#but it's good to have this reminder every once and a while

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[dorian-they]

I genuinely appreciate the point this post makes and the intention behind it but unfortunately I cannot use its wisdom bc every time I see it I’m reminded with horrific certainty that I can. I can remember with vivid, searing clarity the one time my old coworker made an offhand joking comment towards the beginning of his going away party that was so wildly out of pocket & cringe-inducing that I and everyone else present took physical damage from it (seriously, you should have seen their faces). And then, out of politeness and presumably shock, we continued on with the rest of the gathering while trying to ignore the massive internal damage we’d all suffered. One of the most uncomfortable nights of my life. I ran into him once in the years since and before I remembered I was genuinely pleased to see him. But then my internal Kill Bill sirens went off and I just tried to make it thru the rest of the encounter without falling thru the floor. So unfortunately whenever I see this post I get to imagine that any one of my embarrassing moments is like that for others; that it was so mind-blowingly uncomfortable for all involved that they will remember it every day for the rest of their lives. Thanks for trying though, OP 2.0. I do appreciate it, even though my brain won’t allow me to feel good about anything ever 👍

y’all ever remember something extremely embarrassing and just feel horrible about it

[rsepetals]

request꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ rapper!reader x ony, they’ve broken up and he tries to make her jealous with another girl (doesn’t work) with some smut pls?

the carnival was a sensory overload, a dazzling display of sights, sounds, and smells that captivated everyone who stepped through its gates. the air filled with the sweet aroma of caramel apples and the savory scent of freshly popped popcorn, mingling with the sugary perfume of cotton candy. brightly colored food stalls lined the paths, each one offering a tempting array of treats, from deep-fried oreos to giant pretzels sprinkled with coarse salt.

the lights were a spectacle in themselves, twinkling and flashing in a myriad of colors. strings of bulbs crisscrossed overhead, creating a canopy of light that bathed the entire carnival in a warm, inviting glow. the ferris wheel stood tall at the center, its neon lights casting a rainbow of hues across the night sky as it turned slowly, offering riders a breathtaking view of the entire fairground.

ony knew it was unequivocally wrong. wrong to have his arm nonchalantly draped around his girlfriend as he meticulously scanned the crowd for you. he was acutely aware of your penchant for carnivals; the two of you had spent innumerable nights in similar settings. his pace faltered when he finally discerned that familiar cascade of curls, the front half elegantly pulled into two ponytails secured with delicate ribbons while the rest cascaded over your shoulders.

a yellow tube top adorned with roses clung to your chest, complemented by a mini skirt that mirrored your top. he had always adored your voluptuousness, the way your thighs kissed each other with every step, the way when he hugged you he always had a handful of ass. the carnival lights cast an ethereal glow upon your brown skin, you looked perfect. you are perfect, still effervescently giggling in line with your friends as you waited for your overpriced funnel cake.

his girlfriend, leah, tugged insistently at his arm, urging him towards the next amusement, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. he reminisced about the times you both stood in that very line, your fingers intertwined, sharing clandestine secrets and aspirations over a plate of powdered sugar-dusted funnel cake. the memories were a poignant reminder of what he once cherished and now missed.

he was petty. that pettiness being part of the reason you broke up with him in the first place. that same pettiness was determined to make you jealous. he led leah to the game booths, winning a giant stuffed bear and presenting it to her with a flourish. you glanced over briefly, but your expression remained neutral. you were genuinely enjoying herself, and it stung more than he wanted to admit.

as the night wore on, his frustration grew. every attempt to catch your attention, to make you feel something, fell flat. his girlfriend noticed his distraction and asked if everything was alright. ony forced a smile, assuring her that everything was fine, but inside, he was a mess.

near the end of the night, he found himself standing alone by the ferris wheel. his girlfriend had gone to get some snacks, leaving him with his thoughts. he watched you from a distance, your laughter and joy piercing his heart. it was then that he realized he still loved you, and no amount of pretending could change that.

just as he was about to leave, you approached him. the two of you stood in silence for a moment, the carnival lights casting a warm glow around. "trying to make me jealous?" you asked with a knowing smile. he sighed, rolling his tongue across plump pink and brown lips. "maybe. did it work?" you shook your head, but your eyes softened. "no, but i applaud your efforts.”

the loc'd man huffed and shoved his nike dunk into the dirt, finding it hard to fight off the disappointment.

"i heard your album. it was good.” he finally speaks up. he'd been expecting you to be angry, not understanding. but then again, you were always so patient with him.

"thanks, ony." you're suddenly feeling scrutinized under his gaze. "why? why did you come talk to me? you've avoided every call, every text. so why now?" he can't help as the words come out harsh, but you know he means no harm.

"i just..." you trailed off, unsure of what to say. "i wanted to see if you were okay." things between you two didn’t exactly end well. a blur that you wished you could forget, ony blamed himself. you were just rapping, doing what you were passionate about, and he’d taken it away. the memory of that night still haunted you both. the argument had escalated quickly, words sharper than knives being thrown back and forth. he couldn't stand the thought of losing you to your music, feeling like it was pulling you away from him. in his attempt to protect what you had, he ended up pushing you away.

now, standing in front of him, you could see the regret etched in his eyes. "i know i messed up," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i just couldn't handle the thought of you slipping away from me. but i realize now that i was wrong. your passion is a part of who you are, and i had no right to take that from you." you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you. anger, sadness.

“the past is in the past, i’ve healed.” your words hang thick in the air, the awkwardness suffocating. “well, i guess i’ll see you around, then." you turned to go, but he stopped you with a stinging grip. he couldn't resist himself as his lips pressed against yours. the kiss was soft, tender, and everything he'd been longing for. "w-we can't," you groaned between the now sloppy kiss, but he couldn't fucking stop.

he could taste the familiar sweetness of your lip gloss, could feel the softness of your lips against his own.

"please."

ony begging? oh, you'd done it this time.

your ex fucking you against a small bathroom stall was not how you imagined your evening. your head sits in the crook of his neck, soft wails escaping as the loc'd man pounded into you. the music and laughter from the carnival could still be heard through the closed door, creating a strange, dissonant backdrop to the sounds of your moans.

the dark skinned man held onto you tightly, spreading your cheeks apart pulling you down to meet his every thrust. you bit down on his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds of your cries. "shittt, missed fat ma." he's finding it hard to keep his composure as your walls flutter around his aching cock, pretty brown pussy lips welcoming the stretch.

you whimper, trying to form words but failing miserably. his cock is splitting you open, stretching you to your limit. "oh my god," stars. that's all that blots your vision as his leaking tip presses into your gummy spot, toes curling. arousal slides down his balls, a soft lewd squelch each time he rocks his thick girth into you. “kills me to imagine y-you with anyone else.” he’s admitting pussy drunkenly, eyes rolling back.

he can feel you trembling beneath him, walls squeezing tight around him. "she’s tryna milk me shittt.” his grip on you tightens, his rhythm faltering as his cock twitches and throbs deep inside you. “all yours.” his voice raising an octave, you can feel him filling you up, can feel the hot, sticky warmth of his cum spilling into you. your body jerks and trembles, your own orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. the world falls away, your vision narrowing down to just the two of you. there is nothing but pleasure, pure, unadulterated bliss.

the world is spinning and you can't breathe and your heart is racing and all you can do is hold onto him, holding on for dear life as your body is rocked with aftershocks.

you cling to him, fingers digging into the tattooed skin of his shoulders, leaving behind little crescent-shaped marks. ony holds you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck and breathing in the sweet scent of your sweat and arousal. finally you catch your breath, slowly coming down from the high of your orgasm. the man's lips are on yours, soft and gentle and oh-so-perfect. you kiss back, letting him taste every inch of you. his tongue explores your mouth, sliding over yours and teasing the roof of your mouth.

and as he kissed down your body, dropping to his knees. one hand swiftly parting your legs. all you could think was, this is so wrong.

so why does it feel so good?

