#i just want to let you all know how wonderful and great you are

[ariaste]

So I was nodding along almost the whole way through, I was saying "Yeah!" and "Oof, I feel that, I can relate," until I got to:

"be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial" and "you must insist upon her [...] because she may still not yet know how".

And... yeah, no, kinda lost me there. Now, don't get me wrong! It is perfectly valid if you're doing those things essentially as kink (or not-really-kink-but-kinda-uses-the-same-tools-and-skillset) -- that is, you and your beloved have sat down and talked about her discomfort and her difficulties, and the difference between actual discomfort and cognitive dissonance at the concept of having nice things for herself, and how SHE wants you to recognize the distinction (and what signals SHE can give to provide cues in cases of ambiguity), and she's given you express permission to do the Being Forceful thing in pursuit of doing nice things for her and insisting or persuading her into accepting them -- AND y'all have talked about how she can communicate effectively when your insistence and persuasion isn't just not landing right for some reason or when it's actually starting to cross a line. If you've done all that: great, godspeed, I love your love. Make her accept all the compliments and adoration and the nice things she deserves! Your crusade to love her properly is righteous and just!

However. The vast majority of us across the spectrum of transness have experienced people crossing our boundaries, infantilizing and condescending to us, assuming that they know better than us about what we want, and ignoring our quiet, hesitant attempts to push back in small ways as we try to establish a foothold and figure out how much space we're allowed to take up. So... idk, putting "be forceful" and "insist because she may not yet know how" right next to solid, sound advice for all situations like "be patient, be generous" as if they are equivalent in meaning and impact and importance just... rubs me the wrong way. I think OP is absolutely speaking coming from a place of love and positivity, but... this needs caveats.

Because man-oh-man I have personally experienced this kind of thing from both sides: Just because you know that something is going to be good for someone doesn't mean they're going to appreciate having it forced on them. Just because you're absolutely sure that someone will be delighted by something doesn't mean that you're always going to be right.

Suppose the nice thing that someone (let's call them Tye) is doing for their partner (let's call her Mia) is... taking her out to her favorite Italian restaurant. Suppose Tye does this every week without fail, and they feel great about it because Mia loves this restaurant and she deserves to be treated like a princess. But what happens if one week she's bored of it, or not in the mood for Italian food? What happens if she says, "Hey, maybe we don't have to go today... I don't really need all this, what if we just eat toast and eggs--" and Tye says, "NO NO. NO, I LOVE YOU AND WE'RE GOING! YOU DESERVE IT!!!" Y'know what I'm saying??? That's not actually about loving Mia anymore, that's more about Tye getting off on their own heroism. And Mia is once again having to shut up and make herself small.

If the goal is to love your person and give her space to grow confident enough to accept and embrace all the love and wonderful things she deserves, the strategy of forcefulness and insistence COULD actually end up being counter-intuitively DISempowering if it is not explicitly consensual: It is removing opportunities for her to practice communicating her own needs, choosing happiness, and valuing herself where other people can see. It is reinforcing the lesson she has already learned from the rest of society, which is that her self-knowledge and boundaries are inferior to the wants and goals of the people around her.

Having a partner who is so passionate about loving us that they INSIST on giving us the things we secretly long for even when we're scared and shy of accepting them ourselves (and that they always telepathically know exactly what is going to be the perfect thing even before we know it ourselves, and they never once make a mistake in reading our mood when we come home tired from work, and they're always able to seamlessly adjust their plans to accommodate our whim)... It is a lovely fantasy. I will not deny that it is a very lovely fantasy and that I too would like to go to there. That sounds FANTASTIC.

But at the end of the day you are loving an adult human being and "no means no" must remain true even if you think you perceive a glint of longing in her eye (unless modified rules of consent have been established and ratified between you prior to this). Absolutely be patient, be generous, be loving, be attentive and proactive. But also you also gotta be okay with backing the hell off sometimes. You gotta be humble enough to acknowledge that sometimes you might be projecting your own past self's longings, rather than looking at the person in front of you with clear eyes. Create a space where it's safe for her to come out of her protective shell instead of dragging her out of it before she's ready. Encourage her to set her own boundaries, and express appreciation when she does so, especially when the boundaries are ones you disagree with or are personally inconvenienced by.

You cannot force a person to move faster along their journey of loving themself. Having someone insist on giving you love (and I'm once again speaking from experience here, as someone who has been on both sides) can sometimes end up making the beloved feel more guilty, more self-conscious, and more aware of their own "failures" and "deficiencies". To the person trying to do that style of love, it probably IS purely in good faith, but to the person receiving it, it can sometimes come across as a constant implicit reminder of, "I'm not doing it right, I'm still not doing it right, and everyone can tell. No matter how hard I try I still can't do it right, I hate myself even more now."

OP absolutely hit the nail on the head with everything about, "I had to stop [negative self-thoughts], I had to start [taking care of myself], I had to learn [those skills], but more than that I had to learn to ask[...]. it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train." 100% cosigned. That is exactly it -- training muscles. You can be someone's spotter and cheerleader, but you can't lift the weights for them, and forcing them to lift more than they're ready for often hurts more than it helps. Communicate! Establish a culture of consent even outside the bedroom! And continue to be patient even when it turns out that progress is not a straight line without any stumbles!

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation, the goal of which was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial that so many of us once learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Seasons of the Year

Autumn is the nerdy girl in your book club. Pigtails, pleated skirts, too thick glasses. Whenever she's forced to speak up in class, she almost always stutters. Getting softer with each word until the teacher finally has mercy on her and let's her trail off. She has few friends, mostly other slightly dorky kids who band together because otherwise they'd all be stuck eating alone. You don't really notice her at first.

But then you read Jane Eyre and for once she isn't shy at all. She tells your whole book club all about the symbolism, the themes, how she doesn't fully consider it a gothic novel but that it definitely has gothic elements. Her cheeks are just a little flushed, her hands darting around when she talks. She's pretty, you realise slowly. When she isn't folded over herself or scurrying through the hall like she doesn't want to be caught.

Afterwards, you strike up a conversation with her. She's all shy again, not really meeting your eyes.

"My dad's got a whole collection of classics. Special edition prints, with these hand painted edges," you tell her. "Why don't you stop by and you can borrow some?"

She narrows her eyes at you like she thinks you're making fun of her. "Maybe. If I have time."

She doesn't drop by. When you see her in the halls after that, you always stop to greet her. But she looks so uncomfortable that you never get to have a conversation. Always running off with her head bent so far down that you wonder how she sees anything past the tips of her shoes.

After a few weeks of half finished sentences and always keeping her books clutched to her chest, you're about ready to give up. To take the hint that she doesn't want to be your friend.

But then... she starts seeking you out. Tentative at first. Waiting outside your class and only saying hello if you're alone. Changing her route so that it takes her past your locker. Sitting just a little closer to you at lunch, almost always two tables away so you're in her line of sight.

Maybe she realises you aren't setting up some elaborate prank by talking to her. Your hurried hellos become actual conversations. She starts walking you to class every morning. When you again invite her over to borrow some books, she actually shows up.

Standing on your doorstep with the trees flaring yellow and orange behind her, her hair pushed out of her face with a red Alice band.

"Hi."

You lead her up to your room and she perches on the edge of your bed like she's scared to touch it. Scared to be in your space.

You were in the middle of sorting through your makeup before she showed up and now you look over at her with a twinkle in your eye.

"Will you let me do your makeup? Please?"

Her eyes go all wide behind her glasses. "Uh I don't know...I don't really wear that stuff..."

You sit in front of her, your kit spread on your lap. "Come on! You'll look so good. You've got such a great bone structure, it's practically a crime to not try some bronzer."

"I guess..."

You carefully reach up and take off her glasses. She flinches. "Shh, relax. It doesn't hurt."

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with your finger. When you smooth primer over her skin, she subconsciously tilts her face into your palm.

"That feels nice..."

Her eye makeup is the trickiest part. She flinches every time you bring the eyeliner even close to her. Eventually, you slip your free hand around the nape of her neck. She freezes just long enough for you to add some wings. Her ears turn a bright red and she ducks away from you, stuttering.

"Ah sorry. Were my hands too cold?"

"N-no. No, your hands are...perfect."

You end up so close to her face that when she finally opens her eyes after mascara and lashes, she gasps. You run your thumb across her cheekbone to clear away a little spilled eye shadow.

"All done."

Even after you step away, it's takes her a few seconds to move.

"Do you like it?"

"I look so different."

You stand behind her in front of the mirror and rest your chin on her shoulder. "That's the magic of makeup! It's a good different. And besides, we're matching."

"Oh." She touches her fingers to her lips and looks down at the lipstick smeared on her fingertips. "I didn't notice. I...I really like it."

You pull away and grin at her. "Aren't you glad you let me do it?"

"Yeah," she says, still staring at her fingers. "Really glad."

When your lipstick and then your lip balm go missing, you don't even notice. What was it the kids used to say back in elementary? That if your lips touch where someone else's did, it counts as a kiss?

Autumn walks home through the falling leaves and wonders if you realise you're her first kiss.

Winter is the student council president. Confident, clever, a guy everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Oh, but he's cold too. Doesn't have any real friends, only achievements. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. But being respected and being liked are not at all the same thing.

You wonder if he ever gets lonely. You walk past the student council office during lunch one day and see him at his computer, a half eaten apple forgotten at his elbow. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. He's on the fast track to an ivy league and a career in finance. In a few years, he's going to be richer than you could ever hope to be. He takes home every performance award in every subject.

You shouldn't feel sorry for him. But you do.

"Hey, you got a minute?" You lightly rap on the doorframe and he turns to face you, not at all ruffled by your sudden appearance.

"Sure. You're y/n, right? I think we had algebra together a few years ago."

"Yep. Before you started taking AP classes and leaving all us peasants in the dust."

You're not surprised he knows you, despite never being introduced or even having a conversation before.

You grin at him. "Is an apple really the only lunch you're having? You've got to keep your energy up if you want to protect your title as smartest guy in school."

He frowns at his apple. The parts he's bitten are already starting to brown.

"I'm not that hungry."

You lean in the door frame and cross your arms. "I'm supposed to let our student present starve? If I let that happen, who's going to be around to defend our debate title? Stand up to the tyranny of the chess club?"

He scoffs and uses the tip of his pen to nudge the apple into the waste paper basket.

"Come eat lunch with me. I've been wanting to join some clubs and you can tell me what looks best on a college application. You can call it community service if you want," you offer.

That gets you a slightly raised brow. The most expressive you've seen him yet.

"What are they even offering today? I don't really stop at the cafeteria."

"Oh, you're in luck," you say. "Mashed potatoes and gravy. And it's only slightly congealed this time."

"Yum." Still, he stands up to follow you. He's much taller than you realised, and when he picks up his backpack his muscles flex in a way that tells you he isn't afraid of hitting the gym. Again, unsurprising. Except for his lunch, he seems the type to have his life in perfect balance.

When you finally sit down in the cafeteria, it isn't long before the other kids notice him. You're scarcely two bites into your lunch when the student magazine editor starts asking him about the budget for next semester. When that's settled, the chess team are next in line to complain about the state of their boards and to ask pretty please for some new pieces. It's only when the bell rings that they finally leave him alone. His lunch sits untouched in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shrugs and shoots you a half smile. "Thanks anyway. This was...nice."

It's only when he's gone that you start to wonder if anyone else has ever seen him smile.

You start taking him lunch in the office a few days a week. Mostly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Not exactly the pinnacle of good eating, but anything is better than nothing, right?

You always end up on his desk, ankles crossed while he reclines in his computer chair, chin tilted up slightly to meet your eyes. It's casual, easy. He's funny, in a deadpan kind of way. You end up learning a ton about college admissions, about extra credit, about Ivy League rankings.

When applications open, he's the first person you go to when you need help. Eventually, he just sighs and plucks your half finished essay from your backpack.

"Just let me handle it, jeez."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you!" You stand on your toes and pull him into a hug. "You have no idea how stressed I've been."

He freezes. And then slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

" 'Course," he mutters into the crown of your head. "I'd be happy to."

The thing about Winter as a season is that it can be so insidiously misleading. You assume the greatest danger is the ice, the cold. You don't realise that most deaths are from broken gas lines, from excess alcohol, from persistent coughs. You prepare yourself for all the wrong dangers.

You assume that if Winter wants something, he'll pursue it outright. You don't notice that your college applications are only being sent to places he's applied to as well. You don't notice the way he sneaks your name into the records for the debate team, the chess club, volunteering hours - a blatant forgery just so you have a better chance of being accepted at the institutions where he wants you.

You don't notice the way he always comes up to you when other guys are talking to you, dragging you away with a tight smile and an excuse about scheduling issues or needing your help with the budget.

You don't notice him falling for you until it's far, far too late.

Spring is the ultra cool, earthy girl in your art class. Always sporting a full afro or long goddess braids. Effortlessly chic, with gold jewellery in her hair no matter how busy school seems to get.

She moves through everything at her own pace. Not part of a clique but never alone either.

You've always known each other a little. Had a few classes together over the years, shared lunch once or twice. But life is hectic and your paths don't always cross as much as you'd like. So when you end up in art class hoping for extra credits, you're more than a little glad to see her.

She's talented. Her portfolio has art schools all across the country drooling, practically on their knees to offer her a full ride.

It would be easy to get jealous, and you have no doubt that more than a few of your classmates are. But you? You're just glad to see talent being appreciated.

It's a beautiful spring day when she comes up behind you and offers to give you some private lessons. Your hands are covered in charcoal, there's streaks of black on your cheeks and despite your efforts, your canvas is an unartistic mess.

You smile at her like she's heaven sent.

"Would you really? I know art is subjective and all, but I'm afraid everyone thinks I'm objectively bad."

She tilts your head at your canvas, beads in her braids clinking.

"Not as bad you think. I can see what you're trying to do. You just don't have enough technique yet."

When you meet her after school, the classroom is gold and hazy with the late afternoon sun. She makes you sit at her easel and leans on the back of your chair.

"Draw some perspective lines for me."

You try to, but by the third line her hands are already coming up to guide yours.

"No. Always try and stick to your vanishing point. Like this."

Her voice is low in your ear and you can smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery that makes you want to bury your face in her hair.

"See?"

"Mm-hmm. Easier when it's so direct."

"Good."

She stays right by your chair for the rest of the lesson, occasionally leaning down to adjust your grip. When the day is done, your hair smells like her perfume and your fingers ache from work well done.

She doesn't seem like the type to have a boyfriend. Maybe you're being unfair, but you just can't see it. She's so nonchalant, so very much herself, that the antics of teenage boys seem so very beneath her. She must like someone though, because a few weeks after she starts tutoring you, you get a glimpse of her latest piece. A sketch of her leaning down to kiss someone, their face obscured by the fall of her hair.

If it were anyone else, you would tease them relentlessly about it. Who do you got a crush on so bad that you want to draw them?

Not her though. You respect her art too much to make light of it like that. And when her portfolio starts filling up with love poems, with tributes, with re-interpretations of Le Printemps and Le Sommeil... Well, you pretend not to notice.

It's only at the very end of the year that you start to really wonder who it's all about. When you finish your final piece - the best canvas to date, the one you and her poured hours of work into - she leans down and presses her lips against your signature. It leaves behind a lipstick print in a deep, gorgeous red. Somehow brings the whole piece together.

"I love it," you tell her, eyes on your art.

"So do I," she says, eyes on you.

Summer is the tanned, laughing jock who's always filling up the hall with his voice. Friendly, likeable. Just about everyone has a crush on him.

Not a bully, though he has the size and strength for it. Helpful, in his big, well meaning way.

His future is clear for everyone to see. Working in his dad's construction company until its time to take over, marrying a girl just as pretty and golden as him, becoming the kind of father that other kids look at and long for. It's a good life. It suits him. Days filled with sunshine and love and laughter. He deserves it.

So when he asks you to tutor him, you assume he doesn't want anything more than a better grade. Books and calculators spread out on the bleachers after practice, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air, summer sun warm and gold over the football field. If you were more his type, you'd call it romantic.

As it is, you just appreciate the good weather and the good company. When his teammates joke that he's tanking his grades on purpose just to spend time with you, you laugh and say you're sure he's got better things to do with his time that that.

It takes a few months, but his grades do improve. And when you go through the homework together, it's clear that he understands what he's doing.

"Well champ, seems my work here is done. You're ahead of the class, you understand the methods and your papers have all come back with Bs and above."

You shrug, smile at him. "You're free to go. Have your afternoons back."

"What?" He frowns at you, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "No. The year isn't over yet."

You laugh, a little flattered that he seems so upset to see you go. "I know. But you don't need me anymore. Just practice the problems I marked out for you and you'll be just fine."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. You stand, sling your backpack over your shoulder. It's just you and him left on the bleachers, the empty football field a behemoth between you and the school building.

When you're halfway across, he catches up with you. Grabs your backpack and stops you in your tracks.

"What about English? I really need some help with the novel. And my chemistry is a mess. Seriously, we can't stop now. You can't just...leave me like that."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded almost panicked.

"I think Jackson from homeroom is your best bet with chemistry. Oh, and I'll send you my English notes. I did a whole section on themes and stuff."

He frowns again. "No. No. I don't want any of that. I want you."

