#in which i really just continue to have far too many blue line feelings

[yzzart]

Love your Tom blyth fics an unhealthy amount!!! I’m picturing reader and Tom being all lovey dovey at the premiers but playing it off as really good bestfriends UNTIL she goes to kiss him on the cheek and in instinct he turns his head to kiss her on the lips so they just say fuck it and hard launch there and then x

"An unplanned situation."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader

summary: a small gesture, with a sweet intention, revealed a promising secret.

word count: 1.359!

notes: i started this request in the morning and only had the opportunity to finish it a few minutes ago, forgive me for that, anon! — i hope you like it and of course, feel free to share ideas with me!

"Y/N, look here!"

Another request, among others, screams and countless flashes, was directed to you; being, theoretically, almost impossible to identify who had demanded your image. — There were so many voices mixing, not to mention the music in the background, but, you tried your best to pay attention to most of the cameras.

However, it wasn't anything you weren't used to; something that has already been normalized in your life.— And during the premiere of The ballad of songbirds and snake it was no different, and it was splendid; simply perfect. — Not to mention, the feeling of gratitude that grew in your chest.

Cameras and cell phones captured your every movement, your poses and the way your perfectly chosen dress was valued and highlighted on your body. — And how it matched the color palette of the film. — Everything was being recorded, at the exact moment, posted and commented on all social networks.

You had the opportunity to meet, talk and take photos with some of the cast. — It was so pleasant, the company and unity that everyone developed during the filming of the film was inexplicable and so adorable; you were grateful to have worked with so many talented people. — There were some people who were absent, until now, in your eyes, but you would definitely meet them again on the carpet.

And, of course, your eyes roamed the decorated room, matching the elements of the film, and crowded in search of a specific person. — It wasn't exaggerated words to say that you were starting to feel uncomfortable because he was missed; and the cameras recorded it. — Silent questions, which would be written, formed in the minds of the presenters and photographers.

Your boyfriend had yet to appear on the red carpet; perhaps he is giving a quick and curious interview or greeting someone. — That's what was going on in your head.

You and Tom had a secret relationship, ever since you met behind the scenes, in front of the world and all the cameras that may exist in it; something that was so risky and at the same time adventurous. — And that, as incredible as it might seem, you knew how to disguise it in front of your fans; even though they gradually became suspicious with comments, interactions and behind-the-scenes photos.

They were either smart or you and Tom were too far over the line. — This question was not important or essential for the moment. — And you considered each other best friends for interviews or responses to comments; you tried your best.

And so, Rachel sent countless screenshots of tweets, which talked about or mentioned the relationship between you and Tom, to you. — It's impossible to deny how funny it was.

Persisting in continuing to look for him and for a few seconds, your eyes meet his blue and so charming irises. — Its shade of blue was a magnificent and beautiful combination; something you would never get tired of admiring. —And there was no other thing, or anyone, that could take his eyes off you.

As if the only thing that mattered at that moment was you. — And everything around him simply disappeared.

"There you are!" — Tom walked towards you, easily as there weren't so many people on the carpet, and an enthusiastic smile forming on his lips; also accompanied by cameras and intense flashes. — "And so beautiful!"

Holding a part of your long and dazzling dress so as not to hinder your steps, you met him, and without wasting any time, hugged him. — A common gesture, and not so different or strange, for the spectators; so, you thought. — Tom's arms went around your waist, holding your protectively for a little while, while your arms positioned themselves around his neck.

Tom's fragrance, which you liked so much, filled your nose; it felt so good, and you felt your eyes weaken, contaminated by it. — And the british man was aware of that.

"You look perfect, always." — The older man distanced himself, just a little, and brought his face closer to your ear, wanting only you to hear. — "The most beautiful woman that has ever crossed my eyes." — The lenses probably captured a reddish pigmentation on your cheeks and it was not part of your makeup.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, and looking directly into his eyes; that shone at you, and it wasn't just because of the influence of the lights in your direction. — Tom's gaze was sincere, and passionate, intensely fascinating you. — He conveyed what he felt most with just his eyes.

And that was one of the facts about him that you were passionate about and recognized very well.

"Oh, shut up!" — Raising your hand and resting it a little away from your mouth, you laughed a little embarrassed and looked back at the cameras; remembering that they remained there and you knew that later you would see your interaction with Tom on some social media.

Again, a thing and situation you were used to.

"Look at that camera!" — A voice mingled among others, which requested the same request, asking you to take some photos together; something that would feed news, fans and press.

At no point, minute or second, did you and Tom remain distant or apart from each other; always a few steps close, hugging each other for photos and certain looks, completely indiscreet. — Even during brief interviews, as Blyth mentioned you or your character's work, you were silently watching. — One of the interviewers even commented on how cute she thought it was.

Tom's hand was on your waist, holding and almost covering you, making a quick caress in a few seconds and one of your hands was still resting on his chest; and you continued, of course, to be the focus of the cameras.

Quickly, with the intention of changing your pose and trying something new and also to take advantage of the fact that Blyth's face was almost close to yours, you decide to place your pigmented lips on his cheeks. — Such a cute and friendly gesture, and so common. —But, automatically and hastily, Tom turned his face away at the same time, without having in mind what you were, in fact, planning. — God, it was a shock; an absurd and completely intense shock.

For the first time that night, in that place and on those cameras, your lips touched Tom's lips. — It was very quick, good and surprising; and that definitely left a cold, freezing air in your belly accompanied by a desperate feeling in your mind. — Rumor has it that smoke was coming out of his head. — It was a peck, a quick and simple kiss.

When you separated, hurriedly, your eyes met Tom's once again; who were a little wide-eyed, expressing surprise. — Looking for something to say or do, just like you. — And you watched his lips curve into an almost smile, as if he was trapping him.

Shouts of enthusiasm and some possible whistles echoed throughout the immense place, along with some looks and expressions of surprise at what had happened. — And some people were worried if they had recorded the exact moment, of course. — Your fans were probably commenting frantically about what happened.

You really didn't know what to do but at no point did you move away from your boyfriend — now, official to the public — and keep your hand on his chest; as if it were, in fact, planned.

"A nice way to reveal it, huh?" — Tom laughed, relaxed and without a feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, he still had his hand on your waist; and he still squeezed you, then leaving you with another caress. — "I think." — He didn't look at the cameras, his orbits focused only on you.

They have always focused on you, regardless of what is actually happening; and that will never change.

"A nice way to reveal." — You repeated your words, but, as an affirmation and certainty; maybe, seeing how relieved Tom was, and not showing some kind of distress, your chest calmed down and you felt safe.

And soon, you and Tom became one of the most talked about topics on social media.

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

[yuesya]

The Pier Point Shopping Street is always a bustling hub of activity. As a well-known landmark of Pier Point and an attraction for visitors to the IPC’s seat of power, the shops lining the sprawling commercial district truly live up to the reputation of being a dazzling center of wealth. Food, drinks, clothing. Entertainment at its finest –and everything in-between.

There have been many who’ve lost themselves to the glamour of these gilded streets, luxuriating in the allure of satisfaction and gratification stacked upon gleaming credits.

The young Halovian girl sitting across the table from him in the high-class restaurant does not lack for wealth. Nonetheless, she is not one to consciously indulge in materialistic desires… save for her love of sharp weaponry, perhaps.

Aventurine smiles. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it, Lyra?”

Soft white hair, wide blue eyes. Contrary to her soft and seemingly-harmless appearance, though, Lyra of the Oak Family is anything but harmless. Aventurine would know, considering the manner in which they met each other for the first time.

“It’s been awhile,” Lyra agrees. Then, “Is there something wrong?”

“Wow, it’s always straight to the point with you, isn’t it?” Aventurine blinks, and laughs. Something inside his chest sinks helplessly at the girl’s immediate perceptiveness –for all her awkwardness navigating social niceties, Lyra could also be shockingly observant at the same time. “… What gave me away?”

His voice is careless, flippant. Teasing, the way it would be for a light joke. Aventurine maintains the expression of a smile unwaveringly.

Lyra shrugs, a non-response that Aventurine somehow finds himself automatically understanding anyways. Just a feeling. You don’t make a habit of inviting me to Pier Point.

Aventurine lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He straightens, and bats his eyes winsomely. “Y’know, if you ever stepped inside a casino someday, I bet you could–”

“My brother says no,” Lyra responds without batting an eye, and frowns lightly. “… Aventurine, what is this about, really? Do you need me to kill someone?”

This girl. The blond man huffs, wondering what it says about his own mental state that he actually feels a surge of fondness at this offer from her.

“We’ve got to talk about your habit of spontaneously offering to kill things for people at the drop of a hat,” he tells her. “Have you tried buying presents instead?”

Lyra tilts her head, wings fluttering in accompanying confusion with the motion. “… But I don’t offer to kill for just anyone?”

“… No, I don’t need you to kill anyone for me,” Aventurine sighs. For someone who could be so astonishingly perceptive, she could also be very obtuse. “It’s rather the opposite, really.”

Lyra stills, making the connection in a heartbeat. “There’s someone you don’t want me to kill?”

“Oswaldo Schneider,” Aventurine confirms, continuing to carefully maintain his perfectly pleasant smile.

Lyra takes one look at him and frowns anyways. Then, proving that she truly does know Aventurine a little too well to be good for either of them, “This is an order from the IPC?”

It is.

Aventurine holds no love for Oswaldo Schneider. Even putting aside the bad blood between their respective departments within the IPC… the man had been involved in the negotiations that had taken place on Sigonia-IV, which eventually led to what was now known as the Katica-Avgin Extinction Event. And Aventurine –as far as he knew– was the only survivor from that hell, a young boy who’d been captured by slavers and sold to the highest bidder.

Now… now, he was a slave to the IPC. Which wasn’t so bad, sometimes; nowadays, Aventurine was rich enough to never want for any materialistic goods again. But this did not change the fact that the IPC owned him.

The IPC wanted Oswaldo Schneider to live, and the IPC also knew that Aventurine was friends with the girl who’d nearly killed their rising head of the Marketing Development Department. The next course of action, then, was obvious.

Negotiate. Convince her to stand down.

Diamond had been the one to pass on the orders to him. An additional deal had also been brokered between the Marketing Development and Strategic Investment Departments, and there was a certain sense of vindication in seeing Oswaldo depart from Pier Point for ‘business’ just as Lyra arrived. Vindication… and also frustration.

But, this isn’t something that Aventurine can involve Lyra in.

(… ‘Can’t,’ or ‘won’t?’)

