teamed up with those who have similar personalities. Houtarou and Tycoon, Rinne and Geats, Spanner and Buffa. I think that because of our similarities, we can relate to each other, and there's some good "chemical reactions."

Matsumoto: I've been working with Kan Hideyoshi-san for a long time, and I was trying to take in things from Kan-san's acting that I could apply to Rinne. Also, Houtarou falling into a trap so fast was so funny, that I laughed during the test takes (laugh).

Motojima: When I read the script, I thought to myself, "That's just like Houtarou….." (laughs). I thought it was charming because he has a childlike quality that's different from the Houtarou in the TV show.

Abe: When we were filming, I remember that it was very windy (laughs).

Tomizono: The sandy beach scene of our capture game was the first scene filmed of the movie. The wind was strong and it was raining quite abit. Furthermore, Na-Go Chemy gets covered in seaweed (laughs).

Abe: That's right (laughs). I feel like alot of the scenes with Na-Go Chemy were filmed with lots of imagination.

Tomizono: There was also something about jet planes. It was fun to film.

Abe: We were the imagination team (laughs).

Fujibayashi: In that sense, Buffa Chemy and I were both part of the imagination solo team.

Tomizono: I guess so (laughs).

Fujibayashi: Both Spanner and Buffa's theme color is purple, and they also have slightly stuck up personalities, so when the film was announced, there were many people on SNS who were looking forward to us appearing together. The interactions between the two of them are very interesting, so I hope you'll look forward to it.

"In a scene with Kugimiya Licht, Minato was depicted in his teacher's attaire."

Kumaki: I remember well the first time I greeted Motomiya Yasukaze-san, who plays Licht. Despite him being about 4-5 meters away (13-16 ft), I felt an overwhelming aura that made me feel like he was right in front of me.

Everyone: (laughs)

Kumaki: I was alittle nervous (laughs), but once I gathered up my courage and greeted him, he was very kind to me. I felt a sense of security all at once, and performed with the intention of receiving advice from my senior.

"What's your most memorable experience working with the Geats team?"

Abe: There was a part where I could feel the experience of working on a project for a year. In a scene where a drone is used, Mokudai Kazuto-san noticed a mark (for where to stand) and asked the staff, "Is this okay?" We weren't paying attention to it, so it's amazing that he noticed it instantly and acted accordingly.

Tomizono: We'd never met before, but they created an atmosphere where we felt comfortable talking to them and had alot of fun. During breaks, we'd play games where you have to hold back your laughter. Kan-kun is also from the Kansai region, so we got along really well, and were able to film in a really friendly atmosphere.

Matsumoto: Everyone was very kind, and I remember that they talked to us alot.

Abe: It was easy to talk to them.

Fujibayashi: The two of you had a girls night out with Tsumuri (Aoshima Kokoro) and Neon (Hoshino Yuna).

Matsumoto: That's right.

Abe: We had some girl talk.

Tomizono: I'm sure you did.

Fujibayashi: What did you talk about?

Matsumoto: Things like painting nails, perfume and other stuff.

Motojima: To be honest, I've been paying alot of attention to my appearance lately, and I've been asking Matsumoto-san and Abe-san alot of questions.

Matsumoto: It's true

Motojima: When Tsumuri-san heard about this, she set up a prank for the makeup artists to teach me fake beauty info. I was completely fooled.

Everyone: (laughs).

Motojima: I also felt that everyone from Geats did things very freely. They included adlibs, and there's a scene where Ace says, "I'm glad I was turned into this," but it was interesting to see Ace say things in a way that he'd never do during test takes. I thought he was very good at keeping the atmosphere on set peaceful.

Tomizono: But, when it was a real take, it was really cool.

Motojima: That's right! There was an incredible difference.

-Becoming a level ... Chemy?!-

"In this work, the Geats members are turned into Chemies, but if you could become a Chemy, what would you want to look like?"

Fujibayashi: Because It's obvious what I'd be, I probably don't need to say it.

Motojima: What do you mean?

Fujibayashi: I could only be a spanner.

Matsumoto: Ah!

