#figuring out how long a project will take

[14dayswithyou]

Some long-term followers may have noticed this subtle shift already (especially those who are in the 14DWY Discord server or have read this post), but I figured I'd make it official.

I'm no longer associating myself with the yandere VN community.

The TLDR is that the energy here really fuckin SUCKS!! And I don't want to be part of something so hostile and needlessly competitive.

The constant infighting and epicaricacy between communities is deeply upsetting, and it's very disheartening to see aspiring developers cancel their projects because of the unwarranted backlash and harassment they face.

Some entitled folks on here reeeeally need to understand that constantly harassing others for updates, encouraging developers to belittle others to make themselves/their project look better, complaining about a project not meeting the expectations you specifically put in place, attacking other communities because of the parasocial relationship you share with another developer, getting mad that you chose to ignore important PSAs or warnings and faced the repercussions, or even sending in hate messages on anon because you're bored are not things you should be doing — let alone be proud of.

I try to avoid bringing up these topics as it's not the vibe I want to have on this blog (nor do I want to negatively contribute to the Streisand Effect and blow things out of proportion), but I'm genuinely getting tired of being on the receiving end of all this harassment and negativity, seeing it happen to others, and watching other indie developers encourage such vile behaviour. I'm done.

For those wondering what this means for "14 Days With You": for the most part, everything will still continue like usual. I've said this from the very beginning, but 14DWY is just a passion project I pursue whenever I feel like it. It's something I do for fun as a hobby — not because I want to publish a well-known game or turn it into a career. I've been on Tumblr for over thirteen years now, and it's taught me how to grow thick skin, so everything that I'm yapping and yammering about won't stop me from working on 14DWY.

However, this does mean that I won't be as interactive with other developers or their communities anymore; many ill-natured people have ruined this for me.

Because of them, I'm no longer able to voice my opinion on other games without some opinionated rat whispering in my ear about how the developer is "problematic" or that I could get cancelled for simply following them on Twitter. I can't interact with certain games without its parasocial community becoming hostile or gatekeepy towards anyone they don't like. I've seen communities belittle and devalue promising demos because in their eyes, nothing can compare to their favourite game (or their favourite developer). I have been harassed, bullied, and doxxed by other communities and have seen the same thing happen to others as well. I've heard about the developers who weaponise their community's loyalty to attack and drive out their competition. And I've witnessed more than enough developers expressing how badly they want to take a hiatus due to how much unwarranted negativity they receive, but don't want to disappoint their community by doing so.

By saying all of this, you can understand why I dislike being here so much, as well as why I no longer find any enjoyment in interacting with the yandere VN community.

Many people here — fans and developers alike — are so needlessly pushy about their standards and personal opinions being the norm, and if anyone else goes against them, they'll purposefully try to ostracise and bully them out of the community. This place isn't as laid-back or inclusive as it used to be, and I don't want to be associated with a community that acts so hostile and aggressive towards anyone who shares a differing opinion — nor do I want to be part of a space that caters towards developers who'll tear down others in order to have a moment of relevancy.

We're all doing our own thing and making our own games; it shouldn't be a competition. But if you see it as such, then I urge you to take a moment to stop and rethink your actions — or, at the very least, understand how it's affecting you and others around you.

So until there's a reasonable change and people can go back to being less... demanding, hypercritical, and gatekeepy about who interacts with what, I'll be stepping away and continuing to stay in my own bubble, as I have for the past two years now. I've already unfollowed everyone associated with the yandere community many months ago, but I think I'll just unfollow everyone entirely now for my own peace of mind. I will also no longer be interacting with any yandere VN communities (aside from close friends), nor will I be as public with my interests from this moment on. Everything on this blog will be strictly related to 14DWY like usual, and I will continue to block and report any spiteful "anons"/burner accounts sent my way and delete their messages.

Again, this isn't really much of an announcement — it's more so just paragraphs of me bitchin and moanin 🫶 — but I wanted to get this all out there instead of leaving things unsaid and having people come to their own conclusions as to why I've suddenly become less active, less optimistic, and why I've stopped engaging with a majority of the yandere community in the last two years.

So, yeah... ^^; If there's anything I want y'all to take away from this entire post, it's to be kind, open, and understanding towards everyone — developers and communities alike — and to spread support rather than negativity. It's what I want my own community to be known for, so please be mindful of how you treat others online.

And if you find yourself being surrounded by constant toxicity and negativity (be it from friends, mutuals, or even other developers or communities), please don't feel ashamed to step away or cut them off entirely. Put yourself and your mental health first. I also think it'll be good for me to leave all this negative energy behind and continue to kick off 2025 in a better light, so if y'all need to let out any frustrations of your own, feel free to go ham in the replies (obviously, be kind and civil though jghsjg T_T)

[kirammanswifey]

arcane characters in a zombie apocalypse x fem reader (AU)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i’ve always wanted to do a dynamic like this, i’m a total zombie fan and i loved how the settings turned out. i’m literally speechless! the post-apocalyptic vibe is on point, and i can’t wait to see how the next parts unfold. this project has mad potential, guys i swear! every new twist has me hooked, and i can’t stop thinking about what’s coming next. it’s definitely got everything to be epic! as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

The night was thick and cold, the air heavy with the echoes of a world crumbling to pieces. The streets, once bustling with life, were now engulfed in an unsettling silence, broken only by the crunch of debris under your boots. The zombie apocalypse had taken more than words could express. As you moved forward, hunger and thirst became your constant companions, but so was the hope of finding a refuge, a temporary respite amid the chaos.

It was then that you heard it. A soft, ethereal melody, floating in the air like a whisper, like a lament. You stopped, the sound calling to you like a siren, a promise of something human, something real, in a world that seemed to have lost all connection to the soul. Following the trail of the music, you arrived at a semi-collapsed building, an old concert hall. The doors were ajar, and the sound of the piano echoed through the walls, a melancholic tune speaking of losses and longings.

Entering cautiously, your eyes adjusted to the dimness, and there, in the center of the room, was him. Viktor, his slender figure bent over the piano, his long, skillful fingers gliding across the keys with a precision almost mechanical. He didn’t stop when you entered, his eyes closed, lost in a world of his own.

"Are you real or a ghost?" His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, barely a whisper over the music. He didn’t wait for a reply, his fingers never faltering.

"I’m real... I think," you responded, stepping closer with light steps, as if afraid to break the spell he had created. "Your music... it’s beautiful. But why play for the dead?"

He opened his eyes, his gaze tired, marked by a pain you recognized immediately. "The living don’t listen. They don’t understand. The dead... they make a better audience."

It wasn’t the answer you expected, but you didn’t question it either. There was something in his voice, in the way he said it, that made you feel that this man, this stranger, carried a pain like your own. You sat at a respectful distance, not wanting to interrupt more than necessary.

"Not all the living are deaf to pain," you said softly, your eyes fixed on his hands still playing. "I understand. I’ve lost as much as you, maybe more."

For the first time, his hands stopped, and the silence filled the room. Viktor looked up at you, as if he were truly seeing you for the first time. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for water, shelter... but now I think I was looking for something else. Something that would remind me there’s still beauty in this broken world."

There was a moment of silence, tense but full of possibility. Then, he nodded, as if accepting your presence. "The water’s in the room behind. You can stay, if you want. But don’t talk too much."

You chuckled softly, a sound you hadn’t made in weeks. "Deal."

Thus began your relationship, silent at first, sharing space with few words. Viktor played, and you listened, finding comfort in each note. Slowly, the walls he had built started to crumble. He would tell you small things, fragments of his life before the apocalypse, the people he had lost. And you shared your own stories, your own scars.

One night, after an especially sad piece, Viktor stopped playing and looked at you directly. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who made me feel like I wasn’t alone."

"And now you’re not," you responded softly, taking his hand in yours, a simple gesture but one full of meaning. "You don’t have to face this alone, Viktor. No one should."

The touch was a catalyst, a spark that ignited something within him. Viktor nodded, his eyes shining with something more than pain for the first time in a long time. "Maybe... maybe you can teach me how to live again."

"And you can teach me to find peace in music," you said, your words sincere, your heart open.

It was the beginning of something deeper, a bond forged not only in shared pain but in the hope of healing together. Every night, Viktor played, not just for the dead, but for you, and in each note, you both found a path to redemption.

Jinx

The roar of gunshots and screams tore through the air, interrupting the unsettling silence of the night. You approached cautiously, your heart racing in your chest, driven by curiosity and the instinct to survive. The sounds came from a narrow alley, a trap of shadows and death.

There, you saw her for the first time.

Jinx, a whirlwind of bright colors and madness, fired with brutal precision, her eyes overflowing with an intensity that froze your blood. Her laughter was a cry of defiance, but also a disguised plea for help. Around her, the bodies of zombies fell, but it didn’t seem like she was fighting just them. There were others, humans, equally dead or dying.

