#i love my ocs i love my paras so so so much but i can never bring them to life no matter how hard i try

[omg-ame-chan]

i hate writing i hate it so much i hate everything

[fanbasetwo]

TIL DEATH DO US PART , RICKY

PAIRING: husband ! ricky × wife ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.

GENRE: fluff + angst

WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLIST !!

NOTE FROM SENA , this kinda flopped on my enha blog but I still wanted to reach more people, so here it is. an ricky version of the same fic, if you find ‘jake’ instead of ‘ricky’ in some paras please mention so that I can edit it out. hope you have fun reading this <3💗

DEAR RICKY,

I'm sorry, but I can't continue living like this. I'm leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we're both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we're better apart. I hope one day you'll understand.

With regret, Y/N.

TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Ricky months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.

The police had found it in his pocket. They said he'd carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn't want this, didn't want him gone, but now, all you had was this-regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone-it consumed you, ate at your soul.

Why couldn't you have waited?

You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn't lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't your fault, that you couldn't have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.

Would things have been different if you hadn't written that letter?

The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him-so small, so easy to overlook. The way Ricky had rolled his eyes every time you'd scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.

You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn't understand, but Ricky did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.

“She suits me well enough.”

The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn't seen that he had tried.

“Why couldn't I have seen it?” You whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?

You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.

“Please... Ricky. I'm sorry...”

The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn't breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn't given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.

The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.

Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?

You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

And all that was left was you. And the note.

YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Ricky represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.

You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Ricky’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.

With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.

Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.

“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”

The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Ricky want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.

“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.

Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.

“You must feel so alone too… You and Ricky… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.

The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.

“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”

Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Ricky, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.

“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”

The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.

YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Ricky's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.

Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.

The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Ricky had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.

The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.

“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.

“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Ricky’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.

The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Ricky’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.

“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Ricky’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.

You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.

The memory of Ricky’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.

Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Ricky’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Ricky’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.

The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Ricky’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.

The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Ricky’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.

“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Ricky had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.

“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Ricky then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Ricky had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.

Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.

“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Ricky chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.

The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.

You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.

“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.

Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.

You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.

“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.

“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.

Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.

“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.

Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”

When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.

You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.

A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jay... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”

The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Ricky wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”

Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.

“I miss the little moments, Ricky,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.

One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.

And then the fall hits.

Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.

Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.

YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Ricky? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.

You try to call out, “Ricky?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.

Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Ricky’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.

Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.

“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.

“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.

Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Ricky, the one that demanded space, an end.

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.

Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Ricky should be. “Ricky?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.

Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Ricky. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.

There he is. Ricky. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.

Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.

Ricky stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.

“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.

“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”

The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.

“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.

“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Ricky’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.

Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Ricky’s death.

The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Ricky dies.

Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.

A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.

What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.

“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.

THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.

“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”

A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.

When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Ricky, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.

No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.

“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.

The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.

But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Ricky’s sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Ricky never was.

With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.

Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.

As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Ricky, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.

How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Ricky your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.

You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Ricky doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.

“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Ricky's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.

The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Ricky.”

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Ricky's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.

Ricky watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.

“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.

But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Ricky's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Ricky clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.

“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.

“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Ricky, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.

“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.

“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Ricky's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.

“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.

“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Ricky sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.

What on earth just happened?

“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Ricky, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.

“Exactly that!” Ricky’s voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.

“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.

Ricky's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Ricky can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.

Ricky’s jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”

“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Ricky's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Ricky retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Ricky sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.

“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”

Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”

“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Ricky admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Ricky's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Ricky pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.

On the other side, Ricky stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.

“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.

“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”

Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”

The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.

A staff member, the same one who had shushed Ricky earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Ricky a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'

'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Ricky presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Ricky clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.

The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.

“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Ricky gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.

“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”

“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”

“But today isn't anything special.”

“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.

The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.

“Will this do?” she asks.

“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Ricky say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.

“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Ricky a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Ricky, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?

RICKY’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.

The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Ricky sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.

A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Ricky with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.

Ricky’s father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Ricky's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.

Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.

Ricky’s eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Is that true? You're both trying?” Ricky’s mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Ricky's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.

Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Ricky had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Ricky forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?

Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.

Ricky stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.

The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Ricky's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.

You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?

And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”

Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.

“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.

You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”

Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.

But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.

When you and Ricky step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.

Ricky notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”

He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”

Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)

Ricky looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”

You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.

“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.

“So...” Ricky’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.

You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.

Ricky hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Ricky’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.

Ricky’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”

You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Ricky never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.

You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”

The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Ricky. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.

You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”

The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.

“Ricky��” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.

But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Ricky. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Ricky already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.

However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Ricky, filling you with silent dread.

Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Ricky. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Ricky’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.

You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.

“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.

Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”

Ricky’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.

Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Ricky’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.

Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Ricky gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.

With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Ricky is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.

You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Ricky’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.

In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.

For Ricky though,

He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.

He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”

You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.

An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Ricky stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.

“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Breakfast in bed,” Ricky says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.

“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.

“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.

“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.

“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.

When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.

“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.

“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.

“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.

Ricky tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again?” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.

THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.

November 4th.

With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.

Ricky’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.

He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.

“Ricky?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.

“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.

“Can you stop calling me Ricky?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.

Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.

“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”

His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.

There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.

Ricky’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”

A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.

Ricky’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.

“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.

“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”

You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.

RICKY’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Ricky’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.

You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Ricky’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.

The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Ricky’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.

You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.

“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Ricky strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.

Ricky driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.

Ricky offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”

He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.

“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.

The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Ricky replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Ricky with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.

The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Ricky’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.

But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.

Ricky's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”

Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Ricky! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”

His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.

“I was so scared, Ricky. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.

Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.

THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Ricky. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.

“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.

Ricky shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.

But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.

“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.

You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.

You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.

The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.

He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.

But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Ricky through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.

Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.

You glance over at Ricky, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Ricky’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.

You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Ricky’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.

This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.

“Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby,” Ricky says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. “Is that true?”

Without waiting for Ricky’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.

"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.

Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Ricky proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.

"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.

"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Ricky’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Ricky nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.

Ricky’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”

Ricky chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”

Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Ricky’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”

“You’ll see him,” Ricky says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.

Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Ricky laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”

“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”

Ricky nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”

The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.

“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.

You glance at Ricky, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Ricky agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Ricky had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[rkivesyoshi]

to be feigned into love with ryomen sukuna

special chapter, read the rest here.

pairings. oc x sukuna

content. sfw

language. english, tagalog

song.

warnings. none

tags. ryomen sukuna x fem!oc, fake dating trope, lawyer!ryomen x art director!oc, established couple

synopsis. a second time truly is magical, if given the chance. shortly after itsumi and ryomen had become an official couple, they decided it was time to present themselves to each of their parents, again, and this time, as true lovers.

note: this is written in first person point of view and in the perspective of the oc, itsumi.

enjoy reading!

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ೃ⁀➷ ` ੈ˚ ★ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ೃ⁀➷ ` ੈ˚ ★

“Ryo, sure ka ba, okay lang ‘tong suot ko?” I ask for the nth time, checking myself in the mirror.

We’re going to meet his parents today and i have never felt more conscious, let alone anxious in my entire life. My job requires for me to converse with various people and I never once had emotions like this when doing so.