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, despite the late afternoon sun being full on your back. Was he always so much bigger than you? How didn't you notice it before?

"Hey, listen. I know you're worried. But we've put in tons of effort. You know your stuff. When exam season rolls around, you'll be just fine."

You try and walk away but he's still holding onto your bag.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want money," you say, irritated and offended both. "I never wanted to be paid for any of this. You're a great guy. I'm happy to help you out."

"Then stay."

Why is he being so persistent? His hold on your backpack tightens when you don't immediately answer.

"Please."

That decides you. How can you say no when a nice guy is practically begging? You're not a monster.

You sigh. "Fine. But only until after homecoming, 'kay?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you go when I'm done. Promise."

In the last light of a long summer day, you make the mistake of believing him. 

[yuurei20]

Summarized transcript of the Twisted Radio episode with Diasomnia! 🐉🦇⚔️⚡️

Highlights: A very good episode, all the Diasomnia VAs love their characters and each other’s characters and each other and it is very obvious when they interact.

Disclaimer: These are not direct quotes, this is all general summarizations and paraphrasing~

Begins with how they are happy to be all together in one place, for the first time in two years.

The opening talk set by last week: what do you find yourself buying when you travel?

⚡️It seems 🦦-kun wanted to buy a dragon sword… 🐉 I’ve bought one before. 🦇 Why wwww 🐉 In elementary school

On topic: 🐉 I love milk. Every time I go some place I buy milk to drink. A recent musical I was in traveled nationwide and the milk in Hokkaido is different depending upon the area. I was so happy.

🦇I like to get things to remind me of the trip. It doesn’t matter what they are. It doesn’t even have to be related to the area. Just a prize from a Game Center or a gacha toy or anything is fine.

⚔️ Dragons. Apparently they’re growing in popularity. 

He talks about how around high school everyone loses interest, but then you become an adult and are like “actually yeah dragons are great” ww

🦇 We should get on that bandwagon. Officially recognized by Diasomnia ww ⚔️ We have the most noble and beautiful dragon of them all 🦇 Out of all the dragons that there are, he certainly stands out

(Everyone is laughing so much they are having so much fun)

⚡️I like getting fruit or something that was made from things grown in the area, even if it’s temporary, to remember the taste

(⚡️ is the host so it is his job to keep them on subject ww there are a lot of cuts in this episode, they must have talked for so long and needed to cut it down)

Fan letter: I had a dream where I talked about how wonderful Malleus-sama is for ten hours. What strange dreams have you had before?

⚡️I have been seeing the same dream since I was a kid. A kind of horror dream. The same dream where I am being chased by something. 

⚔️ There are dreams I had as a kid that really left an impression on me. I remember them pretty well. Like one where I became a character from a cartoon that could fly. I became one of the main characters. An enemy would appear, someone would say “Let’s go!” and they’d all naturally start to fly. And even though I was a main character, I’d say “Let’s go!” and I was the only one who wouldn’t be able to fly. Everyone else flew off and I couldn’t. I was the main character and they all left me behind. I started crying that I couldn’t fly and then I woke up.

🦇 I’ve had a dream about situation where I could fly, too. Even though I could fly, when I jumped from somewhere high up instead of going straight I would go fly upwards, then think, “Yeah, I can fly,” and that is when I could go forward. I perform safety checks within my dream.

🐉 In a dream I had in university I could fly, but just some light floating. Everyone else travels very quickly, and at first I can as well, but then I get lower and lower, and soon I am floating about 5cm. I’m technically flying, but…I saw that dream a lot.

(This entire story ⚔️ is in the background dying of laughter)

About Malleus

He was very mysterious when he first appeared. ⚡️ says he had the feeling from the start that he was a very good character. 

🦇 He had an atmosphere of someone who is difficult to go near.

⚔️ I like Malleus-sama even more now than I did before. Not just what about him that is firm but his soft side, his warm side, his cold side—we can see so many aspects of his character now, which has made him even more captivating. Because he is so mysterious something even more wonderful than what I had imagined has emerged—that is the impression I have of him now.

🦇 They did a great job with his casting. I didn’t really know anything at first, but doing this for so long, you can tell how perfect 🐉-kun is for this part. 

🐉 I’m so happy :D

🦇 Of course everyone wants to know more in the beginning because of his cool voice, but 🐉-kun has a kindness to him. And that is what I came to understand. They took that into account when they chose him. When I figured that out, I was extremely impressed. This isn’t something that just anyone can do. It’s not enough to just provide a cool character voice. It’s a distinct charm that he has.

⚔️ The character is really packed with substance, but there’s still space left, and you can sense that mysteriousness. Because there is so much going on inside of him there are things for you to grasp at while simultaneously stirring your imagination. I really sense that.

🦇 When you try to think of other seiyuu like that, no one really comes to mind. It has to be 🐉-kun.

🐉 Is it okay if I start to cry?

⚔️ And when he sings…

⚡️ That humming…

⚔️ That was amazing.

🐉 That was so hard to do. They told me, “please hum like you mean it,” and I thought, “what is humming that you mean?” Humming that follows a melody, that becomes a sound. I had never done that before. It was really hard. We tried several different patterns.

⚔️ It was scary. Both an ending and a beginning.

🦇 But as the story continues I find him cute, too. And 🐉-kun is cute, too.

(Everyone is laughing, I think ⚔️ is going to die here)

🦇 No I’m serious, really, really. 

🐉 While portraying Malleus the difficult thing is always not showing too much emotion,.The direction I am always receiving is “you can’t become human.” They’ll say, “that take sounded just like a regular guy.” The balance of how his normal is not normal for a human is always hard to do. And post-overblot Malleus—they’ll tell me, “Sorry, but Malleus sounds kind of scary.” I often get told “can you control the darkness a bit.” But through all that how do I still portray Malleus-ness…

🦇 The more you read for a character the more you come to understand them, but Malleus was last.

🐉 There was a lot of uncertainty in the beginning. I have concluded that he is cute. He’s a child. He’s been alive longer than the others, but his emotional state hasn’t caught up to that. He has so much power, but he lacks the normal concept of common sense. Things that are common sense to him are not so to others. I am always trying to portray that unusual dichotomy.

⚔️ talks about being able to see Malleus grow up in Book 7 through the different milestones were see in the flashbacks. There are places where he has always been the same but parts about him that have evolved. ⚔️ tells 🐉 that it seems like that must have been hard.

🐉 It was so hard.  I think there’s probably a way of interacting with Malleus that's in line with how he understands things, even though I don't fully understand it. When encountering him for the first time, people around him might think, 'Wow, he doesn’t react at all!' But Malleus does react in his own way. I would receive many detailed directions like 'Please be surprised!' or 'Please react!' I didn’t create this performance all by myself, it has come together from the efforts of the staff, and I’m really grateful for that. I tend to lose track of what was the right way to approach things as Malleus. You can get confused between doing events and the main story, so getting back into the right mindset every time is pretty tough.

About Silver

🐉 I thought he was really cool when I saw him the first time.

⚡️ I think it’s cute how he falls asleep—he’ll wake up, apologize, and then immediately sleep again.

🦇 He’s really pretty.

🐉 I thought he had a beautiful face the first time I saw him.

⚔️ My portrayal of him hasn’t really changed since the beginning. We’ve gotten more information and there is more of a backbone now, and of course things change when new things are revealed. Even from the beginning he wasn’t just a cool character, he had a naturalness to him, and not just that he spaces out, but he tries to solve his problems with physical strength. Like in Book 7 with “if I hit it that will fix it.” I think his humanity is being expressed more these days.

🦇 It took a while, yeah?

⚔️ It took so long.

🦇 It took us a while to get to Malleus, too, but he had the impact of his first appearance. Silver didn’t have anything.

Now they’re talking about Lilia’s farewell party and Malleus and Silver crying together and not knowing how to express their emotions. Trying to be mature. 

⚔️ He’s being a big brother to Silver!!

🦇 I figured something was coming soon, after that. And it went in an intense direction.

⚔️ There is so much about them that is a family. Father is Lilia, and Malleus-sama has a big-brother nature to him.

🐉 You really feel their familial relationship.

⚔️ He felt some responsibility. If the little brother starts to cry, the older brother—

🐉 He can’t cry.

⚔️ He’ll get desperate to try and be strong and try to solve the problem.

🐉 Like he has to step up.

🦇 So it was Silver’s fault.

⚡️��️🐉wwwwww

⚔️Not all of it. Silver would never say this, but the reason things became so difficult for the two of them is…their love for their father.

🦇 Sebek and Silver are a good combination, too.

⚔️ Such a good combination~~~

🦇 They’re complete opposites but they’re also surprisingly similar.

⚡️They’re both so honest.

🐉 They’re honest and serious and good kids, both of them.

⚡️ They never had the opportunity to show emotion like that until 7. They are both very quick to cry.

🐉 They’re so much alike.

⚡️I guess this is what happens when you’re raised together with someone. I think Silver is the older brother, looking from Sebek’s perspective. There is a moment where Sebek is scolded for the first time. In the moment, when I was reading, ⚔️’s portrayal really is angry. I even said it, “He finally scolded him for the first time.”

About Sebek

⚡️I think he empowers himself by speaking so loudly. Once he decides on doing something, he goes straight for it, true to his unique magic. With how strongly he sticks to his principles it’s like he could overcome any obstacle, like in that scene he had with Silver, but it was very cute that he actually loses there.

⚔️THAT WAS SO CUTE. That was a great part. 

(⚔️ is literally yelling into his mic about how cute Sebek is)

⚡️The fact that he was able to get out the words he really wanted to say after he lost the fight shows that he does want to say what is on his mind but there is a wall that he has to break down, and then he can move forward. That is a moment where you can really understand Sebek-kun’s feelings. And once he lets his emotions out, they’re out w

🐉 He can’t put the lid back on. Everything spills out.

⚔️ (dying in the background)

⚡️talks about how much effort Sebek puts into everything and he reads so much and there is so much he wants people to know, which is why he is so loud.

🦇Sebek and Silver have both had a lot more lines recently. Doesn’t your voice get worn out during recordings?

⚡️It doesn’t! I do stretches and things before recordings. I figured out that I need that kind of physical exercise to prepare.

About Lilia

⚡️ Mom.

🐉 A cute mom.

⚡️There was a lot of gaps* in 7.

*I can’t figure out a good way to say this in English. It is the difference between what you expect and what something really is.

🐉 Too many gaps, it was so surprising.

🦇 I had heard nothing about any of that.

⚡️ I had an image of him as someone who is gentle and cute and a senpai who enjoys pranks and looks out for others…

🦇 He used to be completely different.

⚡️And there was egg-sama.

🐉 Egg-sama w

⚡️⚔️It’s not inaccurate.

🦇 I have done a lot of crying scenes before. When you first look at the script it hits you, and when you think about how you have to portray what you just read so that the people listening to your performance feel the same emotion—there is a pressure to that. I can’t be the only one crying. I have to make others cry.

⚔️ Something that 🦇-san said (during the special talk show that 🦇 and 🐉 did together last year talking about Book 7 just the two of them) that I really liked and wanted to ask about: You and Baul’s VA Koyasu-san (����) have been performing together a lot over the years. And you came back together for the first time in a while for this. You said that you didn’t want to give him the impression of “So this is what 🦇 is like these days.” So there was that pressure, you didn’t want to give an embarrassing performance in front of him, and I realized that you have a passionate spirit that you don’t really show, in my opinion—but it’s there! I got really excited about that.

🐉 I was surprised, too, that even 🦇-san has those same thoughts.

⚡️Same!

🦇 Of course I do. The pressure was intense. I am glad that we were able to record together, but…

And with the Chapter 13 release announcement they say they have permission to share this information:

🦇 and 🐉 were able to record together!

🐉 It was amazing. It was truly an amazing time for me.

🦇 It was our first time performing together.

Upcoming calendar review~ and done!

[sugarpasteltmnt]

wow first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who voted for my silly little story in the AU comp!! seriously you all are so wonderful and sweet and i'm just so happy to be in the comp period 😭🩵

as a big thanks i wanted to tell ya'll i'm working on the next chapter of 'Purgatory Paradise' ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ i'll try my best to have it out within the next week!! (`･ω･´)ゞ here's a sneak peak:

in the meantime, please enjoy this list of some of the references and easter eggs i had put in 'The Neon Void' while writing it! (hehe how many did YOU spot while reading?)

[warning; spoilers ahoy! avoid reading if you haven't finish TNV yet!]

here's a rough list of some of the references I snuck in or jokes i was quite proud of when writing 'The Neon Void' haha!

Houdini 

● silly reference to ‘ooze’ hehe (not so much of an easter egg but more of a bad joke lol)  ● “…What in sweet Marie Curie’s name was that about?” – Marie Curie was a physicist who studied radioactivity, and her research ultimately was used in the creation of the atomic bomb, which uses nuclear fission (aka, atoms splitting apart) (lol get foreshadowed, nerds.) 

The Shrine 

● The Jupiter Jim issue number 84 is a reference to 1984, the year the TMNT comics first came out. 

Mosaic 

● Leo’s hideout is inspired by an episode in the 2003 TMNT, where the fam hides in a water tower when the lair is discovered by the Foot Clan. (And I believe a water tower comes into play in other TMNT iterations, but I wasn’t 1000% sure) 

Marigolds 

● The area where Mikey fights Leo and cuts off his arm is heavily inspired by some of the 2003 sewer layout scenes, with the giant atriums and criss-crossing skywalks over giant areas of water. I loved those designs and wanted to incorporate that. 

Ground Control 

● Another silly joke reference of ‘shellphones’ used in the 2012 series   ● “I doubt it was unimportant considering you made enough to feed the entire New York Dave’s team,” Donnie pressed. He picked up a butterfly, inspecting it, but Mikey knew that he was trying to get to the root of the cause, “What did he say?” – Homage to early concept art of Donnie, where he has a butterfly on his knuckle (look at this cutie)

(BTW i for the life of me CANNOT find the original tweet where this photo was so if you have it let me know!) 

Mad Dog: Haunted 

● Call-back to the Krang carcass you see for 0.2 seconds in the season finale inside of the Crying Titan, which I thought was a really neat detail. 

Strings

● The book excerpt Donnie reads is written by Professor Honeycutt, a referencing the 2003 Professor Honeycut who studied teleportation and invented the teleportal  ● ‘October 28, 20:20’ written on the sticky note Donnie looks at is a reference to the release date of ‘The Last Ronin’ (10/28/2020) ● ‘By Carl Sagan–! It worked! We’ve established contact–!’ – Carl Sagan lead the effort in the creation of the Golden Record aboard the Voyager spacecraft, whos purpose was to send a message to extraterrestrials who might find the spacecraft as it traveled through vast spans of space. Since Donnie was trying to reach Karai and the ancestors from what felt like an impossible distance, it felt fitting. 

Bed and Breakfast 

● ‘He groaned. His brain was pulsing painfully behind his eyes. His whole body was achy. Great Pythagoras, what happened?’ – Pythagoras was a Greek philosopher referred to as the ‘lover of wisdom’ and made numerous mathematical and scientific discoveries, and I felt like Donnie would just generally be a fanboy of him lol.  ● ‘Sweet Friedrich Sertürner was that blood–?!’ – while working on this chapter, i asked my best friend and beta reader for some inventors/scientist names to make into funny Donnie Swears. She suggested Friedrich Sertürner because he invented morphine which is used to treat pain… and she said 'would be funny...considering how much of it they were gonna need by the time things were said and done with the Key/Leo's infection.' (SHE WAS SO REAL FOR THAT LOL)   ● The ‘Void ducking in and out of doorways just to come out of a totally different door’ chase was 100000% a Scooby-doo reference, lol. It was one of my fav cartoons growing up and that gag felt very on-brand for Leo’s silly ‘Void’ persona and i’m a little proud of it hahaha 

The Deal 

“Neon Void was literally blasted into the air. All the while laughing merrily as he soared. He went crashing into a poor, unkept, unsuspecting billboard for the Super Slam Hockey Game that already happened over ten years ago.” – This is SO obscure but this is a reference to one of my favorite 2003 TMNT episodes, ‘The Golden Puck’. The episode is so peak 2000’s cartoon to me with its silly premise and I just loved it LOL. (Southern millionaire who hires sci-fi-technology cowboy bounty hunters to steal a sports trophy in the middle of New York city? Peak old cartoon synopsis.) 

Rap Battle 

● The first few lines of Leo’s freestyle rap are the 2012 TMNT opening theme lyrics 

Boop!

● Leo runs past a ‘Space Heroes' game cabinet– Space Heroes is a reference to the 2012 TMNT, which was the show that Leonardo was obsessed with 

Tag Part I: Sonic 

● Leo bounces off the back of the Sonic the Hedgehog balloon in the parade in reference to the fact that they share the same voice actor LOL Extra fun fact this entire fic was set in autumn/fall JUST to write this NICHE SCENE

I’m sure I missed a few I couldn't remember off the top of my head, but I had a lot of fun putting these little references and easter eggs in the story 🩵 TMNT itself always makes call-backs and references to it's other iterations, and i love love love that and wanted to try myself!

[catrocketship]

Hi, I have been involved in community-organized campaigns and even organized political actions and I want to talk about this boycott.

I know people want to do something. It's great that people are seeing posters about this in the world and talking about it but let's talk about what an action needs to be effective and why people are saying that it won't work (spoiler: it's not just people being negative nancies! This boycott lacks something that is key: organizing to back it up).