Tomizono: If not a spanner, what Chemy would Yasu become instead?

Fujibayashi: None, I can't think of anything else.

Tomizono: You've become Spanner Chemy. What do you do?

Fujibayashi: Loosen the screws in people's heads.

Everyone: (laughs).

Fujibayashi: Everyone becomes so stupid, that they forget how to transform and can no longer speak Japanese.

Abe: That's terrible (laughs). That'd make you the strongest, wouldn't it?

Tomizono: What'll happen if you combine with another Chemy?

Fujibayashi: Valvarad uses it, not Gotchard.

Tomizono: I see.

Fujibayashi: Sabimaru would be a tablet, right?

Tomizono: (laughs). As Tomizono, I'd like a Chemy that's really cool. Like a dragon, but softer.

Fujibayashi: Like something you'd find on a souvenir from a school field trip?

Tomizono: Right, like something on a keychain.

Fujibayashi: I think children would love that.

Tomizono: That's good. I want to appear like that as a level 10 Chemy.

Motojima: I want to become a level 100 Chemy.

Everyone: (laughs).

Motojima: I want to be treated like a legend.

Matsumoto: What would I be? Maybe a bird?

Abe: Ah!

Tomizono: Is that what you wanted?

Abe: I've been beat.

Fujibayashi: But, it depends on the type of bird.

Matsumoto: Hmmm…a crow?

Fujibayashi: A crow, huh? I'd like to own one atleast once.

Tomizono: People say they're smart.

Abe: They're said to have the intelligence of 5 year olds.

Fujibayashi: Well then, they're smarter than me.

Everyone: (laughs).

Tomizono: Is there a reason why you went with a bird?

Matsumoto: I think it'd be nice to fly across the open sky. The wind would feel great too.

Abe: You get it!

Matsumoto: And crows are cool, aren't they? That's why I want to be Crow Chemy.

Fujibayashi: Oto-chan, what kind of bird would you like to be?

Abe: I want to be a black kite.

Tomizono: A black kite?

Abe: When I was little, I remember them because they used to attack me alot when I went camping. When I’d be eating a meal, they'd suddenly snatch it away. They're agile, can fly, and they can enjoy scenery that we can't normally see.

Fujibayashi: I want to steal someone's food.

Abe: Right, right.

Tomizono: Really? (laughs).

Abe: I think black kite's are the strongest.

Fujibayashi: What about Kuma-san?

Kumaki: Because of Bumblebee, I like cars.

Fujibayashi: Ah, from "Transformers."

Kumaki: I think it would be cute if I were a Chemy that looked like Bumblebee.

Tomizono: Would you be a transforming Chemy?

Kumaki: Yeah, I'd transform.

Motojima: I think that'll be in the show sooner or later.

Kumaki: When will it appear?

Fujibayashi: It'd be alot like Golddash.

Kumaki: Ah! That's right!

Motojima: Then, it'll be like a car version of Golddash!

"We would love to hear more, but we'd like to conclude with a message from Motojima-san to our readers on behalf of everyone."

Motojima: I think the highlight is that the character's charm, which is different from the TV show, is brought out by interacting with the Kamen Rider Geats members. Many of the strongest level number 10 Chemies appear, and the development where humans turn into Chemies is also unexpected, it's unexpected plus unexpected twice expected…….it's like unexpected x2.

Tomizono: So double expected?

Fujibayashi: Are you saying…it's going to turn out to be more than expected?

Motojima: Ah, that sounds good.

Fujibayashi: You just said it yourself. You bite your tongue?

Tomizono: Did you mispronounce something?

Motojima: Well uh, it turned out to be more than I expected…

Everyone: (laughs).

Motojima: The unpredictable development of the story is appealing, and the fact that it features Chemies that can talk is also a key point.

Abe: Agreed.

Motojima: Please watch out for how Houtarou and his friends will interact with the talking Chemies, which have yet to appear in the TV show!

[thesarcasticreader]

PAC: DETAILS ABOUT YOUR WEDDING

These are general readings meant for entertainment purposes. You can partake in advice, but do not let it cloud your decision-making.