Ryo walks up to me and from the back, he wraps his arms around my waist planting a kiss on the crown of my head. “You look beautiful, my love.”

“What about my outfit, sa tingin mo, hindi ba sobra o kulang?” Aligaga kong tanong dito.

“It’s just right, my love.” He answers with no hesitation.

Realizing there was no benefit in me overthinking things, I took his word for it and we finally got to leave our apartment.

“Ah, my son was right, you are a gorgeous young woman, Itsumi.” Nakangiting sambit ng nanay ni Ryomen matapos akong mag-mano rito.

Ngumiti naman ako pabalik, “Thank you po, tita! Pero mas maganda po kayo, alam ko na kung kanino nag-mana si Ryo.”

“Naku!” Lumingon ito sa asawa. “Narinig mo ba ‘yon, mahal? Sa akin daw namana ng anak natin ang kagwapuhan niya.” Pag-bibiro nito.

“Hindi naman ako tatanggi ro’n, mahal.” Sagot naman ng tatay ni Ryomen.

Naramdaman ko naman ang pag-iinit ng mukha ko nang mapagtanto ko ang aking sinabi.

“Lagot ka,” Pag-singit ni Ryo sa gilid ko. “Hindi ka na papasa kay papa niyan.” Halata sa kanyang boses ang pang-aasar.

Pinalo naman ito sa balikat ng kanyang nanay at pinagsabihan, “Baka maniwala si Sumi. ‘Wag mong binibiro ng gano’n.”

Then dinner time came and it was nowhere near what I expected it to be. Magaan ang pakiramdam ko na makipagusap sa mga magulang ni Ryo. Palabiro ang kaniyang tatay at ang kaniyang nanay naman ay sinasabayan din ito. We shared heartfelt laughs, talked about our plans, dreams, and shared our values. Surprisingly, his parents and I have so much in common — so much more than my own.

My heart felt so full and joyous.

It was on the way home that I realized Ryo was reared in a secure household. Looking back, maybe it was the reason why he left and didn’t force anything between us—why he just let time and fate bring us together once more.

“Honestly,” Pag-uumpisa ko. “Kung ayaw mong makaharap si dad ulit, I respect that. We don’t have to go.”

Bahagya itong tumawa. “Bakit naman ako aayaw na harapin si tito?”

“Tito agad?” Tinignan ko ito ng may panghuhusga.

Natawa itong muli sa reaksyon ko. “What, does he prefer to be called sir or gusto mo, dad na lang din itawag ko?”

I cringe at the thought of Ryomen getting shut off in an instant if he had called my father dad on their first meeting in a long time.

“I can handle your father, Sumi.” He says, grabbing my hand as he guides us out of the apartment.

The ambiance from when we had dinner with the Sukunas compared to now differs greatly. This one makes you want to rip your head off, whereas the other was carefree. Moreover, I’m not entirely sure if having both of my parents here is good or bad. Though, on the bright side, this is the first time in a long time I’ve seen my divorced parents together.

“You’re that guy my daughter dated before, am I right? Iyong galing sa mababang pamilya.” Walang emosyong sambit ng tatay ko.

“Dad!” Pag-protesta ko rito.

Naramdaman ko ang kamay ni Ryo sa aking hita at marahan niyang hinaplos ito na para bang ipinapahiwatig sa akin na ‘wag akong masyadong mag-alala sa sitwasyon.

“You weren’t born a chairman. Naging empleyado ka rin na may mababang pwesto.” Pag-sumbat naman ng aking nanay.

I am already regretting even planning this dinner. Sana ay hindi na lang kami tumuloy.

“Yes, sir. I was that guy.” Sagot ni Ryomen sa tanong ni dad.

I gave him a glare, but he only squeezed my thigh, maybe as an attempt to reassure me that it’s all going to be fine.

“Was?” Natatawang tanong ni dad. “Bakit, marami ka na bang naabot sa loob ng maikling panahon?”

Kumukulo na ang dugo ko sa inis habang kalmado pa rin si Ryo.

“I believe so.” Sagot ni Ryomen. “I finished both of my undergraduate and graduate degree with latin honors. I was a top-notcher in the bar exam, and I work at a well-known law firm now.”

My dad snickered, “Face me again when you’ve built your reputation as a lawyer, or not. I know that field is very saturated.”

“I am building it at the moment, sir.” Ryomen smiles. “I specialize in corporate law and have won numerous lawsuits now. If you need my help, don’t hesitate to call. I heard your company is having troubles right now.” There was a hint of mockery in his voice.

Dad was left speechless and moments after, the silence was overrun with my mom’s mocking chuckle.

“Kid,” she turned to Ryomen. “I liked you before and I like you even better now. Good thing you two got back together.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He smiled.

Mom waves her hand as if telling him off. “Enough with the ma’am. You can call me tita, or mom, but I prefer mom.”

Ryomen gave an amused chuckle before turning to me and winked. He leaned in closer to me and whispered, “What do you say, did I do a good job, princess?”

Naramdaman ko ang init ng aking mga pisngi.

“Kids,” Mom calls and we both face her. “Do you want to eat somewhere else? Nakakawala kasi ng appetite ‘yong atmosphere dito. Maybe we could go shopping, too.”

Pagkasabi niya noon ay dali-daling tumayo si dad at padabog na lumabas sa private dining area.

“So, kailan ang kasal?” Mom asked.

We ended up not having to change restaurants. Nevertheless, mom still insisted on going shopping and so we did, for two more hours. The night started out disastrous, but I’m thankful that at least Ryomen could get along with my mother.

“Bakit ‘di ka man lang nag-react do’n sa tanong ng nanay ko tungkol sa kasal?” Tanong ko kay Ryomen na ngayon ay nakaupo sa couch.

“I did, I smiled.” Simpleng sagot nito habang inaalis ang mga bitones ng kanyang damit.

Umupo ako sa kanyang tabi, “No, I mean, why didn’t you protest?”

Huminto ito sa kanyang ginagawa at tinignan ako na para bang may mali sa aking sinabi. “Protest?”

Tumango ako.

“Baby,” he turned to me, “there is no other ending to this than us getting married. Why would I protest? I intend to marry you, Sumi.”

“Isn’t it too early for you? You’re still starting on your career. Marriage is way different than dating.”

Ryomen examines me with a sincere gaze. “I’m not going to leave you. Hindi lahat ng marriage nasisira, Sumi.”

I look down, feeling a bit disappointed in myself for projecting unto him. “I know. Sorry.”

He scooted closer to me tilting my chin up before leaning in to kiss my cheek, “I’m going to marry you,” then my neck, “build a family with you,” then my lips, “all while loving you endlessly, my love.”

“You’re safe with me, Sumi.” He says before kissing me again, this time with more passion, as if it were full of love, hunger, and desire.

It wasn't long before my back touched the velvety feel of the sofa, and the sound of our moans and lips colliding together as he relentlessly professed his love for me faded into the night.

disclaimer! this is a fan-made content. i do not own the rights to the character of ryomen sukuna. nevertheless, i respectfully request that you refrain from reposting, translating, or copying my content because the plot is my original work.