Who is your target?

Boycotts cannot be everything. Okay, so this one isn't everything, but it's basically everything; all gas? Amazon, Walmart, Target (which doesn't leave a lot of us with options for food). All credit cards?

We have to determine a target, and to that target we must supply a demand. What is that we want to change? The form letter that accompanies this boycott says something about "bullshit Executive Orders" but I'm going to need you to be more specific than that if you want results.

(The EO demand doesn't even really make sense because Target, Walmart, and Amazon aren't following any EO. The DEI Eos don't apply to private entities like these corporations. They're rolling back DEI initiatives because it's better for their bottom line and the EO merely signaled that the atmosphere was right for it.)

What is your demand?

Boycotts are a tool of political action. We leverage these tools in order to apply pressure. Examples include the Montgomery Bus Boycott, BDS, the 1965 grape boycott. I would give this particular boycott more points if it even said "boycott them until they stop XYZ! or start ABC!"

The thing is, boycotts aren't even a super successful tool. But whatever, when they are successful they have a specific target, they are integrated into a campaign along with other tools, and they have a demand . Otherwise, how do we know what success is?

Great, so nothing we do matters.

No, I'm just saying that a boycott unattached to an organizing campaign is not going to change anything (because we didn't ask for anything!)

Organizing works.

Looking around and seeing something you'd like to change, meeting up and talking with other people who want to change the same thing making plans together -- these things are successful. You might even plan a boycott together. You might even take the boycott national or join a national boycott organized by someone else.

If you are new to political action and don't know where to start, look around your community. You may have to change your channels to get in touch with the people doing the work you will end up doing. Look at bulletin boards in cafes, look at your city's reddit, hell, even search [city name] and [issue interest] on Facebook and see if there is an active group. Ask your friend who wears all the buttons. Then show up. Show up to these meetings in person.

Get to know your neighbors. If that seems scary, do the work you need to do to get yourself in good enough working order to introduce yourself to strangers.

Join a community group. Attend a seed swap and join a gardening group. Meet up with others to draw at a cafe once a week.

When in doubt, start with food. Find a community fridge in your area and find out how to get involved.

I also like CAW Shiny Things' list of ways to get started because it's broader than many other (it takes into consideration art as community!)

When you find a community organization, you will make important connections there and practice muscles you use in political organizing, like building trust, power analysis, and planning actions.

I know that we are all scared and that this boycott feels good to latch onto. It's wonderful that you want to take action. I hope that you find something in this post that gets you more deeply involved than a fakey vague boycott.

I'm not saying don't participate. It won't hurt anything. I am saying that there is so much more work we have to do to affect change.

USA people! Buy NOTHING Feb 28 2025. Not anything. 24 hours. No spending. Buy the day before or after but nothing. NOTHING. February 28 2025. Not gas. Not milk. Not something on a gaming app. Not a penny spent. (Only option in a crisis is local small mom and pop. Nothing. Else.) Promise me. Commit. 1 day. 1 day to scare the shit out of them that they don't get to follow the bullshit executive orders. They don't get to be cowards. If they do, it costs. It costs.

Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.

If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.

Are you with me?

Spread the word.

[c4tluver02]

the perfect gift <3

warnings: none!

wc: 1.6k

Summary: You love books and Steve just happens to get you the best gift of all time!

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。

One of the things Steve loves about you is your love for reading. Whenever he calls and asks what you were doing it's always reading. His favorite is when you read aloud to him. Your soft voice saying the words always calms him down. Steve himself wasn't much of a reader at all before he met you but somehow someway you got him into it. If you read a great book you would immediately recommend it to Steve. In a way you read every book in hopes of giving it to Steve for him to read. The thought of you two having your own little book club made you so happy, so of course Steve had the perfect idea of getting you a book. A book that was not only read by him before you got to it but annotated. All of his thoughts that he would share to you once you had both read the book would now be on a page. 

His plan started when you called him.

 “Hi sweet girl, what's up?” Steve asks happy to hear your voice

“Hi Stevie, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the bookstore with me?” Despite you asking him to go with, what you really meant is if he could drive you both there. But that was neither here nor there.

“Yeah no problem, I’ll get ready and head over?” He asked.

“Yes, perfect!” You respond with a cheerful tone that immediately makes Steve grin from ear to ear. Anything to make his girl happy!

- 

Once Steve gets to your house he knocks on your door. He steps back a bit and as he does you open the door. You step forward to give him a hug. 

“Are you ready?” Steve asks as you're still in his arms.

“Yep, let me just get my bag really quick.” You reply, giving him a quick peck on the lips. It's enough that Steve got a taste of your fruity lip gloss. 

“So what type of book are you looking for?” Steve asks as he opens the car door for you. 

“Hmm I am not exactly sure I am thinking of a thriller? I honestly have no clue, really anything that looks good.” Steve wishes you could give him a list of books that way he knows he's at least picking one you'll like. But you don't, so Steves on his own and hopefully he can pull this off without you figuring him out. 

You two make it to the bookstore and head inside. Of course you know all the aisles by heart and immediately go to the fiction aisle. Steve is like a lost puppy following behind you just looking around. He feels like it's pretty easy to tell he isn't a frequent customer. He doesn't know all the areas like you do and by the way he grabs onto your belt buckle anyone could tell he hates to be away from you. But Steve bravely decides to go to a spot that had a book you had said you wanted last time you two were there. He not only has to get it without you noticing but he has to buy it without you seeing him. 

“Hey, I think I left my wallet in the car. I am gonna go get it really quick okay?” Steve says playing a normal facade. 

“Mhm ok.” You say completely not listening as you are already on the fourth page of a book you picked up. 

Now is Steve's chance to go quickly, find the book, pay for it and run it to his car. When he reaches the aisle he finds the book and lucky for him it's the last one. He peeks his head up trying to look over the bookshelves to see you still engrossed in the book you had when he left you. Steve pays for the book and runs to his car. How he did all of that without you looking around is a miracle he thinks. 

Steve walks back up to the area you were in the last time he saw you, you weren't there. Steve is officially freaking out now. He must have not been as slick as he thought. Did you see him buy the book? Did you see that he waited in line to pay for it? He wasn't gone for too long was he? A million thoughts passed through his mind as he walked down to look for you in the aisles. He stops in his tracks as you are walking up to the place he just was to buy your book. 

“Steve, someone took the last of the book I was looking at last time.” You pout into his chest. Steve rubs your back relieved his plan had somehow worked out. 

“I'm sorry baby. We can always come back another day when they restock it?” He says trying to give you a positive look on it despite the last copy being in his back seat. 

“Yeah you're right. It's okay I found two books so I guess I'll live!” You say as you lock your hand with his and walk up to the front. 

Steve pays for your books even though you told him he didn't need to. But he will never stop treating you. What type of boyfriend would he be if he did that? 

-

Steve drives you two back to your place and how can he say no when you ask him to stay for dinner? You guys cook a nice home cooked meal and Steve's cheeks hurt from how much he's been smiling. Even something as simple as cooking dinner with you makes him unbelievably happy. He can't wait till the day you guys do this every night. You both make a perfect pair in every shape and form. The happiness that surrounds the kitchen as you cook is something that comes so naturally yet so enjoyed. Steve couldn't ask for anyone better than you. His perfect girl. Once dinner is done Steve decides it's time he goes home and start on your book. 

He doesn't think he's ever read a book this quickly in his life but he can't stop from the excitement he feels of giving this to you. He writes and highlights important things and little thoughts he has here and there. It's funny how much he sees himself turning unto you. The endless calls of you telling him you stayed up so late reading your eyes were burning always sounded crazy to him. Yet somehow here he is sharing the same feeling. Although this book is for you he is enjoying it very much. He's glad he can read something before you versus the other way around. To have something worth sharing is everything Steve wants and more. 

It only takes him a week to finish the book and annotate. Steve truly hopes you like it. He’s never done something like this and you've never voiced that you even like his comments on books. But despite the little voice in his head he is overjoyed to give you this. 

Steve knocks on your door as he waits with the book in his hand. “Steve? What are you doing here?” You ask unknowing that he would be coming over. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond but before he even has a chance to say it you say-

“You found the book I wanted!” Steve is already glowing from happiness at your reaction as you jump in pure excitement. You can't believe he went out of his way to get it for you. 

“Yeah, I uh, made a few edits to it though.” Steve says sheepishly, scratching at his neck. A little bit of anxiety is finally creeping up to him as he gives you the book. 

You look up at him in surprise as you take his hand and drag him into the living room. You feel like you could cry. The act of him buying a book you mentioned you wanted more than a week ago was enough to get you emotional. But the fact that he did something to it was even more heart wrenching. You open the cover to see a note from him. As you flip through a few more of the pages you see his handwriting scattered on the pages. Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight. You can't believe how compassionate and thoughtful he is. 

“Oh Steve.” You say barely getting a word out, too full of emotions.

“If you don't like it we can go get you a new book. I dunno I thought it would be cool but maybe it’s-” You stop him mid sentence with a big hug.

“It's the best gift I've ever gotten.” You say as you give him a kiss. Your hands are holding his jaw and all the fear leaves Steve. He is so happy that you're happy and enjoy your gift. 

“Good. I’m glad you like it.” He says smiling.

“Oh I don't like it, I love it. I can't believe you would do something like this for me. I know this took some time.” You say holding his hands. 

“I bought it last week. I was the one who took the last copy.” Steve's smile turns into a giggle as he sees your face drop. 

“Oh my god! You sneak! You didn't go to find your wallet at all did you?” You say giggling as all the pieces click together. 

“Nope! I bought the book and ran to put it in my car. I think it was the most stressed I've ever been.” Steve responds in a playful tone. His hand clutched against his chest in dramatics. 

“I was so deep in the book I didn't even realize.” You gasp as you finally see his whole plan come to life. 

You give him a big hug. Extremely thankful you have him as your boyfriend. “Thank you so much baby.” You say hugging him even tighter.

Steve picks you up a bit just enough to allow you to put your legs outside of his. When you let go you pepper his face in a million little kisses. Within each kiss an ‘i love you’ comes out.

"Anything for you." Steve says before kissing you back.

[moonzzip]

my song for you | prologue

a/n — I decided to make this mini-series in celebration of g-d's new album (and due to the lack of new stories these days), I've been busy and that's why I haven't been releasing any more stories, but I hope you like this one, I'll release the next chapter soon!

summary: your passion for music has always been something that kept you grounded, but soon you found yourself lost. your friend gets you into trouble, and you wonder if your wounds will ever heal.

pairing: jiyong x pianist!gn!reader

!warnings: mention of toxic family, bruises, blood, fainting

lowercase letters, w.c: 2,1k

nothing. nothing comes to your mind, nothing.

you play, play, and play the keys, but nothing forms.

the sound is empty, the melody is empty, the notes are empty, everything, absolutely everything is empty.

none of the forms give you feeling, never satisfied with what you're doing.

everything is bad, everything sounds bad, you don't feel like you're doing it right, nothing seems right.

your hands tremble, your fists want to clench, false notes, off-key sounds, your finger clicked the wrong key, your foot stepped wrong, you missed by a millisecond, you played two at the same time, you played none.

and you stop.

your breath is tired, frustrated, disgusted, agonized. your soul feels broken and empty, lonely.

that song that once made you happy no longer fills you.

you've been playing the piano for as long as you can remember. your family is a great pianist family, so you always had this obligation to know how to play. everyone in the family was considered a prodigy.

but not you.

you were slower compared to your cousins, took longer to understand compared to your aunts when they were children, didn't have the motor coordination of your mother or the speed of your father.

you were incomplete.

the scars on the top of your hand say it all, every little scratch, purple mark, dripping blood, silenced scream, cry, and sweat.

even so, you never felt anger toward them, your family.

much less hatred for the piano.

it was an object, it wasn’t its fault.

it wasn’t the piano that made your blood run, it wasn’t the piano that made your tears fall.

you used the piano as an escape, despite it having brought you misery.

anger rises to your head, your fists finally clench completely and begin to strike the instrument fiercely, horrible sounds coming out due to the aggression on the black and white keys, your screams scratch your throat, your body sore and tired, your mind full, yet empty at the same time, too messy, your already dried tears no longer fall.

you continue the attack for a while, until exhaustion almost wins.

you bite your lips so hard they bleed, your head tilts back, the blood running down your lips, your vision blurs, and your body falls back, staring at the ceiling as you let out a sigh, and everything goes dark.

your feet walk along the crowded sidewalk, your hands in furry, warm gloves, looking at your feet but still seeing ahead to avoid bumping into someone.

you stop at the edge of the sidewalk, now looking up, the cars passing at high speed, countless people on the other side and beside you. you sigh, hiding your face in your warm scarf, your eyes catching the large sign meters away from you: ‘galaxy corporation,’ and you sigh again.

what was your friend thinking? he called you out of nowhere, saying he needed you to come to the company where he works because it was urgent. what the hell could be so urgent that he needed your help? nothing comes to mind. your day had been going so well, you had slept reasonably well, and it was cold enough to stay under the blankets for as long as you wanted. just thinking about it makes you yawn, stretching your back, hearing a small crack, and adjusting your clothes, brushing off invisible dust.

well, here goes nothing.

the door opens automatically, the warm air hitting your face. you breathe in satisfaction and step inside—it’s well-lit and spacious—the door closes behind you. you take off your scarf and store it in your bag. there aren't many people, a small group and some scattered around, but nothing beyond that.

you wonder if your friend is waiting for you down here. you look around but decide to go to the reception.

“ah... excuse me?” the receptionist looks up and gives you a small but still gentle smile.

“hello! how can I help you?”

you try to return the smile, but it feels awkward, so you continue, “mr. kim jonghoon called me and asked me to come. could you check if he’s here?”

you could just call him, but this isn’t the first time jonghoon has called you out of nowhere saying he has something important to say, only to disappear when you try to call back. you’re not in the mood to waste your phone credits on him.

“ah! kim jonghoon-ssi? just a moment.”

you watch her pick up the fancy black phone and dial some numbers. it rings, and jonghoon answers almost instantly.

that bastard. he knew you wouldn’t come if he kept answering and responding to your questions. this man is getting too clever for your liking. you roll your eyes internally.

the receptionist is smiling like an idiot on the phone. jonghoon has a habit of flirting with people, but he could do that another time.

the sound of the phone being placed back on the receiver pulls you from your thoughts.

“he is in the building, yes. he’ll be here soon, please wait patiently.”

it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.

you look around and see an empty armchair nearby. it looks comfortable, so you sit down. you wonder if he’ll take long, then pull out your phone, looking for something to do.

ah... you should have downloaded some games.

would it be rude to put on your headphones? you think about it but take them out anyway, connecting them via bluetooth. you scroll through your spotify, maybe something by bigbang? lots of options, your finger hovers over a few, clicks one, skips, until you find one.

‘my heaven’ appears on your screen. ah... this song is so good. you remember watching the m/v when you were younger. you used to follow the group more closely. they were your inspiration to play that... thing. after a while, you just gave up on music altogether.

you sigh, looking at your hands, the scars hidden beneath the gloves, running from your elbows to your fingertips.

hours and hours, endlessly playing that thing, until your nails broke and your fingers formed calluses, or until you passed out. most times, that’s how it went.that leather whip was used on your delicate little hands, mercilessly, without pause.

you had always been a well-behaved child, never complained, never gave a reason for such methods to be used, but apparently, your difficulty in learning was reason enough.

always put down, always compared to everyone in your family—

"your aunt learned this in three days."

"your sister wouldn’t make a mistake like that."

"you never get this right on the first try. useless."

things like that.jonghoon only knows the surface. you never had the courage to give him many details, and you don’t plan to.

he understands. he never crosses that line, and that’s it.

you played so much, so much, participated in so many projects nonstop, took courses, tests, competitions, but never received a 'congratulations', never an applause. it was as if you were performing for no one.

but you never complained. as long as you liked playing, nothing could affect you.

until it did.

your thoughts are once again interrupted by a light kick to your shoe. it’s jonghoon.

(internally, you thank him for pulling you out of those thoughts.)

“hey, ___!”, he greets you excitedly.you look at him blankly before putting him in a headlock, muttering angrily,

“you bastard. you call me in the middle of the night, say it’s important, then ignore me? you know I have no patience for this, and you call me at 3 AM?? I’m going to kill you, kim jonghoon.”

he knows you’re really mad when you say his full name.

“a-ah, _-__, I can’t talk—”

you tighten your grip.

“your silence is starting to please me, jonghoon. you in a coffin would be even better.”

he taps your arm, and you loosen slightly.

“i-if you let me g-go, I c-can talk.”

you click your tongue and release him, crossing your arms.

“speak. before I change my mind and leave.”

he knows you’re not joking, so he hurries.

“so... I kind of... signed you up for a temporary job... playing piano for an artist’s production here.”

kim jonghoon was a dead man that day.

...or so you wish.

but here you were, sitting at a table with your friend in front of you. he bought you lunch, so you forgave him—temporarily. two days, you told him.