“One of Oswaldo Schneider’s ‘projects’ nearly resulted in my sister being killed by a stray bullet to the throat,” Lyra says eventually, blue eyes focused unerringly on Aventurine. “… I won’t go out of my way to hunt him down. But if I come across him, then don’t expect me to show mercy.”

That’s a lifetime ban from Penacony for Oswaldo, then.

“The higher ups should accept that,” Aventurine nods. “And what do you want in exchange for it?”

The look that Lyra gives him is one of uncomprehending confusion. Inwardly, Aventurine despairs.

“… If it were any other executive sitting in front of you right now, you would’ve very well walked away from this meeting with nothing.”

Lyra’s expression flattens into something unimpressed. “I’m not dealing with the IPC. I only agreed because you’re asking me.”

“And I’m negotiating on behalf of the IPC,” Aventurine reminds her.

“So the agreement stands in place only as long as you do not change your mind, regardless of what the IPC thinks,” Lyra shrugs. As if it’s nothing, the power and influence that she’s handing over to him so easily with this one act –if Aventurine is the one with the final say, then that’s another chip in his hands. Another card up his sleeve. Another point for him to gamble with, and Aventurine is nothing if not a consummate gambler.

“… So again I ask you, what do you want for it?”

Nothing in this world comes for free. No one does anything for no reason.

Lyra blinks, raising a finger to tap at her chin in thought. Aventurine studies her carefully.

“… I want dinner,” she finally says. “I’m hungry.”

…

Aventurine is no stranger to taking gambles. But when it comes to Lyra…

All, or nothing.

(… Which one is it? Really, which one is it?)

[stellar-solar-flare]

I have to know, is there anything in the works for Astronomical Odds? It’s by far one of my favourite docs I’ve read and I can’t wait to hear more about Starstuff and Little Star. I figured it was easier to reach out through tumblr than on AO3 ❤️

Hi, thank you for asking about Astronomical Odds (AO3)! I am very flattered to hear that it's one of your favorite fics ever and that you're looking forward to an update. And I always welcome readers reaching out, be it throuhg Tumblr or throuhg AO3!

I have the next chapter in the works; life was one giant hassle July-August, and I have only this month been feeling like my creative energy is recharging at least a little! But the chapter is in progress and I'm hoping to get it out before the end of the month, although due to offline life, I can't make a firm promise on that. But it always warms my heart to hear that someone is interested in the continuation of a story, so thank you for reaching out.

Here is a small sneak peek from Chapter 28 (aka the next one). Spoilers to Astronomical Odds if you aren't caught up.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, mention of brain aneurysm, mention of bad behavior from press.

You couldn’t recall when was the last time you had felt so recharged. It was certainly possible that it was simply the fact that the first trimester of your pregnancy was starting to pass — at least considering the accelerated time line of yours — and you’d read that many had gotten relief to their worst symptoms when it did.

Or, it could be the absolutely great good night’s rest you’d gotten in the giant hotel suite bed, with Steve’s arms wrapped around you, after having drifted off into sleep feeling entirely loved and thoroughly satisfied. You’d slept for the almost twelve hours, and when you had finally woken up, Steve had already been awake, reading right next to you. He had put his book away and smiled at you, and suggested ordering a giant breakfast from the room service — unless you wanted to head down to breakfast, which was still being served. You’d chosen remaining in bed, being close to Steve, and not having to put on clothes. Or more clothes than his blue button down you’d slept in, that was.

Stuffed with a delicious continental breakfast, you dropped your cake fork down on the tray on the bed and leaned back against Steve, who had sat back down next to you once he had fetched the tray from the door. Conveniently, since you had stolen his shirt, his upper body was bare, and you could press yourself against his chiseled, warm chest and drop your head back so that it rested against his left shoulder. It left the right side of your neck open for him, too, and he seized the opportunity to move aside the collar and kiss your neck. You hummed with pleasure, even as the touch was more soft than anything asking for more, and craned your neck up to look at him. Fuck, how had you gotten so lucky? His blue eyes sparkled down at you, and his blond hair was still ruffled by the pillows.

“I love you,” you murmured.

“I love you too,” he said. “Anything you’d like to do today?”

You set your tablet down on the bed, having skimmed most of the morning news during the breakfast, and Steve folded away the newspaper he had been reading. Before meeting him, you would’ve never guessed how lovely the simple task of reading next to each other and eating a meal, even if neither of you spoke, could be. “Will you get cabin fever if we just stay here? The room’s paid for seven days and after the day before yesterday, I really don’t feel like going out there,” you grimaced.

Even as Harriet’s press release had gotten some of the news outlets to focus on it, you were fairly certain some reporters were still camping outside the hotel. Steve’s eyes flashed with a protective darkness.

“Not at all,” he said. “I might go to the hotel gym at some point, though. Unless I feel like getting my exercise by throwing a few punches into well-deserved directions.”

He wasn’t serious, but the idea of him just absolutely decking the press members outside still made some age-old instinct inside you hum.

“I feel like it’d be rather impolite of us to cause Tony to have a brain aneurysm after he paid for the suite, dear,” you grinned, and Steve laughed.

[writetimewrongmuse]

Sugar Quills and other Cheap Thrills

Returning to Hogwarts for his eighth year had been a bad idea.

Draco had known it would be.

He’d expected jeers of “Death Eater” at every meal. He’d expected to be cornered in every nook and cranny, every secret alcove that was only truly a secret to Filch. 

He’d expected to be punched, jumped and pummelled until he was bloodied and blue.

He’d expected to never make it to the end of his eighth year, and perhaps that was the reason he had returned to the hallowed grounds. 

To pay for his sins in blood and misery.

What he had not expected was to be brought down by a bushy haired witch that loathed him, a set of plump pink lips, and a strawberry sugar quill currently wrapped between them.

Merlin, fuck.

His first foray into her mind was inadvertent. 

His gaze had locked with hers just as she had opened her lips wide, and sucked in the delicious treat with a resounding “swoosh”, her gaze indecently bored and impassive as she peered around the empty library, before returning to her book. 

(A horridly boring and aptly named tome titled Wicked Witches & The Wonders They Wielded in The 14th Century.)

Yet that one moment was enough for him to get a glimpse.

A glimpse of him, in her mind, as she continued the sinful dance of her tongue—only not on a sugar quill.

He couldn’t have run out of the library any faster. 

He couldn’t have come any harder, later that night.

He couldn’t have pondered the fine line between hate and lust any more than he did the following many weeks.

The next time he looked into her amber hues, both warm and mercilessly teasing, was less inadvertent. 

She sat across The Three Broomsticks, a delicious foam of butter beer on the corner of her lips as she spoke to Noble Saviours One and Two, and Three–Longbottom was sitting far too close beside her, and Draco did not like it one bit. The grin that played on her decadent lips said she very much did.

He wondered which of the three he’d find in her mind on this occasion.

Gods he really was looking to hurt himself, because if it was the  ginger-fxck, he would have to Obliviate himself.

It was not Weasel. 

If he had found her lips to be sinful earlier, her tongue was utterly depraved. 

She licked up Draco’s (not him, the other Draco—the him he was now jealous of) thigh as her fingers teased into the placket of his trousers. 

Trousers, Draco was quick to notice, he was wearing right this very moment. 

With a gentle tug she pulled his trousers back as Draco’s fingers moved to wrap into her hair, her glorious curls perfect for all the ways he wished to grip it, tug it, yank—OH FUCK NO!

That was not an accurate representation of him and his assets—and he had every intention of filling that void for this ill-informed swot.

The only problem was, what could he possibly say?

“Say Granger. I know I’ve said horridly hideous things to you over the last eight years. But here’s the thing, I also breached the sacred temple that is your head, and whilst I was very much invading your privacy, I came across so many erotic visuals about you and I, that I have not thought of anything else for months. Wanna shag for real now?”

Draco knew he was attractive, and much sought after—but the only attention the witch was likely to give him in response was a swift kick to his heir-maker.

Which was not all too bad? 

“Might even feel nice.” He said to his textbook. “If it’s her doing it.”

No, no, no. He needed a plan—a legitimate excuse to broach any conversation that could revolve around the words lips, you, me and / or shag.

“Granger, what chapstick do you use?”

“Excuse me?”

It was perfect. Quidditch Finals were right around the corner, and nobody but the swot cared that also meant Final exams were also around the corner. Well, her and him—but he was also only in the library to try and woo this witch.

Woo her for what exactly?

Well he didn’t have all the answers.

At this point it would be a true miracle if his every answer for his N.E.W.T.s was not ‘Sugar Quill’ or ‘Hermione Fucking Granger’ or ‘That’s not what I look like Granger.’

“Malfoy.” Granger huffed. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Ah fuck.

“About fucking time.” Hermione huffed. “And what chapstick do I use?”

“That’s the best you could come up with after six months?”

“Hey!” Draco groaned as she pulled him into the stacks. “It’s a valid question.”

“It’s an asinine question.”

Her lips were on his before he could ask her how she knew he had pondered his opening line for six months—and Merlin it all to Hell, she tasted like a Strawberry Sugar Quill.

The kind he loved.

No! The kind he had liked. Because nothing quite compared to the taste of the treat on her tongue.

Her tongue roved down his neck as his hands wound into her hair, her curls soft and heavy. Simply perfect to wrap his hands around and pull her lips back up to his.

“Prefect’s bathroom? Or right here?” He murmured between kisses.

“Fuck the bathroom.” She said, her fingers already pulling him out as she got down on her knees in front of him. “Mhmmm.” She said looking up at him, her eyes brightening with mirth as her thumb brushed him with a gentle but firm stroke.

“I see now why you took offence with my imaginings.”

“You’re A Legilimens.”

“Takes one to know one.” She said as her lips wrapped around him with a delirious moan.

“Gods, fuck, what have I gotten myself into?” Draco groaned as his eyes fixated on the way her lips curved around him.

She hummed, before releasing him with an obscene pop.

“Scared, Malfoy.” Hermione grinned up at him as her fingers continued to stroke him. “You’ve only a glimpse of what I have in mind.”

“If I have to die, Gods, please let it be at the mercy of your lips.” Draco groaned, as she slowly sucked the utter life out of him.

fin.

Written for Day. 6 of DHRMonth – "Legilimens."

