#haven't looked far enough! that's perfectly possible!

[meirimerens]

(ran this reblog through a discussion with some people who have more experience in storytelling/gamedev than i do and some who are central asian indigenous [which i'm not] to get their point of view on the Kin so it's probably going to be long because I'm condensing multiple discussion pieces in one, it's gonna be one of them Long Posts)

while the Kin is obviously heavily inspired by the Buryat, including in its language which does contain a lot of Buryat words, but also a lot of not-Buryat words (Yargachin, pointedly incredibly important in the game, is Mongolian directly. as stated above, Yas & Merdrel are also Mongolian), I do not know if I agree that finding the other inspirations is "forgetting that and trying to match them to other cultures". The Kin is not "its own somewhat distinct culture", it is its own, imagined, invented, imaginary culture, which takes inspiration from (/plainly steals) from existing ones. It is an imaginary people with heavy foundational roots, in the same way the town is imaginary with heavy foundational roots, and the disease itself is imaginary with heavy foundational roots. It is obvious the game takes inspiration from the Buryats (and from others), but it also, in the name of storytelling, creates a religion which is almost an inverse of Buryat Tengrism (Tengrism, with Kyuk-Tengri, father-sky-god as head of the pantheon, being, from what i'm understanding, pantheistic [the Main God is in everything, and everything is a manifestation of him], polytheistic [while Tengri is the main one, there is a heap of other gods, goddesses and spirits under/around him, with great importance placed on those spirits [44/55 associated with different things]], and of course with a main head of a father-sky-god; whereas the Kin's religion, with Boddho, a mother-earth-goddess* [whose name seems to relate more to Mongolian], is pantheistic [mother Boddho is in everything and everything is a manifestation of her], monotheistic [she is the only one, the all-mother, all-creatoress] OR duotheistic [her + Bos Turokh are the only deities], and lacking in spirits entirely, which are so important to Tengrism), has an important spiritual caste of women (the Herb Brides) who have no resonance within Altaic/Mongolic/Turkic cultures because no culture has Naked, Dancing Young Pretty Women Whose Sole Job is Dancing For Harvest (some types of goddess-priestesses / witches / oracles have always existed, but the Herb Brides are a distinct, obvious invention, which deserves scruteny. you could argue that they correlates with shamans, but in the text it appears evident that is more the place of Burakh [father, then son], and the Herb Brides directly go against a widespread shamanic practice which is the wearing of many layers made of animal skins, bones, antlers, horns in order to disguise oneself, to wander between worlds, to trick the tricksters, etc), and also like. Worms. "crude", "unfinished". half-man half-dirt.

*the cult of an earth-mother/mother-earth exists in Buryat Tengrism with Umai, because earth-goddesses exist/have existed in most pantheons, especially before the advent of pastoralism; however, she is daughter of Tengri, whereas Boddho is all-mother. Mongolian Tengrism has her be named Etugen, and while she is said to have all control over the natural forces and all living forces be subordinate to her, Kyuk-Tengri is still "above" her, she is the "second highest" after him. the existence of a earth-goddess within two religions does not make them more similar than any others (the Greeks had an earth-goddess, Demeter, with theories that she was there before the advent of the hellenic pantheon as an all-mother... etc etc so on). there is also sources stating that at some point, Tengrist or proto-Tengrist peoples might have worshiped him/a sky-father exclusively or so majoritaly that the other deities were aside, but it could also come from biased or outside sources.

we are also unsure about your claim that the Kin represents the Buryats in "interesting and careful" ways. We do not know of your position wrt indigenity (and it's none of my business specifically, might be the business of those in the group who are indigenous but i'll let them decide if they want to contact you directly) and if you were doing research on the Buryats out of a reconnecting journey or intellectual curiosity/desire and personally feel that the Buryats are respectfully represented in P2 as one, but I have read many other Central Asian Indigenous people in this fandom write, since the release of P2 (and possibly before that about P1, as well as in the discussion we were Just Having about this ^) about how the Kin does not represent them faithfully, or even sometimes just kindly, and the treatment of it and its members being insulting in multiple ways (including the fact that their beliefs and language are a hodgepodge of languages and beliefs that feels to "steal" from multiple sources [=appropriative instead of appreciative] which itself is another discussion, do not represent any real-life religion while obviously being inspired by some, and on other levels just the fact that the Kin's clothes do not resemble the vibrant, intricate, and historically-significant clothing of the Buryats, or any of the peoples they are inspired by. That and the fact that they literally have non-human/in text sub-human members [the Worms]). Most of the discussions around the Kin that i've seen, from Central Asian Indigenous people, recognizes and celebrates the inspirations (plural) while still interrogating how callous, cruel, sexualizing and misogynistic the narrative and metanarrative treatment of the Kin is, a far cry from a "careful and interesting way" of representing the Buryats (or any of the other inspirations).

last thing: I am personally curious as to where/how you've found the "half Chinese" data piece, because I have not been able to find anything of the sort online (doesn't help that my grasp on Russian is nonexistent). I have seen it going around, without a source, and I also have seen (in the tags of this) the data of "1/16 Manchu or Han", which is a far cry from "half-" anything, and not related to Shenekhen Buryats. [deleted the rest to add:]

Dybowski, from his own mouth, is not half-chinese, and the tagger who mentioned it being 1/16 was right: on page 57 of [this interview], he mentions his grandfather's father (so great-grandfather) having married a Chinese woman (when he was 60 and her 20, but that's a whoooole other story), making him 1/16 chinese (possibly Han or Manchu as the tagger mentioned). I do not doubt this informs his view of the world and how he is treated, even if he mentions being "the only one in [his] family who really looks Russian", but it is a far-cry from "half-" anything. that does not change the general discussion i've read for years at this point around the Kin, which is that the inspirations are obvious and should be celebrated, but it is obviously imaginary/invented, and in the hazy lines of imagination lies a treatment of the Kin which is cruel, crude, sexist (more specifically misogynistic), often racist and feels more like appropriation for a morally gray ethnicity that pays lip-service to its inspiration but mistreats it nonetheless rather than full, hearty representation.

great discussion! 👍🫂 i'm genuinely glad we can exchange on this. but what is contained in your reblog is, from what i've seen and read, pretty far from the consensus on the Kin. we all can recognize (and we should appreciate and take good care in handling) the real-life inspirations while still seeing that, in the blurry lines of storytelling and "invention" for the sake of (technically) a ~fantasy~ ethnicity, lies like. a racist mistreatment with appropriative qualities. which i've seen people talk about for years at this point.

the pathologic Kin is largely fictionalized with a created language that takes from multiple sources to be its own, a cosmogony & spirituality that does not correlate to the faiths (mostly Tengrist & Buddhist) practiced by the peoples it takes inspirations from, has customs, mores and roles invented for the purposes of the game, and even just a style of dress that does not resemble any of these peoples', but it is fascinating looking into specifically to me the sigils and see where they come from... watch this:

P2 Layers glyphs take from the mongolian script:

while the in-game words for Blood, Bones and Nerves are mongolian directly, it is interesting to note that their glyphs do not have a phonetic affiliation to the words (ex. the "Yas" layer of Bones having for glyph the equivalent of the letter F, the "Medrel" layer of Nerves having a glyph the equivalent of the letter È,...)

the leatherworks on the Kayura models', with their uses of angles and extending lines, remind me of the Phags Pa Script (used for Tibetan, Mongolian, Chineses, Uyghur language, and others)

some of the sigils also look either in part or fully inspired by Phags Pa script letters...

some look closer to the mongolian or vagindra (buryat) script

looking at the Herb Brides & their concept art, we can see bodypainting that looks like vertical buryat or mongolian script (oh hi (crossed out: Mark) Phags Pa script):

shaped and reshaped...

[starcurtain]

2.1 Penacony Spoilers!

I know the scene after Ratio's "betrayal" can be read a lot of ways but I am shocked I haven't seen more people interpret it as Ratio being so worried about Aventurine that he couldn't stay away even though he was supposed to.

We know:

1) Ratio absolutely knew Aventurine's plan from start to finish, both his gamble to create "death" in the dream and with the three cornerstones. (Wish people would stop underselling Ratio in their analyses; "Three chips are enough" is a direct enough clue that, genius as he is, Ratio would never miss.)

2) In his own words, Ratio was acting according to Aventurine's instructions while in Dewlight Pavilion and with Sunday and felt that he did a good job not giving them away.

I think most people are on the same page up to there, but then I've seen a lot of people interpreting this scene after Aventurine leaves Sunday's mansion as Aventurine being genuinely angry at Ratio (possibly after having gaslit himself into thinking Ratio was actually betraying him).

But this doesn't make much sense to me because:

1) Ratio actually has nothing to gain by selling Aventurine out to Sunday. They're on the same side in this mission. Information about a Stelleron on Penacony wouldn't be news anyone with a brain like Ratio's and why would he need someone else's research on Stellerons when he already has ties to the Genius Society through Screwllum and Herta, as well as the Astral Express where the Trailblazer is actively housing a Stelleron?

2) One of Aventurine's most notable lines of dialogue is how it's perfectly fine and expected for "friends" to use each other and backstab. This is his default understanding of partners--why would he suddenly be mad about something he expected from the start?

3) If the betrayal wasn't already planned and was just a possibility based on Aventurine's understanding of Ratio, why would he ever have revealed there were "three chips" (aka three cornerstones) in play? If even the betrayal over Topaz's stone wasn't planned, just assumed, why would Aventurine reveal the existence of the third stone? He would gain nothing from doing so.

Instead, I think it makes a lot more sense to interpret Aventurine's frustration with Ratio in this later scene as annoyance over Ratio taking an "unnecessary" risk:

1) As far as Sunday knows, Ratio had just very seriously betrayed Aventurine, completely selling him out and essentially sending him to his execution.

2) In the scene afterward, Aventurine is out in public in the middle of Penacony where The Family's eyes are always watching, yet Ratio walks right up to him to check on him. Why would someone who just sold you out come up to you immediately afterward to check on your health?!

3) It's only natural that Aventurine would pump the brakes and go "Wow, didn't think you'd show yourself after you just betrayed me, remember?" Because that's the act they are supposed to be keeping up! They're still being monitored; it's not safe to break character!

But Ratio is a genius, right, so why would he break character here? From the standpoint of the ploy itself, revealing to the Family that he and Aventurine were still on the same side would only jeopardize the plan, not help it.

The logical explanation, then, is that Ratio went to Aventurine here because he felt like he had to.

He had to check in and make sure the situation was still under Aventurine's control.

(In fact, the entire exchange through the middle of this scene is Aventurine and Ratio confirming the rest of their plot in a veiled manner: Ratio brings up the plan and mentions what's concealed in the gift money bag, Aventurine confirms the cornerstone is good to go; Ratio asks what his next step will be; Aventurine says he's going to do the insane thing of handing out cash while looking pathetic [aka fishing for Sparkle]. Ratio essentially asks if he's crazy enough to take the final gamble with his own life, which Aventurine confirms, and then Ratio sets them up for the finale by gifting him the doctor's note.)

Ratio was willing to risk ruining their entire plan--something Aventurine does seem to be frustrated about at first--just to ensure Aventurine still felt all right about the situation.

He needed to deliver his note demanding Aventurine stay alive.

He needed to tell Aventurine to come to him if the situation got too painful to bear.

In short, Ratio was worried enough that he could not stay away even though, for the sake of their plot, it would have made significantly more sense for him not to appear. The gain of breaking character was worth more to him than the risk of being caught.

You honestly don't even have to take this in a shipping context. The real point here is that Ratio is an incredibly good person who wasn't okay with Aventurine's self-sacrificial plan and who felt morally compelled to check on a person in pain. He's a healer through and through, and ignoring Aventurine in this condition--ignoring someone who was taking so much risk on themselves--simply wasn't possible for him, no matter the danger it posed to the plan.

But for those who do ship Ratio and Aventurine... I hope more people will come to see this scene as another example of Ratio's genuine concern for his mission partner! He did not have to appear here at all; it would have made much more sense for him to leave Aventurine to his own devices to uphold the illusion of their "betrayal." He showed up in this scene--very likely against Aventurine's expectations--because he was concerned for Aventurine's situation and wanted to ensure Aventurine knew he could fall back on Ratio's support at any time if the plan went awry.

tl;dr: I wish people would stop interpreting this scene as the aftermath of a betrayal. Aventurine wasn't ticked off with Ratio in this scene because he felt like he'd genuinely been backstabbed; he was ticked off because Ratio was literally breaking their pre-established "betrayer" character just to be fussy over Aventurine's safety and well-being. (Okay, and to double check on the plan, but let's be real, the first part was definitely more important. 👌)

[lxndonorris]

private show - Lando Norris

Y/N x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) after his latest photoshoot, Lando comes home with a surprise x word count: 5050+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests, just ask :)

You have been anticipating today for weeks.

Lando, your boyfriend, had a photoshoot with TUMI Travel, and even though you haven't seen the pictures yet, the idea of him in a sleek, high-fashion shoot has been enough to leave you daydreaming all day.

He texted you earlier to tell you the shoot had gone great, but he had been cryptic about the details. That wasn't unusual for Lando; he loves surprises, and he always finds some way to keep you guessing.

Now, standing in your living room, you can hear the key turn in the lock. Your heart flutters with anticipation as the door creaks open, and there he is, carrying a black suitcase, his face bright with excitement.

"I've got a surprise for you," Lando says, his boyish grin widening.

"A surprise?" You ask, immediately curious, your eyes darting between him and the suitcase. 

Your mind races with possibilities.

Has he brought back some travel gear from the shoot? Was there something special inside the suitcase?