I do take paid readings. You can contact me for them. Make sure you have either Paypal or Gpay! DM for the price list!

(IMAGES ARE TAKEN FROM PINTEREST)

Pile 1:

Your marriage will take about 2-5 years. You may be older than your person by a year or so. Or at least emotionally more mature than your person. This person is impulsive, reckless and kind of reminds me of Lucifer from the show Lucifer. The absolute best person to know but they require someone with a lot of patience. This person can come up with stupid ideas but sometimes, these stupid ideas pay off really well. There is someone in this person's family who would not approve of this union.

You guys are likely to have a destination wedding. The wedding may take place closer to this person's birthplace. So, there is a chance that this person may be located far away from you. It's like a garden party with mountains in the backdrop and an evening wedding. You guys may love releasing lanterns on your wedding day.

You and your person will spend a lot of money on your wedding. It is a lavish and secluded event with your loved ones. It has a very magical and calm vibe. A song is coming through for you guys: Magic Hour. The wedding will be like what this song makes you feel. The song kind of puts you at peace and fills you with gratitude. The song has an enchanted feeling to it.

Overall, a drama-free wedding. This person does not have an extended family. Your guest list is limited. You have spent more on making the event comfortable than accommodating too many people to make it look like a big, fat wedding. There may be expectations of rain. If you guys are planning an outdoor wedding, it may rain. That's the only downer, however, it will not delay the wedding for too long.

With pomegranates showing up, your wedding night is going to be very fertile. If you guys aren't planning to become a family of three, wrap it up. Your intuition will be pricking all day at your neck. Not in a trying to warn you about something bad is about to happen way but in a spiritually and emotionally balanced way.

Channelled song: Magic Hour by Jhene AikoThe energy coming off the pile: German Shepherd (Smart but confused still dangerous😂😂)

Pile 2:

Winter- Spring time is relevant for you. For this pile, there was this immediate message that popped up: it's coming in fast. If you asked a question before this reading, that's the answer. This is going to be a soulmate union. The ultimate card of union popped up for you guys so you can expect a lot of crying on your wedding day.

Speaking of weddings, you seem to be uneasy about this big day. You feel incomplete because of some reason and you are unable to shake the feeling. This is either related to a past person or a guest who is not able to make it to your wedding. Here are some possible scenarios that are coming through. One is that a friend of yours confesses their feelings for you and you decide to cut them out of the wedding. You are sad about their absence but you know it's for the best.

Otherwise, it feels like you are hung over things that could have been. You feel incomplete because you are living with regret which is interfering with your happiness. For a very short amount of you, this may be an arranged marriage that you are not at all sure about but you are going through.

Another scenario that is coming through is that you have broken up with a long-term partner and you are hung up over them. And you blankly agree to a marriage with the new person. You know that this person is good for you but you are heartbroken. Take your time, your person will be patient with you. Do not marry a person you are not sure about. Even though the cards show it will be okay: NO! Say yes only if you know what you are doing, otherwise hold back. You have all the time in the world.

Your person is very stubborn and very communicative. This person does not fuck around about their feelings. If they want you to know shit, you will. On this day, you will be offered a choice. Either live in the past or move on with your life. It may seem very ominous but your future with their person is very fulfilling.

Channelled song: Butterfly Fly Away by Miley Cyrus The energy coming off the pile: Husky

Pile 3:

Very traditional wedding for this pile. You guys or at least your partner may be a stickler for traditions. The timing of our wedding is not at all clear as compared to the other piles. Either you are not supposed to know the answer or it is dependent on you. I incline that you have to work on your inner child's fears and traumas before you can manifest a good relationship in your life.

Marriage is a piece of paper. No seriously. I am not trying to be a dick but marriage will not fix shit. If your relationship sucks, it will be nice for two months but it will not fix any underlying issue. You are someone who struggles to think practically and emotionally. There is a disbalance between the two all the time. That's why you struggle with emotions a lot of the time.

You need a partner, not an adult baby. You have a very happy marriage written in the cards. But you need to deliberate on what you want from your wedding. I know this wedding was supposed to detail stuff about your wedding, but this came through.

