#i really thought i'd for once be able to post on time for each day but i made the grave mistake of forgetting that i'm afflicted with

[loquaciousquark]

oh, I have been eagerly waiting till you progress enough to get Solas’s regrets 👀

What do you make of revelations about his origin and relationship with Mythal? How would you Lavellan feel about those?

"asked one month ago" 😭

Man, I was not ready for some of those reveals! That there'd been a war, absolutely. That he and Mythal had been "important" to each other, sure. That he killed Flemeth—I knew that one!! But good Lord, the spirit thing really took me aback. I mean, I got over it pretty quickly, obviously, but I've been in Solas fandom so briefly, and I missed all these discussions that apparently happened ages ago about him being a transformed spirit! I didn't know, guys!! I thought his parents were just weird ancient elves who named him Pride!!

The Blight thing I also didn't see coming, though in retrospect there were some oblique clues in the DAI murals. I do wish we'd been able to take Mythal a little more to task about her role in all these events, if I'm honest—I think she got off pretty darn scot-free in the end! "But Quark, she's been murdered twice!" IRRELEVANT, I WANT TO YELL AT HER, SOLAS ISN'T THE ONLY ONE MAKING BAD CHOICES HERE

As far as his relationship with Mythal, that one at least I'd guessed on my own! I'd figured even when I first saw the post-credits cutscene back in DAI that he was way too emotional over this for her to be just a friend, so I'd been working with that kind of in the back of my mind ever since. The DAV reveal didn't really surprise me as a result. Firmly on Taash's side on that one, ha!

As far as Adahla, though—that's a really great question! I think for her it's such an old relationship (it reads to me that they ended things when Mythal decided to join the Evanuris—literally thousands of years ago) that she's not really jealous or heartbroken about it. Not that she's a jealous person by nature, anyway; she's way more upset about him withholding truth from her. Honestly, in my head, she's kind of just glad someone else once knew him and loved him too.

I do think there's some interesting stuff to dive into with the interplay of those relationships, though! Solas once loving Mythal, Adahla growing up with no mother and being drawn to the motherhood aspect of Mythal, and all the complicated ties coming from her drinking the Well. I always figured any geas that came from that ended when Solas killed Flemeth, but I like the messy little layers it adds! All the complexity that comes with people who've lived a really, really, really long time. Delicious! <3

[fanficmanic]

I've finally watched 8x16 and 8x17

Just to be safe cause I don't want anyone coming at me with pitchforks and fire - spoiler alert for 8x16 and 8x17

Oh, and probably long post ahead - be warned. I need to let this off my chest and vent.

For 8a, I didn't watch any of the episodes live. I didn't have a source for that at the time, and I always kept an eye on here to sort of give myself a heads-up of what happened in each episode. Then 8b came and I found a website to watch live - which is 12 pm Friday where I live, meaning the episode airs while I'm at work.

Still, I kept watching each episode live, and put in live reactions, and went nuts over predictions and obsessed over possibilities.

Then March 31 happened, and nothing was the same again.

A week later, I went on vacation (still in that vacation as I type this - got 5 more days), where episodes air at 3 am local time. I watched 14 the day after cause I was jet lagged and couldn't wake up for it, then I watched 15 live and cried so hard to the point that I woke up my husband and he freaked out. When I explained what was going on, he just hugged me and asked if I wanted him to stay up with me to vent (this is important for another point I will be making below). I'm kinda glad that all of this was happening while I was busy seeing friends who I haven't seen in years, cause otherwise, I would've driven myself insane during that one week hiatus before 16.

Still, I couldn't find it in me to wake up for 16 and watch live. I wanted to, I really did, but I just couldn't do it. Then I read all the negative feedback and I was like, nope. Not doing this. So I found a clip of the funeral, watched that, and called it a day. This, for someone like me who hasn't gotten so hyper-focused on a tv show in years, is so OOC. I still didn't watch it, even after 17 aired, which I didn't watch live either (not for lack of wanting, but the website I use is blocked where I am currently).

This morning, I woke up to an insane amount of posts here about 17 - and my fandom bestie whose opinion I treasure the most (looking at you @cathcer1984) said that I have to watch it. So, I downloaded 16 & 17, and only was able to watch them now.

Here are my thoughts on 16 (better late than never, I suppose):

No matter what Gerrard does, and no matter how he acts, he'll always be an asshole to me.

Hen and Chim were phenomenal. Their acting was out of this world, and the makeup department deserves awards cause it felt like Chim had aged 10 years.

Buck, who has a chronic case of abandonment issues-itis, was clearly barely holding himself together. He was putting on a strong mask because Bobby told him that they'll need him, and he'd die before disappointing Bobby even through the great beyond.

Eddie only being there for a few minutes pissed me off, but man did he do an excellent job. That single tear that trickled down his face when they saluted Bobby broke me.

Athena's dealing with her grief by working the dead child's case was so in character that I wasn't even upset.

Even though I had watched the funeral scene last week (and cried), I still cried again - and once more, my husband just hugged me and wiped away my tears.

I'm kinda conflicted about Bobby being buried next to his first wife and kids. I mean, it's a beautiful move and very emotional, but that doesn't give people a place to visit him and talk to him. I'm also kinda pissed that Buck, Eddie, Hen, and Chimney didn't get on that plane with Athena, May, and Harry.

Now, like I said, I woke up today to insane posts around here, and I was so confused that at one point I thought I'd be watching Buck and Eddie throwing fists at each other.

However, now that I've watched the episode, I'm starting to wonder if I'm watching the same show as everyone else is - particularly those who are calling Eddie abusive.

Again, the acting was phenomenal, the cases were typical 9-1-1, and the team work at the end kinda showed that the team might still be grieving, but they still work together seamlessly.

The talk that Eddie had with Hen and Karen proved to me that they actually don't know what Bobby told Buck - that they'd need him. I don't think they'd be annoyed by it if they did. On the contrary, I think they'd be working on helping him unburden himself from the heavy load Bobby (unintentionally) put on him.

As for that kitchen scene, I honestly think it was incredible. The acting OS and RG pulled was crazy, and I could feel their grief and anger and helplessness as if it was my own. Again, I don't think Eddie knows what Bobby told Buck - he's still not over the fact that he wasn't there with the rest when the worst happened. And he's lashing lashing out - justifiably so. And this brings me back to what I was saying about my husband earlier.

See, the thing is, we all know that Eddie was brought up to the notion that showing any sign of emotion is weakness. He's repressed and feeling guilty on top of mourning someone who has literally saved his life. In all the past seasons, we've only ever seen him cry when he had that meltdown - and he did that behind a locked door that Buck had to break down. We actively saw him hold back his emotions and become completely stoic: when Shannon died; when he thought Chris was dead during the tsunami (even if it was for a few minutes); when Buck was struck by lightning, during Bobby's funeral, and so on. Yet, we see him try to hold back his tears when he's talking to Buck in the kitchen after pointing that menacing finger at him (can you hear the irony?).

This brings me to what I mentioned about my husband earlier. My husband and I have been together for almost 16 years - married for 14. We've been through so many different things that have caused us immense pain and resulted in one of us lashing out at the other. Our most recent issue is related to my health, which has been going on for about 3 years now, and if you ask anyone who knows me, they'd tell you that I'm ok - managing but ok. They never see my frustration and my pain and my tears, only my husband does, because he's my safe space. I know I can vent and express my frustration in whichever way I find helpful at the time, and that he'll always hold me, help me up, and support me.

This is what's going on with Eddie. He said that he couldn't cry when he received the news because he didn't want to freak out his kid. We saw him with his clenched jaw during the funeral. Still, maybe on an unconscious level, he knew that, standing there in front of Buck in his old kitchen, he's safe to let go of everything that's been eating at him regarding Bobby's death.

On a not-so-different note, Chimney punched Buck and everyone is a-ok with him (even though it's been years since), yet, here we have people calling Eddie abusive and toxic.

Then we've got Buck, who has a chronic case of abandonment issue-itis, and who (even before Bobby died) always wants to help his family and fix things. He's going around rating people's grief so that he can figure out how to help them - it's the only way he know how to do things. But he can see that they don't need him, not the way Bobby said they would, and he ends up in a confessional booth trying to contact Bobby (may I suggest a Ouija board next time?).

But even though Eddie lashed out at Buck, and even though Buck called Eddie a jerk after reading his note, Eddie (who can barely afford anything by being an uber driver) flew his son over to cheer Buck up, and Buck - the man with a heart bigger than the universe - accepted that with the good faith that it is because Eddie gave him what he needs (his family) without him having to ask for it. Because Eddie saw that Buck was trying to help everyone BUT himself, and he stepped up to do that.

Was Buck making everything about him again? Maybe, but then again this is the same person who has had to spend his entire childhood working on getting his parent's attention. Nothing makes sense about grief - like Karen said: you're grieving, fair can go fuck itself (she didn't say that, but she might as well have).

Anyway - if you've gotten this far, I thank you for reading my rambles and venting. I needed to get this off my chest because I've been feeling like I want to scream at my phone all day after reading all the different posts. Like I said in an earlier post - the amount of people I've unfollowed after the last two episodes is a lot.

[emyn-arnens]

Angrod and Aegnor Headcanons

↳ for @arafinwean-week Day 3: Angrod and Aegnor

Angrod was intent on justice as a child, and as he grew older, he developed an affinity for debate.

He was given the epessë "Iron-handed" not only because of his strength of hands and his talent in sparring, but because he was known to rule with an iron fist and place justice above mercy. Aegnor tempered him, as did Edhellos.

Those who did not know them well thought that Aegnor was the angrier of the two, but his anger burned out quickly and he could be made to see reason even in the midst of his anger. Angrod was slower to rouse to anger, but fiercer and more terrible in his wrath, and his ire did not easily cool.

During their youth, it was often Aegnor who dragged Angrod away from fights with the sons of Fëanor, reminding him of the chastisement they would receive not only from their parents (Finarfin was loath to incur any new reason for discord with his brother's family), but from Finrod and Galadriel as well, who believed it was wisest to keep well away from Fëanor and his sons.

(But if Aegnor ever got into a fight with their cousins, Angrod would swiftly end it. This was when he began to be called "Iron-handed.")

Aegnor was a poet and writer in Aman, known for his verses on nature and his whimsical poetry about the lands that lay over the Sea, inspired his mother's cradle songs. It was said that he left the craft behind him after he travelled over the Ice. Andreth could rarely persuade him to share with her the verses he had written.

Angrod was one of very few who knew of Aegnor's relationship with Andreth and was in Aegnor's confidences well before Finrod ever learned of what had grown between Aegnor and Andreth.

After Aegnor left Andreth, it was said that a terrible anger began to build within him, fury against the Enemy who had long ago dealt to Men the injury of death, and he became single-minded in his purpose to deal out to Morgoth the same injury he had dealt to Men.

Aegnor grew wrathful with the complacency of the Noldor and how easily they placed their trust in the Siege. The greater part of his wrath was held for the sons of Fëanor and their disinclination to act, but he grew angry with Fingon for not heeding Fingolfin's counsel, and it was during the Siege of Angband that the friendship of their youth was at last ended.

It was said amongst the Eldar that after Aegnor's death it became common to name those inflamed with the lust of battle as "consumed with fell fire, like Aegnor of old" and to say that their eyes "gleamed with the same fell fire" that consumed Aegnor, lord of Dorthonion, at the hour of his death.

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[scribblestatic]

Masterpost Next

I read this post by @/diushek and I have been inspired.

EDIT: IT'S THIS POST BY @deikshen, their username changed!

Their post and mine aren't really all that related save for parts of the premise, but still, I'm thankful for the inspiration so I'd like them to get attention.

--

Shen Yuan as a spider demon(?).

In his last life, since he had a lot of free time, he, of course, dove headfirst into webnovels. But, he also grew up fixing his little sister's toys and had found out that he enjoys sewing. He was rather sickly, so it wasn't like he had much else to do.

So, he learned how to fix dolls, then design clothes for dolls. Then, he designed and made a dress for his meimei to wear for a school play, and he's spiraled out of control since.

He especially went wild while reading PIDW. Airplane was so neglectful while describing clothes, so of course, he had to design what he thought they would look like!! And, if it just so happened people would spend money to buy his outfits for their professional make and relative historical accuracy, sure!