"Come on! Is that all you’ve got?" she shouted, her blue braids spinning as her machine gun spat fire. There was a twisted joy in her voice, but also something deeper, something broken.

For a moment, you hesitated. This girl, this wild creature, was she someone you could help, or someone you should flee from? But something in her eyes, in the chaos of her mind reflected in her gaze, drew you in.

"Enough!" You found yourself shouting, your own words surprising you. "They're already dead!"

Jinx turned sharply toward you, her eyes narrowing, assessing you as if you were the next enemy. "And who are you? The savior of the day?" Her smile was a mix of mockery and distrust.

"No, just... someone who doesn’t want to see more unnecessary deaths," you said, raising your hands in a peace gesture. "You’ve already taken care of them."

For a moment, there was silence. Jinx lowered her weapon, though her fingers stayed tense on the trigger. "Maybe, but there’s always more. There will always be more."

"That doesn’t mean you have to fight alone," you dared to say, moving a little closer. "No need to be a war machine all the time."

She laughed, a dry and bitter sound. "And who are you to tell me what to be? The world is chaos, and I... fit perfectly in it."

"I don’t doubt it," you admitted, your voice soft but firm. "But even chaos needs a moment of calm."

Jinx stared at you, as if searching for something in your eyes, something she hadn’t found in a long time. "You’re strange, you know that? Not many come close when they see what I’m capable of."

"I’m not like the others," you simply said. "And I don’t think you are either."

For the first time, Jinx seemed to relax, lowering her weapon completely. "Maybe you’re not. What’s your name, strange one?"

You told her your name, and she repeated it, as if testing the sound on her lips. "So, are you going to follow me then, or are you just here to preach?"

"I could follow you, if you’ll let me."

She smiled, this time more genuinely. "Well then, strange one. Let’s see how much you can handle."

And that’s how your relationship with Jinx began, a whirlwind of emotions and danger. It wasn’t easy; she was unpredictable, her moods shifting like the wind, and her inner demons always lurking. But there were also moments of genuine connection, of vulnerability she only showed to you.

Over time, Jinx began to trust you more than she ever thought possible. You were the only one who could calm the storm inside her, even though sometimes she dragged you along with her. There were nights when she clung to you, whispering her fears and nightmares, and you were there to hold her.

"You’re always going to remind me that I’m not alone, right?" she asked one night, her big eyes full of a mix of hope and fear.

"Always," you reassured her, gently caressing her face. "As long as you let me stay by your side."

Jinx smiled, a smile that, though still broken, was starting to heal. "Then stay, strange one. Stay with me in this chaos."

And you did. Because, despite everything, the chaos with Jinx was where you started to feel like you belonged.

Vi

The night was dark, barely lit by the fire consuming the camp around you. The screams and mess were deafening, each second a reminder of how fragile life had become in this new world. You were trapped, surrounded by the bandits who had attacked, their cruel laughter and weapons gleaming under the light of the flames.

"What do we have here?" one of them mocked, stepping closer with a depraved smile. "Another victim of this rotten world."

You were exhausted, too weak to resist, but before they could harm you, a roar echoed through the camp. Shadows moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, the bandits were on the ground, neutralized by a figure who moved like lightning.

"Get out of here, or the next blow won’t be so merciful," said a firm, deep voice belonging to the woman standing in front of you. She was tall, muscular, with an aura of authority that left you speechless. Her short dark-red hair, along with the visible scars on her fists, made her unmistakable.

It was Vi, the leader of a resistance group. You had heard of her, a legend among the survivors, someone who never left anyone behind. But in person, she was even more imposing.

"Are you okay?" she asked, without wasting time, her eyes scanning your body for injuries.

"Yes... thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought I was... done for."

"Almost," Vi said, with a slight smile that barely touched her lips. "But not while I'm on guard."

She helped you stand, her grip firm but surprisingly gentle. "Let's go, we can't stay here."

As you moved forward with her group, you noticed Vi stayed close, always vigilant. Her presence was comforting, despite her distant attitude. There was something in her eyes that made you think she had suffered too, that her strength didn't come without a cost.

Days passed, and although Vi was reserved, you noticed small moments when her facade would crumble. A lost look at the horizon, a sigh when she thought no one was listening. You couldn't help but feel curious, a need to understand her, to reach the heart of the woman who had saved your life.

"Why do you do this?" you asked one night, when the others were asleep. You were sitting by the fire, and she was on the perimeter, always alert.

"Do what?" she responded, not looking at you directly.

"Lead, protect people like me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You could just worry about yourself, but you don’t."

Vi sighed, finally sitting next to you. "Because if I don't, who will? The world has already lost too many good people."

"And you’ve lost too, haven’t you?" you ventured, noticing how her eyes darkened at your words.

"We’ve all lost," she murmured, looking away. "But not everyone has the luxury of letting that destroy us."

"But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone," you said, gently touching her arm. "Sometimes, sharing the weight makes it easier to bear."

Vi looked at you, surprised by your boldness, but she didn't pull away her arm. "I’m not used to sharing," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. "I’ve always thought showing weakness is dangerous."

"It’s not weakness, Vi," you reassured, holding her gaze. "It’s humanity."

There was silence, one that seemed endless, but eventually, Vi nodded, as if your words had broken something inside her. "Maybe you're right," she said with a faint smile. "Maybe."

From that moment on, your relationship with Vi began to change. She remained the strong, distant warrior, but privately, with you, she began to lower her guard. She confided in you her fears, her memories of the past, and you were there to listen, to support her. In return, Vi became your protector, but also someone who trusted you to be her emotional anchor.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said one night, her voice filled with contained emotion.

"I’ll always be here for you, Vi," you replied, gently taking her hand. "Because you give me strength too."

And so, in the madness of thus new world, you both found a reason to keep fighting, together.

Caitlyn

The air smelled of decay and disinfectant. Every step you took echoed through the underground hallways of the shelter, a maze of steel and concrete that promised safety but hid dark secrets. You were injured, exhausted, and desperate for medical help. The last zombie ambush had left your group in ruins, and you had barely escaped with your life.

Following the signs toward the medical room, you stumbled until you reached a door slightly ajar, from which murmurs and the soft hum of machinery emanated. Pushing the door open, your eyes met a sight that froze you in place.

Caitlyn, a woman with a serene and elegant appearance, was standing in front of an operating table. On it lay an immobilized zombie, still half alive, groaning under the cold lights of the lab. Caitlyn seemed absorbed, meticulously recording her observations as if it were a regular patient, not a monstrous creature.

"What... what are you doing?" Your voice came out broken, almost a whisper, but loud enough for Caitlyn to glance up, her blue eyes meeting yours. There was something in them, a mixture of weariness and determination that unsettled you.

"I'm looking for answers," she said, her tone soft but firm. "If we don't understand the disease, we won't be able to stop it."

"But... experimenting on them like this?" you gestured to the zombie in horror. "This... this isn't right."

"Not right?" Caitlyn set aside her instruments and approached you with a calmness that contrasted with the situation. "What would you do then? Let humanity go extinct while we cling to our morality?"

Her words left you breathless. There was a brutal truth in what she said, but also a line you felt shouldn't be crossed. "I don't know, but this... this doesn't seem like the answer."

"I need time," Caitlyn sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "And understanding. I'm not proud of what I'm doing, but someone has to do it."

Although your initial instinct was to flee from the scene, something in Caitlyn's vulnerability made you stay. "I need help," you finally said, pointing to the wound on your arm. "I was attacked, and I barely managed to escape."

"Come," Caitlyn said, pointing to a cleaner cot on the other side of the room. "Let me help you."

As she tended to you, the silence between you two became heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. Caitlyn worked with precision, her face showing a mix of concentration and exhaustion.

"Do you always do this alone?" you asked, trying to break the ice, your eyes fixed on hers as she stitched your wound.

"Yes," she replied without looking up. "Most people don't understand what it takes to survive in this world. They prefer to judge from afar."

"I'm not judging you," you clarified, though part of you still struggled with what you had seen. "But... maybe you need to remember why you're doing this. Not just to stop the virus, but to save what's left of us."

Caitlyn paused, her hands still holding the needle. She looked at you with an intensity that made you shiver. "And you? Why do you fight to survive?"

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you answered honestly. "And because I think if we forget that, we become them."

There was a long silence before Caitlyn resumed working on your wound, but this time her touch was softer, almost as if she were reconsidering her own actions.

From that day on, a fragile connection began to form between the two of you. Caitlyn remained the distant scientist, but in your conversations, you saw glimpses of the woman she once was—someone who had lost as much as you but still fought to find a purpose. You became her constant reminder that science and humanity were not mutually exclusive.

"Thank you for staying," she said one night, when the experiments had ceased and the shelter was calm. "Sometimes, even I need to remember there's something beyond these walls."

"There's always something more, Caitlyn," you smiled, touching her hand gently. "And you deserve it too."

