#i love the look and construction of her pieces but i always have to ignore them when they show up in my feed cause i am not doing all that

[muirneach]

petite knit makes some very good and clean looking patterns and her works always have lovely drape and fabric but without fail the patterns are always yarn held together lace/fingering. and i see why she does it and it looks very good. but is she allergic to just using one type of yarn at once

[highhhfiveee]

mint

pairing: mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: you’re abby’s mint chocolate-loving babysitter. mike takes notice. wc: 1.3k tags: suggestiveness, swearing, fluff. *minor movie spoiler that isn’t a spoiler fr but kind of is* a/n: oi. this is my first official piece of fanfic on tumblr and i'm excited but also super nervous. i never knew what characters i wanted to write for as most of my fandoms are obsolete tbh (teen wolf and maze runner, i'm looking at you 💔) but after watching the fnaf movie and falling in love with j hutch like i'm 14 again, i wanted to try to write for mike!  i'm sorry if this story sucks tbh. i wrote it pretty quickly, did not edit it in any way (watch for grammar and spelling errors!) and i'm still trying to establish characters and plot and do all this silly billy worldbuilding, but i'll get better! i'm also taking requests for both fluff and smut, so if y'all would like to send anything for me to write, i'll def accept! like i said in my last post, i think i'm gonna redo my tumblr layout so i can feel like a true fanfic/misc blog lmao so ignore its under construction phase ((: i hope y'all enjoy this though bc i've been thinking ab mike schmidt all night 

i have sooo many ideas, but between last night and this morning, i’ve been thinking of abby’s babysitter!reader (bc fuck max). 

you’ve been channel surfing in the living room since you put abby down, working with her to lock down a nightly routine. ideally, she’d bathe, eat dinner (god willingly), brush her teeth, and then you’d be able to get her to lay in bed and doze off. some nights, this required dessert. 

“you just brushed your teeth though. it’s gonna taste gross.”

“not if it’s one of those mint chocolate things you always have.” you straighten up, eyes squinted at the child before you; she meant the small, sometimes melted, squares of Andes mint chocolate you always kept. they’d always been your favorite, a guilty pleasure in this fucked up world. 

you hadn’t been babysitting abby for long, and you didn’t realize that she'd been watching you crush the chocolates like it was light work. they were easy to eat, and once you had one, you found out how easy it was to eat another one, and then another one, and then another one until there was a mountain of crinkled foil next to your phone and chocolate smeared on your face. 

"please, y/n. just one," you didn't exactly know if it was a lie. abby was convincing, able to break you down with her eyes, pleading and puppy-dog like. "please." 

you cave, leaning down to brush her hair back from her forehead and place a gentle kiss on the skin. with pursed lips, you whisper, "fine, but tomorrow night. i have to get some more." 

abby does nothing but smile, eyes fluttering closed. you stay with her for a bit like you always do--watching the way her chest rises and falls, and how her features twitched with slumber. features scarily similar to mike's. 

of course she'd look like mike. they were siblings, no shit, but the resemblance occupied your brain. there was sweet abby, with her colorful clothes and scribbled drawings and persuasive aura, and then there was mike. 

you shake your head, giving abby another kiss before exiting her room. you didn't need to think about mike. he wasn't what you were here for. you'd come to abby's school as an aide and after she'd privately confided in you about her home life, you knew you had to help her. you would do anything for her, even if that meant taking care of her while suppressing the overwhelming school girl crush you had on her older brother.

mike was a bit older than you, which didn't scare you at all. guys in their early 20s were rarely mature, doing anything they could just to fuck; but guys in their late 20s, mike specifically, had only ever shown you couth, surprisingly. 

for nearly two months, five mornings a week, the sound of the door being unlocked would ring out. you'd turn to see sunshine pouring into the living room, enveloping mike's brooding figure in a radiant golden glow.

he'd hang his coat on the wall hooks, drop his bag down to his feet, and give you a small but warm smile. you'd try to not to embarrass yourself as you two made small talk, packing up your things.

you always left unscathed, but recently it'd been hard. you were always thinking about him, dreaming about him even; how his hair would feel between your fingers, how his hands would feel on your face, how his face would feel between your thighs. 

the thought is washed away, drowned out by the sound effects of a loud infomercial when the door opens, and you're turning and squinting against the wash of pale yellow on your face. mike steps forward with a, "hey, y/n" and you meekly raise your hand to wave. 

he hangs his hoodie up to reveal his shoulder blades flexing under an uncharacteristically tight navy blue sweater. you can't help but stare.

"just wake up?" his voice is raspy, but he's still facing the wall, rummaging in his bag for something. 

"um...yeah. brain's still turning on," you lie, tossing the thick blue blanket off your body. you didn't sleep at all, kept up with your thoughts and the last of your Andes mints (though you loved her, you couldn't give abby your last ones).

"hm," he mutters, finally turning to you but keeping his hands behind his back. something crinkles in them and you raise your eyebrow at the tired yet amused expression he takes with you. it's enough to make your body hot and you awkwardly pull at the collar of your shirt, fanning yourself off.

"hot?" the gravelly tone sends you into a giggling fit, shaking your head as you shoot to your feet. you have to leave before you do or say something you regret. 

"uh, yeah, it was s-super hot under that...um...blanket. i shouldn't have worn sweatpants to s-sleep," you stutter, nodding your head along with mike as he steps closer to you. this couldn't be the moment something happens, right? it'd been so casual between you too, very friendly, and he'd never shown any signs of trying to do anything with you before. why would he choose right now, so spontaneously? 

he stands before you, the slightest bit taller than you. you're able to see every pore, every freckle, every microscopic detail in his eyes and lips.

you open your mouth, hoping your heart doesn't fall out, to ask what's happening, when he reveals a bag of Andes mints, one bigger than you've ever seen.

your mouth stays open in surprise. "wh-"

"abby's been talking about them. i wondered where she found out about them but--" he nudges his head towards the coffee table, where a small mound of green wrappers lay. you swear under your breath, cursing yourself for not throwing them away like you usually do. 

"i'm sorry," you whisper, blushing beyond measure as you begin to frantically pack your things. "i should be more careful with that stuff."

"god, y/n, you're saying it like it's coke," mike chuckles. he sets the bag down on the couch and reaches out to you, placing his hand on yours as you shove things into your tote. "hey." 

his voice forces you to stop and look up. you melt under his stare just like you do with abby. the puppy-dog thing must run in the family.

"i feel bad about not being able to pay you yet, and i really appreciate all you're doing. abby told me that you loved those mints, so..."

"thank you, mike," you say over the sound of your pounding heart. you didn't care about the money, you didn't need it. being appreciated by someone who made your heartbeat resonate throughout your body was payment enough. "this is really sweet." 

"thank you, y/n. you don't know how much this means to me." You scoff, throwing your tote over your shoulder and looking down at your feet. 

"i'm always happy to help." you and mike stand facing each other for what feels like hours, the air as thick as molasses between you. his eyes were squinted, low and dark and intriguing.

you wished you could read his mind. what was he thinking? did his heart do the same thing as yours, wacking against his ribcage with no end in sight? did he stay up thinking about you when he was supposed to be sleeping, imagining how you felt, what you sounded like, how you tasted---

"see you later tonight?" his voice rocks you out of your trance. he's not thinking about you. he's tired, wondering when you'll leave so he can fall into his bed and doze off. 

"yeah. tell abby i said i'll see her tonight." your smile is tight as you exit the house, cursing at yourself as you get into your car. 

you didn't know how long you could go on like this. 

ya, i know this sucks and it isn't really anything but we're gonna work our way through these fics and blurbs to really develop a cute relationship (,: i will still be writing other fics for mike, and possibly using another babysitter!reader in a different universe, but as for now, we're gonna be rocking with these two (: (thinking that we’ll label her as 🌱🍫!reader)  all notes are appreciated (: thanks for reading!

[elryuse]

THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOWERS

WONYOUNG X MALE READER X GAEUL

TAGS : LOVE TRIANGLE, CHEATING WONYOUNG, LIGHT YANDERE GAEUL, ANGST, HAPPY END, FLUFF

The city lights blurred past the taxi window, a kaleidoscope of neon mirroring the turmoil within me. Each raindrop hitting the pavement echoed the hammering in my chest. Wonyoung was gone, not physically – she still shared our apartment, a ghost haunting its familiar walls – but emotionally, her heart stolen by a cruel mirage.

Sunghoon. The name felt like a curse word on my tongue. He was everything I wasn't – loud, flashy, the center of attention. Wonyoung, my sunshine, my Wonyoung, had been lured by his supernova glow, leaving me in the cold, desolate space he left behind.

We were the perfect couple, or so everyone thought. Public appearances, stolen kisses on award shows, our social media a testament to a love people envied. But behind the curated feed, cracks had begun to show. Her lingering glances at Sunghoon, the whispered conversations during interviews I couldn't decipher.

I buried my head in the sand, clinging to the illusion of our happiness. Until the day I saw the message. A careless text left open on her phone, a single sentence that shattered our carefully constructed world.

"Meet me tonight, baby. Can't wait to see you again."

The phone slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the coffee table like a gunshot. The once-sweet scent of her perfume in the air turned suffocating.

Days bled into weeks, a hollow space where Wonyoung used to be. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored. The guilt gnawed at her, I knew, her apologies echoing in a phone call that replayed on a loop in my mind. But the words, laced with a desperation I no longer recognized, rang hollow.

My saving grace, my lighthouse in this storm, was Gaeul. Wonyoung's best friend, always a presence on the periphery of our relationship. Now, she was the constant by my side, a silent pillar of support.

Nights were the worst. Sitting in the living room, the echo of our laughter bouncing off the walls like a cruel ghost. Gaeul would sit beside me, a warm presence against the chill that enveloped me. Her hand, a grounding force.

One night, as sobs wracked my body, a flicker of something new sparked in her eyes. Not pity, but a hesitant understanding. A silent confession we both acknowledged but couldn't yet voice.

Wonyoung returned, a broken bird with tear-streaked cheeks. Her apologies were a torrent of words, a desperate attempt to rewind time. But the pieces of our love were scattered, impossible to reassemble.

My heart, once overflowing with love for the girl with sunshine hair, was now a barren landscape. The thrill she craved had left her empty, the excitement a fleeting mirage.

Gaeul was different. Her love was a quiet flame, a steady warmth in the storm. Her eyes held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a quiet strength that complemented my own.

As Wonyoung packed her things, a ghost leaving the life she'd built, a flicker of hope ignited within me. It wasn't the same fierce love I once held for Wonyoung, but it was a spark nonetheless.

Looking at Gaeul, her hand resting on mine, I finally found the words that had been lost, choked by sorrow.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I think… I think I might be falling for you."

The rain outside had stopped, replaced by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds. A new beginning, fragile but hopeful, stretched before me. The love I once had for Wonyoung, a vibrant flower, might have wilted, but from its ashes, a different kind of love bloomed. A quiet love, a steady flame, waiting to be nurtured.

Timeskip

The scent of jasmine, once a sweet reminder of Gaeul's calming presence, now made my stomach churn. It clung to the air like a ghost, a stark contrast to the cloying perfume that filled the apartment when Wonyoung reappeared.

"Y/n," she breathed, her voice trembling like a teardrop. She stood in the doorway, my name a soft plea on her lips. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The Wonyoung I knew, the vibrant sunshine girl, was gone, replaced by a fragile wisp of a woman desperate for redemption.

"Wonyoung," I mumbled, unsure of what to say. Gaeul was away for the weekend, visiting her family. A selfish part of me, a flicker of the love that still flickered like a dying ember, welcomed this unexpected visit.

"Can I come in?" she pleaded, her voice a mere whisper. I hesitated, the image of Gaeul, her hand intertwined with mine, flashing in my mind. But Wonyoung's watery eyes were too much to bear.

"Just for a bit," I muttered, stepping aside.

She moved like a wisp, collapsing onto the couch I used to share with Gaeul. The scent of jasmine mingled with the heavy perfume, creating a suffocating mix.

"I miss you, Y/n," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "I miss us."

My heart clenched. The memories flooded back – stolen kisses in backstage corridors, whispered secrets under a blanket of stars. But that time had passed, replaced by Gaeul's quiet strength, her unwavering support.

"Gaeul..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Gaeul is kind," she said, her voice laced with something bitter. "But she doesn't understand you like I do."

She took a step closer, her hand brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, a betrayal of the fragile peace I'd found with Gaeul.