"jonghoon, you know i haven't played in three years. what the hell were you thinking!?" your voice rose slightly, laced with disappointment, and you didn’t hide it.

he lowered his head a bit, knowing what he did wasn’t right. "sorry, ___… i just wanted to help. seeing you in the same situation as three years ago makes me anxious. i hate seeing you like that at home, and—"

letting out a frustrated sigh, you ran your hands through your hair, elbows resting on the table. "this is something i'm working on, jonghoon. i know you want to help, but—" you stared at the table, eyes slowly filling with tears.

"it’s not something that heals just like that... i hate the piano. i hate my music. i hate my family. and i hate hating these things."

the man in front of you stood up and walked over, gently running his fingers through your hair. "look… i know what i did was wrong, but ___…"

he hesitated, and you looked up at him. "i know you don’t actually hate the piano. i know you don’t truly hate your music. it’s what lifted you out of where you were, ___. don’t say that, please."

you looked at him, anger flashing in your eyes. "kim jonghoon, don’t talk about things you don’t understand."

you stood from your chair, grabbing your things. "sometimes, you're just like them. you try to dictate how i feel. you don’t know anything. you shouldn’t have done this, and you know it."

you walked toward the door, ready to leave. "i’m not completely mad. i get that you want to help, but… just leave me alone. for a while."

just before you reached for the handle, the large door swung open. you took a few steps back as a man entered.

his colorful hair, cap with a scarf tied over it, yellow-tinted glasses, vibrant clothes, and perfectly painted nails made him stand out. he brought color into the dull, lifeless room—like a stylish rainbow.

jonghoon perked up, walking over to the man.

"jiyong-ssi! hey, how are you!?" he greeted the man enthusiastically, who smiled at him and bowed at a precise 90-degree angle.

"jonghoon-ssi, hello. i'm doing well. and you?" his voice was calm and deep, slightly raspy but steady. the more energetic man simply smiled and nodded in agreement.

you stood with your hands in your pockets, feeling a little out of place, glancing around.

the man with colorful hair noticed you in the room and fidgeted with his hands slightly but still greeted you. "you must be ___-ssi, right?"

you nodded with a small ‘yes’ and bowed at 90 degrees as well, polite. the man in front of you did the same. "i'm kwon jiyong. nice to meet you. i heard you’ve been playing piano for years—i’m interested in your work."

you stared at him for a few seconds, but before you could respond, jonghoon cut in. "ahh, ___ is definitely interested, jiyong-ssi! i told them about the job, and they rushed right over—you can trust me on this."

giving your friend a deadly glare, he continued undeterred. "the absolute best pianist in the world is standing right in front of you! i’ve never seen anyone like them—pure dedication! the music that comes from ___'s fingers takes me to heaven, seriously!"

you rolled your eyes at jonghoon’s exaggerated praises but stayed silent. he wasn’t going to give up on making you play again. you didn’t know how to feel about it—grateful or incredibly frustrated.

the more energetic man pulled you and jiyong by the arms, making you both sit at the table as he started talking.

"___, jiyong-ssi recently started producing his third solo album, something highly anticipated by his fans, of course. it’s not every day that g-dragon releases an album, and—"

ah.that’s why kwon jiyong seemed familiar to you.

the man sitting beside you was g-dragon.

you put your elbows on the table and buried your head in your hands.

what the hell had you gotten yourself into?

a/n – so, I wrote this while listening to gd’s ‘drama’, seriously, what a wonderful album, where I live it came out at 2 in the morning, but I woke up to listen to it, I don’t regret it one bit, thank you for the wonderful album gd, I have no complaints (and never have). thanks for reading! I’ll release part one soon, I think it will have at most 3 parts (not counting the prologue), but I can’t guarantee anything. feel free to correct any mistakes!

[nanajustnana-a]

you’re the one , you’re all i ever wanted…

Hiii! So this is my first time ever writing (at least with a conscious and functioning mind of an adult and not of an early teen). I started this blog a little back and was never in my plans to create but hey! here we are. This is about a headcanon I have had for sevika since I first read about her. This is in any way my experience lol, all of my uni professors are closer to retirement than being a hot forty something beautiful and handsome woman (like sevi here y’know). Also this in any way trying to sexualize the wonderful work that teachers and professors do it’s just a silly way of what I think a modern!sevika would be. I imagine her being this mastermind and excellent professor so you just fall for her for her marvelous brain (who wouldn’t).

Also english it’s NAWT my first language so if there is a grammar error or if anything has a weird name that’s why.

Reader is going to be written and referred to as a fem presenting person. There would not be that many body descriptions apart from hands :33. She is also supposed to be past 25 years old, you can imagine her age how you want.

CW: nothing :D (for now)

W.C: almost 2k.

University professor!Sevika + fem!reader

University professor!Sevika, who had really long lectures but lectures that were also so interesting that you didn’t want the hour to end.

University professor!Sevika, who was known for her sassy tone and remarks to make the lectures manageables but also for her impressive knowledge about what she teached.

University professor!Sevika, who noticed you on the first day of the new semester, she didn’t know why at the moment but you just stood out from the rest.

University professor!Sevika, who despite her relatively young age for a professor she had forged a great and known career. She had started teaching as soon as she could, and you could notice that in her expertise. Looking at the way she moved around the lecture hall, how her low, deep, raspy voice for too many cigarettes captured the attention of almost every person who put a foot in her class. Noticing that special glimpse of pride that made her grey eyes sparkle when she got elbow deep on the class topic of that day.

University professor!Sevika, who doesn’t talk much about her but more about what she knows. Who is excited to help the moment she sees your name as the remittent of an email asking for papers or articles to read about the matter she talked about in that day's class.

University professor!Sevika, who always dressed similarly, a button up in darker colors, sometimes in a deep red or an eggplant color when she got tired of the most neutral ones, that usually got tighter around her bust and arms, with the first two buttons always loose and the sleeves usually rolled to mid forearm letting you see part of her tattooed right arm and the black color of her prosthetic left arm. Her eyes are always half covered with her seeing glasses that rested in that beautiful nose. You never saw her haircut change; it was always in that sharp cut that went from short in the nape of her neck, leaving a beautiful undercut behind, to longer closer to her cheeks. Her slacks were always black or dark gray. Combat boots were her staple and even if she owned different pairs purple shoelaces were present in each of them.

University professor!Sevika, who always was capable of keeping you hooked at her words, at the side smirk that covered her plump and dark colored lips while talking. How could you not put all of your attention to what she was talking about? There was an inexplicable energy that she radiated that made you want to wrap yourself around her and listen to her talk about anything for hours without an obvious end.

University professor!Sevika, who got used to paying attention to you, you intrigued her to an enigmatic level. Firstly, you weren’t close in age to the rest of her students. It wasn’t hard for her to notice your experience when reading your work, watching the way you took notes, and the attention to detail in every essay you sent. It made sense that you excelled in her course.

Secondly you weren’t hard to miss, at least in her eyes, without fail you were 5 minutes earlier than the rest, with the same coffee cup every time, consistently dressing in just a style that screamed ‘you’.

And lastly because of the amount of attention you put on everything she says, sevika was used to capture everyone's attention but yours just felt… different.

University professor!Sevika, who was the strictest professor you had encountered in university. It wasn’t hard to imagine how hard she could be as an outsider, after all what she wanted was the best for her students, she wanted to make them excel, she was not going to permit unfit people to pass her course.

For the same reason university professor!Sevika normally wasn’t kind to the idea of befriending or being close to her students. A self imposed rule of just keeping all of her relationship with students strictly professional. She knew people would tend to get close to her with the idea that being friendly would make them gain a few extra points in their assignments… She would just laugh inside at seeing the poor job some students did at the end of a semester to try and get anything she was noble enough to give them (she wasn’t noble at all, at least not with those who didn’t put in the work. After all her heart wasn’t made of stone as you could imagine, she would help the people she knew did their part during the school year).

But… there could always be an exception, right?

University professor!Sevika, who didn’t want to act surprised when you approached her before class started, but she did. You were earlier than ever before, your hands occupied and your voice sounded as soft as always with a hint of something she couldn’t decipher in that moment. She never had the chance to hear you talking only to her, she was accostumbrated to listening to you talk with your classmates or when you always so cleverly answered a question in class, but directly and only to her? never had the chance to hear more than one word until today. Maybe what has been stopping you was her gaze, that gaze that seemed to be the only one that could make your knees tremble, and it wasn’t because you weren’t confident, you were, but it was sevika after all. The only times you directed your voice to her and her only was just as you entered her sacred place of teaching, a small cordial greeting when you entered the class and a soft nod accompanied by a “goodbye” after classes ended, until today. A small paper bag was gripped by your perfectly manicured nails and a drink carrier that sported two cups that rested in your open hand when you entered the hall this late afternoon.

She didn’t know how you got stuck with this class schedule that was normally the least desired one, after all… who wanted to take a lecture on a friday at 4pm?, but today she was pleased with it. This class normally had the least amount of students so it tends to be more relaxed, although at the same time this is the one where the tiredness that she accumulated during the week usually gets to her.

A surprised look appeared on her face when she saw you, with a small rise of her eyebrow. She was willing to be the one who started a conversation, until you got ahead of her.

“Good afternoon, professor” The words left your lips softly while a soft and shy smile appeared on your lips. This might be the first time she heard your voice clearly with no other sound to interfere, now that she had heard it loud and clear she found it enticing, a sudden spark of curiosity arose in her, just a greeting wasn’t enough. She wanted to hear you talk more and more after each word.

“Good afternoon,” your name left her lips like it was covered by thick honey. “you are earlier today” Her usual smirk now plastered on her lips, her thin metal frame glasses were lower on her gorgeous nose than usual. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks. She said ‘earlier’ which only could mean she had noticed that you were here before your usual time.

“Oh! Well… I was on my usual coffee run, it’s been a rough week for all so i thought it would be kind to bring one for you. I hope this isn’t an overstep.” She didn’t know where you kept all of these words before, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. This sudden rush of confidence from your side and the detail of thinking of her made a smile appear on her lips, suddenly a small bit of her tooth gap was on display only for you to see.

“It isn’t an overstep, don’t sweat about it. And thank you for this, I was almost on my way to grab a cup from those vending machines.” A short chuckle left your lips. Sevika was never used to kindness, at the end of the day her background wasn’t colourful. Everything she had made of herself was thanks to her effort, unthinkable hours spent on working and studying at the same time, sleeping when and where she could, having to endure men thinking and telling her she would always be ‘a no one’. She was used to always thinking the worst, especially coming from students, and although this time it felt different the little voice in her head told her to not let her guard down. While her mind was quickly filled with information you occupied yourself taking the cup from the holder with only one free hand. She thought about what could have driven you to do this; you didn’t need extra points on your assignments, your work was basically perfect, you weren’t failing for the same reason, so then why?.

“But those suck!” You quickly interrupted her train of thought. “I didn’t know what you would like so I chose just a latte, I also asked for sugar and sweetener in case you preferred that”. You said as you put everything you just mentioned in front of her.

“They indeed suck. And I don't really mind the way the coffee is made. Coffee, it's coffee after all.” Confused was how she was feeling, she couldn’t really understand it, again why?. Before she could stop herself she asked “Can I ask you a question?”.

“You already did” a soft laugh escaped your lips “but yes, of course” Ah! now you’re toying with her, her own smile grew a little bit more making her eyes look softer.

“Why?” Now you were the one surprised.

“Why?” This time you were the one asking the question.

“Yes, why?” A look of confusion appeared on your face.

“The coffee?” A small nod came from her side, a hot tingling sensation took over you, you could feel it on your naked shoulders and the back of your neck. You could feel it in your face too, probably a soft blush appeared on these areas as you stumbled with your words, she still made you nervous after all. You were grateful that you weren’t that young anymore, if you still were in your early twenties your knees would falter and your hands would sweat and tremble. After a soft sigh left you, you answered. “I don’t think there is just a specific ‘why’, you are probably my favorite professor and your lectures always leave me with this sensation of wanting to know more. I thought making a move to be closer would be great, after all I am really interested in what you teach and would love to have someone to talk about all of this and who is better for that than an academic that teaches about it.”

Her gaze softened the more you talked, her left mechanical hand held the cardboard cup close to her mouth to take a sip. After she was confident that you were done talking it was her turn. After she cleared her throat she talked in her characteristic deep voice. “That’s fine by me, after all I'm the one who reads what you write. You are different from the rest of the people in this course, I can notice your actual interest in everything I teach.” She also noticed your slender fingers taking notes, and the smile that appeared on your face when you where learning something new, she also notice the furrow on your brows when you were focused, and the way you bit the corner of your lips at the same time, but she wasn’t going to tell you that, it was dangerous, at least for now. Wait… what was that about a rule?.

[dcxdpdabbles]

In the spirit of commenting more on fics/supporting authors, I’ve finally decided to stop lurking, and say, hey, hi, hello there!

How are you doing today?

I just wanted to say you’re one of my all-time favorite DPxDC writers—in fact, I’ve been following you and your work since The Bakery is a Front!…right?'s first chapter back in June 2023, and it’s been such an amazing ride getting to read all of the wonderful stories you’ve created! They’re all so very creative (and hilarious!), the pacing is always great, and I love how your way of storytelling is easygoing and mellow; it’s so casual and cozy and easy to get into (for lack of a better phrasing)!

And can I just say how much I adore the way you write each and every single character, and their reactions/inner thoughts/dialogue about whatever’s going down in the plot, be it an ongoing story, oneshot, the tags, or those adorable little “From a fic I never wrote” tidbits? 10/10 every single time! (Your dialogue’s super great!!!!!!!)

I can’t count the number of times I’ve gone and reread everything you’ve published, nor how much time passes by whenever I do so. All I know is that my worries go away whenever I read your stories; they’re quite comforting!

Your stories provide so much inspiration, it’s even gotten to the point where I made a mini analysis for Danny’s Grill, and two playlists for Danny Fenton’s Ex and The Adopted Son (though that last one hasn’t been updated, since I haven’t had a chance to officially finish the last three? parts lol; that, and both playlists share a lot of the same songs), though all of those were either unpublished or kept private.

(They’ve also given way to many plot bunnies lol)

It’s a sentiment that bears repeating: you are an amazing writer, you’re so big brained, and I love everything you’ve ever written; don’t let anybody tell you otherwise!!!

I wasn’t sure how to end this, aside from hoping you have a good day or whatever time it may be for you, so I’ll leave off with a quote from one of my favorite songs, from one of my all-time favorite musicals, that’s hopefully… er, comforting? Wasn’t sure how to describe it (and if it isn’t, then I apologize for that):

“Just keep moving on. Anything you do, let it come from you, then it will be new. Give us more to see.” — Dot (Sunday in the Park with George, “Moving On,”)

SUOGHSOHUOGFUOHUGFWUEH

THIS WAS SUCH A NICE THING TO READ!!!

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I can't believe you enjoyed those aus so much you made playlists and mini analysis, but it makes me so happy that you did.

[hunieday]

9th Anniversary story - Chapter 9 : Blessings for the anniversary meeting.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Nanase Riku: It’s the final showdown!

Inumaru Touma: We’ve come this far so we gotta win!

Isumi Haruka: I want to win…!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: We’re on a tie after all!

Osaka Sougo: I want to win… I want to do my best with everyone!

Kujo Tenn: We totally have a chance.

Momo: We can do it, we can!! Let’s aim for victory!!

Izumi Iori: We’re going to win, everyone!

Red team: Yeahhhhhh…!!

Yuki: It’s a tie.

Nikaido Yamato: That’s amazing. We’re doing great.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sports festivals are super fun!

Rokuya Nagi: Amazing! Let’s keep trying! Let’s keep up the effort!!

Yaotome Gaku: Let’s go for it! Aim for the win!!

Natsume Minami: Of course! Let’s win this!

Mido Torao: We got this! Right, Izumi Mitsuki?

Izumi Mitsuki: Oh yeah! We’re gonna win, guys!!

White team: Yeahhhh…!!

Reporter: Okay, everyone! Let me explain the rules of the Cavalry Battle!!

Reporter: Each team consists of three "horses" and one "rider," making a group of four!

Reporter: The rider will wear a headband in their team’s color!

Reporter: The goal is for the riders to protect their own headbands while trying to snatch the opponent’s headbands!

Reporter: Everyone, please be careful not to get hurt! Get into position!

Audience: Kyaaaaa…!!

Audience: The Red team’s riders are Riku-kun and Haruka-kun!

Audience: The White team’s riders seem to be Mitsuki-kun and Minami-kun!

Audience: Good luck!!

Audience: Protect the headbands!!

Nanase Riku: Whoa, we’re pretty high up!

Inumaru Touma: You okay!? Hold on tight!

Izumi Iori: You should be the one giving us instructions. You're in the ideal position to see what’s happening.

Kujo Tenn: Let's set some signals. If you want us to move forward, say "advance." If you want us to move back, say "retreat."

Isumi Haruka: I wonder if I'll be okay…Sorry if they take my headband!

Osaka Sougo: We’ll protect you, don’t worry.

Isumi Haruka: So cool…

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: We’ll hold you tight so you won’t fall!

Momo: This is the final showdown! Let’s have fun and give it our all!

Izumi Mitsuki: I’m counting on you, IDOLiSH7…!!

Nikaido Yamato: Leave it to me! I’ll protect Mitsu’s headband!!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Yeah! Our teamwork’s great!!

Rokuya Nagi: Let’s show them how four members of IDOLiSH7 can fight!

Natsume Minami: If you’re in a pinch, don’t hesitate to run!