And so, amidst the darkness, feelings began to emerge that neither of them had expected, a bond that promised not only a cure for the world but also for their broken souls.

Jayce

The ruined city was shrouded in a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional crunch of debris beneath your feet. You had been wandering for hours, searching for supplies in an area that had been abandoned since the outbreak began. The air was heavy with dust and desperation, but your instincts guided you, as if something else was calling you.

Turning a corner, you found yourself facing a half-collapsed building, but through one of its broken windows, a faint light filtered through. Curiosity and the need to survive pushed you inside. As you crossed the threshold, the sounds of an improvised laboratory reached your ears: the hum of machines, the clinking of glass vials, and a soft murmur.

Cautiously, you ventured further into the interior until you saw a man with light brown hair, clad in a lab coat, working frantically among various homemade devices. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t notice your presence until you stepped on a loose piece of metal.

"Who's there?" His voice was firm, though tinged with a slight tension. He quickly turned, and his eyes met yours. There was something in his gaze, a mix of distrust and exhaustion.

"Sorry," you raised your hands, showing that you were unarmed. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just looking for supplies and saw the light. I didn't know anyone was here."

Jayce narrowed his eyes, evaluating you. "This place isn't safe. What are you doing here alone?"

"Surviving," you answered honestly. "Like everyone else. But it seems like you’re doing more than just surviving." Your eyes scanned the makeshift laboratory. "What is all this?"

Jayce hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's... an attempt to correct a mistake. I'm looking for a cure for this damn virus."

Your eyebrows rose, impressed by his confession. "A cure? Do you really think it's possible?"

"It's all I have left," he sighed, returning to his instruments. "I can't afford to doubt."

You moved closer, watching his hands as he mixed compounds and adjusted rudimentary microscopes. "Can I help? I'm not a scientist, but I have some medical knowledge. And a lot of desire to make this work."

Jayce looked at you again, this time with a spark of hope in his eyes. "Why would you want to help me? You don’t even know if this is possible."

"Because if there’s a chance, no matter how small, it's worth trying," you replied firmly. "Besides, I don't have much to lose."

A small smile crossed Jayce's lips. "Alright. But if you stay, it'll be on my terms. This isn't a game."

"Understood," you nodded, sitting down in a nearby chair. "Where do we start?"

Days turned into weeks, and what started as a simple collaboration turned into an inseparable partnership. Jayce, always focused and methodical, found in you a companion who not only shared his determination but also reminded him of the humanity behind the science.

There were nights when frustration consumed him, when the experiments failed, and hope faded like smoke. During those moments, you were there, offering him comfort in words and actions, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his mission.

"Jayce, you can't do this alone," you told him one night, as he sank into his chair, exhausted and defeated. "You have to let someone else share that burden."

He looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "I've made mistakes before. I don’t want to drag you into my failures."

"This isn’t just your fight," you said, taking his hand in yours. "If we're going to save this world, we’ll do it together."

Jayce gently squeezed your hand, allowing a warmth he had been repressing to seep into his heart. "Thank you," he murmured. "For staying. For believing in me."

"Always," you smiled, drawing closer, your proximity a balm for his restless soul. "You’re not alone, Jayce. And you never will be as long as I’m here."

That night, something changed between you. Science and the search for a cure were no longer the only things that united you. A deeper connection had begun, a bond that grew with every challenge overcome together, with every moment of vulnerability shared.

And so, amidst the chaos and desolation, hope no longer existed solely in Jayce's test tubes but also in the love that blossomed between you both, a cure as essential as the one you were searching for for the world.

Ekko

The night fell heavily over the ruined city, the shadows stretched long between the rubble, and the distant echoes of the infected resonated through the desolate streets. You moved cautiously, your eyes scanning every corner in search of a safe place to take refuge. You had heard rumors of a nearby shelter, but getting there would be nearly impossible without help.

The sound of a metallic click and a blue flash caught your attention from a dark corner. You approached silently, your steps light on the debris. Turning the corner, you saw a young man focused on a holographic screen, his fingers moving with astonishing speed as he hacked into a control system. His white hair shimmered under the dim light, and his face was furrowed in a mix of concentration and frustration.

"Trouble with the system?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Ekko jumped, quickly spinning toward you, his hand flying to a device on his belt. "Who are you? How did you find me?" His voice was filled with distrust.

"Easy," you raised your hands in a peace gesture. "I'm just another survivor, looking for shelter. I saw the light and thought you might help me."

He squinted, scanning you quickly. "I don't need distractions. This is delicate and complicated."

"I'm good with complicated," you replied with a slight smile. "I can help, if you let me."

Ekko hesitated for a moment, his gaze darkened by distrust. But something in your expression, in the determination of your eyes, made him reconsider. "What do you know about zombie control systems?"

"Enough to know you need someone to cover your back while you work," you said, stepping closer. "Besides, it doesn’t seem like you're in a position to turn down help."

He snorted, turning his attention back to the screen. "Fine, but don’t get in my way. This is harder than it looks."

You positioned yourself beside him, watching how his fingers flew over the controls. "Are you trying to access the shelter?"

"Yeah," he muttered, his concentration returning to the task. "If I can hack this system, we could gain access to a safe place. But it's protected by layers of security that... well, they're a headache."

"Let me take a look," you leaned closer to the screen, your fingers brushing against his. "I can help with that."

The days that followed were filled with long hours of work, where you and Ekko collaborated closely, sharing technical knowledge and survival strategies. Every time he wavered under pressure, you were there to offer him a steady hand, a word of encouragement.

One night, as you worked in silence, Ekko spoke, his voice low and filled with guilt. "All of this... the virus... it's my fault."

You looked at him, surprised by his confession. "What do you mean?"

"I was part of an experiment that went wrong," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the screen. "I thought I was helping, but I only made things worse."

You stepped closer, taking his hand in yours. "Ekko, we all make mistakes. But you're doing everything you can to fix it. That's what matters."

He looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. "You... you see something good in me, despite everything."

"Because there is," you said softly. "And I won't let you drown in guilt. We'll get through this together."

That night, as the world continued to crumble around them, a spark of hope and something deeper began to blossom between you two, a bond that would be as strong as the mission you shared.

Silco

The smell of mold and decay filled the air of the abandoned casino as you moved cautiously, your breath controlled and your senses on high alert. The echo of your footsteps resonated in the silence, broken only by the faint hum of a slot machine that, miraculously, was still working. Your goal was clear: find supplies and get out of there before the place became your tomb.

However, fate had other plans.

"What’s a fascinating creature like you doing in a place like this?" The voice came from the shadows, velvet and dangerous. Your body tensed instantly, spinning on your heels with your hand ready to reach for your weapon.

From the threshold of an old VIP room, a man emerged, his slender figure and sharp gaze striking you immediately. His elegant demeanor, despite the surroundings, and his green-blue eyes trapped you at once. You didn’t know who he was, but his presence carried a weight you couldn’t ignore.

"Looking for luck?" The man raised an eyebrow, his thin, calculating smile evident.

"I don’t believe in luck," you responded firmly, keeping your guard up. "Only in what I can take for myself."

"An interesting philosophy," he murmured, stepping closer with slow steps, his presence dominating the room. "But here, everything has a price."

"I don’t have time for games." You kept your voice steady, trying not to show the slight tremor in your fingers as he stopped a few meters away from you.

"Games?" The man’s laugh was low, almost a whisper. "There are no games, only transactions. And you, it seems, aren’t willing to lose."

"The same could be said about you," you challenged, holding his gaze. "What are you after?"

For a moment, the silence between you two stretched, heavy with tension. The man tilted his head as if deciding whether to reveal more or continue his game. Finally, he spoke, his tone serious and measured.

"The same as you," he said, his voice deep. "Survive."

"And manipulate," you added, not missing a beat.

The man laughed again, but this time, there was something different in his laugh, something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Maybe," he admitted, with a frankness that unsettled you. "But don’t we all manipulate in our own way to get what we want?"

"Not everyone sells their soul in the process," you retorted.

"Ah," he took another step closer, almost touching you. "And you, what would you be willing to do to survive?"

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and for the first time, you noticed the faint shadow of something beyond his cold facade: curiosity. This man, the manipulator, seemed genuinely interested in you, not just as a pawn in his game, but as someone who could be just like him.

"Whatever it takes," you said, not backing down. "But never at the cost of my humanity."

The man looked at you for a long moment, as if committing every word to memory. Finally, he took a step back, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile.

"Then perhaps we can find a common purpose," he offered, his tone softer, almost... inviting?

The relationship that began that night was a constant dance between power and vulnerability. Silco, accustomed to manipulating and controlling, found himself intrigued by your resistance, by your ability to see beyond his calculating facade. And you, despite your reservations, couldn’t help but feel drawn to the enigma that was Silco, to the intensity with which he challenged you and made you question your own limits.