[missingpuppyboy]

Can you talk abt ur object partners? I'm learning abt paras and radqueer stuff and transids and all of that and I'm trying to learn and just,, u get it im sure! /pos

Also also also this is very aggressively /nf btw btw!!

Hellooo first of all I'm so glad you asked!!! Honestly I really like sharing my perspective on stuff like this, it makes me happy. Also it's really cool that you're learning, I hope I can help at least a little by writing this!!

First things first, I have no idea why I am attracted to objects. I have always assigned personalities to things not usually seen as having personalities though, so that's probably related. In my opinion, my phone really likes J-fashion, the season fall is a creepypasta enjoyer, and the number 6 has split-dyed hair (pink and blue). I have always thought like this.

I feel that every object, every concept, every word and every number are distinct, and also really cool beings. I love everything, I respect every object. And sometimes I feel as though the thing I love and personify loves me back. That is what I consider the start of a relationship!! My specific experience with objectum relationships are written below the cut.

My phone girlfriend is named Ririka, I found the name when looking through names for an OC, and I felt like she would love being named that. My brain also assigned her the pronouns she/her and decided that she would probably enjoy J-fashion, specifically jirai kei. She has a pink case and she really likes playing music for me. I feel very attached to her and feel that she is attached back, it just feels really sweet to be with her.

I also have a plushie boyfriend, he is named Fun, because he reminds me of the Funtime animatronics from FNaF (he is colored white, lilac and pink). He is a rabbit plushie and he is HUGE and very fluffy. He currently goes by he/him, but he is experimenting with a few other pronouns. We often take naps together. When I first got him, I got the vibes that he would love my vanilla caramel perfume so I sprayed some on him, he was so happy.

Perhaps more uncommon than electronics and plushies, but I am also in a relationship with a purse! She is an elegant light pink, has a mature and serious personality. I named her Gretchen because I felt that they would like it, since the name means pearl and they have a string of pearls as a handle. She uses she/they, and spends most of her time on my desk, she loves it there. We do sometimes go outside together, but she prefers just sitting with me while I'm gaming and stuff. She is caring and protective, she is definitely a mom friend lol.

I'm sorry for the long examples, but I just wanted to explain as much as possible about how my personal experience goes. Being objectum is different for every being, but basically I assign traits to almost every object I have, and over time I develop a romantic attraction to some of them, and if I get the vibes that they love me back, I consider it a relationship.

This was very nice to write, I love to yap, especially about my darlings. I'm so sorry if it's too long, it probably is lmao

If the anon or any other being has questions or things to say, feel free to reach out! I am always open for asks and DMs unless I explicitly state otherwise.

Peace!

[veinsfullofstars]

Precious babies - I’m sure nothing bad will ever happen to them.

(ID: Reference sheet for my Kirby OCs, Para Dee and Bow Dee. Visually, Para is a young Waddle Dee with light orange fur, a pale beige face, peach cheek blush, brown eyes, and yellow feet. He wears large round glasses taped on the sides of his head and a green-and-brown plaid bowtie, and there is a little curl of fur swooping up from his forehead. Bow is a smaller Waddle Dee with red-orange fur, a beige face, pink cheek blush, big black eyebrows, brown eyes with a hint of sea-foam blue on the bottom, and gold-yellow feet. She wears a large navy-blue bow on the back of her head, the ribbon rimmed in pale-blue and wrapped around her head in the style of Kirby’s Fighter headband. Additional information below the cut. END ID.)

Just their kid versions at the moment, but there might be teen and adult refs for them in the future depending on how much story stuff I get around to showcasing. I got a couple other story-pertinent characters in mind as well, but they’re still deep in concept stages, so no refs for them just yet, haha. Also, if you guys want refs for young Dedede and Meta, lemme know.

Sketch started some time in 11/23, render started 12/13/23, finished 12/20/23, updated 03/11/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/08/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

(OC info updated as of 08/28/24)

—

Some facts about Para Dee:

-His name is just a shortened version of “Parasol Waddle Dee” - in addition to reflecting his Copy Ability, he has yet to find another name that he feels fits him better, so he keeps it as a nickname for much of his childhood and beyond (a common practice among Waddle Dees).

-He is around DDD and Meta’s age, and a little older than Bow.

-He is the middle child in a pretty big family. While he cares for them all very dearly, being crammed in a veritable mosh pit of siblings gets to be a bit much for him sometimes. He hangs out with DDD and co. partially to get away for a while, partially because he was probably going to get roped in with them anyway.

-He shares a deep love of books and learning with Meta, though his interests lean more towards math, science, and mechanical engineering, with space being perhaps his biggest hyperfixation. Seriously, this lad can go on about nebulae and starships and quantum mechanics for hours if you let him.

-Para has an unfortunate habit of “Um, actually”-ing people about topics he knows (or thinks he knows) well, annoying his friends at best and making him an easy target for local bullies at worse…

-Unlike his friends, Para is not a very active or adventurous soul. He is easily startled, chronically un-athletic, and unlikely to harm a fly let alone another person. He much prefers quieter activities like reading and stargazing, especially from the comfort of his own home. The only physical activity he seems to enjoy is rollerskating, though all he does is leisurely roll around the park while watching the others fail at doing cool tricks.

-Though reluctant about most things, Para is especially afraid of heights. Even being slightly up off the ground has him scrambling to cling to the nearest solid object (usually DDD, who has probably picked him up, possibly with the intent to throw).

-While his friends go on about their lofty goals of being kings and knights, Para’s ambitions are relatively lax. He’d like to go to university off-world to study rocket science when he’s older, maybe even learn to build them one day, but that’s about as big as his dreams get, and even those could be narrowed down further to just seeing a real interstellar starship in person. Sometimes, he imagines flying through space on one, seeing all those stars he loves so much up close and personal, even if the idea of being up that high makes his little heart stutter in his chest…

—

Some facts about Bow Dee:

-She is named, unsurprisingly, for the bow on her head, which she has been wearing since she was a baby and practically refuses to remove without a lot of coaxing (stars help anyone who tries to take it off by force). She keeps both the name and the bow for much of her childhood, though she might not keep them (or her pronouns) forever…

-She is the baby of the group (a couple years younger than DDD, Meta, and Para).

-She comes from a relatively small family, taken care of by her two (extremely cool) moms and an older brother who is often away at school or out with his friends (usually to get away from his "obnoxious baby sister"). As a result, she is on her own more than she cares to be - hence why she follows DDD and his friends around like an overeager puppy all the time.

-She thinks Meta is the coolest person ever from the moment she meets him. She hovers around him constantly whenever the gang is together (to his slight annoyance), sometimes even mimicking his poses and gestures without meaning to (usually while Meta is mimicking DDD the same way).

-Bow was born with a Copy Ability atypical for Waddle Dees, that being Water. At this point in her life, the most she can do is manifest bubbles at will and maybe manipulate small puddles if she focuses hard enough. Sometimes, in moments of high stress, she can summon powerful jets of water from nearby rivers, lakes, or even pipes beneath the ground (something that has definitely gotten her into trouble more than once). She will get the hang of her powers with enough time and practice, especially as her interests in oceans, sea life, and sailing grow over time…

-Bow finds it hard to sit still and loses focus easily if she’s not already invested in something (much to her teachers’ frustration). But when she is invested in a task, she will go all in on it until either her energy runs out or something else grabs her attention.