Mido Torao: Should we practice backing up?

Yuki: Won’t it be dangerous if someone falls?

Yaotome Gaku: Let’s be careful when we retreat. Let’s get their ass, Natsume!

Natsume Minami: Let’s win this!

Reporter: Here we go! Win or lose, this is the final match!!

Nana Sports President: Red team, do your best…! And be careful not to get injured!

Nana Sports Vice President: White team, fight! Just one step away from victory…!

Reporter: Ready…

Red team: ……

White team: ……

Reporter: Start!!

Whistle blows

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Audience: Fight! Fight! Reeed!

Audience: Fight! Fight! Whiiiite!

Natsume Minami: *Charges forward*…!!

Isumi Haruka: Ah…! They’re coming this way!

Momo: Should we run?

Isumi Haruka: No, let’s fight! Come at me…!

Yaotome Gaku: Go, Natsume…!!

Natsume Minami: Got it…!!

Isumi Haruka: No way I’m letting you…!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Hang in there…!!

Yuki: ……Do your best…!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Nanase Riku: Move forward! Forward…!!

Izumi Iori: …!! We can’t move forward any more!

Mitsuki reaches forward…

Izumi Mitsuki: Got it…!!

Nanase Riku: Whoa…!! Retreat, retreat…!!

Inumaru Touma: Back up, back up!!

Kujo Tenn: Be careful!!

Nikaido Yamato: Mitsu, now’s your chance!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Grab Rikkun’s headband, Mikki! you got this…!!

Izumi Mitsuki: …Ugh…!!

Nanase Riku: Ahhh! He almost took it!!

Rokuya Nagi: Mitsuki! If you reach too far you’ll lose your balance…!

Izumi Mitsuki: …Whoa…!!

Inumaru Touma: Now’s your chance!

Kujo Tenn: Move forward!

Nanase Riku: Move forward?!

Kujo Tenn: Don’t worry! We got this!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Izumi Mitsuki: …Tch. I won’t let you…!!

Audience: Fight! Fight! Reeeed!

Audience: Fight! Fight! Whiiite!

Natsume Minami: Ah…!!

Isumi Haruka: He lost his balance! This is our chance…!!

Natsume Minami: It’s a feint! Take this…!!

Isumi Haruka: Whoa-!!

Momo: Did he take it!?

Isumi Haruka: No he didn’t!!

Mido Torao: Minami, now’s your chance!!

Natsume Minami: ……Here goes……!

Yuki: Wait, wait…!! You’re gonna drop him…!!

Yaotome Gaku: Don’t worry! I’ve got you! Go for it…!!

Isumi Haruka: I won’t lose either…!!

ŹOOĻ members: (What are we gonna do if our team wins…?)

ŹOOĻ members: (That’d be so awkward…)

Isumi Haruka: (Just kidding. This is so much fun.)

Natsume Minami: (Competing against someone I admire and respect is the best feeling.)

Inumaru Touma: (Being completely absorbed in this moment…)

Mido Torao: (Giving it our all, just playing our hearts out…)

Isumi Haruka: ……!!

Natsume Minami: ……Ah…!!

Isumi Haruka: I got it!! I took Minami’s headbaaaand!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Momo: Yessss!! Haruka!!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You did it, Haruka-kun!!

Osaka Sougo: Let’s go help! Corner them with Riku-kun!

Isumi Haruka: Yes!!

Natsume Minami: Ahhh…! I’m sorry…!

Yuki: Don’t worry! You did great!!

Yaotome Gaku: Big Bro Izumi, watch out!

Mido Torao: Right, right! They’re coming from the right!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Izumi Mitsuki: Oh crap…!!

Nikaido Yamato: Can we defend against this!?

Rokuya Nagi: We must protect him! Trust yourself and your teammates!!

Nanase Riku: Haruka-kun…!

Isumi Haruka: Nanase-san…! We’re gonna corner them from both sides…!

Nanase Riku: Got it!

Izumi Mitsuki: Damn it!! If I’m going down, I’m taking at least one of you with me…!!

Isumi Haruka: ……Whoa, whoa, whoa…!

Izumi Mitsuki: Just a little more…!

Nikaido Yamato: You got this…!

Rokuya Nagi: Go! Go!

Isumi Haruka: Move back! Back, back!!

Nanase Riku: Move forward…!!

Izumi Iori: Roger that!

Inumaru Touma: Push forward!!

Kujo Tenn: Forward!!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Mikki!! Behind you…!!

Nanase Riku: …!!

Izumi Mitsuki: Wha-!?

Nanase Riku: ……I GOT IT!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Reporter: The match is oveeeeeeer—!!

Whistle blows.

Reporter: Red team scores two points! Red team wins!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Nana Sports President: YEAHHHHHHHH!!

Nana Sports Vice President: Ahh…!!

Momo: We did it…!!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: We did…!

Osaka Sougo: We won…!

Isumi Haruka: Yaaaaay!! We held on till the end!

Nanase Riku: We won! We really won!!

Kujo Tenn: Good job. Everyone worked so hard.

Inumaru Touma: We actually won!! This is amazing…!!

Izumi Iori: Let’s high-five.

Iori and Touma high five.

Inumaru Touma & Izumi Iori: Yay!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Natsume Minami: Ahh… I’m so frustrated…

Nikaido Yamato: It stings, but we put up a good fight. You did great, rider!

Yuki: Great work guys. We gave it our all. That was fun.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Ughhh! I’m so frustrated! But congrats on the win!

Mido Torao: Yeah, you guys were strong! Congrats, Red team!

Yaotome Gaku: Congrats! We’re coming for revenge next time! I wanna do another sports festival!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Nana Sports President: If that happens, please let us sponsor it again.

Audience: Yayyyyyy…!!

Nana Sports Vice President: Thank you for your hard work, everyone! That was an incredible match!

Clap clap clap clap!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Audience: Great job…!!

Audience: Everyone did amazing!

Audience: I’m glad no one got hurt!

Audience: They all looked so cool!

Audience: Thank you…!!

Reporter: Everyone in the audience!! Let’s give a huge round of applause to these incredibly brave athletes!

Reporter: …Actually, I don’t even need to ask! The applause is already roaring through the venue! The cheers for our competitors are filling the air!

Reporter: To all the participants!

Reporter: Thank you for showing us the beauty of competition and the greatness of sports!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Reporter: The Idol Grand Sports Festival results are as follow! Red team with 3 wins! White team with 2 wins! The overall champion is the Red team!!

White team: Congrats!

Red team: Thank you!! 

The audience continues to clap.

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Reporter: And with that, all events of the Idol Grand Sports Festival have come to an end!

Reporter: For the finale, we have a special gift from all the competitors to the amazing audience that cheered for them!

Nanase Riku: Everyone! Thank you for cheering for us!

Kujo Tenn: From all 16 of us, we present this to you! Please listen to…

Kujo Tenn & Nanase Riku: “Welcome, Future World!!!”

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Nanase Riku: Thank you, everyone!!

Kujo Tenn: Thank you for your support!!

Isumi Haruka: Thanks, guys!

Izumi Iori: And thank you to Nana Sports!

Izumi Mitsuki: Congrats on your 9th anniversary!

Nana Sports Vice President & President: Thank you so much!

Momo: That was soooo much fun! If we do another sports festival, come watch us again!

Yuki: We’re finally back together again.

Momo: …Y-Yeah! We can go back to being the one and only Re:vale!

Re:vale: We’re Re:vale again noooow!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

TRIGGER: Thank you!!

ŹOOĻ: Thanks, everyone!!

Nanase Riku: Whether we were about to win or lose…

IDOLiSH7: You kept cheering for us all the way!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!!

Nanase Riku: Just like today, we want you to see us giving our all, more and more in the future!

Nanase Riku: Please keep supporting us and Nana Sports!

All Members: Thank you all so much!!

Audience: Kyaaaaaa…!! Clap clap clap clap!

The End.

[lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me]

hai bby! hru?

so idk if this is going to make sense but i've had this thought on my mind for a while and i wanted to request something if it's not too much to ask for.

so like, rich sunghoon who's very protective of y/n and is cold to everyone but y/n and their rich kid friend group. and rich y/n who even tho is rich, is still very kind and caring. they're both in school (college or high school) and they're like the "rich and popular" kids. so basically, y/n's super innocent and sweet and hoon is trynna figure out how to confess? can be angsty with fluff? and you can decide whether it's written or a smau.

i'm so sorry if this makes no sense 😓 and if you can't do it, that's totally fine too. hope you're well love!

-⭐

youre not for sale (request) ☘︎ park sunghoon

warnings: fluff, comfort, angst, mutual yearning, reader being a bit blind, i think thats all!! if there's anything else let me know!!

park sunghoon was in love with y/n l/n. that was a fact no one could deny. It was obvious to everyone. Well, everyone except one person. y/n. He was constantly buying them things, from flowers to expensive jewelry. but to y/n, he was just “being a really good friend”. to sunghoon, they were the kindest, sweetest, ad most attractive person he had ever met in his whole life. that brings us to now. sunghoon has been with jake all day, coming up with a speech to tell y/n he likes, scratch that, is in love with them. “what the actual fuck do i say to them man? ‘hey y/n i know were super close and all, oh by the way, i'm in love with you’? hell no. shes just- sweet, and, i dont wanna say fragile. but shes innocent. i dont wanna hurt her or confuse her.” so far, its going…not so great. “i really don't know what to tell you bro. you just need to grow a pair and tell her.” sunghoon gives him a glare, “easy for you to say, you got your girlfriend by just being pathetic and following her around like a puppy”. “OH FUCK YOU MAN” safe to say, jake didnt take too well to his jab. sunghoon felt like drowning in self-pity. his friends were no help, and with each passing day he fell for y/n more and more with no idea how he should confess to them. especially when everyone around them knew all of their business. y/n on the other hand, could not have been more oblivious. “i’m telling you noo, he does not like me like that”, they say. oh how wrong they were. sunoo looks at them as if they were insane, “are you serious right now y/n? that guy looks at you as if you created all things good in the world! i’m serious!”. in that moment, he thought they could never be more dense. 

a week went by of sunghoon helplessly wondering, crying for help to his friends, and buying flowers for y/n that reminded him of them. he sees y/n walking to their class and runs up to them. “y/n! Hey! um- do you wanna hang out later? Maybe like grab some lunch or get boba or something” he asks, desperately hoping that they say yes. “oh my god yes! i’ve been craving boba like crazy!” for a moment, sunghoon truly believed there was something in the universe on his side. he spent the next 3 hours trying to think up someway to confess. flowers? the ring they've been talking about wanting? unlimited trips to their favorite restaurant? he needed to come up with something, and fast.

the pair somehow end up back at y/n’s dorm, playing video games. sunghoon had just beat y/n at mario kart *again*, and y/n decided they needed a break. “god, how do you win every time?’ they grumble while walking to the kitchen. sunghoon replied before even giving a second

thought, “i’m just that good baby”. y/n had never turned around so fast in their life, “what?”. He froze, nothing coming out of his mouth, eventually, it all just started coming out before he could save himself. “i love you. you’re so amazing, and kind, and pretty. i don't even think i deserve you but i really hope you’ll give me a chance! i’ve been trying to figure out how to confess to you for so long and this really isn’t how i planned it but this is how its happening. you just make me so nervous but in a really good way and i just really hope you feel the same or you hear me out and at least let me take you out on one date.” he stops speaking abruptly as it all just happened so fast. silence filled the once loud room that was overflowing with their laughter. “sunghoon…” they trail off, “you really feel that way?” he doesn't respond and simply stares down at his feet in embarrassment and defeat. “i’m gonna go, i'll see you around.” he abruptly stands up and leaves with y/n protesting behind him and telling him to stay. he beat himself up the whole night, this isn't how he wanted it to go, not at all. he couldn't believe he let himself word vomit like that! he just blew it with the person of his dreams, he could never tell his friends about this. they’d definitely use it against him for life, and he can’t bear the thought of reliving his worst heartbreak.

y/n wasn’t completely sure what to do, or how to handle this. sunghoon liked them? there's no way. he’s handsome and kind, he's perfect. and he seriously likes them? as she runs through every possible scenario of how this situation ends in her head, she impulsively decides to go to his dorm. she hesitated before knocking on his door. sunghoon opened the door, to see, to his shock, y/n. “i really really like you too and i’ve never known how to tell you and when you just said everything to me i froze because i didn't know what to say! you're the most amazing guy sunghoon and i want this to work out. so please just tell me if you want to make this work too.” he stood in the doorway, his mouth parted in shock. he spoke quietly after a moment, “you really mean it?” y/n looks at him incredulously “are you kidding? of course i mean it!” sunghoon swore he felt his heart stop for a solid 5 seconds. “i thought i lost you for good, oh my god!” he sighs in relief. “you could never lose me don't be stupid.” he gives them a glare before wrapping his arms around them, not caring who in the hall saw. “does this mean i can take you on a date now?” he asked softly. “i mean obviously”

masterlist

luckys note!: guys lets pretend it didnt take me 6 months to write this... um anyways ENJOY!!!

© lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me, 2025. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📍) PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN!

@ivyannemarie @bluuepiphany @greentulip

(🎀) ANON/EMOJI LIST IS OPEN!

⭐️

dm me or send an ask to be added to either!

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Paper Cuts." Intro—Daryl Dixon.

(Not my gif)

A/N: Hello everyone.

Once again, with great fear, I show you the intro of this little series, set before the apocalypse. This story is to show a little bit of how you and Daryl met before the end of the world, so I hope you like it! Thank you very much for giving it a chance. (I'm taking the liberty of tagging the people who commented on the post I made asking if you would like to read this story, and those who read "Like there was no tomorrow" but if you don't want to, don't hesitate to say so :)

Endless nights wondering why?

The emptiness in his uncomfortable mattress, always in the same position, counting the cracks in the ceiling. Insomnia, always alert, waiting still for the screams from the other side of the door and everything that brought, even if the perpetrators became ghosts a long time ago. Memories of his childhood desecrated, nightmares in his failed attempts to fall asleep, alone, until eventually boredom and tiredness forced him to close his eyes, only to then repeat the cycle in which he lived for many years. But not completely asleep, but always knowing the answer to: why I can’t? although never accepting the truth, living with it like a paper cut in his hand that burned.

All of that and more turned the boy into a young man who grew up unable to heal the wound, but that, at some point in his existence, found a way to live with it and without feeling any pain no more, because someone told him that, in the end, we’re all a little broken, and that's okay. At that moment his hand stopped hurting, and although it turned out rough after a lifetime of working with them, now the callousness of his fingers is invisible to you, nonexistent as Daryl continues to slide them over the small of your back, under your black t–shirt, up and down lazily because now, not sleeping is a choice.

Lying on his right side, his outstretched arm is the nest of your head and warm body while sleeping on your stomach, your hand in a loose fist against your face, a habit that makes him chuckle before he gently pushes it away, only to put his finger under your nose, just to check that you’re still breathing. Yeah, there you are, the responsible for the collision of his little world, fracturing the silence that Daryl Dixon had managed to achieve in his solitude. But he wouldn't change this for anything.

However, when the door of his old apartment opens and hits the wall with a thud, his natural protective instinct, the one that was born the first time he took care of his mother after witnessing her first blackout, makes his hand, a second after that resounding sound, leave your back only to press it against your ear to block out the loud giggles coming from the hallway.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep.

“Fuckin' asshole.” Daryl grunts in frustration, listening to the way his older brother silences whoever is accompanying him that night.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Merle laughs from the other side of the closed door on his way to his own room, intoxicated by alcohol and other things. “M' sure ma baby brother’s lil' angel is in there and we don’ wanna wake 'em up, darlin'...”

Although a short time later, the small apartment is filled with moans that travel through the thin walls.

“Goddamn it.” Tired, Daryl closes his eyes, wondering why the hell he hasn't been able to leave that shitty place.

Maybe it was the fear of starting, never something new because Daryl always lived tied to the past, to the pain and his scars, to the usual, to old habits, to his older brother who despite everything, is still his family. Although the ring hidden in his last drawer weighs with the opportunities he missed, that he let pass by for fear of rejection, for fear of his feelings overflowing when he had lived a life feeling little, or nothing at all. But then, there is a giggle on your part that forces him to open his eyes again, taking his hand away from your ear when Daryl sees you rubbing your closed eyelids before opening them, (with the fist you use to block your own breathing as he usually says to mock you) little by little to get used to the semi–darkness of the room and the partial light that enters through the only window.

“I think someone is filming a very dirty porno in your house.”

Daryl chuckles.

“M' sure the idiot paid her a lot of money to do that.”

You shrug, agreeing with him.

“Though I’ve never met such a religious person calling God that way.”

Surprised, Daryl lets out a laugh as he rubs his face, waking back up just as he was managing to fall asleep.

“Maybe we should jus' keep sleepin' at yer place.”

You nod softly, bringing your loose fist back up to your face.

“I think so. No offense, but your mattress is kinda hard.”

“Shit. Sorry, peach.” His hand finds its way back to your exposed skin, pushing himself close to your body. “M' gonna buy a new one. Now try to sleep 'cause I have to take yer pretty ass to work in the mornin'.”

You chuckle, closing your eyes, knowing well that now, easily, he too will go back to sleep.