Over time, the barriers between you both began to crumble, revealing a bond that you both had denied for a long time. Silco, the man who seemed unbreakable, showed moments of humanity that only you could see. And you, the woman who swore never to compromise her morals, found in him a reason to reconsider where survival ended and true life began.

Mel

The silence in the field was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of leaves under your boots as you approached the isolated house on the outskirts of the city. You had heard rumors about this place, of a woman who lived there, far from others, taking care of something... or someone. You needed shelter and, perhaps, answers.

The house was old but well-maintained, a sign that, despite the circumstances, whoever lived there kept up an appearance of normalcy. You approached slowly, with the distrust that had become your second nature. You knocked on the door, hoping someone would answer, or that the echo inside would confirm the place was empty.

The door creaked open, and there she was: Mel. Her beauty was ethereal, almost as if she didn’t belong to this desolate world. Her eyes, however, were another story, filled with a pain you recognized instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was soft but had an edge that made you hesitate before answering.

"I’m looking for a safe place," you said, keeping your hands visible to show you weren’t a threat. "I just need to rest for a while and move on."

Mel studied you for a moment, her eyes searching for something in your expression. "No one comes here by accident," she murmured, almost to herself. "Come in."

The inside of the house was warm, a contradiction to the cold you felt in your chest. Mel led you to the living room, where the fire flickered weakly. The house was decorated with little keepsakes, photos of better times. However, a door at the end of the hallway was locked, and your instinct told you that was where the real reason for her isolation lay.

"Why are you here, really?" Mel sat down in front of you, her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes still filled with caution.

"I didn’t want to stay in the city. There’s... there’s nothing there for me." You averted your gaze, unable to hold hers for long. "I lost my family."

The tension in the room thickened, and for a moment, Mel seemed to wrestle internally. Finally, she sighed and offered you a cup of tea. "I’ve lost things too... important things."

The conversation halted, but in that silence, something began to form. An unspoken understanding between two broken people in the same world.

Days passed, and during that time, you noticed that Mel would disappear for hours, always returning with a distant expression. You didn’t want to press, but curiosity, mixed with concern, was a potent combination.

Finally, one night, when the moon was high, you got up and followed Mel. You found her in that locked room, the door slightly ajar now. Inside, you saw a child... or what was left of one. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, but he still moved, still responded to Mel.

"He shouldn’t be here," Mel whispered, noticing your presence. "But I can’t let him go. He’s all I have left."

"I don’t judge him," you said, moving closer slowly. "I just wanted to understand."

"Understand what?" Mel turned to you, her eyes filled with tears. "How can a mother hold on to something that’s no longer her child? How can I live with this lie?"

"Because you love," you answered, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "And love isn’t always logical."

That was the moment everything changed. Mel began to open up more, sharing not only her pain but also her hopes, her fears. And in those moments, you became someone special to her, someone who didn’t judge her, who saw her as a woman fighting to keep a spark of her humanity alive.

The relationship between the two of you grew amidst the ruin, with each day bringing you closer, with each confession building a bridge of trust and understanding. In a world where everything was lost, you had found something new in each other: a reason to keep going.

Sevika

The sound of gunshots echoed through the ruins, blending with the screams and chaos around you. You were running, your feet frantic on the gray ground, the air thick with the dust rising from the collapsed structures. Your refuge had been attacked, and just as you found yourself trapped, a shadow intervened between you and the danger.

The woman who rescued you was unlike the others. Her presence was imposing, an echo of strength and determination. Her face was marked by scars, not only physical but emotional as well. Desperation was palpable in her eyes, but also a kind of warm darkness, as if she had long since given up on the light. You didn't say anything when her firm hands lifted you and dragged you to a safer place. The warmth of her body, the tension in her posture, all spoke of a heavy past, battles fought long before the one you'd just faced.

"Are you okay?" Sevika's voice was deep, sharp, but there was something in her tone that, though distant, made you feel like you weren't alone.

"Yes," you responded, though the fear still gripped your chest. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. Not the first time I've done this." Her intense gaze scanned the area before settling back on you. "Why do you keep fighting? There's no hope here."

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. The question she asked, so simple and direct, struck a deep chord. Sevika wasn't expecting an answer, but in that moment, you felt the need to share the truth.

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you said, each word full of conviction. "People can be better, even in a broken world."

Sevika looked at you for a long moment, as if your words were a puzzle she was trying to solve. For a brief instant, her disbelief showed, and a bitter smile formed on her lips.

"That's what sets us apart, you see? I don't believe in those people anymore. Humanity is lost. There's no redemption."

Her words were like a dagger thrown without remorse, but something in her tone suggested that, perhaps deep down, she still wanted to believe it. She wanted it as much as you did.

Time passed, and although at first her presence was a kind of protective shadow, your own faith in the good of people began to penetrate the hardness of Sevika. Day by day, you realized that beneath that layer of disillusionment, there was something more. When the battle finally ended and the calm seemed to settle in the camp you'd managed to find shelter in, Sevika began to share fragments of herself. Her gaze was no longer as cold when she looked at you; she even let out a low laugh when, with your unwavering optimism, you insisted that the world could still have a chance.

"You’re going to end up killing me with all this hope," she joked one day, as you walked through the ruins of what once had been a vibrant city.

"I’d do it gladly," you replied, smiling. "If it meant you’d ever see that there’s more to this world than just survival."

And it was in those small interactions, in that resistance to disillusionment, where something more began to grow between you. Sevika started to depend on you, though she never said it aloud. Perhaps she didn’t understand how, but she felt that your presence was the only reminder of something she had lost long ago: the belief that even the most broken could find purpose, a path.

One night, after a long day, you sat next to her, watching the fallen stars that adorned the sky. The softness of the moonlight illuminated her face, and for a moment, you could see something beyond the woman hardened by life. She, who had never shown vulnerability, slowly turned toward you, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t understand why you follow me, I don’t understand why you haven’t walked away. What I do... what I am... isn’t something someone like you should stay for."

Your hand touched hers, without thinking. "Because I believe in you, Sevika. And I don’t care what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. The only thing that matters to me is what you choose to do now."

There was a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Sevika didn’t answer right away, but something in her expression changed. Somewhere inside, she began to accept what she hadn’t been able to believe before: that maybe, just maybe, humanity wasn’t as lost as she thought. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in her worth saving.

From that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, though Sevika would never stop being who she was. She was a woman who had lost much, but also someone capable of changing, even if only in small doses. And you, with your unshakable faith, continued to be her refuge, her contradiction, the reminder that maybe hope hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

[spiderfunkz]

HYUN-JU x TALKACTIVE!READER

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

author's note: this is so me.. i talk way too much so i'm lowkey just projecting myself on here. anyways, requests are open but i'm taking my time replying since i've been busy so just keep that in mind!

▸ hyun-ju is a good listener. a great one, even. she's got a big heart and soul, she's someone who is willing to listen to whatever you have to say. and she doesn't just listen, she tries to understand. which is a quality that is hard to find these days.

▸ you noticed it a bit later in your relationship. every time you talk, she listens and isn't afraid to ask questions regarding your situation or interest. she's genuinely invested in what you have to say. "oh, really? tell me more, hon."

▸ even if you just say random things or suggestions related to literally anything, she's all ears! whatever is going on in your head, every single sentence you utter, she's always nodding a long. she's probably wondering how you managed to say three sentences in a second.

▸ you tend to get very extroverted when you get comfortable. you'd ramble about anything for hours and hours, hyun-ju finds this adorable. she's definitely admiring you as you speak, your words always find a way to her heart.

▸ if you were talking about something she has no clue in, she's gonna research about it either online or in books so she could talk about it with you! even if small mistakes slip, her efforts show. and you appreciate that more than ever.

▸ "wait, you watched the movie and read the book?" — "yeah! i thought it would be nice to discuss it with you. you talked about it nonstop last week, so i figured i'd give it a look, and i must admit- you do have amazing taste."

▸ good moods mean you'd go on walks with hyun-ju and visit multiple parks at once. pointing out random birds, trees, and flower types. speaking whatever crossed your mind in specific moments.

▸ "oh look! a daisy. did you know daisies bloom in the spring like every other flower and their last bloom is in autumn? though, that's very common, um. ah! moon flowers, they only bloom one night a year." you'd giggle, "i did not know, but i do now!" hyun-ju smiles.

▸ during movies you can get very quiet. but as the movie ends, you'd ramble quicker than speed itself. "it's okay. at best. i just don't understand why the characters would do such things! i guess it is fictional, but still! does logic not exist in that universe?"

▸ same thing with books, you can read for hours in silence, but as soon as you close the book... "hyun! you must read this! not only is this one of a kind, but once you read it you can not put it down. i love it so much, it made me tear up a bit because of a character, but, um. okay, no spoilers!"

▸ hyun-ju could get really lost in your voice sometimes. you'd be talking about something silly like rocks or something, and she'd still be mesmerized. hyun-ju thinks that your voice could easily soothe her to sleep.