Then PIDW ends terribly, Shen Yuan writes his last hate post, and he essentially dies from rage (his already weak heart couldn't beat properly in the end).

And the next time he's aware of himself, he's sitting neatly in the center of a well-woven web.

He can't see very well, but he can feel vibrations all over the place. He'd thought to put on his glasses, but couldn't seem to...put them on. Somehow, he knew they weren't around.

He also knows that he's quite terribly hungry.

So, he doesn't think twice when he feels a vibration in his web and he crawls over to a struggling creature. He can feel the qi coming from it, whatever it is. But that doesn't matter for now. It's just food.

And he's hungry.

So he injected his prey and began to slurp up the remains.

This continues for an indeterminate amount of time. Making webs, catching and consuming prey, moving to new areas when he decided the area was getting too crowded or was unsuitable. The more plants he finds, the more he appreciates the environment, and he tends to stick around them longer until he must move.

A little ticking clock in the back of his head seems to tell him he should be dead. That his life was extending beyond its usual limits.

However, that wasn't really something he cared too much about. Instead, if he wasn't trying to sate his deep, nearly endless hunger, there wasn't much else he cared to do. Not even the thought of reproducing enticed him.

Though, a part of him was bored. If he had something to read, that would be nice, but he had nothing. So, he'd just have to mull over a story he remembers from somewhere, a hateful little thing that, despite all its faults and failures, drags back into his mind once more.

At least playing around with plants helped a bit, moving the seeds and testing the soil with thin limbs and senses beyond anything a human has.

Some time later, he finds a little cavern with strong qi. He decides that would be nice to stay in since the plants around it are plentiful and full of energy, and he makes it his home. He connects the various webs he makes to his home web, able to feel the pull and location of each web to hunt, capture, and take it back to a much safer, more secure place.

He finds his mind becoming a bit clearer the longer he stays there. Eventually, he even finds that his eyesight is getting better as well. Although he was perfectly fine feeling through vibrations, the colors around him are quite interesting as well.

Eventually, one day, he feels something pull on one of his webs. As usual, he goes out to wrap it up. But, as he approaches his prey, it calls out to him.

"Wait! Wait! Please spare me!!"

Shen Yuan pauses. If he tries to focus his vision a bit...the form of this prey looks a bit human, doesn't it? Huh. When did humans get so small? He could've sworn they were bigger before.

"Please, I just... I just wanted the fruit!!"

The fruit...ah. Yes, he'd included a few nearby trees in his web at some point. Hadn't they just been little branches? Hm. Time sure does fly.

Shen Yuan focuses his blurry vision on the being in his web. Indeed, it seems to be human. A man, if he recalls...yes. A grown human male.

Humans... He thinks of them neutrally. Humans are not exclusively good or evil, but some tend to act more one way or another. In the end, they're just another animal trying to survive and live well.

However, that shouldn't come at the expense of stealing his fruit! He eats those because they're tasty! He brought the seeds with him when he moved from his last place and he planted them himself. They're his plants...his trees! No one else had the right to take from it.

Apparently, he lets some of this thought out, a whithery, faint hiss singing from between his fangs.

"Thieeeef..."

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please, let me go, and I won't come here ever again!"

Hmmh. Not likely. If a human came this far, then it was possible there was some sort of issue with their own food. Couldn't the humans tell that he owned this area? Well...he did hide his webs well so prey could fall into his traps.

Even so, he doesn't think there's a village or anything close to this place, so this human was likely desperate enough to come out and pursue the fruit from his trees to eat. What was more likely was that the human would wail about his presence and bring trouble back with him.

So, he had a few options.

1. Release the human foolishly and wait for them to encroach on his domain.

2. Eat the human, then wait to see if anyone would come looking for him. This would possibly lead to more problems.

3. Let the human take a fruit, to make them indebted to him...but he can't just do that out of kindness. Humans could try to take advantage of him, or maybe hunt him anyway.

4...

Equivalent exchange. Bartering. If he sets this up as something where he and the humans mutually benefit while keeping the humans indebted to him, perhaps they would be less likely to see him negatively. They would also maintain a healthy fear of him.

Goodness, he was coming up with such good ideas just from encountering a single human. Perhaps associating with them a little wouldn't be so bad.

"...Free you. Fruit...but. Paaaay..."

The man trembled in his web. It was getting rather difficult to resist eating him. Such squirming enticed his senses.

"P-Pay? Pay how??"

"...Stoooory."

The man stumbles and mutters, but eventually, he starts telling a story from his village. It's just some sort of child's tale.

Even so, it's not boring.

"Hmm... Poor quality..."

The man starts pleading again as he approaches, but his pleas quiet as he, instead of wrapping him up, starts untangling the human.

"The main character...no personalityyy. Milquetoast. The princess. Even more flat. No motivation. Cookie-cutter character. The bear. Foolish. No protective instiiiinct. Elementary. 2/10."

He ends his critique while placing a webbed bag of fruit in the man's hands.

"Begone."

The human obeys.

And just as Shen Yuan expected, that same web triggers just a few days later.

This time, it's a human female. She's not as tangled in the web as the man was, having stopped fighting as much early on.

She has two heartbeats, but is terribly thin. The human male had been quite thin as well. Why?

"Lord Spider, this lowly woman is sorry... Please, may this one...tell you a story?"

"Hmm..."

Shen Yuan settles down, curling his limbs close, and waits.

She tells a story that's better than the one the male told him. Her heart skips and jumps at points, especially when the main character—a woman this time—experiences hardship. This is quite clearly a story close to her heart.

It's full off happiness and grief. A marriage collapsing from the death of her lover, and a family who refused to support her for being barren. She fights and fights and fights, and carves a place for herself. Just when she thinks she's found happiness, a tragedy strikes. A famine. And she, having exhausted everything she had, dies.

"Hmm... Interesting. Bold protagonist. Hardyyyy. Faces a dogfight world. Should ask for heeeelp. Husband. Tragic. Death too soooon. Loved the main character. Left her behind. Family. Cruuuuel. Mindless. Women are not jusssst for breeding.

"Hmm. 7/10. Too sad, realistic still."

He adds some grasses with wisps of qi coming from it to her bundle.

"What is this?" she asks.

"For the baaaaaby."

She seems to startle at that, though he's not sure why.

"...Thanking Lord Spider."

She leaves before he has to tell her to go.

...

After that, humans become a regular enough visitor that he leaves a string with leaves on the end for them to call for him. Surely, they're stuck getting caught in his webs. More importantly, he's tired of having to rearrange them every time. They really leave his webs a tangled mess.

As the season warms further, they come with more stories. Many are quite terrible and not worth his time. He gives them fruit regardless, because at least they have staved off his boredom.

They've decided on calling him Lulin Zhizhu (绿林之主 - lǜlín zhī zhǔ - Lord of the Green Forest). Or, simply, Zhizhu.

Apparently, his webs were keeping the villagers safe? The food he'd been catching had a taste for human flesh (not that he didn't, but still), so by eating, he had been helping them without intending to. That apparently made him more reverent to them, and they put more effort into their stories based on how he rated them.

Fan Zhenzhen (范蓁蓁 - Fàn Zhēnzhēn), the second human who told him a story, quickly became one of his favorites. She told the best stories, real ones, that brought back emotions he felt had been taken over by instinct for a long while. He wouldn't say he treated her better, but he did make sure to cultivate more of the grass for the child growing within her.

The humans steadily grew stronger and meatier...perhaps tastier, but he'd lose his stories if he ate them. Eventually, whatever blight affected their village abated a bit, and they could once again start growing their own food.

Instead of abandoning him, they brought him some of the food as an offering.

"Hmm...famine," he murmured, his way of speech having improved from socializing. "The sickness. Still in the fields."

"Sickness?" a farmer asked.

"Yes. The plants, victim to illness. They will not grow well." He leaves for a moment to get something. It seems they learned his habits, as they're still waiting when he returns. He drops another plant he cultivated within the realm of his webs. "Crush these. Spread them. The fields and the water."

The farmer and his offspring bow low to the ground. "Thanking Zhizhu for his wisdom!"

The offerings they bring after that show markable improvement, and the name they gave him sticks even harder.

Of course, they continue to tell him stories, as that's the most important thing they can give him. He becomes quite settled with hearing them speak and starts to absentmindedly weave little things related to the stories they tell him.

At this, Fan Zhenzhen approaches with another idea, her stomach rounding out with child.

"Zhizhu, this lowly one apologizes for being impertent. As the days grow colder, this feeble woman fears the chill of winter more than the hunger of famine. For her next story, may she instead receive some of your silk?"

"Silk...for clothes."

"Yes, if this lowly one may ask of Zhizhu."

"Hmm... Tell the story."

So she does. As with the others, it too delves into the life of the main character, who is now a powerful figure in her village for her ability to weave. Her weaving helped the villagers trust the nearby forest god, who was frightening but gracious, wild yet magnanimous. She talks about how the character was once sold by her family to be a maid elsewhere, and how she's learned to survive and come up to her current position.

As she does, Shen Yuan eyes her. The vibrations from her voice gives him a good view of her body and shape. He unconsciously, mindlessly, weaves a coat for her.

It's thin. Surely not enough to stave off winter's chill. So, when she finishes and he gives his rating, he gives her both the thread she requested and the thin coat.

It is, according to her, magnificently beautiful. In turn, Shen Yuan can't help but feel a little puff of pride in his abdomen.

---

Ah...this is getting longer than I meant lol

I'll make another post soon.

[monzabee]

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.  

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k 

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media. 

But this time, it’s different – he's alone. 

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own. 

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace. 

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life. 

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment. 

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.  

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t. 

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point. 

He clears his throat. 

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”  

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects. 

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” 

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word. 

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?” 

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.” 

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.” 

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?” 

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down. 

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?” 

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut. 

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?” 

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?” 

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?” 

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.” 

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.  

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed. 

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth. 

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.” 

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.” 

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–” 

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?” 

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?” 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.” 

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before. 

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–” 

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–” 

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?” 

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation. 

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.” 

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—” 

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–” 

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?” 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.  

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.  

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be. 

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.” 

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.” 

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you. 

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.” 

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him. 

And Lewis knows it. 

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind. 

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender. 

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”  

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe. 

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel. 

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended. 

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent. 

“Act like this changes everything.” 

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?” 

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words. 

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.” 

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.” 

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears. 

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters. 

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.” 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. 

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.” 

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.” 

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?” 

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it. 

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.” 

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist. 

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.” 

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you. 

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.” 

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.” 

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. 

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.” 

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”  

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.” 

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.” 

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”  

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.” 

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?” 

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.” 

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.  

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. 

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.” 

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning. 

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. 

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body. 

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?” 

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. 

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.” 

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?” 

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.” 

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.  

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation. 

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.” 

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.  

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes. 

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs. 

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.  

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”  

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-” 

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.” 

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.” 

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”  

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.” 

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe. 

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.  

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly. 

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core. 

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead. 

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.” 

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling. 

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless. 

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender. 

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.” 

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you. 

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.  

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”  

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness. 

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.” 

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading. 

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment. 

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.” 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride. 

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.” 

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. 

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest. 

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?” 

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.” 

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.” 

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.” 

[sulumuns-dootah]

WHB characters meeting their Obey Me! counterparts pt.2

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Asmodeus is finally back in Hell and I'm finally able to make the second part to THIS post! I also included some more characters so it's not just the two leftover kings ^^

The scenario is still the same with OM!Solomon's spell going wrong and interconnecting the universes together

      ༺☆༻

Asmodeus

Okay, OM!Asmodeus has two reactions:

"Ooh? Such a brave outfit! And those thorns are so pretty!"

but then after a few seconds after he catches a whiff of the smell, he's about ready to die

If he manages to overcome this difficulty, they'd get along pretty well

WHB!Asmodeus doesn't really react... He does recognise OM!Asmodeus as another version of him and that's about it

Oh, but once they get to talking, you can rest assured that WHB!Asmodeus is pulling out the baby pics like the proud father of his little halfling army that he is

OM!Asmodeus' followers can also expect getting their timeline spammed with photos of these two because he just wants to commemorate this meeting as much as he can

      ༺☆༻

Belphegor

Depending on the time of day, both Belphies wouldn't even notice bc they're snoozin' the day away

But let's say they both happen to be awake at the same time

The first thing OM!Belphegor notices is the amount of piercings on WHB!Belphegor

Those must've been a pain to sleep with while they're healing

Also, once he finds out that WHB!Belphegor doesn't have to do anything and has people do everything for him, he's kinda jealous

WHB!Belphegor is kinda surprised to find out that another him is twins with Beelzebub

They're almost exact opposites, or not?