"We could try again, Y/n," she whispered, her voice husky. "Forget Sunghoon, forget everything. We can be like we were before."

Her words were a siren song, a desperate attempt to rewind time. The Wonyoung I once loved stood before me, but the ghost of Gaeul's hurt loomed large.

"Wonyoung..." I began, searching for the right words.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, framed by the entrance, a dark cloud behind the veil of her hair. Her face, usually radiating warmth, was set in a mask of cold fury.

"Gaeul," I stammered, the air thickening with tension.

Wonyoung, sensing the shift in atmosphere, whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What's going on here?" Gaeul asked, her voice devoid of its usual gentleness. It was a voice I'd never heard before, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

Wonyoung, flustered, stammered an explanation. But Gaeul cut her off, her gaze fixed on me.

"Y/n," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The question hung in the air, an accusation disguised as concern. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she clung to the words "everything alright" like a lifeline, was unsettling.

"Yes," I lied, my voice thin. "We were just… catching up."

Gaeul's gaze never left me. It was an intense scrutiny that made me feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. The jasmine scent, which once offered solace, now felt like a suffocating prison.

Wonyoung, sensing the hostility, opted for a graceful retreat. Mumbling a quick goodbye, she practically flew out of the apartment, leaving an unsettling quiet behind.

Gaeul turned to me, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions. The love, the possessiveness, the anger – it all swirled together in a terrifying cocktail.

"Don't let her manipulate you again, Y/n," she hissed, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The Gaeul I knew, the comforting presence, seemed to have vanished. In her place stood a woman I didn't recognize, a woman consumed by a love that had turned possessive.

The night that followed was a blur of accusations and justifications. My apartment, once a haven of peace, became a battleground. The love triangle that had started with Wonyoung's infidelity had now morphed into a suffocating web of possessiveness, with Gaeul as the spider at its center.

As the sun peeked through the blinds, casting harsh light on the wreckage of the night, I knew things couldn't go on like this. My once cozy apartment, filled with shared laughter and the scent of Gaeul's jasmine tea, now reeked of tension and the cloying perfume Wonyoung had worn.

Gaeul sat on the couch, her back ramrod straight, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Gone was the gentle touch that used to comfort me, replaced by a cold, unyielding demeanor.

"Gaeul," I started, my voice hoarse. "We need to talk about this."

She finally looked at me, but not in the way I craved. Her eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, were hard and calculating.

"What is there to talk about, Y/n?" she spat. "Wonyoung just waltzes back in after breaking your heart, and you're ready to fall for her all over again?"

"No," I said, trying to defend myself. "I just... I don't know what happened last night. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her lips turned into a thin line. "Sorry doesn't fix things, Y/n. You need to make a choice. Me or her."

The ultimatum hung heavy in the air. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have issued such an order. This possessive stranger felt like someone I barely recognized.

"Gaeul," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "We haven't even…"

"Haven't even what?" she snapped. "Haven't confessed our feelings? We've been there for each other through everything, Y/n. Isn't that enough?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the facade. But the possessiveness remained, a dark cloud clouding her love.

The truth was, it was enough. Gaeul's unwavering support had been a lifeline during the storm of Wonyoung's betrayal. Yet, the way she was acting now felt suffocating. Did I love Gaeul? In the aftermath of Wonyoung's heartbreak, maybe it was a form of gratitude, a comfort zone I'd settled into.

"Gaeul," I tried again, "I need time."

Her eyes narrowed. "Time for what, Y/n? To run back to Wonyoung's arms the moment she bats her eyelashes at you?"

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "Time to figure out what this is, between us. This possessiveness… it scares me."

The anger in her eyes flickered momentarily, replaced by a flicker of sadness. "Is that all I am to you, Y/n? Just a possession to be claimed or discarded?"

My heart ached. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have spoken like this. The love that bound us, now twisted by her possessiveness, threatened to unravel completely.

"Gaeul, you're not just a possession," I said, trying to reach her. "You're my friend, my support system. But… but this isn't healthy. We both need space."

She stood up abruptly, her movements jerky and tense. "Fine," she spat, the word laced with hurt and anger. "Have your space, Y/n. Just don't come crawling back to me when you realize you threw away the good thing you had right here."

With that, she stormed out of the apartment, leaving me alone with the ghosts of the night and the deafening silence in its wake.

The following days were a blur. Neither Gaeul nor Wonyoung contacted me. The space I'd craved felt more like a desolate wasteland. The apartment, once a haven, felt empty without the comforting scent of jasmine tea or the familiar warmth of Gaeul's presence.

As the days turned into weeks, a strange realization dawned on me. My feelings for Wonyoung, once a passionate inferno, had dwindled to embers. The betrayal had left an indelible mark, a permanent scar on our relationship.

What about Gaeul? The possessiveness that had initially scared me, now felt like a twisted reflection of the love she held for me. A love that, however distorted, was genuine.

One evening, I decided to take a chance. Armed with a bouquet of jasmine flowers, I stood outside Gaeul's apartment, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

After a long wait, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

"Y/n?" she said, her voice thick with surprise.

I held out the bouquet, the jasmine flowers radiating a comforting scent. Gaeul's gaze softened, a flicker of recognition replacing the initial shock.

"Gaeul," I began, my voice rough with emotion. "I messed up. Big time."

She didn't say anything, but her eyes held a silent invitation to continue.

"I was scared," I confessed, taking a deep breath. "Scared of losing you, scared of letting go of the comfort you offered. But my fear twisted your love, turned it into something unhealthy."

The vulnerability in my voice seemed to resonate with her. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

"I don't want Wonyoung," I continued, my gaze meeting hers with newfound clarity. "The woman I miss is the one who brought me jasmine tea in the mornings, the one who held me through the night when my heart ached. The woman I love is you, Gaeul."

A hesitant smile bloomed on her face, as beautiful as the first flower peeking through winter's frost. She stepped closer, the scent of jasmine mingling with the warmth of her body.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Can I… can I kiss you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, a silent permission. As our lips met, a spark ignited, a gentle flame rekindled by honesty and second chances. The kiss wasn't fiery or passionate, but filled with a quiet understanding, a promise of a future built on trust and love.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of apologies, forgiveness, and cautious exploration of this newfound love. We talked for hours, peeling away the layers of fear and misunderstanding.

One evening, as the city lights twinkled outside our window, casting a warm glow on the apartment once filled with tension, I knelt before Gaeul, holding a small velvet box.

"Gaeul," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "You were my friend, my rock, and now you're the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, a radiant smile breaking through the dam. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with happy tears.

The following year, surrounded by friends and family, we exchanged vows. The jasmine scent filled the air, a symbol of love, comfort, and a second chance. As I looked into Gaeul's eyes, brimming with love and joy, I knew I had found not just a wife, but a partner who understood the complexities of love and was willing to work through them.

The love triangle that had threatened to tear my life apart had ultimately led me to the one person who truly mattered. And with each passing year, the love we shared, nurtured by honesty and trust, only grew stronger.

[warriorofthought]

Part 2 I did love you, always!

Summary: Bucky broke up with you but the Winter Soldier still loves you.

Word count:  2189

Warnings: sad and sentimental Feelings 

Winter Soldier x Reader

You had, with Bucky as the winter soldier controlling his body, two wonderful weeks until his mind slowly started to slip back, bit by bit into Bucky.

You and Winter didn't talk about how you both will manage it when Bucky comes out again, just ignoring it and making the best out of it. It's foolish, you both know it. 

Deep down in your heart you know you can't lose Bucky again, but you don't care in which mind you have him but to lose his individual again will shatter your heart in thousands pieces again and never will heal.

Currently you walk from the stable into the living room, carrying a few Wooden blocks to throw into the fireplace as you see Winter sitting on the sofa a bit lost in thought, his phone in his hands.

You throw the Wooden blocks in the oven and then walk closer to him. “Are you writing someone?” You ask and see him slightly flinch, which surprises you.

You look a bit more focused on him and see, in winter's eyes, that he slipped a bit back into Bucky.

“Bucky? Who did you write to?” You ask gently. 

You see him frown, then his eyes set on you. 

“Sharon.” 

You nod, swallowing hard. It's what you have expected to happen.

You watch him, and see how Bucky's eyes flicker before they are Winters again.

“I'm sorry, my love. But Bucky has written to Sharon.” 

“Don't worry, it's alright. Are you feeling good?” 

“I'm, my flower”

“Are you sure? Can I do something to help you?”  you ask concerned and pat his thigh.

Winter grabs your face, soft but firm. You grasp slightly and watch him, his eyes piece into yours with a deep frown.

“Everything is alright, Winter.” You say comforting.

The Winter Soldier relaxes his grip and kisses your forehead.

He is silent for a moment, just holding you. But then he whispers.

“I know you are right, but somehow that makes everything tougher… Sharon loves the real Bucky. But you actually love me, the other side of him and him, you love us both equally.”

“I know, don't break your head with this thought alright, I will love you, no matter what happens.” You promise him.

“Just let us enjoy our time, hmm?” 

You see Winter nod gentle at you.

You grab his hands and walk over with him to the sofa, there you put on the tv. It's Winter's favorite show, you let it play.

In the meantime you watch Winter, his features. You still see the emotion from the killer machine that Hydra produced, but he is surprisingly soft in everything he does as long as you are present.

But then you also see how Bucky starts to appear slowly more often. His eyes start to lose the Winter Soldier touch.

Then one night without your knowledge as you sleep, Bucky writes Sharon.

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, the glow of his phone illuminating the room in the quiet of the night. The message to Sharon was crafted with care, each word heavy with the weight of his decision. He glanced over at you, asleep on the bed, your face peaceful in the dim light. You were everything to him, the anchor that kept him grounded. Yet, here he was, pretending to love Sharon, a facade he had built out of fear and confusion.

His relationship with Sharon was a facade, a fragile construct built on lies and deceit. She was ambitious and driven, but her love for him was shallow, lacking the depth and understanding he found with you. He knew he had to end things with Sharon before the charade became unbearable, but the thought of hurting you in the process filled him with guilt.

Then he start writing:

Sharon,

I can't keep living this lie. I'm leaving. I'm sorry.

Bucky

The message to Sharon was written, and his thumb hovered over the send button. It felt like he was about to detonate a bomb.

Then he hit send. It feels so heavy.

He set his phone down, his hands trembling as he fought back tears. He couldn't bear to face your disappointment, but he knew he couldn't stay here any longer. He quietly gathered his belongings and slipped out of the farmhouse, the night swallowing him whole.

The next morning, you woke to find Bucky's side of the bed empty and his belongings gone. Confusion and fear gripped your heart as you searched the house for any sign of him. 

“Winter?!”

“Winter, come on, where are you?” you still don't hear anything.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you here?” but still you get no answers.

When you found nothing, you reached for your phone, your hands shaking as you dialed his number.

But there was no answer and your heart sank. You knew then that he was gone, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken promises.

As the sun rose, casting a warm glow over the farm, you stood alone on the porch, your heart heavy with grief. Bucky had vanished without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart alone.

The sound of a car approaching broke the silence, and she turned to see Sharon stepping out, her expression a mixture of confusion and anger."Where's Bucky?" Sharon demanded, her voice sharp. You met her gaze, your eyes filled with sadness. "He's gone, Sharon. He left last night."Sharon's face twisted in disbelief. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? He sent me a message to come here."

Your heart ached as you watched Sharon read the message on her phone. You knew the pain and confusion you felt mirrored Sharon's own emotions. Bucky had left them both behind, with nothing but his lies and deception to show for it. 

“That coward," Sharon spat. "He ran away and left you to deal with this? Typical."

You stand your ground. 

"He was scared, Sharon. He made a mistake. We all did."

Sharon's eyes blazed with anger. 

"Don’t try to justify his actions. You knew about us and still kept seeing him."

You feel a pang of guilt but you keep your  voice calm. “Sharon, Bucky is in a conflict with himself, the winter soldier is still fighting to stay.” Sharon scoffed, shaking her head. She doesn't listen. "You’re pathetic. Both of you." 

With that, Sharon stormed back to her car and drove away, you felt a profound sense of loss wash over you.

You watch as the car disappeared down the road and step inside the farmhouse again with a heavy sigh.

Bucky Barnes stood in the middle of an icy, snow-covered field, the frosty air biting into his skin. The winter sun cast long shadows, and the quiet was almost eerie. In his mind, a battle raged between the memories of his past and the life he was trying to build.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the appearance of a figure he knew all too well: the Winter Soldier.