[puppyluvfics]

You Don't Go To Parties

Gaon/Kwak Jiseok | non idol au, college au WC: 1.6k Summary: You didn't mean to come colliding with your feelings this way. You were new to this school, having transferred after deciding you finally needed to get out of your hometown - there were far too many bad memories there. Which is how you found yourself packed tightly in a party one night. Things take a turn, literally, and you become quickly acquainted with Jiseok. Warnings: drinking (legal), suggestive if you look between the lines, likely inaccurate because i didn't go to parties in uni LOL A/N: I wrote this with the intention of keeping it going and making it a longer series, which I still plan on doing, but after proofreading, I realized this could serve as a standalone, too! So, that's cool!

The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and desperation. When you initially decided to move a few hundred miles away from home to go to a new school, you didn’t think your university experience would be like this. You had been invited to this party by the girls you met in your sociology class, and they seemed nice enough, which is why you agreed. Yet, here you were, standing alone while bodies collided into you. It’s not that they meant to ditch you, but they were much more extroverted than you were. “New town, new school, new start,” you thought to yourself. There was a zero percent chance of anybody recognizing you, and for that, you were grateful. 

You glanced up at the clock that hung near the front door. 1:36 am. You couldn’t use class as an excuse to leave; it was Saturday. Well, Sunday, now. Still, you really did want to leave. You took another sip from the red solo cup in your hands. Your drink, whatever it was, had turned warm from how long it had sat in your hands as you awkwardly shuffled through the house, pretending to mingle. It was still filled relatively to the top. You weren’t much of a drinker—not around strangers, at least. You didn’t consider the girls in your class to be your friends; you’d only known each other for a week, but you felt like you needed to at least find them and let them know you were going to head back to your apartment. Because you had transferred so close to the start of the new year, you didn’t get a chance to apply for a dorm on campus, but you were grateful to be able to afford an apartment just off campus. 

You moved through the people, the yellow light of the kitchen serving as the end of what felt like an endless, packed hallway. You muttered a few apologies as you slid past people, trying to balance your drink. Several untimed steps later, you feel your foot come down on someone else’s. You turn around to apologize to the girl, but she is far too wasted to care. You still apologize, but breathe a sigh of relief, knowing you wouldn’t gain a reputation on your first social outing. You spun around to continue your search for your classmates, but what was once a clear-ish path to the kitchen was now dark. 

“Fuck, sorry.” You said, realizing you had collided with someone. The drink that was in your hand was now soaking through your clothes. The person in front of you turned around to face you, and to your surprise, there was nothing but concern on his face.

“Oh, shit, my bad!” He said, his voice loud over the music. You shook your head and held your hand up, trying to signal to him that it was fine.

“Don’t worry about it! I was just on my way out actually, I just needed to say bye to some people.” You yelled back at him, realizing he probably hadn’t heard your original apology. His brows furrowed as he took you in completely, tracing your body with his eyes. Before you could apologize again and push past him, he grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd and up the stairs. 

“I really should get going.” You started, your normal volume being loud enough for him to hear now. The last thing you wanted right now was to hook up with some random guy who soaked you in some blue alcohol. He opened the door and led you into a bedroom, and you felt your heart sink. “I don’t want to hook up, I’m sorry.” You said bluntly, hoping you could pass off being drunk enough for it to not matter.

“What? I don’t either. Wait here.” He said, leaving you in the doorway as he rummaged through the closet.

With a small sigh of relief, your focus shifted. “Oh, good. I still don’t think you should be going through someone’s closet, though. I’m just gonna go…” You said, hesitantly. You realized you were still holding the cup that was becoming increasingly sticky on your skin. You set it down on the floor, saying a silent apology before turning to leave.

“It’s my closet.” He started. “I’m Jiseok; this is my party.” He said, a stupid grin on his face. You stopped in your tracks and looked at him—really looked at him. He was cute. Not really your type, but not exactly not your type either. 

“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry for spilling shit on you; oh my God, this is so embarrassing.” You started to word-vomit, and all he could do was laugh lightly. 

“Chill, you’re good. I host parties every weekend; it’s kind of what I’m known for around here. I’ve seen my fair share of things; this was nothing. You must be new if you’re geekin’ about spilling a drink on me.” He turned back to the closet, continuing to rummage through clothing.

You put your thumb between your teeth. Was it that obvious?

“Um, yeah, actually. I just transferred here; I’m (Y/N).” You said nervously gnawing on your nail.

“Oh yeah? Cute name. It suits you. What’s your major?” Seriously? He was making small talk while you were soaking wet in his doorway?

“Undeclared right now. Look, it was really nice to meet you, Jiseok, but I really should get going.” Your voice came out almost whiney. 

“Wait, no!” He finally emerged, holding a fistful of t-shirts, all of them wrinkled. “Here, try these on; keep the one that fits the best. It’s the least I can do.” He said, a dumb smile still on his face. He shoved the pile toward you.

“No, it’s okay! I promise! I don’t live too far from here; it’ll be fine.” You said, taken aback.

“You can just give it back to me next weekend, ‘kay? You’ll be here next weekend, right?” A smirk had formed on his lips. What was his plan? You weren’t really sure you wanted to find out, but if it meant you could go home and take a shower despite it being the middle of the night and crawl into bed and forget the whole night, you would oblige.

“I suppose so. Where’s the bathroom?” You said, giving in. He nodded his head to the right, and you nodded back, grabbing the shirts from him, careful to nestle them in the dry crook of your elbow. You stood in front of the mirror, your hair messy and tussled around you. Your makeup still looked good, thank God. Your top and jean shorts were almost certainly ruined, though, which pissed you off just a little. You peeled the wet fabric from your body and tossed it by your feet, taking the opportunity to wash off the sticky layer that had formed on your skin. It was no shower, but it would do for now. You dried yourself off with a nearby towel and began ruffling through the shirts. The least conspicuous one was an ACDC shirt, whose design almost faded off. The less attention you brought to yourself on your way out, the better. You slipped it on and thanked every higher being that it was long enough to cover your ass. You folded your own shirt back up neatly and eyed your jeans. “Better safe than sorry,” you thought, pulling them back on, the cold, wet fabric scratching at your legs. A shower couldn’t come soon enough.

You left the bathroom with the extra shirts and your own shirt in different hands and walked back to Jiseok’s room, expecting him to be there. “He must have gone back down to the party.” You whispered to yourself as you left the pile of now-folded shirts on his bed. You looked around quickly, trying to find some kind of pen and paper to write a thank-you note, but failed to do so. Your eyes burned, your head hurt, and you wanted to just get home and sleep. A shower wasn’t even on your agenda anymore. You tiptoed down the stairs, trying to blend in with the sizable chunk of people still there. It wasn’t as loud as before, which you were thankful for. You slipped out the front door and started off toward your apartment, ditching your stained top in a nearby trash can. “Man, I really liked that top.” You thought to yourself as your feet hit the pavement, each step getting slower and slower until you pulled yourself up the stairs to your apartment door. 

You stepped in, breathing in the sweet scent of your new home; it was a much better smell than the beer that had infiltrated your nostrils the last few hours. You kicked your shoes off by the door and trudged your way to the bathroom, standing in the mirror once more. It was too late for a shower. You’d deal with it in the morning, you decided. You had gotten off the sugary drink and the color in Jiseok’s bathroom, and your hair would be fine for a few more hours if it meant you’d get some sleep. You tossed your jeans into your hamper, slipping into your pajama shorts. You hated to admit it, but you were really comfortable in his shirt. You looked in the mirror one last time as you rubbed a makeup wipe over your face, using your free hand to trace the letters on your shirt. You were satisfied with how much makeup you got off, accepting that your skin would hate you in the morning no matter what. You shut the light off and walked to your room, your feet shuffling more and more. 

You threw yourself onto your bed and wiggled your way into a comfortable position, all elements of grace and poise leaving your body. You nuzzled your head into your pillow, your eyes finally shutting for good that night. 

[castlebyersafterdark]

I've been wanting to make my own list of fic recs for this side of the fandom. this is just a short little quick recollection. i love so many fics and writers - this micro-fandom is really talented. but these are my personal favorites:

i've never done this before, can you help me out? - I actually almost find it difficult to talk about this one? It's just so good. THE (infamous?) orgy fic, first off. And it's one of the sweetest, most romantic fics ever? So engaging. The characterizations, the sex scenes, the emotions, the depiction of that culture. Really good. But, there were some parts about Will's character that just, in admission of full vulnerability, really sat with me and felt familiar and it was almost too much! Even if my life is nothing like the lifestyle depicted here hahaha. Like. I got it. I understood him, in some ways. I only read this one sporadically as it updated, looking forward to sometime in the future sitting down to re-read it from beginning to end. This fic was also the push that made me decide to switch over to this side of the fandom and make a real account. Made me want to try writing again after half-assing it and neglecting my interest in fic writing❤️

time is a perception, love will cure depression - This one is actually Steve/Will and honestly - here for it. So hot. Will is VERY relatable here. It just feels authentic for a kid like Will coming into his own, understanding and acknowledging his desires. And the way Steve treats him with such care??? Oh, this fic is honestly everything to me. And it really captures the formative experience of lusting after some older guy in hot swimwear which is so niche to me but damn, this is it. I was so excited to find this little gem.

in the midnight hour - I have re-read this one about half a dozen times and honestly, I'll admit this specific fic inspired so much of how I tend to characterize Will and Mike just because they are PERFECT as to how I also view them. So many little moments just blew my mind. I have such a thing for trusting, loving, and intoxicated sex scenes in fiction and irl and this one is perfect perfect prefect for that kind of specific trope? It can be so caring and hot in the right context and this was just so good. Please read it for the first time or read it again! This was the other fic that made me want to try writing seriously again. Not only was it a really sexy story - it's just a lot of fun. Love that.

no lifeguard on duty - Cannot wait for this one to continue/finish but it's so good so far. I like the hyper-realism, the summer vibes. The whole scene with the bathing suit was soooooo interesting, I was reeling, I'm here for it. Anything that explores experimentation between these two pre-relationship is great, one of my favorite Byler tropes.

any semblance of touch - I'm weak for a good 'Mike and Will get high and it leads to them shotgunning and making out and grinding together' fic and I feel like I've read a few like this, but this one is A++ and sticks in my brain.

asking too much - I was hooked from the line "Not to be too graphic, but all I want is a nice, good-looking man who can fuck me hard" and I was obsessed the entire read. WILL you are so valid, babydoll. Love this fic a lot.

privacy - Another really interesting fic focusing on experimentation and all that lovely stuff. Mike is ridiculous in this and I'm obsessed with him and his gay little journey here as Will just absolutely loses his mind.

sexual healing - What can I say, always love a really well done 'classic porn set-up' fic, let's be honest hahaha. Masseuse/client??? All you needed to say. Fantastic.

my baby lives in shades of blue - Anything that depicts Mike and Will as super codependent and obsessed with each other is gold in my eyes. This one delivers. All the best things here. Slutty halloween costumes? Byler getting supremely handsy with each other? Clingy boyfriends? Accidental admission of kinks through dirty talk mid-fuck? Love it all.