If their talk steers to the whole OM!Belphegor locked up in an attic thing, WHB!Belphegor will be kinda mad on his behalf, but secretly wish he was there so nobody'll bother him

A cute concept though: OM!Lucifer finally finds these two after dealing with the rest of brothers and sees them sleeping curled up together

OM!Belphegor curled up to WHB!Belphegor who's holding him like the bigger spoon

      ༺☆༻

Raphael

At a first glance, you'd think these couldn't be any further from each other, but don't let the look of OM!Raphael fool you

WHB!Raphael was quick to see through OM!Raphael's facade of cool and calm demeanor

OM!Raphael's critical eye immediately notices all the bandages on WHB!Raphael, but he chooses not to comment on it for now

...Somehow, he did not notice the blood splatters on WHB!Raphael's clothes, though?

Out of all the rooms with our guys seeing their counterparts, this is the one I'd like to be the least in

WHB!Raphael is a bit cuckoo and doesn't mind challenging his other self

And OM!Lucifer can't stop this from happening so, honestly, R.I.P.

There are no winners or losers

They fight until the whole thing is resolved and after that, the room is filled with OM!Raphael's spears and dead angels WHB!Raphael spawned in

      ༺☆༻

Michael

WHB!Michael at first thought he's just in a room with some other angel he didn't recognise

Until OM!Michael didn't speak up, that is

"I see, so this is me..."

"Wait, what tf do you mean me being you? You dare to think you're my equal?!"

WHB!Michael's short fuse is something that does surprise OM!Michael, but who doesn't have their quirks, right?

If OM!Michael manages to avoid triggering WHB!Michael, they could get along for the time being

Still, WHB!Michael doesn't want to believe there could be other version of him, so he suspects every action and word OM!Michael says

Afterwards, OM!Michael might even write a poem about their meeting

      ༺☆༻

Ppyong & Little D.

New besties for life alert!

These two little blob-demons instantly click and start sharing stories of their respective version of Hell

Don't tell Minhyeok, but Ppyong even forgets about him for a second

I'm not sure if Little D.s eat actual food, but I imagine that if Ppyong mentions how good sweets are, Little D. would tell other D.s about it and OM!Barbatos would get a heart-attack thinking rats got into his kitchen

But nope

Just a few curious mini demons, who heard that chocolate and other food is actually delicious

Oh, and if Ppyong is able to transform into Juno, I'm sure he'd do it just to flex on Little D.

Yes, Little D. gets jealous and once he's back, he's begging anyone and everyone to be able to do the same thing

Overall, these two are super adorable, and Ppyong is kinda like the older, cooler brother of Little D.

      ༺☆༻

Solomon

Two idiots trying to come up with a fix to the whole situation

(That was my initial note for how these two seeing each other would go and I'm keeping it :D)

Picture this: The room and everything is on fire, OM!Solomon's running around, trying to take the flames out and finish the spell that will undo his mesed up spell

WHB!Solomon is just louging on a sofa, unbothered by the whole commotion

Occasionally flirting with OM!Solomon

"Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?"

"There's fire everywhere."

"I've noticed"

"Are you gonna help me do something about this?"

"No~"

OM!Solomon knows OM!Lucifer will now hold this little mistake over his head for the next few centuries

There goes his chance to get a contract with him :/

      ༺☆༻

I also had an idea about writing the other demons meeting someone they have stuff in common with(Simeon&Gabriel, Cerberus&Naberius, Diavolo&All kings,...) but decided to not add it to this post, though if anyone wants that too, lmk ^^

[shinwonderful]

Freedom of Choice

prologue to Heavy is the Heart (That Wears the Crown) [masterlist coming soon]

part of you hoped you'd be able to avoid this aspect of royalty, but it was inevitable. they would never allow the sole heir to the kingdom of evermoor to remain unmarried. all you can hope for is that one of the suitors you meet will be the true love you've always dreamt of.

⁺✦ seventeen x reader (cyoa style!) ⁺✦ word count: 3.3k ⁺✦ genre: historical, kind of a mix of everything lol ⁺✦ warnings: shitty parents, forced marriage, mention of being pressured into intimacy, i promise i'm not a royalist i just think historical stories of nobility are v romantic

જ⁀➴┊ [🐈] happy valentine's day!! this series has been in the works since november, and i'm so excited to finally post the prologue! this series has come to be very close to my heart, and i'm really excited to share it with you guys!

special thanks to @lovewithoutresin my beautiful bestie for editing and writing the dialogue for the reader's Handmaiden! I love that this series has a piece of you in it too MWAH!!

the prologue and a certain upcoming chapter are dedicated to the lovely @ylangelegy for inspiring me to pick up writing (on tumblr) again after nearly a decade (christ alive i'm old. 💀). if they hadn't been so supportive and expressed interest in this story, i'd likely not have written it. happy valentine's day ilysbbbb

dividers by saradika!

each chapter of this series will have a (relatively lol) period-accurate theme and costume.

this chapter's theme is Fauré: Après un Rêve (ca. 1870).

"A song about devotion and passion. The dreamer yearns for the return of her dreams, in which she met her love: ‘In sleep made sweet by a vision of you’."

the costume for this chapter is this gorgeous afternoon dress (ca. 1835) from the met museum archives.

“All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”

The rattle of the carriage wheels against the meticulously hand-paved road beneath your fancifully cushioned seat was, perhaps, the only thing keeping you grounded at the moment. You could do little but curse them internally, knowing putting up a fight was… tragically futile.

“How do you mean, Mother?”

You already knew the answer to this question, but it bought you a bit of time to school your reaction, to use your decades of lessons in decorum to keep your actual thoughts and feelings from clawing themselves out of your mouth.

After all, for God’s sake, how could they expect you to choose a husband on this supposed ‘diplomatic tour’?

You’d, of course, rolled your eyes when your Handmaiden had told you of their plans (though a much more tumultuous emotion stirred behind your sardonic response). Your parents hadn’t even afforded you the courtesy of a conversation before making arrangements for the tour. Instead, the news was broken only after your Handmaiden heard the rumors in whispers that echoed through the long, hollow halls of your castle. (Pro Tip: Having a best friend on your staff never stops being helpful.) You knew what this was, and it wasn’t simply diplomatic. At least, not in the usual sense.

You knew what this was– everyone did. You were of the age where courtiers began to whisper about your lack of husband, gossiping about why the Crown Heir of Evermoor had yet to even begin the courting process. Why so many requests for meetings had gone politely rejected.

The truth was much less salacious than popular theory– as is usually the case. Quite simply, you’ve just yet to meet an eligible bachelor that doesn’t make you physically recoil at the prospect of being wed to them. Between the Dukes whose eyes on your female staff were… less than respectful and Counts who couldn’t make it longer than thirty seconds without saying something to stroke their own egos, you’d rather shovel the stables by hand than meet with any prospects for the time being.

There had been a close call once, just a few months back, where you’d met with a neighboring King who was charming enough at first. That is, of course, until the bastard had tried to pressure you into necking with him after dinner one night. You sent him packing on the spot. And your parents, the Queen and King, were irate. Apparently, not offending the royal family was more important than your honor.

Which, tragically, prompted them to force your hand into embarking on what would be your ‘grand tour’ throughout the nearby kingdoms. Officially, it was a tour to introduce you as the Crown Royal to your (pre-established and potential alike) ally’s own Royal Families. To establish a line of communication and get to know each other sooner rather than later. But none were gullible enough to miss the writing on the wall. You were unmarried, and most of the kingdoms you’d be visiting had unmarried royal sons of their own to offer. After all, for a royal as high-ranking as yourself, it’s most appropriate for you to marry other ‘high-value’ royalty. Those who would be Counts in their own right someday, some even Kings. Any children born would rule over both domains, doubling your families’ power and influence in the realm. (And that was all anything was ever about. Cue eye roll.)

Perhaps you’d have fought harder if you thought there was the slimmest chance of getting your way, but… why kid yourself? This was an inevitable. Since you were young, you’d known your fate would be that of most born of noble blood. To be used as a bargaining chip, a pawn in someone else’s game– one neither of you had elected to play.

Sure, there had been a time many years ago where you’d find yourself in despair over this. Growing up, your favorite stories were the ones told of love triumphing over all. You’d go to your balcony in the dead of night, wishing to any power that could hear you to be one of the lucky ones. For you to have the chance at a marriage of love. A husband you chose not because of the family crest he bore, but for the tender affection he showed you. The way he lit up your world, coloring your bluest nights into the tender pinks of the sunrise. Someone who was well and truly yours, divorced from the way nobility are traded like commodities, but how love brings two souls into one, merging until you can’t remember where you end and he begins. A love like poetry. A love worth writing about.

But those days were long behind you. Even the most hopeless of all romantics can’t resist the effects of erosion, the cynical waves of the ocean clawing at the coast until even something so eternal as the Earth itself gives way, becoming part of the ocean it once fought to resist so vehemently. Holding onto that optimism… at some point begins to hurt you more than it helps you. And so you, once as steady as the Earth in your quest for love, you surrendered to cynicism just as steadily, until you, too, found it hard to believe that love in the pure sense even existed at all. 

Of course, those were the times when your Equerry would ask you to accompany him on a trip to the local market. After all, none could read you quite like him. It came with the territory– his job, of course, to be your shadow. To care for you, and to watch over you. And he took his role very seriously. To him, this meant to help you through not just your meetings with the steward, but also to watch for signs that your spirits need lifting (despite this not technically being in his duties). And seeing how your mouth twitched into a frown any time someone mentioned the concept of love the past few months? He didn’t have to be a scholar to read you.

So he pulled you into the castle’s preferred bakery, calling for Mister and Missus Kim and producing a beaming smile when the pair came out from the back to say hello. The couple’s eyes shined every time they looked at one another, and the three of them talked about the castle’s weekly order as you watched from near the door, mindlessly eyeing the pastries on display in the cabinet, trying to ignore the way your chest fluttered just being around something so beautiful. She held a toddler on her hip, and the moment it crossed your mind that she was looking tired from holding the boy, her husband instinctively grabbed him, placing him to lay upon his own chest instead. It was as if they had their own language, something silent but incredibly tangible that tied them together. And it was a sight to behold.

Your heart felt much less heavy on the ride home, your eyebrows quirked in thoughtful wishing instead of the bitter resignation they tended towards. Your Equerry said nothing, his hands smoothing against the hat he’d placed on his lap as he smiled softly. He didn’t need your words to know he’d done well, even if he would love to hear them. But alas, the you of the present day was much too timid to speak what was on your mind. The thoughts were much too soft for someone who was to someday rule over this nation. But maybe, you thought, maybe you were what was too soft. Maybe fate had played a cruel joke in making you the only one who could govern your beloved country once your parents no longer could. Maybe it was all a fool’s errand.

Because you couldn’t help but feel that… perhaps you’ll never be lucky enough to possess a love of your own, but you’re more sure than you’ve ever been that love is one of the finest things humanity has to offer– so real, so tangible that it shone through the dark clouds hanging over your head. And you’d do anything it took to feel its embrace, even for the smallest moment in time.

It was hard to contend with the idea people had in their head about you at times. To them, you were the Crown Heir of Evermoor. Sole Heir at that. Flowers bloomed bright the day you were born, and (according to folklore) it’s impossible for a flower to wilt if it’s been blessed by your presence.

You care deeply for your nation, making certain your Equerry schedules an allotment every few weeks for you to visit the capital’s town square, relishing in the bustle of the city and the chatter of those hard at work, or those working to forget their hard day at work. But when they notice you, they’re quick to forget what they were doing. Instead, they either gawk openly, or rush to have their moment with you. Something they’ll remember for a lifetime; ‘the time the Crown Royal complimented my pelerine’ or ‘the time I made the Crown Royal smile by presenting them with a rose’. 

But at home? You’re just… you.