It was like looking into a twisted mirror, seeing himself in the cold, unfeeling eyes of the assassin he once was. 

The Winter Soldier stood still, his expressionless face partially hidden by a black mask, his metal arm glinting in the dim light.

"You can't run from me, Bucky," the Winter Soldier said, his voice a mechanical growl.

"You think you can hide behind new memories, but I am always a part of you."

Bucky clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his past pressing down on him. "I'm not you anymore," he replied, his voice firm but strained. "I've changed."

The Winter Soldier smirked, a chilling sight. "You think you've found love with Sharon, but you're lying to yourself. You know who your heart truly belongs to."

Bucky's mind flashed to memories of you, the woman who had been a beacon of warmth in his life after he was freed from Hydra's control. Your smile, your laugh, the way you made him feel like he could be more than just a weapon. But then there was Sharon, dependable and strong, someone who understood the world of espionage and danger.

"You don't know anything about love," Bucky spat back. "You're just a ghost."

 "You can't hide from me, Bucky. You can't hide from what you really want." Bucky squared his shoulders, trying to steady his racing heart. "I won't let you control me anymore," he replied, his voice resolute. "I'm not the Winter Soldier."

The Winter Soldier's lips curled into a mocking smile. "You're right. You're not me. But you can't deny the truth. You can't deny who you truly love.”

Bucky's mind flashed to memories of you, the warmth of your smile, the gentleness of your touch. But there was also Sharon, strong and dependable.

He had tried to convince himself that being with her was the right choice, the safe choice. Yet, the Winter Soldier's words cut through his defenses.

"I care about Sharon," Bucky insisted, but even as he spoke, doubt clouded his mind. The Winter Soldier took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "But you love y/n. You know it. I know it. You're just too afraid to admit it.”

Bucky felt a surge of anger and confusion. "Why do you care? You're just a remnant of my past. You don't know anything about love."

The Winter Soldier's expression softened slightly, a rare hint of emotion breaking through. "Because I'm a part of you, Bucky. I know everything you feel, even the things you try to bury. You can't run from yourself."

Bucky clenched his fists, the internal struggle tearing him apart. 

"I don't want to hurt Sharon. She's been through enough."

The Winter Soldier shook his head. 

"You don't have to hurt her, but you have to be honest. With her, with y/n, and with yourself. You owe them that."

Bucky's resolve wavered, memories of you flooding his mind. He remembered how you made him feel alive, how your presence had brought him peace in the chaos of his past. He had been trying to build a new life, but it was a life without the one person who truly made him whole.

"How do I do it?" Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I make things right?"

The Winter Soldier stepped back, his mission complete. "You start by being honest. Go to y/n. Tell her how you feel. Fight for her. You have to be willing to face the pain to find the happiness you deserve. Then we can be one and live happy."

Bucky watched as the Winter Soldier faded into the snowy landscape, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Leaving the snowy landscape behind, Bucky set off on a journey that was both literal and emotional.

He traveled across snowy landscapes and through bustling cities, driven by the hope of making things right. 

When he finally reached your doorstep again after he was on the farm where he left you behind and didn't find you there, his heart pounded in his chest.

He knocked and after a few moments, the door opened. You stood there, your eyes widening in surprise and uncertainty. "Bucky? What are you doing here?”

"I came to see you," Bucky said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I need to tell you the truth. I made a mistake, y/n. I thought being with Sharon was the right thing to do, but it was a lie. I love you. I never stopped loving you.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn't move. "Bucky, you hurt me. You broke up with me, without a good reason. Then as you fall back into the winter Soldier mode, you suddenly remember me?" 

"I know," Bucky said, stepping closer. "And I'm so sorry. I was scared, confused. But I can't hide from my feelings anymore. You mean everything to me, y/n. Please, give me another chance to prove it."

For a long moment, you just look at him, your expression unreadable, even a bit disappointed. Then, slowly, you nodded. "It's not going to be easy, Bucky. You've hurt me deeply."

"I know," Bucky said, his voice filled with determination. "But I'm willing to fight for us. I'll do whatever it takes."

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching his. Finally, you stepped aside, letting him into your home and, tentatively, back into her heart. 

“That is your last chance, Bucky. You can be lucky, I love you.”

“I promise, to do everything, you earn your trust. I love you too, so so much.”

It was the beginning of a new journey for both of them, one that would require patience, trust, and a lot of healing. But Bucky was ready to face it, knowing that this time, he was fighting for the right reasons. And as they sat together, the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cold outside, Bucky felt a sense of peace. He was no longer running from his past. He was embracing it, using it to build a better future. For himself, and for the woman he loved.

[lxvepotiion]

٠ ─ unlovable? maybe ❟

pairing : john price x reader

word count : 500 ish?

summary : maybe you're not as unlovable as you think you are

warnings : self-deprecating thoughts. feeling of unwant. angsty sprinkles.

a/n : gif from google, not mine. little fic here, let me know if i missed any warnings too. constructive criticism is always appreciated. reblogs and likes as well 🫶🏻

It was a night like any other in the dimly lit safe house, the quiet hum of machinery filling the air. You sat in a corner, your thoughts drifting to a place you often tried to avoid. Price stood by the window, his silhouette cast against the moonlit sky. "Did you really think it would be that easy?" His voice broke the silence, pulling you from your reverie.

You glanced up, meeting his piercing gaze. "I never thought it would be easy," you replied softly, your words weighted with emotion.

He sighed, his expression unreadable. "Neither did I."

There was a heaviness in the air, a palpable tension that neither of you could ignore. You had always been drawn to Price, his strength and determination captivating your heart from the moment you met. But as much as you longed to be close to him, there was always a barrier between you, an invisible wall that you couldn't seem to break through.

"I've realized I'm hard to love," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And it's so funny, because I bear my heart so freely. An open book. I couldn't hide my feelings from the world even if I tried. But when people try to love me back...they can't. or wont.." a brief pause in her sentence. "Something about me wrong in their head."

John's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching yours for answers. "You're not unlovable," he said firmly. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Maybe I come off too strong... I'm too clingy, codependent, i think. Or maybe I'm just picky..."

Your words hung in the air, the weight of your insecurities suffocating the space between you. You wanted to reach out to him, to let him see the depth of your feelings, but fear held you back.

John's expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "You don't have to be anyone other than yourself," he said gently. "And you don't have to push people away to protect yourself. Sometimes, it's okay to let someone in." Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Could you allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let him see the fractured pieces of your heart?

"I'm scared," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "Scared of getting hurt, of being rejected."

John took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "You don't have to be scared," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'll never hurt you, I promise."

In that singular, soft moment, surrounded by darkness and uncertainty, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. Maybe, just maybe, you could find solace in his arms, a refuge from the storm that raged inside your heart.

As he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips, you knew that no matter what the future held, you were ready to face it together. For in each other's arms, you had found the one thing you had been searching for all along: love. his love.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

this is literally all i could think about on my drive to work today so i present to you

what cars would vox machina drive?

keyleth: you know she's a subaru girlie, olive green and dented (bc lbr keyleth would not be the best driver) and covered in just ALLLL the bumper stickers, for state parks and liberal politicians from like two decades ago and charities she doesn't even remember donating to (she has three different "who saved who?" bumper stickers and she doesn't know how she got any of them). there's a rattle that starts whenever she gets over 40 mph but she's choosing to ignore it.

percy: this is an old money bitch so you know he has a bunch of cars, mercedes and aston martins and bentleys, but i think his go-to is a brick of a rolls royce, dark gray bc black is too obvious

vax: an olllllllld black thunderbird that is absolutely falling apart, just a complete hazard to have on the roads, but vax pours any excess dollar he has into keeping the piece of shit running bc he loves it so much

vex: a sensible, clean honda civic sport (blue) that has every single bell and whistle offered but that she negotiated down to $10k below the sticker price. she will drive this thing into the fucking ground before she gets a new one. the back seat has a special protector/sling thing for trinket.

pike: just the most absolute unit of a gargantuan pick-up truck you can imagine. something that no self-respecting construction professional would even drive, just so fucking mammoth that the TIRES are taller than pike. she has special electric stairs that descend so she can get in. she has this because a) she is a monster and she deserves it and b)

grog failed his driver's test (both written and practical) six times before just giving up, so he just goes wherever pike goes

scanlan: a tricked-out cadillac he had specially painted the most gnarly shade of purple with sparkling gold rims and LED lights along the undercarriage that are linked to his illegal stereo that he is always bumping way too loud with the windows down. just a fucking pimpmobile of a vehicle. leather seats that you do NOT want to look at under a black light and special hidden compartments for the contraband he insists he has but absolutely does not.

tary: this twunk drives a gold porsche 911, and he hates giving his friends rides when they need one but when he does, he makes them take their shoes off. do NOT ask him for the aux, it is a waste of your time. he is an insanely reckless driver, and once he finally wrecks the porsche for good, he's shocked to learn how much they cost (this one was a gift), so vex drags him kicking and screaming to honda to get him a civic of his own (not as nice as hers bc without daddy's money he definitely can't afford it).

[the-lark-ascending69]

Scoops Ahoy Ronance AU?

Ooh I like this 👀

First off I want to say that one of the things that attracted me to ronance when I first watched s4 was the fact that Nancy seemed to be so annoyed with her, lmao. Idk what is it about it but I love it when they can't stand each other at first. That's why I feel like a good ronance story begins with Nancy wanting Robin to stfu.

Now, unlike Steve, who was mildly annoyed but didn't pay her much attention at Scoops Ahoy, I think Nancy would be fuming whenever Robin tried to pull any snarky shit with her. I don't think she'd outright make a board to count how much Nancy sucks like she did Steve, firstly because Nancy doesn't have the same cringe material that Steve does, and secondly, I don't think Robin would act like that with a girl. I just think she's nicer to girls. Still, she's still in her S3 mode, porcupine energy, pretends to not care and be above it all while still pretty much not liking her coworker.

I think she'd find it bitterly funny and really unfair that Nancy doesn't seem to know they even went to the same school. Excuse her, she was Barb's friend first, Wheeler. Show some respect. But she doesn't see the point in telling her because she doesn't care about it, anyway. She just has this aloof, standoffish attitude with Nancy all the time. Rather than making fun of her, she's ignoring her, or telling her to stop bothering her, she's trying to read.

The truth is that Nancy is insufferable here. She feels it's undignified for her to be working at Scoops Fucking Ahoy for the summer, but she still tries to make everything the way it's supposed to because she's already going through the shame of working at Scoops, she's not going to humilliate herself by doing it poorly, too. Plus, she genuinely wants to be nice to clients, until they stop being nice to her. Still she keeps a tight smile whenever they come make her life a living hell, something her coworker can't seem to pull herself to do. It's as if Robin didn't care that people could tell she was tired or annoyed, and she's seen her fight with Erica more times than she deems appropriate. She doesn't appreciate Robin hissing like a cat at a 10 year old girl.

Nancy is just... confused as to how she even got to this point and who did she anger to get paired up with Robin Fucking Buckley. Yes, she's trying to make some money, but truly, how could this have been the only place that called her?

So she's always giving Robin a hard time, scolding her for not smiling enough and condecendingly showing her how it's done (which only earns her the most dead of stares from Robin), or telling her to just go to the back of the store to keep playing with her language tapes if she's not going to do things correctly. Robin just rolls her eyes at that.

She doesn't mock her as much as she does Steve, but when she does, it's her way of challenging her in her flaws, it's constructive even if neither of them realize. Nancy will ramble about how Robin clearly doesn't care about their job and she's sorry if she doesn't need it as much as Nancy does, but she won't let her become an obstacle, to which Robin responds by raising her eyebrows, throwing her head back and saying "wow, Wheeler, that was so inspiring. I mean, I knew the Wheelers were dirt poor but I didn't think it was that bad. Hey, look, we have that in common!" Nancy doesn't like being undignified, but Robin isn't afraid of shaking her a little - mostly making sarcastic comments whenever Nancy does something she wouldn't expect Nancy Wheeler to do, in a way that is unfair because it shows how little she knows her and how many ugly things she assumes about her. That's another thing that drives Nancy mad too, because she's still so full of pain and fear and anger, and now this weirdo is poking fun at the fact she owns guns (plural) as if it were some kind of punchline and not another piece in her trauma puzzle.