There's a lot of other really good ones as well! These just stick in my mind. Love this fandom, everyone is so talented ❤️❤️❤️

[tbshorts]

Life raft + otter + weasel - Buizel is a heck of a thing!

Cherubi falls into the Mascot Pit pretty badly

Shellos and Gastrodon do some lovely ocean alien design

Full scripts below the cut

Buizel:

I really like Buizel, what a clever way to design a water Pokémon. As the name suggests, it's designed to look somewhat like an otter mixed with a weasel, using warm umber and cream colors for the fur, which then contrasts brightly with the yellow floatation ring around its neck and the blue fish fins on its arms. The fins especially, along with the double tails, push it towards almost a supernatural or magical feeling creature, but not so far as to lose the sense of being an animal. It's a good balance.

Floatzel just takes all of that and pushes it even further, doubling down on the weasel-like expressiveness, and turning its floatation ring into a full-body ring, making it essentially an otter-weasel which is also a life-raft. And seriously, using life-jackets and pool noodles and swim wings and the like as part of the design inspiration for a pokémon? That's cool, that's a whimsical fun idea.

If I have a criticism, I think maybe the fins are a little overkill? They're there to add blue and fish vibes to make SURE the water theme gets across, but I don't think it needs them. Buizel and Floatzel just work, they look the best companions you could ever have to the beach or the waterpark.

Grade: A

Cherubi:

Cherubi as a design has always felt a touch too literal to me. Like, it's literally just a pair of cherries with faces painted on them, and tiny little squishmallow legs. Because they express almost nothing beyond "I am a cherry with a cute face" they end up in that generic mascot design space where you might as well see them printed on a pack of fruit snacks as show up in a Pokémon game. There's just nothing distinctive or distinguishing about them, they don't have any clever idea about what to DO with the idea of a Cherry Pokémon.

Cherrim does a lot better, though, with its overcast and sunshine forms incorporating the idea of dormancy and bloom, plant lifecycles, into the design. The Overcast form in particular has a charming air of sleepiness about it, very "me when I stayed up too late gaming" relatable. The Sunshine form, meanwhile… the idea is good, but I think it looks a bit messy, between the many petals, the orbs on its head and the yellow and pink color scheme that doesn't do a great job of contrasting with itself. It's not terrible, it fits the sunshine vibes, I just don't think it pops very well, it's indistinct.

Grade: C

Shellos:

Shellos and Gastrodon are based on sea slugs and nudibranches, a profoundly weird group of sea creatures which I wish even more pokémon would take design inspiration from. The Shellos forms play to the idea of ocean environments shaping the physiology of species that live there, which is a neat little trick, and I do like the way that it's expressed, not as changes in the fundamental morphology of the creature, but in "accessories" like hair or horns, and spikes or wings along the shells. It's cute!

What I really appreciate about Gastrodon though is that with their triple eyes and downturned slit mouths, they look a bit weird and a little bit alien, which I think is a lot more interesting than if they had just continued the humanoid faces and big adorable eyes and smiles of Shellos. And again I do appreciate the way that East Sea Gastrodon seem designed to try and hide among seaweed, while the West Sea type looks more like it lives among rocks and sand.

It's a solid design line, even if none of its forms ever get particularly exciting or spectacular, it does lack a little bit of that "wow" factor.

Grade: B

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Hiiii Amber!! Not a question, but I really just wanted to tell you much I LOVE Curtis & Honey and this world you’ve created for them! As a thicc girl myself, the inclusivity means more than you know. They are one of my favorite pairings and you do such an amazing job of bringing them to life. Thank you for sharing their world with us and thank you for existing! 🍯

Thank you for loving them as much as I do! This couple has made me feel so many things in the last few years I have been writing for them. I genuinely wanted a thick reader getting this kind of love and it means EVERYTHING to me that so many people can feel seen in this reader.

Plus I wanted Curtis to have this too, a character that had nothing but hardship and darkness in his life, getting to give him something that I think is all he would ever want, a loving everyday kind of life, well in my mind he deserves it.

It really is my pleasure to write for them and will continue to do so as long as I able. They are one of the pairings that are never far from my mind. I hope that their story continues to bring you all the feels. Thank you so much for letting me know as well, take this little drabble as my thank you.

Curtis leaned against the open bathroom door from the bedroom, watching his Honey get ready for the day.

This had to be one of his favorite times of day, you fresh out of the shower, your panties hugging around all the curves of your hips, the swell of your ass and the thickness of your thighs pressing together while you fitted your bra around yourself.

The softness of your belly was always, which you always criticized, one of his favorite parts, with your stretch marks he would always take his time exploring in hopes that one day you would know that for him he loved, they were a part of you.

You always tried so hard to hide them from him, but there was no way to keep him from not admiring, even when you turned away till he could only see the line of your back, with the bit of rolls that he would map his hands over whenever possible.

Makeup free, but so fresh faced, your glanced over your shoulder to see him checking you out, his blue eyes sharp on you and you felt your cheeks warm up, first with nerves at him seeing you barely clothed to excited since his expression was everything but the one you feared from him. "What you looking at Curtis?" You said in a slightly teasing tone, giving your ass a little shimmy that made him widen his eyes a bit.

"You Pretty Girl." He said honestly, breaking away from his post to stalk to you. You turned back to the sink with a soft laugh, getting ready to put on your makeup as his arms circled around you from behind, his hands resting on your belly. "If neither of us had to go to work, I would be dragging you back to bed... or shower, that is closer."

You let your head tilt for him as he started kissing and nipping at your shoulder, your makeup spread on the counter currently forgotten as you let yourself enjoy the last bit of affection before he would have to leave. "Damn adult responsibilities." You grumbled, earning a chuckle from him as his bristled cheek brushed yours.

"Damn it indeed." He agreed before giving a sigh. "But I do gotta go, before I'm late." He extracted himself from around you and you twisted around to give him a proper goodbye, your hands playing with the buttons of his flannel before pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You think you're still up for the movies tonight?" You asked, wanting to confirm.

"Yeah, I already got the tickets, I'm gonna pick up Timmy and his friend on our way there." He had a devious grin. "I think he wants to ask her out."

"Mmh, probably, I know he at least has a crush on Mindy. We have to make sure we sit on the opposite side of the theater." You point out. "Let them have some privacy."

"Um, already planned on us sitting in the last row so we could have some privacy." He rumbled, squeezing your ass cheeks in his hand, leaving you swatting at his hands and now rolling your eyes at him.

"Go to work! You already said you're late you animal."

"Fine! Fine... Love you Honey." One last kiss was passed between you two as you returned the sentiment. Once out in the truck and you were sure that he was on the road, you pulled out your cell phone, taking a rather teasing picture from just the right angle, knowing it would probably leaving him on edge most of the day.

A little payback for the way he left you feeling after all.

[bomberqueen17]

Lotfus Bralette Sewalong: Construction 1

ok things I've learned: it'd be easier if I used a different fabric for main and lining, and it would be easy if that fabric had an obvious right and wrong side. Despite all my labeling and stickering and everything I *still* sewed a panel in wrong, and it was a nightmare making sure everything was mirror-imaged correctly.

All that said, I had to unpick a total of one seam (but unpicked two by accident, argh), and there's a sudden point where you have everything assembled and you're like..... none of this needs labels any more, and you have to peel them all off before you can continue. And it comes suddenly. So.

I'm not finished but I'm really near the end. It's a lot of fussy little sewing, but the seams are like ten inches long max, it really doesn't take very long.

This being my muslin, I have focused on getting everything put together and have not paid attention to seam finishing, trimming, grading, pressing etc. My next version, I will do those things, but I've omitted them from this version because I still don't know if the thing is going to fucking fit, I'm not topstitching something if I might have to tear it all back out, though let's be realistic I'm not going to disassemble this thing, if it turns out unwearable I'm just going to cut the notions off and start over. It's not that much fabric. I will make minor tweaks probably, but generally it is not going to be worth it to pull this apart. (Exception: if it's too large I would cut seams off and sew it smaller. But it will not be too large, I already know that from the approximate shove-my-boob-meat-into-a-half-of-it not-exactly-try-on-- it is certainly not too big, but I can't tell if it's too small because without the elastic and fasteners it's not pulled closely enough to me to be sure. It feels like there's not enough fabric to go around, but I know the wide band elastic covers a lot of territory, so I'm reserving judgement.)

So. How far did I get? Well.

[img description: this is the cluttered basement setup. Image shows a blue rubbermaid tote lid with a tall rim leaning on a pile of stuff on a cluttered desk, and on the lid is a Kindle with the sewing instructions loaded up, one half of the bra cup assembled, several pattern pieces, and next to the rim is a large box of yellow-headed quilting pins.]

I sent this setup photo to my family groupchat when we were discussing what we're doing with our weekends. (One younger sister is camping in Vermont with husband and kid, the other was gardening and found a big shed snakeskin which was cool, Mom was visiting a brew pub in fort edward and sent a photo of what looked like a pole to me and said "there's edward" and i don't get the joke, and the oldest sister had just taken her daughter to get her ears pierced, which among our people is a sign of young adulthood. Not that it's relevant to the sewalong but this is my blog after all, LOL.)

I had to unpick a seam but progress was quick after that.

[image description: an assemblage of fabric, with a pin in it, going through the throat plate of a sewing machine. The lower fabric is pink, the top fabric white. Both are decorated with Sharpie marks around the edge. The pink is nonstretch nylon tricot, the white is heavy duty powermesh.]

When it came time to attach the powerbar to the cup lining, I felt that the video sewalong had said to have the powermesh side up. The issue here is that the bra cup and lining are non-stretch fabric, as the pattern is written, and the powerbar and back band are stretch fabric, specifically powermesh (which has superior recovery to other stretch fabrics and so is indispensible in bras and compression garments). And attaching stretch to nonstretch is always a little bit of a nightmare, and generally is inadvisable, but bras break the rules in many ways and that's why so many of us are intimidated about bras.