You’re sprawled out over your plush bed, dressed down to your chemise and pantaloons as your Handmaiden helped you sneak a second dessert to share, shutting the door to your quarters quietly as she, too, leapt to join you in your bed with a mischievous smile (though there was an unspoken tension in the air that neither of you cared to address just yet). Your hair hit your shoulders in what were once carefully-manicured curls that had loosened throughout the day. If it were anyone else, you’d be shamed for the lewdness of this moment, but this was another perk to having your best friend as your Handmaiden. With her, this was perfectly appropriate. Even if it wasn’t technically in the spirit of the rules.

The upcoming months hung over you like a death sentence. Tonight would be one of your last as a single person, one of the last you’d not be betrothed– or worse, married. At the end of the week, you’d be leaving on your tour. Leaving the only home you’d ever known to stay at palace after palace belonging to strangers who intended to sell you on their sons. And if there’s one thing you knew; the only thing more formidable than your citizens competing for your attention is dozens of nobles doing the same. At least your people had some sense of dignity.

Today was one of the last nights you’d be free to kid yourself into believing that, by some miracle, you’d get the fairytale ending you’ve always dreamed of. Because once you left the borders of Evermoor, there would be no returning without the burden of a ring on your finger, its center stone heavy with insurmountable expectations and a destiny you’d never get to seek.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud clink of a fork on your Handmaid's plate– a clearly theatrical gesture. 

“So?” She sat her plate aside without looking away from you. When you gave her no indication that you knew what she was about to broach, she continued, her voice casual and innocent. “How long were you planning on moping about for? I just mean to ensure we stay on schedule.” 

Eyes still trained on the plate of Ratafia Cake in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at one corner of your mouth. You gave her a thoughtful hum. “I was thinking… maybe a couple more decades? Don’t want to overdo it, of course.” You looked to her with a facetious grin.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t buying it. “That sounds about right. I wouldn’t want to waste any more precious time I can’t get back either.” She kept the dry tone, but there was evident concern on her features. Perhaps a bit of frustration as well. 

Your smile faltered, the truth in her words hitting a little too close to the truth for comfort. You resorted to pushing your cake around on the small saucer, the prospect of eating suddenly much less alluring as the truth settled in your stomach like a stone. Your voice came out barely over a whisper; “What else can I do? It's not as if I have any say in the matter. I've pushed this off as long as I can. My parents…” You take an exasperated breath, “They aren’t going to budge this time.”

The pretense was dropped then, and she shifted to get comfortable, tone more serious. “I know. It's not fair the way this is happening. I hope you know I am really sorry about that.” 

“I just… don't think that the way you're thinking about this is really helpful to you.” She looked off, thought for a moment, then turned back to pick the situation apart. “We can't change the situation. So the way I see it, you have a few options here.”

You placed the cake to the side then, shifting to lean against the bedpost. Part of you felt the urge to dig in your heels, to protest, but unfortunately one of your best friend’s qualities happens to be that she’s almost always right about these things. So instead, you bite your tongue, nodding for her to continue.

“Option One; you go on the tour. You grin and bear it with the suitors. And really, you’ll only be with each of them for a short time. So if they’re that terrible, you’ll be out soon enough. Don’t worry about months or years from now– just focus on getting through this part. One step at a time.” She picked up her cake again, taking a shamelessly large bite and swallowing it quickly.

“I hate that you’re being made to choose this. But think of it this way: you do get a choice if you go. You can at least focus on trying to influence things to make your life easiest. And maybe you will end up liking someone, at least enough to try. I mean, the odds are one of them won’t be completely insufferable. And if they all are, I promise to let you mope until the end of time, okay?”

That has you laughing again, turning to look at her fully. “Careful; I may actually take you up on that. I really think I’ve yet to fully realize my true potential in the field of being annoying. And as my Handmaiden, you have special privileges as my guinea pig for just that.” You give her an easy smile, leaning on one side while you pick up your cake once more.

But as you take another bite, you ponder her words carefully. As suspected, she was right once again. Most noblewomen are not as lucky as you’ve been. You made it this far without being betrothed, and even then your parents are still allowing you the choice of who to marry instead of forcing someone upon you. So while the situation is certainly unideal… she’s right to say that you still have some freedom of choice. And while small, it’s best to count your blessings whenever they come, lest it drive you mad.

“You’re right.” You pause, trying to find a way to say what you mean without sounding naive. Or worse, corny. “What I want may be out of question, but I suppose any choice is better than none.” You furrow your brow for a moment, lost in thought. “Perhaps… some of these suitors also mourn this choice. Love may be off the table, but… perhaps we can be friends–” You pause once more, laughing softly. “–who just so happen to be married.”

You’re not sure why it took you so long to reach this conclusion. After all, noble as they may be, these suitors are human just as you are. Each of them have their own thoughts, goals, desires, dreams. And perhaps, like yours, theirs is also stifled by this imposed choice. Perhaps.

“Exactly,” she replied, face brightening a bit at your change in tone. “And… well, who knows?” She shrugged, not going any further into the thought. “At any rate, it won’t necessarily hurt to have a partner in crime.” 

“My, my– are you suggesting that I replace you now?” You tease her.

“Right. So what's Option Two, then?”

“Option Two; we let the kingdom burn, run away in the night and live on the lam. That one has a few kinks to work out.” She played it as straight as she could, but it was obvious from her face that she was trying to be funny. 

Your laughter comes out in a snort, her words catching you by surprise. “You know what? I'm half tempted to take you up on that. But I don't think Mr. Stick-in-the-mud Equerry would go for it. Tragic.”

“Oh, forget him,” she said lightly. “We can do it on our own.” She finished the last bite of her dessert.

You try to ignore the way you immediately feel guilty imagining the expression on your Equerry's face if he knew the details of this conversation. Even tonight, you had to practically beg him to take the night off so you could have this time with your Handmaiden. He's been practically glued to your side since the news of your fate reached him, ever protective of you. He means well, but… a girl needs to breathe sometimes. You can only imagine what he'd do, how he'd feel if you fled. You scrunch up your face apologetically at your Handmaiden, still smiling. “Sorry. Maybe next time.”

She laughs, shaking her head at you softly. “Seriously, though. Just try, okay? There must be some part of this that could work out for good.”

As you, too, finish the last bit of your cake, you nod solemnly in return. “Alright. I'll… try. But only because you asked me to.” You answer with an air of drama. “We should both hope this goes well. After all, he’ll soon be your problem just as much as he’ll be mine. It's your neck on the block too,” You joke.

“Don't I know it,” she replied, and collected the dish back from you. “And God help us both.”

“We just don’t want you to be so… dismissive. Alright, dear? Give them a chance. They just might surprise you. You’ve been so picky, and we won’t tolerate a repeat of last time.”

The words of your Father hit your ears like an arrow, and you’re rearing back to spit a harsh retort when you feel your Equerry place a steadying hand on your shoulder, just out of view of your parents across from you both. Looking at him, he gives you a sympathetic smile that does little to alleviate your anger, but it succeeds in holding you back if only because you hate fighting with your parents in front of him. (It stresses him out having to play the middle-man when he wants to have your back with no question.)

So you take a deep breath, letting your Father’s words linger in the air of the carriage, which suddenly felt hopelessly stuffy.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes later that the carriage slowed to a stop, signaling the end of your journey to meet the first of your suitors. Your heartbeat quickened, and as your attendant opened the door to the carriage, the sun pricked at your eyes.

While you waited as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed an unfamiliar hand reaching into your carriage, offering for you to grab to assist you out. “May I help you, Your Highness?”

And though it felt like diving into frigid waters in the black of night, you took the stranger’s hand.

[blueberri-blu]

Serious \|/

[rise] leo x reader (post movie)

Movie Spoilers!!

Angst to Fluff <3

Prompt 7: "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you!" "And I'm trying to subtly avoid it!"

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Emotions were running high, to say the least.

Everyone was coping anyway they could

Donnie was locked away in his lab, tinkering with his tech in hopes of making it safer

Raph was cooped up in his room, refusing to come out, practicing anger management

And Mikey kept practicing and practicing his mystic magic.

Leo on the other hand? He kept on going as of his usual self.

Albeit, he was a bit more serious, but he was acting as if nothing had ever happened.

You thought maybe he just didn't want to talk about it so soon. But days turned to weeks, turned to months. And now it had been 7 months after the invasion, and he had yet to talk about it.

You asked all of his brothers if had opened up and talked to them, not needing to know the details, just wanting to see if he had been able to speak to someone about the traumatizing event. Yet, everyone said no.

Leo had his lips sealed... Other than his typical one liners and puns, that is.

You were determined to get him to talk, to anyone, really, it didn't have to be you! You just wanted the best for him, and suppressing his feelings just wasn't the way to do so.

You were going to trap him. No way for him to escape, no way for him to avoid you, nothing.

You promised Leo a romantic night out. A rooftop with fairy lights, blankets and pillows, his favorite foods and snacks, the whole works.

"A surprise you say, and what brought this on Mi amor?" "oh nothing, just thought I'd do something nice for you, mi rey" (mi rey = my king) oh he was putty in your hands, especially after that nickname. And so you two continued on with your day as normal.

Once evening rolled around, you texted Leo the address, and started your trip there.

Surprisingly, you were the first to arrive, meaning you could double check everything, just in case.

Poor Leo arrived and practically melted, the scene was so romantic, with New Yorks city lights making a beautiful background for your two's night out.

You ate dinner, had a dessert, and then just laid together under the fairy lights.

"Oh, mi vida (my life) you have truly outdone yourself, really, you've swept me off my feet." "I'm glad Leo, really, I know these last few months have been... Rough" "haha, right ... Ahem, anyway, that dinner was impeccable, mi amor, this whole date has been delicious, yet I still have room for more... *Wink* because I could just eat you up!" His fingers went to your sides, tickling you to the point of you not being able to breathe. The only sounds you could make, were wheezing.

"LEOOOOOO STO- HAHAHAHA- STOOOOOP" He only stopped when he noticed your face was too close to a blue hue.

"ok, ok, ok, my hands *jazz hands* are up, officer"

You sighed, "Leo... Look, you... You're great, really, and... I want you to know that, I love you, so so much, ok? And, all I want is the best for you!"

"I'd sure hope so, we are dating y'know"

"Leo... You know what I mean Mi Rey"

"Of course I do! This romantic gesture, your loving words, are you going to propose to me mi amor?"

"Leo..."

"I mean, I do believe we are young, but, he'll! I'd say yes!"

"LEO!"

"Mi Vida!"

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you!"

"And I'm trying to subtly avoid it!"

...

You stared at each other. And that's when you saw it. The fear. Leo was scared, you could see it in his eyes, it swirled around, grabbing him, choking him. He quickly looked away, feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger and bigger

"Leo... I know it's hard to talk about but... You can't keep it bottled up, it will only make things worse, mi rey" "... I know but..." He looked back up at you.

You could tell he was struggling, so you took hold of his hand, and started rubbing hearts in his palm. "It's ok, Leo, take your time" you said softly.

Your voice always calmed him. You were kind, and calm, a grand contrast to his... Grand and expressive personality. He loved it.

"y/n, I- my brother's, they're all- they're all struggling and I- I just wanted to-" he broke into a sob. You hugged him, tightly, allowing him to melt into you.

You took deep breaths, knowing Leo would mimic your breathing.

As he calmed down a bit, he continued "all go my brother's, they're all, they're all struggling so much, and I- all I want to do is- is cheer them up y'know? I- I wanna be their rock, I wanna be your rock too" you sighed, hugging him tighter "Leo, as much as we all appreciate the sense of normalcy you've given, that's, that's not the way to do so. What your brothers and I want is to bond over this big traumatic event we've all faced, together. You don't have to talk to me about it, it could be anyone, so long as you're not keeping it to yourself, mi vida"

It was Leo's turn to sigh. He turned, looking into your eyes, they were a bit red from his crying, and a bit puffy, but he seemed... Relieved.

He then buried his face in your chest, and continued

He talked and talked, about his fears, his regrets, how he wished he could've done more, how he was so scared, how he tried his best, and still almost failed

You and Leo were there all night. Until the sun came up, waking you both. He seemed... Lighter, as if a weight heavier than life itself had been lifted off his chest.

And all Leo could think about, walking hand in hand with you on his side, back to the lair, was how much he loved you, every part of you.