▸ and it's true, your voice makes her feel so safe. during conversations, she gets sudden realizations of how lucky she truly is. to be able to listen to you, in a calm setting, just the two of you.

▸ if you send her voice notes, she'd listen to it on repeat. especially when she's away or vice versa, she loves hearing your voice over and over as it gives ger comfort.

▸ "hey, hyun! i know you're really busy, and i know you only listen to my voice notes when you're done with work, so i ought to tell you about how much i love you. and how much i miss you. don't forget to tell me goodnight, or not the bed bugs might bite me."

▸ she would never think of your ongoing talks as unimportant. if you would suddenly pause and stop talking, she'd notice immediately. but hyun-ju always reassures you that it's perfectly okay.

▸ if you feel tired or off, and you just wanna be quiet for a bit, hyun-ju likes to ramble too, she does it a bit more often ever since she's met you. her voice is sleepy, her head lays near yours, your bed is cold and hyun-ju is the only source of warmth. as she traces your hands, "do you wanna know what happened earlier in the office?" you'd nod, she'd talk and only stop when you've completely fallen asleep.

▸ "and that's the end of it. goodnight, angel." she'd place a kiss on your forehead before falling asleep herself.

[lostinlovingrevery]

MORE being domestic with Logan pt 2: BUT you and logan get your first home together

- whatever your situation is with logan, either an apartment together, living seperate, living in the mansion- you both decided you wanted to get a house together

- logan picks up the more serious responsibilities of finding a house (not bc you couldnt do it and youre fully aware of everything. Its just logan has been alive for 200 years and he knows exactly what to do and expect) while you just scroll through pics on zillow and point out the houses you like and didnt lile

-whether you two want kids or not, you still agree to get a slightly bigger home- just to be able to have space for the chaos that may or may not ensue from yourselves or loved ones who visit

- you are more whimsy about how pretty the house is. Logan drills the realtor over the history, maintenance, plumbing, electrical- you name it he questions it

- "gotta make sure this place is perfect for you bub"

-once you finally pick a place, the lease is signed and keys handed over. You and logan spend the night in your first home that day!! No furntiure, just some pillows and blankets as you lay on the living room floor and talk about how to decorate and where to put furniture

- maybe yall christen the house by making love (fucking) right there on the floor too...

- after the chaos of moving in happens, youre working and logan is home. You come home to find at least one of the bathrooms completely torn out

- you could be mad that logan started this project without talking to you first but tbh you were kinda expecting it. He was staring a bit too hard at the tile when you were looking...

- sometimes you wonder if you should look up nesting habits for wolverines because the man spends the next year on housing projects. Only to learn later from jean that scott did the same thing in their house. Must be a man thing.

- you bicker over paint colors, placement over furniture.

- you and logan never have to pay a contractor to fix anything. No plumbling, electrical, maintenance. The mans got 200 years of experience and hes "not gotta waste money on some asshole who dont even know how to do the job right"

- (he also just doesnt like the idea of strangers in yours and his house)

-HOLIDAYS

- logan acts all tough but hes ALL about decorating for the holidays. Esp christmas

- "cant be letting the neighbors looking better than us"

-he lets you take care of the gardening. Plants just seem to hate him. Hell do the heavy lifting of mulch and soil and cutting the lawn though

-eventually he does get friendly with the neighbors and one day you cant find him and hes outside talking to "Gary" and several other men on the street, beers in hand, as they watched someone down the street cutting down a huge tree and theyre all critiquing his methods

- if youre part of the xmen, you both take turns on missions so someone is always able to be able to keep an eye on the house

- slow dancing in the kitchen at night

- if you get married or are already married he makes it a point to carry you through the threshold. More than once.

BONUS W kids 🩷

- if and when you guys decide to have kids, youre in for a treat.

- if you thought logan was bad before, hes ten times worsting. Hes nesting and has probably redone the babys/kids bedroom like 5 times before they arrive

- he wants to put all the baby furniture together but you insist he wait so you both can do it. You end up arguing during half of it but yalls are a team and figure it out (well logan does. You just smile prettily at him while he fixes whatever you messed up)

- if yall are adopting, logan is so tense about the house looking perfect and being a home for the one your adopting.

-hes worried about being a dad but honestly hed been a dad for a long ass time, maybe not biologically a dad yet, but he def is in spirit (rogue, kitty, laura, you name them)

Enjoy!!! ❤️😊

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry came home to odd shit in his house all the time. To be fair he was related to two 'n the others, well, he couldn't get rid of them now. But other than its occupants, Darry was used to comin' home to cans twisted up to look like little men, knives stuck in the wall holdin' up keys or notes, 'n the odd beer bottle with a candle stuck down in it. His brothers had an affinity for the type of decor that would be home in a kindergarten class 'n Darry had to pick his battles. Glory knows they gave him his choice.

Hell, last month he'd come home to three traffic signs mounted around his living room. He'd promptly forced Soda, Steve, Two, 'n Dallas to return them to wherever the hell they had taken 'em from. They had bitched 'til kingdom come until Darry had threatened to load them up into the truck with those forsaken signs 'n call the damn cops on them himself. Of course, he hadn't meant it. They'd trudged out with one sign between the four of them swearin' they'd come back for the others too. And, naturally, they got caught.

Soda had used his one phone call to beg Darry to pick them up, Steve to whine about how they'd only gotten caught 'cause Darry had made them put them back, 'n Two to make a long series of jokes that ended with Darry threatenin' to leave him there for the night. Dallas had apparently elected to call Tim to bitch instead. 'N Tim had called him. Glory, he should have just left them there forever.

Since both groups were firmly blamin' the opposite party for the events of that night, Darry had elected to save himself the damn headache 'n just let them leave the two signs they hadn't managed to return on their walls. The odd street sign would still sometimes show up, but as long as they weren't important ones Darry simply pretended they weren't there.

So when he trudged into the house 'n glanced at the peelin' wallpaper, he wasn't necessarily surprised to see the new addition. He toes off his boots 'n hangs his keys on the knife buried so deep in the wall none of them can get it out. Darry makes an absentminded mental note to ask one of the men on his crew about it. Pony knew his son 'n he's sure he'd seen worse.

He turns to take a look at whatever was simmerin' on the stove when he catches his name on the piece of paper haphazardly drawn out into a chart 'n pinned to the wall.

In descendin' order the chart reads angelic, good enough, toein' the line, in the shit, Darry's gonna kick your ass, capital F fucked.

"Hey y'all, what the hell is this?" Pony looks up from the kitchen table where him 'n Soda are scratchin' away at old clothes pins. Pony's holdin' a pen knife clenched in his fist, stabbin' away far too close to his fingers for comfort. Darry reaches over 'n adjusts his grip, whackin' him gently on the head.

Steve ducks into the kitchen, brandishin' his own clothespin. He shoots Darry a grin 'n clips it to the chart at angelic. Darry can see his name carved into the side. "Provin' a point is what it is."

"Knock that shit down to fucked- you're pissin' me off." Pony scowls, goes back to his project, lookin' at Darry pointedly as he moves his fingers away.

"Ok. Well. Anyone wanna explain the point to me or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?" Darry sighs, glances into the living room where Two-Bit has been conspicuously silent. He's standin' on the couch, tongue between his teeth 'n brow furrowed as he frantically screws a yield sign into the wall, not noticin' Darry at all. "Two-Bit Matthews!" Two's head whips up at him with a big grin, droppin' the screwdriver 'n leanin' against the wall to block his handiwork like Darry hadn't just watched him for a full ten seconds.

"Darry! What are you doin' here?" Darry rolls his eyes 'n Soda snickers from somewhere behind him.

"Oh fuck, Soda, casserole." Soda scrambles up from the table so fast his chair falls backward. Darry shakes his head 'n sighs.

"Two I live here."

"So... come here often?" Both Pony 'n Steve snicker 'n then glare at each other like it was a cardinal sin that they both find the same joke funny.

"I'm gonna close my eyes 'n if that damn sign is gone by the time I open them I won't kick your ass." Darry drops his head against the door frame 'n shuts his eyes 'n Two mutters fuck 'n dives for the screwdriver. "Now would be an excellent time to explain that shit on my wall, by the way, Pone." Darry prompts, eyes still shut. Glory, he could fall asleep right there in the doorway.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Soda opens the oven 'n the distinctive smell of burnin' food pours into the kitchen. Darry raises an eyebrow 'n turns half around.

"Hey, don't open your eyes yet I'm workin' on it!" Two shrieks 'n Darry manages to roll his eyes with them still closed.

"Lordy, fine. Soda, lil' buddy? All good?" There's half a second of silence 'n then Soda snorts a laugh.

"Anyone want Dairy Queen for dinner?" Darry lets out an almighty sigh 'n Soda makes a disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

"Well, worth a shot. PB 'n J guys?" Pony groans 'n Darry can hear the thunk as he drops his head hard onto the table.