I think they surprise each other by how well they work together while cracking the code once Nancy stops scolding Robin for running through the mall and standing on a table, spinning around while talking to herself. She's shocked by the fact she speaks four languages, and even more shocked when she cracked the code when Nancy couldn't. That's when she stops seeing Robin as an apathetic weirdo who's made it her life mission to annoy her, and starts seeing her as an incredibly intelligent young woman whose brain works in mysterious ways. Nancy almost wants to take her brain out of her head and study it, because it's as if she were hanging upside down, looking at things backwards and reading secret patterns no one else can see. It actually inspires Nancy to try to solve problems the way Robin does. It surprises Robin to no end when Nancy is suddenly taking her seriously and asking for her opinion. She's so shocked she doesn't even make sarcastic comments about it.

I think Robin starts seeing Nancy differently as she starts to open up, slowly. She tells her the essential only at first - different dimensions, girl with powers, monster hunting, demonic possesions, now apparently russian spies as well. Whenever Robin asks how she even got involved in all of this, Nancy gives an obviosuly incomplete explanation about helping a friend find his brother (Robin sees through it immediately - why go so far for someone she didn't even know? It'd make a little bit more sense if she did it to help her own brother, but that's not what she said, so she's obviosly hiding something). Robin is still shocked that Nancy Wheeler owns guns. She's even more shocked when she gives one to her, as if she knew what to do with it, and even more when they get intercepted and Nancy fucking shoots and kills one of those guys. Robin did not expect her summer to go like this. It must be some weird kind of dream.

It happens slowly. Robin shows more of her charming nature without quite opening up. She manages to trick an agent by speaking a little bit of russian, she manipulates one of their torturers so they won't hurt Nancy, she bravely talks back despite Nancy begging her to keep her mouth shut and somehow it works. Somehow these people are convinced, somehow, that it's more convenient for them to keep them alive and with all their bones intact. It's like Nancy has been thrown into a whole new reality, in which making yourself small and try to politely convince people to listen to you isn't compulsory, in which you can be defiant and cunning and determined and win. Make them listen to you. Even if the victory is small, it's still a victory. Thanks to Robin, she gets to keep all her nails. Maybe talking so much wasn't a flaw after all.

She opens up slowly - about Barb, and her guns, and the violence she's seen and all the pain inside her heart, and Robin feels so stupid for thinking she was a priss. Nancy is profoundly touched by grief and loneliness. She lost a part of her heart at 15 she's never getting back.

But Robin doesn't open up back. She apologizes for being mean and reassures her that they'll both see Barb soon, and she won't be alone when that happens. All she says about herself is that she feels, you know, like she ruins everything. Nancy doesn't understand, but what Robin means to say is that she has only thought about Tammy Thompson once since this all started, and it was to say to herself, I don't even care if I never see her again, if I get to die next to Nancy Wheeler. And she feels like that is even more forbidden, somehow.

They're drugged. They talk. They're rescued and they get sick and they vomit most if the drugs. Most of it. And they ask each other things. Nancy asks why so many languages, and Robin tells her about Operation Croissant, thinking Nancy will make fun of her, but it seems she just finds it cute. She asks Nancy about Jonathan. She tells her she doesn't think their relationship has any salvation, after she made them lose their previous job. That's stupid, says Robin. Weren't you right after all? Your boss is a piece of shit, by the way.

I dragged him with me. He shouldn't have lost his job because of me.

Fuck that. I'd say it's on your boss. Didn't that guy send you to solve the mystery of the missing mustard?

My boss? Yeah, something like that.

Nancy asks her then if she's ever had any boyfriend. She can't imagine anyone being unable to fall utterly in love with Robin once they get to know her. She expresses this sentiment to her, and Robin gets somber all of a sudden. You don't actually know me, Wheeler, she says.

I like to think I know enough to mean what I say, Nancy replies.

Well, you're wrong. People just... don't know me. No one does. I don't know if you've realized, but I don't have any friends. I'm not the kind of person who's known by other people. Or has friends.

It breaks Nancy's heart a little to hear that.

Robin, do you think we could be... friends? She asks. She normally wouldn't say something like that so directly, but she's still under the influence of drugs, and she really wanted to be Robin's friend.

But Robin feels like becoming friends with Nancy while knowing of these newly developed feelings is a crime. It is if Nancy doesn't know the truth.

There's something you need to know before we're friends.

What is it?

You're not gonna like it, and you're not going to want to be my friend after you hear it.

Robin, you can tell me.

Do you remember Tammy Thompson?

And so she tells her. She tells her almost everything: that she's always felt out of place, always a stranger, always an outsider, always unable to keep friendships and always feeling something she shouldn't. Worrying about what people were gonna say, what they were gonna think, if they were going to hate her, if she was simply too much and had something fundamentally wrong in her that made her unloveable. She dumps all of this on Nancy, expecting her to be annoyed or disgusted, or to simply realize she didn't actually like Robin all that much, in the end.

But Nancy just takes her hand says, Robin, listen to me. That is not true. Any girl would be lucky to have you.

And in that moment, it feels like she's breathing in for the first time in her life. Like there's a small puzzle piece being sloted into a hole in her heart that she'd forgotten was there. She feels her nose itch, and her eyes water a little bit.

Can we be friends, then? Nancy shyly asks, like a kid at the playground. Robin laughs weatly and nods.

Uh... yeah. Yes. I'd love to be friends, actually.

Nancy smiles, and to her surprise, she raises on her knees and hugs her. It's been a long time Robin has received a hug from anyone other than her parents, and she's never felt this happy.

[worldbeyondtheworld]

Here's the AU route I mentioned in my post (here) collecting several ideas for a Swap AU / Slay The Monster AU.

Please buckle in. This is going to be long, long post. The main part has *looks at numbers* more than 2,000 words. The author notes have more than 1,000 words. I will add the author notes in a reblog, so that you can find them if you want.

The Voices exist as separate entities after the Princess acts, dies, and the Chapter 2s start. They manifest as protectors of the Long Quiet’s pieces (Quiet for short) but only one can appear at a time and often needs time until they are fully physical. Who and how depends on the Princess’ actions in the previous loop as well as in the current one. Other Voices can manifest in their minds in chapter 3s and 4s as in canon.

Does that make it a Protect The Monster AU?

I love this direction because it evokes a similar contradiction to the canon game that doesn’t exist in this kind of AU. The Narrator wants the Princess to slay the Long Quiet. It’s the classical trope of ‘the hero / princess / prince slays the monster for the safety of their people’.

@billcyphersballsack has pointed this out in their own beautiful post about a Slay The Monster swap AU. Please give it a look here: https://www.tumblr.com/billcyphersballsack/754954086465585152

But the Narrator’s claims and the initial expectations are upended in the next Chapter when a set of protectors reveal themselves, wanting to keep the Monster safe and seeing the Princess as a threat. Or when the Princess claims to want to help, they work with her to free the Monster and escape the cabin.

The Voice of the Hero manifests rarely. He’s Quiet’s Heart and so the most vulnerable in some ways. He’s their emotional anchor, unwilling or unable to separate from them. When he does, it shows that something has gone very wrong.

Now for this route: The Princess argues in Chapter 2 with the Narrator. (From here on, I’m switching to the personal ‘you’ for the Princess as if she was addressing herself as the Long Quiet does in canon.)

The prisoner could be cursed and be actually like you. They are not monstrous! They are harmless as you’ve said before! You know after meeting them! You showed them step by step how to remove their own shackle after a trap caught you. They didn't know if they are a princess like you going by the charades they made, but you are sure that they will figure it out once they've escaped. They are just so sweet and kind, they have to be a princess! The monster is somebody else who’ve captured and imprisoned them in the cabin. Quiet just needs to do exactly what you say next time, because they’ve been down here so long, they don’t know anymore how to escape!

This is the only route where Quiet's body changes this much. They gave their own identity up and filled it with your reflection. Being themself didn't help anybody, least of all their Voices. And you were so kind…

When you spot the cabin again, it looks like before at first. But the closer you get, the more differences you see. (Related to Quiet, this is also the only route where the cabin changes.)

The Narrator is unsettled. This part of the Construct should always be stable. The Princess can find it even on the ever-changing path. The little details that were there before have vanished. You can’t tell if the walls are made of wood, stone, or something else. The cabin’s inside has no furniture anymore. It’s featureless – the ceiling, the walls, and the floor look all the same. The weapon lies next to the entrance which is just a perfect rectangle at the back, as if cut out. You ignore the weapon. You’re here for your friend, after all.

Walking down reveals a different picture. The stairs crumble under your steps. You arrive in a long corridor which is lined with cob-webbed mirrors on both sides. Your reflection moves in infinity alongside you. The Narrator warned you that you’d be changed. It’s still very strange.

At the end, behind a rusted door, you find… Another prisoner? It’s not the same cage as before. It looks similarly to the cabin behind but as if it went through an earthquake. Cracks run from the floor up the walls to the ceiling. Some spots hang uncomfortably low or bulge down like bubbles about to pop. The bars in the tiny window have bent.

This prisoner looks similar to you. Another princess, here? They wear the same dress you do, after you’ve changed from dying. Even the same gloves and shoes. Up close, you are unsettled because you could be looking into those mirrors again. They repeat your movements a few second after you. Looking closer, you notice that their skin is reflective. They only move when you do. But when you stop smiling, they continue, just looking at you.

You think you spot black feathers underneath in glimpses in-between as they fail to answer your questions about your friend.

Oh. OH. OH NO NO NO NO-

When you shake their shoulders, asking them to speak, they mirror you - much softer as if afraid to hurt. They still don’t speak. It’s like you are the only person left in the basement.

Alright, alright, you can fix this! You've promised them you'd leave together, so that's what you'll do! They both can tackle everything else once they've left the cabin and these damned woods.

You either vow to help them – you don’t know how, but you know you’re the reason for this horrible transformation. It doesn’t matter that they didn’t look like you. It doesn’t matter that you feel lonely and want another person who understands you. It doesn’t matter that you were afraid of the Monster. You forced them to be like this, rather than respecting who and what they are. And it’s your responsibility to help them undo the damage and heal.

Or you double down on your self-lies and tell yourself that this is fine. Your friend was always a princess / prince / heir apparent. This is just another effect of the curse. Probably something about mirroring every living being they encounter under specific circumstances.

No matter your choice, the basement begins rumbling ominously. The already unstable ceiling gains more cracks, raining rocks down. Rushing, you pull Quiet up, sling their arm around your shoulder, and go go go.

You are reflected infinitely as before, but Quiet doesn’t appear in the surfaces. The earth’s shaking makes everything that much more confusing. You don’t notice at first the shadow in the mirrors following you, because it is not being reflected.

Your actions and their consequences have earned you the ire of the Voice of the Hero. Or he is just that terrified, so he's lashing out. He doesn't trust you. He fears what else you might do to Quiet after you not only destroyed their agency, but also forced their own identity onto them. He heard you ignoring every detail Quiet shared with you about themself. So he’ll kill you if you’re not careful: Swiping out of the glass with his claws at your heart from unexpected angles, to try and save them.

A - If you have vowed to help Quiet heal, your determination allows you to pass the corridor without tripping. For a moment, there’s the thought that this is a demon. But you realize because of the previous loops and from his words that this is a (true) friend of your friend. He’s trapped, too, but in the mirrors. And he's not thinking rationally because he’s afraid and wants to save Quiet. If he kills you, everybody will just reset in the same place they were in the beginning. Quiet might get worse if they stay any longer.

If you look to the side just as you’re about to leave the corridor, you see a second figure reflected next to you. They look vaguely like how your friend used to look like. Their arm is around your shoulder. Next, the ceiling caves in from the earthquake, blocking off the corridor.

As you climb the stairs, you hear the Voice of the Hero crying to give them (Quiet) back. His voice cracks from grief and fear and loss. You can leave in silence because you think you trying to comfort him will be shallow. From his perspective, you’re kidnapping a dear friend whom you have turned into a shell of themself for selfish reasons.

Or you steel yourself and yell back a promise (for both of them). “I’ll return and free you as well, once they are in a safe place where they can heal. Nobody will hurt them for their true self. Or maybe you’ll get better first.” You address Quiet. “And get here before I do to save your friend.” As the silence drags on, your heart sinks and you turn to leave.

“Alright. I’ll hold you to that vow,” a familiar voice whispers, right into your ear. “If you hurt them, I will tear your heart to shreds.”

Whipping around, you find no other company other than the person you’re holding up. Have they become heavier? They’re leaning more into your side. You would have seen if they had turned their head to you. It was their voice – same tone, same cadence – when you first met them before you died. It’s the voice of the shadow who attacked you from the mirrors to save his friend. They sound the same. How?