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[jammatown919]

I Hear You, I'm Sorry, I Love You

(Cross-posted to ao3, and I'm pretty sure someone already reposted it here, but I thought I'd post it anyway)

After the Nublar Six reunite in Biosyn Valley, Yaz and Sammy have a talk late at night. ------ Biosyn Valley was kind of like being back on Isla Nublar, all things considered. Only somehow with more tension.

They had the forest filled with potentially killer dinosaurs. The far from ideal sleeping conditions. The inability to even build a fire out in the open because of course these stupid lizards were attracted to light.

But on Nublar, they had been a largely united front. A group of best friends with unbreakable bonds. A bunch of kids who worried more about confessing to their crushes than real, adult relationships and the problems that could come with them. Young couples who looked at each other with stars in their eyes. Now, Sammy and Kenji hardly looked Yaz or Brooklynn's way at all.

It tore Yaz up inside to be so close to Sammy and not be able to talk to her, or touch her, or even make eye contact without some weird, bad feeling settling over them both. She couldn't stand it, frankly. If she had to deal with this any longer, she was actually going to go insane.

She managed to wait until the rest of the group had gone to sleep, exhausted from their travels and wanting a few hours of rest before they continued their search for Bumpy. Without the luxury of a shelter like they'd had on Nublar, they assigned watches to ensure nothing snuck up on them in the dark. Sammy volunteered for first, and Yaz saw her opportunity.

Maybe thirty minutes in, ample time for everyone to fall asleep in their messy beds of leaves and grass, Yaz sat up. She didn't know whether it was too optimistic to take it as a good sign that Sammy had settled in for her watch nearby rather than putting as much distance between them as she reasonably could. She was completely across the group from Brooklynn, but the next person over from Yaz. Maybe she was hoping to talk too?

In any case, Yaz slowly stood up and walked over to her, intent on sitting down beside her, but Sammy managed to stop her with only a glance in her direction.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked flatly. No hint of anger, but no hint of anything else either.

"Can we talk?" Yaz replied hopefully. Sammy turned away from her with a harsh sigh, and Yaz had never felt so small in her life.

"Yaz, I don't want to fight with you," she said. "You were right about Brooklynn, big whoop. She still hurt us, and I'm still mad at her. I'm glad she's okay, but just because she apologized doesn't mean I'm gonna run right back to being her friend after everything."

"It's not about Brooklynn." It never really had been, between the two of them. And maybe if Yaz had realized that sooner, she could have saved them both a lot of heartache.

"What, then?" Sammy almost looked back at her, but seemed to stop herself at the last second.

Yaz took a slow, deep breath, then launched into what she'd been wanting to say since talking this out with Ben on the trip to Malta.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry for how I acted at Gia's house and for not taking the time to really try to understand how you were feeling. You have a right to be upset with Brooklynn, and I shouldn't have acted like you didn't. I was worried about her, but I got so wrapped up in it that I trivialized your emotions. I never meant to do that to you, and I'm so sorry that I did."

Sammy was silent for a few moments, her expression hard and strained. Then, it softened just slightly, and she patted the spot beside her. Yaz readily sat down, eager to be as close as Sammy would allow.

"It's not the first time, y'know," she murmured. "I wish I hadn't brought up Wyoming the way I did, but have you ever thought about what that was like for me? To have my partner, the only person still consistently in my life, just pack up and move away and barely talk to me? To call you every day and have you answer maybe once a week? Or two weeks? To send you dozens of texts about my day, asking about yours, trying to connect with you, and to get nothing but a thumbs up? It was like you just stopped thinking about me altogether. And I really tried to understand, because I knew what you were going through, but then you couldn't even extend the same courtesy when we were arguing. I give you space, I give you time, I do everything I can to be there for you because I love you. But when I need your support, you say I'm being ridiculous and call me a coward. You prioritize what you want to do over what I need like you don't even care."

These were all things that Yaz knew, in concept, had been harmful to their relationship, but to have it all laid out so plainly was like a knife to the chest. Sammy thought she didn't care. She had sabotaged her own relationship by being inconsiderate and oblivious. It was a lot to unpack, but it was her responsibility to do this and show Sammy she understood and wanted to do better. She would just have to start small and work her way up.

"Of course I care," she began. "And I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't. I never should have said what I said. Your relationship with your parents wasn't for me to comment on, and your feelings about Brooklynn are valid even if they're different from mine."

"So why did you say it?" Sammy demanded.

"I was too focused on trying to get you to see my side of things," Yaz replied. "I was afraid that if we didn't go after Brooklynn, something would happen to her and we'd never be able to get her back. I was afraid of everyone being too upset with her to help her. But I let that get the better of me and I lashed out at you. I resorted to arguing and name-calling because I wanted you to understand me when we should've been working to understand each other. It was childish and wrong, and I'm sorry."

Sammy let out a slow sigh and swept a hand across her face. "I get why you had to go after her. I really do. And I know I can get passive-aggressive sometimes, but I was so sick of not being heard."

"I'm sorry I let it get this far," Yaz said softly. "In Wyoming, it's not that I ever stopped thinking of you. It was the opposite."

"You ignored me for the better part of a year because you were thinking of me?" The skepticism in Sammy's voice absolutely killed her.

"Yes," Yaz went on steadily regardless. "When I left, I thought I was removing a problem from your life. We both know I wasn't exactly well, and I hated how worried you were and how much energy you put into taking care of me. I thought things would get easier for you if I left and proved that I could still stand on my own. But getting better wasn't a linear process. I had a lot of setbacks and bad days, and there were a lot of times when I was afraid that if we talked too much, I would say something that would make you think I wasn't getting better."

"It was the not talking that made me think that," Sammy said.

"It was the wrong way for me to handle it," Yaz conceded. "I should've been honest with you about everything. About feeling like your protectiveness was counterproductive, about wanting to be independent. I was just worried you wouldn't understand and it would hurt you. And then I just ended up hurting you anyway."

Sammy pursed her lips, her eyes planted firmly on the ground between her feet. Her hand twitched, almost as if to reach out and grasp Yaz's, but ultimately stayed where it was. 

"Sammy," Yaz said gently, "I never wanted to hurt you, and I'm so, so sorry that I did. I'm sorry that I made you feel like... this was our only option. It doesn't have to be. I want to fix this. I want to do better for you."

Sammy's breath hitched, and suddenly she buried her face in her hands. The tiny sob that escaped her shattered Yaz's heart into millions of pieces, and not knowing if hugging her would help or hurt just about ground it to dust. 

"This has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do," Sammy whimpered, "because I still love you. Of course I still love you. And for five years, we were good. You were there, and I felt like you wanted that as much as I did. But ever since you stopped letting me in, it feels like you've been getting further and further away from me. I can't keep chasing you, Yaz."

"You don't have to." Yaz took a risk and reached for her hand, relieved that Sammy let her take it gently. "I'm coming to you. I'm here, and if you want me, I'm yours. I love you more than anything, Sammy. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to doubt that again. Whatever you need."

"I need to know that you mean it." Through the tears, Sammy managed to fix her with a stern gaze. "When I tell you how I feel, I need you to actually listen. I need you to take me seriously even if you don't agree. And I need you to be the one to reach out to me every once in a while."

Yaz leaned in a little closer. "I promise to do my best to be better. To be the partner you need."

Slowly, Sammy leaned in too until their heads were touching. It made Yaz feel a little lighter to be close again. 

"Okay. But I mean it, Yaz," she said. "I know fixing things takes time, and I'm willing to work with you, but I need you to work with me too."

"As a team," Yaz replied softly. "Like we should be."

"Yeah." Sammy pressed herself a little closer still. "So, teammate, here's what I need from you right now. Don't try to tell me I should forgive Brooklynn. If you want to, that's your choice, but I need to make up my own mind about it. Understand?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." After another few seconds, Sammy pulled away. "Thank you."

"Of course," Yaz murmured. She wanted to ask directly if they were okay now, to confirm what she hoped she was hearing, but she didn't want to push it too quickly and risk the progress they were making. Fortunately, Sammy always seemed to know what she was thinking. 

"I don't think I was ever going to not forgive you," she said gently. "I never wanted to split up. I just didn't know how else to make you see how much all this was affecting me."

"It was definitely a wakeup call," Yaz replied. "Even managed to get through my thick skull." 

Sammy stifled a small laugh with her hand, and Yaz found it in her to smile. 

"I'm sorry it took going to that extreme to make me understand," she went on. 

"Honestly, you should get your money back for those psychology classes. They clearly didn't teach you anything about how to deal with people's feelings." It would've been a jab, one that would've genuinely terrified Yaz in the context of the conversation, if not for Sammy's light, joking tone. Thank God they could joke with each other again. "Granted, I could be more upfront sometimes. Not like I ever really tried to tell you how upset I was while you were gone."

"But you were upfront in Italy, and I was a jerk," Yaz said. "I didn't mean to be, but I was."

"Little bit," Sammy agreed. "I'll forgive you this time, but I don't ever wanna hear anything like that again, Missy." 

It didn't even need saying. Yaz had been way out of line, and she knew it. She also knew what was at stake if she continued to let bad situations get the better of her and dictate her behavior. It could never happen again. Sammy was too important. 

"Never again."

"And the thumbs up emoji is banned from now on," Sammy declared. "When I text you, I better see words."

"Words and hearts," Yaz conceded. 

"Damn right." Sammy gave her a little nudge in the side. "Now how about you get some sleep? You've got second watch in an hour, and I'm not letting you sleep in just because you're my girlfriend."

That was, quite literally, the best thing Sammy could have possibly said to her. 

"Okay." She stood slowly, reluctant to part, but knowing they would be close again soon. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Yaz."

Yaz walked back over to the pile of leaves that would have to do for bedding tonight and laid down. It was cold and extremely uncomfortable, but she couldn't help feeling a little giddy anyway. Maybe the environment was less than ideal, and maybe she was still in danger, and maybe she was even still on thin ice with Sammy, but she found it difficult to worry too much about all that right now. 

They'd managed a real conversation. They'd come to an understanding. They were going to try again. Yaz hadn't lost everything after all. 

She had her girl back, and despite everything else going on, that was all that mattered tonight. 

------ Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or buying the writer a coffee!

[candypalace]

Translation: the GazettE/Decade Book (Reita&Uruha Interview Snippet)

Hello friends, long time no see. A while ago I translated a part of the Decade Book interview section where Reita and Uruha talk about their indie days for my friends and promised I'd do the whole thing one day.

Posting this piece ahead of the full interview to appreciate the bond the guys had with each other, and, in a way, thank them for not giving up.

scan credit: @rad-is-more

REITA : … I don't really think about the roles within the band, but each of us has a natural role, and I think that's why we've been able to exist for more than 10 years. Um, well, I kinda don't want to talk about this embarrassing stuff…

URUHA: You're embarrassed?! I really don't think it's embarrassing?

REITA: No-no, it’s not like that! I don't think I'm ashamed of what I'm saying, it’s more like when I say it out loud, it makes me feel a little awkward.

URUHA: Aah, so that's what you meant (laughs).

REITA : I think for all five of us the GazettE is very important. Even though me and Uruha first started a band as “a continuation of child's play”, we thought: “I want to take things seriously”, but still those bands didn't last long and always broke up after a few months.

URUHA: I guess that's true. Before we became the GazettE, we played with a band called Kar+te=zyAnose, where Ruki was also the vocalist. The drummer did not even show up for our breakup show, and when we announced “We’re disbanding today”, we heard a faint laugh from the audience. It was a real shock, wasn’t it? It was also the moment when my groundless confidence that made me think “We’re absolutely badass!” collapsed with a loud crash.

REITA: Indeed. It was TOUGH at the time. I guess it is precisely because of that experience that I am so happy to be able to celebrate 10 years with the current members of the band. It is also precisely why I cherish the relationship between the five of us now.

URUHA: That's so true. Before the GazettE settled down, me, Reita and Ruki also played together in bands called Ma’die Kusse and L’ie:Chris before Kar+te=zyAnose. It took us a long time to reach the GazettE.

— You never gave up, did you?

REITA: No, I gave up once! I thought there was nothing next for me. But honestly, I'm glad I didn't quit! (laughs)

URUHA: It’s because me and Ruki desperately tried to stop you, m?