The person you choose is going to be a bit older than you. Dark hair, and grey eyes for the men. They are likely to have curly hair. Very mischievous features. For women, you can expect petite features, crazy but in a good way personality, and loves art. Small hands, a cute but big smile and a triangle face.

You are going to be receiving a lavish amount of gifts from your guests. It's a river of gold flowing kind of feeling. Your person is going to let you take the centre stage. They rather that you take the attention. They are more introverted than you.

Channelled song: Highs And Lows by Dagny

The energy coming off the pile: Husky (happy, loud and chaotic as fuck)

IF YOU WANT MORE READINGS, YOU CAN CHECK MY INSTAGRAM: @A_sarcastic_Reader.

[p1nkcomet]

you are the sun and each morning i wait for you. like a starving man i yearn for your glance in my direction, praying for you to come and save me. when night falls, the bright stars almost recreate the lovely twinkle im your eye, yet you still outshine them. the moon is jealous i pay no attention to her; instead i count down the seconds until you rise again. in the midst of darkness, i reach for you, for even a blind man could see your beauty. as i wait for your beams to break the surface of the sky, i hear the birds flying in the distance, the sound of their flapping wings matching that of my heartbeat. you are the sun, a ball of fire and energy, you radiate warmth, and in the cold winter days people pray for you to come out for a chance to be purely grazed by your flames. i beg that you nourish me, feed me, save me. the universe orbits you, i spin around you, i trace your every move, i go where you go, like an obedient dog, i follow you. without you, the moon itself ceases to exist, a sliver of your reflection guides us even through the still hours of solitude; if you don’t see something, is its existence denied? you are the sun, and each time i hear the clock’s rhythmic tiks and taks i feel my pulse syncing with them. why do you stay away for so long? why do you make me wait? your presence lingers in the air, making it thick, unbearable, depriving me of oxygen, and ultimately suffocating me until your next appearance. why do you drag out each beat of a second, making us monumentally separate? when you rise, its a cue to the end of my heart’s famine, the very same heart that strains and tenses and twists into a feeling of hatred when you leave me to fend for myself. but even god himself knows i could never hate you, as he watches over me, he sends the wind to kiss my cheeks when you can’t. but i won’t be deceived, for you are the sun, the eternal smoldering, the everlasting blaze cast upon my soul. you are the sun, and when my wait is finally over, i ascent like i do each morning, ready to obey your trajectory. aristotle’s view states that all the heavenly bodies move in circular orbits in which each circumgyration is an exact repetition of every one that has preceded it, and even though my destiny of your trails serves a tragic end to it, and i know another will come to take the celestial place in which i stand, i will live out and devote my abiding loyalty to you, and only you, until it can burn into your skin the way your rays sink into mine.  

[runabout-river]

I've seen a few parts of a few episodes of a few seasons of Snowpiercer and my crossover imagination suddenly ran wild.

Imagine if Yuki had managed her goal of eradicating cursed energy from the world but with severe consequences. I have no idea how the world in Snowpiercer got -80°C cold but for this it will be because of Yuki.

She did it by interfering in Gojo's and Toji's fight after Kenjaku himself had already gotten to them. Add Tengen into the mix and CE disappears from the world... together with its warmth.

Curses and cursed technique become weaker and weaker, most cursed objects lose their strength and abilities, and soon sorcerers are nearly on the same level as normal humans.

A fight for survival erupts just like everywhere else in the world but it's only the 10km long train - the Snowpiercer - that can ensure the survival of humanity.

And Kenjaku arranges for a group of Japanese survivors to come on board but only if they manage to wait long enough for the train to get them. (From the few parts of the show I saw I couldn't make out if the train goes around the world or only through North America but let's say it also goes to East Asia.)

That group mostly consists of sorcerers and their families and friends because even with CE disappearing they can still survive for longer. Some things also disappear at a slower rate or they're entirely unaffected by Yuki's ultimate solution.

The 6 Eyes stay but Gojo's CT doesn't. Geto's curses survive as long as they're inside of him but once in the open they don't have long live. Yaga using his cursed corpses makes him lose his CE faster and Kenjaku can't ever change bodies again.