-Bow loves sports and most outdoor activities, constantly bouncing between favorites (though she probably enjoys swimming and surfing the most) and getting super competitive when teams are involved (much to DDD and Meta’s delight, and Para’s dismay).

-On that note, she is the only one of the four who has ever successfully landed a kickflip without getting hurt (at least after the first time).

-Bow - who often forgets that she is the smallest person in the room - will challenge anything to a fight if it makes her angry enough. Literally, she will look a feral Gigant Edge directly in the helmet and put up her little fists like she has any chance at winning. The only exception to this is bugs - she will perish before letting a bug anywhere near here (something DDD never lets her live down).

-If she had a mouth, she would bite.

[okatsu-corpos]

Omds, meu tumblr só pegando poeira 😞

Aqui estou eu novamente, depois de oque? Alguns meses? Admito que não foi só os estudos, mas também fiquei desânimado e tive uma certa recaída, semana passada foi uma porcaria pra mim

Mas não se preocupem! Nunca vou parar de fazer algo que eu realmente amo (e sou bom-) que é desenhar! Por isso, ainda vou ter meus momentos que consigo criar animação e fazer algo novo e bonito

E Agora mesmo, sem demora, vou postar os desenhos digitais que fiz nesse meio tempo nesse mesmo post! De verdade, sem procrastinação (-ω-；)

★

My godness, my tumblrJust getting dust 😞

Here i again, after what? Some months? I admit that wasn't just the studies, but also I got discouraged and I hav a certain relapse, last week was crap for me

But Worry not! I'll never stop doing what I really love (and I'm good with-) that is drawing! Because of this, I still gotting some moments That I can create animation and do something new and beautiful

And right now, without delay, I will post the digital drawings I made in the meantime in this same post! Fr, without procrastination (-ω-；)

Raccoon OC!

Eu demorei algumas semanas pra conseguir terminar a coloração, não que tenha sido difícil mas estava desencorajado 🥲

★

It took me a few weeks to finish coloring, not that it was difficult but I was discouraged 🥲

Colorful Xgaster Sketch!

Fiz apenas para testar um pincel que peguei no Pinterest, e realmente gostei! <3

★

I made it just to test a brush I found on Pinterest, and I really liked it! <3

XChara! (Adult)

Me deu um grande trabalho fazer esse brilho e sombreado na armadura, testei uma dica de alguém do servidor da Jakei pra desenhar o cabelo dele melhor, e realmente funcionou! Muito obrigado Raeisokae (eu acho que foi você que deu essa dica-) <3

★

It took me a lot of work to make this shine and shading on the armor, I tested a tip from someone on Jakei's server to draw his hair better, and it really worked! Thank you very much Raeisokae (I think you were the one who gave this tip-) <3

Puddles of Void-Mass!

Até agora estou seguindo com a paleta de cores nos tons roxos- mas não se preocupe que isso irá mudar no próximo desenho!

Fiz minha versão humanoide do Puddles of Void-Mass quando comecei a jogar pressure, de certa forma ficou parecendo uma oc da mesma espécie porém modificada, então por isso o dei o nome de Cuddles

Digam oi ao Cuddles :3

★

So far I'm sticking with the purple color palette- but don't worry, that will change in the next drawing!

I made my humanoid version of Puddles of Void-Mass when I started playing pressure, in a way it looked like an OC of the same species but modified, so that's why I named it Cuddles

Say hi to Cuddles :3

Syen! (Oc)

Prisoner X-68

Sim, minha oc de pressure :3

Ele não tem tanta coisa além de ser o cuidador da loja do início do jogo dentro do submarino, como ele conseguiu tal cargo? Bem, ele falhou tantas significantes vezes em sua missão de pegar o cristal que o Urbanshade Hadal Division desistiu do acordo de sua liberdade, já que ele nunca conseguiria pegá-la, e então o colocou pra cuidar da loja do submarino

Uma lore bem simples mas algo que impressione um pouco ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

★

Yes, my pressure oc :3

He doesn't have much to do besides being the shopkeeper at the beginning of the game inside the submarine, how did he get such a position? Well, he failed so many significant times in his mission to get the crystal that the Urbanshade Hadal Division gave up on the deal for his freedom, since he would never be able to get it, and so they put him in charge of the submarine shop.

A very simple lore but something that impresses a little ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

Rae ^^

Uma fanart que fiz do avatar do roblox da mesma pessoa que me deu a dica de como desenhar o cabelo do xchara melhor, elu é uma pessoa bem legal, devo admitir! :D

★

A fanart I made of the roblox avatar of the same person who gave me the tip on how to draw xchara's hair better, they're a really cool person, I must admit! :D

Clown Deat!

Eu acho que eu nunca disse o nome do meu oc principal, mas aí está, o nome dele é deat!

Antes era deaf, mas quando eu descobri que a tradução de deaf para o português era "surdo", mudei para deat (uau, que criativo oKatsu, muito criativo (•ˋ _ ˊ•))

Fiz essa arte lembrando da pomni de digital Circus, e botei como foto de perfil no tiktok :D

★

I don't think I ever said my main oc's name, but there it is, his name is deat!

It used to be deaf, but when I found out that the translation of deaf into Portuguese was "surdo"(deaf) , I changed it to deat (wow, how creative oKatsu, very creative (•ˋ _ ˊ•))

I made this art remembering Pomni from Digital Circus, and put it as my pfp on TikTok :D

Uh (-ω-；)

Eu fiz no meme, de verdade, e pensei em postar no sever da Jakei mas pensei duas vezes antes e CONCERTEZA não seria algo apropriado pra postar lá-

Também fiz a versão br para meus queridos falantes brasileiros poderem entender o que tá escrito 🥰

★

I made it into a meme, for real, and I thought about posting it on Jakei's server but I thought twice about it and it DEFINITELY wouldn't be something appropriate to post there-

I also made the Brazilian version so my dear Brazilian speakers can understand what is written 🥰

Xpaps Bday!

Eu acabei fazendo atrasado, um dia depois do aniversário dele

Minha primeira vez desenhando um papyrus, um pouquinho difícil já que a estrutura dele é mais longa, mas nada que eu não consiga dar um jeito!

O bolo eu simplesmente peguei de um png da primeira imagem que pesquisei de "birthday cake" no Google e deixei pixelado com filtro de matriz puxada pro roxo DX

★

I ended up doing it late, one day after his birthday

My first time drawing a papyrus, a little difficult since its structure is longer, but nothing I can't manage!