REITA: Really, thank god you did. But back then, I couldn't see the future at all. Even my parents said “Giving up someday is also brave”. There were many times when I wondered “Is now the time?”. When I saw all my friends around me getting jobs and having families and stable lives, I thought maybe this was also a way to happiness. Still, I decided for myself “I’ll try to do my best for one more year”, and it was during that year that the GazettE was formed. I really think it was fate.

URUHA: But it was difficult, right? We didn't have many shows, and we couldn't tell if we saw the future.

REITA: Yeah. If the GazettE had not continued with the current members, I really would have quit.

[qertyv]

Sul Sul 🥰

*my English is very bad* (Oh, yeah, I wrote that line again)

Hi, this is just a post with my thoughts for those who were worried about me.

First of all, I'm fine! Thank you to all the many people who wrote to me or looked for a way to contact me. It helped me realize that this whole battle with tumblr support is not just a whim of mine.

What's the big deal? It all started when on February 15 (!!!!), my bestie informed me that my comments under her posts were displaying strangely. I didn't pay much attention to it and contacted Tumblr support after I went to bed. I want to note that usually tumblr worked very well and solved my problems within 1-2 days, but not this time… First I waited silently for about a week, then I sent another letter, then another and another… and now, this morning (May 6 by the way) I received a letter of apology! I was unblocked! Oh my God!

I'm very happy and I really tried with all my might to get this particular account back. Don't get me wrong, I realize that it was much easier to create a new one during this time, but in a small community like sims 3, I didn't want to lose a single person who liked my approach to cc.

Also the problem was my rather secretive online image. I was a member of several communities, but I didn't want to bother anyone with my problems and hoped to solve everything on my own. And yes, I was able to, but a lot has changed in the meantime.

Why am I even writing this? I want to start by saying that I still love this game and want to be a part of the community a little more than a casual viewer. I want to keep putting out content for myself and for you, but I felt it would be pretty rude to come back without explanation. In all this time, I've realized that sims 3 community isn't about content consumption, it's about a big family with a hobby you love. So I thought I'd share my story with you to remind you that I'm not just throwing clothes at you once a week.

The post is getting pretty big and if you're still reading - thank you, it's my pleasure. In conclusion, I would like to say that a lot of things have changed during this time, I literally went through several stages of acceptance, so at one point I even decided to quit everything, deleting all my developments from my computer. So it will take me a while to fully return, however I want you to know that I am now back online!

I see that my posts are overflowing and I'm going to start responding to each one right now. Have a good day to you friend! 💋

[hgfictionwriter]

Maybe This Time - Part Three

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie and you finally get some 1:1 time together (thanks Janine!). You work to build new memories together, but hurt from the past needs to be addressed.

Warnings: None. Temporary, very light angst, but mostly sweet fluff.

A/N: Part two and one.

"What do you think? Should I go for it?" 

Jessie smirked as she saw the screenshot you sent her of her jersey in the Thorns' site shopping cart. 

"I don't know. I thought you said that was too big a commitment." 

"I did. But I was rather impressed at the last game. And we went for drinks after, I finally got to meet Janine – so you know, points for that. And if I think about it, I'm like an OG fan. But if you think I should get a different jersey..." 

Jessie laughed under her breath, her smirk now a full blown smile as she read your message while she ate lunch. The conversation she'd been on the periphery of carried on as she ate another bite before typing out a reply. 

"Oh yeah? Post-game drinks were a hit, huh? And you know, my stats are only getting better with each game 😉 And let's be honest, I'd be pretty offended if you got someone else's jersey. Except Sinc's. Because, you know, GOAT." 

"Oh, well, say no more. You had me at 'stats' lol. Done. I'll pick it up before next game." 

"Lol I figured. My plan all along – I know how much you love stats." 

"You know me so well. I have to say, I'm kind of tempted to modify the jersey. Add some sort of patch or stitching, 'Yay sports!'" 

Jessie laughed out loud, less discrete than before.  

"Don't you dare lol. I've taught you better than that. But hey, if you ask nicely, I could actually sign it for you 😎" 

"I'm sure I have an old group paper kicking around with your signature on it. I need to be able to wash this thing lol. What else can you offer though?" 

Jessie swallowed her food hard, the bite getting caught temporarily in her throat with a wince. Okay, no signature – how humbling. However, there was an opening. 

She stared at her phone temporarily before a loud clearing of someone's throat caught her attention. She lifted her gaze with a curious frown on her face to see Janine staring expectantly at her. Jessie instinctively tilted the phone inwards towards her body. 

"I don't even have to spy to know who you're texting," the blonde said rather self-satisfied. Jessie looked around, heat building in her face already as she hoped Janine was the only one focused on her.  

"Yeah?" Jessie retorted, attempting to appear as unfazed as possible. "You should be pleased. You keep pushing me to text her." She cracked a smirk. "Now that you don't think she's the devil incarnate for 'stringing me along' in university." 

"Oh I don't think you need to be pushed," Janine teased with a wicked grin. "And I never said she was the devil incarnate." She lifted a hand to her chest in exaggeration. "I merely questioned things. But you're right," she relented, "she's quite lovely. And she gives you butterflies, and she makes you blush - more than usual - and you try to act all nonchalant and it's just too adorable for words." 

"Uh huh," Jessie muttered with a flat look. Janine leaned in excitedly. 

"And I have to say, I got the sense that she and I could riff off of each other and just tease the heck out of you, so that really sealed the deal for me." 

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that's exactly what I need in my life." She'd never admit that it actually excited her that her best friend and you could get along so well. If – and it was a huge 'if' - anything evolved between you two, it was key that you got along with her friends and family.  

She started thinking about how well you got on with her parents and sister – you'd met before during your days at UCLA and they loved you. She also remembered how disappointed they'd seemed when she eventually told them that you two didn't speak anymore.  

"Well, since you're so invested," Jessie went on, rolling her eyes facetiously once more as she opened her phone again and turned it to Janine, "what should I say?" 

Janine squinted as she leaned in to read and it only took a moment for her expression to light up. Before Janine could say anything, Jessie snatched the phone back and placed it on her lap with a frown.  

"I don't want to hear it," she pre-empted the girl. 

"What?" Janine said innocently with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I am totally supportive of the flirtation between you two." She ignored Jessie's look of complaint and cut off her protest. "Her shutting down your autograph is pretty hilarious, by the way," she said with a marginally apologetic look. "Not smooth on your part – you know she's not impressed by your elite football skills. Don't lean on your Jessie the Footballer identity." 

"I wasn't," Jessie nearly hissed, trying to keep her voice down and avoid drawing attention. "I was joking. Half joking." 

"You were flirting, or at least attempting to. She left you an opening here though. So, you should ask her out." 

"I'm not asking her out," Jessie pouted, her shoulders rounding as she scooched closer to the table. She huffed upon seeing the scrutinizing look her friend gave her. "We're still getting to know each other again." 

"Fine. Don't define it as a date, then," Janine dismissed with a wave. She leaned in, folding her arms on the table. "Ask her to go for dinner." 

"Basic," Jessie remarked as she sat up and crossed her arms in disapproval. She frowned. "Plus that's too date-like." 

"Fine," Janine said curtly. "How about a hike?" 

Jessie hummed and hawed, unconvinced. "Maybe someday. Doesn't seem right at this point though." Janine rolled her eyes in exasperation.  

"Well, what did you two used to do back at UCLA?" 

Jessie shrugged. She saw the frustration Janine was telegraphing at how unhelpful she was being and jumped in. "We went to drop-in art classes sometimes." 

Janine held a hand up to the sky. "Thank you. Finally – something I can work with. Okay! Let's find a drop-in class for you two to go to then." She pulled out her phone and started browsing before shooting a look at Jessie as an aside. "Oh, and dinner's too date-llke, but an art class isn't? Okay." 

Jessie grunted and pulled out her phone as well to look.  

"Here," Jessie announced after a couple of minutes. "This'll work. She enjoyed painting." 

Without further consultation, Jessie began to type out a message to you. She bit back a laugh at how Janine's head was bobbing around periodically trying to peek at the message from across the table.  

"Don't send it yet! I want to see it," Janine pouted.  

"You are not writing my messages for me," Jessie told her pointedly, but gave a heavy sigh as she turned her phone for the blonde to see. An affronted look crossed Jessie face as Janine let out a guffaw and snatched the phone out of her hand.  

"No," Janine simply said with a wag of her finger before she started typing. Jessie reached out for the phone, but Janine turned her body away. Jessie clamored more, but stopped as soon as she noted some of their teammates glancing their way. She shrunk back into her seat, a hand rubbing the side of her face as she spoke in a harsh whisper.   "What are you doing." 

"Jeff. Relax. I would never lead you astray," Janine assured her. "And this is so very satisfying for me since I never got to help you with any of this during uni. Cause let me tell you, if I had been involved, you two definitely would've been living happily ever after." 

Jessie breathed in exasperation. "Please. Give me my phone back." 

"Okay, okay. Here," Janine said, all humour from her tone gone as she now offered Jessie a sincere smile. "Read it over, but I think this is good." 

Jessie gave her a lingering stare as she took back her phone and let out another withering sigh before reading.  

"Funny you should ask. I was thinking about how much I missed art classes together. How about I take you to one of the drop-in painting classes across town when I'm back from Houston?"  

Jessie lifted her gaze to meet Janine's and she studied the blonde for a few moments before relenting with an inaudible sigh. It was better than her original "I don't know. Paint class?" reply. She hit send and released another heavy breath as she tucked the phone away once more.  

"You're welcome," Janine said with a saccharine smile. Jessie gave her a fake smile in return, pulling a laugh out of the girl. "Hey, let's remember which one of us is engaged and which one of us is perpetually single." 

"Ouch," Jessie said with a light laugh.  

"I'm just teasing," Janine went on. "I genuinely hope this turns into something for you. Considering you've only come back into each other's lives, what, like a couple months ago? You two seem pretty solid already. And you seem happier." 

Jessie wanted to give a dry retort of some kind, but Janine was right. You two talked every day now and the chemistry you had in university was still very much present. And the depth you once had in your friendship was something that was quite easily and naturally being broached again. Even if you'd both grown and changed, the cores of who you were still aligned well and fit together. Too well. 

She'd more or less dismissed the spark of emotions that came up during your initial interactions as some sort of emotional muscle memory, but the feelings were proving to not be fleeting or diminishing.  

If anything, her feelings for you were growing. And this time they felt different, too. Heavier, deeper in some way. She was a more realized person now, as were you, and it made the connection between you more substantial. Less juvenile.  

Her phone buzzed. She opened her lock screen.  

"That sounds like a lot of fun! Let's do it." 

————

By the time your paint date night came around, Jessie was nearly buzzing with anticipation. It wasn’t an official date, of course, but she hadn’t seen you since that night after the game, and truthfully, it felt like it had been too long.

She was early - as usual - but as she rounded the corner to the building, she bit back a smile upon seeing you waiting. You were always early too, which she appreciated.

“Hey.” Jessie greeted as she approached. Again, she had to tamp her smile when you beamed back at her.

“Hey, good to see you,” you said as you stepped in for a hug, which Jessie reciprocated. “I love your shirt,” you continued when you stepped back.

“Oh,” Jessie said with a slight frown and a mild laugh as she looked down at herself in question. “Thanks,” she said as she gave a shrug and fought off a blush. She looked you up and down, not entirely discretely. “I like your outfit.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and gave her a look. “You don’t need to reciprocate my compliment. But thank you.”

“I legitimately like your outfit,” Jessie retorted, her pitch rising and pulling a laugh out of you as you both walked towards the building. Jessie took a few quick steps and grabbed the door, holding it open. “After you.”

“Such service. Thank you,” you said, both teasing and appreciative. Jessie didn’t wink, but she did give a teasing lift of her eyebrows as you passed.

As the instructor gave their directions for the lesson, Jessie found herself distracted, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. The whole lesson carried on like that, really. Jessie had to make a point to not fall behind as she’d uncharacteristically lose concentration. The worst, well, best, moments being when she'd lean over feigning critical assessment of your work when really she just wanted to be close.

By the end, she was decently satisfied with the forest landscape she’d painted. However, she felt it paled in comparison to the ocean sunset you’d crafted.