Only the binding vows hold fast against the disappearance of CE but no one can ever make new once. This means that small and sick child Kokichi has the most CE in all of the world suddenly which gets exploited immediately but it also means that Toji's physical power doesn't diminish. He stays superhuman, just like child Yuji and Maki.

There is one other person who doesn't lose his strength during this calamity either: Sukuna. Kenjaku doesn't manage to revive him in time though because he goes to America and the end of the world happens faster than he would've thought.

So most of Sukuna's fingers get lost in Japan just like the group of survivors who have to reach the train tracks on time. Toji tries to save his family at least because what else is there left to do in the world but the weather becomes so cold they can't survive before they reach the Snowpiercer.

But while Tsumiki dies in his arms Toji tries to at least save Megumi by giving him one of Sukuna's fingers. 1 chance in a million this would work but... it doesn't. Sukuna doesn't come out and Toji is forced to bury his children under piling snow.

But in reality it does work. Megumi becomes Sukuna's host but the cold and the CE disappearing did have an effect on Sukuna as well so the transformation just took longer and was extremely subdued.

Neither Sukuna's mind nor Megumi's can process any of that though. It's too cold and while they can survive it with Sukuna's power and steady CE they can barely go on in this forever winter.

So it takes them a few years wandering around before they find the tracks for the last piece human civilization on the planet. Then it's Megumi on the Snowpiercer meeting his long lost friends again while the King of Curses thaws out.

.

.

.

Yep, just me throwing anime and magic at a science based live action show 👀.

[mermaidsirennikita]

hi!! i love your recs so much. I’ve read so much more romance thanks to you and your commentary. If you don’t mind, can you rec me some historical romance books where the fmc and mmc are both proper sticks in the mud all about duty ‘they’d be more happy if they got laid’ energy? Usually only either is that (the fmcs even less so) I’m kinda over super slutty jovial type heroes and need more grumps but would also like a grumpy heroine too.

First off, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying more romance :D I hope that these recs help even more—I never mind giving them, I'm just sometimes slower to answer due to work or whatever.

My immediate thought was Judith McNaught's A Kingdom of Dreams. Jennifer isn't really a stick in the mud (she's rather fiery and rebellious) but neither wants to marry and does it purely out of duty. They actually have an initially flirty relationship (and sleep together before the engagement) BUT it then goes off the rails and they become proper enemies before they're forced to marry. Royce is mad about it, but the king ordered it soooooO! Jennifer tries to get out of it, but again, duty ultimately prevails.

The Chief by Monica McCarty comes to mind. Another one where they sleep together before marriage, but it's super brief and interrupted, and it happens purely to trap him (which she doesn't want, but her father does for political purposes). They're all about the duty. The sex actually IS physically good, but he withholds emotionally for a loooong time. The Recruit has similar vibes, but they also sleep together before marriage (see: a pattern lol) before hating each other, and they marry because he finds out she's pregnant and was trying to hide it from him. Neither wants to. But. DUTY. HONOR. It takes them a whiiiile to really warm up to each other again.

Enchanted by Elizabeth Lowell gives this vibe a LOT. But I will say, SA trauma figures heavily into the novel, and is why the heroine is so cold to the hero. It's a 90s romance, so he actually initially thinks she's lying about it as well when he finally finds out, BUT NOT IN A MAD WAY, in a "oh, she's trying to hide her besmirched honor from me, baby don't worry I don't care". When he finds out she's telling the truth.... Oh.... It hurts. But yeah, there's a lot of initial duty and then hurt/comfort that yields into passion. Untamed, the first book in the series, has shades of this as well—the heroine is sweeter versus being a stick in the mud, but the marriage is arranged and they're both about doing their duty. And he BADLY needs to loosen up (by sleeping with her) but he just wants an heir~.

If you're open to fantasy, I'd say The Hurricane Wars leads directly into this in the second book, Monsoon Rising, which isn't out until December. So you're left at the marriage point in the first book, but OOOOH I PROMISE THE SECOND IS BIIIG ON THIS if you're willing to wait a little bit longer. It's great.