"Pone, this shit on my wall?"

"Oh. Steve thinks he's less of an asshole than I am. 'N I think he's a liar. So we're provin' it-"

"Nuh-uh. The kid thinks he's better behaved 'n I think that's horseshit. So we're doin' a chart to prove that he's the one always actin' like a hooligan-"

"Who are you callin' hoologian? Don't you have your own house? Why don't you stop loiterin'-"

"You're just mad Soda actually picked my ass 'n got stuck with you-"

"Glory God almighty. This shit's like, what? A behavior chart? What level is pissin' me off 'cause you're both there right now."

"Darrr-"

"Aw, man c'mon. We didn't mean it." Darry stops noddin' off standin' up to glance over his shoulder at Pony 'n Steve. Their fightin' damn near forgotten they're both starin' at Darry with twin pouts. Darry actually snorts a laugh before he swallows it down, muffles it with a cough.

He fixes them both with a glare 'n jerks a thumb at the chart. "C'mon. Both of you down to, uh," He peeks over his shoulder at the rankin', "in shit. I'm sick of you fightin'." He really doesn't know what he expects but he can tell you what he doesn't. 'N that's for both Steve 'n Pony to glower at each other but shuffle sadly over to the wall to fix their clips 'n then plop back down at the table 'n actually knock it off.

"C'mon, if I have to get knocked down for just ribbin' the kid then Two better get knocked down for that sign shit." Two lets out an indignant gasp 'n clutches a hand to his chest, finally reappearin' in the kitchen with the sign held behind his back.

"What sign?" Darry narrows his eyes at him in contemplation, rockin' his jaw back 'n forth like he always does when he's thinkin'.

"Yeah, alright. You're below Steve 'n Pony." Two's jaw drops open 'n he lets out an indignant wail.

"Woah, woah, woah! C'mon I'll patch the hole I put in the wall." Darry opens his mouth 'n Two barrels on. "In fact I'll even patch the holes from the last one too." Two wheedles, droppin' the sign behind his leg, foldin' his hands together 'n blinkin' up at Darry.

"Fine. You can be on Steve 'n Pony's." Two hoots 'n snatches one of the unmarked pins, scratchin' his name into it 'n slidin' it over Pony's.

"Hey!"

"That's not fair!"

Darry rolls his eyes. "Well, I didn't hear any offers from you two." Two grins smugly at them, Steve flips him off 'n Pony sticks out his tongue.

Soda snatches up his, suddenly very interested in the proceedin's. "Where am I, Dar?" Darry studies him, finger pressed to his lips.

"You can be in toein'. All you did was burn dinner, that's in your nature I should have known better." Darry ruffles his hair when Soda lets out a little scoff. He flounces past Darry, stickin' his tongue out at Steve 'n puttin' his clip the highest of all of them with great flourish.

"Hey Dar, why don't we get somethin' if we don't get bad marks for the week?" Pony sticks his bottom lip out a lil' 'n Darry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll tell you what you get. Your ass not kicked."

"Aw, c'mon Dar. What if when we stay good we get Dairy Queen?" Darry leans against the door frame. Studies his kid brothers gathered in the kitchen as they all blink back at him 'n suddenly remember somethin' they all have in common.

"How about this, if you all stay in the black you get Dairy Queen at the end of the week." Two 'n Soda let out a whoops 'n Pony 'n Steve grin. Darry puts up a hand to indicate he ain't finished yet. "'N the lowest one has to pay."

A fierce urge to win. Especially against each other.

They all stop, eye each other with sharp-toothed grins 'n mischievous smirks.

Well. For once one of Steve 'n Pony's fights had done Darry a favor. 'N he had a feelin' that stupid chart was about to make his life a whole lot easier.

[al-1-na]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

The days flew by in a blur after that night. You and Drew spent every spare moment together, slipping away from the chaos of the set to steal kisses in quiet corners, sharing secrets under the stars, and dreaming aloud about what the future might hold.

But as the end of the production drew closer, so did reality. You were going back to New York. Drew had a packed schedule of press tours and auditions lined up. Neither of you wanted to bring it up, but the question hung over you like a storm cloud: What happens next?

One evening, after a long day on set, Drew called you over to his trailer. When you arrived, he was sitting on the small couch, his head in his hands. He looked up when you walked in, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, his usual smile absent.

You sat beside him, your knee brushing his. “What’s wrong?”

Drew sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Ruin what?” you asked, though you already knew.

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. I finally have you back, and now we’re about to be thousands of miles apart again. What if—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you reached out, cupping his face in your hands. “Drew, stop. We’re not the same people we were back then. We’ve both grown, and we both know what we want now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “And what I want is you. Every day. Not just when it’s convenient or when we happen to be in the same place. I want to be the guy who’s there for you—no matter what.”

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, his words cutting straight to your heart. “I want that too, Drew. I don’t care about the distance or the logistics. We’ll figure it out, because you’re worth it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Drew pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I think I do,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours before he kissed you. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, filled with every unspoken promise between you. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he were afraid to let go.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, his voice barely audible as his forehead rested against yours.

You nodded, unable to find the words, your heart too full.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. Drew held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, his touch reverent and his kisses endless. Every moment felt sacred, like a piece of the puzzle you’d both been missing for years had finally fallen into place.

As the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds, you found yourself curled against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm.

“You know,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep, “I’ve been thinking about taking some time off after this project. Maybe spend a few months in New York.”

You lifted your head, your eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

Drew nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I want to see what it’s like—being with you every day, not just in stolen moments. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a project there. But even if I don’t, I just… I need to be where you are.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you leaned down to kiss him. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just say yes,” he murmured, his hand sliding into your hair.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips.

And in that moment, as Drew held you close, you knew this wasn’t just a second chance. It was the beginning of something even better—a love strong enough to weather any storm.

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @maybanksgirl69 @raeven-marie43

[ostrichlady]

I've watched season 2 of arcane many times now, and that last scene of Viktor and Jayce never fails to amaze me. Once you know exactly what's going to happen after a few rewatches, you start noticing little clues and symbolism across the show which make the scene so much more delightful but that's not even what makes me feel so impacted at the end of it. With all the sincerity I hold in me, this is one of the most beautiful and purest depictions of love I've ever seen.

The scene sequence works so well. It's perfect. It's raw and tender and caring. Overflowing with all the abstraction of what love is.

The artistry is breathtaking. The colours of a ruined world contrasting with the lively shades of flowers against Jayce's stone figure. The clean blue from the sky, the polished and ancient figure of mage Viktor against the rough edges and vibrancy of defender Jayce.

The celestial colours of their bodies detached from any materialistic accessories, Jayce's face being so much warmer in contrast with Viktor's much paler complexion. The gold from the different souls, the thin strands of consciousness gathering at one moment. Galaxy in its most humane form if that's even possible.

Everything is beautifully harmonized to fulfill one goal, which is to frame the connection of Jayce and Viktor.

I can't get enough of looking at Jayce's face throughout this whole scene. His eyes speak for his heart louder than anyone could comprehend. Understandment, care, longing, affection. A need and a want to let Viktor have his love. He's telling Viktor that he's there and he won't leave again, wherever Viktor goes, he will too. And Jayce knows Viktor isn't like him. Viktor won't simply take love and gulp it down.

No, Jayce understands that he has to do it slowly, wrapped in tenderness but full of determination. It stands out to me just how, when reaching for Viktor's shoulder, Jayce's hand hoovers for a little bit before grabbing it. He's giving time to Viktor, but he's also assuring that he's there. For him. With him.

Viktor is confused, is scared, his eyes are desperately looking at what he has done, and what it could've become, how could it be that he had been so wrong? And why was Jayce talking to him about wanting his partner back when Viktor himself doesn't know if he could be anything remotely similar after everything? Why was this man overflowing with so much affection when Viktor was, until a few seconds ago, trying to get rid of it all? Viktor gets taken down from this polished, higher power mindset and is thrown right at the core of human emotions, barely able to hang on to it.

But it's okay because Jayce will hold Viktor until he can stand for himself. 

Jayce tells him it's okay. He does it by looking at him dearly. By holding his open hand carefully. By placing the gem in it securely. No matter what happens, it is okay. 

The gem is reactive and powerful and holds so much to it. Their lives, their projects, their dreams. Magic in raw form, full capacity.

When both of their hands are placed on what started everything, they both look at each other one final time. This is it. They know what's about to happen. But it's okay. It really is. Because there's nothing else they can do to fight their destiny this time. Because there's really no point fighting this time.

Jayce pulls Viktor, a call for him. I'm here. 

And Viktor responds to his call. I know.

They are together.  They've always been together, their connection preserved into a small gem stone. Into so many others, across so many other possibilities and timelines. Whether it failed or not, it has always been there. Raw and sincere.

This time, despite the circumstances, it did work. Not everything is perfect, but it doesn't have to be. That's the beauty of it all, as Jayce said himself. The world will keep moving even after they're gone. Broken as always, but never stopping.