[angelic--kitty]

mavuika + breeding kink

warnings: smut (mdni), mavuika x sub!fem reader, wlw content, strap-on usage, cunnilingus, breeding kink, soft sex, size kink, bruises (she's strong)

a/n: are you not entertained???? also, mav is a family woman. she would love to have kids with you :(( and she's very gentle. also sorry it kinda goes right to the smut. i hope i wrote mavuika okay, it has been a while aksjdk.

her body hovers over yours on the bed, caging you in like a tiger that had finally caught its prey. one of her hands firmly holds both your wrists down, yet you don't bother squirming or wasting energy. you want this just as much as she does.

mavuika leans down, her breath ghosting over your cheek as her lips graze the shell of your ear. her knee slides up to press against your clothed cunt, eliciting a soft gasp from your own lips. you can feel her slight smile against your skin. "someone's excited." she hums.

"mavuika, don't tease-" you huff at her, watching her lean back up over you. her free hand comes to take your chin, pulling you in for a sweet, slow kiss.

she's aware of her own strength when it comes to you. of course, she knows you like it rough sometimes, but rough doesn't begin to describe her full potential. so she'll play along carefully.

you grind down against her knee while her tongue maps out your mouth. her hand flexes as it holds your wrist, sure to leave bruises that you'll be happy to admire tomorrow.

"mavuika..." you whine when she leans away. "where are you going?" she laughs, shaking her head, tapping your nose.

she fetches the strap, slowly unzipping her leather suit as you watch with wide eyes. you admire the expanses of skin she's revealed to you, particularly hovering over her full chest.

she sends you a little smile, tilting your chin playfully back up to her eyes while she leaves the rest of her suit bunched by her hips, fastening the strap over it.

before you can reach for her, she pushes you back down, settling to her knees on the floor. she yanks you by your hips, enjoying your little squeak as she spreads your thighs over her shoulders, sliding your panties to the side.

"pretty..." she comments, kissing over your thighs as you whimper, hips pushing up, eager to feel her tongue.

"please- please?" ah, your pleas are too cute for her to ignore.

she uses her tongue dutifully, lapping over you like you were her last meal. her hands grip your thighs, leaving bruises to match your wrists. you can hear her grunting against you, your back arching as you chase the feeling.

your hands take purchase in her hair, grasping at the soft strands as they tangle between your fingers. she allows you to ride her tongue, taking pleasure for yourself as you cry out her name.

she loves seeing you like this. so sweet and pliant. so eager.

once she's dragged you over the edge, she eases you back down, standing up to wipe her mouth and stare at your breathless form. she rests your legs back down, ensuring her strap was secure.

"are you tired?" she asks, hearing you scoff, rolling onto your stomach and propping your ass up for her.

"you're asking me that when you're about to fuck me. of course not."

she holds you up, fixing your arch into something picturesque as her tip bumps against your pussy. she slowly slides herself through your sensitive folds, eyeing every little reaction your body gives her.

"ready?" she always asks, even in the throes of pleasure. all she cares about is you.

you nod for her, peering back over your shoulder. "mhm... please."

she slides her strap in slowly, making sure your discomfort is minimal. she leans down, her warm, bare front pressing to your back. her breasts are so soft as they press against you, reminding you of her presence as she slides deeper into you.

"that's it, you're such a good girl for me." she smiles, pressing gentle kisses across your shoulders, up to your hair.

"move... please. need more-" you always give her the go-ahead, knowing she only wants to give what you are ready to take.

her hips move gingerly at first, as per usual. your hips are where her hands stay, digging in as she begins to tug you back against her rather than thrusting on her own. it's a silent reminder of her strength, and she knows you love it.

"more, please... want you to..." you grow quiet, mustering up the courage to beg for what you really want. "fill me up...want a baby with you, mav."

her hips stutter, hands flexing into your skin. "a baby?" she asks softly, hand sliding up to tilt your chin to face her.

you nod, looking shy. "whether it's possible... or not. i want a family with you. i know you'd be a wonderful mother." you admit shyly to her, leaning back a bit to press against her.

"sweetheart..." she breathes softly, her heart fluttering. your hips push back against hers, a silent plea to keep fucking you as she shudders. "you want a baby, huh? it won't happen today, but-" she pulls you up to your knees, caging your throat without pressing down as she sinks you lower on her strap while you whine. "we can try, that's for damn sure."

she bounces you like you're little more than a toy- albeit a very beloved one. you mewl with every thrust, listening to her little mumbles about having a family with you, filling you up, fucking you full.

it only sends you closer to the edge, feeling her slowly losing control. she grows rougher with her treatment, slamming her hips into yours, wishing desperately she could breed you right here, right now.

she pushes you back down onto the bed on your stomach, shoving your head into the soft pillows.

she fucks you like she means it, fast and hard as she feels you cumming around her, working you through it and beyond. "mav- mavuika- want-" your sentences turn to babbling as she watches you grow overwhelmed beneath her, only able to beg for her to fuck you harder.

and, oh, it feels so good to be her sweet little toy. you just hope she can find a way to really fill you up soon ♡

[capquinn]

with the bonus footage from faceoff, thinking about dad!quinn driving doing errands and little bug in her carseat 🥺 she loves all the music he plays and they just yap together the whole time

Oh this is just the sweetest thing to imagine!!!

He’d be so dad about it — totally relaxed, just happy to have his little shadow with him for the day. Bug would be strapped into her car seat in the back of his SUV, her tiny legs swinging while she’s rattling on about everything under the sun. Her favourite animals (still bunnies), the latest masterpiece she painted at preschool, and a very important reminder for Quinn that they need more bananas because “you always eat them all, daddy.”

Quinn is endlessly patient when she asks him why the sky is blue for the fifth time that morning. He’ll glance at her in the rearview mirror, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he explains it again, his voice warm and steady. And when her tiny voice pipes up with, “daddy, can we play the star song again?” he’s already scrolling through the playlist to cue it up. Bug loves all the music he plays, even the stuff that’s probably way too mellow for a toddler, because she just loves him, and anything he likes automatically gets her stamp of approval.

But then, of course, her request shifts, her little voice cutting through with new urgency. “Wait! No, daddy! The Taylor Swift one!” she says, practically bouncing in her car seat. Quinn doesn’t even try to argue, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he flicks through her favourite playlist to find the one. As soon as the first notes of "You Belong With Me" fill the car, she’s grinning, her little voice belting out lyrics she only half remembers, making up the rest with pure enthusiasm. Quinn sneaks glances at her in the rearview mirror, his lips twitching into that lopsided smile he gets when she’s being her most Buggy self, and it’s so obvious how much he adores her. He hums along under his breath, the kind of dad who knows every word just because it makes her happy.

Once they’re at the market, it’s chaos in the best way. Bug insists on holding his fingers when they walk, because his hands are way too big for her little ones to wrap around, and it’s her favourite way to stay close. They’re an adorable sight — Quinn towering above her with his baseball cap pulled low, holding bags of fresh fruit and veggies in one hand while her tiny fingers clutch his other.

She’s a constant stream of chatter as they walk, pointing out every colourful fruit stand, every funny-smelling cheese shop, and even the dogs she spots trotting alongside their owners. “Can we get one of those someday? A puppy and a bunny?” Quinn just chuckles, making a mental note to prep a convincing argument against her animal plans when she’s older.

She’s got opinions on everything — what fruit looks the juiciest, which veggies are “too green,” and how Granville Island smells “funny but in a good way.” Quinn can’t say no to her (he's such a pushover), not when she looks up at him with that big, expectant grin, so they leave with more than they probably planned — strawberries, peaches, and something she insists looks like “a funny apple” but is actually a plum.

Afterward, they find a sunny spot by the water to share a treat. Bug picks something sweet and sticky, and as soon as it’s in her hands, it’s an adventure. She’s balancing it carefully, taking big, messy bites while pointing out every boat that drifts by.

“That one’s a big one. Do you see it?”

Quinn leans in closer, following her little finger as if he hasn’t seen a boat a thousand times before, his hand resting gently on her back to steady her as she wiggles with excitement, and it’s just… pure bliss for him. He’s not on the road, not at the rink, not thinking about anything but her and how good it feels to have this time together.