You shake your head to clear your mind. No more dawdling. There’s two persons who need help, quickly, and who need to reunite. You shuffle forwards. Your friend doesn’t fall in step even as you both reach the stairs’ top.

“Are you o-” No. Do not ask THAT. “-Oh. Is your leg hurt?”

They’re not looking at you, but down into the basement. Just five steps down, darkness swallows the stairs. Not even a hint of the mirrors is visible. Funny, it didn’t feel that far.

There’s a likely reason for their reaction. You encourage that independent thought. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we’re hiding from any scoundrels left around, the earlier we can plan how to get him out.”

It’s only now that they look at you. Their smile is gone. The edges of their face are blurring. Black feathers peek out of their hair that darkens at the roots. More feather are growing on their arm where you’re holding on. They look better- not much, but they do. They nod.

At the door, they stare around. They’re holding onto the door’s handle, clutching it so tightly that it crumbles in their hand and their pointed nails suddenly pierce their palm. You gently nudge them to let go – waiting until they uncurl their fist on their own. Staring down at your joined fingers, they exhale shakily and take the first step outside. This is when the sound of thousand of wings flapping announces the Long Quiet’s fetching of his Shard.

B - If you have chosen to double down on your mistake, you try to appease Hero. You have no weapon to defend yourself with against him. Everything is shaking apart, that you can barely keep upright. It’s a wonder the mirrors have only gained cracks. You lack the determination to evade and run because deep down you understand what you’ve done and intend to do is wrong.

He's probably another poor soul trapped - maybe her friend's personal knight, because he carries himself like one from the little you see. He's just misunderstood what happened and wants to protect them from a stranger.

You claim that this isn’t your fault, that you didn’t know that this would happen. But isn’t it better to look like a person again instead of a monster? The rest of the curse will surely leave once they’re outside and under people again. And if not, you’ll take care of them. All the while expressing that you will keep making all the choices for Quiet without ever bothering to find a way for them to communicate what they want, especially now that they seem to be unable to act for themself. And you only care about them because you think they are like you, not different.

The Voice of Hero goes eerily, dangerously still. A chill runs down your spine, and the hairs on your arms and neck stand up. A predator is lurking nearby.

“I understand,” he says, echoing from everywhere. You clap your free hand over your ear but it's still ringing. Speaking softly, his words drip with apoplectic rage. “You wouldn't have even bothered to hear them out if you thought them a monster. You only care about what is the same as you.”

The mirrors have reached their limit. They begin to crack, splintering the Voice of the Hero’s outline into several pieces that eyes, each of them staring you down. The ceiling is dropping. The mirrors’ surfaces go blank, one by one and become opaque. It removes the dizzying infinity but also hides him from view. What was once felt too wide open – an infinite room that you could never find a way out of because it could go anywhere – closes around you like a moving wall.

You start running again, but your escape is cut off by the mirror that slams down in front of you. You look- Why do you look changed again-

Shards explode outwards. From behind you, from both your sides. From above, from below. Your reflection vanishes as blood spurts. The shards cut you up, the last one piercing your chest. A clawed, feathered hand pushes it in deeper until it reaches your heart. You fall to the floor, unable to keep standing. By chance your eyes fall on the massive shadow that has manifested, cradling something pale close to their chest. He’s crying, water running down his face and dropping onto your friend, somehow unharmed, still wearing your previous face. They are crying too, eyes anguished over their sunny smile. They are not looking at you.

Everything goes dark and you die.

----

Voice of the Cheated / a similar Voice manifests in the next Loop as the first one. The others follow depending on the Princess’ choices, but it Will be all of them. The Princess in her self-lies feels cheated out of having a new friend; Quiet is anguished to be treated as less for what and who they are. They want to be treated fairly and with respect.

My Ideas about the next Vessel are sparse, except that she looks like what she saw in that last mirror and fears the Shadow / Voice of the Hero. He in turn will fall into a protective rage if she comes close to their hiding place.

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

RWBY Redesign Critique Ask.

https://www.tumblr.com/divinecomedyproductions/734986950335938561/it-is-with-great-pleasure-i-get-to-show-you-all something to review on my redesigns which I commissioned a friend to do for my reimagined AU, he’s a great artist so if any criticism comes I feel it should be towards me since I gave him the direction

——

Sorry I took a bit long to respond and critique! I’ll talk about the redesigns in chronological order of team RWBY. You mention this as being part of an AU of sorts but I’ll just critique it as just outfits for the girls’ character.

——

Ruby Rose.

I hope you guys know when I critique designs I do my best to not sound rude. I’m only harsh/very constructive towards the artists and directors who get PAID to design characters as they’re making money off this by plastering said designs onto merchandise. A character designer who works for a show’s company is gonna have higher expectations compared to a commission piece that’s out of fun and joy- So please don’t be upset if I say something that sounds mean.

With that out of the way, Ruby’s look is cute but simple. She’s the safest design of the four. Ruby wearing silver earrings is again cute but this does remind me too much of her Volume 2 look. I obviously can’t judge since last I redesigned Ruby she was just a culmination of her Atlas and Vale look but more slate color. I’m guessing Ruby was the hardest to redesign for this one.

Her look isn’t bad but overall just a safe design.

Weiss Schnee.

Shea is giving me magical school girl vibes I don’t know why- Revolutionary Girl Utena!!!

Okay jokes aside I absolutely love how modest Weiss looks, I can’t totally see her wearing this if she ever attended Atlas instead of Beacon as her huntress attire. She has the perfect amount of red and black in where the placement of it should be, but as for the blue, maybe replace it with just white? As the blue, red, white, in this look does sometimes remind me of AMERICA FLAG!!!!!!!!!!

But if it did just get replaced with white than blue it wouldn’t look too much like her Volume 2 outfit. So don’t worry.

Blake Belladonna.

Oh my god…. YES! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Okay right off the bat, color placement is perfect, she’s got primary black with a good chunks of white and purple, plus the cute gold buttons to balance her eyes. I love it! Colored to perfection! She isn’t a black blob, she can look east to see where her limbs are if ever in combat.

With her hair back into a ponytail it doesn’t mess up her colors much anywhere like her original look almost did. I love the return of the bow now helping her show her ears than hide them, as it now pulls her hair back. I love her aesthetic as it still screams ‘a Blake outfit’ as sometimes people find it tricky to design for Blake. I always think that Blake just needs to have no sleeves in order for her outfit to work, but here is an exception. She’s my favorite of the four.

Yang Xiao Long.

Oooooh!! Okay it’s a tie cause I bias-

Yang actually looks like someone you can hang out with on a motorcycle! I love her aesthetic but what I love more is that she isn’t wearing ugly browns but instead black, making the yellows pop out so much more! Trust me if Yang just wore black instead of brown in the actual show, she’ll have a good outfit or two already in the show canon than just her Volume 2 design.

Though I think it’s too much yellow… I know you can have some purple somewhere to balance her eyes out. As for the yellow on her jacket sleeves it can just be black instead. A fourth color is definitely needed for this than just yellow, black and gold. But overall it’s so minor I’m willing to ignore it.

But I can’t really ignore the hat, it’s gonna turn into a crisp since I think hats would be in the way of Yang’s semblance, best to just ditch that part.

——

In summary, these outfits are fun. I can tell your friend really had fun designing the girls and had an actual vision to what aesthetic the girls should have. I’m still gonna encourage you play around with Ruby the most because Weiss, Blake, and Yang are absolutely stunning that just radiates their personalities and vibes well. I know they can do the same with Ruby.

[strawhatsoraya]

Hello love . I hope you are doing freat . I dont knkw if your rwquest box us open its not feel free to ignore this . Can you please do smt with one piece boys ( law , zoro , marco and benn your choice ) with a chubby s/o that gets harrassed/grabbed when she says no they start to belittle her ( you are lucky we gave you attention seeing how you look) (true story some ppl are just shitty ). If you can do it it will amazing op boys are my comfort characters . Sorry if its long! Take care of yourself and thank you in advance xoxo

Hello Love! I am so so sorry this has taken so long. This month has been absolutely bonkers, and whenever I think I have a little free time things just keep happening. Anyway, enough of the melodrama lol you don't need to know all this. I wrote this as headcanons in like ficlet/drabble formula. Thank you for requesting! Once again, sorry for the delay, I hope you're able to come back and read these.

OP BOYS & CHUBBY READER WHO GETS HARRASSED WORD COUNT: 2.4k total! CONTENT WARNING: Slight sexual harassment, violence, blood, slightly suggestive conversations. so not nsfw on that level. read at your discretion. please dni if these kind of things are triggering. i would hate to make someone upset or uncomfortable.

It was just like your crew to always find themselves in the rowdiest, most popular pub in town. You had gotten used to their affinity for a good time, after all, they were pirates—and so were you. The sea was a dangerous place. Every wave brought a new sense of danger, a new threat to your life. You learn quickly throughout your journeys that in order to survive this life of alluring adventures you needed a particular set of skills. You needed unfaltering courage in the face of even your biggest adversaries. You needed a quick wit, so sharp your enemies see the blade coming. You needed nerves of steel, the kind that keeps your legs from quivering in the middle of the biggest bluff of your life.

And you also needed Ego on your side; one carefully constructed to be not too big, not too small—just enough to float, just enough to keep from insults from sticking.

You think Ego is your friend. You think Ego is standing behind you, hands on their hips, frown on their face when you feel a slap on your ass. You turn around, top lip curled, hands going to your own voluminous hips. Anger bubbles in your veins, and your fingers dig into soft flesh.

“You still don't know to keep your hands to yourself?” you bark, looking up at the person in front of you. They have several heads on you, and shoulders so broad it procures images of a ship's mast.

“Oh, come on,” he goads you. You can tell by his crooked grin he finds himself charming and convincing. The only thing you feel he's convincing you off is to kick him right in the ball sack. “Don't act like you don't like it. It's not like you get a lot of attention anyway.”

That kind of comment is not new. You tilt your head, almost instinctively, a small hum in the back of your throat feels like the start of an engine purring. Still, you manage to make it sound soft and condescending. He does not take to it well, and he seizes your arm, pulling you towards him with force.

“Don't you act all uppity with me, you should be begging me to grab your ass,” he hisses as he flies towards your face. His face is contorted in barely controlled rage, eyes dilated, a vein throbbing on his temple. You try to pull your face away from the stench of alcohol and fish on his breath. “Looking like that, your crew must be embarrassed.”

There's a threat unfurling in your throat, thorny roots growing and beginning to lash out. They never make it past the back of your teeth. There's a presence you're all too familiar with, quickly intercepting between you two.

Benn Beckman

You stand in his shadow as he slips between you and your assailant. He was so quiet you almost missed his entrance, if it wasn't for the faint smell of tobacco. He stares the man down, a cigarette perilously hanging for its life between his lips. His rifle was comfortable settled over one shoulder.

“The only one embarrassing me here is you,” he informs with a raise of his eyebrows. “Get your hands off what doesn't belong to you.” Benn looks over his shoulder at you when the man releases you. “You okay, bug?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak without hissing or cussing up a storm. Instead, you massage your bruised arm.

You hear the man again beginning to speak. You can't catch the words he's trying to form, especially not when Benn swings his rifle around. The butt of the gun slams into the man's chin once. There's a scream coming from the bar, and you hear bar stools toppling over; the feet of chairs scrapping the floor so shrilly your ears ring even when Benn swings his rifle again, this time ramming his weapon right in the middle of the man's face.

He screams as he falls over, hand clutching his nose as bright red blood spurts between his thick fingers. Benn approaches slowly, his long legs not needing to do much to breach the distance. When the man struggles to get up again, Benn brings a foot down on his stomach, stealing his air. He crouches down as the man coughs, and splutters, too winded to react immediately.

“Get out,” he tells him plainly tapping the butt of the rifle on the ground. Benn holds on to the rifle with both hand while he crouches on his haunches. You think he looks all too casual for a man who had just broken someone else's nose. “You're lucky it was me.”

He stands up and leaves the man to his friends who drag him out as they all launch empty threats into the air. Benn walks back towards you. You think to thank him but his large hand finds the side of your face. You're not sure if it's the adrenaline rushing through you, or shock, but you lean into the warmth of his skin. He leans in to whisper in your ear: “Don't worry, Bug,” he whispers. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “I still find it extremely difficult to keep my hands off you.” He pulls away and brings his hands up, and looks towards the back of the establishment with a sheepish grin—as if he had gotten caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “But what can I do? Captain's orders.”