You and Daryl had more in common than he ever thought you two would have, because he never met someone like you: a little broken but determined to live life to the fullest, as if you had never left little pieces of yourself behind. Maybe it was the memories of an interrupted childhood, the cigarettes shared on the edge of that lake of the woods where he usually takes you, the jokes you make with your sassy mouth, making fun of him like no one had ever done before, while showing him that laughing more than once a year was allowed, and that trips on his motorcycle were more fun in pairs.

But between meeting each other and breaking up, there was a life that was worth living even with those pains in our scars. Because now you know that the important thing about being alive is to live, even with those paper cuts on our skin that sometimes feel like bullet wounds, but those that, at some point in our lives, will no longer hurt at all.

@spookygothmommy @walkingtalkingsomething @m1nda0 @fluffy-dixon @stunkbiggu @kurogxrix @ffsjustletmesleep @kaz11283 @daryldixmedown @enretrogue

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Eighteen: incoming call

tw: none

Your phone is ringing. 

You almost don’t hear it. With the speakers on the TV cranked up loud enough so you can hear the documentary, (Simon tried to put the captions on for you so you could also enjoy the show, but the latency between your eyes and ears made your head throb) it drowns in the mess of noise in the living room. It takes the flashing screen to get your attention. Unsticking yourself to Simon’s side—a place you always seem to be these days—you lean forward on the couch as your arm extends toward the coffee table. 

Buzz buzz! Buzz buzz! 

It vibrates so fiercely that it dances on the table before you, and when you take it into your hands, it rattles your bones. It trembles in your palm like a creature being held by its creator—its destroyer. 

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

“It’s Row,” you say, mostly to yourself. Part of you is surprised it’s not Bee again, who has been calling you incessantly ever since you took your unofficial break from Sapori. 

Simon hums in response as he reaches for the remote and mutes the TV. Your thumb hovers over the answer button, but an unexplainable trepidation wreaks havoc on your heart. Still, you answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! Chip, I… Did I wake you?” Aelin’s voice croaks on the other end of the line, stiff and still shaking off the morning fog. 

Brows narrowing, you shake your head. “No, I’ve been awake. Just… watching TV. What’s up?” 

“Nothing.” Her reply is quick. Too quick, and sharp enough that you know you shouldn’t push unless you’re ready to bleed. “I just wanted to call. Check in, all that stuff. John and I got back home the other week and I miss you.” 

Leaning back, you situate yourself against Simon’s side once more. Over the last few days, you’ve been so caught up in your own life. The mess of your apartment that Simon squared away, Marco, your kiss with Simon and the subsequent ones after that… you nearly forgot all about Aelin and John’s trip. The Maldives, right? That sounds correct. Someplace more temperate than England this time of year. 

“Right, your trip. How was it?” 

“It was great. Wonderful, really. John got a bit more sun than he should have, though. You should’ve seen him, he looked ridiculous. Bright red like a lobster,” Aelin humors. 

Somewhere in the background of the call, you can make out John’s voice. Static overtakes his words, but whatever he says gets Aelin laughing. The sound of her titter is contagious enough that it gets you giggling, but you stop when you feel the tension in her voice. 

There’s something empty about her words, as if you’re only hearing the echo of her voice instead of it emanating from the source. Sniffles break through the line every now and then, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was crying. Every now and then she quietly chokes on the tail end of a word when it forces her to use the back of her throat. 

“Are you feeling alright?” The question leaves your lips before the realization completely forms in your mind. When she doesn’t respond right away, instead of letting the silence sit, you fill it with a half formed explanation. “Sorry, I just—well—you sounded a little congested, I guess.” 

More silence follows, and for a fleeting moment you’ve convinced yourself you’ve said something wrong. Something out of turn. Then, there’s a long draw of breath. 

“Oh, you know. Just… one of those days,” Aelin says. 

Her words ignite a memory that begins to flicker as a lone flame in some forgotten corner of your mind. Shoved back into your sixteen year old body, you find Aelin on the kitchen floor in her mother’s house. Hair undone, back against the cabinets, her fist chokes the neck of a beer bottle as her feet tap against the tile. She’s an adult, but this is her childhood home. You’re the stranger here, and she apologizes to you for the mess. 

When you ask her what’s wrong, she only shrugs. 

Just one of those days. 

It’s a stupid question to ask. Her dad has been dead for only a week. 

She doesn’t invite you to sit next to her, but you do anyway. Just far away enough that you don’t touch, yet still close enough to feel the feverish warmth of her intoxication. You don’t say anything, but she talks about everything. Voice tense, body loose; every time she starts to cry she drinks until the tears are burned away. 

Tell me about him, you say. 

And she does. She does. 

“Do you want to come over? To mine and John’s?” Aelin asks, pulling you out of your anamneses. “I could come pick you up so you don’t have to take the bus. We could watch a movie or something.” 

The smile on your lips bleeds into the tone of your words. “A movie sounds great. And don’t worry about it, I can have Simon take me.” 

Simon’s ears visibly perk like a dog that heard the word treat. His body shifts, arm falling around your shoulders and pulling you closer, but he doesn’t speak. 

“Oh?” Aelin’s voice quirks the way it always does when she teases you. A broiling heat tingles in the tips of your ears as the realization settles in; you talk so easily about Simon now. As if he’s always been in your life—like you’ve never felt any other comfort besides him. There’s been a missing chunk of your skin, and he’s filled it so perfectly with the shape of his body. “You’ll have to tell me all about that, too.” 

With plans created, you bid each other goodbye, and when the call ends, you’re stuck staring at your phone screen. 

7th of January

Well past the day you were supposed to pay your late fee to Marco. 

It’s today. It’s—

“I take it we’re headed to the Price’s?” Simon asks. 

Shutting your phone off, you nod. “Row wants to have a girls day in.” Setting your phone to the side, you look at Simon who’s staring at you with tightly pressed lips. “What?” 

“Don’t like the thought of you goin’ anywhere without me,” he admits. He thinks on his words for a moment and feels the odd weight on his tongue and the sour implication, then explains further. “Not while all this shit with Marco is happening.” 

“I won’t be going without you. You’ll be the one driving me,” you retort. “You really think Marco would do anything at Aelin’s house? At John’s house?” 

Mulling it over, you see the way Simon’s teeth chew on the inside of his lip. “Alright.” 

During the drive to Aelin’s, Simon holds your hand like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. Fingers interlaced with yours, your knuckles begin to ache at how wide you have to spread them to accommodate the width of each digit. Eventually, they begin to hurt so bad you have to settle with him holding you princess style, and even then his thumb traces the dips and peaks of your knuckles as he memorises each curve. 

Things have changed between you and Simon, and it’s more than just in the superficial circumstances in which your lives have become intertwined. He’s sparked something inside of you. This entire time he’s known you, he’s been watering a grave and something has finally begun to sprout out of the stone. Something’s growing—something you swore was long dead. 

His touch is the first touch that does not make your skin crawl—that does not smell like blood. His lips are the first to press against yours that do not maim, and now that you have a taste for it, you’re not sure you can ever live without it. 

Aelin’s house comes into view and you’re suddenly plagued with an odd apprehension. It’s a strange and vicious penitence that begins to slither around your heart before constricting tight enough to evoke a wicked jolt of pain. By the time Simon parks next to the curb, you feel every molecule of air leave your lungs. 

“I won’t be far,” Simon tells you as he squeezes your hand. 

“Plan on staking out at the park?” you tease. 

“I might,” he deadpans. 

Simon’s hesitancy is palpable. His fingers feel so tight against your own that you think you’ll have to pry yourself out of his grasp just to leave. Dark eyes scan your face as you look at him with a small but reassuring smile, but not even that offers him comfort. 

“I’ll just be a text away,” he continues. 

“Si,” you laugh. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be fine. Besides your house, this is the next safest place to be.” 

When he still doesn’t seem convinced—staring at you with firm eyes and a clenching jaw—you find yourself leaning over the center console. Falling into the gravity of him, your lips find his just as easily as if you were taking the path back home. Eyes fluttering shut, somehow this union is able to quell the squeezing in your chest. He is warm like fire, and you can taste the pepper he used to season his eggs for breakfast. 

His free hand cups your face just as you pull away. “I… Call me when you’re ready.” 

Aelin answers the door not even three seconds after you knock. Fresh popcorn wafts around the entryway as she greets you with a tired smile and glossy lips. Red traces the delicate line of her eyes, making the aqua hue of her iris pop. Stray tears seem to linger along her waterline, but you make no mention of it as she ushers you inside before the bitter cold steals too much of your warmth. 

Blankets and pillows obscure the couch in the living room, and you nearly gawk at the obscene amount of food laid out on the coffee table. Two large bowls of popcorn, various bags of small candies—Jelly Babies, Maltesers, Imperial Mints, among others—and of course, refreshments. When she had mentioned wanting to watch a movie together, you hadn’t imagined anything like this. 

“John may have gone a little overboard with the treats. He’s left the house to just the two of us,” Aelin chuckles as she begins to fight through the nest that’s been made of her couch. Clearing a few of the blankets to the side, she sits and then pats the spot next to her. “Come on, grab a seat then.” 

With a plush blanket tossed over your lap, and a comically large bowl of buttered popcorn nestled against your hip, you and Aelin settle down for the movie. It’s some chick flick you’ve never heard of, but you end up not paying attention to most of the plot. Not even five minutes into the film, Aelin twists her body so she’s facing you with a grin. 

“So… tell me about Christmas with Riley.” 

Really, you should have expected this. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since October, of course she would be curious. 

October. That’s how long you’ve known him? Only that long? That doesn’t seem right. Your body aches and sings as if you’ve known him your entire life. 

Still, you tell her everything, and you make sure not to skimp out on any details, lest she attempt to fill in any of the blanks for herself. You tell her about the quiet drive to Manchester, and how loving his family is. You gush about little Joseph and sweet Mrs. Riley. You talk about the food you ate and the bed you slept in—how polite Simon was through it all—how he enveloped you in his arms when the world started to feel too small. 

You don’t stop there. You lament about how he comforted you when you came home to find your apartment a mess—weaving in a little white lie about how it was wracked with water damage from a burst pipe while you were gone—and how he’s been letting you stay with him. How he insists on you sleeping in his bed. And—

“Seriously?”

—the kiss. 

“I dunno, it just sort of… happened,” you admit sheepishly. 

“In his bed?” Aelin confirms. 

You nod. “We had just woken up.” 

“And then?” she asks, tone leading you on. 

“What?”

“What happened after that?” She asks her question like there should be something more—some vivid details you’re meant to share. 

You blink. “Well, then he asked me if I wanted breakfast.” 

Aelin’s lips turn into a small pout. Not anything patronizing, but rather in the way you look at a child when they say something sweet—something innocent. 

“Oh, Chip. I’m so happy for you,” she says, head leaning back against the couch. The more you talk, the more the red in her eyes seems to soften to a dull pink, and the less she sniffles. “I’m just… so glad you found someone.” 

For your girls day in, you and Aelin end up watching two movies back to back; both being less than subpar romance comedies. Each time the male lead does something stupid, she always throws in her two cents about what to do if Simon does that to you, which leaves you rolling your eyes. Then, of course, there are the obligatory and awkward sex education courses she gives you during anything remotely lewd. 

“That’s not how that works!” Aelin huffs as her teeth crunch into more popcorn. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, poking at the kernels in your bowl. 

“She was magically wet enough for him to just slide in? Like that? No foreplay, just kissing? Yeah fucking right.” She playfully tosses a small bit of popcorn at you from across the couch. “If Simon ever tries that shit, you blue ball him, okay?” 

After a few hours, when the sun begins to scrape along the horizon, both you and Aelin begin to yawn. John returns from whatever escapade he set off to do, arms and hands occupied with bags from various stores around the city. He smiles and greets you the same way he always does before waving at his wife to keep seated—mutters something about how he can put the groceries away himself. 

Of course Aelin doesn’t listen. One thing leads to another and the three of you are in the kitchen weaving around one another and storing items. It’s a strange feeling, assisting them with such a task. There was a time where you once lived in this house; where you once did these very same tasks with them. They took you in shortly after you had graduated since you hadn’t secured an apartment of your own. John and Aelin were freshly married—after a brutal broken engagement due to Aelin’s previous fiance cheating on her—and still they treated you like you were no bother to them. 

When they convince you to stay for dinner, it’s as if nothing’s changed at all. Everyone cooks together. Cleans together. Eats together. Your spot at their table is still the same as it always is. 

Ever since your parents died, your family was shattered, but you manage to find their fragments in others. Here, with John and Aelin. Sometimes with her mother. Now, in Simon’s family. 

As you look down at your phone to check the time, the date shines brightly at you. 

7th of January

You wonder if Aelin feels the same. With her family shattered; with losing a part of herself in her father. Your first ever meeting was at his funeral. You were both dressed in black, both sporting the same irritated eyes. Sean had told you so much about her, and instead of greeting her yourself, you hid from her. Tucked yourself away in some corner of the funeral home, unable to bear the weight of facing the daughter of the man whose death you caused. 

She found you anyway, of course. 

She always does. 

When eight o’clock rolls around, and you feel like you’ve thoroughly stayed your welcome, you give Simon a call. Aelin pretends to be occupied with something else as she clears the table, but you can see her slow, deliberate movements and the way her eyes keep flickering over to you. 

“Is everythin’ alright?” It’s the first thing that spews over the speaker. Worried about you as always, your Simon Riley. 

“You’re silly,” you giggle. “We’re just about wrapped up here if you wanna come pick me up.”

“On my way.” 

He knocks five minutes later. It’s such a short amount of time considering how long ago you called him, and it even catches John’s attention. It’s quickly brushed aside as Aelin swaddles you in a hug. Arms locked tight against you, you fear she plans to keep you forever, locked away where the world can’t see you. She whispers a quiet thanks into your ear before releasing you, allowing you to return back to Simon. 

The ride back to Simon’s house is surprisingly quiet, but he seems less anxious than he did when he dropped you off. Hand carefully absorbing your own into his, he lets the radio drone on for a little while until traffic begins to pick up in the city. Incandescent lights brighten the shadows of the street, smothering the stars that would otherwise be in the sky. Everything is bitterly grey and cold. 

“How was your visit?” he asks as his thumb taps against the back of your hand. 

You lean back against the headrest as the vibrations of the road cloak your body. “It was good. I think… I think Aelin really needed it.” 

“Yeah?” he prompts. 

“Yeah. I dunno, she seemed like she’d been crying. I don’t know what about but… Sorry, I don’t know. Just a weird feeling, I guess.” 

For a moment, Simon doesn’t say anything. Despite the crowd of cars around you, everything is oddly arcadian. No sound makes it to your ears—only the beating of your own heart. 

“She called John the other night while we were all at Terminus working. Couldn’t really hear much, but she was cryin’ about something,” he informs. “Might be goin’ through some sort of rough patch.” 

“Yeah just having… one of those days,” you echo. 

You’re in the kitchen again. On the floor. Aelin is talking about her dad. She smells like beer and roses. She’s recalling the story about how Sean obtained a scar on the side of his elbow—an accident while teaching her to ride a bike as a kid—and all you can think about is the wound in his stomach. Fighting the queasiness that grips your gut, you stare at the floor. 

Linoleum. 

For a moment—a single, fleeting moment—you think about telling her about the way you were picked apart in front of your mother’s body. Maybe if you show your wounds, it would make her feel better. Ultimately, you decide against it. Your wounds don’t make her father any less dead. 

Your wounds don’t make it any less your fault. 

“What’s on your mind, baby?” 

Nothing good. 

“The anniversary of her dad’s death is today.” Saying it out loud feels like an admission. Some avowal of your guilt in the fact that he no longer draws breath—and now each one you draw stings. “I keep thinking about telling her. I wanna tell her about everything. I do all the time. There’s not a single moment when I’m around her that I don’t think of just… you know? But I can’t.” 

Simon hums, thinking for a short moment. “Why not?”

“Because she’d hate me.” 

“She wouldn’t hate you.” His answer comes just as quick as yours, sharp and unfaltering. When you don’t respond, he continues. “She wouldn’t. That wasn’t your fault.” 

“But it is my fault,” you mutter. 

“It’s not,” he interjects firmly.

“If I had just lied like they told me to, he would still be alive,” you retort. 

“And if Marco hadn’t threatened you, you never would have had to worry about it. Just like you wouldn’t have had to worry about it if Marco hadn’t killed your mum, which never would have happened if your dad hadn’t aligned himself with Makarov. And I’m sure something else forced his hand to make him involve himself in that mess.” Simon pauses, eyes straying away from the road for a split second to look at you. All you can do is stare at your lap. “Actions and reactions, sweetheart. That’s all life is.” 

A rigid obloquy slithers around your stomach until it has your intestines weaved into knots. You are stuck at the intersection where shame and guilt meet grief. It exists all at once inside of you; coalesces in a heaping mass in the cavern of your chest. There is a desperate want—a pitiful plea—for your contriteness to cleanse you. 

All it does is remind you that you will be forever sullied. 

“You did what you needed to do to keep yourself alive. That was a reaction, not an action,” Simon continues. “Everyone thinks that they could’ve changed their pasts if they just tried hard enough, but that’s not how that works. Sometimes, things just are the way they are.” 