And Bug? She’s just thrilled to be hanging out with her favourite person, probably calling him the “best daddy ever” between bites. It’s so simple but so them, and just know Quinn’s walking back to the car with her perched on his hip, her sticky hands resting against his shirt, and he couldn’t care less. These are the moments he lives for — the ones where it’s just him and his Buggy, the rest of the world fading into the background.

[cmdrfupa]

Prologue

all warnings and chapters can be found here.

Hiromi x Reader

The room reeked of power—a sharp blend of smoke, leather, and the subtle tang of whiskey that lingered on polished wood. Hiromi Higuruma sat with his back straight, his face an unreadable mask of calm. The table before him was littered with contracts, each one marked with red seals and neat rows of kanji spelling out his future. He skimmed them without truly reading. The words didn’t matter. The decision had already been made.

“You understand what’s at stake,” his adoptive father spoke with a boom from the seat across the table. His voice was deep, unyielding, each word an order cloaked in false reason.

Hiromi glanced up. He didn’t need a reminder. The opposing family had been circling like vultures, looking for any sign of weakness in their organization. The marriage wasn’t just an alliance; it was a lifeline, a way to ensure their control over contested territories while keeping your family in check. It was strategy.

“Of course,” Hiromi replied, his voice steady.

His father leaned forward, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. Then there’s nothing more to discuss. The arrangements are already underway.”

There was no room for protest. Hiromi knew better than to argue with the man who had raised him. Gratitude was the chain around his neck, the silent weight that kept him tethered. But as his father spoke, Hiromi couldn’t help but think about the woman he was being ordered to marry.

He’d heard of you, seen one horribly snapped photo of you and accepted it. He had never met you, though rumors painted you as this quiet, stubborn woman who despised the yakuza lifestyle you’d been born into. Hiromi wondered if you’d would hate him, too.

“Do you have anything to say?” his father asked, a challenge hidden in his tone.

Hiromi met his gaze, his expression unflinching. “No. I understand my role.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? He had spent years playing the obedient son, the loyal consigliere. What was one more sacrifice in the name of the family?

—————

On the other side of the city, you sat in your bedroom, hands clenched into fists as your mother fussed over wedding plans.

“This is for the good of the family,” your mother spoke sweetly, holding up a delicate hairpin as if it would somehow soften the blow.

Your jaw tightened. “I don’t want to marry him.”

Her mother sighed, setting the hairpin down with an exasperated clink. “You think this is about what you want? You’re not a child. This is about survival.”

Survival. You hated that word. It was the same justification they’d used for every compromise, every betrayal of the values you once thought your family held. Survival had cost you your freedom, your voice, and now, it seemed, your future.

But you didn’t argue further. What was the point? You had no power here and you certainly wouldn’t have it anywhere else.

Your gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights stretched endlessly into the darkness. Somewhere out there was the man you were being forced to marry. A stranger.

Closing your eyes, you tried to imagine his face. Cold, calculating, cruel—he had to be, if he was a consigliere for a family like the Higurumas. The golden boy of his family and one day the head. You wondered if he felt as trapped as you did, or if this was just another business deal for him.

Either way, you would find a way to hold on to whatever pieces of yourself you could. Even if it meant playing a role in a world you hated.

_________

The drive into the city was suffocating, despite the chill in the air. You sat stiffly in the backseat between your mother and father, your hands folded tightly in your lap. The leather interior smelled faintly of cigar smoke, a scent you’d grown up associating with every decision you’d never been allowed to make for yourself.

“This isn’t just about you,” your father said, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “It’s about our family. You understand that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away, staring out the window at the blurred city lights.

“I understand,” you said softly, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

Your father grunted in approval, adjusting his tie as he glanced at you from his peripheral. “Good. Then listen carefully. This man, Hiromi—he’s not like us. He comes from this family of clever, calculating types. The kind of man who’ll see through you if you don’t keep your wits about you. You need to be strong, but not too strong. Respectful, but not a pushover. A good wife.”

The word made your stomach churn. “A good wife, yes.” you echoed, your voice flat.

“Yes,” he repeated, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Your job is to make him trust you. Make him see you as someone worth protecting. That’s how you secure your place—and ours—in this world.”

You turned to face him then, anger flickering in your chest. “And what about what I want?”

Your father’s jaw tightened, and he shot you a sharp look as if you were the enemy. “This isn’t about what you want. It never was about what you want. Get that through your head.”

Your mother reached over and squeezed your hands, a silent apology that should be coming from him instead of her.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the weight of his words pressing down on your like a stone.

When the car pulled up outside the Higuruma estate, you felt your pulse quicken. The house loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed by meticulously trimmed hedges and iron gates.

As the car came to a stop, your father turned to you.

“Remember what I said,” he murmured, his voice softening for the first time that evening. “This is your life now. Make the best of it.”

Your driver opened the door and your mother gently rubbed your back as you stepped out of the car behind your father, the cold air biting at your skin as you stared up at the house and the dozen people standing like statues to greet you.

—

The ink was drying on the contracts by the time Hiromi left the meeting and stepped outside. His family stood sharply, holding umbrellas down the walkway as he stepped into the cold night, waiting to take you and your family in for the first of many dinners.

He wondered how much of himself he’d lose to this marriage.

The answer, he suspected, was more than he was willing to admit.

And as he watched you step out of the car, he felt as if he was destined for doom no matter how this played out.

[wosos-stuff]

The journal of secrets

Chapter 3: A Public Appearance Together

The sun hung low in the sky as Y/N walked through the entrance of the event, her heart beating a little faster than usual. It was a casual meet-and-greet with fans, something the Arsenal team did a few times a year to stay connected with the community. Normally, Y/N enjoyed these events—they were light, fun, and gave her a chance to talk to the people who supported them every matchday.

But today felt different. Today, she wasn’t just Y/N, another player on the team. Today, she was *Alessia Russo’s girlfriend*.

Her eyes darted to the side, where Alessia walked beside her, casually adjusting her jacket as if this was just another day. Her calm demeanor made Y/N feel even more out of place, her nerves heightened by the knowledge that they were about to spend the evening acting like a couple in front of everyone.

“Relax,” Alessia said, her voice low and soothing. She must have noticed Y/N’s nervous energy because she gave her a small nudge with her elbow. “It’s just like we practiced.”

Y/N forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Her heart raced with every step they took closer to the crowd of people waiting for them, phones out, eager to snap pictures and ask questions. This was part of the deal. They had to make it look real, and that meant staying close, holding hands, and—most importantly—acting like they were more than just teammates.

As they reached the first group of fans, Alessia slid her hand into Y/N’s, the gesture so smooth and natural that it made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat. She hoped the flutter in her chest didn’t show on her face. They exchanged smiles with the fans, signing jerseys and posing for photos, all while Alessia kept her hand firmly in Y/N’s.

Every now and then, Y/N would glance at Alessia out of the corner of her eye, trying to read her expression. Alessia was all smiles and charm, laughing easily with the fans, her presence warm and inviting. She was so good at this—so good at making it look effortless. But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too real, that the way Alessia held her hand wasn’t just part of an act.

It didn’t help that every time someone mentioned their “relationship,” Y/N’s heart did a little flip. The fans loved it—they cooed over how “cute” they were together, some even asking how long they’d been dating. Alessia would always answer with a playful smile, keeping it vague but believable.

“We’ve been keeping it low-key for a while,” Alessia said with a wink when one fan asked about how they got together. Y/N tried not to blush, forcing herself to smile along with the charade.

As the evening went on, the event started to wind down, but Y/N’s nerves never quite settled. She kept waiting for Alessia to let go of her hand, to step back, to put some distance between them. But she didn’t. Not once. And every time Y/N felt the warmth of Alessia’s fingers wrapped around hers, it was harder to remind herself that this was all just pretend.

---

After the meet-and-greet, the team gathered in the back of the venue, relaxing and catching up before heading home for the night. The mood was light—everyone laughing, joking, and teasing each other about the evening. Y/N stood off to the side, watching as Alessia chatted with a few of the girls, including Katie McCabe and Beth Mead.