He grins and sets a fire over your skin, goosebumps left behind at the sound of his laughter.

Marco the Phoenix

“Oi, oi,” his voice sounds jovial, friendly even. You glance sideways at the ship's doctor and know better. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and his shoulders are particularly tense. You chew on the inside of your cheek and resist as best as you can. Under the circumstances, offering your services as the unofficial masseuse of the Whitebeard Pirates would be very tasteless. You would loathe to appear tasteless, at least in the presence of Marco. “Now,” he starts again, his fingers grazing your skin as they grapple the man's hand. He pulls on his fingers, until the man cries out in pain, his free hand around the man's wrist. Marco has the man's ring finger in a vice grip. “You really should be careful where you put your hands. Sometimes, we don't realize it, but we put them on very very dangerous places.”

He smiles tightly, eyes growing increasingly dark. The man groans as he falls to his knees, trying to move along with Marco as he pushes his fingers back closer towards his wrist. At the sight of the tattoo on Marco's chest, the man's eyes grow wide and he starts to plead. A scream rips from his throat, and you are rooted to your spot, unable to look away from the scene.

“Accidents,” he says crisply. The bar had grown deathly still, and you hear a crack split through the silence. You flinch right before the man screams again. “They can happen at any time. You should get that looked at!” he said, brows raised as he feigns concern. He slips his hands in the pockets of his colorful shorts. “Looks pretty bad.” The man is holding on to his wrist, his finger twisting at angles you know are not normal. Marco wrinkles his nose at the sight of his finger, bruises blooming around where knuckles should be.

There's a warm hand on your wrist, and you allow yourself to be swept away from the scene. You're brought back to reality by the feel of hands running down your arms, up your neck and settling on your cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Marco asks you, brushing a thumb over the apple of one cheek. You nod quietly, eyes darting away to look at his shoes. He had always been this close when he checked on you, being as accident prone as you were, but somehow this kind of closeness feel strangle intimate.

“Good,” he says releasing your face. You blink, trying to focus, and he flicks your chin with the knuckle of one finger. “Chin up, Buttercup. You're perfect and beautiful. Men like that only know what the floor of the deck tastes like. They got two butt holes for eyes,” he uses his fingers to point at his own eyes and back at you. He looks ridiculous, and you had never heard him say such things. You laugh, finally feeling yourself relax a little bit.

“Theeere you go,” he coos, as he reaches out to pinch your cheek. You rub it once he lets go. “Let's go have a drink. Just you and me.”

Roronoa Zoro

You smell him before you see him. Sweet sake that floods your senses. When you breathe out, the air whips around your ankles, and you hear a blade in the air. It stops on the inside of the man's elbow—the same arm that is holding on to you. Zoro doesn't look at you. You don't have to, to know the expression in his eyes; so deadly it would freeze any prey on the spot. By the way the man's knees seem to slightly give, you think it's effective on drunk and incorrigible men too.

“You must not like this arm too much,” Zoro speaks at last, as the loud din of the bar quiets into hushed murmurs. You can hear Nami say something, and Luffy shouting a command but your heartbeat is too loud in your ears to make out what they're saying. You swallow thickly, and lick your lips. You think you should try to wiggle out of the man's hold now—shake him off but Zoro's sword hasn't moved, and so neither do you.

The man laughs, his fingers tightening around your arm so much you wince. Zoro looks back quickly, just enough to catch your pained expression before he flicks his wrist. It was a quick movement, so fast you barely catch it when you blink. You see blood, and you hear screaming. Zoro stands in front of you, as the man's friends come rushing forward. They yell to try to pick a fight but when you hear movement behind you, and smell smoke, you know Sanji is nearby.

“He'll be fine,” Zoro says more to your questioning looks than to appease the panicked men. “I didn't cut through the bone.”

Outnumbered, they retreat with their bloodied companion. Zoro sheathes his sword. He rubs his hands in front of his shirt, as if wiping away dust and responsibilities. Sanji is hovering around you and him—going from angrily yelling at Zoro to cooing at you protectively. You wave him off, embarrassed that anyone had to come to your rescue much less Zoro.

The blush on your cheeks is heavy, crushing whatever was left of your pride. You think you should drink the night away, and forget this ever happened but as you take your place back at the table next to Robin, Zoro drags a chair noisily to sit next to you. You try to ignore his stare boring a hole on the side of your face. When you find the courage to look towards him, ready to pick a fight out of irritation your words die out at the sight of his face. He is straddling the chair, his arms folded over the back of it, his face partially buried in the crook of them.

His eye holds your gaze captive, as your heartbeat accelerates.

“I don't know what they're talking about,” he mumbles, ignoring Sanji as he talks to him. “You look perfect to me.”

Trafalgar D. Law

It is frightening how you never hear him coming. You think you should. His shoes seem heavy enough. His ego seems heavy enough. His hat and his mean mouth seem big enough. You never hear him though, not even now.

You look down at the hand holding on to you, to see tattooed fingers wrapping around his wrist. You watch them flex, until the knuckles go white, until the man screams and loosens his grip. Law pushes him away from you, his expression calm and collected.

“I applaud you,” Law chimes with a grin. “You really have a way with words.” He brings a hand up to clap it against his chest. “They hit right at the heart.” Law shakes his head dramatically, golden eyes on the ground. You reach out tentatively, clasp the sleeve of his shirt. Law shakes you off gently. “Here's the thing though,” he raises a finger in the air as he circles around you.

You blink, finding it amazing that Law can hold someone's attention so well with just mere words and his presence. You watch the man stay motionless, not bothering with his bruised wrist anymore. If he was any smarter, he'd run but a fool was a fool. There was no saving them.

“My kind of justice,” he stops in front of you. You look back at his amber eyes, and he takes a deep breath before he looks away again. “Is an eye for an eye.”

You see his shoulders tense. His arm moves before you think you should stop him. In his hand is a cube, and inside the cube is a beating heart. You sigh noisily, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. He must have sensed your annoyance, you think, when Law looks back at you with raised brows.

He tosses the heart towards you and you scramble to catch it; heart in your throat, heart in your hands. You laugh softly at the situation.

“I believe in your brand of justice,” he says as he starts walking past you. He drops a hand on your head, and ruffles your hair. He leans down to whisper in your ear: “Come find me when you're done. I'll tell you all the ways he was wrong.”

He takes the heat of his breath with him when he walks away to the table where Bepo is sitting. The heart beating in your hand takes you away from thoughts of Law and his mouth, and the feel of his breath on your skin.

“Well,” you say, bouncing the heart on your hand. The man screams pathetically every time it flies in the air. “Whatever will I do with you?”

[canichangemyblogname]

When I started therapy, I was actually hung up on the fact that I didn't seem to have ever experienced dysphoria, which is a lie that has its origins in part in the fact I had no fucking clue what dysphoria actually is. I've since found that it's actually kinda hard to explain, and that's why these narratives that dysphoria is when trans people are revulsed by their body and agab, or when they "hate" their past self, persist. It's also why these "trapped in" bodies and "wrong" bodies narratives exist.

Like. I'm in my body. My body is my body. My consciousness isn't in another person's body; it's in my own. And I know myself. I know myself well enough to know that I am not a woman despite society telling me that my bits, pieces, and parts "make" me one. And how else do I explain this to someone with no frame of reference for this? I liken it to "Freaky Friday," despite the fact that's- technically- what it isn't? It’s like having an out-of-body experience. You're looking at your body. You know it's your body. But there's also a disconnect. Something's missing, and something's there that makes no sense.

I also don't think I could ever hate the girl my parents tried to raise or the woman I wanted so desperately to be. That wouldn't be very kind to me. She really tried her damnedest. And she's not "dead" because she's a vital part of my past. I, quite technically, wouldn't be trans if "she" never existed. I'd be a cis man if I was never afab. "Trans" is an important part of my lived reality.

Was I ever a "girl"? A part of me still has no idea. I know I truly believed I was, but the reasons I believed I was weren't healthy.

I held on to a lot of sex-essentialist ideas for a good portion of my youth. Why? It was all that connected me to the identity society and my family was trying to raise me into. When my cousin gifted me a uterus pin with the words "Women's rights" on it, I wore it proudly. It was a very tenuous connection to womanhood, and it was a connection I needed to critically rethink when my mother and grandmother were both diagnosed with cervical cancer (I was 11). I knew that it ran in my family and that, one day, I might need to go through the same surgery they did just to live.

I asked my mom what connected her to womanhood, and she replied: motherhood. I was never, ever going to be a mother, so I returned to the drawing board. I asked my grandmother what connected her to womanhood, and she replied: standing up to violent men and men who denied her and other women the opportunity to work; community. And I realized that I had never been extended the same community my grandmother always had been. Part of the disconnect I felt was due to violence (sexual and not) I had experienced in single-sex, "women's only" spaces. Girls in "girl's only" spaces made it clear that I was not welcome, and, at the time, I didn't understand why they singled me out and picked on me.

Even though my family was trying to raise me as a girl, the society around me saw me as nothing more than a "failed" girl. I was an "unwoman," not "woman enough," for reasons such as what I preferred to wear. But it's not like in marking me as "unwoman," they made me into a man, far from it. They sorted me- on the basis of my queerness- into some other third category. Something of a eunuch.

And it seemed like the only thing I had was some sex-essentialist, cisgender pretense (I absolutely loved the linked blog post as I found it quite striking, even though I was *never* trans-exclusionary, and I never supported those ideas about trans people) to sort of reassure myself that I belonged in society. Every time I usurped or rebelled against our sex/gender norms, I would work to distract myself from how I constructed my body into a binary and thus ignore how being made into a girl was wrong for me. I literally disconnected myself from parts of my internal self & internal thoughts, and I denied myself the opportunity to construct an identity. I was constantly gaslighting myself and consistently engaged in thought-stopping. In part because I was terrified of being "different."

I so desperately wanted to be just like every other girl that I ignored the fact that I likely never was (and that there is no such thing as universal woman/girlhood). With that realization, I could hear the words of my school-yard bullies from years ago, words which, it seems, many trans masc people have heard in their lifetime, "What's wrong? We're all girls here, aren't we? We're all alike."

I've been unable to recognize my own dysphoria because I have spent my whole life purposefully ignoring and distracting myself from those moments of "huh. something's off." I spent some 23 years of my life essentially disassociating from myself (I'm 26 now). I felt detached from my body and detached from the world around me. It felt as if everyone else was moving, but I was floating in place. I disconnected myself from my thoughts and emotions in an attempt to be accepted by a society that finds queerness disgusting.

I literally felt like I was watching my life and body unfold without my consent rather than me unfolding it myself. So, I liken my experience to "Freaky Friday" because that's also what it is.

[watanabes-cum-dump]

Hello please perceive my Azem OC

Okay thabk ye for looking at her I will now ramble abt her under the cut

So Lucifer's whole deal is that she inspired Emet Selch a lot as his senior. Like, his theatrical nature largely comes from her and so did quite a lot of his ideals. That is to say, we should be glad that Lucifer didn't survive the sundering bc uh... that would have been messy. I mean she'd be super unpredictable and she just generally has very off-putting vibes.

She's Emet Selch and Hythlodaeus' senior- not by a lot but enough that she still kind of sees them as kids/younger siblings lmao. She always used to kind of baby them... much to Emet Selch's chagrin lmao.

Anyways ON our dearest Emet Selch-

He puts her on an unrealistically high pedestal to kinda parallel how everyone holds impossibly high standards for WoL. See, the thing is, he probably shouldn't have put her up on such a high pedestal because she's highkey a sociopath. Yeah uh, he knows and elects to ignore it. Emet and Hyth both think they can fix her and yk what good for them but they look like a fuckin construction crew lol.

I'm only slightly exaggerating when I say that Emet got all of his problems from her. Like A LOT of his Solus persona comes from Lucifer. Like it's not healthy at all lmao. He is imitating her as a (fucked up) form of love and also to remember her. His love for theatrics and the arts? Lucifer. Fat fucking liar? Lucifer. Sadism? Lucifer. General apathy and/or detachment? LUCIFER. Seriously the degree to which he looks up to her you would think she was a SAINT. Something something, when someone dies you only try to remember the good things about them.

As for Hythlodaeus, at least he's aware that something is wrong with her and actually wants to help her. Emet kind of just bought into the persona she put up and while Hyth did to an extent as well, he tries to dig deeper.