I discovered immediately that sewing with the nonstretch side against the feed dogs and the stretch side against the presser foot was a NO GO. The stretch fabric would get pulled by the presser foot wildly out of shape, and I kept having to raise the presser foot and shove at the fabric to keep it aligned, and I kept wobbling my seam all over the place and it was awful. So I flipped it over and put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs instead, and then had zero further issues. I have not re-checked the sewalong, and the pattern instructions do not specify, but for my own reference, always put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs, that is unambiguously what worked here.

I also broke my anti-topstitching-on-muslins stance here and did topstitch the seam after I attached the back band to the cups. I wasn't doing it anywhere else, but I think it's necessary there, to hold everything down. There's gonna be SO much strain on that seam.

[image description: a pale pink, quite substantial bra, though it only looks fully assembled, lying on the talbe in front of a sewing machine. There's no center gore so it's only arranged as if assembled. But the cups are visibly partly self-supporting, because they're now three layers of fabric, so they're approximately boob-shaped, and hilariously fleshtoned in this light, I did not think this through.]

I got this far, both cups and linings assembled, with the powermesh in the middle. And then I had to make the center gore, which didn't go together the way I expected at all. You sew it in two halves, and then sew the halves together, which I had not expected and could not make myself understand. I did it, and then re-watched the sewalong afterward, and i'm still not sure I did it right, but mine did go on and looks right so I guess even if I did do something not the way the sewalong suggests I did it right enough that it works.

The frustrating thing is that you make the center gore and then set it aside, though, LOL. So I had to make it, then put the neck elastic on, and then check again.

I was SO confused by the elastic. You sew it on right sides together, and then flip it to the inside of the bra and topstitch it from the outside. So you want to sew it in such a way that just a little edge of it, which may or may not have decorative picots because it depends what you bought, will overhang when you flip it. So you want to sew it down along the MARKED SEW LINE on your strap, and if there's a bunch of extra wobbly edges and shit, sew to the inside of that, and you can trim them off after. This is where you compensate for wobbly cutting and wobbly sewing and wobbly putting-layers-together, and it's brilliant.

I didn't do it right but I will next time now that I understand that. And Jenn from Porcelynne *does* explain that, explicitly, in the sewalong, but I watched the sewalong ahead of time and couldn't remember in the moment. So this is me reinforcing it: your whole neckline edge, sew that elastic just so and once you flip it, it will look like you lined everything up perfectly. And you don't have to stretch as you sew for the whole strap bit, and there's only a tiny bit of stretching as you sew down around the cup, and it ends right where your powerbar came in, so it's a nice continuous band of stretch all the way around your boob.

And THEN you stick the center gore in, sandwiched, before you flip the elastic, and it looks weird as hell and no way could this be right. But then once you flip the thing, sure enough, there's just a cute decorative bit of elastic between the cup and center gore, and it looks good as hell.

(I mean, it doesn't on my muslin, but it will when I make a nice version. My muslin is hideous LOL, and I'm not worried in the slightest.)

[image description: an expanse of pale pink fabric with disconcertingly peach-colored elastic running down the middle of it.]

That's what the elastic looks like topstitched down, and there's the center gore with a big sharpie mark down the middle because i meant to turn that bit to the inside but put it in backwards. Oh well.

and this is the back, where the elastic's sewn down: if I was doing a finished one, I could trim off all those odd little bits sticking out where the three layers of fabric didn't quiiiiite go together evenly, and it would look finished and polished and lovely.

[image description: a bit of pale pink fabric flipped to the back. The peach elastic at the top has a couple wobbly lines of stitching on it, and some sharpie-bordered white fabric is sticking out and looks wobbly and terrible, and there are unclipped loose gray threads from construction everywhere.]

I'm not even saving that much time by making the muslin shitty, LOL. I'm just figuring, I need to see how it goes together before I get hung up on the cute details. I have enough of this exact fabric to use it again, but I also have a cute kit, a bunch of salvaged notions, and an intense desire to use a whole variety of other nontraditional bra fabrics, so I'm not that worried.

I should buy cuter elastic though. Elastic can't really be salvaged, not nicely. I'll have to pick up some cute stuff with decorative picots and whatnot. The supply list doesn't specify that you need picots, but then the instructions assume you have them, which confused me. The point is, you should sew the elastic at a point where some of it will protrude past the turned edge, because that's the correct look and function, and you should buy elastic that's not too scratchy.

I know a lot of people are concerned with bras being scratchy. I personally have never been irritated by the seams or fabric of a bra, but I HAVE been wildly irritated by the edge of the hook-and-eye band, the tips of side boning if there is any, and the STRAP elastic being shitty. So I will be focusing my energies on those.

I'm also thinking about making a bra in one layer, with binding over the seams and the powerbar made of stretch lace with a decorative edge, and put on the exterior of the single layer. That would be possible. The two-layer construction of this is kind of bulky and I get why it's like that, but my heavy-duty chestmeats aren't necessarily that heavy-duty.

I'm also going to make this in knit fabric, and am perusing all the Cashmerette Club discussion boards (where much of the pattern design team does lurk) for pointers on alternate materials and such, and I'll compile what I learn and post it here don't worry. (The number one thing is that if you make it in knits, size down one cup size. The number two thing is that if you make it with a fabric that stretches, match the stretch between the outer and lining fabric, it HAS to be the same. And example one is a fellow-commenter told me she made the whole thing in powermesh, sized down one cup size as per recommendation, and it worked perfectly. So we have that as a datapoint.)

(I don't love powermesh for its own merits but I cannot deny, it recovers perfectly, until it doesn't and you throw the bra out, so from a functional standpoint, it's The Thing to use. I'm taking apart old bras for notions and that's the thing I see-- when the powermesh went, I had to stop wearing that bra. But most of them, I busted the underwire channeling or the hooks first. Because they were DDs and I was a J, mostly, but. Hey. Yeah some other time I'll write a post about my horrible struggles with bras and how long I spent with everyone telling me it wasn't possible to be more than a DD and i must be having a body wrong somehow.)

ANYhoo.

I had to stop to make dinner after attaching the neckband elastic and center gore. So at some point today I will venture back down and keep working. The next step is the underarm elastic, and then the straps, and then the hook and eye closure, and then it's done. So I'm pretty close really, but my cat just got into my lap so I won't be headed down there imminently, LOL.

cat tax:

[image description: a white lady in a chair heavily overshadowed by a small gray cat with a white chest patch in the foreground looking extremely smug]

She's helping me post.

[tonguetiedraven]

Hi!! I’m not sure if you’ve already read the latest chaps, and Kato is obviously building up rinshi, but it all just reads as more izushie and bonrin to me. I think izumo’s confrontations are just SCREAMING for a Shiemi confession, and maybe some crumbs of bonrin if they can be sprinkled in ❤️

I am absolutely reading the latest chapters and I have to agree, lol. A lot of it just screams Izushie to me. And if you've got the new Volume, even the final extra has a BonRin vibe <3

I puled @marble-wolf in to help me with this one ^^

We'll post a snippet here, with a link to the full fic at the end :D

"Shiemi…" Izumo's voice trailed off with an uncertainty that she wouldn't admit to feeling as she approached her friend. 

Her friend that seemed to have changed far beyond any of them but still with her eyes so kind (tired, but kind.) She looked beautiful though, and her guards, which should have given an air of intimidation, just annoyed Izumo. She would have to talk to Shiemi with them present. They didn't have time to wait around or waste.  

Shiemi’s head turned over at the sound of her name, and an enormous smile immediately lifted her lips at the sight of Izumo. She didn’t even think before she was stepping out of the processional style line she’d ended up in. 

There was a grumble of annoyance from her guards and ladies in waiting, but she ignored that for now.

“Izu—” she cut herself off abruptly, swallowing the familiarity of that name and all the emotions that came with it. 

“Kamiki.” There. Far safer. 

Izumo paused for a half second, probably not even noticeable, at Shiemi's slip. That had been her name. But Shiemi had cut herself off. 

Izumo stopped close to Shiemi, feeling terribly underdressed next to Shiemi in her extravagant robes and headpiece that seemed to catch and absorb the light. 

She couldn't quite meet her friend's beautiful and earnest and excited eyes as she spoke in her most typical strong tone. 

"I'm sorry about yesterday. I said too much." She shot a glare at the guards behind Shiemi and she hated the way she could feel heat trying to burn in her face but she beat it back, which wasn't terribly hard in this frozen wasteland. "I don't usually talk about love stuff, so I got carried away."

She never dared talk about love before, when her heart had been frozen and she'd been hurting and doing the hurting. 

"But I meant what I said!" And that's as far as she wanted to touch on that subject. But she was finally meeting Shiemi's eyes… Why were they always so bright? It was like looking at a canopy of a forest through sunlight.  

Shiemi’s face went a bit pink. She had thought the conversation was finished before, but she really should have known Izumo better than that. Her friend was in front of her, blushing, cold, and determined. They were on the edge of some impossible battle and Shiemi hadn’t seen her in what felt like years, but she really was just the same person. Grumpy and caring far too much, and so scared to show any of it. 

She was adorable with the scowl and blush, and the color just brought out the magenta of her eyes all the more.

“Okay,” she softly said, “it… It was nice to know you cared.” 

Even if it wasn’t quite right. They hadn’t quite understood each other for most of their friendship though.

She could hear someone shuffling impatiently behind her, and it had her blushing a bit more. 

“I did give it some thought,” she continued, and suddenly couldn’t look in the magenta eyes she had wanted to look at her really look at her almost from the minute she’d first seen them. “I…”

Her courage left her as it always had. She could stand up against Demon Kings, but she really seemed to lack her courage where it counted. 

“But I  can’t tell him.” 

For so many reasons. Mainly because it wouldn’t at all be true, and it wouldn’t be fair to her dear friend. (Or to her other dear friend. Yukio or Rin, either one would hurt the other, and she loved them both and she couldn’t possibly pick one of them. Even if her heart hadn’t picked someone else.

She forced herself to smile, cursing her own cowardice. “Right now, it’s enough for all of us to just be together.”

Because they hadn’t for far too long, and she was certain Rin agreed with her. If it was going to end, she could hardly pick a better one than surrounded by all of them. 

Izumo's eyes narrowed and she leaned closer before her hand shot out to snatch up Shiemi's cheeks, squeezing gently but firmly. The guards reached for her with shouts and swords lifting but she didn't even glance their way. If they were going to stick around they needed to get used to this. 

"You think you're gonna die?!" Izumo thought Shiemi was cute with her cheeks squished. "Well, I agree with Rin! You gotta live!" (They all needed to. She didn't want to lose any of them!)  