Another fantasy option is The Winter King, wherein the hero conquers the heroine's kingdom (her brother killed! His entire family!) and they marry as part of a truce. Neither of 'em want to be there, there's some initial tenderness that gives way to mistrust, there's a HUGE heir pressure...

[ashleywool]

"I LOVED THAT SHOW"

I wore my How to Dance in Ohio hoodie to church today. It's Palm Sunday and we did our customary palm procession from Duffy Square into the building, which is nice and all except winter decided to come back and bite my skin off again...so that sweatshirt seemed like the best choice as warm enough for the weather + can fit under my choir robe + won't get swelteringly uncomfortable once we're inside at the service. It did the job. Truly the ultimate transition piece. Get yours today while supplies last.

At fellowship afterwards, someone from the congregation that I didn't know--she's only in NYC part of the year--pointed out my sweatshirt and said "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

It took her a moment to recognize me (she initially confused me for Madison, which, yeah that happens, I'll never be mad about it), and we had a lovely chat about the show. And what I noticed after walking away was...the subject of autism, or me being autistic, didn't come up at all.

I love and cherish the advocacy aspect of my work on HTDIO. I love and cherish the opportunity it gave me to be the autistic representation I wished I'd had growing up. But I have to say, it was SO nice to have someone, a total stranger, talking about the show and loving the show independent of The Autism Part.

It was wonderful being part of discussions about diverse representation, and I will never turn down opportunities to eagerly participate in those conversations. But I really wanted us to stick around long enough that the "novelty" aspect of "autistic characters played by autistic actors" (or even "canonically nonbinary/genderqueer characters") would wear off sufficiently for more people, so they could focus on the story and the characters and the music and all the other things that make our show great irrespective of the Representation aspect.

I've had a ROUGH few weeks, y'all. Truthfully, I've been going through one of the worst depressive episodes of my life. Aside from the obvious grief factor and logistical stressors, it turns out that post-operative depression is absolutely a thing. While I'd like to think I'm cognitively and emotionally mature enough to handle this level of change, especially considering how lucky I am to have robust support systems in family, friends, and healthcare practitioners, my very autistic nervous system has had a difficult time letting the sympathetic part cooperate with the parasympathetic part. So I've been a ball of tension, exhaustion, and worst of all, that soul-sucking apathy where nothing seems enjoyable or interesting, but maybe it would be if I had the energy to be interested.

It's helped to find a great physical therapy clinic that is giving me comprehensive, multi-pronged care and NOT charging me copays (because apparently my insurance pays them excellently--thank you, Equity-League and Cigna). It's helped that I got back in touch with a therapist I had seen years ago on BetterHelp (she's since left the platform and honestly, GOOD FOR HER). It's helped that I have parents with the means to help me out financially--and, crucially, the means to keep me accountable without resorting to pressure and guilt-tripping. It's helped to still live in a city where financial assistance isn't excruciatingly hard to come by if all else fails (at least compared to other states). It's helped to have agents submitting me for tons of exciting projects, and having several cabarets and readings to look forward to in this time of transition. It's helped to have a really chill, supportive church community keeping me spiritually grounded without buying into the yt American evangelical toxicity. It's helped to have my cats.

But sometimes, what makes me the happiest of all, is hearing "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

I'll never not be proud to be known for How to Dance in Ohio and everything we stood for. I'm proud that the love was real, and the quality of the material reflected and reverberated that love. I'm proud of the representation aspect, and I'm proud that it wasn't just about that. And people who saw it, saw all of that.

It's so comforting to know that we shared this show with enough people that it's going to continue to matter.

People aren't going to forget.

I love that for us.