There are several flaws in the lesson he tries to teach you, none of which you bother to point out. Things would have gone much better had you thought about someone other than yourself during the moment Marco made his offer to you. You could have taken that deal. Halved your debt and ran off with him to do whatever he wanted to do. Your parents would still be dead—broken fingers, slashed stomach and all—but Aelin would have had a perfect life. 

Not that you would have been around to see it, but you think you could have shouldered all that if you had known at the time. 

“I know you don’t believe me,” he says softly. “That’s alright. We’ll work on it.” 

You nod just as silent tears begin to fall, and you use your free hand to wipe them away. It’s frustrating, being as weepy as you are. You think back to the laundromat when Marco kissed you, and how he cooed at your sorrow as if it were some sweet delight just for him. He told you not to cry, but you could still see the enjoyment lurking in the mossy shade of his eyes. 

This anguish would smother you if it weren’t for Simon. He does not whisper at you to keep quiet, or demand that you make your sadness bite sized and easy to swallow. Wordless, he raises your hand up to his lips where he kisses your knuckles as if there’s some sort of physical wound for him to mend. You don’t know if it’s because of his care, or because of something else, but it helps. Your heart quells, as do your tears, and he lowers your hand yet still refuses to let go. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Course.” 

He replies like it’s obvious. Like his help shouldn’t even be thanked—it’s a fact. Something he yearns to give. 

Things fall quiet again as the car weaves through traffic, but Simon’s presence is loud. The way he squeezes your fingers. The heat of his palm against yours. Despite the tears that danced on your cheeks just moments earlier, you smile as you allow yourself to melt into him. 

He’s right. You don’t believe him. But you think that you’d like to someday.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates get early access to chapters here

[justagalwhowrites]

Get to Know Your Moots

Thank you for the tag, @burntheedges! I know it's been a minute but this one looked so interesting I just had to go back and do it when I had time.

what's the origin of your blog title?: Title is from when I was talking with a friend of mine about how Leia is the only consistently competent person in the original Star Wars trilogy and how she has to tolerate Han and Luke being dumbasses on the regular and one of us (I can't remember which) said "They may as well call the original trilogy Leia's Intergalactic Tour of Ineptitude" and that seemed like a great fit for the stuff I post here.

OTP(s) + shipname: Han and Leia were my first ship but hell if I know what their ship name is. Ron and Hermione (I would throw down over this one back when I was a bigger HP fan before JKR ruined the fun for everyone) aka Romione. Richard and Kahlan from the Sword of Truth series (deep cutttttt!)

favorite color: red! Also a big fan of emerald green and yellow.

favorite game: I think this means video games but I don't really play those SOOOOOO board games it is! Wingspan for sure. Takenoko. Clank Legacy. Everdell. Brass. Abomination.

song stuck in your head: Francesca, Hozier.

weirdest habit/trait?: I feel like I'm a poor judge so I asked my husband and he said it's the fact that my mom and I have a secret language that we use with only each other lol. I think it's also probably the fact that I sing to and about the people and animals I'm closest to. I also need to eat my food in a specific order otherwise I enjoy it less.

hobbies: writing is the big one obvs! Reading, D&D, baking, cooking, playing board games, hiking.

if you work, what's your profession?: Corporate communications. I handle environmental communications for a major corporation.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: Writer. I want to just be able to tell my silly little stories and send my imaginary friends on adventures in my head all day.

something you're good at: very little lol I'm an OK writer, an alright cook and baker. I'm not sure that I'm GOOD at it but I'm very comfortable speaking and presenting in front of large groups. I think I'm good at decorating and organizing my house? I like how I did it, anyway. I'm good at empathizing with just about anything.

something you're bad at: most things lol honestly if it's a basic human function I'm probably bad at it. I'm incredibly clumsy, I'm very bad at sleeping, sometimes if I try to breathe too deep I choke on my own spit. I'm very bad at being purposely aggressive or mean to people on my own behalf. I'm not great at really aggressive board games because I don't like being mean to people I'm playing with. I'm terrible at singing but I love to do it so I sing constantly so everyone send pity to my husband!

something you love: writing! Making people food they really love. Hiking where I can really hear the trees. Sex in the water.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Joel Miller (obviously.) U.S. media law. The gentrification of cultural foods. Star Wars. Board games. The patriarchy.

something you hate: Besides the obvious (Trump and the right wing, Zionism, bigotry, etc.), something that's very minor that drives me crazy is when movies give away the whole plot in a trailer. Let me experience the story dang it!

something you collect: Swatch watches, mugs, postcards.

something you forget: how much I like almost any specific fruit until I eat it again for the first time in a while.

what's your love language?: Being noticed and remembered and treated as though I matter. That whole to be known is to be loved thing.

favorite movie/show: TLOU and The Mandalorian of course! Arrested Development. The Sopranos. New Girl. Family Guy. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Star Trek: Voyager. Inglourious Basterds. Elf. Baby Driver. It's a Wonderful Life. Star Wars. 500 Days of Summer.

favorite food: A really good burger, fresh pasta, fudge-y chocolate cake, my grandmother's chicken paprikas, caprese made with perfect summer tomatoes.

favorite animal: cats of all sizes (the fact that a tiger will just go chill in a box makes me so happy) and horses.

are you musical?: I LOVE music but I'm not remotely musically inclined. I can play piano and flute but not terribly well. I love to sing but I'm VERY bad at it. I do (I think) have a sense of rhythm though so I've got that going for me, which is nice.

what were you like as a child?: obsessed with books lol my dad was digitizing old home videos and found one from when I was two years old on Christmas morning and there was a book by my stocking and I immediately did not care about anything else. My mom tried to get me to pay attention to the toys Santa brought but I just kept looking at the book. I've always been sensitive and an easy crier, that was true then too. I really liked to pretend, I was very imaginative.

favorite subject at school?: English in my younger years, eventually journalism. Theater was another favorite, as well as psychology. I loved science before it got too math heavy.

least favorite subject?: MATH. I'm very bad at math.

what's your best character trait?: oh I have no idea. I think I love really hard and I hope that's a good thing?

what's your worst character trait?: I'm very big emotionally. I get very excited, I can be very loud without realizing it. I'm just a lot as a person. I very much wish I wasn't, I wish I didn't have incurable and chronic cannotshutthefuckupitis but I do. I feel like I'm probably pretty insufferable as a person honestly, especially for anyone who has to actually spend time with me in person. I just haven't really ever managed to change that about myself!

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: My in office desk chair is kind of trash on my back so my upper back is just mad at me. I'd love for that to go away!

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: Such a good question! Maybe Oscar Wilde?

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

I had a slight inconvenience last week so I ended up back reading @netherfeildren's Fear of God for the umpteenth time, no regrets.

I'm loving Falling by @damneddamsy, her writing is so wonderfully vivid and I think her Joel is just fabulous.

Cherry by @mirrormauve has be in a complete chokehold right now and I'm in love with them your honor.

NP tags: @dundienominee, @interdimensionaldrey-blog, @dancingtotuyo, @whocaresstillthelouvre, @mysticnightmarewrites

[firstelevens]

Sambucky reading a book or palm kiss for the intimacy prompts!

1. a palm kiss

a little musketeers au on this fine thursday

Sam is busy enjoying the early morning peace of the garrison courtyard when the storm cloud descends. Not literally, of course—the day is still bright and clear, although cold enough to demand a fur-lined cloak. It’s only that Bucky’s scowl seems to hold with it all the gloom that the sun has held at bay, and Sam can’t help but smile.

“A face like that, it’s a wonder you’re not married yet,” he laughs. “So effusive.”

There’s only a grunt of response as Bucky sits down, followed by a quiet hiss when his shoulder bumps Sam’s. By now, Sam knows better than to ask about the pain in Bucky’s arm. Instead, he slides over the cup he’d been drinking from: spiced coffee from the Ottoman delegation, a gift of gratitude for rescuing a diplomat falsely accused of espionage.

Immediately, Bucky perks up at the smell, gripping the cup in his hands and taking a sip. His low hum of satisfaction settles somewhere in Sam’s core. “I must look awful if you’re letting me have your precious coffee,” he says, his voice hoarse. “How much worse does it need to be before you’ll relieve me of palace duty today?”

“Depends on how good your imitation of a corpse is,” says Sam, flat. “Have some bread and some more coffee; you’ll be fine.”

“Is this what your captaincy is going to be like?” asks Bucky. “Just plying us with food to do your bidding?”

“And other things, when the occasion calls for it,” Sam leans in and murmurs, his mouth close to Bucky’s ear, grinning when it makes Bucky shiver. He laughs and nudges over the jar of honey. “Hasn’t failed yet.”

Bucky puts a downright inadvisable amount of honey on his bread, leveling Sam with an unimpressed look. “If you wanted me biddable, you shouldn’t have snuck out before dawn. It was cold.”

“I did stoke the fire before I went,” says Sam. “And gave you an extra blanket.”

“Not the same,” Bucky says, through a mouthful of bread and honey. “I want a promise of restitution or I’m faking a grievous injury.”

“Is it a very smart plan to tell your captain that the injury will be fake before you claim to have it?”

“I don’t need your sympathy; I just need enough ladies in the court to admire me for gallantly braving my condition and insist that you send me home.”

“I shouldn’t have given you the coffee,” says Sam. “We could’ve known peace a little longer.”

“We could’ve known sleep a little longer, too, but someone likes to be up with the sun for some godforsaken reason.”

“There’s supposed to be a fete at the palace today; I had to go over the maps,” says Sam. “What kind of captain sends out his men without knowing the lay of the land?”

“The kind who only accidentally found out about the fete last night, and that too because he was busy investigating a rash of disappearances in the merchants’ quarters, which we still haven’t solved.”

Sam sighs. “We go where the Crown wants us, Buck.”

“Can’t one of us at least go ask questions? See if anyone will give anything up? You can’t possibly need that many of us monitoring a hedge maze.”

“It’s not just a hedge maze,” says Sam. “There’s also acrobats, fire eaters, and a palm reader.”

Bucky snorts. “A palm reader? So a fraud?” “What, you don’t believe in the mystical arts?”

“I believe in the art of a good thief,” says Bucky. “All those years of me and Becca and Steve growing up in the slums, you think we never saw someone read a palm with one hand and cut a purse with the other?”

“We had a palm reader come to Delacroix once who told me I’d take a great journey and become a celebrated soldier. I’m supposed to believe she didn’t have the sight?” teases Sam.

“Anyone could have looked at you and guessed that,” says Bucky, and it sends a warm flush of pleasure through Sam’s body. He sets down the mug and reaches for Sam’s hand, setting it face-up on the table and drawing it closer. “Let me tell you what she saw, and then you can decide if I have the sight, too.”

“Bucky…”

But Bucky just shushes him. “I’m working.”

Across the courtyard, Becca ducks out of her quarters, quartermaster’s ledgers in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. When she catches sight of her brother and Sam at the table, she raises her eyebrows in amusement. It would be more of a concern if Becca didn’t step out of the doorway a moment later to reveal Joaquín, whose eyes go wide at the sight of Sam and Bucky out in the courtyard so early.

Sam gives Becca a look and then pointedly looks away, pretending not to see Joaquín’s less than clandestine dash for his quarters on the other side of the garrison.

“Does he still think that’s a secret?” asks Bucky, who hasn’t lifted his eyes from Sam’s hand.

“Apparently,” says Sam. “But that’s nothing new. Tell me what you’re reading in my palm, oh great mystical one.”

Bucky glances up at him with one of those crinkly-eyed grins that Sam loves so much, in part because he’s one of the few who ever receives them. He traces a finger over two calluses on Sam’s hand, one by the base of his thumb, the other just below his middle finger.

“I see that you’re a great swordsman, and well practiced,” he says, taking on the grave tone of streetside fortune tellers. “I also see that you still sometimes need the best sniper in the regiment to get you out of trouble.”

“Are you seeing that he’s usually the one who gets me into trouble, or is that part not written on my palm?”

Bucky’s mouth ticks up just a little at the corner, but he schools his face into something more serious. He trails his finger over another crease in Sam’s palm, leaving Sam’s pulse skittering as he does. 

“I see a large, loving family, growing ever more vast,” he says, which is a cheat, because Bucky was beside Sam in bed last night when he read Sarah’s latest letter. His finger traces over a shorter line that curves left. “And here? Enemies stopped in their path at the hands of men who would ride into Hell at your command, each one loyal to the best commander they’ve ever known.”

There’s a tightening in Sam’s throat. “And what else?” he asks, hoarse.

“Great honor and acclaim,” says Bucky, before dragging a finger up from the base of his hand. “The esteem of your peers and your people.”

“And…?” prompts Sam. The courtyard feels even quieter than it did moments ago.

“And here,” says Bucky, tapping the center of Sam’s palm, “is one who would follow you into Hell not out of duty or honor. Terrible sort. Probably grumpy all the time. Brings down morale.”

“Oh? That bad?”

Bucky hums in confirmation. “Very much so,” he says. “But one that loves you very much, and will be here until you send him away.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment, gazes locked, before Sam finally says, “You didn’t steal anything.”

“Oh, but I did,” says Bucky, and lifts Sam’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the spot where his fingers were just a moment ago. “And I have no intention of returning it.”

Sam smiles, small and delighted. “Good,” he says, turning his hand so he can hold Bucky’s for a moment. “I have no intention of asking for it back.”

[anika-ann]

It's heeeeere😍😍

Alright, alright. First let me say I already love it, even if you're breaking my heart🥺 then again the gorgeous art clued me on that.

If he had a partner maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe people wouldn't constantly come up to talk to him because he'd be dancing himself, someone in his arms, looking at him lovingly...

Oh the opening is already so sad🥺 but I live for the longing for a partner and it's so understandable he'd like someone to share both joy and the recently found burden with🥺

They look cold, although he has a smile plastered on his face. Fake niceties like Steve has grown used to.

OUCH. But also yes, that's probably how it is with many people for him now😭

"Black isn't really your colour." Steve's brows furrow. What was that supposed to mean? "You know many families waited for the old crone to finally step down and let you be the king. Women shouldn't hold that much power, especially when there's no king at her side to keep her in check."

I really went from wow that's rude to THE F*** DID YOU JUST SAY-

"Whatever deal you're referring to will not stand with today's laws. So you can stop badmouthing my mom and trying to get me to marry your desperate granddaughter now." Steve spits.

#proud in fact, even if the crazy deal holds, he really should stop badmouthing the saint Sarah Rogers the former QUEEN mind you- but also if the grandfather throws Steve's words about reader on her later on I will throw hands☹

He wishes she was here... That he wouldn't need to mourn her so publicly while also keeping his tears in to not seem weak. He wishes he could wear the dark blue suits she got for him because according to her that's the colour he looks the most handsome in. He wishes she could brush his hair out of his face one more time. Just once more with that sweet smile that was reserved for him only.

MISS MA'AM HOW DARE YOU to portray his grief so well, missing his wonderful ma' in big things and small ones 🥺 (not to mention the ENDING, don't get me started)

How you wish you had someone to share a seat with... to share a life with. You wouldn't have a stranger next to you. You'd have a partner. You could cuddle and mind your own business at the same time... or play a game? Would you get upset at them winning Uno? Or would you love them too much to get frustrated?

Oh I adore how her longing mirrors his. That gives me a bit of hope🥰

"You visit your family that you never see and you show up dressed like some slob. You could wear something nice every now and then." (...) You greet everyone and listen to your siblings' judgments until your grandpa stops them.

They do not deserve her, period😤

"Well I recently met the young man and reminded him of this deal. He's more than eager to fulfill it and marry you. He'll collect you and bring you to Brooken tomorrow." He squeezes your arm, a smile plastered on his face. You can't do anything but stare at him and then burst out in laughter. They were messing with you. Or playing along with your grandpa's dementia... But no one else was laughing.

Love her reaction. Fuck the grandfather's lying ass.

“It's not all that bad… at least he's handsome!” Your friend tries to reason. “Plus you'd be a queen! No more shitty job that doesn't pay you enough. You'd live in a castle and wear pretty dresses.” She offers and is met with a heavy sigh.

The friend spitting facts 🤌

“Yeah that's great but at what cost? My freedom. I really love my one bedroom apartment. You know why? Because it's mine. I can do what I want."

Yeah this makes me super sad for her, because she broke away once from her shitty family to be free and now she's wrestled into their claws again AND a marriage.

“Who knows maybe your family had blackmail material on the royals.”

"Dating must be hard when you're a king.”

“Listen, I gotta go… but give it a chance? And if he's an asshole and you need out, you text me and we'll come to break you out ok?”

...again though, love her friend saying the real things🤭 and her standing her side. #friendshipgoals

Your eyes fall on the monstrosity of dress your mother picked out for you. Maybe if you truly wore that pink pile of whatever the seamstress had left over, he'd run for the hills and you'd still be free.

😂😂 I'm sorry😂😂 good for her, save some of her spite. But that also makes me wonder if Steve will think she's trying too hard and will think she really is desperate to marry him even if she is only forced to do it too🥺

Oh the feels😭 can't wait for you to murder my heart with next chapter🥲

Not the game they play

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 4.1k

Summary: An arranged marriage flips your life upside down. What you thought you knew about your family doesn't seem to be true at all. How will Steve and you navigate your life together?

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, a swear word here and there, insulting of Sarah Rogers, yes that needed to be a warning, difficult family relationship, if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: This is the first part of a series. I had this idea for over two years with some scenes already written out or well thought through. Thank you all for encouraging me to finally do something with it. But don't come for me, you wanted this!