I simply took the cake from a png of the first image I searched for "birthday cake" on Google and made it pixelated with a matrix filter pulled towards purple DX

✮

E é isso! Fico feliz que deu o limite certo de dez imagens desse post com os meus desenhos "recentes", peço perdão se eu já postei algum deles antes e acabei postando de novo nesse post, eu vou verificar isso e editar esse post caso eu tenha feito-

Ah, e aqui vai uma notícia das boas:

Finalmente criei uma conta no blueksy! Claro que ainda tenho o Twitter e Uso o vpn pra conseguir acessar, porém não posso postar nada ou usar por muito tempo se não sou descoberto e capaz de levar essa multa que disseram aí. Irei colocar o @ na minha bio, junto do meu tiktok pra alguns que ainda não viram meu perfil com minhas animações lá, ainda não postei nada no blueksy e a decoração está algo bem simples, mas com o tempo vou mudando algumas coisas e uma hora ou outra postando aqui e lá também

Enfim, isso é tudo! Já sabem que eu sumo certas vezes mas um dia ou outro eu volto, mesmo que demore- até o próximo desenho! <3

★

And that's it! I'm glad that I got the right limit of ten images for this post with my "recent" drawings, I apologize if I've already posted any of them before and ended up posting them again in this post, I'll check that and edit this post if I did-

Oh, and here's some good news:

I finally created an account on blueksy! Of course I still have Twitter and I use the VPN to access it, but I can't post anything or use it for a long time if I don't get caught and I could get that fine they said there. I'm going to put the @ in my bio, along with my TikTok for those who haven't seen my profile with my animations there yet. I haven't posted anything on blueksy yet and the decoration is pretty simple, but over time I'll change some things and from time to time I'll post here and there too.

Well, that's all! You already know that I disappear sometimes but one day or another I'll come back, even if it takes a while - until the next drawing! <3

[midsommersonnets]

1x1 rp req (18+ writers) : dark romance / possible dead dove : daughter of rich man's mistress (f) x rich man's legitimate son (m).

gnawing at the bars of my cage because i crave this one very specific dark romance plot with desperation. please, come at me if you wanna give me tension, twistedness, and crossed lines... i need the thin line between hate and love, red flag actions, and toxic emotions in spades for this one,, pls gang,, lets serve chaos 🙏 the plot basis: f oc is the daughter of m oc's father's mistress. she is a blight on their elite families and they never let her forget it. she's an unwelcome sight. this girl's irrationally beautiful existence makes the cruel, prodigial son sick with so many intense emotions. the daughter of his enemy should suffer. an outsider deserves no mercy. she doesn't belong here in his world of endless money, power-fuelled hierarchy, and cutthroat machinations. this elite society is not meant for someone like her to taint with her sinful origins; no, it is his field to rule so how dare she infiltrate it and cast a shadow on his iron-fisted rule. he needs to put her in her place for his family/revenge's sake. she may have a shared connection to him -- but she is not pure, she does not belong, she will never matter like he does. the girl is an impostor, an infiltrator, so he deals with her by enacting a cat n mouse game. he exacts revenge by using his power to toy with her, by finally settling her familial debt through using her body and mind as his makeshift canvas and scoreboard. details pending on how the cat n mouse game / revenge seeking would pan out because i can go as dark or as light as my fellow writer desires. could see lots of dead dove themes in the plot if the other writer is comfortable with it (mindgames, d*bcon/n*ncon (?), power imbalance, fauxcest/inc*st (?), toxicity, darker kinks, psychological horror, etc). ultimately, i need the m being completely obsessed with the f, culminating in him wanting to break her. while she will fight back as best as she can because she is her mothers daughter just as much as he is his fathers son <3. possible reverse harem / poly antics if m's best friends want to get in on the action but not a necessity. maybe secret society and fucked up frat rituals are in play. possibly, an elite academy or university setting, or alternately, a set-up for a fucked up arranged marriage. would love an exploration into both ocs very fucked-up mindsers. we can workshop things together. <3.

housekeeping :: i'm 21f+, so 18+ writers only, please.

flexible literacy is my preference. i can span from writing para to multi-para or multi-message (literate-novella). generally, i tend to mirror or write based on what the rp scene requires. i really want to get past the planning stage for this rp but am also VERY pro-prose (pretty writing and striking imagery are a beloved weakness <3), so initially, multi-para / para would be preferred.

strong preference for myself to write as the f in a mxf pairing for this idea, or mxfxm if desired. not into doubling of any kind due to time constraints and preferring to give my full energy to just one pairing/plot, but i will write many side characters for the sake of developing the world and plot.

an undying NEED for headcanons, pinboards, plotting n rambling, side threads/text threads and playlists to be utilised because ooc developing is my lifeblood. my beloved chatty and rambly writers– pls hmu because we are the same !! i love to yap about ocs and pairings far too much.

i'm fine with smut, darker themes, dead dove, etc, and am also equally okay with fade to black and less overt darkness. keep in mind, i will respect limits, and i hope others will do the same for me. expanding on this point, limits and specific rp desires will be discussed in dms before moving to discord.

on that note, i write on discord platform only.

like/comment/dm if interested.

[k-mgy]

⎯⎯ *ㅤNOTEㅤ;ㅤ in search of new rp partners ! I am doing this once again since I slowed down a bit on the roleplay but — here again. I am looking for partners who are nineteen+ at least because I am twenty & i use he / him prns !

⎯⎯ *ㅤWRITING STYLEㅤ;ㅤ for the main point — my writing style varies, I do advance / semi lit & multi para roleplays. as well as ic texts. I love to match my partners writing style, I tend to write a lot from time to time depending on my mood ! so sometimes it gets wonky mb ( 😭 )

⎯⎯ *ㅤSHIPSㅤ;ㅤ I mainly do queer ships , as I do not mind hetero ships. and oc+oc plotlines are most preferred for me. I also love ooc talk, making pin boards, playlists, social media edits / edits & random headcannons and just enjoying the characters !!

* please note that some of my characters can be trans / a sexual !

⎯⎯ *ㅤPLOTSㅤ;ㅤ as for plotting relationships, we can go all out really, I love some good ol’ chemistry when it comes to relationships as the ocs must have. whether it be from knowing each other or being pure strangers — chemistry — must be there. also, I tend to sometimes make a chat where the ocs don't need to have a descriptive rp all the time, they can just talk about shit!!!

also I would not roleplay disturbing topics

my ocs do tend to have triggering backstories on a whole, but they won't be roleplayed / mentioned thought-out the entire rp. I also do not have many triggers ( that I know of besides idk, imagery of gore. ) but I do have my limitations !

now for smut — just know I won't rp anything just for smut, as smut is okay but y'know it must have plot.

⎯⎯ *ㅤFCSㅤ;ㅤ now fcs — I like to use people who I like or I'm comfortable. especially like : mingyu kim, park seonghwa , choi san , lee juyeon & many more.

A short note is that, I rarely use western fcs but I do not mind interacting with them !

* I don't roleplay with animated / drawn fcs !

⎯⎯ *ㅤOC AGESㅤ;ㅤ my ocs are all grown adults as for being in their 20’s and up. I tend to age some fcs up ( legal ones up by 3-5 years ! or decrease it *sometimes )

⎯⎯ *ㅤEXTRAㅤ;ㅤ I'm also up for joining small rp au groups.

I also used to roleplay on quotev for some years now, it's actually crazy now that it's been shut down they just hate to see gay people happy I just know like woow during pride month??

just a reminder I do — both discord and tumblr roleplays, I'm trying to understand tumblr roleplays these days, I have about 4 oc accounts here — they are active but not too much. ( I've barely done anything LMAO )

[gotdamlost]

rp partners wanted

sup i'm bee. just another blog looking for long-term, rp partners who write with bts & like to chat ooc as well. i write on discord only & comfortably with those who are 21+. i am an enthusiastic roleplayer so i'd appreciate only reaching out if you feel like you can match that energy and if you'll actually communicate with me (not ghost). i become unmotivated going the whole nine yards with edits, playlists, pinterest boards, headcanons, etc. and then not receiving the same energy or effort back. i'm over doing all the work to get a plot going. i'd also appreciate if there's some understanding on with patience & response times. i am not a person who's chronically online, so my responses are not instantaneous. roleplaying is a hobby i am trying to maintain with a full schedule. i extend the consideration to all who may partner up with me.

you can read more about me & a detailed version of my preferences here. for a quick, simplified version, click below.