Theirs souls are intertwined across what we call time and space. If forever has an ending, then it will be rewritten. Their love is bigger than any terms we might choose to describe it. Their bond is far greater than any anomaly or magic blast.

They're safe, embraced by the deepness and vastness of the universe. Nothing will separate them. It started with them and it finished with them. Always them, only them. Together as partners.

[jimmy-johns-was-taken]

Hihi!! Do you think you could maybe do father figure tim wright reacting to his kid (reader) sneaking out? :> Thank u! ^^

MORE ANGST??? MORE DAD ANGST???

cooking up something devious rn >:)

Idk what to Title this :)

Walking alongside the beat up pavement, you slowly dragged yourself toward the inevitable. Tim had texted you a few hours ago, asking where you had been. After you saw the notification on your Lock Screen, you knew that you were done for.

It had been a quiet evening in the small cabin. Toby and Brian were out and about, some random last minute mission. Kate was currently away at another mission, while Cody had locked himself away to work on a science project. You, bored out of your skull, had only been mindlessly scrolling through social media when you decided to leave.

Thinking a little, you knew that Tim wouldn’t want you leaving this late (unless it would have been work related). So, you took to being a normal and reckless teen, opening your window and jumping down, running off into the woods.

That was three hours ago.

You had been laying on a rock, looking up at the star, mapping out the galaxy in your mind. The constellations captivated your mind, allowing their stories to play out in dramatic scenes. You smiled, taking notice of the brightly lit North Star, remembering how it had saved you on many occasions.

A loud ‘buzz’ had knocked you out of your daze, glancing down at the phone to see a message from Tim. Without even reading it, you knew you were screwed. Something just screamed at you, telling you that he knew you had snuck out and would be in loads of trouble.

Picking up the device, you unlocked it and looked at the message. ‘Get home. Now.’ It was simple and too the point. Letting out a sigh, you took one look back up at the stars before making your way back to the cabin.

That brings us to the present, standing in front of the dimly lit run down cabin. From the outside, it didn’t even look inhabitable. Walking up the stairs, each one creaking under your weight, you grabbing your key. Unlocking the door and turning the knob, you took a few breathes, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the lecture.

Pushing open the heavy door, you could see Tim sitting out the kitchen island, his face hidden in shadows. You swiftly entered and shut the door behind, locking it and straightening your posture.

“Uhh…hey,” you murmured. Was he angry? Upset? Worried? The shadows cast down on Tim made it impossible to even see his face.

“Where’d you go?” The southern drawl to his voice ever apparent as you shuddered. He was so serious!

“Just for a walk,” I responded, slinking up to the island and grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. “Wanted to get out, clear my head,” you stated as you filled the cup with water.

“Listen, I’m not going to lecture you,” your eyes widened slightly at his response, “but please, you have got to tell someone when you leave.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head to the side, earning a sigh from him. He rubbed his hands over his face, massaging the area around his eyes.

“Just…tell someone where you’re going, ok? I understand that you…you aren’t a little kid anyone,” the words were quiet and soft, uncharacteristic from the normal gruff tone.

“Yeah, I’m basically an adult,” you giggled, walking over and resting on the counter.

“Not to me, to me…you’re a kid,” Tim looked up at you, a tired look in his eyes. “I can’t control you, what you do, say, think. You’re getting older, and I have to accept that,” he sounded almost heartbroken. A soft smile made its way to your face as you looked at Tim, seeing his glaze casted downward.

“You’re a kid to me, always will be,” he said, referring to how young you were when you first met. You really weren’t that young, only 14. But that had been so long ago, it felt like a lifetime.

“I might not always be your little girl who you get to show how to use a gun,” you smiled, looking at the water in your glass, “but, I’ll always be your kid. Blood or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Tim laughed, rolling his eyes at you. He didn’t want to get rid of you, and he’d kill anyone who tried to take you from the little family in the woods.

[maxdibert]

Now I also wanna complain and I wanna complain about the often mischaracterization of Sirius. In mostly R/S fics they practically make Remus the big bad alpha and Sirius a whiny, feminine man-child. And like…when did they come to the conclusion that a man who did bad things in his life, went to twelve years of prison and was constantly in presence of literal joy-sucking demons, was a small little baby? That twink wouldn’t survive a day in Azkaban lol

And I agree on Sirius/James, they probably fit the stereotype of those two classmates everyone had, that said they weren’t gay but were always all over eachother and togheter everywhere

Sirius Black is described by Rowling almost obsessively as someone extremely handsome, extremely tall, and very masculine. Just as Rowling insists on drilling into the reader's head that Severus is physically hideous, she’s equally insistent that Sirius is essentially a magazine model. Literally, these two characters are the ones she describes the most, and she doubles down the hardest on their physical appearances. But Rowling doesn’t stop there: she shows us that girls swooned over Sirius, paints him as the stereotypical teenager with semi-naked women on posters in his bedroom, and tells us from the very first book that he rode a motorcycle.

I know that none of these things necessarily mean anything from a modern perspective, where gender fluidity is understood and breaking stereotypes is valued. But we’re not talking about a modern author with a modern perspective. We’re talking about J.K. Rowling—someone obsessed with rigid gender binaries, a textbook TERF, and an author who repeatedly condemns traditional femininity above all else. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that when she tells us Sirius had bikini-clad women on his walls and rode a motorcycle, she’s trying to make us imagine him as a manly man. And, in fact, she assigns him traits typically associated with masculinity: being impulsive, sometimes violent, and exuding a rebellious bad-boy attitude.

Rowling was projecting the archetypal high school bad boy, and the stereotypical bad boy isn’t some skinny, short guy trying to challenge masculine hegemony—he’s the opposite. What frustrates me the most about how this image has been corrupted isn’t just that it completely ruins his character—whose personality and psyche are deeply tied to the toxic hypermasculinity Rowling created him with—but also that it robs us of the chance to acknowledge that a guy can fully embody the cis male archetype and still be gay.

The problem isn’t that he’s paired with men; it’s that in order to pair him with men, people feel the need to create an entirely new character that bears no resemblance to him. Because that’s not Sirius Black. In the same way, the “alpha male of the pack” isn’t Remus Lupin. Canonically, Remus Lupin was the third tallest after James, a guy who hid behind his friends, who didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and who was so afraid of being left out that he wouldn’t even stand up to them when they did something he didn’t like. He’s not a self-assured person; he has zero self-esteem, is deeply conflict-avoidant, and hates confrontation.

I don’t understand the need to change the characters. Wolfstar has been around as long as the fandom itself, and 15 years ago, Remus was still Remus, and Sirius was still Sirius. I don’t understand this current trend of completely dismantling their characters.

[fresne999]

To return to this topic, and for a record for how the project is going.

I am down to the final story. Which being a Choose Your Own Adventure story for Frenchie is currently scoped out to be 96 chapters long. So it won't be fast. Also, when I realized that's what I wanted to do for the last story, it meant Frenchie's story went from 21 points to 34 points story to write. Also, I originally estimated that Zheng's story was about 13 points, but when I wrote it it turned out to be more of a 21 point story. i.e., roughly the same size as Izzy's story, and that's even before I go back and fix all the TBDs and add what folks are doing while talking.

Now I need to rescope the project to see if my original timeline is still reasonable.

That means, I take my handy chart where I track progress and change the points for Frenchie and Zheng's stories. The chart now looks like this for all the stories.

BTW: Having this many stories means I can bounce around each day, making progress somewhere on something.

Now, before I adjusted my points, the line chart showing what progress needed to happen looked like this with the goal being complete 621 points of story creation in 75 days (less the 176 I'd already done when I started tracking).

Sadly, this chart now out of date.

What I now do is (because I have no interest in figuring out what my actual 21 point progress has been writing Zheng's story, is do a bit of a reset today.

By the way, the way you build the chart above is by filling in a table that looks like the table below every day showing progress. I've set up confiditional formatting on the amounts in the Build column to go from dark pink if I complete 0-2 points, light pink if 3-4, light green if 5-7, and dark green if 8+. And thus I get a little visual reward for making my goals.

For everything up to yesterday, when I thought Zheng's story was going to be a lot shorter, I use the original build rate of 5.9 needed points a day for the Ideal Get Done column.

As of today to fill out column's B # I nee to get done, I take the new goal - yesterday's projected pts / # days left. i.e., (665-225)/33. This give me my new needed build rate of 7.25. I would say yikes. But I know it's actually fine, because my average build rate over the last week has been 8 points a day, not including today's wonky adjustment #. Plus, I have a little bit of slack given one week I did *a lot* of writing.

So it's reasonable for me to project that I can still finish writing this huge project within the projected time. Posting, that's a different beast. If my build rate were different, then I would know I can't possibly finish by the projected date, and would need to adjust something. Mostly likely extend my projected completion date, because I don't really have time to do more writing/editing each day.