“I love your colours. And the little cabin you added is great,” you told her as you were both leaving, canvases in hand.

“Well good,” she said as she got to a clearing on the sidewalk and stopped to turn to you. “Consider it my gift to you,” she went on as she held it out to you.

“Jessie,” you said sweetly with a smile as you took it and looked it over more thoroughly. “That’s really sweet. Thank you. It’s beautiful. And bonus - I get my Jessie Fleming signature, but on a far rarer painting as opposed to a jersey,” you laughed. “And what a coincidence. I painted this for you.”

Jessie looked at you for a moment before a smile broke out across her face as she belatedly took the painting you held out.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she studied the image. She frowned in realization as she lifted her eyes to you. “Is this the same beach from our photo?”

You nodded. “It is. Nice eye.”

“Who knew you were so sentimental?” Jessie teased.

“Apparently not you,” you replied with a roll of your eyes, but gave a small laugh. “Come on. It’s been a while, but you know me better than that.”

Jessie was quiet for a moment as she took you in. She eventually nodded. “I know.”

A small lull fell over you both before you asked. “So, what now? Do you have to leave?”

“No.” Jessie spoke quickly with a shake of her head. “I don’t have anywhere to be. How about you?”

You shook your head in return. “Same. Well, it’s beautiful out tonight. Want to just go for a walk? We can drop these off at my car first,” you proposed as you held up the painting.

“Sure. Sounds great.”

After a short detour, you both began your stroll along the quiet, tree-lined street.

“Thanks for suggesting that class,” you said. “I don’t really get to paint or pursue creative hobbies as much anymore. It was nice to make a point of it. I can’t imagine you have much of an opportunity to focus on things like that anymore, hm?”

Jessie sighed quietly in contemplation and gave a shrug.

“Not extensively, no. But we do lots of team building, so sometimes we’ll do artsy things. And I can do hobbies and such in my down time, whether during the week or between seasons.”

She looked over to see you giving her a soft smile.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothing really. Just kind of crazy how everything turned out. You’ve achieved so much and your life is so impressive.”

Jessie was about to interject with a compliment for you, but you carried on.

“Are you happy with how things turned out?” You asked with a slight cock of your head.

“I-um, yeah.” Jessie stammered slightly, caught off guard by your question. “I mean, yeah it’s been incredible. More amazing than I could’ve ever pictured. And I know I’m very lucky.”

“You’re not lucky, Jess. You’ve worked exceptionally hard.”

She huffed lightly. “Yes, but luck is involved too. Lots of people work hard and still don’t get half the opportunities I’ve had.”

“I suppose,” you relented. “But you’ve made the most of those opportunities and haven’t taken them for granted.”

“That’s true. But look at you. You’ve worked so hard. And I know what you’ve been up against, but you’ve risen above and built a great life for yourself,” Jessie emphasized.

“Thank you,” you accepted with a half smile. Jessie knew the ins and outs of your family dynamics - something few people truly knew. You smiled more fully at her. “And look at us now. We both left LA and then found ourselves in the same city again and got to reconnect,” you finished with a laugh. "It sounds strange, but it really feels like in some ways like no time has passed. Not really, anyway. Like you and I were able to pick up where we left off."

You let out a quick sigh, giving a deep shrug as you did so. Your eyes remained trained on the ground as you two walked. "I mean, we talked the other week about my family and it just felt so different. Like, I've told recent friends or girlfriends my history and everything, and they listen and they 'get it', but it's not the same. That conversation with you – via text, no less – had more depth and weight than any comparable conversation with my exes or current friends. You were there. You know it – and me, I guess - inside and out. And even if I retell things, it's just not the same." 

Jessie nodded, watching you. It did feel like yesterday when she was sitting next to you on your bed, sobs wracking your body after one confrontation too many with your family. Normally, Jessie was so analytical and tentative about her physical contact with you, but the second you started crying she put her arms around you without hesitation and you leaned in, resting your head on your shoulder as she held you. That was the first time, but it wasn't the last.  

Looking back on it, maybe your girlfriends did have good reason to dislike her. 

"I know what you mean," she told you. "It's different. I mean, it's the same with you in a lot of ways. You were there for me during some critical points – big decisions in my life and you understood who I was and who I wanted to be." 

You smiled at her fondly. You looked ready to say something and Jessie waited. A moment passed and you exhaled, saying, "It really meant a lot – having you in my life and the support you gave me back then. I hope you know that." 

"I know," Jessie accepted with a smile of her own. "And likewise." 

Her mind drifted. She should probably just leave things be, but not speaking her mind is what held her back all those years before. She needed to share her thoughts and feelings if things were going to be different this time. She took a breath.  

"You know, I was really shocked when we saw each other here." She paused briefly. "I don't know. We hadn't talked in so long. I think I'd relegated myself to assuming we'd never see each other or ever talk again. Despite how important we were to one another at some point." 

Her statement seemed to give you pause, the mild surprise evident on your face. You eventually glanced down at the street as you two continued to walk. 

"Yeah. That's true, I guess," you conceded, your voice soft. 

Jessie studied you, unsatisfied with the response you gave. She pushed.  

"I knew we wouldn't be able to stay as close as we were. That was inevitable with us living so far away from one another, but I don't think I expected contact to fall apart as quickly as it did." You didn't reply right away and she went on with an ironic laugh. "We went from talking all day every day, to a few times a week with a video call scattered in there, to the odd message every couple of weeks, then just texts on birthdays and at Christmas, to nothing at all." 

She wasn't sure what she was anticipating, but she didn't expect you to turn to her with a perplexed frown.  

"Yeah. It did taper off pretty quickly."  

Despite the time that'd passed, Jessie still knew when you were telling half-truths. She gave a bit of an empty chuckle. "What else are you thinking?" 

You returned her laugh with a mild look. "I don’t know. I'm just kind of confused, I suppose." Jessie frowned.  

"About what?" She questioned. Faint alarm bells went off in her head when you stopped walking. She stilled her movements as well and you turned to one another on the sidewalk.  

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. You spoke with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

"I know it was me who stopped replying right away to messages – I don't deny that – but you weren't exactly giving me a lot to work with." You took a breath, dropping your shoulders before you spoke further. "Honestly? It was kind of feeling one-sided. Yeah, you replied, but a lot of your replies were brief and noncommittal. And when I asked if everything was okay you just told me you were busy. Which," you let out a slightly rueful laugh, "is absolutely fair. You were building this brand new, big life. Which is exactly what you were supposed to do. I don't begrudge you at all. I don’t know." You shrugged and averted your gaze momentarily. "I guess things just started to feel off." 

Jessie exhaled quietly as she processed your reply. What you were saying wasn't false. It had been so long it was easy for Jessie to just recall the end result – that you'd stopped replying altogether. That you'd given up on her; on the connection you'd both built for years. 

Standing here now though, if she was honest with herself, it was true that Jessie grew distant in her messages - purposefully so - knowing it would drive you away. What was she supposed to do? You two were never going to be together. And being friends was so incredibly hard sometimes because it was never just friendship for her. There was always this bittersweet feeling to everything and now that you were on completely different paths, there was an inevitable conclusion. Yet, she struggled to cut herself off cold. So instead, she took the coward's way out.  

Jessie scratched the back of her head. "I was busy," she repeated. She contemplated doubling down, but thought better of it. "And I guess I was finding it hard. We were building two very different lives." 

There was so much more she wanted to say, but she couldn't. What would be the point? Her chest panged when you gave her a sad smile.  

"I know," you accepted with a sadness in your eyes. "And I really wanted that for you. I just - it was hard to not feel like a nuisance. Like some obligation. So I just stopped writing."

Jessie's frown deepened. She knew all those years ago that she had to be hurting you, but she could lie to herself about it and focus selfishly on herself. Seeing you talk about it in front of her wasn't something she'd anticipated.

"I didn't mean for that," Jessie said. "And I never stopped caring about you," she compromised. 

"Yeah. I never stopped caring about you, either," you reciprocated in a subdued manner. Despite her role in everything, Jessie was still harbouring hurt from all those years prior and she felt compelled to push on. Sure, she'd pushed you away, but you'd let her. She erased you from her life little by little, day by day and you allowed it.

"Funny how quickly things change sometimes," Jessie went on. She didn't mean to scoff, but she did. "You didn't even tell me when you and [y/ex] broke up. You didn't even tell me you were having problems."  

In years past, Jessie was your sounding board for all your girl troubles. She remembered it well – it was painful. Having to hear you either swoon or – more often – complain about your girlfriends. Hearing how they disappointed or frustrated you when Jessie knew she could love you better. Just thinking back to it stoked a fire in Jessie's chest again. While she had genuinely loved you and cared about your well-being, she'd vowed to never get stuck in that dynamic again.  

You cracked a smirk. "It just seemed frivolous to bother you with something like that at that point." 

Another pang in Jessie's chest. "Well," she kicked idly at the concrete beneath her, "I would've been there for you if you ever needed me. I hope you knew that." 

You sighed and gave a hollow laugh as you pushed your hair back, causing Jessie to get momentarily distracted by the way the rays from the street light hit your face.  

"I know," you said quietly before meeting her gaze. "And I hope you knew the same about me. I know you're surrounded by people who love you, but," you shrugged listlessly, "I'd be there for you, too." 

Before Jessie could respond you gave her another smirk. 

"Besides. Though you never said anything explicit, I know you didn't like her. And by the end I could see why, too. No point wasting any of our limited conversation talking about her." 

Jessie bit back a smirk, but knew her eyes betrayed her. "Well, I guess that's poetic. Your girlfriends never liked me and I never liked them." 

Despite the mounting tension in your conversation, you laughed and gave her a nod. Jessie didn't return your laugh though. She gave you a solemn look. 

"You always deserved better than them. I know some of them were just fine, some of them even good, but they didn't seem earnest enough and they didn't love you enough." 

You were taken aback by her sudden proclamation. You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words.  

Jessie never understood how they didn't worship the ground you walked on. She practically did, even if she didn't show it. While those girls showed they cared through superficial acts like a generic bouquet of flowers, Jessie listened. In many ways. It was obvious to Jessie that they didn't really get you – not the way she did. And if they were so in tune with you, then why was it her you came to when things were hard or you were scared or even hopeful. If she'd been your girlfriend, she would've given you everything you needed and more. They clearly didn't. 

You eventually gave a soft huff and offered Jessie a quiet smile. 

"You've always been very observant. And very thoughtful. I get it now. There's a reason I'm single now. I don't want to settle anymore," you told her. 

Jessie was quiet before giving a nod of acceptance.  

"I'm glad to hear that." 

You both started walking again, though neither of you spoke right away. There was still a heaviness in the air, but it felt different now; hopeful.  

"I'm sorry for how things ended," you said as she glanced over at Jessie as you two strolled through the quiet street. "You've always been really important to me – regardless of whether we were in contact or not. I don't want to say that I wish things had been different, because I really don't see the point in regretting anything, but I will say I'm very grateful that we've had this chance to reconnect and rebuild." You paused. "I've really missed you. I didn't realize how much." 

"I'm really sorry, too," Jessie said, a smile spreading across her face. "And I agree – we can't change the past, but I also appreciate the chance to be friends again. I've missed you, too." 

She swallowed as she contemplated whether to add more. The lull that naturally formed told her to forge ahead.

"And you were never a nuisance or an obligation. I'm really sorry it came across that way."

"Awww, Jessie," you said in a teasing voice, lifting your conversation up again. You paused your steps and Jessie stopped and turned to you in question. "Come on," you beckoned as you waved her over and brought out your phone. "We need a new photo together." 

Jessie didn't fight it. Instead, she smiled at you and walked over to stand next to you. You leaned into her and Jessie found her hand naturally gravitated to your waist. It rest there before Jessie could even realize it, but before she could fret, you looked back at her with a smile before facing forward again. 

You took the photo and immediately opened up your messages with Jessie to send it to her. Jessie belatedly realized her hand was still on you and she pulled it back, holding her hands behind her. 

"There," you announced. "Now we can start rebuilding our collection. Portland memories – not just UCLA anymore." 

Jessie laughed and held up her phone, pointing the camera at you. 

"No, come on," you whined immediately and she laughed further.  

"Hey, this is part of the deal," she countered. You huffed, but eventually smiled for her. "Just remember. This goes both ways. I get new photos of you, too." 