Hyth has actually seen Lucifer be vulnerable, but only sort of. Honestly, Hyth is the therapist friend oftentimes to his own detriment. He gives that vibe to me. And about Lucifer being vulnerable; it's not exactly her unloading her sad baggage (bc you best believe she has it) but it's more of her being a little more honest about the fact that she just doesn't feel anyway about anything. She is very self aware about that whole thing but she also struggles with whether or not all of the stuff she says while putting up her act is genuine.

To an extent, Lucifer did genuinely care for those in her circle. She genuinely liked being around Hyth and Emet, and she genuinely respected Venat as her mother/teacher figure. It's just that she's never really honest with them, you know? Listen, Emet, Hyth, and Lucifer have been friends since they were teenagers but if you asked either of them any questions about her that go deeper than the surface you would get nothing. Lucifer on the other hand, despite her troubles with empathy and general emotions, is a little too good at recognizing what makes people tick. She is kind of a piece of shit in this regard because she will use that knowledge.

She uses this knowledge to gain favor with others, to get information, and even to preserve herself. Venat especially is really good at recognizing this and it's something they tried to work on when she took Lucifer under her wing. Key word tried bc you'd best believe when she deserted the Convocation during the Final Days she guilt tripped Emet to hell and back.

One other thing about her I want to highlight is that Venat, Hyth, and Emet are her moral compass. Not exactly in the "I love you and I will follow you" type way, but in the "oh okay you don't like it when I do this" type of way. She has no real concept of right or wrong nor cares much for the moral codes of others, she just kind of cares about how it makes her look and if it'll make her fit in.

Like, maybe she creates a concept and it's dangerous. She doesn't see a problem with it unless Hyth or Emet go "Hey girlypop, this is a little fucked up" and then she'll do a complete 180 and be like "oh haha yeah I guess it is" but she won't destroy the concept. Because why would she? A little personal project won't hurt anyone...

As you can probably tell by now, she is not the ideal person to be Azem. But of course, nobody actually knows what's going on in her noggin and by virtue of being very likable and appearing to enjoy helping other people (it's really just her trying to copy normal human behavior) to the average outsider. Does the Convocation think she's messed up? Yeah, they're not blind- but they think she's just depressed/despondent or something not that she's a high-functioning sociopath.

Now, given all of the above information, we should all be happy it was Emet Selch who survived the Sundering because Lucifer would be much worse. I think out of their little trio, Emet was actually the most merciful outcome because I also think Hyth has the capacity to be a terrifying villain. Dude just think about it; you could either have the sociopath, the one that attaches his entire identity to his friends (who would be dead in this scenario so where does that leave him) or the guys who's just a little grumpy. Shockingly enough, Emet is the most well adjusted one in this polycule. And that is saying a lot.

Lucifer would be worse than Emet because hey, at least Emet has something resembling a moral compass and only works to restore the status quo and get all his friends back. Lucifer? She'd do it for the hell of it. Everyone guiding her morals is fucking gone, what is she going to do? Without them, she has no idea what qualifies as right and wrong anymore. No she doesn't care about restoring the star or whatever she just wants her ego to be fed again. So she'll sort of go along with whatever the hell the Ascians are doing.

Anyways yeah that concludes this essay. In my next one I will go over her parallels with my WoL.

[phantommaws]

🔞 Chapter Preview - Insurrection

!!WIP LeviHan Smut!!

AKA idk wtf I am doing because I’ve never written anything like this before.

NO MINORS

It is what it said on the tin, my first EVER piece of smut. Never written anything this descriptive before, but without further ado, I present whatever this is. Constructive criticism and feedback is incredibly appreciated.

Hange looked up as Levi walked into the room, wearing nothing but his sleeping shorts as he carried two cups over to the bed. She carefully placed the book down on the bedside table before taking the cup offered to her, catching the soothing smells of chamomile and valerian root as she gave a sigh of contentment.

“Is it really a good idea to be reading, Four-Eyes? You yourself complained about how bad that headache had felt earlier.” Levi said as he slipped under the sheets beside them as they looked at him over the rims of their glasses.

“You know me, shorty. I like to read before I go to sleep – helps settle my mind.” Hange took a sip of the tea, their eye closing in bliss at the soothing flavours. She loved the new routine that she had devised for herself, revelling in the fact that she no longer had to stay awake all night the way she had in the past.

“Although, we do have the house to ourselves tonight – Onyankopon is out visiting family. I think you know what that means…”

Levi’s eyes widened in shock as he almost choked on his mouthful of tea. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to face Hange, seeing the look of pure lust in her deep brown eye as they looked at him over the rims of their glasses. He felt his cheeks flushing, mind running wild as he imagined all of the different things that would possibly happen.

“Quit looking at me like that, Four-Eyes.” He said quietly, trying to ignore the sly smirk that Hange was throwing his way. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore their presence beside him, nor the growing heat and tightness between his legs.

“Like what?”

“Like a wild animal stalking its prey.”

Hange chuckled at his statement, and Levi felt his heart leap. Fuck, he thought as he grasped Hange by the waist, pulling them so that they were sat straddling his hips as she squealed in shock, it’s been far too long since the last time.

“Damn, shorty,” Hange teased in a sultry tone as their hands wandered down his torso and ever closer to the hem of his shorts, “I didn’t realise that you would be so eager…”

Levi merely grunted in response, pulling his lover close and planting a kiss on their throat, and all Hange could do was bite back a breathy moan at the gentle touch. His tender kisses felt like they left trails of fire on her skin as he moved to her collarbones.

“Oh…Levi…”

Hange’s eye closed in bliss, breath hitching in their throat as she felt the palms of his hands wandering across her back under the oversized shirt that she was wearing. Levi always had such incredible ways of making them feel so beautiful and sensual, and now was no different.

“You’re so beautiful, Hange,” Levi breathed as he worked the shirt off, revealing the curves of Hange’s body as she sat above him and chuckled; he shivered in anticipation, and Hange smiled warmly as they reached back and released their hair from the ponytail – strands of their rich brown locks cascaded down, covering their shoulders slightly as they stretched their body out with a smile. Levi didn’t know if it was possible, but it felt like his face was growing even redder as he took in the sight before him - their soft, supple skin; the slight, elegant curve of their back.

Levi reached up and began to gently stroke the skin of Hange’s stomach, and they practically melted under the gentle attention. Both his hands and his eye wandered further down, reaching between her legs as she leaned in for a gentle kiss. Hange’s breath hissed in as they felt his fingers toying with them through the shorts, fighting the urge to grind themselves against his hand.

“Take the shorts off.” Levi practically growled into Hange’s ear with a smirk as he pulled his hand away, making them groan in annoyance at the sudden disappearance of stimulation. The brunette eagerly wriggled out of the garment, tossing it to the side before leaning back down again, crushing their lips to Levi’s in a passionate embrace. Once again, Levi’s fingers began to trace teasing circles around their clit, and Hange could barely contain their moans.

“Oh…Levi! That feels so good!”

Hange’s eye remained closed, and before she could register anything else other than the intense sensations, they felt Levi push them down so that their back was pressed against the softness of the sheets. She moved to look up, but the sudden presence of a tongue against her most sensitive spot accompanied by Levi’s fingers rubbing against her entrance swiftly stole away whatever words she was trying to form in that moment, replaced only by a cry of pure pleasure.

“Hnnngh…fuck…Fuck! Aaah…aaaaaahh…”

Hange’s face was flushed, feeling the warmth building in their lower abdomen as she grabbed fistfuls of Levi’s jet-black hair, her cries and desperate whimpers growing in pitch and volume. He was eagerly lapping at them with the flat of his tongue, fingers threatening to make her come undone at the very seams.

“Levi…I…”

Levi couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he continued his work on his lover. Their gasps and desperate cries were music to his ears, and from how much her body was clamping down on his fingers, he knew she was close. Hange was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and their entire body was trembling as his attentions brought them ever closer to climax as her back arched off the bed.

“Fuck! Levi, I’m…I’m gonna…!”

The fire pooling up in their lower abdomen exploded into an inferno, and Hange could no longer hold back her screams as the pure, unbridled pleasure overwhelmed her entire being. It felt like there was electricity coursing through her entire body as Levi continued his motions, helping her ride out the waves until she was left gulping for breath, collapsing against the sheets.

That’s all I have for now as I’m still working on it. Will be uploading the whole thing once it’s finished.

[maeumin]

AO3 FICS MASTERLIST

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 

dan [she/her] | '02

namkookmin biased !

jikook centric

twt | ao3

𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

✧ Shades of Wrong | 122k | E - completed

enemies to lovers - CEO! JK, lawyer! JM - office au

When CEO Jeon Jeongguk is offered a deal he can't turn down, he requires the assistance of a right-hand man to assure everything goes according to plan.

What a shame the perfect candidate is no other than Park Jimin, the best lawyer in Seoul and Jeongguk's sworn enemy.

✧ How to Fall in Love with Park Jimin | 106k | E - completed

exes to lovers - idol! JM, journalist! JK - angst with a happy ending

Following the release of JIMIN's new EP, 'hate & regret', rumors of an alleged romance with journalist Jeon Jeongguk have surfaced after the publication of his newest article, "How to Fall in Love with Park Jimin: a ten-step guide written by his biggest mistake."

Jeon reportedly accuses the idol of lying about their former relationship and, with his career now overshadowed by his past, Jimin is forced to figure out how to put the pieces of his life back together- and if, despite it all, one of those pieces still has Jeongguk's name on it.

✧ to the moon | 55k | E - completed

childhood friends to enemies to lovers - tattoo artist! jk, fashion student! jm - coming of age, lgbtq themes

"I promise one day I'll go to the moon with you, Jeongguk."

Matching tattoos of the moon, lakes and first loves. That's all Jimin sees when he stumbles into Jeon Jeongguk one spring day in New York, exactly four years after breaking his heart.

or; Jimin and Jeongguk promise each other the moon as kids. Time, crueler than ever, puts an ocean between them.

✧ it always leads to you (and my hometown) | 27k | E - completed

fake dating - friends to lovers - christmas fluff

“Jeon Jeongguk, are you asking me to be your fake boyfriend for Christmas?” Jimin says, bringing a hand to his chest. “Are we having a moment right now?”

Jeongguk nods solemnly, ignoring how loud his heart is thrumming inside of his ribcage. “I think we are. So, hyung, will you be my extremely platonic and fake boyfriend for the timespan of one dreadful week?”

Jimin looks up grinning like the devil. “I can’t wait, babe.”

(or; in which jimin and jeongguk have always been best friends, but it takes them one week in jeongguk’s hometown to discover all the feelings that lie underneath their ‘platonic’ bond.)

✧ say yes to heaven (say yes to me) | 3.5k | T - completed

academic rivals to lovers - valentine's day fluff - bickering

Park Jimin, master of Always Being Right, gets into an argument with his self-proclaimed nemesis, Jeon Jeongguk, about love during a lecture. Jimin claims it's a social construct built by capitalism, and Jeongguk thinks he can fix him.

(or: Jeongguk dares Jimin to go on a date with him and he agrees just to prove a point.)

✧ a portrait of you | 10k | E - ongoing (1/8 ch.)

arranged marriage - modern royalty au, prince! JK, artist! JM - seemingly unrequited love - angst w/ a happy ending

"No one can rewrite the stars, my prince."

"There is no such thing as destiny, Park Jimin, but even if there is, I'll make sure to defeat it."

Jimin has painted portraits of Jeongguk over the past ten years, secret confessions of his love for the prince of Korea. Now, as he stands in the middle of the throne room, his ears ring. He's going to marry Jeongguk in the spring— Jeongguk, the one he wants the most, the one who will never want him— and it leaves him with no choice but to set fire to his paintings in hopes that his love for the prince, too, burns down to ashes.

✧ Wasteland, baby! | 26k | E - ongoing (1/2)

enemies to lovers - religious! JK, queer activist! JM - coming of age

"Did you want something, or are you here to waste my time?”

“Here to waste your time,” Jimin replies with no hesitation. There’s a playful glisten behind his dark eyes that forces Jeongguk look away. “You know what they say. Summer doesn’t start until you bother the hot son of a priest.”

Jeongguk has always lead a quiet life. He prays, studies and remains in the shadows, keeping the truth about his sexuality away from prying eyes. But when Park Jimin— the town's LGBTQ+ activist and Jeongguk's self-declared enemy since middle school— invites him to a Pride party, he begins to discover the joy of loud, fierce and unapologetic queerness.