After reading feel free to like this post, drop into my IMs, or ask box to reach out for my discord tag if interested. If you've read this far, thanks for your time fr. hope to hear from ya soon!

currently: OPEN FOR PARTNERS last updated: 11/2/2024

preferences

first and foremost, know IT'S OKAY TO SAY NO. its okay to say you do or don't like something. it's okay to say you are not feeling a plot or the vibes and discontinue interaction. people feel like just because we start plotting you're locked in. not at all. if i'm not a fit for you at any point just say so. i PROMISE you it's not gonna kill me or make me mad. in fact its better for everyone. people agree to be nice, because we exchanged discords and got so far. just be honest. it saves so much time. i enjoy: multi muse universes, world building (playing multiple muses), gangs/mafia, slice of life / romance (in moderation), friendships, sci-fi, fantasy, angst, found family, plots / AUs of media i’m familiar with. i'm selective with: school / university plots, fictional celebrity AUs, supernatural — i'm willing to listen to ideas if i won't write: supernatural ( vampire / angel+demon / zombies etc.), plots based on real world events ( COVID, etc. ), smut focused plots.

literate to adv. literate (para, multi-para, novellas possible) but i’m so low maintenance. my rule of thumb is matching my partner. you can find a writing sample of mine here.

at the point of plotting, if i don't hear back from you after a week, i'm dropping and moving on. if we get to creating a server and i don't hear from you after two weeks, i will leave the server. no hard feelings held, i just really want to write and it's frustrating to be ghosted even by well-meaning people. but you are always welcome to reach out and let me know if you'd like to continue or just mingle/chat!

i love collaborating with my writing partners. i don't like one sided plotting or hearing "that's fine!" "sure thats okay!" etc. i appreciate and want to hear your contributions to the plot as well.

I only write member x member. I don't mind writing as the members themselves or using them as faceclaims for OCs.

I feel like I can capture most of the boys in writing, except Taehyung. My aces are hyung line, but i'll play anyone. You can find the ships that I enjoy and am currently interested in exploring for plots here.

NSFW and dark plots i'm chill with, but don't interact expecting only smut. If it's part of the overall plot, sure, but I have comfort levels.

[solei-eclipse]

Sending this as an ask cause I don't think tumblr is going to let me send this full thing in the reply of your last post:

Your wellbeing is more important than anything else! It's okay if you miss stuff or are too tired to participate when things happen within the community; it's okay if you're not as fixated on Alien Stage anymore; just because you are admittedly seen as one of the bigger ALNST bloggers on Tumblr does NOT mean that you owe anyone anything. That goes for the OC stuff too. Sorry if this is a bit too personal, but we enjoy seeing you around not because of what you can provide but because you’re you, and we just enjoy your presence; it's as simple as that. We love you Para, and we just want you to be okay.

It's not too personal at all, no worries :) in fact, it was really nice to read when I first saw it. thank you for all your reassurances, you have no idea the wonders it did for me.

thank you for your kindness, im genuinely really grateful for all this understanding. there's a lot of stuff that I've been forced to deal with lately and while the current issue is thankfully over, I know another one is bound to pop up soon. It's okay, though! I'll manage, it'll just take some time. I hope you guys can forgive me for going silent on occasion... I'm still here! Just busy.

Honestly I've been a little more comfortable on this sideblog than on shkingpardigm... that blog has a great deal of followers and while I will always be grateful for it, admittedly I've been more cautious. I always worry about saying the wrong thing, haha... (I find I still do very often though) The rapid growth of that blog was both fascinating and startling. Now that it's become bigger, I've been worried about whether or not my passion for ALNST is enough. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get to all the requests and thoughts shared with me over there, but I really hope to answer eventually because I want to honor the time and effort others spent into writing them. It's just been so much lately, and I can barely find the right words anymore. I almost always feel guilty for posting when I haven't answered them yet, especially since I love reading them and am really grateful to receive them.

It's been a little easier on here, where I've been creating my own things and sharing these creations with others, building our things around each other and such. Thank you all for being so wonderful and kind.

I hope this doesn't come off as me being ungrateful. I've been worried about voicing these thoughts for a while because I know how disheartening it may sound. I love ALNST, I love every ask and submission I receive no matter if it's a few short words or entire lengthy essays, and I love sharing thoughts and creations with others. There's just so much I want to do and so little time, so little energy I have left especially with my degrading health. All I can do at this point is ask for patience and forgiveness. Me bones don't work like they used to, youngsters.... arghhh my back.... my scoliosis..... my debts..

Once again, still here! Always will be (menacingly), just don't be too worried if I disappear sometimes!! That's me going out there and fighting the Horrors™. I always feel such a sense of joy and relief when I come back to Tumblr and see everyone's posts and creations (ALNST or OC or anything, really). It's like a reprieve for me, seeing all the new things that have been posted.

Thanks again for all your concern and support, I want you guys to know that I return it tenfold and hope you take care of yourselves as well. All the same applies to you! Take a step back whenever necessary, always prioritize yourself and know that you aren't pressured or expected of anything. You will still be loved and cared for no matter what! Always take your time and do what makes you happy :) <3

[prpfz]

Hii! 21+ here looking to play a kind of specific idea for an oc of mine here, and hoping to build upon it with my partner!

I have a rough guy who frequents some unsavoury places and does some unsavoury things to get by, and likes to fight for money in some sketchy underground boxing ring. I’m open to any pairing - mxm, mxf, mxnb - and any type of person! Someone also from a rough background, another boxer who trains with/fights against him, a childhood friend/sweetheart reconnecting, a slightly older police officer who always seems to be the one to catch my guy after getting into shit; someone rough, rugged and troubled or optimistic, sweet and caring, whatever! there’s so much opportunity both ways - the tension with rivals, slow burn as they come to their feelings, clashing heads and tons of ups and downs in the relationship or the sweetness of someone cleaning him up after fights, arguing over him doing it, someone from a better background/in a better position and both navigating their differences, etc! I love it all! Just please offer an interesting, fleshed out character who can also move the plot forward and not cling to my guy just because he’s rough lol.

I’m 21+, an advanced lit, multi-para to novella writer! Can offer a writing sample but my replies are usually around 1000 words, give or take depending on what’s going on! Would love someone who can offer lengthy replies and match, and who’s willing to flesh out the world, plot and brainstorm with me! I love complex characters and relationships that aren’t always sunshine and rainbows, and I love seeing the growth we can get because of it! I write on discord and prefer to make a server to keep everything neat:) I use realistic faceclaims and would prefer if you did too, but I’m not too picky as long as you’re okay with me using them for mine. I usually reply several times a week, sometimes daily when I have the time but can’t guarantee that so please don’t rush me, and I won’t rush you! I have few limits and am open to some gritty stuff if it comes in, but specifics can be discussed together:) please just be willing to chat and plot with me, I want to write with my partner and come up with something that we both have fun with! If this interests you, interact and I’ll reach out! ⛓️🫶

give a like and anon will get back to you

[ocrpfinder]

Hii! 21+ here looking to play a kind of specific idea for an oc of mine here, and hoping to build upon it with my partner!