By the way, it was too cold to really show it off, but this is the shirt I wore underneath the sweatshirt. :)

[male-hedonism-and-acting-cool]

My favorite fix-it au is the one where Oliver's parents are actually poor, and his dad dies. so here are some very specific cattonquick winter break headcanons. mostly Oliver's pov because I relate to being poor and in love with Felix

it's the winter break of their sophomore year

they are already dating

(still took them a fucking eternity to get together. I'd say they started dating at the end of Oliver's first summer at Saltburn. Felix was getting tired of making moves with no reciprocation, and Oliver just didn't know???? that he was???? making moves???? on him???? and at the end of the summer Oliver had a massive panic attack because he got so used to them being together all the time, and he wasn't sure they'd be this close at oxford. and because Felix is his entire support system, he goes to him for comfort. my poor boy. Felix is scared and is like 80% sure Oliver's mom died or something. then he's even more scared because Oliver is crying and panicking but doesn't want to talk about it. then Oliver whispers, "I just don't wanna lose you, I really fucking love you, Felix". and Felix is like "shit, Ollie, mate, are you telling me we could've been done with all this pining stuff like four months ago?")

but I digress. they are already dating

Oliver is invited to Saltburn for Christmas. because Christmas is a family holiday and Felix always celibates at home

Felix has to negotiate no gifts for visitors policy with his mother because there is no way Ollie would feel comfortable exchanging paperback books for some antique watch

(btw sorry for my unreliable depiction of british upper-class society. I'm poor and eastern european)

Oliver stays at Felix's room this time. and it's a little awkward because everyone knows, but at the same time perfect because they can stay in Felix's bed for as long as they want, go have some breakfast, and come right back to cuddling in Felix's bed

the dinner is great if a little Catton family intence. they also have this awkward moment when everyone decides to talk about how much they support gay rights

(Oliver is wearing old Felix's clothes, obviously. it feels really comforting and only a bit embarrassing)

Felix lays on Oliver's chest (because he's the ultimate little spoon, and I'll die on this hill) and tell him about his family and their weird rich people holiday traditions

Oliver plays with his hair in pure fucking bliss and adds something from time to time so Felix knows he hasn't fallen asleep

and then Felix has to bring this shit up again

ever since they went to Oliver's mom, Felix decided he needed to fix this woman's life and her relationship with her son for the sake of solving all Oliver's problems

(they haven't talked for two weeks when Oliver found Felix was paying his mother's therapy bills. Felix was terrified they might break up. Oliver mostly avoided him and cried)

so Felix once again says how nice it would be to go to Oliver's mom for the New Year

it's the same argument they keep having, really. Felix says, "she is trying to get better." and Oliver responds with, "but does she? get any better?" if he has energy to argue about it. most of the time he doesn't

because for his whole life, Felix only encountered broken things he was able to fix. and Oliver doesn't have it in himself to show Felix that some broken things can not be fixed or are not worth the effort to do it. because he's scared Felix would see he's just one of those broken things

so he agrees

the flat is cleaner than Oliver remembers from his childhood but is still probably the filthiest place Felix has ever seen

they still decide to clean the kitchen before making dinner (and have to do an enormous amount of googling first because Felix grew up in a mansion, and Oliver grew up in a dysfunctional family, not ideal circumstances to develop any useful skills really)

they planned the dinner in the car. something Felix likes, something Oliver knows how to cook, something they've seen at the dining hall on the last New Year

Oliver's mom gives them money to buy food, but it doesn't cover half of what they planned. Felix pays for everything like it's nothing. and Oliver wants to die from embarrassment on the spot. because yes, Felix knows he's fucking poor but knowing and seeing are too different things

the dinner itself is awkward. they don't know what to talk about. his mom doesn't really know what he studies or does in his free time. and he isn't any better, all he knows is that she drinks and goes to AA meetings. she is also not openly homophobic, but she does that thing where she acts like Felix and him are just really close friends. or maybe it's the way she would've treated his girlfriends, too. he wouldn't know, Felix is the first person he brought here

at midnight, they eat a surprisingly decent cake Oliver's mom brought from a local bakery. his mom doesn't drink because she is "two months sober" (it's not than Oliver doesn't believe her, he just doesn't think it makes any difference now) and goes to sleep shortly after

Oliver invites Felix for a walk

they go along the streets, Oliver grew up walking, and drink a bottle of champagne Oliver brought in his bag

Felix doesn't ask about his family. but he asks about school, books he saw in old Oliver's room, local urban legends (he's weirdly fascinated with them), and his favorite childhood snacks