"Give me a minute," he says, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he vanishes behind the bathroom door. "I promise you'll love it."

You smile, settling onto the sofa. The click of the bathroom door closing echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of rustling fabric and quiet murmurs of Lando talking to himself. 

You can only make out snippets, something like "C'mon, mate, you've got this" and "She's going to love it."

It is adorable how he sometimes gives himself pep talks, even though he has no reason to be nervous.

With nothing else to do but wait, you pick up your phone, eager to scan the internet for any sneak peeks of today's shoot. TUMI Travel has been promoting Lando's involvement for days, so you assume they might have dropped a preview by now.

But as you scroll through Twitter, Instagram, and even checked a few F1 fan accounts, there is nothing.

No pictures. No updates.

You sigh and toss your phone onto the sofa. Just then, the bathroom door creaks open behind you. You turn, your heart skipping a beat, and there he is—leaning casually against the doorframe.

The sight of him takes your breath away.

Lando is dressed in a tailored black suit that fits him like a glove. The jacket hugs his broad shoulders, and the crisp white shirt underneath contrasts perfectly against the deep black fabric. His shoes are polished to perfection, and his hair has been styled in that slightly tousled way he always manages to pull off effortlessly.

He looks both polished and disarmingly charming, a blend of elegance and that familiar boyish mischief that never seems to leave his face.

He smirks, giving a little shrug as if he doesn't know how incredible he looks.

"How do I look?"

For a moment, you are speechless. You shake your head, unable to find the words.

He looks phenomenal—far better than any photoshoot may ever capture.

"You look... incredible," you finally manage to say, your voice breathless.

His smirk grows, and he pushes off the doorframe, walking toward you slowly. His movement is deliberate, almost teasing, as if he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

He runs a hand along his chest, smoothing the fabric of his shirt and subconsciously stroking himself, a small sign that he is just a little nervous.

But why would he be? He has absolutely no reason to be anything but confident.

As he comes closer, you stand up from the sofa, your eyes locked on his. When you are mere inches apart, you reach out and place a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the soft material.

He smells incredible too, his cologne filling the space between you—clean, fresh, with a hint of something spicy that makes your pulse quicken.

Lando's hands slide to your hips, pulling you just a little closer. Up close, he looks even more breathtaking, his skin smooth, his jawline sharp, with the slightest hint of a stubble, and his eyes bright and full of affection.

The suit flatters every part of him, from his toned chest to his strong arms, and as you run a hand down his front, you feel the muscles rippling beneath the fabric.

"You look amazing, Lando," you whisper, stroking him lightly. His skin flushes slightly at the compliment, and he lets out a low growl, the sound vibrating against your palm.

Lando smirks again, clearly enjoying the attention, but there is a softness in his eyes that tells you he is just as excited by this moment as you are.

He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispers, "I've got two more outfits to show you."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea of more. Your curiosity piques, you try to glance over his shoulder toward the bathroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of what else he has in store.

You can just make out the open suitcase, but before you can see anything else, Lando steps in front of you, blocking your view with a playful shake of his head.

"Uh-uh," he says, grinning. "No peeking."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Fine. But you know you're killing me with this suspense, right?"

His smirk widens.

"That's the plan."

Lando doesn't rush the moment. He knows exactly what he is doing, taking his time to pose for you like he was still in front of the camera at his photoshoot. 

Every movement is deliberate, a little show just for you. He angles his body, showing off every perfect curve, every contour of his physique.

His pants are tight, hugging him in all the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination but still teasing just enough.

With his hand resting on his hip, he tilts his head, giving you a longing, smoldering look that sends shivers down your spine.

He is teasing you, and you both know it.

And from the way his smirk deepens, you can tell he is absolutely loving it. His eyes sparkle with amusement, knowing exactly how he is affecting you, the tension between you thickening with every passing second.

"Lando," you say softly, your voice betraying the mix of admiration and desire flooding through you.

Lando's smile widens at your response. Without saying a word, he slowly turns and makes his way toward the bathroom. As he walks away, your eyes can't help but follow the way the suit fits him—perfectly tailored, accentuating every muscle, his back broad and strong, and his butt framed flawlessly by those snug pants.

You let out a deep breath you didn't realize you were holding the moment the bathroom door closes behind him.

You sit back down on the sofa, trying to steady your racing heart. There is something about him tonight—a confidence and playfulness that keeps you on edge, eagerly awaiting whatever he has planned next.

You hear him moving around inside, getting ready for the next surprise. Your pulse quickens in anticipation, the seconds stretching out into what feels like an eternity.

Then the door opens once more.

Lando steps out, and this time, his look is entirely different—but no less breathtaking.

He is wearing a rich brown leather jacket that looks buttery soft, paired with a fitted black t-shirt and tight black pants that cling to him in all the right spots. A black belt completes the look, accentuating his slim waist and making every line of his body stand out.

The contrast of the leather jacket against the simplicity of the black shirt makes him look effortlessly cool, but there is an intensity in his eyes that makes it clear he is anything but casual.

He approaches you with that same slow, deliberate walk, licking his lips in a way that makes your breath hitch. His hand absentmindedly runs across his chest again, his fingers grazing lower for a brief second before he pulls them away, leaving you yearning for more.

The way he moves, the way his clothes fit him so perfectly—it is clear he is excited to show off—and you are definitely excited to see him.

"Wow..." you murmur, unable to find any other words.

Lando smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. He turns again, giving you a full view of him from every angle, showing off the way the leather jacket hugs his shoulders, the way his pants cling to him just as perfectly as the suit had.

And when he glances back over his shoulder at you, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous spark, he is breathtakingly beautiful—utterly magnetic.

You can't resist anymore.

You stand up and approach him, your eyes locked on his as you close the distance between you. His smirk widens as you get closer, his confidence growing as he watches you take him in. His hand runs along his side, feeling himself, clearly loving the attention you are giving him.

"You look so good," you whisper, reaching out and letting your hand glide down the front of his shirt. 

You can feel the firmness of his chest beneath the fabric, the warmth of his skin radiating through it. Your fingers stop at the waistband of his pants, teasing him just a little.

Lando's breath hitches, and you see his eyes darken slightly with desire. His smirk falters for just a second as you tease him, but he quickly regains his composure.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your cheek, his light stubble grazing your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel the tension between you building, the heat radiating off him as his taut muscles press against you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "There is still one more outfit."

You can feel the excitement growing inside him in every part of him, including the firm bulge pressing against you through his pants. 

Your heart races as one of his hands finds its way to your breast, his fingers teasing you lightly through the fabric of your shirt, while the other hand slips down to cup your butt, pulling you even closer.

The closeness of his body, the heat of his touch, sends a thrill through you that makes your skin tingle.

He is teasing you now, the tables having turned. His fingers gently squeeze, his lips hovering dangerously closer to yours but never quite touching.

His breath is ragged, and you can feel the same desire coursing through him, matching your own.

"Babé..." you whisper, barely able to form coherent thoughts as his hands explore your body.

He growls softly, the sound low and full of hunger.

"I promise you, the last outfit will be worth the wait."

You smile against his cheek, feeling his stubble tickle your skin as your fingers trail along his waistband again, teasing him just a little more before you pull back, leaving him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Go on then," you say, your voice playful. "I'm ready for the grand finale."

Lando chuckles softly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He takes a step back, letting go of you reluctantly, and with one last lingering glance, he turns and heads back into the bathroom.

Even though he disappeared behind the door once more, his intoxicating cologne still lingers in the air around you; its rich, familiar scent wraps you up in him even though he's just out of sight.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the lingering fragrance that clings to the room, and you can almost feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the tingling from earlier still burning underneath, alive with anticipation.

This is quite the surprise—completely unexpected—and you can only guess what he has in store for you next.

Just as you begin to wonder, the door creaks open, and you instinctively turn your head, your pulse quickening. 

'You should have known', you tell yourself, but the sight that greets you still manages to take your breath away.

Lando steps out, and this time he's wearing something utterly different—a racing suit, but not the usual McLaren one.

This one is entirely black, with sleek silver accents at the shoulders—a much more casual look yet somehow even more striking.

He looks hot—unbearably so—and from the way he smirks, you can tell he knows. He's in his element now, moving effortlessly, each step radiating confidence.

The fabric hugs him in all the right places, molded to his athletic frame as if it were made just for him. 

The way it clings to his broad chest, the perfect contours of his shoulders, and the firm lines of his arms make your mouth dry. His thighs, strong and defined, are emphasized by the snug fit, and there's no hiding the arousal pressing against the fabric now.

But Lando doesn't even care; in fact, he flaunts it, unbothered by how obvious it is.

His eyes are dark with desire, the longing in his expression palpable as he swallows hard. Slowly, his hands move down his chest, lingering on his abs before coming to a stop. His fingers grasp his arousal firmly through the suit, a low growl rumbling in his throat as his gaze locks with yours.

Lando knows exactly how much you love seeing him in his racing gear, how it's always been one of your weaknesses, and he's relishing every second of your reaction.

His hands move on autopilot, stroking himself lightly as if to drive you wild, and all you can do is shake your head in disbelief.

How does he manage to look even more irresistible with each outfit?

As he walks over to you, his movements even slower, more deliberate, you instinctively reach out, steadying yourself by placing your hands on his firm chest.

The feel of his body, hard and hot beneath the fabric, sends a rush through you. Without missing a beat, Lando wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer until there is no space between you.

His scent, his touch, the heat of his body—it's all so intoxicating, and you're lost in him.

You press your hands against his chest, feeling the strength beneath the fabric, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. A soft moan escapes him, and you feel the vibrations rumble in his chest as his head dips lower.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that's deep and urgent, filled with all the tension that's been building since he started this teasing game.

You melt into him, your body responding to his as your hands roam over his chest, sliding down toward his waist.

Just as you're about to completely lose yourself in him, he pulls away, leaving you breathless. His smirk is back—that teasing, boyish grin that drives you nuts.

"I wonder what's underneath the suit," he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with playful mischief. "Maybe it's just my tight fireproofs? What do you think?"

You swallow hard, your eyes locked on him as you reach for the zipper of his racing suit. His eyes darken further as you slowly tease it, pulling it down inch by agonizing inch.

But what you find beneath surprises you.

There is no fireproof shirt.

Instead, you're met with the smooth, bare expanse of his chest. The heat of his skin radiates into your palm as you rest your hands against him, feeling his firm, toned muscles beneath your touch.

His chest is warm, and the feel of his skin sends shivers through you, goosebumps rising along your arms as you take in the sight of him. He's taut, clearly aroused from all the teasing you've been playing at, and you both know it.

His breathing grows heavier as you explore him, and in one smooth motion, he moves you toward the wall, guiding you backward until your back is pressed against the cool surface. His body is right in front of you, towering over you, his eyes filled with raw desire.

"I've been waiting for this all day," he whispers, his voice barely above more than a growl as his hands begin to explore your body.

Your hands trail down his chest, moving lower until they rest against the bulge in his suit. He feels impossibly hard beneath the tight fabric, and it seems like he's wearing nothing else beneath the suit—just him, hot and ready.

You stroke him lightly through the fabric, teasing him the way he's been teasing you, and his reaction is immediate. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as his head falls back, lips parted.

You can see the pleasure washing over him, and it only fuels you further. His hands roam over your body, brushing over your hips, your waist, exploring you like he can't get enough.

The tension between you is thick, almost unbearable, and you can feel how much he's been holding back. Each brush of your hands against him draws soft moans from deep within his throat, and you can tell he's barely holding himself together.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice strained as his hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer.

Just as the tension between you reaches its peak, Lando's phone buzzes loudly from the side table. 

He lets out a desperate sigh, the sound full of frustration and longing as he reluctantly pulls away from you. His hand slips from your waist, and you feel his body tense, caught between wanting to stay lost in this moment with you and needing to deal with whatever just interrupted you.

For a second, he glances at his phone screen, eyes narrowing as he reads the message. Then, with a sheepish grin, he looks back at you.

"The photos from today's shoot," he explains, his voice laced with a mixture of excitement and reluctance. 

He stands up straight, shaking his head as if trying to refocus, though his arousal is still visible through the tight suit.

"I should check them out."

You chuckle softly, leaning against the wall, still feeling the warmth of his body lingering on your skin.

"I want to see them too," you tell him, the playful curiosity clear in your voice. "I've been dying to see how they turned out all day."

Lando hesitates for just a moment, glancing at you with a grin that tells you he's trying to balance his desire with the new distraction.

"Okay, let's do it."

He grabs his phone, and you walk over to the sofa, the mood shifting slightly, though the air is still thick with the tension between you. He sits down, pulling you beside him.

As soon as you're settled, he unlocks the phone and opens the email, the anticipation now mingling with the excitement of seeing the results of the shoot.

As the first image loads on the screen, Lando's face lights up. It's him, standing against a sleek black background, looking effortlessly stylish in one of the outfits from earlier in the day—a black shirt and tight pants, his hair styled perfectly, his jaw set in a serious, model-like expression.

"Look at that," he says with a proud grin, holding the phone toward you. "Not too bad, right?"

You take the phone from his hands, admiring the image. He looks incredible—cool, confident, and impossibly attractive.

But as you glance up at him, sitting right next to you in his tight, partly-unzipped racing suit, his arousal still obvious through the fabric, you can't resist teasing him.

"Not too bad?" You raise an eyebrow, your hand finding its way back to his lap, gently stroking the bulge pressing against his suit. "You look incredible."

Lando's breath catches, his eyes flickering down to where your hand is resting on him.

"Y-you think so?" He stammers slightly, his body tensing again under your touch.