She was still riding the wave of nerves from earlier, her mind replaying every touch, every glance, every smile Alessia had given her in front of the fans. It had all felt so real, and yet it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. But the more time she spent around Alessia, the harder it was to keep her emotions in check.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Katie’s voice, loud and teasing, as usual.

“So, Alessia,” Katie said with a playful grin, “now that you’re all ‘boo’d up,’ does this mean you’re off the market for good? I mean, I could always use a gorgeous date for a night out.”

The comment was harmless, just Katie being Katie, but Y/N felt a strange twist in her stomach. It wasn’t like Katie was serious, but something about the way she said it—the way Alessia laughed in response—made Y/N’s chest tighten.

Alessia waved her off, still grinning. “Sorry, McCabe. I’m a one-woman show now. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Katie laughed, pretending to look disappointed. “Ah, well. Guess my chances are shot, huh?”

Y/N should have laughed along with the rest of them, should have shrugged it off like she always did. But instead, she found herself glancing at the floor, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling curling in her chest. It wasn’t real. Alessia wasn’t hers. But for some reason, hearing Katie joke about it like that made Y/N’s heart sink.

Before she could dwell on it for too long, Alessia appeared at her side, her usual playful smile in place. “Hey, you ready to head out?”

Y/N blinked, nodding quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they walked out together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if Alessia had noticed the flicker of jealousy that had passed through her. She hoped not. This was already complicated enough.

---

By the time they made it back to Alessia’s flat, Y/N’s nerves had settled slightly, though the nagging feeling from earlier still lingered in the back of her mind. Alessia was all casual ease, tossing her jacket onto the couch and grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge.

“You want one?” Alessia asked, holding up a bottle.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

She took the beer and sat down on the couch, feeling a little out of place. This was the first time she had been to Alessia’s place since they started this whole fake relationship thing. It felt weird, sitting here like this—so normal, yet so loaded with unspoken emotions.

Alessia plopped down beside her, kicking her feet up on the coffee table as she took a sip from her bottle. “So,” she said, glancing over at Y/N, “I’d say we did pretty well today.”

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I think we sold it.”

“Definitely,” Alessia agreed, her eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “People were eating it up.”

Y/N laughed softly, taking a sip of her beer. “Yeah… they were.”

But as the conversation lulled, a comfortable silence settled between them, and Y/N found herself glancing around Alessia’s flat, taking in the small details. There were framed photos on the wall—pictures of Alessia with her family, her friends, and even a few of

 her younger self in football kits from her early days in the sport. It was a glimpse into Alessia’s life, a side of her that Y/N hadn’t really seen before.

After a few minutes, Alessia sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You know, it’s weird.”

Y/N looked over at her, curious. “What is?”

“This whole thing,” Alessia said, waving her hand around vaguely. “The fame, the attention, the pressure. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, you know? Like… everyone expects me to be this perfect version of myself all the time.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in Alessia’s voice. It was rare for her to hear Alessia talk like this—open, raw, and honest. Usually, Alessia was all confidence and charm, always putting on a brave face. But here, in the quiet of her flat, she seemed… different. More real.

“I get that,” Y/N said softly, turning to face her. “It’s a lot to carry.”

Alessia nodded, staring down at the beer bottle in her hands. “Yeah, and sometimes… sometimes I just wish I could turn it all off, you know? Just be Alessia. Not ‘Alessia Russo, the footballer,’ or ‘Alessia Russo, the media darling.’ Just… me.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She had always seen Alessia as this untouchable figure, someone who had it all together. But now, hearing her talk like this, Y/N realized that Alessia had her own struggles, her own fears. It made her feel even closer to her—made her want to be there for her, to be the person Alessia could rely on.

But that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t real.

“You can be that person,” Y/N said quietly. “With me. You don’t have to pretend.”

Alessia looked at her, surprised, but there was something warm in her eyes. Something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” Alessia said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I appreciate that.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. And in that moment, Y/N forgot about everything—forgot that this was all supposed to be pretend, forgot that Alessia wasn’t really hers. All she knew was that right now, sitting here with Alessia, everything felt real.

---

Later that night, as Y/N lay in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The more time she spent with Alessia, the harder it was to keep her feelings in check. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let this fake relationship get to her—that she wouldn’t fall for Alessia. But it was too late for that.

She was already falling. Hard.

The problem was, she didn’t know if Alessia felt the same. She couldn’t tell if the moments they shared were real, or if they were just part of the act. Alessia was so good at pretending—so good at making it look real. But was it real? Or was Y/N just fooling herself?

She needed to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t Alessia.

The next day, Y/N found herself sitting with Leah Williamson after training, her heart heavy with the weight of her unspoken emotions. Leah had always been a good friend, someone Y/N could trust. But even so, she wasn’t sure how much she could say without revealing too much.

“You seem a bit off,” Leah said, glancing over at her with concern. “Everything okay?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, just… dealing with some stuff.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “What kind of stuff?”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… complicated.”

Leah didn’t press her for more, but she gave her a knowing look. “Listen, if you need to talk, I’m here. Just… be honest with yourself, okay? Don’t get stuck in something that’s going to mess you up.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating the advice, even if she couldn’t explain the whole situation. She had to be honest with herself—but that was the hardest part. How could she be honest when she didn’t even know what was real anymore?

---

The tension between Y/N and Alessia grew in the days that followed. It wasn’t obvious—nothing anyone else would notice—but Y/N could feel it. She was pulling back, trying to protect herself from the growing feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. And Alessia… Alessia seemed to notice.

One evening, after a particularly quiet training session, Alessia caught up with Y/N as they walked off the pitch.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “You’ve been kind of distant lately. Everything okay?”

Y/N’s heart raced at the question. She hadn’t expected Alessia to bring it up, and now that she had, Y/N didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N replied, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

Alessia frowned, clearly not buying it. “You sure? You don’t seem like yourself.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t tell Alessia the truth—not when she didn’t even know what the truth was.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, avoiding Alessia’s gaze. “Really.”

Alessia stared at her for a long moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but in the end, she just nodded. “Okay. But if something’s going on… you can talk to me, you know?”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with unspoken words. She wanted to talk to Alessia, wanted to tell her everything—how confused she was, how scared she was of falling for her. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Thanks,” Y/N said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

And with that, they parted ways, the tension between them still unresolved.

[travelers-of-the-multiverse]

Reyna shrugged about it being complicated. To her, Undead were still people, as they could suffer conditions so similar to those with skin. But she could understand that for Mobians it would be a bad reminder of past trauma. And if Tangle was a severe case, then she was right, they better keep her close.

"Good point. I'd rather not have Tangle experiencing a resurgence of trauma while we weren't with her." She says before standing up. "Oh, also, they prefer to go by the race they once were if you must refer to them as something. Lizard, human, elf, dwarf, that sort of thing." She says. She knows where every section is, so she leads Lanolin along to find the lemur.

Meanwhile, while Tangle is trying to read, a red lizard walks over, holding a couple of books in hand. He wore shining steely armor with golden trims on it. His eyes were a piercing emerald green, that seemed to be looking over the mobian with intrigue.

"Well, well, what have we here? I was not expecting a Mobian beside those two Reyna taught to actually try their hand at learning magic." He says. He then looks to the book of magic she's trying to read, and clearly struggling with.

Reyna understands that feeling. Time pressed, everything feels like it needs to be done quicker and sooner. And when it's done, peace will follow and everything will be happy. But...

"You can't rush to peace, lest you forget it feels like. We must always take time to remind ourselves why we fight. And then, we can find ourselves fighting with renewed vigor, to reach that desired end. Especially if it feels like it never ends, for that makes us forget what end we desire." She says softly. She can't help herself, she sees someone feeling this way, she wants to help grow past it. After that, she hears Lanolin offer questions about the undead or her world.

"Hmm, well, they're quite varied. Some are mindless, lacking a strong will, and make for a Necromancer's easy target. Others are poor tortured souls, doomed to wander the world until they find a means of passing on. Still, most others are simply like you and me: People who live differently than each other. They do not need to eat, but they still need to take good care of their bones with calcium injections or magic. Fane belongs to that last category." She says before sighing.