✧ heaven is a fire-lit room | 15k | T - completed (vminkook)

soulmates! au - seemingly unrequited love - yearning

There is a certain eerie beauty to the concept of soulmates. It may be the fact that there’s no such thing as an answer to why they exist, why the universe decided we must share the same stardust with another person.

Taehyung should be thrilled, really- he finally can feel his soulmate. There’s not a single reason for which he shouldn’t be buzzing with excitement at all times.

Except for the fact that he’s in love with someone else. Two boys. His best friends, Park Jimin and Jeon Jeongguk. He tries to forget about it, but he’s the most selfish boy in the world. He doesn’t want to let go.

✧ palo santo | 41k | M - completed

soulmates - gang member! JM, singer! JK - hurt/comfort - angst w/ a happy ending

A world where the words that make you realize you're in love with your soulmate are tattoed in your body; a world where love brings hope. A world Jimin stopped belonging to a long time ago.

(or; in which Jeongguk shows Jimin the stars still shine.)

✧ finding old places anew | 10k | G - completed

80s! au - slice of life - established relationship - LGBTQ+ themes

Moving into their first house, Jungkook and Jimin find a journal full of photographs of places around Seoul in the 60s. Many of the places have since changed, but the couple decides to take a trip around the town to find each of these treasured locations and take new pictures to add to the collection, in hopes of returning it to its original owners.

(or; in which time passes, the world changes, but jimin stays.)

✧ can you feel (my heartbeat?) | 5k | T - completed

christmas fluff - inspired by GCF in Tokyo - mutual pining - confessions

Jimin needs a Christmas present for Jeongguk, but he can't think of one good enough to pay back for everything he's done for him. What Jimin fails to realize is that Jeongguk only needs his love.

[ingravinoveritas]

u know michael has spoken out against people bashing/speculating about his relationship and anna multiple times right? even blocking some “fans” for doing so

Hello, Anon. I'm guessing this is in response to this Anon, which I answered recently.

I'd first like to clarify one point, which is that I don't consider what I wrote to be "bashing" Michael's relationship. I've noticed that people seem to characterize any commentary that isn't enthusiastic, over-the-top praise as "bashing," which in turn leaves no room for nuanced conversation, which is what I was trying to do with that post, by responding to a question that I felt I could answer.

Second, there are only two instances I am aware of involving Michael speaking out about or blocking people for talking about his relationship with AL. One occurred four years ago and sounds as if he was under tremendous pressure/had no other choice. The other took place three years ago, and what I think often gets overlooked is that this was during lockdown, when Michael was already not in the best frame of mind. It was a time I seem to keep seeing folks on Twitter refer to as "feral Michael" (such as the incident where he had an interaction with a fan over the bees in his house), but that I think is more accurately described as "unhinged."

The distinction between the two is that "feral Michael" is the Michael who was on the GO press tour making cheeky comments about Aziraphale and Crowley and brazenly flirting with David and basically being the world's biggest Ineffable Husbands shipper. "Unhinged" Michael was the side of him we saw during the pandemic, and the very difficult time we were all having. He was clearly, visibly depressed and struggling (it was especially noticeable during the second season of Staged), and it was frustrating to see everyone ignore that, and seemingly still ignoring it three years later.

That being said, aside from the above mentioned incidents, I'm having a difficult time recalling Michael ever speaking about his relationship with Anna, let alone defending it. He's talked about her during paid interviews, where the interviewer prompts him to do so (such as in the PR pieces that were published in the Australian media ahead of him appearing in Amadeus a few months ago, and this interview promoting LTTC at the end of 2021), but he has not and does not bring her up unprompted. (Again, in sharp contrast to how he constantly brings up David in multiple interviews without the interviewer even saying a word.)

There were also multiple opportunities for Michael to talk about AL publicly on social media over the past few years, and yet he's seemingly chosen not to do that. He didn't promote LTTC with her (and in fact if you look at their tweets promoting the film side-by-side, there is a stark difference). He didn't mention her or their appearance together in that one episode of Sandman, and he didn't at all promote Staged 3, which was released with almost no advanced notice in November of last year and has barely been talked about since.

I have to admit something, Anon: I am disappointed. You could have come in here and said you disagreed with me, and that would've been absolutely fine. I'm always open to hearing other opinions and people who don't agree with me, and we could have had a discussion and shared opinions in a constructive way. But when you come in here without any receipts and make comments that sound a lot like barely veiled threats, I know that your aim is to intimidate and shut me down, because you want me to stop talking.

I believe that Michael is welcome to cultivate his online space, and so are we all. My intention is to keep a respectful dialogue going because I don't believe shutting people down is the answer. I'd love for you to be a part of that, Anon...but if you don't happen to like what I am writing, it costs nothing at all just to block me and move on.

[letitiaslabyrinth]

M A S T E R L I S T

Hey!! My names luxen!!

Feel free to leave constructive criticism/feedback! If you'd like, you can add me to your tag list or asked to be added to mine.

Rules:

1. I do not write for real people (Letitia Wright, Dominique Thorne), only fictional characters (Shuri Udaku, Riri Williams).

2. Any and all x readers will be POC.

3. I will not write incest, r/pe, or any kind of unconsensual sexual things.

4. I do not and will not write anything that has to do with Nashuri.

5. You can vent in my ask box if needed <3.

6. I only write for women(this may change).

7. If you ask for a certain fic and it doesn't get done in a certain time frame, please remember that I've got a life outside of Tumblr and that I will try my best to start or finish it!

8. I don't write smut. I’m too young for it.

9. As of now, I only write for Shuri and Riri.

10. Do not rush me to finish any pieces of work.

MY WORKS

SHURI UDAKU

Shuri Udaku headcannons

lovesick!shuri who's a softy. She loves you. You know she loves you, she knows she loves you and she'll be damned if she doesn't let everyone in all of Wakanda know, too. Shuri isn't afraid to show you off when the two of you are in public. She doesn't get too territorial when it comes to you because she knows that you're hers and she's yours.

Keep me close

"It's a promise ring," she says quickly, "I know you're not ready for marriage yet, my love."

You put the ring on your ring finger, a smile on your face.

Shuri kisses you on the forehead and places one of the onesies in your hands. "You take a shower and I'll make us something to eat, alright?"

Grief

Shuri sits up slowly. She breathes in deeply and unlocks the door. "Why're you here?" Her voice is low and raspy, surprising both of them. It had been a while since Shuri had actually said something out loud.

"I heard you weren't doing so good so I came to check on you," Riri says. She's worried. Shuri can see it all over her face and hear it in her voice but she doesn’t want to be a burden.

Addiction

There were times when you would get upset about her drinking while she was drinking and she would always talk you down. Not in a bad way, Shuri doesn't like yelling to resolve an argument or a disagreement. It doesn't solve anything to raise your voice, it only makes you and the situation more hostile. Shuri would wait for you to stop talking and then politely ask if you could lower your tone. She doesn't do it to guilt trip or make you feel guilty or anything, she just can't stand yelling. And if you do actually lower your tone and calm yourself down, the two of you talk reasonably for hours. You tell her what happened, why you're mad, and how the situation escalated to the point where you had to raise your voice.

★

RIRI WILLIAMS

Stay with me

You open the car door, smiling at the red and pink bouquet of flowers on your seat. You look over at Riri, who also has a smile on her face.

"Ri, when did you have the time to get these?" You finish your sentence while getting in the car, the flowers on your lap, "They are literally stunning."

"I got em while you were napping during your foot massage. Figured it was the only time I had to disappear for minute without you noticin'."

Something new

You stand there for another minute or two before deciding that since she wouldn't address her absence then you would. "So, we're not gonna talk about the fact that you just up and left, again, this morning?"

Shuri shrugs and sits down on the couch. "What sense does it make? You ask, I ignore you and the cycle repeats? No thanks."

"Why can't you communicate with me?" "For Bast's sake, y/n." Shuri groans and rolls her eyes. "Here you go, again."

Gf!Riri hcs

She falls asleep whenever you two are watching a movie or even when you two are just alone. She feels safe with you at all times so she knows to lower her guard.

She is 100% a homebody. She likes leaving the house but she also doesn’t. If she has to choose between staying home and going out, she’s gonna pick staying in and especially if you're staying home with her.

Nervous

"Tryna get drunk already, Ri?"

"Thats what we came here for, isn’t it?"

"You do know that shit is gonna give you a nasty ass hangover, right?"

Riri shrugs and chugs her drink. It only takes a few seconds before she starts coughing quietly. It was spicy and left her throat a little sore but she liked it. She filled her cup again while Shuri watched.

"Don't come to me tomorrow morning begging me to make you something to eat and drink, you know? I gave you your warning."

You haven't seen my girl

The way Riri always looked at you with love in her eyes made you melt. It’s like she’s a cartoon character with hearts for eyes. Whenever she talked about you to somebody she’d always say “My girl”. You liked that. Being called her girl was something you lived for.

There weren’t enough words in the English language that could explain how much love Riri has for you in her heart. Every time she looks at you, a love song plays in her head. It’s not a sexual love song. It’s a slow, romantic one. Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey. That explains her love for you. That plays in her head whenever you’re in her view, and honestly, it makes her fall even deeper in love with you each time.

Just seeing you smile, seeing you write, cook, draw, seeing you do things that she knows you love, makes her fall even more in love with you. It’s not the fact that you do things that you like, it’s the fact that you do them with a smile on your face. Cooking, writing, and drawing all bring you happiness, and for Riri to be able to experience that in real-time makes her heart flourish.

Trust in her

"Rianna?" She moves closer. "That's my name now?"

"I'm not callin' you Riri when you tryna play wit me." You put your lipgloss on and look at yourself in the mirror. You look good and you know it.

"You look good, mama," Riri says, coming behind you and kissing your head. "You sure you don't want me coming with you?"

"So you can beat the hell outta some nigga that look at me the wrong way?" You laugh, "Nah, Ion want no drama tonight, but if you promise to behave then you can come with me."

You see her smile. "Aight, I'ma behave."

★

SHURI X RIRI

At the end of the day

Shuri put her hand in chest and sank to the floor, crying. "Griot," she says softly.

"Yes, my queen?" The A.I answers.

"Call Riri. Tell her it's an emergency."

"Calling Mrs. Williams now."

Riri rushed into the lab, frantically looking around for her wife. She stopped for a second and heard crying. It was soft but she was able to figure out where it was coming from.

Riri kneeled down next to Shuri, "Baby, what happened?"

Roller skating

Riri wraps her hand around Shuri's waist to hold her upright. She's clinging on for dear life. They move slowly towards the counter. Once they've made it, Riri notices how Shuri is slightly less tense but still scared. Riri asks for the trainer and gives it to Shuri. Shuri feels embarrassed having to use a trainer to skate, like everyone's gonna be staring at her once she's in the rink.

"You're okay, my love." Riri says softly. "I know you're scared but I'm not gonna let you get hurt."

Shuri closes her eyes and breathes in deeply and opens her eyes. They're on the rink. She didn't even feel them move.

Riri stays behind her the whole time, hands on her hips, moving her forward when needed. "Keep moving, ma, you got it." She says proudly.

Vacation (coming ???)

Didn't deserve

“Are you hungry?” Shuri asked Imani from the kitchen. No response. Shuri rolled her eyes and went over to her girlfriend, standing in front of her. “Can you just tell me why you’re ignoring me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you should remember. It’s not my fault your memory is shit.”

“And it’s not my fault that you’re having this one-sided ass fight over something I don’t even fucking remember, Imani. We're dating, aren’t we? We’re supposed to be able to talk to one another when we have issues but instead you're pushing me away and ignoring me.”

Didn't deserve part 2

"Imani?" Shuri says, causing her to turn around. She looks… different. A good different. But Shuri won't let herself fall for that trick again. "Why're you here?"

"I came to apologize." Her voice is different, too. It sounds more mature than Shuri remembered. "I was tryna reach out to you last night so that we could actually schedule a day that you weren't busy so I could come by but you didn't answer so I figured an apology in person would be better."

Shuri keeps her guard up while Imani talks, her arms folded over chest. "I don't forgive you."

Imani stays quiet for a few seconds. "What? Shuri, I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, and I do not forgive you. You put me through hell, Imani, and I know you didn't seriously come here thinking that those two words would make you forgive you for everything. And, to be honest, I would tell you how fucked up in the head I am because of you, but knowing you, you'd probably use it against me in the future, if we even talk. So, why don't you just save both of our time and tell me why you're really here."