"Oh, I know so," you reply with a smirk, your fingers pressing a little harder as you stroke him slowly, savoring the way his muscles tighten in response.

His eyes darken once more, his attention split between the photos and the growing heat between you. 

Still, he manages to swipe to the next image, trying to stay focused on showing you the results of his shoot, though it is clear he's struggling.

The next photo is even more stunning. It's Lando in the brown leather jacket, his gaze intense, his pose casual yet commanding. The lighting is perfect, highlighting every angle of his face and the sharp lines of his outfit.

Lando smiles proudly as he watches you take in the photo, though you can see the way his body shifts, his hips pressing up slightly toward your hand as you continue to stroke him through the racing suit. His arousal is impossible to ignore now, and you can feel how much it's affecting him.

"You really love this one, don't you?" he asks, his voice a little breathless.

You glance at him with a playful smirk. 

"I love all of them," you say, your hand never stopping its slow, teasing motion. "But I think I love this," you press a little firmer, "a bit more."

Lando lets out a soft groan, his head falling back against the sofa as he closes his eyes for a moment, clearly torn between the photos and the sensation of your hand on him.

His body is tense, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and you see the desire in him growing with every passing second.

"There are still more photos," he murmurs, though it sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than you.

"Then show me," you whisper, leaning in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "But I'm not stopping."

He shudders at the contact, his fingers trembling slightly as he swipes to the next image. His concentration is faltering, and you can tell that the teasing is getting to him, but he's determined to finish showing you the pictures.

This time, it's a close-up of his face, his expression serious, his jaw set in that way that makes him look both handsome and strong. The lighting is softer here, highlighting the angles of his face, and there's a certain intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race.

"Lando," you whisper, your hand moving a little faster now, pressing firmly against his arousal. "You're perfect."

He groans again, louder this time, his body shifting beneath you as his hands tighten on the phone. His breath is ragged, his head falling back again as he gives in to the sensation.

"I can't... can't focus when you do that," he mutters, though there is no real complaint in his voice. His free hand reaches out, grabbing your thigh and squeezing gently, trying to ground himself.

You smile against his neck, placing a soft kiss on his skin as you continue teasing him. 

"That's the point," you murmur, your lips brushing against him.

Lando lets out a shaky breath, his body trembling slightly as he swipes to the final image. It's him in the racing suit, his expression playful yet smoldering at the same time.

"This one..." he starts to say, but his words trail off into a soft groan as your hand moves faster, pressing harder against him. His hips buck slightly, and you can feel how close he is to losing control.

"You look good in all of them," you whisper, your lips still teasing his skin. "But I prefer you like this."

Lando's grip on your thigh tightens as he finally drops the phone, unable to keep up the pretense of showing you the pictures any longer.

His eyes are dark with desire; his breath heavy as he pulls you closer, his hands roaming over your body.

"I can't take it anymore," he growls softly, his voice full of hunger as he crashes his lips against yours in a deep, urgent kiss.

You know he's on the edge, and you know exactly how to help him let go.

Your hand continues to stroke him, rhythmically yet firm, feeling the heat and the pressure building beneath the tight fabric of his racing suit.

Feeling him through his suit is a familiar sensation- one that you've come to know intimately over time. The way the fabric hugs his body, the warmth radiating from him, and the way he responds to your touch are all things you've grown accustomed to. You know exactly how to work on him, how to tease and please him until he's completely at your mercy.

His hips move in rhythm with your touch, and his grip on your thigh tightens as he moans softly into the kiss, his lips parting slightly as the intensity takes over.

You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice soft and full of praise.

"You've done so well today, Lando. So many beautiful pictures."

Your words are deliberate, chosen because you know how much he craves this, how much he loves to hear it.

His breath shudders, a low, desperate moan escaping his throat as the words sink in. You feel the effect they have on him—the way his body trembles beneath your hands, his arousal straining even more against the fabric. 

He's losing control, surrendering completely to the moment.

"You're everything." You continue, your hand still moving, still teasing him just right. "Such a good boy."

He groans even louder this time, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives in. His lips part in a breathless gasp, and you can feel the heat of him rising, the tension in his body reaching its peak.

"You deserve this," you whisper, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. "You don't have to hold back."

That's all it takes.

With a guttural moan, Lando finally lets go, his body shuddering as the pressure is released. His lips crash against yours once more, but this time it's different—there is a desperation in the kiss, a raw, overwhelming need that consumes him.

He cups your hand with his, guiding it to rest firmly over the bulge in his suit. His grip is strong, holding your hand there, grounding himself in the feeling, as if he needs that connection, the reassurance of your touch

His moans are muffled against your mouth as he clings to you, his hands roaming over your body again.

Lando's body trembles in your arms as the intensity of the moment washes over him, his breathing ragged and his chest heaving against yours.

His lips slow as he moans softly into the kiss, his hand clutching at your hips with a mix of desperation and relief. You hold him close, feeling the warmth of his body as he slowly starts to relax, the tension melting away.

For a few moments, you just stay like that, wrapped up in each other, the only sound in the room your heavy breathing and the faint rustling of his racing suit. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, and you can feel the last of his energy ebbing away as he lets out a long, contented sigh.

"You’re amazing," you murmur softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead as you place a gentle kiss there. "You deserved that."

Lando smiles lazily, still catching his breath. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with affection, though there’s still a glint of mischief in them.

"I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good before," he admits, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

You smirk, running your hand through his messy hair. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Lando chuckles softly, glancing down at himself, still dressed in his unzipped racing suit, the silver accents catching the light. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the tension from before having ebbed away, leaving only the comfortable warmth between you.

As you lean closer, you slide your hand inside the unzipped part of his suit, pressing it against his bare chest. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and you can feel his heart beating steadily as you stroke him gently, lovingly. 

Your fingers trace the lines of his muscles, feeling the strength there, but it’s a tender touch—more affectionate than teasing now.

Lando closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh, his body relaxing completely into the sensation. His hand rests on your thigh, his thumb making slow circles as he basks in the intimacy of the moment. 

There's something so peaceful about being this close to him; the softness between you a contrast to the fire from earlier.

“You always know what I need,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection. His other hand covers yours, holding it against his chest for a second, as if grounding himself in the connection between you.

You smile, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his jawline. "You make it easy," you whisper, your lips brushing against his skin.

Lando tilts his head slightly, giving you better access as you continue placing soft kisses along his neck and shoulder, savoring the closeness. His hand moves up to your back, pulling you even closer until you are half-leaning against him, your body pressed against his.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply enjoy the quiet, the feel of each other’s presence. Your hand continues to roam gently over his chest, the fabric of his suit slightly rough against your skin where it remains unzipped, his body warm and inviting beneath.

Eventually, Lando breaks the silence, his voice soft and filled with warmth. “I don’t think I ever want to take this suit off if it means you keep doing that.”

One of his hands finds its way to his crotch, lazingly stroking himself briefly before letting out another contented sigh.

You chuckle, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are filled with that familiar mix of affection and playfulness, but there’s a deeper, quieter emotion there too. Something more intimate than words could express.

“Maybe I’ll let you keep it on a little longer then,” you tease, pressing a playful kiss to his lips.

He hums contentedly, returning the kiss with a soft smile. “I’m not complaining.”

For now, you stay there, enjoying each other's warmth.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Lay the Table With the Fancy Shit

Prompt Day 13: Family Dinner | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Future Fic, Established Steddie, Open Secret Relationship, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?, It's The Harringtons, And Uncle Wayne

Eddie peeks through the curtains, and so far, the driveway is still empty. 

"Anyone?!" Steve hollers from the kitchen.

"Not yet!" 

This is the first Christmas that they're having both sides at their house, and it's a little nerve-wracking. They didn't think the Harringtons would accept the invitation. Historically, they haven't. They've always been in Spain. London. Hawaii. 

Anywhere, except where their perfect only child and his weird shadow have been.

And even if Steve's never shown it, Eddie knows that's been disappointing, though not unexpected. 

But, Steve kept extending the offer.

And this year, they said they'd come. 

Eddie doesn't trust it. He's more scared they'll no-show than he is that they'll show up and be assholes. Assholes? Assholes, Eddie can handle. But deliberately getting Steve's hopes up just to hurt him? Unforgivable. 

Steve's drawn from his rich kid upbringing, and set the table fancier than it has ever been in their house.

Eddie hears a door slam. He peeks out: Wayne. 

"It's just Wayne," Eddie yells, and that sounds wrong. Wayne has never been just anything. His love and presence is constant. Him showing up is not news, it's just any other week, holiday or not. 

Eddie hears a second car pull in, and it's them. 

"They're here!" Eddie screams, and Steve appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Really?" he asks, grinning. 

"Really," Eddie confirms.

Steve is smoothing down his sweater, as if it might be rumpled, but it's definitely not. He's perfectly put together, as always.

Eddie's slightly concerned about Wayne being out there alone with them. Wayne's not gonna take any shit, and definitely won't forgive as easily as Steve has always been willing to, that's for damn sure. If they so much as look at either of them wrong, Eddie's sure Wayne will be willing to start an all out war. 

Steve goes to the door and opens it before anyone has the chance to even ring the bell.

It's not like Eddie hasn't met them. He has. In short, very controlled bursts. They call Eddie Steve's roommate, and honestly, it could be worse. If they want to pretend that's all he is to Steve, Eddie can live with that, if Steve can.

They have a support system, more than most are lucky enough to have, and if the Harringtons can't get on board, then so be it. Steve's mother kisses both of Steve's cheeks, and his father shakes his hand, and so far, so good. 

They've made it inside without any bloodshed. 

Steve takes his mother's coat and introduces them to Wayne, who gives the bare minimum of a greeting, and Eddie feels frozen to the spot.

Why this year? Why now? 

He's suspicious, and scared. Terrified, honestly. 

Are they going to try and put a wedge between them? Do they have the perfect, marriageable girl that they're going to try to sell Steve on? Finally tired of this unacceptable detour that is a life with Eddie "The Murderer" Munson?

Anything is possible, and Eddie hates that he's expecting the worst.

It might be fine.

He hopes it'll be fine.

Eddie doesn't know what to do with himself. Roommate Eddie, reporting for duty.

The first chance he gets, after the forks go down, he excuses himself and flees.

Eddie is sitting on the bed in their bedroom. There's a familiar knock and Wayne steps in, closing the door behind him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, and he is. Just uncomfortable. "What's going on out there?"

Wayne laughs, "Polite conversation."

Eddie grins towards the floor, and Wayne sits next to him. 

"It'll be fine, kid."

It will. Eddie knows that. They'll leave, and life will go on.

"Does Steve seem happy?" Eddie asks, because that's all that matters. 

"Yeah," Wayne answers. "How 'bout you, kid?"

"I'm good," Eddie says.

"You sure?"

He's pretty sure. He just wants Steve to be happy, and wants him to have a good relationship with his parents. Even if that means he's the roommate in the most unconvincing lie ever told.

Wayne has left him alone, and Eddie is still sitting there, when he feels eyes on him. He looks over, and Mrs. Harrington is standing there looking at him through the cracked door. 

Eddie freezes. 

She comes inside and shuts the door with a heavy click.

Eddie swallows.

"Eddie," she says, and he nods, as if he's confirming that he is, in fact, Eddie. 

He's suddenly hyper-aware of their bedroom. Specifically, their co-mingled shit all over. They didn't clean up, because that felt like it'd be an unspoken bad omen for them not showing up. Either way, Eddie doesn't have a fake bedroom down the hall. It's just this. His stuff on one nightstand, Steve's on the other.

She sits next to him.

Eddie sits up straighter, ready to take whatever she's about to dish out. He'll take it, if that means Steve won't have to.

"They're watching the game," she says.

"Good," Eddie replies with a nod.

"We know, you know?" she asks bluntly, and Eddie wants to bolt. He has to force himself to stay. Eddie assumed, though. Steve's not dumb, and they aren't either.

"Yeah," he says.

"We're waiting for him to tell us," she says, and Eddie is flabbergasted. 

"Huh?" he says.

She laughs, and it makes him feel a fraction more at ease.

"He can tell us," she states, plain as day. There's no beating around the bush, "It took a bit, but we're ready now. Whenever he is."

Eddie hopes that's true. Fuck, does he ever.

"Thank you," he says, and feels kind of dumb, but he is thankful. Big time.

"He was a sad child," she comments, seemingly changing the subject. 

And Eddie stares at her. Steve? Sad?

"Lonely. He learned to fake contentment," she clarifies, turning to look at Eddie, smiling ever so slightly, "But I don't think he's faking it anymore."

Eddie bows his head, smiling to himself.

He made Steve Harrington happy. How the fuck did that happen?

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🍽️

Notes: Title from Tolerate It by Taylor Swift.

[drurrito]

a/n: untitled beach fic; another shot at writing smut; 18+ only

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Submissive!Reader

warnings: some degradation; light choking; cursing; dry(?) humping...

----------------

"You haven't looked at me the entire time we've been here, you know?"

The water is suddenly ice-cold and your muscles bunch up into one big knot. You turn to look at Natasha for the first time since you pulled up to the beach and the realization that she would be in nothing but a bikini for the entire day smacked you in the face like a stray frisbee.

"What?" You try to sound offended. Natasha holds your gaze. Your freshly sunscreened face begins to burn. You look back towards the shore where the rest of your friends are tanning, talking, and laughing. Steve chucks a football far enough to make Bucky sprint after it, but he trips over a kid's abandoned sandcastle head-first. You thought you could find reprieve in the water after a few minutes of just staring at your toes in the sand while Sam talked about bar-hopping last night. You watched Natasha follow you into the water the same way a bleeding seal watches a circling shark's fin.