"Of course, it took some laws and prodding from me to get people to accept that. Believe me, people here used to be just as scared by the undead as I'm sure people back in Mobius are. Thankfully, being in a position like mine comes with the benefits like that." She adds with a small smile.

[melanirana]

How would the mer boys meet Y/n if they never got captured?

You would have meet Sun and Moon in the wild, while in your board, one of them anyways. You lived in this region for your whole life and know the good hidden spots, where no annoying tourists would go and block up the beaches.

The only people that join you in the water are other locals who are sick of overfilled beaches and cocky guests.

It's a hot day and you're alone on the waves, there is no one you need to look out for as your board catches air. Kiet surfing holds a special place in your heart, it is one of your favorite ways to tame the waves. Plus, the few seconds of flight are exhilarating.

The wind is loud, the water shimmers underneath your board, and drops of water let your hair stick to your face. Just you and the Ocean, at least at first. Every now and then you catch glimpses of color flashing under the water's surface, and out of the corner of your eye, you could sware, that something follows you.

But when you return to the beach to end today's adventure, the sea is calm.

After a few days, you return, and the same things happen again. Colors underneath the water and the feeling of something following you. Once you leave again the sea is calm again.

You return day after day, and day after day you see the colors for longer and clearer. The feeling of being followed is proven right as you see something breaking the water's surface just behind you.

After about a week you finally see who has been keeping you company on your surf trips. Two Mers, and big ones too, definitely bigger than any you have seen on TV.

One is a bright yellow on one side of his body and a warm orange on the other, he is covered in brown spots and along his fins is a almost bruning blue stripe. The other is a deep midnight blue with big, almost jet-black patches along with white spots. His coloration reminds you a bit of that of an Orca. Just like his counterpart he has stripes along his fins, only his is a burning red.

They join you on your surfing trips and slowly become more comfortable with showing themselves, so comfortable in fact that they start to mock you when ever you lose a race you didn't even know started.

After a short time they start to swim alongside you, their backs breaking the surface of the water as they show off and spin just below and ahead of your board, like a dolphin surfing in front of a boat.

When you take a moment to sit on the water and catch your breath they come up to you, a little closer each time. They click and whistle curiously at you and turn their long bodies this way and that way as you study each other.

You don't know how you managed to befriend two so unique looking mers but you're not complaining.

After all it is fun to have them around, even if you still feel watched by something way bigger than them.

Of course, not canon

[strawberrykuro]

Hi, Happy New Year ^^ (I hope it's not too early, it's just that in my country the new year has already started)

Can I request headcanons on how the seraphim whb celebrate new years?? :0 (I apologize if my English is bad, it is not my native language (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`) )

How would the seraphim celebrate the New Year?

Warning: slightly ooc, an can’t go one day without adding angst (especially on Michael part), heavy mentions of Luci, kinda rushed

Sorry this might have took longer than expected p(´⌒｀｡q) life decides to fuck my mental state like a bitch. Also your English is doing just fine friend 💗

New Year's isn’t quite celebrated in heaven. As a long-living species that has been alive since basically the start of time, New Year's is seen as nothing special; just another year passing by once again. That doesn’t mean they can’t do something special, it’s just very uncommon and slightly frowned upon.

Let’s just imagine them being stuck on earth searching for Solomon's descendants and it so happens to be New Year's. /ᐠ -𖥦-マ .・゜

⠀⸻⊱༺  ♰  ༻⊰⸻⸻⊱༺  ♰  ༻⊰⸻⸻⊱༺  ♰  ༻⊰⸻⸻⊱༺  ♰  ༻⊰⸻⸻⊱༺  ♰  ༻⊰⸻⸻⊱

Gabriel is particularly moody when it comes to this day, so much racket! It’s either seeing a bunch of humans drinking and spilling alcohol on each other or those extra fireworks that he swears get bigger and bigger each year, on rare occasions it looks like someone set a bomb off in the middle of the city, just what are they putting in these so-called “fireworks”??? (Gabriel remembers almost getting knocked out of the sky cuz someone set off a firework where he was flying…)

This is the one day of the year when he treats himself to all the wine he wants; it’s his New Year's secret. Gabriel dapples enjoys wine, and now and then, he allows himself to truly unwind. As long as no one sees him, it’s fine, right?

-—

Raphael enjoyed New Year's a bit. He even goes out of his way to grab some food to snack on while he looks for a good rooftop to kick back and watch some early fireworks go off. It’s romance in a way, the cheers, and confetti falling like snow. It’s unbelievable how these humans are a spect compared to creatures unparalleled in their imagination or cruelty towards themselves.

It’s so laughable… Maybe to them, it feels nice to pretend none of their worries exist for a day or tomorrow. Must be nice. Anyway, as much as he wants to lie and watch the fireworks, Raphael has a more important task to do.

-—

Michael tends to grieve on New Year’s.

Those bright lights and joyful smiles, oh how he hates it! Just watching them being "happy" with their little families just fills him with this embarrassing jealousy. Why is he, Saint Michael, getting so riled up for nothing? Even his golden eye is starting to shed tears…

It all reminded him of Lucifer, his older brother. He shined the brightest of every angel in heaven; Lucifer was a gleaming beacon to everyone, especially Michael. He hated being reminded that Lucifer wasn’t there spending this in heaven with his actual brothers, but instead with those devils and dragon. Michael just wanted to spend time with him just like before and see Lucifer shine as brightly as the fireworks humans set into the night sky.

[witches-dream]

The trailer is just. Gorgeous. In every way. The feeling of dizziness, infinity and confusion it gives is impeccable, i love the way everything flows together, i love the gorgeous 3d models and the horror of not really knowing what's real and what's fake. And ofc Japanese Shmilk is ohhhh my god 😳😳😳

Ok so pv doesn't appear to be going alone, he's accompanied by GingerBrave, Strawberry and Wizard who appear a bunch of times, and White Lily, who in pretty sure only appears in the beginning. But in a lot of scenes pv is alone, making me think that he's gonna get separated from the rest after some point.

With the epic releases we've had accompanying the beast and awakened ancient releases, there's been a pattern of the first epic being someone who's on the beasts side and second being someone who's on the ancients side. It's only happened twice though so both of Shmilks epics might be on his side tho. The cookie with dark hair gives me butler vibes. The one with white hair looks like the type of character who appears cute and sweet, but it's secretly fucked up, sorta like Haetae. That's all i can say about them for now

Other than that, the rest of my thoughts are pretty scattered, so let's see

1. Love the music

2. Love the chess and the taro cards and the circus and the eyes theming. Not enough mirrors tho

3. Love whatever the hell this thing is

I really really hope we get some answers about either Blueberry Yogurt Academy or Dark Moon Magic, ideally both, which is what i think this is about

4. This Cookie reminds me of Crimson Moon Acolyte but i may be tripping lol

5. If anyone still had doubts about whether we were gonna get glimpses of pre corrupt Shmilk, i think it's pretty obvious now that we are

6. If this update doesn't make pv's character any more interesting to me I'm gonna be sad (i think he's boring)

7. Again. Where the heck White Lily gone

She appears at the start a couple of times, but the very next scene after the puppeteer one, she's gone. She also doesn't appear in later instances of the rest of the gang appearing, then running up the stairs, getting sucked into the nefarious vortex and on the chess scene. I wonder if Shmilks gonna gaslight pv about that, knowing how important she is to him. Plus Blueberry Yogurt Academy connection again

8. THE STAIRS. I've been listening to Stairwell by Nick Lutsko religiously waiting for this update you don't know how happy i am to see the goddamn stairs. This song to me is from Shmilks pov, singing about pv and "she" is Lily

9. Since when is Shmilk snake-coded. I'm living for it tho

10. I just realized i think the reflection is showing a Shmilkified version of pv. New costume anybody? (Don't have too many hopes for this tho lol)

11. The title screen, again, is gorgeous, probably one of my all-time favorites

So what can we see here? Once again, like with the other beast updates, the presence of the beast is overwhelming, and the hero appears small and insignificant. We can expect this turning the other way around in the second half of the update, though i imagine it will be a bigger change than with Mystic Flour/Dark Cacao and Burning Spice/Golden Cheese. Simply because i can't see pv being in the same position as sm here tbh

We only see one of the new cookies? Where's the second one?