Shiemi was pulled forward by Izumo’s grip and nearly fell onto her. A guard dared to draw their sword like she was in danger, and she absently raised a hand to stop them as she stared at Izumo’s much too close face.

It was amazing how right and wrong Izumo was. Entirely right that Shiemi thought she was going to die, and entirely right that she was a coward about talking about it, entirely right that she never talked about love and romance (but gushed when she did), and—

And so entirely wrong about Rin.

[archivalofsins]

So, let's talk about this thumbnail and line shall we.

Despite the line alluding to carnival/circus culture. Oh- wait you think I should explain that? You think we should waste time explaining how the term masquerade alludes to that. Well, I do too because no one else seems to have noticed.

Masquerades began around the fifteenth century and would become a staple of the Carnival Season. Many children who grew up on Disney would be familiar with it from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. People who grew up on that would also know that the king of the masquerade in that film or the king for a day is the King of Fools.

On a more recent note fans of The Case Study of Vanitas/ Vanitas No Carte would also be familiar with masquerade imagery. Due to the parade of Charlatan

Along with masquerade balls also known as Bal Masque. Because of-

Memoire 7- Bal Masque: Night of the Sneering Masks

Now carnival and masked performances have been related to multiple nomadic cultures. There is also a stigma around carnivals, circuses, and state fairs that allege individuals that work in those sorts of professions or areas are conman, thieves and tricksters. This comes up again regarding the tarot because this myth just dates back that far. Many people who worked in these areas were accused at times baselessly of being frauds and thieves and were directly under German persecution during the second world war.

Most notably in this case being the Romani people.

Sidenote everyone that has been deeply related to Mahiru's situation have had feathers in their songs this trial. Mirroring her in This Is How To Be In Love With You-

Kazui continues this trend. As it has been implied, he is going to speak on Mahiru's situation in his voice drama as well just as Yuno did.

"I feel bad for her."

However, unlike Yuno who spoke on her and has been connected to Mahiru within the portal timeline heavily since trial two began- Kazui has not been.

It should also be noted that unlike Yuno who is tearing up a pillow and releasing these feathers Kazui's thumbnail more so mirrors Mahiru within the beginning of This Is How To Be In Love With You.

They are both posing in a space where feathers are falling the only difference being Kazui's feathers are white instead of blue. There may be multiple birds to account for all the feathers dropping in Kazui's video proper or it could be a case of us not really knowing where these came from just like in Mahiru's instance.

Bringing more credence to Mahiru's line in I Love You,

"It’s ok for everyone else but not for me."

Something that really doesn't make sense for her to say because she was not the only prisoner voted guilty. Three other prisoners were voted Guilty as well. Making a statement like this could only make sense if she knows everyone else that killed due to love was voted Innocent except her.

In comparison to Futa's line in Backdraft which is far more specific,

"Why are the others INNOCENT? I won’t forgive, won’t forgive."

Also, despite the fact that his highlighted line alludes to masquerades Kazui is noticeably maskless this calls to attention his line in his song trailer,

"I'm probably a phony, through and through."

This connected back to his new highlighted lyric and his correctly fitting suit within the thumbnail seems to call attention to his development over the course of the trials. From his stiff unfitting lies and obvious masks to one that can hardly be told apart from his face.

Appearing as a magician commanding the stage and leading the audience into seeing what he wants them to see while overlooking the things he wishes to hide. Be that through sleight of hand or distractions dressed up as theatrics. This also highlights how Half may not have only displayed how he is a viewer and actor in his life but his wish to not only be able to lie on a set stage but whenever necessary. He wanted to present himself this way not only publicly but in his private life as well.

Something alluded to in his voice drama,

"And even if you recognize me as a murderer- That would be a conclusion that only someone deeply familiar with my circumstances could reach."

A line that could very much allude that someone close to Kazui was either aware or suspicious of him when it came to what transpired. Giving new context to certain written interrogation answers.

Q.13 Who do you want to see right now?

Kazui: They won’t see me anymore.

Amane: My father. I want him to praise me for all my hard work.

He says this person won't see him anymore not that they can't. So, this person isn't dead they are just choosing not to see him for some reason. If this individual was deeply familiar with Kazui's circumstances it would explain Kazui's noticeably anxious behavior during his voice drama as he discusses how Milgram came to the conclusion that he was a murderer as he may be genuinely wondering if someone ratted him out.

This would also explain his interest in who's in charge at Milgram and what it's connected to.

"I don't think someone like you could be looking over all ten of us right now, there must be some sort of organization behind all of this."

Now that he's collected more information despite not really changing much, he seems to have become more comfortable within Milgram as a facility. Similarly, to how he became more relaxed after looking into how the barrier worked.

Well, that's all I've gathered from the thumbnail on my end I'm going back to finishing that other post now.

[zahri-melitor]

Newish Comics:

Birds of Prey #7: things that make me happy this issue: Barbara is back, she's in Dinah's ear, she's choosing to work from her computers rather than go out in the field herself (but still went to speak to Mari in person! This is a great balance!). The story is immediately digging into Sin's new connection to the Green. Barda and Cass together remains immaculate.

The lineup of Barbara-Dinah-Barda-Cass-Mari-Maps is FAR more my speed than the last one.

Blue Beetle #7: what is really fun about this was depicting time travel via art style, and picking out art styles that DO look like those books. Like, for instance Jaime's third stop is CLEARLY during Blue Beetle #1-25 (2006) because it has the correct weird deformed-people quirks. This storyline feels completely written as a tribute to Keith Giffen himself, given the characters and the periods Jaime visits, and it's sweet.

Shazam! #9: And it's a random appearance of Jack Ryder being as annoying as the Creeper generally is! I did snort at him tricking Billy into transforming, but compared to the rest of Waid's run it just feels like a fill as their changeover dates didn't line up. Excited to have Josie Campbell next month.

The Bat-Man: First Knight #1: Opened this out of curiosity. This is mostly having fun being a period piece with Golden Age of Hollywood aesthetics and intact late 30s politics. It's a Monster Men retelling, which is funny, as it makes the THIRD Monster Men story I've read in a week (it's not explicit on panel yet that it is one...but it's totally one).

The Warlord #42: this week in Skartaris Shamballah is being attacked by the Therans. Travis fights them, first with his sword Hellfire and then with a laser rifle Shakira acquires from...somewhere. Don't ask too many questions of the cat lady who wears a spiked collar at all times.

Shakira then decides to disappear off on her own adventures after handing over the laser rifle, as cat. Possibly because she finally clued into the fact Travis and Tara are A Thing.

Travis then fights his way to the gates of Shamballah to support Tara...only to find she has been captured by the Therans!

(the fine bondage tradition of this comic continues)

This is pretty dull, but fortunately for me, Jennifer Morgan's yacht failed to return to the real world and she's just been swept ashore in a life raft!

now admittedly everything about this panel looks sus as fuck, but I hear great things will eventually result from it. Also the fact that everything Jen wears here is pink remains hilarious to me.

To catch up on: I need to sit down and get up to date with Batman but I'm still taking a break from Joker. Third issue of Power Pack Into the Storm is on my desk and I haven't opened it yet.

[mariacallous]

Beneath an intricate stained-glass window, I am sitting next to pastor Jeff Wilder, talking about lonely men. The clergyman is the first to say he looks a little different from your average Protestant preacher; his thick beard and arm tattoos might not instantly place him leading a flock here. But his assessment of the presidential race is insightful and nuanced – not least because his church is in Middletown, Ohio, where Trump’s vice-presidential pick JD Vance grew up.

Middletown, a small city in the rust belt, was thrust into national prominence after Vance, by then a Silicon Valley-based venture capitalist, published his memoir, Hillbilly Elegy, in 2016. The book would pave the way for his move into politics.

Vance is of course a polarising figure in this election, in part owing to misogynist comments targeting “childless cat ladies”. But pastor Wilder takes exception to something else, too.

“The Republican party right now is doing a really wonderful job of faking relationships,” he says. The emails he receives from the Trump campaign – which he signed up to for research purposes – often start with exuberant personal messages such as “I need you” or “I can’t do it without you”. “It’s ingenuine,” Wilder says, recognising that some in his congregation – which splits about 50/50 on party lines – have “fallen into the trap … Men’s health is something we overlook in America. Men want to be part of something – to feel like they belong.”

Increasingly, this election looks set to be defined by an entrenched gender divide. This is particularly evident, according to recent polls, among white men without a college degree, who favour Trump by a margin of 70%.

Naturally, what the pastor describes forms only a fragment of the reason white men are attracted to Trump. Some in the cable news commentariat chastise the Harris campaign for failing to connect with men, overlooking the reality that swathes of them continue to carry so much gender and racial bias that connection is impossible. Throughout this election I have heard many voters describe the vice-president of the United States with vicious misogyny, often in line with remarks Trump himself has made.

But America’s lurch into a loneliness epidemic is long established. It’s the subject of Robert Putnam’s seminal work Bowling Alone, which is set in towns not too far from here and observes the decline of the civic organisations, from bowling leagues to trade unions, that buttress a strong democracy and social fabric. Last year Joe Biden’s surgeon general categorised loneliness as a public health crisis. Vance acknowledges it in his book: loneliness, he writes, has led to “a peculiar crisis of masculinity in which some of the very traits that our culture inculcates make it difficult to succeed in a changing world.”

After my visit to Wilder, I drive towards Ohio’s border with Kentucky, along streets lined with large maple trees turning a magnificent orange as autumn sets in, for a canvassing event with a group of “Rising Republicans”. They tell me (to my relief) that they define youth as between the ages of 18 and 40, meaning they can proudly declare that Vance himself could still belong.

The gender divide that defines this election is even more pronounced among younger voters, according to recent polls. Some 67% of young women support Harris, compared with 28% who support Trump. And 58% of young men favour Trump, against 37% for Harris.

Before we set out to walk the streets, I ask the group if they think the very definition of masculinity is on the ballot this year, too. Some nod in agreement. “The conservative’s definition of masculinity is hard-working blue-collar man, who works hard to support his family, his wife, his livelihood, his home and his community,” says one young man. “Those on the left, I don’t think they know what a man is.”

I ask the group’s president, Grant Bagshaw, whether he has concerns about the dozens of women who have accused Trump of sexual assault, and of the jury decision last year to hold the former president liable for sexual abuse. “It’s an uncomfortable subject. I don’t know. I don’t think any of us know, so I won’t make a judgment on whether they are telling the truth or not,” he says, adding: “Republicans and most Americans in general … they just don’t believe the media most of the time.”