She found herself giving you a wink. "I'll allow it."  

A/N: Part Four is available here.

[charbies]

linktober 31 - HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

I thought for the last day I'd write a little retrospective on what this whole thing was like and what I learned. I'm too tired to draw literally anything else I'm due for a break lol

So this was my second time ever attempting a linktober/october drawing challenge, but my first time managing to complete all the days and prompts. I feel super proud of myself and accomplished for pulling it off.

There were a number of things that were surprising and that were challenging for me that I wasn't expecting this month. If anything, I think this challenge really highlighted my flaws and mental blindspots with how I approach making art.

For one thing, I came away from this not liking everything I made. I think I only like about 9 or 10 of the 30 pieces I put out there. When I don't like my art, I tend to get stuck in this mental stalemate of refusing to finish a piece until I like it, but also refusing to retrace my steps and erase/rework what I have so far for fear of losing progress or not being able to replicate the line/angle/color/etc that I liked.

It was surprisingly hard to accept when I didn't like a piece but had to move on for the sake of time and post it anyway. But once I did it a few times, it got easier. I realized prioritizing my standards over my available energy is not gonna promote progress. If I kept sinking myself into one piece and not moving on until it was optimal, I never would have finished anything-- that was the pitfall that ultimately made me bail out 10 days in last year.

I also realized my sunk cost fallacy/"what if I erase this and can never redraw it good again" stems from some real lack of confidence in my knowledge and techniques with art. I'm self-taught, and I think I tend to believe that everything I make is a dumb happy accident, even though I have mental rules when I draw, use tons of references, and have a process lol. There are a few pieces I started over 2-3 times before I got them right, and that's starting to feel liberating instead of like failing to me now, which I never expected to come out of this experience so that's cool.

Another place I had to learn to let go of control in this was with allowing for style variation. I really wanted each and every piece to be coherent and painterly, like they all came from the same book or something. But then I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do all/no lineart, all/no detailed background, all/no heavy rendering, etc. At the end I settled on just keeping the same canvas dimensions and just prioritizing filling up the space. Glad I ended up doing this, because I really would benefit from continuing to chill out and scale back how much I default to making dramatic, high-render pieces. I gotta break out of my comfort zone and make more sketchy little guys!

Sometimes my attachment to the prompts fluctuated; some prompts I thought I would love and then just wanted to get them over with. Some prompts I thought I would hate and subsequently half-ass, then I ended up redoing them and putting more effort & time into and loved the end result!

It was funny to also see how some pieces that I loved straight up did not get a whole lot of notes or attention. Some pieces I was "meh" about did crazy numbers lol. I'm used to posting maybe 5-6 times a year on here, so I'm usually indifferent to getting notes (by which I mean, I'm super grateful for likes & reblogs and the super sweet & funny messages in y'alls tags, but I'm not butthurt when I don't get notes because whatever happens, happens). Churning out 30 pieces in 30 days made me sometimes get bewildered by what did and didn't get notes, but frankly in the end I think it helps reaffirm that I should continue putting whatever I want out there because it! is! not! graded!!!

So would I do Linktober again? Probably not, sorry! it was a lot of time & effort and took me away from fall festivities more than I would have liked. I kinda only managed to pull this off because I was transitioning between jobs this month and had a week off to just draw. But I also completely see the value in taking on a challenge like this and finishing what I started, I'm super glad I did this, I think my art improved from it. I would definitely do future drawing challenges/prompt things that are quicker or have less prompts!

My advice to prospective future linktoberers: pace yourself and be gentle; this is a great chance to do something exciting and new with your art, but above all it's about you having fun. There are no prizes at the end except for what you've learned and how you feel about it, and that's for the best!!

One thing's for sure, I am zelda'd out lmao so I'll be branching out towards some little projects I have lined up for personal art and other fandoms I'm into right now

So anyway thanks to all of you who read this or who gassed me up this whole month, I appreciate you!!!!!!!! ヾ(＾∇＾)

[wintersoulwitch]

Stage/Fright second viewing - changes/things I noticed

Right finally home after that epic cross-country slog via National Express! Currently feeling like I never want to leave my house ever again... but we all know I'm checking the box office website every day in case another decently priced Saturday ticket appears... And now thinking that other events (eg BFI screenings) that I'd previously written off as impossible are more attainable than I'd thought.

Anyway, enough about me. You're here for Stage/Fright deets.

This time I was in the Grand Circle, so way up at the top. I was able to see the whole stage at once, unlike during my first viewing. And I could see that there were bronze hare ears poking up from one of the boxes!

The violinists were in matching sequined gowns - they looked sort of plum-coloured? And when they played the intro to act 1, there were shadows projected onto the red theatre curtain, like the chair with restraints that is used in act 2.

This time I noticed that Toby (Reece's understudy) came on stage first, then left and was replaced by Reece. That totally passed me by during my first watch, and I think it was because I was just so excited to recognise/realise that they were doing the "theatre audience" material, and then once Reece was in front of me my brain short-circuited and wiped all thoughts apart from "omg he's so beautiful."

I don't know if this is a change, or if I wasn't able to see them clearly last time, but I noticed spotlights being used to highlight people at various points. Like, when R&S did their opening talk to the audience after the intro there was a large spotlight on the both of them when they were centre stage, and it split into two smaller separate follow spots when they moved apart.

I spotted a couple of differences/tweaks in the BCDR/Kidnappers section in the first half - I'll do a separate post about that.

During the Elements Song this time I saw that different jars and bottles on the shelves lit up as Reece pointed at them: "And iodine 💡 and thorium 💡 and thulium 💡and thallium 💡"

They've changed the wheelchair that Reece uses in Act 2. During the first night preview (which I didn't attend), Reece was brought on to the stage and then restrained in the chair. In the show I saw last week, he was already in the wheelchair, and it was this big wooden thing. This time, it's a smaller and simpler metal wheelchair. And it makes the leg-cutting illusion look better, honestly! Much harder to see where Reece might be hiding his real leg.

They’ve changed the script a bit at the end before the final song and dance number - now instead of the bus joke, Reece hurries Steve off stage and says "you’ve got a really quick change." And then walks to the front of the stage, picks up the fallen light that "killed" Steve and says "it’s time for some light entertainment."

And some stuff that people asked me to keep an eye out for... R&S touching each other. They don’t touch in the opening section, and then in BCDR it’s just when Len smacks Tommy on the arse (and Tommy goes "ooh hoo!" and does a little jump). The most touching is during the bit in the 2nd act when Steve breaks character and hugs Reece. The hug goes on for a while and when Steve pulls back he leaves his hand on Reece’s chest/holding on to the cardigan Reece is wearing for a moment like he doesn’t want to let go. During the song and dance at the end, at the bit where he jokes "Reece Shearsmith stole my diary," Steve does put his hand on Reece’s shoulder/back of neck in that way he does. And then during the final curtain call they hold hands before the bow. Just R&S at first, then they hold hands with the rest of the cast.

Oh and after Reece says "maybe every ghost story is really just a love story" and there's that long pause... they are staring into each others' eyes the whole time. And the carnations... There's been a change! During the final song and dance the men have different flowers in their buttonholes. They were definitely carnations the first time I saw them - and I assume real ones otherwise they wouldn’t have changed them - but the flowers this time were more like floofy white puffs of silk in a flower shape.

I also wanted to note that they seemed much more comfortable with the song and dance routine this time. They weren't awkward before by any means, but they've definitely relaxed into it and really seem to be having fun. I think giving Steve a bit more time to change has helped (the first time I saw them, Steve's shirt front rolled up a bit to show his black top underneath). We all know Reece is a mover (he could have won Strictly, you know! And not just as the comedy one!) and it was super lovely to see him getting into it and doing all his little leg kicks and hand waves. He really seemed to be enjoying himself.

Finally at the very end, when they do the final "laughter is my memory of you" they now start off like they're going to point at each other, then pause and spin to the audience instead. Which is a really nice touch!

[marengogo]

UGH!-7: … Time To Pack It All Up, Y’all!

Be Mine (English Version) - by Jimin  [Be Mine (English Version)]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

⚠️TW⚠️: I’m usually vulgar, but in this post, I might have outdone myself .

My dearest Gurls, Bois and Enbys, 

How’s everyone been doing? Are you enjoying Muse? Are you looking forward to RUN JIN? Are you ready for Are You Sure?!? Oh, let 👏🏾 me 👏🏾 tell 👏🏾 you 👏🏾, the excitement is way too real and I can’t even that's literally all the words I can fathom for now, I’m terribly sorry! That being said my Darlings, I’m afraid today’s blog will have to address a point I’m now realising that I must address, and I quite frankly assumed I wouldn’t have to, given that I am part of The Community and all. You see, there seems to be many Gladiators that wander into my neck of the woods completely misguided.  

They seem to think that my blog exist just so I can be present if one day JM and JK have sex on national TV, so that I can gloat in the faces of the Capulet enemy as I slay them with my mighty, and metaphorical, sword and bathe in their “blood” while I celebrating with fellow Montagues. Well, it is with a heavy heart, and great sadness, that I must inform you that frankly my dear, I don’t give a fuck, about none o’dat. Statements such as “Clearly JM has been single” like this Gladiator over here →  [LINK] or “JK has been fucking pussy every hour, every minute, every second” as the rest of Twitter ARMY believes or “They’ve been living together and have 100% been a couple since 2015, if you'd believe they are definitely real, why are you here...” like others on this app can really miss me, cause;

I 👏🏾 DON’T 👏🏾 GIVE 👏🏾 A 👏🏾 FLYING 👏🏾 FUCK 👏🏾.

The reason why I built this little nest in these treacherous woods is because, upon a sudden realisation, while looking at JK & JM, after careful observation and educated guessing, it started to feel like “Oh, hold on a minute … There might be something there …”. The idea that within this band that I adore there might be someone who is part of the community, like me, literally had my head implode, and not only that. It would appear that two particular members who seem to bring out the best in each other, as well as within those whom they interact with, might in fact be in this possible queer relationship, would make it even better, since we all love a stunning and powerful couple.

So yes, I am indeed here for the representation of it all. I’m not sure how many can relate, but as a minority in so many aspects of life, race, gender, sexual orientation etc, the feeling of having a fellow minority out in society who has the means and the will to live there life openly because coming out isn’t a must, we have the right also to not come out if we don’t want to as a minority is very positive and encouraging for all the rest of us, regardless of whether or not we decide to eventually come out or not. 

Though there’s obviously been many others who’d come out before Matt Bomer, he is the one coming out I will never forget. I loved White Collar like borderline obsessed. I watched it when it came out and it was my favourite guilty pleasure show before Suits. What I loved the most was watching him and Tim DeKay interact behind the scenes or during bloopers with the rest of the cast too, goofy as hell! And then in 2012 (three years in) Matt finally came out and took me by a storm, the fact that he had been able to keep his husband and three children hidden for all that time was also 🤯🤯🤯.

Once again, many others had come out before him Ricky Martin, for example, in 2010 but because White Collar was such a big part of my life, I was so ecstatic, it felt like a friend came out. It was also so great to see how much everyone on set, and the fans, were supportive and how much freer and happier he’s been since then. When Mew and Tul confirmed their relationship last month just a couple of months after Thailand legalised gay marriage y’all should have seen my face, I couldn’t stop grinning. All the speculations, the pictures, the public trips, etc etc etc. Anyways, they’ve both gone through quite some drama in the previous years, Mew in particular, so I am indeed quite happy for them.

So if JM and JK are not dating, or there isn’t a single queer person in the whole of bangtan and all have girlfriends and wives, or there are queer tannies and they are dating other queer people, or whichever other possible combinations, as long as they are happy, so will I, because I am first and foremost an OT7 ARMY and all I will always want is their happiness. I am thus afraid that you will not see me shed any tears, nor hear any miserable barking, in this neck of the woods; so~rry.

Guess I’m not packing up after all next time I’m bringing out my luggage best be for my trip to Japan …! So, in conclusion, and just as a reminder for anyone passing by as well, this has been, still is, and will always be a Possibly Queer until proven Definitely Straight safe space, as well as a space where amongst plenty other things obviously all things queer can and will be gracoiusly discussed and analysed to my discretion; You di~g?

Always respectfully yours 🫰🏾💜,

Marengo.