There's cutouts of the other ancients in the picture (and they appear elsewhere in the trailer too) which makes me think that, just like Shmilk compares pv to his past self, he's gonna do that shit about the other ancients too. Just to say like ohhh you have this potential to become evil too you know, all of you.

My theory from a while ago was that Shmilk was gonna show pv the past of the beasts, showing that they too were good and driven by a desire to help others and spread kindness, which could make pv sympathize, because he's a softie like that. Which would then either corrupt pv or make him want to try to "redeem" the beasts and want to help them, which the beasts could obviously abuse. From The devs pov, that's a good way to hype the fans and tease pre-corruption costumes, which i think are 100% coming at some point. (Btw i don't think the coty costume Mystic is gonna get will be her pre-corrupt one, simply because i think that's planned regardless. She's gonna get a different, unique one. Plus, coty costumes are legendaries I'm pretty sure, and i think pre-corrupt costumes are gonna be epics, maybe specials, but deffo not legendaries. Watch me be wrong tho). Similarly to how Dark Cacao got so miserably helpless in his story and Golden Cheese was so physically and mentally drained in hers, i think Vanilla will be in a similar state before awakening too, but he's gonna have to break out of the illusions Shmilk feeds him, so maybe like. He's gonna get very very close to corrupting as a result of Shmilks influence. I hope I'm making sense here lol

12. Last thing i think. The decor set is gonna be sick

[scarletwinterxx]

NCT Jaehyun | Long Drives

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The engine hums beneath you, a gentle rhythm that matches the steady pulse of Jaehyun’s hand resting on your thigh.

It’s your spot—the universal “you’re mine” gesture he’s adopted since the two of you started these aimless drives. You can feel his thumb tracing absentminded circles through the fabric of your jeans, and it’s enough to make your heart flip, even after all this time.

"Did you bring the snacks, or am I going to have to pull over and starve dramatically on the side of the road?" he asks, his eyes flicking over to you with that teasing smile that’s somehow infuriating and irresistible all at once.

You reach into the brown paper bag at your feet, pulling out a pack of gummies and dramatically waving it in his direction.

“Crisis averted. Your survival depends on me, you know.”

“Obviously. What would I do without you?” His voice is laced with exaggerated sincerity as he navigates the winding backroad, one hand on the wheel and the other still on you.

“Starve, apparently.” You rip the pack open and pop a gummy into your mouth before holding one out to him. He leans over, eyebrows raised expectantly, and you roll your eyes as you press it to his lips.

“Why do I feel like you enjoy this power dynamic a little too much?” he says around the candy, his smile muffled but no less charming.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaehyun chuckles, low and rich, and it fills the car like music. It’s moments like these that remind you why these drives are your thing. There’s no agenda, no deadline. Just the two of you and the open road, wrapped in this bubble of unfiltered happiness.

The car ride is a little quiet for a while. That is, until Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield comes on the playlist.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you declare, turning the volume up.

Jaehyun groans dramatically but doesn’t even try to stop you.

“You’re going to make my ears bleed, aren’t you?”

“Rude. I have range, thank you very much.” You clear your throat and launch into the opening lines, overly dramatic, dragging every syllable out just to mess with him.

“I am unwritten, can't read my mind…”

Jaehyun glances over, biting his lip to keep from laughing as you wave your hands around like you’re onstage at a sold-out concert.

“You really think you’re the main character right now, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

But when the chorus hits, something magical—or maybe chaotic—happens. You’re belting the lyrics with every ounce of air in your lungs, completely off-key, and instead of stopping you, Jaehyun joins in.

Unlike you, his voice is smooth, deep, and stupidly good. You pause mid-line to gape at him, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too into it, drumming the steering wheel and singing like he’s in a music video.

“Feel the rain on your skin!” he sings, his voice so good it’s unfair.

“Okay, why are you actually good at this?” you demand, trying not to laugh and also not to feel a little jealous.

“Why are you still singing like a drunk cat?” he shoots back, grinning.

“Oh, it’s on.” You double down, your voice cracking spectacularly on a high note, but you don’t care. You’re too busy laughing at the way Jaehyun starts harmonizing with you, turning your off-key performance into something almost listenable.

By the time the song ends, you’re both out of breath from laughing so hard. He glances over at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, looking like he’s never been happier.

“See?” he says, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “We’re a duet made in heaven.”

“More like made in a karaoke bar at 3 a.m.,” you retort, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“Hey, I have an idea,” he says suddenly, breaking the quiet

“That’s dangerous.”

“Ha ha. No, really. Let’s find a new bakery. Something random, middle-of-nowhere kind of vibe.” His eyes spark with excitement, and you can already tell there’s no point in arguing.

“Sure, but if it’s weird and their bread tastes like cardboard, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Deal.”

You pull out your phone and start scrolling for nearby bakeries while he hums along to whatever playlist is shuffling through the speakers. Ten minutes later, you’ve got a winner: a little mom-and-pop spot a town over.

When you arrive, the place is as quaint as you’d hoped—chipped paint on the window frames, a bell that jingles as you step inside, and the scent of freshly baked bread that makes your stomach growl.

Jaehyun wastes no time grabbing a tray and loading it with pastries. “We’re getting one of everything,” he announces.

“Are you feeding an army?”

“Nope, just my girlfriend who’s definitely going to steal bites of everything I pick.”

You can’t even argue, not when he grins at you like that.

Back in the car, with the sun dipping low on the horizon, the two of you dive into your haul.

Crumbs scatter across your laps as you take turns feeding each other bites of cinnamon rolls and flaky croissants, laughing when powdered sugar ends up dusting Jaehyun’s nose.

“You’ve got something—” you say, leaning over to brush it off.

“Are you helping me or trying to kiss me?” he teases, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Both.” leaning over to do exactly that. The kiss tasting a bit sweet and you love it.

You love him.

It’s not glamorous or grand, but it’s yours—just two people, a car full of snacks, and a love that feels like it could stretch on forever.

[littlegreenteacup]

Valence | Chapter One

Summary: A surprise engagement, and awkward lunch, and far to much white wine.

Word Count: 2,799

Next Chater?

Warnings: Day drinking, arranged marriage, complicated family relationships, Walburga Black and her typical bullshit, If I've forgotten something don't hesitate to let me know

A/N: The first chapter is up! I hope you like it, and if you would like to be tagged when the next part is up let me know.

As the eldest daughter of an ancient pureblood family, (Y/N) Grey had an understanding, from a very young age, that she would be watched. Every move made, every stray comment – if such a thing even existed, every piece of clothing worn, would be observed, and then judged. From that judgment, an opinion would be formed. This opinion, once formed, could not, and would not, be easily changed, and this opinion, this opinion based on nearly nothing, would determine how not only how (Y/N)’s life would go, but the lives of her siblings – her older brother’s, and later her younger sister’s, lives and reputations would, at least in part, be determined by her own actions.

It was this very opinion, in fact, that every young witch’s reputation was based on. As far as anyone within the acceptable families in society were concerned, (Y/N) could have killed a man in cold blood in the middle of Diagon Ally during broad daylight, and she still would have been seen as a respectable young lady from the right sort of family with a good upbringing, so long as she was careful not step outside of her predetermined place in society.

In order to make absolutely certain that the family name ‘Grey’ remained in the good graces of the so-called Sacred 28 (and, as her grandmother had so often reminded her, might one day join the rest of the 28 on the pureblood registry), there were certain thing that were expected of her. Certain behaviors and actions were highly encouraged - and others were actively discouraged.

In no way had such an upbringing prepared (Y/N) for her mother's announcement.

In fact, had she known such a thing would be the main point of discussion at the monthly luncheon with her mother, sister and sister-in-law, she likely would have come up with some doubtlessly brilliant reason for being quite unable to make it this time, and for them to please accept her apologies. Likely it would have been something to do with the paper, or perhaps her faucet had spontaneously developed a leak and the plumber was only available, unfortunately enough, at the very time of the four women’s tête-à-tête.