"Haven't I?" You ask, your eyes briefly passing over Natasha's form. She watches you flounder in the water. You're wishing and hoping for a wave to swallow you whole right now.

"I wouldn't have said anything if that were true."

"Right," you run a shaky hand through your hair and collect yourself enough to look Natasha in the eyes once more. She's closer now, your eyes dive into the shrinking space between you and her.

"Did I do something to upset you?"

Your eyes resurface, landing on hers, "no, not at all!"

Natasha moves closer, you fight the urge to look away, you can't let her think you don't like her.

Because you do, you do like her. So much so that you can't focus on her in that bikini for more than mere seconds. Any longer and you just might faint, or melt into the sand, or both.

You're in a staring contest with her now, you're determined to count every speck of amber floating in her deep green eyes and--

Natasha is moving even closer now, this time she goes left--then right--then left again--your eyes track her perfectly, not once straying away from her pupils.

"Huh," she tilts her head in amusement as a small wave swells and rolls through you both before crashing onto shore. You still don't break eye contact, only letting your eyes bounce around the borderlands of her irises.

"You can't look at me, can you?" Natasha smirks and you flinch, finally blinking.

"I'm looking at you right now?"

"At my eyes, yes," another wave rolls by, a bit bigger than the last, "but only my eyes."

You swallow down a wad of nerves. Natasha is a riptide ready to pull you under. You’re thinking about how hard you need to push against the Earth below you to get out of the water as fast as humanly possible.

“I’m just—“

“Being respectful, I know baby,” Natasha cuts you off—you’re too stuck on how easily those words rolled off her tongue to notice that her bare torso is only a hair away from touching yours.

Another wave, even bigger this time, throws Natasha off balance, sending her right into you. Your arms quickly shoot out to catch her while her own arms hook around your neck to steady herself. You’re actually looking at her, scanning her body for anything that can tell you this is just a fluke. Your mind is screaming at you to let her go and bolt but your body betrays you by keeping her close.

By the time you both collided, the water had risen high enough to kiss the space right below your chests. To the rest of the beach, you both basically look floating heads. You admire Natasha’s profile as she looks out towards the beach for a few moments before turning her attention on you. You barely catch the stormy look in her eyes before you’re reminded of her arms around your neck when her nails graze the base of your skull.

“Do I make you nervous?” Her tone is dark now. Your body goes rigid while your mind fumbles around for an answer. You nod, no use in lying now, not when Natasha could probably feel your heart beating against your rib cage since she’s so close.

“Say it.”

“Yes, you make me nervous,” you do a piss-poor job of trying to keep your voice from trembling with want. Natasha’s lips curl into a smile and she chuckles. You start seeing stars.

“Don’t be,” Natasha starts to pull you impossibly closer and you meet her halfway. She only gives you a few seconds to process the fact that she’s kissing you before she slides her thigh between your legs. Your spine feels a chill under the hot sun.

“Do you wanna be good for me?”

You couldn’t look any dopier, nodding with your jaw hanging low.

“Words baby.”

“Yes,” you sound dumber than you look.

“Then start humping.”

You cough like you just swallowed a gallon of saltwater, “what?”

“I know you heard me.”

“Right…right now?” You sputter, frantically looking back towards the beach, “in front of everyone?”

Natasha roughly grabs you by the chin to pull your attention back to her.

“Start. Humping.”

Her hand lowers to clamp around your throat and that makes your knees buckle. Your arms tighten around her waist and your body dips down until you feel her thigh against your core. You let out a surprised grunt and Natasha smirks while she watches you begin to find a rhythm. It feels good, too good to stop. Your eyes flutter and threaten to roll back into your head, your body overwhelmed by how much you want this, how much you wanted to do this for a while.

“You look deliciously pathetic you know that right? Humping my leg for everyone to see,” Natasha mocks as your pace hastens. You rest your forehead on her shoulder to try and keep yourself afloat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding harder and faster against Natasha’s thigh. You’re not even going to chance a look to see if anyone is actually watching you both. The longer this goes on, the less you seem to care anyway. You litter the sun kissed window of her cleavage with sloppy, desperate, open-mouthed kisses. Your hands groping and grabbing at her waist, her thighs, her ass, anything that can help you get a better grip and bring you as close as you can get to her without having to jump into her skin.

“So needy—like you’ve been dreaming about this,” she teases, you blush. Her hand glides from the back of your head to the tip of your chin and lifts it, “look at me.”

You obey without a second thought, a small whimper escaping your lips when you do. 

“That’s it,” she patronizingly coos as her nails dig a little deeper into your jaw, it stings in the best way.

When you finally look around, you realize the water isn’t covering you as much as it was a bit ago.

“Shit, the tide—” your movements start to slow, but there’s no chance you’re stopping.

“Better hurry then,” Natasha’s hand on your jaw moves down to your throat to give it another squeeze, “you want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, your whole body is buzzing.

“Then don’t keep me waiting, or else everyone will get to see what a pitiful fucking sight you are right now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you don’t waste another second to quicken the movement of your hips.  Before you know it, your senses are electrified, the pressure against your cunt becomes borderline overwhelming.

“I’m—I’m close—" You stammer against her neck, your hips bucking erratically against her thigh. You feel her laugh rumbling through your lips when you open your eyes and—

“Fuck.”

“Whiny little mutt,” Natasha scoffs.

“No, there’s…there’s a wave coming right at us,” your eyes widen but you don’t stop, you’re too close to give up. You keep going, growing more frenzied as the wave swells to the biggest one you’ve seen since you been here.

You only get moments to appreciate the high you worked so hard to chase before you have to throw yourself and Natasha under the so it doesn’t wipe you out.

You both come up laughing, Natasha pulls you in for a kiss, smiling against each other’s lips.

[ngayawneluoer]

parallels

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam x reader

requested! - neteyam comforting you after you get told off by your father word count: 1,795 note: tsu'tey is your father bc dad tsu'tey just... works...??? the vision is so clear he just is a dad and it also works perfectly because he is of course canonically alive don't you guys remember him in atwow? im also like not very happy with this but I haven't posted in so long and I feel like if I don't post now I never will lol

You could smell the gunpowder even from your vantage point in the sky, the stench of war entirely swarming your senses, though it was nothing new to you. The scorching explosion burnt bright against the emerald trees, annihilating the forest's flora with no remorse. This was the way of war, you had learned. Being a watchdog with the two Sully brothers meant that you had seen more than enough destruction and bloodshed to know that sacrifice was inevitable in war.

You kept an eye on the conflict as you flew between Neteyam and Lo'ak, though the latter looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pull away and join the warriors on the ground. Lo'ak had begun to take after his father - both boys had - but Lo'ak tended to do it in the most reckless ways possible, which is why it didn't astonish you in the slightest that he wanted to directly disobey his father by joining the ground team.

"We have got to get down there!" Lo'ak exclaimed, looking back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Of course, he couldn't stay put for even a minute. Sometimes it felt like Lo'ak did it on purpose, intentionally winding Neteyam up to get on his nerves. Their bickering was nothing new to you, though you wished Lo'ak would behave for once.

"No way!" Neteyam hissed, glaring at his brother. "Dad will skin us!"

"C'mon, don't be a wuss!" Lo'ak mocked, as if challenging his brother before turning to you, "(Y/N), you're with me right?"

"No, I am not!" You derided, though it did nothing to halt the stubborn boy from his sudden descent towards the sea of warriors below, "Lo'ak!"

"Lo'ak, get back here!" Neteyam growled, fidgeting in frustration on his ikran.

Your eyes met your partner's, identical expressions of annoyance present on your faces. This was a common occurrence within your group: Lo'ak dragging you and Neteyam into trouble. Though Neteyam watched the two of you like a hawk, you indulged Lo'ak in his troublemaking ways far too often. That said, you had your limits, and diving headfirst into a ruthless war crossed those limits.

You could tell what Neteyam was thinking without him having to verbalise it: "Lo'ak is an idiot" "Can you believe he's done this?" "I'm gonna kill him." The typical speech your boyfriend held whenever his brother did something as idiotic as this. You had probably heard it a million times, and yet every time, you and Neteyam would rush into trouble without hesitation for Lo'ak. It was no different in this instance, with Neteyam ultimately rolling his eyes before plunging down to follow Lo'ak. Left with no choice, you followed the Sully brothers with a groan.

You could vaguely hear Lo'ak's keen urges as you landed your ikran, barely able to keep up with him. Neteyam landed beside you, his current demeanour the complete opposite of his brothers.

"Lo'ak!" Neteyam yelled in an attempt to control his rowdy brother, though his plea fell on deaf ears.

You joined with an irate "Lo'ak, enough!" but it had become abundantly clear that there was no stopping him.

As expected, the boy paid no mind, joining the crowd of Na'vi who were gathering armoury from the train wreckage. An older warrior passed him a gun, to which Lo'ak let out a trill, returning to you and Neteyam with the weapon in hand.

"You don't even know how to use it," Neteyam grunted.

"Dad taught me," Lo'ak grinned, loading the gun before playfully pointing it at you as if it was nothing but a toy.

Both you and Neteyam jumped to knock the gun away as Neteyam hissed protectively, "Lo'ak, don't be an idiot!"

You scowled, all too aware of the urgency under which the warriors of your clan seemed to operate. "Alright. You've had your fun, now let's go," you said, all too eager to get out of the way of the adults.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't get the chance to leave of your own accord.

"Gunships inbound, fall back!"

At the sound of explosions, warriors around you started running, and the three of you joined them. Despite the adrenaline running through your veins, your legs were not quick enough. A tremendous explosion blew you off your feet, your ears ringing as you hit the ground.

-

"Go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed."

Jake was not one to sugarcoat words when it came to discipline; Neteyam knew that much. He was thankful for his mother, for he feared he would have been scolded for another hour if nobody interrupted his father. With his father's lecturing over, Neteyam could finally walk away in search of you.

He should be going to his grandmother to get healed - even if he wouldn't admit it, he was in pretty bad shape. But to hell with his wounds; he needed to know you were also okay. The events of the battlefield were blurry, but he vividly remembered the force of the explosion, how it flung the three of you away like nothing but ragdolls. As he had faded in and out of consciousness, he recalled seeing you hold your bleeding arm, Lo'ak helping you walk as their father carried Neteyam over his shoulder. He also couldn't help but feel guilty; you were hurt and only because he hadn't managed to stop his brother from being an idiot once again.

It didn't take long for him to find you; you were hard to miss with how your father barked at you, drawing everyone's attention. Your ears were pressed back against your head, tail flicking in annoyance. Opposite you, Tsu'tey seethed with nothing but unbridled anger as he spat out words Neteyam couldn't quite make out - though he could guess what the subject of his lecture was. Tsu'tey was a mighty warrior, consistently authoritarian and phlegmatic. And whilst Neteyam was used to seeing him with a scowl, he had never seen him quite this mad, especially at you.

You had confided in Neteyam about how difficult it was to live up to your father's expectations, how you wanted nothing but to make him proud - it was something you and Neteyam had always been able to bond over.

Like Jake, Tsu'tey was hard on you. But unlike Jake, he never once shouted at you this way. Although you knew it was only because he was afraid to lose you, you hated being yelled at by your father. You could've handled the quiet disappointment you occasionally received or the disapproving teasing, but the yelling was a million times more embarrassing. It made you feel like a little child again, weak and naive.

Too embarrassed to meet your father's gaze, your head hung in shame. Sure, in actuality, it wasn't your fault, but it's not like he would understand. Regardless, you knew you wouldn't get anywhere by talking back to your father when he was in 'disciplinary parenting' mode; your best bet was to give him some spiel about how sorry you were and how you would learn from your mistakes. (It technically wasn't untrue - you were sorry, and next time Lo'ak does something stupid, you'll know to drag him back by his tail.)

As Neteyam approached, your father's harsh scolding sharpened into decipherable words.

"You have your job, do as you are told and nothing else!"

You only looked up upon hearing Neteyam's voice, an unexpected addition to the conversation.

"Sir, it was my fault. Do not blame (Y/N)," Neteyam spoke assuredly, once again taking the blame to your dismay.

You peeked at Neteyam momentarily, though his eyes remained fixated on your father, an unwavering confidence you wished he could show with his own father.

Tsu'tey, however, remained unimpressed, "I am not a fool, boy. I know my child has a tendency to throw themselves in trouble."

"It wasn't like that. Not this time."

Your father glared, carefully contemplating his following words, but he eventually sighed, solemn eyes shifting to meet yours, "Don't let this happen again, (Y/N). I mean it."

"Yes father."

Tsu'tey cursed under his breath as he paced away, the conversation officially over with his departure. And whilst Neteyam's intrusion had cut this particular scolding short, you were sure there would be more to come as soon as the opportunity arose. The thought alone filled you with endless frustration.

Neteyam thought he had done the right thing by taking your side, but to his surprise, you rolled your eyes, grumbling as you stomped away from him without a glance. He stared after you, dumbfounded, but rushed to catch up to your receding figure.

"Hey, wait," He said, falling in line with you. Judging from the look on your face, you were undoubtedly upset, persistingly avoiding his gaze, "(Y/N), talk to me."

You huffed, stopping so abruptly that it caught Neteyam off guard, and spun to face him with a snarl, "I didn't need you to stand up for me."

Neteyam paused, stunned, "I… I'm sorry. I just didn't want your father to blame you for something that was my fault-"

"It wasn't your fault!" You hissed, "That's my point. I don't need you to take the blame for me. My father will be disappointed regardless."