I have a rough guy who frequents some unsavoury places and does some unsavoury things to get by, and likes to fight for money in some sketchy underground boxing ring. I’m open to any pairing - mxm, mxf, mxnb - and any type of person! Someone also from a rough background, another boxer who trains with/fights against him, a childhood friend/sweetheart reconnecting, a slightly older police officer who always seems to be the one to catch my guy after getting into shit; someone rough, rugged and troubled or optimistic, sweet and caring, whatever! there’s so much opportunity both ways - the tension with rivals, slow burn as they come to their feelings, clashing heads and tons of ups and downs in the relationship or the sweetness of someone cleaning him up after fights, arguing over him doing it, someone from a better background/in a better position and both navigating their differences, etc! I love it all! Just please offer an interesting, fleshed out character who can also move the plot forward and not cling to my guy just because he’s rough lol.

I’m 21+, an advanced lit, multi-para to novella writer! Can offer a writing sample but my replies are usually around 1000 words, give or take depending on what’s going on! Would love someone who can offer lengthy replies and match, and who’s willing to flesh out the world, plot and brainstorm with me! I love complex characters and relationships that aren’t always sunshine and rainbows, and I love seeing the growth we can get because of it! I write on discord and prefer to make a server to keep everything neat:) I use realistic faceclaims and would prefer if you did too, but I’m not too picky as long as you’re okay with me using them for mine. I usually reply several times a week, sometimes daily when I have the time but can’t guarantee that so please don’t rush me, and I won’t rush you! I have few limits and am open to some gritty stuff if it comes in, but specifics can be discussed together:) please just be willing to chat and plot with me, I want to write with my partner and come up with something that we both have fun with! If this interests you, interact and I’ll reach out! ⛓️🫶

.

[novella-writers]

Hii! 21+ here looking to play a kind of specific idea for an oc of mine here, and hoping to build upon it with my partner!

I have a rough guy who frequents some unsavoury places and does some unsavoury things to get by, and likes to fight for money in some sketchy underground boxing ring. I’m open to any pairing - mxm, mxf, mxnb - and any type of person! Someone also from a rough background, another boxer who trains with/fights against him, a childhood friend/sweetheart reconnecting, a slightly older police officer who always seems to be the one to catch my guy after getting into shit; someone rough, rugged and troubled or optimistic, sweet and caring, whatever! there’s so much opportunity both ways - the tension with rivals, slow burn as they come to their feelings, clashing heads and tons of ups and downs in the relationship or the sweetness of someone cleaning him up after fights, arguing over him doing it, someone from a better background/in a better position and both navigating their differences, etc! I love it all! Just please offer an interesting, fleshed out character who can also move the plot forward and not cling to my guy just because he’s rough lol.

I’m 21+, an advanced lit, multi-para to novella writer! Can offer a writing sample but my replies are usually around 1000 words, give or take depending on what’s going on! Would love someone who can offer lengthy replies and match, and who’s willing to flesh out the world, plot and brainstorm with me! I love complex characters and relationships that aren’t always sunshine and rainbows, and I love seeing the growth we can get because of it! I write on discord and prefer to make a server to keep everything neat:) I use realistic faceclaims and would prefer if you did too, but I’m not too picky as long as you’re okay with me using them for mine. I usually reply several times a week, sometimes daily when I have the time but can’t guarantee that so please don’t rush me, and I won’t rush you! I have few limits and am open to some gritty stuff if it comes in, but specifics can be discussed together:) please just be willing to chat and plot with me, I want to write with my partner and come up with something that we both have fun with! If this interests you, interact and I’ll reach out! ⛓️🫶

Like if interested!

[kittzuxp]

Intro post!!!

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About me

Hi hello, you can call me kittzu/kittz/dream/drem or dremzyzz. I use any pronouns in all languages!! Also i am greek🇬🇷🇬🇷

I am a minor‼️‼️ DONT BE WEIRD.

My fav colors are black, red and teal :3

My fav animals are cats, frogs and bats :33

Yk what. I. Am. Done with gender. Genderfluid, lesbian and aspec (probably aceflux, aegosexual and demiromantic) . If u don’t like it FUCK OFF WHAT R U DOING HERE

I can be pretty shy sometimes but always open to making new friends!! (・・;)

Dnis/ do not interacts: z00s,p3d0s, homophobes, transphobes, TERFS, MAPS, racists, xenophobes, anti-therians, anti-furries, radqueers, proshippers, 'superstarights' etc and any hate groups in general.

Also @/guess-who-69 sorry

🇵🇸🍉 FREE PALESTINE

4 more info click here

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Fandoms & interests

I like reading (warriors) and drawing, but also browsing the tube. Oh and comics can't forget about those (currently reading homestuck)

I am in a loooot of fandoms but not really active in them cuz… most of them are dead..

BUT!! I have a couple of things that are currently rotting my brain (fandoms I'm hyperfixating on + active fandoms)

Brain rot real

Stardew Valley [foams at the mouth my brain is rotting]

Twomp/ the world of mr plant

Regretevator

Mob psycho 100

Sofita / johnypeace, thanakios [IF YK THIS ONE FOLLOW ME IMMEDIATELY AND DM ME SOMI CAN FOLLOW U TOOO]

Homestuck [NEW!]

Active

Ghost eyes

Sally face

The song of achilles

Ouk an lavois para tou mi ehontos (if you know this one lets get married/j)

Lacey games

Clan gen (warriors fan game by @/officialclangen)

Tgcf

Diary of a wimpy kid [doawk fanfics: Dysfunctional perspective, Rodrick's secret on the loader diper subreddit]

Unfamiliar (comic by lavendertowne pls go read it)

OMORI

Deathnote

Webtoons(/tapas) [Jackson's diary, Castle swimmer, Your wings and mine <- go read these they're awesome]

KinitoPET

Ramshackle [The webtoon & yt series]

Inactive

Warriors

Ninjago

God troubles me!

An extremely goofy movie

The Boiled One Phenomenon (PHEN-228 is my pookie ❤❤)

Salad fingers

Minecraft (the game)

Helluva boss

South park

Deltarune & undertale

The amazing digital circus‼️

Fionna and cake

Stranger things ☹️☹️ (I'm trying to not to associate the actors with the characters as to not ruin the show 4 me. I will be boycotting s5 tho)

Sonic prime

Heartstopper

Batim

Toh

Sr pelo’s content in general [spooky month and the mokey series]

Saiki k

Good omens

YuB (a youtuber, please go sub to him he’a so silly)

Love, Sam (indie horror game)

Former yandere simulator fan. After the shit with yandev happen i don’t support any of his content anymore.

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Socials & tags

My discord is: forknifeistrash#1419

My wattpad: apersonyoudontknow7

My Ao3: Kittzuxp_the_pidgeon

My Artfight >ω<

Sideblogs: @lovrclan-gen @ask-lovechild-au-twomp

I don’t use it very often, but i’m also on the twompcord and clan gen server. I’m not active on the servers tho..