Instead, (Y/N) had taken the day as she always did. She'd had an appointment earlier, and had stopped in to one of her favorite boutiques after. She'd found a dress - a lovely wool one in cream, the skirt delicately pleated and fell gracefully to her ankles, while the bodice was tightly fitted perfectly accentuating her curves - and had gone home after, changing into that very dress before heading out to meet for lunch, her heels clacking purposefully against the pavement.

She'd handed her camel coat, wand tucked neatly into an interior pocket, to the kind older man at the coat check, offering him a gracious smile

"How has your Lou been?" she politely inquired, "not still sick, I hope?"

"Oh," the man chuckled softly, carefully placing the coat in the closet behind him, "no, healer said she'll be right as rain in a day or two." he responded. (Y/N) opened her mouth to ask if she could do anything before being met by her sister, who literally slid into the room, arms flailing as she skidded to a stop.

Energetic thing that she was, Claire had barreled into the foyer, nearly crashing into her sister, pulling her into a crushing hug cheeks still flushed from the cold, hair damp from the misty rain that had only just began moments before.

"(Y/N)!" she had exclaimed, laughing as she was shot several dirty looks from a group of older witches sitting near by.

The sisters had made their way into the dining room then, chatting amiably as they sat at their usual table. Anne had been waiting already, a glass of wine in one hand.

That should have been her first clue. Instead, lunch had continued as it normally did, and then Anne made her announcement.

--

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked on the glass of white wine she had been drinking, “I’m what?” Looking at her with something almost akin to sympathy, but not quite, Anne attempted to place a comforting hand over where her daughter was gripping the table's edge, wrinkling the tablecloth in the process. Claire, with equal amounts of shock and horror splayed across her face, perfectly matching her sister’s own internal feelings, sat silently in the seat next to her. Evidently, (Y/N) was not the only one hearing about this arrangement for the first time.

“You heard me, (Y/N)” Anne schooled her features, “You are engaged to be married.” The woman paused, sheepishly glancing at her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her and shuffling the silverware at her place setting. Without looking back at her daughter, she continued, voice softer this time, “You knew it would happen someday.”

‘Did I?’ thought (Y/N), ‘Did know that I would be placed in an arranged marriage someday? After nearly ten years of being left to do as I pleased?’

She said nothing.

Her sister-in-law, Serena, the first to regain her senses as usual, busied herself with shooing away the waitstaff, who were becoming more and more concerned with the fate of the crystal wine glass (Y/N) still held tightly enough to shatter in one hand.

Catching her breath, and finally having processed Anne’s words, (Y/N) muttered a single, quiet, monosyllabic question: “Why?”

The truth was, and everyone who grew up with the 28 knew this, there was no truly acceptable reason as to why. The why was tradition.

 It was a way to guarantee loyalty.

It was a way to keep women in their place.

 It was a way to continue the family name.

This arrangement was not because anyone cared for the opinions and happiness of those being forced to marry.

It was not because anyone cared if the men had an affair or beat their wives until even the most expertly applied charms and makeup could not hide the bruises.

It was tradition and familial duty and little else.

It was what was expected of women who cared enough to keep their families within the good graces of the 28.

It was the expectation that this would continue, with or without complaint, as the old guard saw fit.

And for (Y/N), she had failed at her one purpose in life – closing in on nearly thirty as a yet-to-be-married pureblood witch with any degree of social standing was a fatal sin in the eyes of the 28, eclipsed only by not having children once you were married, and even then only barely so.

It was nearly enough to start having questions asked by people who had no reason to start poking around in her life.

If she were being honest with herself, (Y/N) would have, should have, realized this was coming a hell of a lot sooner than she would have thought. Walburga Black had been pestering her about who she hoped to marry since childhood, and as she had gotten older the questions had become more pointed. Less curious and more probing. If she had to hazard a guess, Walburga likely had something to do with this, too. Given (Y/N)’s close relationship with Regulus, Walburga had often taken it upon herself to attempt to guide (Y/N) in areas she felt her own mother was unable to – it was a distraction from the loss of her older son, and her wish to have had a daughter of her own that had caused the older woman to take such a keen interest in (Y/N), an open secret no one dared to say aloud.

Her mother’s next words solidified that nagging fear at the back of her mind – the one that had been tormenting her in some way or other since she was fourteen, and Anne had sat her down to explain her socially pre-determined role.

“Walburga has always been fond of you,” Anne paused, grasping her glass and taking a healthy sip of the lightly gold tinted liquid inside, “she’s always found you charming,” The woman paused again. She only ever found it truly difficult to discuss something when Walburga Black was involved – apparently doubly so when it involved the impending marriage of her eldest daughter.

“And,” She paused again, unable to complete her sentence Anne finished the wine in her glass and nodded over to the waiter standing at the side of the room to refill it for what must have been the fourth or fifth time in only three hours.

That really should have been the first clue. Anne never drank so much so quickly - certainly not at a lunch that would last for hours, in public where anyone could see what was going on and could use it to feed the gossip hounds at The Prophet.

“Mother,” Claire interrupted, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” her furrowed brows spoke volumes. At seventeen, Claire had had the marriage conversation – both when (Y/N) had been given hers, something she would have been far too young to remember at the time, and when their mother had determined her to be old enough. However, as she was the younger daughter, and far more rebellious than her older sister, no special attention had been paid, and it was unlikely that there would be any need for an arranged marriage for her as she had long made it clear that any attempts at such would be met with her fiancé being left at the alter and her running off to live with their mother’s cousins in America, or their father’s sister in Brazil – the latter being a rather terrifying threat to their mother whose relationship with her sister-in-law ran the gambit from grudging respect and envy for having entirely disregarded her own pre-determined place in society to distaste at the other woman’s choice to pursue muggle archeology at a university in Brazil and to continue to do so once she and her wife had their first child; their father, however, had laughed and asked her to send home a box of Brigadiros when she got the chance and to offer his congratulations on the new baby.

She continued, “Everyone knows Walburga favors (Y/N). She’s Reg’s best friend, for fuck’s sake.”

Holding up one hand, Anne levelled a glare at her youngest so severe it could have made the devil turn tail and run. Claire huffed, crossed her arms, and scowled. She hated being scolded like a child in public.

“I know,” Anne responded, “it’s common enough knowledge, however,” she sipped her wine again. Joseph would have a field day when he was presented with the month’s bill. “What isn’t common knowledge is that she’s,” another pause, “been hoping for a match for her eldest.” Here she stopped, took another sip from her glass, draining it yet again.

As a waiter stepped forward to refill her glass Anne waved him off with a frustrated flick of her wrist. Serena, eager for the lunch to be over without the aid of the wine her fellow diners had, asked him to bring dessert.

Anne, no longer occupied by her glass, pulled out an embroidered silk handkerchief, “She’s hoping,” she coughed dryly and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of the handkerchief, “that you might be able to tame Sirius’s wild behavior.”

For maybe only the second time in her life, (Y/N) felt like she might lose her composure. She could have dealt with the inevitability of being engaged much better, had it been to just about anyone else. But no, (Y/N) Anne Grey was to be married to one Sirius Orion Black. His initials fit, if her memories from school were anything to go by. The son of a bitch and his equally dim-witted friends had made it their personal mission while she was in school to make the lives of every Slytherin whose schooling overlapped with theirs miserable. A fact which (Y/N), who was rather fond of maintaining relationships in the event they might later prove useful, found to be incredibly short-sighted and very stupid. Of course, she had been incredibly close with one Severus Snape, whose general disposition improved after he was introduced to a girl the year below him when she tutored him in Astronomy (Their wedding, shortly after graduation, had been a small but lovely affair, and Lilly Potter (née Evans) who was in attendance turned out to be a lovely woman despite being married to a complete idiot – something which she seemed to agree with when (Y/N) had mentioned it during dinner as the two women sat next to each other watching James and Remus on the floor.) Not to mention, (Y/N) had always been best friends with Sirius’s younger brother – had slept with his younger brother, on more than one occasion – and had loathed the man she was now set to marry from the moment she had realized exactly how truly malicious he could be when he chose to be. A trait he had doubtlessly picked up from his lovely mother.