Your face softened, rage dissipating now that you had gotten your true sentiments off your chest. As much as you loved Neteyam and appreciated his efforts, you wanted - needed - to do things like these alone. Being a mighty warrior, living up to your father's expectations, it was all you wanted.

Your arms wrapped around yourself and your face turned away from Neteyam, hiding the tears welling in your eyes as you battled the insecurity of being unable to live up to your father's expectations.

He hated seeing you like this; he felt useless. Neteyam frowned, a hand rising to your shoulder to comfort you, "I understand," he said with a sigh, though he didn't have many more words to offer. He was in a similar situation; you knew that much. Comfort was all you could offer each other - there wasn't much else you could do about your parents' tough love.

Whilst Neteyam knew he couldn't resolve all your problems, the least he could do was care for you. He couldn't help but notice the scrapes on your arm, dried blood encrusting the injured skin below.

"Is your arm okay?" He asked with nothing but concern and adoration in his voice.

Eywa, he was the sweetest. You fought a smile as you allowed him to grab ahold of your arm, trusting him to inspect your wound for you.

"It is fine," You muttered, turning to look at him, "You look worse than I do."

"Ouch," He scoffed playfully, finally breaking your shell and revelling in the smile blooming on your lips.

You stepped forward to meet his body, burying your face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, relaxing into the affection you both needed right now.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been mad at you. I know you were trying to help," You murmured, words muffled by his chest, though it didn't stop him from hearing them.

As tender as the morning sun, he rubbed the bare skin of your back with his warm hands, the gesture comforting you and drawing a low purr from your chest. He placed a kiss on your scalp before his head rested atop yours, "It's okay."

Your gaze rose to meet his golden eyes, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Neteyam had never failed to put you first, and you hoped the small act of taking care of his wounds would begin to return the favour. You knew Mo'at would have probably done a better job with all the supplies and wisdom available to her, but Neteyam didn't complain when you gathered your own supplies and began tending to his cuts. Despite the occasional hissing from the pain, he sat patiently and enjoyed your delicate touch. As you wrapped up his final bandage, you pressed a fluttering kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you for being patient with me," You spoke faintly, "and everything else."

With a peaceful smile, he brought your face to his, leaving the softest kiss on the tip of your nose, "You never have to thank me for that."

[pain-in-the-butler]

what are your favourite black butler fanfics?

Hello! Though I've made a post on my favorite Dadbastian fics, I suppose I haven't done one on my favorite Kuro fics overall. Some from the previous list will be included regardless, and also I won't be including unfinished fics here.

ad perpetuam memoriam by redrobin1989 I linked this in the previous post, despite not being an actual Dadbastian fic, strictly because it's just that good. Around 130 years after Ciel Phantomhive's death, a couple of students begin to uncover the history of who he really was. And they aren't the only ones interested in his name's revival...

bottom of the deep blue sea by sunflowergiorno I can't laud this fic enough. It perfectly encapsulates the angst and sweetness combo I so love in a Dadbastian fic yet so rarely find. Takes place during the Campania rescue on the trip back to England. The way Francis is written is the cherry on top.

Everything's So Green! by Cr4shjay Some heartwarming fluff by my friend and the editor for Coattails, Jay! A sweet story about bonding between the Phantomhive servants early on in Bard's career. Wah!

Front Page News by TheArchaeologist Another I included on my previous list, though it's not really about Dadbastian, having more to do with the servants finding out about the Campania sinking and their fears as they wait to see if Sebastian and Ciel are coming home safely, let alone at all. Mey-Rin's perspective is lovely.

His Highness, Comparative by three-sixtynine-hexose I don't often read fics that are about season two, but this take on the relationship between Alois and Claude is far better than the canon. This is not a lighthearted romp but a poignant and bittersweet look inside the head of a kid desperate for affection, whose designated caretaker is basically an emotional brick wall.

Jurassic Butler: The Butler, the Butler, and the Dinosaur by Cherumie Okay, obviously this one is a humor fic, and it's mainly going to be enjoyable to people who are familiar with Phantom & Ghost, but how could I not recommend it. I got my start in writing fanfic with parody, a genre that you hardly see explored anymore in this fandom, so I have to give it some props.

Sensorium by othercat A short but sweet read that I linked in my previous post. Explores the early contract days in a way that I think is more realistic, showing that Sebastian needed to reintroduce Ciel to his own humanity before he could possibly hope to cultivate his soul.

Singing in the Silence by Kimberly_T A fantastic Phantomfam story about the servants learning how to keep their young master safe "from any and all enemies… even enemies they can't actually see." Absolutely heartwarming. Mey-Rin's appreciation for music in Coattails is actually a small nod to this fic.

The Boy Who Called Down a Ghost by ivoryandhorn Probably the most unusual entry on here and not for everyone, but I remember being intrigued by this fic's unique voice. A rewrite of the contract scene if it took place in a cyberpunk future.

This might not be the list that you were expecting — I actually have some relatively specific tastes and it's not often I find something that suits them. But I hope that this can give you some more material to read as we wait for the manga to return! Thanks for reaching out!

[suzukiblu]

For Wip Wednesday is it possible to request one of each? Or would you prefer individual asks for different wipes?

the Gotham Kid

Trauma can do a lot to a person, though, and it’s not like the Alley isn’t spoiled for it. Kid’s only been here a few months, and he’s seen way worse than something a cheap dye job could cover up. 

Way, way worse. 

“Should it be, pretty boy?” Trish asks the guy, her smile pleasantly poisonous and familiarly shit-starting. Kid might have to rough up a couple guys before they're done here, he notes in mild resignation. Not that he blames her for wanting to make it clear that this isn't the time or place for outsiders to be fucking with anybody, but these guys haven't actually done any fucking with anybody yet. 

Though he does know better than to give anybody in Gotham too much benefit of the doubt, especially in Crime Alley. 

Superman would, but Superman would do a lot of things Kid can't afford to.

Could never afford to.

the one where Kon isn't the father

Tim cries all over himself and also Kon for way, way too long, but it’s–fine. It’s fine. He can explain looking like he cried to the Kents, because crying over his dead boyfriend coming back to life is a perfectly normal emotional response. 

And Kon is, technically, his dead boyfriend now. Or–not the dead part anymore, obviously, but–

“The cover’s good as-is,” Kon murmurs quietly as they’re sitting together in the far corner of the nursery. She’s still asleep. Tim couldn’t bring himself to leave her and go upstairs, though. “Like–what everybody assumed, I mean. They already all think it anyway, right? Like, they’re all already convinced. So coming up with a different lie might just make ‘em reexamine shit and maybe notice something, and that’d be a problem.” 

“It would,” Tim agrees in relief, glad that Kon understands that. But also . . . “But you want to tell them–you want to pretend about us, too?” 

“I don’t want anybody to have a single reason to doubt who Kyra’s other dad is,” Kon says. “Ever.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Tim says, although if Kon doesn’t it's going to ruin his life. 

Ruin Kyra’s life, more importantly. 

“Fuck off, Rob, don’t tell me what to do,” Kon snorts the exact same way he used to in their Young Justice days, and Tim chokes on a sob of a laugh. Fuck, he’s missed him. 

He’s missed him so, so much.

Match technically is also a Luthor

Match finds that response . . . strange. Strange in several ways, in fact, because it almost sounded like Luthor was actually listening to what he said. 

Almost. 

“I take it there isn’t something less idiotic than ‘Subject Match’ to be calling you, then?” Luthor says. 

“No,” Match says. He doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks of his designation–it’s perfectly serviceable–but he doesn’t know what he thinks of the way Luthor’s commenting on it. Like he thinks the Agenda should’ve . . . tried harder or something. 

That can’t be right, Match thinks. 

“Of course there’s not,” Luthor snorts dubiously. “Fine, I’ll come up with something bearable in the car. Now come along, I wasn’t actually joking about that meeting I have to terrorize. The board members have been getting ideas again, suicidal little optimists that they are.” 

“In the . . . car?” Match asks incredibly. What, did he just drive here? 

“That is what I said, yes,” Luthor says, then snaps his fingers impatiently beore turning back towards the door. “Keep up.” 

And Match doesn’t understand what the hell is happening here or even why it’s happening at all, but he doesn’t have orders and Luthor definitely does have kryptonite, or at least an Amazon or two, so Match just . . . 

Follows him.

weird Kryptonian bonding rituals

“Huh?” Clark startles, and they all look over at Lois. She looks triumphant, waving her phone. 

“Conner,” she repeats matter-of-factly. “It’s easy to pronounce, common enough he won’t constantly be having to spell it, but still uncommon enough there won’t be twelve other ones everywhere he goes. Also it means ‘lover of hounds’, so we have to get him a dog now. Do you want a dog, Conner? And, uh, also the name. Also do you want the name.” 

“. . . maybe?” Superboy looks curious, floating over to peer at the phone screen. “What’s having a dog like?” 

“It's nice, if you get one who's right for you and take good care of them,” Clark says, immediately resolving to find an apartment that allows pets. He’ll pay the pet fee. He’ll pay a monthly pet fee if he has to. Superboy can have all the dogs he wants. “It's rewarding. And, well–nice, again. Dogs are great, and they love people. Man’s best friend and all that, you know? Not that we necessarily count as that kind of ‘man’ because of the whole alien definitely-not-biological-weapons issue but–look, it’s fine, dogs are great! They don’t even get weird about us being the wrong species! Um. Not the wrong species, just . . .”

“A dog would love me?” Superboy tilts his head, then . . . blinks, very slowly. “Like–how much?” 

“Almost as much as we're going to,” Clark says, his chest clenching tightly.

the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon

“We’ll help you however we can,” Clark promises again, slightly rephrased, and Kon looks surprised. 

“Um–you sure it's not a problem?” he hedges awkwardly. “I can, like, go bother somebody who’s less busy . . .” 

Clark cannot imagine ever being busy enough to ignore this kid, much less pawn him off on someone else. That is not a thing that he is ever going to do, no matter how long it takes to get Kon home. He’s another Kryptonian, and one who’s proudly wearing the El crest and carrying both genes and a name from a version of him. How could he do anything less than his best for him? 

“It’s not a problem at all,” he says firmly, giving Kon’s shoulder another squeeze before dropping his hand away. 

“Certainly not,” Diana agrees. 

“It’s definitely a problem,” Bruce mutters under his breath, like he’s never picked up a random stray kid who he doesn’t know anything about except how much they needed his help. Hypocrite, Clark thinks both wryly and fondly.

[riaarivic]

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary  Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗  Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗  Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

[max-nico]

"Well, what do you like, Shadow?" Sonic asks, staring up at the cloud covered night sky.

Shadow finds himself pausing, his eyebrow furrowing in contempt. "I liked Maria."

"Duh, I'd be concerned if you didn't, Shadow. I meant what do you like now?" Sonic huffs through an exasperated grin. "Like–If you could only bring three things with you on a deserted island, what would you pick… or do you like dancing or are you more of a cooking type-a guy? What would your perfect day be like? If you had to choose between a cottage or a penthouse, which one would you buy? Do you prefer warm temperatures or cold?"

"As the ultimate lifeform my body temperature is always perfectly regulated, I have no need to think about that."

"It's not about what you need Shadow–" Sonic sighs, flippantly gesturing his hands. "–It's about what you like, about what makes you happy."

"What makes me…happy?"

"Yup."

Shadow thinks for a moment, his head now turned toward Sonic, who's still not looking at him. Though in all fairness, Shadow himself is more looking toward Sonic's direction than at the hedgehog himself. He's lost in thought, focused on finding something he genuinely likes on this godforsaken planet.

Shadow opens his mouth to answer.

"And don't say something that Maria liked, I'm asking about you."

Shadow closes his mouth. Back at square one he supposes.

It's hard to think of something he genuinely enjoys. He's spent so long preserving life for Maria, growing plants for Maria, saving people for Maria, eating for Maria, living for Maria. What begins with him and what stops with her is a giant mess. It's a tangled ball of raw emotions that he can't even begin to decipher, let alone understand.

"C'mon dude, I know you have some good memories in there." Sonic finally turns to Shadow, his whole face lit up in some amalgamation of amused and disbelieving. "Better than having no memories at all, am I right?"

To that, Shadow's introspection halts. His face flattens at the joke as he doesn't find it funny, and he remembers the absolute dolt he's talking to. God, this whole conversation is stupid, isn't it? He has to wonder why he's talking about literally anything with the hedgehog next to him, he's a moron on top of all other morons.

Sonic has enough emotional competence to at least be apologetic as Shadow gets up to leave. A hand coming up to stop him before he can get very far, and a repentant look to accompany it as well. Shadow simply deadpans in response.

"Too sensitive? My bad." Sonic looks down at the grass. "I've been trying to get better with… that."

Shadow tries to pull away, his counterpart doesn't let him.

"I won't make another joke like that, promise. Come sit back down."

For a reason unknown to Shadow himself, he complies. He takes the same place he was sitting before, Sonic is a little closer now, but it doesn't really bother him. The grip on his arm doesn't either. At least not enough to make him do something about it.

"Now, you still haven't answered my question."

"Have you considered the possibility that your question is stupid?"

"Humor me. Just a little bit longer."

Shadow sighs, rolling his eyes and looking back up at the sky. It's easy to fall back into his reappraisal and forget about the blue hedgehog all together. It's easy to focus solely on Maria too, but it's hard to think of himself. Not being able to answer Sonic's question makes him feel dumb in a way he's never experienced before, shame is probably a better word for whatever he's feeling, but it's even harder to admit that then think about himself.