He has a point on the last part, but neglects to mention that distrust in legacy media has accelerated in the Trump era of misinformation. The Republican campaign this year has done much to engage with alternative rightwing media targeted at young men in particular, as a range of subcultures such as cryptocurrency and online gambling bend towards conservative values. A testament, perhaps, to how Americans are no longer just bowling alone, but posting alone.

I head back to Middletown for some Friday Night Lights – a high school football match where the city’s beloved “Middies” are facing off against their arch-rivals Hamilton Big Blue, from the neighbouring town (the Middies get thumped 42-7). Given where we are, I’m expecting to hear full-throated support for the Trump-Vance ticket and its turbocharged male identity politics.

But the reality is perhaps surprising. I sit in the bleachers – cheap open-air seats – with families, couples and young adults from across the region. Many do not even know that Vance grew up here, and their political persuasions are as mixed as their allegiances to the two teams. An older man stares down our camera and describes Donald Trump as “an idiot”. A younger man says “men are the main issue” behind the political failures in the country, but says he will not vote in November.

It’s a stark reminder that while the polls may be extremely close, nothing is a foregone conclusion in this election.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 4: Coffee and Dinner

A/N: I love this chapter 🥲 just reminding myself how much I love Hux tbh. Sigh.

Warnings: mentions of food…and fluff.

Word Count: 3.5k+

Masterlist

September blended into October. The leaves on the trees had all changed to red, golds and oranges, the leaves falling and littering the ground in huge mounds. Millicent came back more often now with twigs and suchlike stuck in her fur but she adored the attention she received off Hux. He had taken to brushing her once a day, he was up before you most mornings, the cat already fed and purring with wild abandon in his lap. He had talked you through the medkits and food rations he’d pulled from the pod and you were amazed by how not so different it was.

The bacta though was something else, when he sliced his finger on a piece of metal he sprayed it and within the hour there was just a small pink line left. You strictly told him you didn’t want any part of it, that was far too alien for you even as he spewed facts and figures at you trying to get you to see the benefits you still did not want that blue healing liquid in your body.

He had taken to staying behind when you headed into town and he didn’t disappear which you were pleased about as it allowed you to meet up with Sage for coffee.

You clutched the cup of coffee in your hands, your knee jigged nervously under the table as you watched the door to the diner. She was never usually late but then, you were stupidly early. Nerves made your palms sweaty as you rubbed them on your jeans, running over all the topics you could talk about with her. No mention of space men, no talking of Armitage. You could find other topics, ask questions about her work, tell her about the book you’d been working on because that had finally started flowing.

“Hey stranger!” You jumped up with a squeal and wrapped her in a tight hug which she returned, making you wince slightly. “How are you doing? You feeling ok? It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah sorry I’ve been busy writing, but I’m feeling much better.” She gestured for a coffee and you got a refill, the silence stretched between you both as you stirred your drinks. “How’s work?” You almost blurted out.

“Oh yeah, good. Busy. I mean it’s a bar…”

“Yeah…” you sipped your drink trying to ignore the way it scalded your entire mouth as your eyes roamed over the diner. Say something!

��What’s this book about?” She asked and you felt relief at a topic you could talk about.

“Well it’s a continuation of the last one, they want me to kick out so many words a day and the deadline is like February, so I really should write…more.”

“You’re making it into a series?” She asked.

“A trilogy. I don’t think I have anymore in me after that.”

“Can I get you girls something to eat?” Both of you looked up at the waitress, ordering your usuals before the silence between you returned. Why was this so difficult? When did you struggle to find anything to say to each other?

“You been up to much?” You asked curiously and she leaned back in the booth, turning the coffee cup as she tried to find an answer.

“No? I mean it’s literally work, sleep, eat, repeat. Nothing exciting.”

“No, same. Wake up, coffee, write, eat, sleep. Repeat.” You both nodded, avoiding eye contact with each other as you cleared your throat and suddenly wishing you hadn’t ordered food because now you had more silence to try and fill.

“Heard much from Brandon?” Your entire body stiffened at the sound of his name, the fear that he could appear any moment quivered inside and you swallowed nervously.

“No. Well he tried to ring me a few weeks back,” when Armitage landed. “But I blocked his number.”

“Good. That man is a waste of life,” she spat. The waitress deposited the burgers and fries in front of you with a shared basket of onion rings cutting the conversation short, thankfully.

“How’s Max?”

“Oh, cheeky as ever. You know he had really taken to…” she tapered off and you frowned.

“To what?”

“This new ball I got him, yeah. Keeps burying it in the garden and covering it in mud. He’s a fool. What about Millicent?”

“Oh you know, coming home covered in literal branches. We have to keep plucking them from her fur,” you recounted with a soft smile. “But she is loving the attention.” Sage was watching you and then it dawned on you what you’d let slip. Your brain tried to scramble for a new topic as your heart beat relentlessly against your ribs. “How’s the car?” You shot at her, almost following it with a wince at how desperate you sounded. She frowned at you over her burger, picking a piece of the bun off before she answered.

“Fine. It’s not fallen apart yet.”

“Mmm,” taking a big mouthful you hoped she wouldn’t ask anything else. She opened her mouth to say something when her phone rang, tilting the screen away from you she answered it.

“Hello?” She shifted her way out of the booth and went to stand in the corner, keeping her voice low she muttered into the phone. Chewing slowly you tried to listen, maybe it was her boss? Or Christina? You cast a forlorn look at your own phone, Sage was the only person you heard from these days or your publisher. “I need to go,” she huffed. Snatching an onion ring from the basket and grabbing her coat.

“We’ve barely eaten!”

“I know I know!” She muttered round the onion ring. “I’ll make it up to you I promise.” She gave you a swift kiss on the top of your head and an awkward squeeze across the shoulders. She went to fish some money out of her pocket but you stopped her.

“This is my treat today.”

“You sure? I should be treating you as, it’s your birthday.”

“You know I don’t usually do anything! Seeing you is enough, yes I’m sure. Go on, you can owe me.” She bent down for a better hug this time and you returned it.

“I’ll message you!” And with that she was gone. You debated staying and finishing but you looked stupid here with two baskets of barely eaten food so you asked the waitress to box it up for you. Swiftly you paid and headed out into the briskness of midday, but at least the sun had warmed up the inside of your truck for which you were grateful for. Setting the food down you realised you needed to do some shopping. Thankfully it was empty today as you meandered round the store, trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment that had settled on your chest. You missed your friend, maybe it was high time you introduced her to Armitage, seeing as he was here to stay. Except, how were you going to explain him?

Hux emerged from the shed when you pulled up, the handbrake of your truck clicking roughly as you yanked it. He was wiping his hands on a rag he’d found, his coat fluttered around him and again you caught yourself admiring him more than you should be.

“Building another escape pod in there?” You joked as you jumped from your truck and he gave you a wry smile in response.

“I don’t have any fuel,” like it was an absolute possibility that he was.

“Sure, lack of fuel is your only problem,” you muttered to yourself. He followed you inside, hanging his coat up before taking yours and hanging that up too. He was so particular, and tidy. Living with him for over a month now everything became the norm very quickly, well he had nowhere to go so you supposed he had no choice but to settle into an easy rhythm with you. Some days you had heated discussions and others you just sat comfortably in silence while you tried to write and he filled in his journal.

“I got you this from one of the shops in town,” you told him, gesturing to a bag bigger than the rest. “I hope you like it.” You busied yourself putting the shopping away and trying not to watch as he dragged the coat from the bag. The coat was black, not as fitted as his greatcoat but almost as long. The silk lining on the inside was a deep but noticeable emerald green colour and for a moment he just stood there holding it up. “Don’t you like it?” You asked in an attempt to appear nonchalant but all the while you were desperately awaiting his approval. The rustle of fabric told you he was slipping it on, making you turn to admire him as he adjusted the collar unsuccessfully. “Here,” you stepped up to him with a quiet sigh, running your hand along the collar so it sat flush against his neck. You absently smoothed the lapels down, beaming up at him before you stepped back to appreciate how fine he looked.

He moved his arms and fidgeted with the sleeves, tugging it to his liking before his sea green eyes flickered up to where you were expectantly waiting for his reaction, your fingers pushing your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation.

“Is this to make me blend in more?” He asked and you refrained from rolling your eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d want your coat ruined in the shed, plus if we do happen to have visitors they won’t ask what the sigil means.” His whole demeanour went on the defensive and you braced yourself for a lecture.

“You mean the organisation I have dedicated my life to? All my hard work is related to that sigil.” He said, pointing to the coat hanging up. “The very essence of my…”

“Yes exactly!” You interrupted him with an affectionate pat on his chest, stealing the wind out of his sails and his expression relaxed slightly at the lingering touch. “I could sit here and listen to you for hours but other people, probably not so much,” you shrugged and went back to your shopping. Hiding a smug smile as you put food in the fridge, you loved how riled up he got over certain things, his passion was evident but occasionally you saw the wistful look on his face. He did miss where he came from.

You had given him some books to occupy him and he was, much to your amusement, currently nose deep in some of your favourite series. You thought the Dragon of Pern books would resonate with him seeing as they were space travellers settling on an unknown planet. He seemed to be enjoying them because he hadn’t said otherwise, though, that meant anything with him. He had hung up his new coat and sat in the armchair with the book, Millicent appearing from nowhere and planting her massive self on his lap, draping her front legs over his shoulder and resting her head in the crook of his neck.

You opened the cupboard to find yet again your chocolate stash was depleted. Of all the things you thought he’d get attached to it wouldn’t be chocolate but it was a good choice.

“I got you a new bottle,” you said, making him look up from his spot on the sofa, waving the bottle of scotch you were about to put away.

“When I return to the First Order I’ll have to make sure I take a crate with me. I find it’s more pleasing than Corellian Whiskey.” His attention went back to his book and the cat, your cat that never seemed to leave his side so he didn’t see the swift disappointment that no doubt filled your face. You hadn’t given much thought to him going back believing he was stuck here but now you weren’t so sure. Your gaze was drawn to the shed outside, maybe he was building something that would get him home you just didn’t have the heart to find out. Truthfully, you didn’t want to know.

“What’s in the boxes?” Hux asked, not lifting his gaze from the page.

“What?” He sighed, as though it was such a chore to repeat himself, you wondered if he was used to people hanging on his every word. The book tipped down to rest on Millicent who just purred louder.

“The boxes…?”