What few interactions she’d had with the man, outside of finding herself covered in mysterious muck and goo after being caught in the crosshairs of some so-called prank meant for poor Severus, had been few and far between. Usually, they consisted of (Y/N) catching him staring at her and then rolling his eyes and walking off. No doubt to begin plotting his next bout of mischief.

“How, exactly, does she think I’d manage something like that?” the question half incredulous and entirely rhetorical on (Y/N)’s part. It didn’t matter how Walburga thought she would manage it, what mattered was that she thought (Y/N) was capable of doing so. She received an answer anyway.

“Walburga seems to think,” Serena began, receiving a raised eyebrow a tight-lipped half-smirk from (Y/N) when she began to speak, “that you are the model of a perfect pure-blood bride,” Serena had the decency to blush at her next words, “and I don’t think Walburga much cares if you’ll actually be able to stop Sirius,” she paused and cleared her throat before continuing, “She probably just plans on having you be a sympathetic figure, and a way to have grandchildren she approves of.” There was another, unsaid part to the sentence, one that acknowledged that it wouldn’t be beyond belief for Walburga to arrange some sort of accident for her much-despised older son once (Y/N) had had at least one child. It would solve several of Walburga’s problems at once and was a plot (Y/N) wanted nothing to do with if such a thing turned out to be the case.

“You mean she plans on having my sister be the saving grace of a semi-disgraced family that no one even likes anymore?” (Y/N) could have hexed Claire for that. She probably would have too, if her wand hadn’t been left in her handbag with her coat at the coat check – as per the custom in the club the Grey family frequented.

“How old is Sirius, anyway,” (Y/N) asked, it seemed dangerous, or at least very much not welcome, to continue the previous conversation, “I know he’s older than Reg and Sev, he can’t be too happy about the idea of marrying his kid brother’s best friend,” (Y/N) paused for a second to take a bite from her lemon tart, “in fact, I don’t see why he would even agree in the first place.”

“He’s thirty-one,” Anne responded shortly, “And he didn’t agree, not really at least.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it back into her lap, “I don’t even think he was given a choice in the matter.”

(Y/N) let out a deep breath and reached for the rapidly cooling cup of tea one of the waiters had placed in front of her with her dessert some time ago.

At least she knew he would be as miserable as she was in this situation. Maybe even more so, given that he was being forced to marry a woman who, as far as he would be concerned, was the epitome of all of the things he hated most about being raised in an all-Slytherin family, not that Sirius would ever take the time to learn how wrong that assumption was.

(Y/N) might have even gone so far as to suggest Sirius would be far better matched with Claire if it weren’t for the nearly fifteen-year age difference and her rather happy relationship with a Hufflepuff boy only a year or two older with whom she shared many of her classes.

[swordduels]

After that response she was smiling wider while continuing to scrub her body. Circe didn’t mind the long stares or how they focused on her partly exposed chest seeing as Regalia had explored every inch of Circe many times already. She was in fact sending silent invitations by slowly shifting her gaze to take in how full Regalia’s current lips were before locking eyes again. It felt strange to know it wasn’t Cassandra who was taking part in their quiet conversation. Even so the bathtub was not welcomed by Regalia’s presence, yet. Circe wasn’t in a hurry. to have them bathe together and she wasn’t going to force anything to happen. If anything she did enjoy the gentle feeling of simply being together without being pressured to perform or being dragged into drama. This was a small bit of a gentle domestic lifestyle away from hunting numbers or collecting spouses. They were simply in a candlelit bathroom with a scent of violets from bath foam bubbles. A peaceful environment with romantic undertones that could build up to something more daring. 

But if nothing happened tonight then so be it. After soaking in water alone and covering her hair in shampoo she locked eyes with Regalia once the silence was broken yet again. Something about her rising and slowly untying the bathrobe made Circe’s heart flutter. Following it Circe felt a burning sensation to her cheeks before she moved to give room for another person with both legs spread. Her bathtub was spacious enough for one person to almost lay down but not enough for two to do the same. The beautiful ink along Regalia’s skin and full breasts seemed to hypnotize Circe who kept staring with her mouth partly open. Seeing the body of Cassandra rose memories of passionate nights with shared butterfly kisses among soft silk while listening to gentle waves. Beautiful Cassandra who had lived a very sad and dark life before meeting her. But this woman wasn’t her. It only looked like it. To give Regalia that beautiful body might have been a mistake as it only reminded her of what had been long ago when Circe was still a queen with a kingdom that no longer existed. They were but lingering memories that came back to haunt her with Regalia’s new form.

She kept admiring how Regalia moved when they almost connected. It didn’t matter how much water splashed down to water the floor. “Thank you for what?” She wondered out loud with a tender tone while silently bringing Regalia the sponge.”I should be the one thanking you for doing such a good job.” A quiet hum slipped out as a gentle hand spread soapy foam circles along Circe’s shoulder. “I was going to give you a scrub and massage but we can do it later if you want.” Circe whispered before giving Regalia a chaste kiss. The water was starting to go cold around them and fill up with even more grime with each scrubbing motion. Soon she was straddling Regalia while the sponge moved between both shoulders before moving down.  @fallesto

Her eyes flickered to the phone briefly before returning to Circe. "No. I'm fine here for now." She replied softly. Her voice seemed to carry a hint of something Circe hadn't heard from her before. It was almost... peaceful. She had been living on the streets, interacting only to survive, to gain power. The simple act of being in a safe environment seemed to have a profound effect on her. 

“Interesting.” As the minutes ticked by, her gaze remained transfixed on Circe. The warmth of the room, the gentle light from the candles, and the rhythmic splashing of water created an unusual sense of tranquility between them. The air was thick with unspoken words, but for once, the silence wasn't filled with tension. It was as if the very fabric of their relationship was shifting, weaving a new pattern from threads of kindness and understanding.

“I am going to have to see what else humans fall in love with easily and watch blindly. “Without warning, she stood up from the floor, her movements fluid like the water in the bathtub. She reached for the tie of her own robe, her eyes never leaving Circe's. The silk slithered from her shoulders, revealing the taut muscles and the intricate tattoos that danced across her naked body. She stepped closer to the tub, the soft light playing across her skin, casting shadows and highlights that painted a picture of a warrior at peace.

Her expression grew more contemplative. It was clear she was weighing her options, her thoughts a silent dance that Circe could only guess at. Then, with a decisive nod to herself, she let the robe pool at her feet. The warmth of the room seemed to intensify as she climbed into the water, her body slipping into the embrace of the bubbles with a grace that was almost predatory.

The water sloshed around them, their bodies now mere inches apart. Circe felt a peculiar blend of excitement and apprehension. She had seen her naked before, but always in the context of power dynamics—this moment felt more intimate, more real. Her skin was hot to the touch as she settled in, the tension in the air palpable. The silence was filled with the sound of their hearts beating in sync with the drip of the faucet.

“Thank you.” She could submit, only to one being in the world, a witch, nothing more and nothing less, a witch was the apex within the world, the alpha, and the power, even she could be swayed.

She reached for the soap, her eyes still locked on Circe's. The act of lathering the sponge was almost a declaration of intent, a silent promise of what was to come. She brought it to Circe's shoulder, her touch firm yet tender, and began to scrub in slow, deliberate circles. Each stroke sent a shiver down Circe's spine, a stark contrast to the usual roughness she was accustomed to. The water grew murky with soap and the remnants of the day, but the connection between them was as clear as the glass of the shower door.

[krotiation]

i'll genuinely never stop thinking about codependency in rhack and how it's mostly coming from jack's side. both jack and rhys treat their relationship like rhys is the one who needs jack to not just survive but also thrive, but it's really the opposite and i think that REALLY adds to how much jack twists the narrative to make it seem like rhys can't do anything without him just to keep giving rhys a reason to keep him around and trust him

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i love dead boy detectives to death, and hope with all my being that we can Somehow pull off getting it back (through netflix or otherwise)

but honestly if we cant? if we get stuck at where we are now forever? i honestly think ill miss the potential s2 soundtrack the most