He repeats the question to himself a few times, as if that will magically give him an answer. Repetition makes him irritated, God he's so irritated right now. Stupid ass hedgehog asking him stupid ass questions.

"I'm tired of thinking about this. Let me leave."

"Aw c'mon, Shads." Sonic frowns. It's an odd look on his face. It makes Shadow uncomfortable. "Look, I'll try and help. You like Rouge and Omega don't you? I've seen you walk out of Tails' garage before–which was a little surreal for me by the way–but I assume you enjoy hanging out with him, right?"

This makes Shadow think. Sure, he's okay with Rouge, grateful to her at least. He's been staying with her for the past few weeks, and though she lives on takeout, talks enough to make him deaf–don't even get him started on her attitude, and hoards like she's never had anything of her own before, he's truly indebted to her. He would never say this out loud of course, she would hold it above him and never ever let it go. Rouge is annoying enough without him giving her leverage.

She's oddly kind though, in her own special way. She doesn't touch his stuff unless asked to, makes sure to order enough take out for him to eat too, she's even allowed him to put up the few portraits of Maria he has. Rouge constantly gives out mixed signals because of this unfortunately, so it's hard for Shadow to get a read on her.

All of this being said, he wouldn't call Rouge a friend, but he wouldn't call her a foe either. Rouge is also way past the acquaintance stage, but not nearly close enough to be called family. Their whole relationship is completely out of Shadow's depth.

Omega's is easier to classify. Not with one word, nothing that simple, but it makes sense in his head. Simply put, he and Omega bond over their mutual love for blowing shit up. If they talk, they're discussing bombs and war tactics. If they're hanging out, they're testing explosives. Sending messages? You guessed it, they're talking about how funny it would be to bomb GUN.

They're like… bomb buddies or something. He thinks that's how Tails referred to them. Omega would think it's stupid a name though, which is fine, because Shadow also thinks it's stupid a name. They work well like that.

They're still not friends though.

Now, as for Tails, that's another complicated case. They both enjoy engineering and talk shit about Sonic when he's not around. They both enjoy learning, and find space fascinating. They both enjoy mutual silence as well, making talking to him easy with no pressure to keep the conversation going.

He still doesn't think Tails qualifies as an answer though, because the whole reason he even began to give the kid the time of day was because of Maria. Young, hopeful, naive, bright blue eyes, golden hair. He was like a bucket of water while being surrounded by wildfire. He still is, because Tails reminds him so much of Maria that it hurts sometimes, but the nostalgia feels like a reprieve from all the newness so the pain is welcomed. The pain is greeted, given a tour, and then shown its bedroom in his mind.

So sure, he'll give Sonic this one, the fox is his friend, he genuinely likes the fox, the kid is easy to talk to and incredibly sweet, sue him. He neglects to say this out loud anyway, both because it's not a valid answer, and telling Sonic he found companionship in his kid brother makes him want to keel over. He'd never hear the end of it, and the hedgehog already talks enough to power the sun.

"I think I like when it rains." He says instead, just barely catching a distant flash of lightning behind Sonic's head.

"That's a good thing to like, Shadow." Sonic accepts Shadow's answer easily, shrugging his shoulders. "I like the rain too."

"You hate the rain."

Sonic smiles, letting go of his arm. "Yeah, I just didn't want you to feel bad."

Annnddd that's it. This is pre-sonadow technically, but I wrote it with platonic intentions lol. This is pre all Shadow relationships.

I am incapable of not giving Shadow and Tails a wholesome relationship sorry not sorry.

Anyway, this fic is titled I Think I Like When It Rains on AO3. I posted it there a while ago so I decided to put it on Tumblr bc why not.

Please feel free to hit up my DMs or askbox, though if you're requesting I prefer my askbox lol. I am a multishipper if ships are your jam, but I mostly post Sonic and Tails being brothers (NOT A SONTAILS SHIPPER PLEASE DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THAT LOL)

[measuredingold]

seneca

author’s note: hello hello ! trying something new and wanted to make something a little bit more … angsty ? 🫣 as always i hope you all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. loosely inspired by seneca by movements.

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x reader

cross posted on ao3

word count: 2.7k

cw/tw: angst, hurt/…possible comfort?, past relationship, open ending, 18+ mdni

When he sees you, Nicholas thinks his world comes to a full stop.

It's been three years since he's last seen you, three years since the last time he's spoken to you. It was weird seeing you here at this coffee shop that the two of you used to frequent so often together, knowing you weren't meeting him there. You look good, you always have, but you seem to be glowing now. Skin full of life and the happiest smile on your face when you're conversing with the barista behind the counter and -

Oh. His eyes move down to your hand and that's when he sees it. The diamond that sits prettily on your left ring finger, the sun catching it just perfectly as the light hits off of it. He feels sick again, stomach twisting.

You looked so fucking happy. He's not sure you'd say the same if you ever looked at him.

It's bittersweet, he thinks. On one hand he's happy for you and loves the way that ring adores your hand. He always knew you'd look good with a diamond. Another part of him is sad - heartbroken - knowing that it wasn't him who gave it to you. He could have, though, because all his life plans had always included giving you his last name.

Nicholas doesn't remember why he never did it when he had the chance. It couldn't have been the fear of rejection. You loved him just as much as he loved you, it was obvious. You even outright told him whenever he did it, your answer would always be yes because it was always going to be him.

What stopped him?

Was it the fear of this being permanent? Was it the fear of never being enough for you? He doesn't know, but what he does know is that he lost his chance three years ago, and there was no way of him ever getting it back.

He brings his long forgotten coffee to his lips, face twisting at the lukewarm taste. He'd spent so long watching you that it cooled down too much for his liking. It's fine, his own fault. He'll still drink it. He watches you brush some hair out of your face, tuck a loose strand behind your ear before observing the area around you, and he feels his heart nearly drop out of his ass.

Nicholas hopes you don't spot him but he knows you will. He used to know you like the back of his goddamn hand, so he knows what you're doing. You're scoping the place out, finding somewhere to sit, and he knows he's in your spot. It was his spot at one point in time.

Tucked away into the corner of the shop, a wooden bookshelf next to the table, a big window overlooking downtown. It was perfect, far enough from the hustle and bustle of customers coming and going. You and Nicholas used to sit here for hours, him sketching out a new tattoo for a client and you catching up on a few chapters of the newest book you were reading.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

His world comes to a stop for a second time that day when your eyes land on the table in the corner, finding him instantly. Your smile drops, eyes widening, and Nicholas is finally getting a good look at you for the first time in years and... holy shit. You haven't changed much. Your hair is much darker than the last time he saw you, back to your natural color, and you were still as beautiful as ever.

His stomach drops again.

Shit.

It's like he goes blind to the world around him, everything is muffled and there's a ringing in his ears that he just can't seem to make stop. He barely registers you thanking the barista and taking your drink with shaky hands and then making your way over to Nicholas' corner, a timid smile on your lips.

"...Nick?"

Your voice snaps him out of his trance. He blinks once, twice, and then a third time to make sure you were actually real before saying your name.

"I didn't know you were back home." You say casually and he watches the way your fingers grip around your cup, holding it to your chest as if you were trying to protect what’s underneath it.

He swallows. "Home for the summer. Break from touring."

You make an ah sound, giving him another timid smile as your head nods.

"That's right. Y'all are big-shots now, huh?" He can't help but blush at your words, shoulders going up in a shrug in response. You look like you're going to say something else, chewing on your bottom lip as you look around the shop before your eyes land on him again. "...Do you mind if I sit?"

Oh. That's. Well. "Yeah. That's fine."

He watches you carefully place your bag on the back of your chair before sitting down, placing your drink on the table. Your hands are still circled around the cup and he can't help it, really, but his eyes drop back down to the diamond on your finger again. You catch him this time, a sheepish grin on your lips as you untangle your hands and bring them down under the table into your lap.

"How've you been?"

Your question makes him tense, a sour feeling settling in the back of his throat. It's weird hearing you ask him that. At one point you were the only person in the world besides Noah who knew everything about him. You never once had to ask how he was, you just knew, because you could read him like a damn book.

He shrugs again, lips pressing together. He thinks he's been alright. The last few years have been a blur with the album and the touring, and while he wouldn't trade it for the world, it was a lot. He doesn't remember the last time he was able to sit down and think about how he was, let alone fucking breathe, so he's not really sure how to answer your question.

"Good." He manages to settle on that, voice clipped. "You?"

"Good."

This was more awkward than he ever expected. Truthfully, he figured if he'd ever see you again you'd be angry with him. He wouldn't blame you. The break-up was mutual, you both ending it on your own terms, but he knew it was his fault. Too busy for you, and all the empty promises he never seemed to remember to keep towards the end.

He doesn't know what changed in him because it wasn't his feelings. He'd never love someone like he had you.

Maybe it was the constant realization that he'd never be able to give you what you want. The touring was straining on your relationship, and his time was always spent between being in Virginia or California. It was like you were in a long distance relationship while living together. It shouldn't have been like that. He knew it then and he knew it now.

"How are the other three?"

This makes him smile, small but real, and his arms cross over his chest as he watches you bring your drink up to your lips. "Good. Noah's always going to be Noah, Jolly's trying to keep up, and Folio is..."

"Folio." You finish the sentence for him, and he can see your lips tugging into a grin. His smile grows.

"Yeah, Folio."

"I'm really glad to hear that." You sip your drink before continuing, "Tell them I said hi."

"Will do." He probably won't.

Another wave of silence washes over the two of you and it's still fucking awkward. Nicholas hates it. He's a quiet guy and for the most part you were quiet too, but the silence was always comfortable when you were together. He thinks it's because it's been three years, you're two different people now. He's not the same person he once was, and he knows you're not the same either.

He begins to wonder what type of person you are now and if your new selves would get along. He wants to ask you what's changed, ask about who you are now. He wants to learn you all over again, but the deep ache in his chests tells him he can't. He thinks back to the way the light reflected off your ring and that sour taste in the back of his throat lingers yet again.

He finds himself wanting to ask about him, ask if he's treating you well, and if he's giving you everything Nicholas couldn't.

He decides to keep his mouth shut.

"I bumped into your mom the other day at the store." You finally say, eyeing him from across the table. "She's really proud of you, you know."

"Oh." His mom didn't mention that when he got in the other day. Probably for the best. His cheeks flush at your words and his head dips down, hiding the bashful look on his face. "She's our biggest fan, I think."

"You've got a lot of those now, huh?"

Your eyes meet from across the table and he averts his gaze almost immediately, looking off to the side. "I guess."

Your words really seem to sink in because they do have a lot more support than they did the last time he saw you. It was before the album dropped, before everything changed. He wondered what you thought of it all, if you’re proud of them. Him.

"...I'm really proud of you, too." You finally say, answering his question.

Hearing those words come from your mouth has Nicholas' face heating up, still not being able to bring himself to look at you.

"You guys worked really hard for this. You deserve it all."

You'd been there from the beginning, in the early days when the norm was sleeping in a tiny van way too fucking small for some grown ass men. You always told him that one day everyone else will get Bad Omens, that they'll finally see the potential, and he used to think you were crazy. Now he's not sure if you manifested all this shit on your own.

"Thank you." He says with a smile, but it's strained, and finally manages to cast you another glance.

Both of your hands are on the table again, the ring on your finger long forgotten by you but he didn't forget. It's been on his mind since he saw it and the words were on the tip of his fucking tongue but he won't say anything. No, he'll wait until you bring it up. If you bring it up. His eyes drop from yours and down to your left hand.

"We don't have a date set."

He blinks back up at you.

"We... I didn't wanna rush it." He catches you looking down at the ring, admiring it with a smile, but it looks pained. "He wants to have a big wedding. Wants to go all out, invite like 500 people."

"Do you even know 500 people?" Nicholas finds himself saying and you laugh. He soon realizes just how much he's missed that sound.

"No. I think I barely know 100 people, let alone 500." Your laughter subsides and you catch Nicholas' eye again, smile faltering. "I keep telling him I want something small. Intimate. I don't like big things."

Nicholas knew that. He remembers how much you hated big crowds, your designated spot at shows typically being side stage or at the merch table with him or Steven.

"I told him I was willing to compromise, he can choose the venue but we gotta half that number..." You continue when Nicholas doesn't say anything, eyeing your ring again. "I haven't convinced him yet, but I will. Said we're not setting a date until we figure this out. We have time, though. There's no rush."

It almost sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than you were Nicholas and that has his stomach turning.

"How's your mom?"

He changes the subject because that sour taste is back, more prominent, and he realizes he doesn't want to talk about him. Would rather talk about anything else actually, especially when he noticed the second your smile fell and your eyes dimmed as you admired the ring on your finger. He won't think too much into it, he won't allow himself, but he thinks there’s more to that sad smile on your lips than you’re letting on.

The conversation after that slowly flows along. Nicholas was never good at small talk, and neither were you, but whenever you were around each other it seemed like the words would just easily come out. He always found it funny how he was just naturally introverted, quiet, kept to himself, but whenever he was around you or Noah he could never seem to get himself to shut up. He likes knowing that seems to haven't changed.

It was still awkward, sure, catching up with someone who's essentially a stranger when they used to not be, but towards the end he starts to feel lighter. Shoulders dropping, tension slipping from him when he finally gets you to laugh about the story of leaving Folio at the gas station, the sadness in your eyes slowly going away, and that sad smile on your lips growing into something happier. He feels pride well in his chest because he did that, even after all this time he was still able to make you smile, but that feeling dissolves at the first sound of your phone going off.

You stop abruptly mid-sentence, the both of you pausing to stare at the phone that's settled on the table. He sees his name flash across the screen, a picture of you two popping up, and that sour taste is back. He averts his gaze and clears his throat.