Tags i’ll use:

Kittzu's headcannons = pretty self explaintory, headcanon I made

Kittzu's Mr plant plushie = he's here!!!!

kittzu's argos plushie = i am legally forced to put this tag under the mr plant one.

kittzuxp = reblogs and posts (fast reblogs do not count)

Kittzu’s enderman plush (i have an enderman plush, if you want any related content, i’m sorry for advertising i just love ‘em so much)

Kittzu's creeper plush (i also have a creeper plush!!!)

Kittzu doodles = any of my art

Kittzu answers asks = do I need to explain?

storytime with kittzu = me sharing my memories and expiriences with the world. I want to leave a mark that i was here and that my existance is not forgotten. Philosophical much?

kittzu's ocs = working on a masterpost abt my ocs but there's this tag too

And then just general tags of any fandom i want the post to be abt

(I might tag your username if i don’t mention you in a post, so beware)

[🔼by @/oxceen]

[maddgical-boy]

remakin my pinned post bc i love spending hours on fun formats. anyways

⸝⸝⊂➜﹒it's me! ⊃⸝⸝

mark/vinny ☆ he/him ☆ minor (strictly 18+ only blogs block me)

hello all! here i post about all things daydreaming-related, as well as some self insert stuff since there is big overlap there for me.

i have mainly fictparacosms (paracosms of existing fictional media). i'm kinda shy about them so i don't discuss them as much but please be respectful when i do. they do not always line up with canon and i just want to be happy and have a fun time.

❤️ this blog is a safe space for all madders/iders and whatever you daydream about. even if it's considered really dark nasty shit, and even if it's willingly! fiction is fiction my friends. ❤️

feel free to send asks about my paracosms or about yours! tumblr is buggy and i am chronically ill so i may not get to it right away, but rest easy knowing each ask is treasured in my heart <3 i'm shy but i want to interact with you all.

i make big use of the block button if i don't like your vibes or even if we just don't agree about stuff. unfortunately my block barrier from my main doesn't extend to sideblogs and i have to block separately from here, which i sometimes forget to do. so blanket statement for all my blogs and socials:

🚫 TERFS AND ZIONISTS/PRO-ISRAEL PEOPLE GTFO 🚫

and hey! if you can spare some money check out the #donations tag on my main for vetted palestinian GFMs! 🇵🇸❤️

if you want to see more of my silly self talking about other random things, my main is @thecrimeofmans-laughter!

below are paracosms & tags!

paracosms ☁︎‎‎‧₊˚*𖦹

these fluctuate in and out of how relevant they are to me, especially because god cursed my interests to wholly take over my life and then suddenly evaporate like sweat. this is also why i have random mini paracosms that only come out of hibernation if my hyperfixation does too! lmao

───-> ORIGINAL

■ queerer things still — five teens learn of the magical secret realms on earth and travel through them to uncover the main para (enya liao)'s mysterious past. all of them have magical powers and all of them have emotional baggage that they are eventually forced to deal with by fighting monsters that target their greatest weaknesses. everything is weird and also everything is queer (hence the name).

───-> FICTPARACOSMS

■ arrows of shield — big crossover between marvel's agents of shield and the cw's arrowverse. at the center of it all is me, because i am awesome. the only other teenagers (and original paras) are cicero (an entity meant to deal with all emotional and physical pains) and jessop jiang (a boy from the typical 60s american suburb who accidentally killed his mother).

■ the super happy life of akemi ōtani — a blanket paracosm for all daydreams involving any of koei's musou warriors games (that i have played, which is dw8, sw2, 4, 4ii, and 5, and wo4). the name is from one of my two samurai warriors ocs, as she has a very normal, happy life with her dad and sister that is absolutely not besieged by period-typical war. (also my icon on this blog is of nō, who is a character from sw5! she's in her dlc outfit. i love her)

■ yttd paracosm 2 — i don't have a name for this one yet shhh. anyway have you ever theorized that shunsuke hayasaka is sue miley's mysterious fiancé and then made a yttd sona that has become separate from you and is also their adopted child and is also dating ranmaru kageyama and then spent way too much time rewriting the lore of the game to fit this change? that's what this is. (my first yttd paracosm is asunaroland which isn't as major anymore but yeah. i have 2 of these fuckers)

tags i'll use ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

i love using tags i love organizing i love formatting i love archiving ＼(^▽^＠)ノ ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ ~(≧◇≦)/ﾞﾞﾞ

my original posts -> #mark stops daydreaming for a sec.txt

answering asks -> #mark answers asks, #ask game answers | feel free to send in something from my ask game!

vents about madd -> #madd vent, #intrusive daydreaming | all of these are ok to rb

positivity about daydreaming -> #positivity <3

my art -> #martk | other art is on my toyhouse and instagram! | want me to draw your paras? commission me!

useful madd-related things -> #useful

anything not daydreaming-related, for whatever reason -> #not madd

...and probably other tags i'm forgetting! yayyy!!

all paracosms and paras are tagged #like this* to avoid anything (like fictpara stuff) showing up in big public tags because i am Scared

dividers: animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[goldenislands]

✧˖°. 🍍 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺: a 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄, 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 & 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 roleplay blog for a canon-divergent & headcanon based portrayal of 𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑶𝑵 𝑪𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑬 from Devsisters’ 𝑪𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑬 𝑹𝑼𝑵. 18+ only. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 & 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈. Written by Cat. 31/she or they / MST. Autistic & ADHD. Multiverse, Multiship, OC friendly.

Follows from @knightdomain

𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑫 𝑰𝑺 𝑨 𝑾𝑰𝑷. Rules under the cut.

hello! My name is Cat. I’m 31 and I’m from Canada. I’ve been roleplaying on tumblr on and off for about 7 years, but overall role playing for about 10+ years. I’m very easy to reach out to and very chill, so please don’t hesitate to reach out to me ooc!

my activity is sporadic. I’m medium/low activity due to working 40hrs a week, having a personal life and things such as ADHD/Depression. But if we are mutuals you are welcome to my discord! I can talk and plot and such there even if I’m not actively writing at the time!

interactions & plotting. I will pretty much interact with anyone I feel as though I can mesh with via writing style. I like to write multi paras and I try to be as in depth as possible, but shorter replies and being silly is fine too! I don’t mind if you don’t match my post length but please, if I write 3/4 paragraphs, give me more then a couple of sentences…That being said, I do not write with pro-shippers or anything like that. If you support that kind of behavior i will block you. I usually wing it with writing and plots and such but I love plotting as well despite not being very good at it. So hit me up any time to do so!

Please also know that i don't take well to power playing or godmodding. I don't mind if Ananas gets injured, but don't write his reaction to it.

my formatting isn’t very great, and I don’t expect yours to be either. If you want to format like crazy, go for it! Just know that mine will be simpler.

When it comes to shipping, I do love shipping and I love to plot ships with other people I write Ananas as pansexual. However, chemistry is also important. Please do not force ship with me either. I will also not ship with characters underage. If you are a proshipper/ship incest I will block you on sight.

Ananas goes by He/They/It pronouns, but present masculine.