Anyways, I adjust the # of points in row 43 to the new amount I've completed given Zheng's story is now worth more points. i.e., I didn't complete 16 points today, I'm just not bothering to figure out what my actual progress was over the last week and a half of writing.

This results in a new chart that looks like this. The uptick in both today's points and the bend in the Ideal Get Done is too slight to really see, but it's there.

Now on to... actually I'm going to take a break. On to the new points build tomorrow. If you've stumbled on this, hopefully this is a useful example in how to do this kind of project management planning.

For the Story is Long and Takes a Long Time

Every now and then I see a post float across my dash about younger folks (my lawn is a field of local plants and and drip watered, please enjoy) wanting an algorithm for AO3 or only wanting longer fic, or blah, blah. Not sure how much of that is pervasive and not folks grumping at the sky.

But this is the grumping at the sky site, so whatever.

Ever wondered what the labor involved in a long fic looks like? Wonder no longer, here's a line graph.

This represents the kind of sustained labor required to finish a maybe (I'm not done yet) 350k work. 

It's not a single story. It's 18 stories from 18 POV that braid around similar (but not identical because people observe different things) events. It's OFMD modern AU. 

Nothing is posted. I don't post unfinished stories. I learn too much while I write for that to ever work for me. Even if I have an outline. 

Now you may wonder, how did I come up with graph? Probably not, but I'm going to explain anyway. 

After working on and off on the project (the reason it doesn't start at zero) I decided to apply some techniques I use for project management. What I'm about to describe can be used for any type of complicated project.

Step 1

-Break the "project" down into milestones. 18 stories. I've also broken it down into 4 phases per story:  1) Write draft 1, 2) Edit, 3) Have you heard of 2nd edit? 4) Hopefully we're at Spag edit. 

Step 2 - 

Assign points to every milestone.

I use this sequence of #s*: 0, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34. Want to sound fancy. That's a Fibonacci Sequence. Now you know. 

Using this numbering sequence keeps me from getting bogged down trying to decide if a big story is say 8 or 9 points if I were using a 1-10 sequence 

The principle behind this kind of point assignment goes something like this. It's hard to look at Stede and know how tall he/the actor is. But if you look at Stede and Izzy standing together, I roughly know who is taller.

A - Or in this case, I guess the Stede story will be longer than Izzy's story. So Stede= 34, and Izzy=21.

B - Break down the phases of writing and assign them points. 

3 Start writing. At the end of one week, figure out my points completed. Should be a % of the total possible points for that milestone/phase. My method involves a lot of formulas based on 20 years of project mangagement experience. You should just guess. Divide by 7. That's the "build" rate.

Divide the total number of points for the project by the build rate, that's the # of days it will probably take. That seem to long, establish an arbitrary date to finish and divide the number of points by that number of days and that's you're "Management Assigned an Arbitrary Date and I don't know if we can finish, but let's try" rate.

4 Keep writing and editing. Track as you go. Having a much smaller goal each day than "Finish it" to reach each day makes it easier to do. It's also easier than an arbitrary # of words a day, which, shrug, we're not Dickens. We're paid by the kudo, not the word.

Know how I know? I've been working on and off on this for 2 years. Here's what that (roughly) looks based on knowing how long I spent getting 4 of the stories thru writing and first edit by the time I got to March of this year. I file creation to last revision date, but not including the long periods in between writing, and knowing several times I had to remove huge amounts of writing. So, points went away. Sad sound.

That looks like this. 

Brought to you by, I need to finish more points today, but am tired.

[raynecloud06]

Vague idea I have for a Project SEKAI AU; Mizuki Akiyama and Tsukasa Tenma as infamous phantom thieves, who are often used as the subjects of renowned painter Ena Shinonome's work.

[moe-broey]

Back to what I do best (bare minimum Putting My Guys In Situations shitposts) 😌

Inspo under cut!!!

[murdleandmarot]

The gang’s all here!! They’re on the case!! And there’s no ghost that they wouldn’t chase!!!!!

@mysticalcats’s Foxglove, @toki-toro’s Chaumet, @emimii’s Clownaire, and my own Bluebelle :)

[thewhizzyhead]

hi its me so back when wattblr was at its peak (2020), watt basically gave me a drug that made me really fuckin creative and want to do a bajillion musicals. 4 years later, warriors has now force-fed me this drug again. Welcome back to me being annoying as fuck woo here's the Izzy Original Rambly Musical Masterlist - Part 1

+ Misfits - been developing this SINCE I WAS 13 and um its Basically A Show Within A Show idea inspired by my past experiences with my former church and their Christmas musicals. TO UNDERSTAND THIS HERE IS SOME BACKSTORY: so when I was 10-13 I used to be in Christmas musicals staged by my sunday school. These musicals were Pilipino translations (the songs stayed English) of Typical American Children Christmas Musicals found on youtube (check out A Rocking Royal Christmas on YouTube yes we did a Filipino translation of that and I played the narrator when I was 11 I'm not kidding). When I was 13, I wanted to make something more resonant to the teen crowd as um to be quite honest the stuff my fellow Sunday school people were going through were Fucking Heavy and i wanted to feature that + I always knew that the Very Kiddy Musicals we set up were mainly a show for the parents and all that. I wanted a message of faith that actually resonated with my age group - and i developed it far enough that at 14, i was commisioned by my sunday school teachers to work with the church's orchestra in actually having this developed! But 15 happened and I started questioning a lot of the stuff my Sunday school and church does in terms of like politics, mental health stuff, sexuality and identity and pressuring me and my fellow teens to become something we were not, and it really felt alienating, almost as if I was simply putting on a show to appease all those that look to me and want me to be the Best of Young Christian Soldiers

So the concept of Misfits is um okay just read this ramble i wrote 3 years ago that is MUCH MORE COHERENT AND COHESIVE than the descriptions ive been whipping up for three hours now:

There is more to this like I have been developing this for 7 years now and there IS A TRACKLIST and each character has a storyline and a certain dynamic with all of the characters - like all are connected one way or another - but the basic gist is:

1.) The Narrators Put On A Show For The Religious Audience, then Start Crumbling at The Questions Presented and Prompted by The Misfits, but also Upon The Realization Of How Much Pressure They Are Under in Supporting A Narrative They Are Conditioned To Unquestionably Trust + the reveal of the secrets they hide and deny about themselves in order to seem as the Perfect Model Christian (sexuality, mental health issues, parental/pastoral pressures, abuse, psychological trauma as a result of Putting On The Show - the Time Travel element is not just there for the purposes of the show, it has a very important plot element too that connects the leader of the Narrators with the defacto leader of the Misfits) + how do they deal with these secrets being slowly revealed when They Know They Are Being Watched

2.) The Misfits Try To Navigate The Strange Musical Scenario and Why The Narrators Seem Preachy, While Also Being Forced to Address Their Pasts and Presents on why They Are Deemed "Misfits" in the First Place (outside of Christian conservatism, there exists undeniable concern for the wellbeing of the "Misfits" aka juvenile delinquency and poverty, mental health issues, and um the defacto leader being a Former Member of the Narrators wHICH WILL BECOME THE RUNNING THREAD TO THE PLOT TWIST which is why they were chosen in the first place), so basically The Misfits Are Challenged to Acknowledged that They Are Indeed Troubled (especially with carefully planted plot points and script prompts used by the Narrators to have these in the open) - but the original Producers Approved plotline has them Turn Back To God, but how can they do so if the problems they face are rooted in the current religious institutions in place? That is the question presented by the Misfits to the Narrators - which is what causes their show to fall apart

3.) Through Questioning The Mission They Were Given and the Environments That Mandate Them To Do So Despite Their Own Struggles (Narrators), and Through Questioning Themselves, Their Struggle, and The Acknowledgment That They Do Need Help (Misfits), the two groups face what I want to be the ultimate thesis question of the musical: when you grow up, where does one find hope? This is my attempt at breaking down the concept of religion because ultimately, people look to a higher figure in the dream of hope and the want for answers - thus, religion cannot ultimately be taken away from people who truly want and seek it. But we gotta deconstruct the narrative that hope is only limited to these religious institutions - and criticism must be relayed to the institutions that mandate that people serve them for the hope they supposedly provide but subsequently break because of prejudice, conservatism, and close-mindedness towards the people the Bible says to serve above all.

So yea the thesis slogan is basically: grow as you go, redefine your mission, and break the script if needed be.

Also it's pop rock, very inspired by SPRING AWAKENING, we are the tigers, and a dash or rent. The songs are English when They Are Part of the Producer's script, and Tagalog when They Are Not Part of the Script (like the characters being honest or unexpected rebuttals to the narrators' preaching moments or when the narrators themselves reveal their secrets). Otherwise, dialogue is taglish YAY

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[comfortlesshurt]

OKAY, IT'S FINALLY HITTING

(will you guys hate me if I post this longfic a month later than planned?)