I promised to tag the lovely @ronearoundblindly 🩷

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter One - Cannot stop the rain

The constant bustle of people and their conversations were a white noise like no other. One you can't concentrate on too long, especially when you have to hold conversation with whoever thought it was his turn to smooze a king.

Steve hates galas. He hates the pretentiousness that came with them and the people who attended but most of all he hates that he had no choice but to go. A king missing one of these was only excused when a serious matter arose. And those don't come by easily when you need them. He yearned for the times when he didn't need to attend these things, back when his mom still was the reigning queen and shielded him from this world. But with his mom gone he had to step up.

Gone where the days he travelled the world, studied art and made new friends. So easily replaced with duty and grief... and a stupid crown on his head. He was lucky enough he could hire his friends as staff, lucky enough his oldest friend was his right hand man and never left him alone for too long. James Bucky Barnes, his childhood defender, his best friend, his right hand and occasionally, much to Steve's dismay, his wingman. If only that would have worked out already. He seems to be casually watching people dance but in reality he watches the couples spend quality time together at a stuck up event. If he had a partner maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe people wouldn't constantly come up to talk to him because he'd be dancing himself, someone in his arms, looking at him lovingly...

"Senator Lee is coming up next" a smooth voice mumbles over his shoulder, Sam Wilson. A friend he found in college, a politics major and his chief of staff. Steves eyes find the older gentleman approaching him. He's talked with him before, quite often actually, and he was always so kind and encouraging.

The small talk with senator Lee went by faster than Steve anticipated. Before the next person could swoop in to talk to him he excused himself to the restroom. Bucky, his honorary security detail for the evening since he refused to take his actual one, made to follow him. "It's just the bathroom Buck. I'll be fine and I'll come straight back here." he says lowly, his eyes rolling at the antics. He didn't need this much security before he became a king. Bucky hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Sam who looks a bit unsure himself. "I mean... It's just the bathroom... No danger there. Nat wouldn't go inside with him either right?" Steve lets out a sigh at Sam's statement. Natasha, the head of security, ruled with an iron fist. She had all of them so scared they wouldn't dare to disobey her orders... except maybe her husband Clint but he got free passes for life.

"Right... Just come right back here?" Bucky looks at him and with a sigh and a nod Steve agrees. Before they can say anything else and before whatever lady just seems to approach them can start to talk, Steve hurries to the restroom. He locks himself in a cabin just for a few moments alone. But even those aren't truly alone.

The door to the restroom opens up not too long after him and of course that person takes ages to do their business. With a silent grumble Steve finishes up and leaves the cabin to wash his hands. Just then the door to another cabin opens and an older gentleman with thinning grey hair, in a three piece suit steps out. His eyes meet Steve's in the mirror as he walks up to the sink area himself. They look cold, although he has a smile plastered on his face. Fake niceties like Steve has grown used to.

"King Rogers." He acknowledges and Steve simply gives a nod. He isn't even safe in the fucking bathroom!

"Black isn't really your colour." Steve's brows furrow. What was that supposed to mean? "You know many families waited for the old crone to finally step down and let you be the king. Women shouldn't hold that much power, especially when there's no king at her side to keep her in check. Who would have thought it would take her to die for you to finally step up." The man seems calm and collected as if he didn't just insult Steve's mother.

"What the fuck did you say about my mom? Old crone?!" His blood was boiling and he was this close to hitting the old man if it weren't for his manners. His mom raised him better but she wasn't here to keep him in check was she?

"Oh calm down Steven. No need to get all flustered and angry. Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret. We'll be one happy family soon after all." The man smirked and calmly dried his hands. He teaches over and turns off Steve's tab, the blonde frozen from anger. What did he just say? He must be demented. "What?" Is all that Steve can bring out. Confused and angry and still so so close to punch that guy.

"Oh you don't know. Can't say I'm surprised, your mother shielded you a lot. Now I have to do all the explaining. That's why women should never be in charge.” he rolls his eyes. “Are you familiar with the Hastings family?" The man hands Steve one of the towels and casually leans against the sink. Hastings? Steve has heard that name before... Wasn't that the royal family that fell from grace three generations ago? His eyes flit to the man.

"Sounds familiar." Is all he can grid out. What is this man on about? Is he just here to gossip?

"Clever boy." The smirk on the old man's face is uncanny. As if he can read Steve all too well. "You know exactly who they are but instead of going off to gossip like all the other royals out there you keep your answer neutral. What a good king you make." Steve's confusion grows.

"What does the Hastings family have to do with us becoming one?" Steve bites out. "Ah straight to business. Just how I like it. You see the Hastings family and the Rogers family go way back. Many, many generations in fact. King Joseph Rogers the first and King George Hastings even made a little pact, that yes, still stands today." His eyes search Steve's face and his grin looks so satisfied. "That the families will unite as soon as there is a male and female heir born into the families. Now ever since then both families only bore strong sons with an occasional daughter that was out of the age range for marriage. That is until roughly 30 years ago. When you and my granddaughter were born just two years apart." Steve's brow lifts. The old man was a Hastings. Wanting to fulfill a deal that was made over a hundred years ago... Bullshit.

"Whatever deal you're referring to will not stand with today's laws. So you can stop badmouthing my mom and trying to get me to marry your desperate granddaughter now." Steve spits. The man just grins. "Oh, it will Steven. Here let your lawyers check this and then get back to me about when my granddaughter can move in with you. " He laughs and hands Steve an envelope before he walks out of the restroom and back into the gala.

Steve's eyes fall on the envelope, it's burning in his hands but he needs to get this checked. He can't marry someone because of an old deal. He can't marry someone with a grandfather daring to insult his mom that's not even been dead for a month. Steve's eyes start to burn with tears. His mom shielded him from so much while she also did her best to prepare him for this life... He wishes she was here... That he wouldn't need to mourn her so publicly while also keeping his tears in to not seem weak. He wishes he could wear the dark blue suits she got for him because according to her that's the colour he looks the most handsome in. He wishes she could brush his hair out of his face one more time. Just once more with that sweet smile that was reserved for him only.

He takes a shakey breath and swallows the lump in his throat. A brief look in the mirror, a deep breath, straightening his tie. He can't show weakness. Not here, not ever. 'Safe the tears for your bedroom, Rogers.' the voice in his head commands. He wipes away the stray tear that got caught in his lashes, pockets the envelope and with another deep breath makes his way back to his friends.

They're chatting, most likely teasing each other. As soon as Bucky sees him both heads turn to Steve with a concerned gaze swiping up and down. They seem to come to the conclusion that he's okay and relax. "We need to leave." he says as soon as he reaches them. His tone more urgent than he wanted to. "Why you got diarrhea? Took you pretty long in there... I told ya to lay it easy on the hors d'oeuvres." Bucky teases with a grin that immediately falls as soon as he sees Steves eyes. Sam can't even get his joke in before Bucky declares that they're leaving. He leads Steve to the host of the gala for a quick goodbye and then out to the car they came in.

Within 10 minutes they're on the road. For the first time with only the three of them in the car, Steve pulls up the divider for privacy. Shielded from Sam and Bucky, he allows himself to spill a few tears for his mother before he can make it to the safety of his bedroom. He knows that will be away for another few hours, especially with the envelope that's burning a hole into his pocket.

Ever since you were young your family hasn't cared much for you. The only thing that was important to them was that you did exactly what they wanted... in every aspect of your life. You got the education they wanted, you went to college for what they wanted and you hid your interests to make them like you. At the beginning of your twenties you finally broke out of that circle. You moved far away with your friend and only occasionally visited for important matters, much to their dismay. Just like you were now.

The train ride never isn't boring, even with a good book and music. The most thrilling plot or the most beautiful lyrics couldn't distract you from the stranger sitting next to you. Somehow you always had the luck of them eating something disgusting, talking loudly on the phone, constantly bumping into you or being a stranger to the concept of headphones.

Your eyes wander over to your friend and her husband for the millionth time. They were sitting together, cuddling, yet somehow each minding their own business. Her husband looking out of the window, headphones in, music on and daydreaming. Your friend reading the newest book from her favourite author. How you wish you had someone to share a seat with... to share a life with. You wouldn't have a stranger next to you. You'd have a partner. You could cuddle and mind your own business at the same time... or play a game? Would you get upset at them winning Uno? Or would you love them too much to get frustrated?

You let out a sigh. You've been single for so long... a partner was still written in the stars and wouldn't come by anytime soon. So you'd have to deal with strangers next to you on the train, the couch for yourself and your family constantly badgering you when you'd move back and find a partner. It's not like you planned being almost thirty and still single. As a child you dreamed about being married with children at this age. Maybe having a little house and a dog. You wanted to be surrounded by friends, leave your family out of it as much as you could. Just enjoy life with your partner. But here you were, still alone. Maybe wallowing in self pity at a life that could have been would be a good way to pass time till you were back at your family's place.

You pull your suitcase after you. The walk from the train station wasn't too long and you know better than to ask anyone to pick you up. You don't want to inconvenience them or owe them. Last time you asked your mother and she made you wash all the dishes from the family party by hand after you played waitress during the entirety of it. You'd rather choose walking 30 minutes to the house than do that again.

As you come closer you spot your grandpa's car in the driveway. He must be here to oversee the preparations for his birthday party tomorrow. You briefly look down at yourself, jeans and t-shirt. It looks good enough but you already know you'd be criticised left and right. Never enough for them.

With a deep breath you ring the doorbell and wait. It's not too long before the door opens to reveal your mother. She takes in your appearance and sneers before she greets you. She steps to the side to let you in. "You visit your family that you never see and you show up dressed like some slob. You could wear something nice every now and then." She grumbles before she goes to the living room to announce that you're here. Well if you knew your grandpa would be here a day early you would have tried to wear something nicer. You leave your suitcase next to the door and follow her into the living room. You greet everyone and listen to your siblings' judgments until your grandpa stops them.

"Enough. Let's not ruin this joyful day for our family." He announces before he gets up and stands next to you. Joyful day? What happened? Did he finally win the lottery? You look at him confused.

"You all need to learn to not criticise her so much anymore. After all it would be a bad image to her fiancé and the press." Everyone nods along as if what he said did make any sense. Even your father who usually only shows interest for the drink in front of him, nods along. Has he got dementia since the last time you visited? "What?" Is all you can bring out at which your mother scoffs.

"Well dear... It took you a long time to find a partner, which in hindsight I'm very grateful about. You know our family has a long history and its history and glory shall be restored soon enough.” Your grandpa declares like it's some victory. “Many hundred years ago our ancestors made a deal with the royal family of Brooken. The first heirs of opposite sex shall marry and unite our families. It just never worked out age wise until you came along. Born just two years after the now reigning King Steven Rogers." He explains and you're absolutely sure they all lost their damn minds. No royal family would make a deal with commoners, especially back then.

"Well I recently met the young man and reminded him of this deal. He's more than eager to fulfill it and marry you. He'll collect you and bring you to Brooken tomorrow." He squeezes your arm, a smile plastered on his face. You can't do anything but stare at him and then burst out in laughter. They were messing with you. Or playing along with your grandpa's dementia... But no one else was laughing. They all looked rather serious... And the house looked so clean... Was this not a joke?

"This... This has to be a joke...?" You say, looking at him with desperation. "Why would it be? You'll restore the Hasting family's glory and finally be of use to us.” your heart breaks a little more. Were you truly this worthless? Did nothing you did for them before count? You look up at them, desperate to find any sign that this wasn't true. That they were playing a prank. The stone faces of your parents and siblings look back at you. This... This wasn't a joke. They'd marry you off to some stranger. To a king? To gain what? What about your life? What about your place? Your job? You can't just leave that behind for some king who's probably a huge asshole... Your long fought for freedom taken by your family and that guy. Back under control, every move watched and criticised.

The rest of the day has been cruel. Your family was between joy at your engagement to a king and anger at you trying to refuse. In-between all the explaining, that really didn't give you any new information or any that would make sense of the situation, you texted your friend which promised to call you later.

“It's not all that bad… at least he's handsome!” Your friend tries to reason. “Plus you'd be a queen! No more shitty job that doesn't pay you enough. You'd live in a castle and wear pretty dresses.” She offers and is met with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah that's great but at what cost? My freedom. I really love my one bedroom apartment. You know why? Because it's mine. I can do what I want. And in his castle? I probably won't even be allowed to hang a picture on the wall. There'll be people watching my every move and reporting back to him. I'll be just as miserable as I used to be at my parents place.” The white of the ceiling starts to become blurry with the tears that are about to spill. “What if I can never see you again? What if he won't let me have any friends?” Your voice breaks at the thought.

“He doesn't look like he'd be such an asshole. He looks nice and the articles write nice things about him too.” She reasons. “Yeah and who has big influence on the press? Him. Of course they wouldn't write anything bad about him.” You complain. “They have written not so nice things about him. Especially with him grieving his mother…” that you do feel sorry for. They seemed to have a good relationship, losing a loving parent isn't easy. “Give him a chance. You never know maybe he's a prince charming.” Her voice sounds encouraging.

“What does a king even want with a commoner? Why would a king make a deal like that hundreds of years ago? I don't get it…” you question. “Who knows maybe your family had blackmail material on the royals.” At that you snort a bit. “Maybe… he seems eager to get married. My family is eager for this. Why am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Your hands pick on the scratchy blanket your mother put on the guest bed for you. “Because you're the one who loses a lot for this. Your family gains royalty… at least they'll be royal adjacent? I mean they do have the stick up their asses like royals already. And he gains a wife? Dating must be hard when you're a king.” She muses. “His last relationship was six years ago. His ex left him for another prince and got married like a year after.” You hum at the information she found. His whole life could be found on the internet which makes you wonder what he even knows about you? Your family didn't even know you so he couldn't even get something accurate from them.

“Listen, I gotta go… but give it a chance? And if he's an asshole and you need out, you text me and we'll come to break you out ok?” you sigh at your friends offer but ultimately agree. You'll try, it's not like you can leave the house and flee without your family noticing and coming for you anyways. You place your phone on the nightstand and cuddle up in bed. Your eyes fall on the monstrosity of dress your mother picked out for you. Maybe if you truly wore that pink pile of whatever the seamstress had left over, he'd run for the hills and you'd still be free.

"Sorry Steve... I can check a few more things but this is airtight... They can force you to marry that girl..." his lawyer says. Steve sighs and looks up from his desk to look at the brunette who meets him with a warm empathetic smile. Maria Hill, top of her class, badass in their softball team and brilliant lawyer. Steve recommended her to his mom when the old lawyer retired. Maria showed her wits and was hired within two hours of her interview.

"There's no way a deal from over a hundred years ago still holds up! You're telling me there was not a single occasion where this desk could have already been fulfilled? Aren't the Hastings fucking hornballs with so many family members? They're not even royal anymore! How does this hold up?" Bucky rants, clearly trying to protect his friend. Maria meets his eyes and lifts an eyebrow.

"Well if you want to go through the entire family trees and history to try and prove that be my guest. Matter of fact is that King Joseph and King George thought of everything in their agreement. Even the downfall of royalty... Or in this case the downfall of one royal family. This seems to be their way back. Making Steve marry the granddaughter so at least she is tuly royal." Maria says dryly. "I will check it over once more. I think we all should get as much rest as this night still offers but... don't get your hopes up Steve." She adds as she gets up and takes the contract that was in the envelope before. "What if we kill her. Can't marry someone that's dead" Bucky suggests and immediately gets a slap on the back of his head from Sam.

"As your lawyer I would advice against the murder of the future spouse of your best friend. You'd be one of the first suspects and I'm sorry to say this Barnes but your pokerface isn't as great as you'd like to think." Maria states before she looks at Steve. He's exhausted, his face in his hands, his hair ruffled. "Go to bed Steve." She says softly, worried about her friend.

Steve let's out a sigh and gets up. "Dismissed. Good night." Is all he can say before he drags himself out of his office and up the stairs. His mind is a flurry of thoughts that just won't shut up no matter how much he tries. He lets out a sigh as soon as he reaches the third floor. To the left is his room, to the right the room of his mother. His legs move on their own, carrying him to the portrait of her that's covered in a black veil. In the last month he often stood in front of it. He wished it good night before he'd get in bed. Just like he planned to do today.

"Night mom..." He whispers, the tears in his eyes returning once more. "This is all so hard without you… you would know what to do with this stupid deal… I wish you were here." his voice breaks at that. He gulps and tries to hold back his tears. He isn't in the safety of his own bedroom yet. But he isn't sure he's gonna make it till there. His eyes wander to his door, so far away, and back to the portrait. He gulps and moves towards her door. Her room is safe too. Even if it brings sad memories.

He softly closes the door behind him, his eyes falling onto her bed. He'd often sleep with her as a child. When he had nightmares, when he was upset about his father dying, when he was sick. Just one more time he tells himself and takes off his shoes. He can sleep in the sweatpants and shirt he put on earlier, he doesn't need a fancy pyjama set. Hesitantly he slips under the yellow covers. His nose immediately fills with her scent. Her favourite laundry detergent mixed with her perfume and he can't hold back the tears any longer. The dam breaks and he sobs into her pillow. After many minutes of crying he falls asleep enveloped by her one more time.