"Hey." Your voice shifts when you answer, much softer than it had been just moments. "Yeah, still here. Ran into an old friend." He glances at you. "Oh shit, yeah. Forgot that was today. No, no. It's fine, babe. I can leave now. Be there in 15? Alright. Got it." You pause on your next words, eyeing Nicholas across from you before your gaze moves to the side. "Yeah. Love you, too."

You're quiet after the phone call ends and Nicholas doesn't bother looking up from the table. He feels ridiculous for the way his chest aches, knowing his time with you has been cut and he doesn't know when he'll get to see you again. It's selfish, he fucking knows it is. He doesn't have a right to feel this way anymore. It's not like you're his. You haven't been for a long time.

"That was..." Your words trail off and he finally looks up for a moment, seeing the sad smile on your lips. "I should probably head out."

He nods, giving you a tight-lipped grin in return before his eyes cast down again. He misses the way your lips drop into a frown.

"Probably."

He doesn't look up when you rise from your seat, just stares at the now cold cup of coffee on the table he’s forgotten about again. He jumps when he feels something heavy on his shoulder, head tilting up to find you staring down at him, your hand gripping his shoulder. His eyes drop to your hand again, the diamond ring glaring back at him, before his eyes rise to meet yours.

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "It was really nice to see you again, Nick."

"Oh." He swallows. "It was nice seeing you, too."

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Something flashes in your eyes, something he’s seen before but can’t quite place it, and you squeeze his shoulder again. “And… maybe we could get dinner? Catch up? If you’re okay with that.”

Dinner.

Such a simple request yet it has Nicholas sitting up straighter, excitement filling his veins at the possibility of seeing you again. Your hand still feels heavy on his shoulder and that look in your eyes he still can't place seems to be pleading with him, and before he knows it he finds himself nodding.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Number is still the same, just uh. Reach out."

"Great." You smile again and this time it does reach your eyes. Nicholas finds himself smiling right back. "I'll see you around."

"See you." He mumbles and his eyes watch you as you leave, the ache in his chest ceasing to exist for just a moment.

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 30

Perhaps in defiance of good reason, you can't help but entertain Dr. Neptune's offer. It's not like you've never idly thought about how your body could be improved, after all. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"Why, I think that should be obvious!" laughs Dr. Neptune. "I'm going to inject you with a mutagenic serum, then carve open your skull to release your newly independent brain! From there we'll design you a custom mechanical exoskeleton that's more than capable of getting you to the deepest depths of the Sea of Monsters!"

"...Oh." In hindsight you should have seen this coming. "Um, no thank you, I don't-"

"Now now, don't be hasty! Trust me, this is your best option! Say goodbye to those nasty hunger pangs - they'd torture you forever, you know, this is a world where starving is possible but dying from it isn't. That's one source of endless suffering off the table for you!" The doctor's mechanical hand tightens its grip on your shoulder as he begins to pull you toward the operating table. "Your mechanical body will be stronger, more durable, and far less appetizing to the denizens of this universe than that pathetic husk of meat and bone you've been carrying around! And the core of your being, your consciousness, will never be more secure in one of these transparent aluminum domes!"

"Um, well..."

"Trust me, once we've cut away all the tissue and bone and replace it with cold, hardened steel, you'll be glad I rid you of that pesky meat prison you call a body!"

You try to think up an argument against him, but the doctor just keeps talking and talking, all while pushing you closer and closer to the operating table. "But I kind of like having a body-" you start to say only to be cut off.

"Come on, think of it! No more hunger, no more thirst, no need for sleep or rest. You can be an efficient machine!"

"But-"

"No aches in your joints, no nausea, no pain or discomfort of any kind! Your only senses will be relayed to you in a feed of raw information uploaded directly into your brain in a neutral and unobtrusive manner - no more pesky sensations to trouble your mind!"

You think of it. No arms to hold, no lips to kiss... You look at Calibani and see the panic in your own eyes reflected in hers. "I don't think-" you begin to protest.

"But you haven't even tried a mechanical body! Trust me, you don't know what you're missing out on! You can finally feel strong, complete! Why waste your potential when you can upgrade to a better existence?"

Calibani's voice pipes up from behind the pair of you. "They said they don't want to do it," she interjects. "So knock it off-"

"It's just jitters, that's all!" Dr. Neptune says, waving off Calibani's interruption as he forces you onto the operating table. "Every patient gets them before surgery, it's perfectly normal! But don't worry, I'm going to cut away every weak part of you until you're just like me!"

"I don't-" you protest again, only to be interrupted a third time.

"I know what's best for you," Dr. Neptune insists. "Trust me, I'm a doctor!"

Before either you or the Doctor can take this further, you are both interrupted by the sound of something massive slamming against the floor with enough force to make the ground shake. Looking up from the operating table, you are greeted with a terrifying sight.

A massive, scaly talon has slammed into the floor a few feet away from you, and it's attached to an enormous and twitching arm covered in thick, carp-like scales. You follow the limb to its own and see Calibani at the root of it, her sweater's sleeve utterly shredded from the sudden growth of her arm. As she struggles to stay standing while her body trembles and convulses as the muscle and bone beneath her skin shifts and snaps in new directions, she howls out:

"SAILOR SAID THEY DIDN'T WANT TO DO IT!"

Threads snap and splinter as the rest of Calibani's body begins growing to match her newly monstrous limb, and you notice the doctor back away slightly as he chuckles to himself, "Oh my, a stress-induced rapid onset adaptation! Hahaha, I'm in danger!"

With your body tied to an operating table, a mad scientist panicking at your side, and your sea monster friend really living up to the "sea monster" label for the first time in a while, now feels like a good time to consult your compass.

[zorlovinghue]

Novel/Manhwa Recommendations

..... which you might not know exist, already know and read but got no other creature to talk about it, in shambles cuz there's little exposure, know but haven't read yet, don't know and might be interested, and etcetera etcetera.

==============================

Is It Bad That the Main Character's a Roleplayer

You see it right. From the cover and title alone, we know the MC is a chuunibyo with concerning level of emo. He is Demon Knight. Yes, that's what he called, I haven't read far so I'm not sure if the name will be revealed later on.

MC's characterization is, if you know Lee Hoyeol from [The Player Hides His Past], that's exactly him, except he had to do it himself, so the secondhand embarrassment is........ strong—

The setting and world building is great, the fighting scenes is clearly detailed and I especially love that every arc is elaborate. You can see the author put effort in their research and there's plenty of staggering inspiration on how close-combat scenes in specific background could be proceed–if you're an author looking for that exact thing, you can give it a shot and if you're a reader, this is magnificent and brilliantly done!

(The arc in the sea is quite long, there's pirate and stuff too if you're interested *ominous whisper*)

Poor guy wants to come back but have to be hero first. This give a new perspective on how transmigration story with MC who got normal (yes) background and family he cherished will become, the emotional tones is particularly deep for this one but the action did a wonderful job in balancing things out.

I was Mistaken as a Monstrous Genius Actor (adapted to manhwa)

You may be aware that I've been into this lately... And yeah I'm gonna babbling about this more.

MC's name is Kang Woojin. His parents still alive, he got a younger sister and three best buddies. All alive! Wow, no one's dead. This is not a transmigration, regression or reincarnation story either. I'm pleasantly surprised, which is ironic in and of itself.

He got a power that allowed him to enter the world of the script and live as the character he chooses to act on, both a blessing and a curse. Since most of them are dead in the end so he died multiple times too. His power gives proper carrot and whips, meaning although it was dizzying he was able to take a rest too, no fainting accident even if he's overworked to death.... So far! I'm nearing 300ish chapter and the novel had finished with 480 chapter, highly likely won't be any fainting accident.

What I love about this story is that the pacing is fast yet precise. Date, month, year... Name of the day and time, contrary to my initial fear of having this tedious, it's actually really helpful to have a fxcking crystal clear timeline! In Korean novel at that!

This is misunderstanding-based story, like the author directly and straight up telling the reader that

Is the main focus.

This story have more comedy, so although the story itself have emotional tones sometimes, it is less pronounced when it comes to the MC himself (the characters he acted on got better treatment bruh)– which can be either good or bad depending on your tastes, but if you prefer action more like me then this is actually a good thing. And, this is a novel where I can perfectly say that it utilizes sensory perceptions more than 'poetic' description, incredible for that!

Another thing, a sensitive one and I braced myself for this, is that the novel actually friendly. Vietnam, Japan, Hollywood... And French later on (i haven't reach that point yet). MC going abroad like he was taking casual stroll is everything. The 'passion' and 'competitive' spirit is the tamest and calmest I have ever found. You can clearly, clearly see the author did it as minimally as possible and overtime cleverly utilize the flow so the relationship between the countries is now welcoming, not just tolerated. The amount of scarcity for this is enough to warrant acknowledgement.

The Player Hides His Past (adapted to manhwa)

Lee Hoyeol here...! Been a while since I read the novel so I apologize in advance.

This is game-turn-reality story, you might already know from the title so I just want to say that one more time.

His character's name is Grandfell Claudi Arpheus Romeo, which he created on his early teens, another chuunibyo here. The story's world-building is great, the exploration of each arc is immersive and I love the emotional tones was clearly conveyed when it's due. It did a good job in adding depth and actually fleshed out the characters' existence excellently.

The fighting scenes, the strategies, and the executions are all great! It was amazing that even though the world building was quite complex it turned out brilliantly, so the dissonance is little to nothing and you can vividly portrayed the world of the characters.

Oh and, he is another MC with complete family. Goodness gracious, he's the youngest out of four siblings and have a niece too! It's the adorable part that I absolutely adore.

==============================

[reccyls]

Surprise Bag 2024 Story (Prologue)

The April Fool's story from 2024. This is only the prologue, as the continuations are sold as story sales that I will not be purchasing. I do still think it is very funny, though.

The premise is a bodyswap, Ellis <> Jude and Elbert <> Alfons

Ever since I became a Fairytale Keeper, I like to think that my tolerance for the extraordinary has increased.

However, this latest happening in Crown far surpassed anything I had ever experienced.

"Jude": Good morning, Miss Kate. I'll make you happy today too.

Kate: ...Jude, did you... hit your head on something?

"Jude": Hm? Nope, I'm perfectly fine. Haven't hit my head on anything.

Kate: What happened to your usual terrible attitude?! Did you catch a cold? Are you injured? We have to go to the hospital now--

"Ellis": Tch, the hell is this?

"Jude": Ah, Jude. "Jude": Huh? Jude, why are you me?

"Ellis": I should be the one asking. Why the hell are you me?

Kate: Wha? Huh??

"Elbert": Ahha! Something terribly amusing seems to have happened, hasn't it?

Kate: Alf- Eh, Lord Elbert? Kate: Wait, so then is that 'Alfons' standing behind you...?

"Alfons": ...When I looked in the mirror, I became Al.

"Elbert": Being able to look at oneself from the point of view of an outsider truly is fascinating. "Elbert": Oh yes, El. Do speak more energetically. It's unsettling to hear myeslf sound so glum.

"Alfons": ...More energetically? ...I'll, try... "Alfons": ........Ahha.

"Elbert": I suppose that's my mistake for asking you to be more energetic.

Kate: Wait, just hold on a second. So what's happened is... Kate: ...Jude and Ellis, and then Lord Elbert and Alfons have swapped bodies!? Kate: What kind of ridiculous situation is this...!?

"Ellis": It's that goddamn doctor bastard's fault. I'll kill him.

---

Gathering the remainder of Crown, we questioned Roger about the circumstances. He let out an unrestrained laugh.

Roger: My bad, my bad. Who'd ever think that the results would pay off this quickly? Aren't I a genius?

Victor: Now's not the time, Roger! What did you do to cause this adorable- excuse me, very troubling situation?

Liam: Victor, you're not hiding your true feelings very well. Your words and face don't match at all.

Roger: I had the thought of swapping a cursed person with a normal person. That could lead to the curse transferring, couldn't it? So I was doing some research.

William: Your unquenchable thirst for knowledge is admirable indeed. But if that were the case, shouldn't you be experimenting with a cursed person and a normal human?

Roger: It'd be pretty dangerous for us if something went wrong while I was experimenting on a normal person, wouldn't it? I thought I'd test things out on these guys first.

Harrison: Just what do you think we are? We die just as easy as normal people, you know.

"Elbert": Let's toss that musclehead four-eyes into the Thames.

"Ellis": Yeah. Fix some stone weights to him and it'll be over quick.

Kate: Stop, stop! Don't say things like that wearing Elbert and Ellis's faces!

"Jude": But that's pretty amazing, Roger. I never thought that medicine like this could exist.

Liam: ...Jude being all soft is- nope, that's just weird!

Roger: Don't worry so much. Once I've collected enough data from you lot, I'll whip up an antidote. Roger: ........Once I've got an antidote, I can start testing on the others.

Harrison: ...You just said something awful, didn't you?

Roger: Don't know what you're talking about.

"Elbert": You're acting like you're in any position to bargain about turning us back? Pardon my French, but go die.

Harrison: Yikes... Uh, Liam? Hey, Liam, hey. Did he fall asleep?

"Jude": Sorry, I touched his head. I was curious about whether I could use Jude's power or not.

Roger: Huh, so the ability stays with the body. I really am a genius after all, aren't I?

(This isn't helping anymore...!)

Kate: A-anyway! Please make that antidote as soon as possible, Roger! Kate: ...Geez. What are we going to do if Her Majesty hears about this?

Roger: Well, I might end up getting fired... Roger: ...So it's up to you to watch over the lot of them to make sure nobody else finds out about this, little lady.