Oliver answers. he also can't stop looking at Felix ever since he noticed snowflakes on his eyelashes

they finish the bottle, kiss a little before heading back to Oliver's mom place

they sleep on a tiny bed in Oliver's old room (smaller than ones in oxford dorms if it's even possible). it takes Felix about an hour to fit himself properly

(all the jokes Felix made about having sex in both their childhood rooms end up being just jokes because there's not much you can do when it took all of your concentration just to stop yourself from falling off the bed)

in the morning, Oliver's mom cooks them eggs. she also hugs Oliver really tight before they leave. Oliver doesn't remember her hugging him like this when he was leaving for the first time

Felix looks proud of himself, and Oliver doesn't feel like pointing out an empty bottle in the trash, the one they didn't drink. instead, he chose to believe for a day that relapse is actually part of recovery, and other things Felix keeps telling him about

they drive to oxford mostly in silence. a great, comforting one. sometimes Felix tells him some campus gossip, and they make bets on who slept with whom during the break

Oliver is a bit tired, and his back hurts. but he also feels okay. feels great. feels like there's no other shoe to be dropped any time soon

[theenpcbracket]

THEE Official* TTRPG NPC Bracket!

Every TTRPG party has That One NPC that they’ve latched onto.  It might be an NPC who’s become a member of the party.  It might be a god.  Maybe it’s your wizard’s familiar.  It’s probably that one shopkeeper from that one town with the craziest voice you’ve ever heard come out of the DM’s (or if you’re the DM, your own) mouth.

This bracket is designed to celebrate those NPCs!  Tell the world about why they’re so special to you and your party.  You’ll learn about all the wildest, most wholesome, most villainous, silliest, and everything in-between NPCs out there, and be able to cheer yours along in a Tumblr-typical bracket-style tournament.

All the guidelines for your propaganda can be found on the submission form here!  I have it set so your personal information will not be recorded.  Please only submit NPCs through the submission form so that I can ensure that I have them all and Tumblr didn’t eat any of them.  

EDIT: Submissions will be open through midnight, EST, on 7/5/23 (previously 7/2/23)!  Please spread the word so we can celebrate as many beloved NPCs as possible!

More below the cut for examples of propaganda, inspiration, and tags for other polls!

An example of submitted propaganda may read something like:

Name: Marcy Relationship to the party: The Queen of the Winter Court’s secretary/assistant Party Name: Heel Turn Crew Image: [would be here or as a vs graphic]

What makes them the best: She’s incredible at her job and on top of all her shit, but she’s also deeply a gossip and here for a good time.  She’s not gonna reveal state secrets but she will give you some dirt if she likes you.  Caffeinated to all hell.  She’s less than a foot tall because she’s a pixie but she has the personality and voice to fill a room.  The vibes and energy of a New Jersey mother of four who’s lived in town for thirty years and is not about to let Big PTA get one over on the new kindergarten parents.  Would probably smoke with you if you asked, but not during work hours.  Has at least two exactly identical desks.

Quote: “Listen hon, come back in an hour.  There’s a great coffee place, you go two blocks straight out the door and hang a left.  Have some coffee ‘cause it’s to die for, I don’t know what they do to their dark roast but it’s incredible, then come on back and I’ll get you in there with her.”

The inspiration for this bracket came from @wizardbracket which was very fun!

Edit: there was another blog that was originally an inspiration for this bracket the mystery character bracket op is a wild transphobe so I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole lol. That shit will not be tolerated here and you don’t have to come tell me about it because lord knows they’ve been rather direct about it in their recent posts.

Tagging some other bracket blogs whose audiences are likely to overlap with this tournament.  Please don’t feel like you have to boost!  I just wanted to be sure that if I was going to tag any ongoing brackets, it was because I felt it made sense to do so!

@best-dad-battle @foundfamilyarena @found-family-tournament @foundfamily-tournament @ultimate-tragic-couples-showdown @certified-dumbass-competition @mostpatheticlittleguy @group-oc-tournament @homemadegirlbossbattle @dragon-tournament