“Oh! Well we didn’t finish our lunch but it’s been left a while. I wouldn’t eat it now.” Tapping your fingernails on the counter you debated for a moment before walking over to the sitting area. His eyes snapped up from his book again and you smiled a little at the unspoken question that resided there. “I could teach you how to cook.” The book dipped once again and you could see he was considering it. “Well I think it’s time I start preparing you to make your own way here seeing as you can’t…can’t go home.” His brow tugged down a little and you swallowed. “Pretty sure you don’t want to live here with me forever,” you stated with a little nervous giggle at the end.

“Getting to know your food would be beneficial,” he finally spoke and your heart jumped a little.

“Well, I have the ingredients to make beef wellington and I just know it’s something you’re going to enjoy.” You grinned as you hefted Millicent off him, noticing the way he rubbed his chest where the cat had been sitting. She was a Maine Coon, this cat was heavy and she was nearly as wide as he was. Planting a kiss in her rich fur you noted the way she smelled like him first, with her usual warm scent underneath and you hugged her just that bit tighter before releasing her.

You washed your hands, passing him the tea towel to get the ingredients out of the fridge. To his amusement you opened the bottle of wine first, looking up you caught him smiling a little.

“What?”

“You always do this before you cook.”

“Always?” You enquired and he nodded, accepting the glass you gave him. “Some habits die hard.” Sipping the golden liquid you mentally ran through the ingredients, it had been a while since you’d attempted anything from your Nan’s cookbook. “Ok, so this is a complicated recipe but so worth the hard work.” You opened the book, hearing the crack in the binding and some of the pages slipped loose as they were disturbed.

“Why are we putting in so much effort today? I’ve seen you cook without instructions.”

“Because today is my birthday,” you said simply, running your finger down the page before moving to preheat the oven.

“I had no idea.”

“Not many people do, it’s generally something I don’t acknowledge,” you admitted.

“Neither do I,” you glanced up to see him staring down into the glass. “Just reminds me of the mother I never had the chance to know.” Your heart fell apart at his soft admission and on reflex you reached out to lay a hand on his arm. He tensed, his eyes flying to meet your gaze but he didn’t move away like you expected him to. You couldn’t find any words, the loss of a parent wasn’t something you could articulate and you hoped your touch alone could convey enough. Breaking eye contact he cleared his throat and peered down at the book, you withdrew your hand, blinking rapidly as the moment slipped past you both like a fleeting shadow.

“So the first thing we need to do is roast the beef.” You handed him a brush and he listened as you read out the instructions. As he brushed oil over the beef and you chased his motions with sprinkled pepper, trying not to get distracted with how close he was in your small kitchen.

“What creature is this from?”

“A cow. Also where our milk comes from.”

“What is this?” He pointed to the small pot in your hand.

“Pepper, beef and pepper are a match made in heaven. If you like this I’ll have to cook you a steak sometime.”

“Also from a cow?” You glanced up at him with a smile, his naïvety was endearing and it made your heart beat faster. Putting the meat in the oven you introduced him to the food processor and already you could see his interest flare at the sight of it. You let him chop the mushrooms, you expected him to be slow or to cut them unevenly but he suddenly revealed some hidden skills with a blade after you gave him a demonstration. Each mushroom was cut quickly and efficiently, the slices falling perfectly on the board.

“And you’ve never cooked before?” You asked in surprise.

“No, but I know how to wield a blade.” Of course he did.

“Right well,” you drained your glass of wine and poured some more. “Next we blend them.”

“What’s the point of cutting them first?” You shrugged as you swiped them into the processor.

“So they don’t get stuck? I don’t know, I just follow what it says.” He tutted softly as though disappointed in your answer.

“You should question things more. You have no fight in you.” Lifting your head you turned to glare at him and he surprised you yet again, with a small smirk over the rim of his glass.

“And here I was thinking you desired perfect obedience from your subordinates?”

“You are not one of my subordinates,” he pointed out. “If anything, I am yours.”

“Oh!” You put the lid on the top and smiled up at him mischievously, trying to ignore the way the words “I am yours” had your heart tripping over itself. “Well what would that make me? If you’re a General and you’re my subordinate?”

“Grand Marshal.”

“In that case, General. I need you to pulse chop these mushrooms but I don’t want to see sludge, soldier. I want a nice breadcrumb consistency.”

“Yes ma’am,” he breathed, the smile still curving the edges of his lips and you smiled back. “What’s a breadcrumb?”

You weren’t sure if it was the bottle of wine you’d had together or the joy of doing something so domestic with someone else but your soul was soaring. He relaxed, smiles were more readily gracing his expression and his eyes danced whenever you said something amusing. His laugh was reserved, as though he didn’t dare unleash the fullness of his delight. He was witty, his comebacks were whip sharp and you didn’t hold back your joy at his dry humour.

When you finally sat down to eat your belly was hurting from laughing so much but you were sure more wine would sort that.

“You’re right,” he commented after a few mouthfuls.

“I don’t hear that very often.”

“You told me I’d like it. And I do.” He sipped from his glass before continuing. “Though, I’m fairly sure you could make a womp rat taste exquisite.” You could feel the heat rush to your face at his praise and you tried to think of something to say except your throat had closed up. You took a gulp of wine but it was almost too much and your eyes watered.

“What’s a womp rat?” You managed to gasp out.

“Hideous creatures, generally native to Tatooine but for some unknown reason, people think they make good pets.” His entire expression scrunched up in a typical, what you liked to refer to as the, “Armitage doesn’t appreciate this” face.

“Rats here make very good pets, they’re intelligent and clean. I do feel sorry for the wild ones when Millicent decides she wants to play.” His gaze rolled to fix on your face, his head tilted slightly and he sighed.

“These are about the same size as Millie.”

“Oh.” He got up and took the empty plates. You finished your wine and stood, mentally scolding yourself when the floor tipped a little. Too much. He followed you to the living area where you flopped onto the sofa with a dragged out, contented sigh. He stoked the fire, making the flames erupt from the burning log before easing himself onto the sofa. His motion caught your attention, he never sat here, always preferring his own space in the arm chair. Slowly you slid across the seat towards him, just as he leaned back and draped his arm across the top of his seat. He glanced at you, noticing how close you were only to focus once again on the fire, but he didn’t move away.

“Thank you,” a huskiness had entered your voice that you weren’t expecting and he shifted slightly in his seat.

“What for?” Tentatively you leaned into him, resting your face on his chest. Hearing his sharp inhale and the kick of his heart behind his ribs, feeling the way his entire body locked up as you nestled against him.

“Thank you for making my birthday nice again,” you whispered. For a moment neither of you moved but then you felt his arm rest gently around your shoulders, his hand splayed on your arm and you fully relaxed into him. The heat of the fire pulled you very quickly into a comfortable stupor, making your eyes heavy and your breathing even. Sleep was dragging at you but you swore you heard him murmur something back to you, if only you could remember what it was.

[furymint]

2023 Creator Reflection

ffxiv.

1. dance me to the end of love

this one was fun! i always like merging a character's outfit with the bg so i liked doing that again. picking the colors for elliots outfit was also enjoyable. ive wanted to make smth w that cover for a while

2. shame was still the tyrant of his life

i only wrote two nol and eli things this year and neither of them are finished. the first was a continuation of a scene where nol kisses elliot against the blue stained glass in his room--i once posted it but then i deleted it bc it made me feel woozy for its allusions to sex. i wanted to rebuild it and take a shot at it now that im comfortable writing n reading sex, but i never got very far. theres actually lots of nice parts! i just like nols dumb angsting the best!

3. valentine

i really wanted to focus on nol's eye here, but also not make it too obvious lol. i used a ps filter like a schmuck but i wanted it to be darker without making it even more difficult to see, so i took away their bodies and limited the colors to make it what it is.

4. amateur cracksmen

the second nol n eli wip, which doesnt have many interesting lines rn, was a raffles-inspired story where eli drags nol as his valet to a rival artist's house and tries to steal back the brooch that he bought from an underground dealer feat. much babbling abt the state of societal responsibility that war is supposed to bring

ffxvi.

1. herz an herz dir

i wrote some reflections about this one already here. i honestly was very (distressed voice) cant believe im writing pure fanfic for the first time in over ten years and lacked a lot of direction when i started bc uhhhhh terence has 8 and a half mins of screen time. i tried to convince myself that it's not much different than me stealing brucemont for my own evil devices, but the unique perspective of seeing quite so much fan content def influenced my interpretation. i wanted their relationship to be much more imbalanced from the get-go initially--dion using his power unintentionally and terence barely passing a thought abt it until later bc he's just so accustomed to obeying--but i ended up giving terence a lot more sway & ammunition in their argument. the breakfast bed thing is also smth im rly fond of.

2. mund an mund

there's also additional meta for this one here. i made a silly doodle abt it also. dion kept picking fights here! it honestly turned out how i expected. when i first started this fic, i was gonna have dion start out right in oriflamme and meet ter and kihel there, but i booted them to northreach so i could have this stretch of conflict. i think it's like. Bad Pacing. technically. if i still believe the conflict introduced in the next chapter is the core one, that is. which i sorrrrta do. but i dont care bc i rly like the visual of kihel laying in dion's lap and getting to put a gun on the wall w ahmed.

3. eines atems

its been two months since the last chapter and this chapter is humiliatingly not written. i have all my scrambled notes and scenes that i jotted down in between the first two chapters, so i have a full direction, but it's been really difficult to write lately. ive been devoting all my time to trying to recoup my mental health and work on my teredio secret santa. ill start next year with this wip as a priority, so for now i only have the photoshop edit for it. kihel is holding terence's hand--it's his pov turn.

overall i didnt like this year very much. i didn't read, create, research or do a lot even though i tried to. i became really disconnected from all of my friends bc im too tired to stay for rp or hold online conversations. at this point, i dont play ffxiv at all except the few times i managed to rp a little. i moved into nanny's house and have my own space, but don't have the presence of mind to do anything about my pc, books, and so on, although i did make a lot of progress rewrapping my books w fresh wraps and some other things. my plans for next year are to reach out to a couple of my friends, build my pc, relearn + rebuild + relaunch my queer lit blog on open source code, survive school, and rediscover the productivity ive lost the past few years.

teredio has helped me a LOT to find community, inspiration, and art in my loneliest year yet. im very proud of my fic and grateful every day to the ppl who have reached out to me about liking it. even if im sorry about my productivity rate in comparison to how many extraordinary writers there are in the ship's fandom, i know i have to be easy on myself to relearn how to write, create a writing schedule that works for me, and stop punishing myself when i cant get the words out.

past reflections:  2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022