Kate: Huh? ...Roger? Wait!

"Ellis": Tch... Fuck it. Let him get kicked out.

"Jude": Ah, Jude, my body isn't used to--

"Ellis": *cough, cough*... Ellis. First thing we're doing is to start training so you can at least handle one cigar.

"Elbert": Hmm... with a face like this, I could get away with doing pretty much anything, don't you think?

"Alfons": ...Kate, is this spoon beautiful?

Kate: M-my poor sanity...!

[apostatively]

About BioWare's Beef with "Fetch Quests" vs. Embrace of "Faction Quests"

[[Some minor spoilers in this post re: a few side quests in DA2 and DAI, and various routine faction quest events and requirements to get the "best" possible ending you're allowed to have in DATV.]]

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I think one of the things BioWare is missing about the transition to "no fetch quests ;DDD don't worry!" in Veilguard is that the vast majority of "faction quests" have mechanics that are far more mind-numbing to me than the majority of totally optional side quests in DAI/prev. games.

I am so tired of almost every Veil Jumpers quest being "look for missing people" > "oh no they're all dead" > "figure out how they died" > "return and tell the quest giver they're all dead".

It's so unimaginative. I'm so goddamn exhausted.

"Bob and Jill haven't come back from scouting these ruins! They should have been back by now-" They're dead. They are ALWAYS DEAD. I can save us all a lot of time and repetition by just telling you now. Something has killed them because the Magic-Is-Science Woods are full of ancient evils that are constantly killing everyone who goes in there, and yet we keep doing it, in large and eager groups. And expecting me, personally, to care about the lives of this faction who clearly don't have a bare-minimum thought for their own continued existence.

(Also: is it just me, or did the quest where everyone dies except for their pet nug, who you later learn VERBALLY SCREAMS if parted from its dead owner's belongings, feel weirdly offensive, like we weren't supposed to care about the people because rescuing the nug was the secret/real quest objective? Were we supposed to feel gratified that everyone died, but "at least" an animal was saved? They immediately snatch away that potential feeling of vindication too, in the resulting missive! Not a drop of dopamine to be had in that quest outcome, and there's no skipping it unless you want your companions to pay a hugely disproportionate price later.)

Even the shorter quests feel completely unnecessary, like when you first recruit Emmrich, an otherwise interesting and well-acted character who is doomed, like so many of the companions, to have his personal quest mechanics revolve around walking back and forth to fixed points within an area. I like the general idea of cute little wisps, but every time I have to double back to the entrance of an area, that I have already traveled through, just to grab a wisp and run all the way back, KILLS ME. I HATE it. There is no POINT to running through the area twice. "I have to get through this part because it's required to recruit this character" is in no way a fulfilling emotional hook.

In DA2, you were perfectly free not to interact with the random local magistrate who wants you to quietly recover his son. But the very pitch of the quest that he gives you is shady from the beginning, and if you decide to pursue it, you get the emotional payoff (depending on your choices) of removing a dangerous serial killer who is preying on marginalized children. This outcome makes the player feel good - like their time has been well-spent, that they are playing as a heroic figure in a fantasy adventure game. (And if they choose routes that are harmful, they potentially also have fun playing an "evil" character, as some folks find really amusing! There is still gratification involved, and it feels as though your actions in the game had a purpose.)

In DAI, you don't have to spend forever in the Hinterlands. Despite the prevalence of memes about this area of the game, you truly are not forced to stay there, you just have to do barely enough quests to accumulate a certain number of points denoting your influence in the area, so that you now have enough "power"/influence/reputation to proceed to the next step of the game where you speak with high-ranking individuals (valid story-relevant reasons). But here's the thing: often even the most simple of "fetch quests" in the Hinterlands has some degree of emotional payoff for the player. Like a lot of folks, I have a select few NPCs I want to interact with every single playthrough, because they have enough emotional depth to make an impression on me: I always get the Fantasy Asthma Medication from the estranged son of the woman with breathing trouble, and always feel sympathy for this family because of the son's reaction that he genuinely didn't know his mother was struggling while he's been away. I always place flowers on the grave of a woman at the behest of her widower, and track down the templars who murdered a woman's husband to retrieve his stolen wedding band, because that's just the kind of stuff that resonates with me. It feels like your character is doing good: you're starting to construct a persona for them of a local hero, if you so choose. There are emotional hooks to lots of side quests - but as above, for those who find them boring, you don't have to spend more than a bare minimum of time in this area. It's not a requirement, the way DATV's "faction quests" effectively are.

Long story long, you don't have to complete every single Hinterlands quest for your companions not to die at the end of the game. (In DATV, even as a completionist who is normally excited to find every easter egg a game has to offer, I found myself deeply resenting being basically forced to complete all the quests so that my companions don't die horribly...and then feeling cheated that you still can't save absolutely everyone, that a true "happy ever after" is impossible in DATV, even if you comply with the devs and finish their scores of side quests, knowing they have a gun to your favorite companions' heads.

It felt as though BioWare expected new players to the series to be able to resonate with this game immediately while also expecting the inclusion of B-list DA characters from their "neutral" world state in books and comics not everyone has read to be emotionally resonant enough for players to want to complete boring side quests just to please these NPCs (who you are allowed to interact very little with in the game). Unfortunately, the "new" players or returning ones who don't read or didn't care for the books and comics have zero reason to do this, and are far more likely to be punished by the game for not having an appropriate amount of "commitment" that simply is not inspired by the game itself.

TL;DR - replacing an abundance of optional "fetch quests", many of which are well-written with strong emotional hooks, but ultimately don't force players to complete them, with "faction quests" that lack emotional resonance and interesting mechanics but ARE required to be 100% completed to get a "good ending" to the game, is a huge step backwards for playability. It's troubling that the game writers/devs don't seem to understand that, or BioWare wouldn't be crowing about the "improvement" in removing "fetch quests" when they've simply rebranded them and made them less interesting and unskippable.

[mercurygray]

For the one word prompts, how about “security” + whichever one of your OCs the inspiration strikes! - @softspeirs

Katie, I hope you don't mind that I've decided to use this prompt for Crank and Laura!

For those of you who might be new here, Laura Arsenault is an OC of mine from The Darkening Sky; she's a nurse with the 128th Field Hospital and a good friend of Frankie Horgan, who is a good friend of Marj Gordon's. Part of Laura's story is that she has a brother, George, serving with a tank regiment, and an older sister, Vivian, who was one of the Army nurses imprisoned on Bataan.

--

She never thought she'd miss the war.

Well, not the war, exactly - Laura didn't miss the war itself. She didn't miss the smell of operating wards and dirt and wet canvas and boots that were never dry and washing out of a helmet and keeping the rats out of your bunk and scrubbing blood out of your nails. She didn't miss the dying, or the dead.

But maybe it was - was the being in it that she missed, the sense of shared self and shared goals and shared purpose. And she missed the people. They weren't ever alone, in that hospital - there was always someone to talk to, always work to help with, always someone to go see. And getting a date had been infinitely easier. Easy as pie, when you were one of only fifty or so girls and there were dozens - or hundreds - of guys at the dance.

Not any more. Now she was back home, where no one knew her, and everyone she did know was always a bus ride away instead of a two minute walk, and finding dates was awful - especially once everyone heard what she did for work. "Oh, a nurse." And then this odd little smile and an anecdote about whoever they knew in the hospital, or something like that, and she'd have to smile and nod and pretend to care.

And all the men were - well, she didn't know where they were, but none of them seemed to be in Boston, or at least, not the part of it that she was, and yet everyone seemed to have a brother, or a cousin, or a - a someone who needed to meet someone. But none of those guys ever seemed interested in more than one meeting. She wasn't desperate enough yet to start answering those ads in the paper, but it felt like a distinct possibility - reduced to twenty words or less.

So here she was again - another blind date, this time with Rose's cousin Charlie. "You'll like him," Rose had said, patting her arm and handing her the address of a restaurant. "He was a pilot."

A pilot - possibly her least favorite kind of soldier, probably because she'd seen so few of them, and heard so much, and your average infantryman didn't have a lot of nice things to say about the bomber boys, except that they were lazy, and they were late, and they were getting all the press. Now, come on, Laura, you haven't even met him yet.

Yes - hadn't met him yet because he was late, and now she was sitting, like a bad penny, all on her own at this table in the middle of the back wall trying not to look too lost in this big room with all these other perfectly paired off people.

"Miss Arsenault?"

Well, here he was - and lord, did he ever sound like a local boy - Laura heard it in every syllable. She held out a hand to shake, and he took it, his grip firm and uncompromising.

"Mr. Cruikshank."

He had a kind face - that was something, anyway. Not the sort of face she would have thought belonged to a pilot, if she was being honest, but that was Hollywood and a lot of movies talking. His hair, she could see, was very naturally curly, though he'd done his darnedest to comb it down into parting neatly. He was wearing civies, or mostly civies, anyway - charcoal grey trousers and a sweater that wasn't too far out of current fashion with his leather bomber jacket over it, his name, C. Cruikshank, stamped into the leather plate over his left breast.

"It's Charles, if that's too much of a mouthful."

Not Charlie, then. She'd have to remember that. "Laura," she offered, watching him pull out his chair and drape his jacket over the back. "The waiter should be back soon, I didn't - want to order without you."

"You ever been here before?" he asked, obviously just trying to make conversation, his eyes darting around the room.

"Once or twice, but not - not for dates." I'm trying not to sound like the kind of girl who goes on a lot of dates. "Rose said you were - were a pilot. What'd you fly?"

"Heavy bombers," he offered, shuffling a little in his chair. "B-17s, out of Norfolk. And you were a - were a nurse?"

She nodded. "Field hospital. We were everywhere."

"Imagine that was a -- a hard job." His eyes were still avoiding hers, his hands rubbing together nervously in his lap.

"I can't imagine what being in a plane was like. We didn't get too many airman."

He nodded, and Laura looked back down at the candle on the table, feeling foolish for not knowing what else to say. He was bouncing his leg, underneath the table, his chair not quite pulled in all the way, like he was going rather than coming, waiting for the check instead of waiting for the menu.

Well. I guess that's that on that, then. Failed before we even ordered. She'd get chicken - that was easy, and cheap, now, too. They could eat and mumble through something about the weather and she wouldn't have to do this again and she could tell Rose on Monday that Charles had been charming but not the guy for her.

Just how had Vivian managed it - finding the love of her life before the end of the war, and in a hospital, no less! Laura knew she shouldn't compare, but it was hard not to, when it seemed to have been so easy and where she was now seemed so hard. Not that Vivian had had it easy, at all - she'd only been in Hawaii because she'd been in the Philippines, and she'd only met Andy because she'd been on light duties, and him recovering from surgery. She'd made the mistake of saying it, once, a few months ago, and the look Vivian had given her would have scared anyone silent. "Don't say that, Laur," she'd begged. "I'm not lucky. You don't want to be where I've been."

"So, what did Rose say about me? When she set this up?" He looked nervous about hearing the answer.

"She said she thought we'd get along, I think." Laura offered, and then paused. Wait. That's ...not what she said. She said we wouldn't have to explain anything to each other. And she said that you'd had a hard war...but who didn't?

She didn't want to say that last part out loud - no one liked to be a charity case, and she knew that better than anyone. But as she thought about it, really thought about the way Rose had spoken about her cousin, she realized that Rose had only brought up meeting Charles when she'd told a story about Vivian. And she realized, finally, where she'd seen the look on his face before - in Vivian's eyes, always trying to find the exits, calculate the quickest way out. This man wasn't just a pilot - and maybe there were things from his war that he didn't want to explain, either, things that really were hard. "Do you want to switch places?" she asked, moving her chair out from the table a little.

He looked guilty, and…afraid, even, a man trapped who'd been trapped before. "My sister never wants to sit with her back to the door," she said, trying not to pry. "She always wants to - see that there's a way out." She paused. "Three years behind wire will do that to a person."

He looked up from his hands and stared. "Your sister?"

She nodded. "She was with MacArthur in the Philippines." She met his eye. "I don't mind, really."

"Thanks." They moved seats, leaving their coats where they were, and a kind of calm came over him as he took in more of the room. "Imagine she had it worse. I was…only eighteen months. In Germany. 43 to 45."

Laura could see her sister's face as he said that - could see Andy's face, too, talking with her brother George over their pipes after dinner about whether fighting in the heat or the cold was worse. "She'd tell you it wasn't a competition. If it helps."

He smiled at that, loosing up a little. "My doc says I should work on things like this - dinner, and conversation, and…crowded rooms." He shrugged. "I know no one likes a project, but I'm….trying." He smiled a little bashfully. "And I'm a little nervous anyway - Rose …didn't tell me you were pretty."

She felt herself blush, and looked down at her napkin. Well, all right, Charles Cruikshank, tell me I'm pretty. "She didn't tell me her cousin Charles was cute, either."

It was his turn to blush, and he did it almost sweetly, a touch of color coming into his already ruddy cheeks. "You know I haven't…actually been called Charles for about five years. He feels like…some other fellow that's not me. All my friends call me Crank."

"Crank?" What a name! Pilots.

He smiled again - really smiled, this time, his eyes even lighting up a little, and she was glad, finally, that he'd felt security enough in being called by his name to show her what his smile looked like. "Someone would tell you it's 'cause I complain a lot, but it's, it's short for Crankshaft. It's a long story."

The waiter appeared, pad and white apron at the ready. "Are we ready to order?"

Laura looked at Crank and smiled. She would still order the chicken, and there would be no need to talk about the weather. "Well, why don't you tell it to me? I think we've got some time."