#invisible marked playing cards

[harryspet]

well kept [5] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: even longer chapter :)

word count: 5.3k

In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.

well kept masterlist

You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.

The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafe’s hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger. 

It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadn’t picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didn’t own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.

You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it. 

What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly weren’t a couple like everyone in Rafe’s close circle assumed you were. You didn’t know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for. 

The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the night’s chaos.

You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. 

Two images of you. Outfits you’d sent him. Along with a message. 

For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C. 

Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs. 

“He’s really texting you? It’s Saturday.”

“Sunday now,” You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.

“Like that makes a difference,” You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, “No wonder you’re going crazy.”

“Crazy?” You laughed but it came out hollow, “Y-You guys thought I was sad and now I’m going crazy?”

“Yes,” She spoke matter-of-factly, “And it’s strange that you won’t tell us anything about him.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” You said, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it.  You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.

“I’m really worried, Y/N,” She said, “You don’t have to tell us everything but at least … let us help. We can help, I promise.”

Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, “Yeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-” 

“I promise it’s not that serious, Angel,” you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafe’s wealth and influence. “I told you g-g-g-guys, he’s just a demanding asshole.”

“If it’s not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If you’re not sleeping together or not dating?”

“It’s complicated,” You spoke robotically. 

“We want to be there for you,” Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, you’d have to explain why you hadn’t walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were. 

“You guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. I’ve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because I’m actually taking care of myself.”

It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadn’t walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.

“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to have your body,” The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you. 

“She’s right, you know,” Angel said softly. 

How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.

Pity. 

Your best friends pitied you, “Oh, y-you’re not serious,” You smiled crazily, “He’s not …I’m nnn-n-not …you both have it so so wrong.”

They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldn’t pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them. 

“I’m drunk,” You rested your head back, “I’m so drunk.”

As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, “Y/N, we didn’t mean to upset you,” You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car. 

“I’m okay. So okay.”

You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, “Y/N,” Imani stopped you. 

You whipped your head around, panicked, “I’m fine. I sss-said I’m fine.”

“You boss’s car is parked over there.”

You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it was—Rafe’s sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. “Wha—” you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, “Oh.”

“Why the fuck is he here?” Imani cursed. 

“I’ll meet you guys inside–”

“Go talk to him but we’re standing right here until you’re done,” Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look. 

“Angel,” You looked at you other friend, pleading. 

She shook her head, “We’re standing here, Y/N.”

“Fine,” You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle. 

They didn’t trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer. 

“Y/N,” His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge. 

Tonight, Rafe’s blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen before.

“Rafe, wh-what are you doing out here?” You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning. 

He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you weren’t breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, “You shouldn’t touch me.”

Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadn’t seen before, “Why not?”

You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, “My roommates are waiting for me.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, “Right,” He nodded before he laughed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?”

Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, “What are you doing out here?” You asked again, “It’s two in the mmm-morning.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you weren’t here and I … I started spiraling, you know? You’ve been out all night. I don’t like …I just felt fucking nervous.”

“Nervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?” Your words were cautious but you couldn’t help that your eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“I needed to see you.”

“You see me now,” You said, “What … what is it?”

Rafe took a breath, “I made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, you’ve been distant.”

You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actions—a defense mechanism you’d put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.

“Rafe, honestly, this isn’t h-h-helping … I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this right now. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be,” You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldn’t take a step towards you. He wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness. 

Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, “Okay, uhm …they say something to you?” His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.

“They’re my friends,” you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him. 

“Okay,” Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. “I just … I’m here because I want to fix things.”

“C-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?” You asked, “I’ve been-”

“You’ve been drinking,” He filled in your words, more unamused than before, “It’s not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you … there’s lots of bad, bad people in this city.” 

The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.

“I can take care of myself,” you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.

“Can you?” he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. “Alright, I’ll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight,” You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didn’t look back. 

Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.

“Fuck, that dude is crazy,” Imani said, “You have to quit. I’ll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. We’ll make it work.”

You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didn’t have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly. 

Tuesday morning, your alarm didn’t wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, “What the-”

“Look!” Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE. 

Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, “It’s probably a-a prank, Imani.”

“What is going on?” Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste. 

You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, “As per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of eviction–”

“Fuck,” Imani cursed. 

“This decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer …”

“Someones buying our entire apartment building?” Angel asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is fucked,” Imani added. 

You continued reading, “The termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date …”

You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, “They can’t do this. It’s illegal! Where are we supposed to go?”

“Sixty days from now is right before the holidays start,” Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t go back home.”

Imani shook her head, “This apartment is my home.”

Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. “I’m going into the office,” you said resolutely. “I w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They can’t just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.”

The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. “We don’t need his help,” Imani said firmly.

“I don’t think I want it,” Angel added quietly.

You stared at them, incredulous. “He c-can help. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Y/N, is this really smart?” Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“I can’t believe you guys. Get out, I’m getting ready,” you snapped, frustration rising. “Get out, now!”

As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.

Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection.  You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than you’d ever put in before.

You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.

It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but you’d never seen him look so … desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.

You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didn’t have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news you’d learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didn’t have the strength to correct.

“I’m not sure what the problem is. Don’t I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?”

“My friends …” you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life. 

“Right, your friends. What would you have me do?” His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, “Offer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?”

“No, that’s nnn-not what I mean,” It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didn’t expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, “I just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something that’s in our control as tenants.”

“You don’t have much power at all, as tenants. You’re subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,” Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, “You could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. That’s where I would start, sweetheart.”

Rafe’s hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, “Okay,” You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, “What should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?”

“Anything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.”

“Huh,” you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, “O-Okay, thank you. Yeah, I’ll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.”

“If it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You can’t really help your friends if you’re out on the street with them.” 

His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didn’t dwell on them, “Thanks for the advice, sir.” 

For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasn’t fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated. 

You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.

Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. You’d texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You weren’t quite sure why that idea hadn’t crossed your mind. 

“Hey, I still haven’t found anything–”

“Cameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.”

Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroom’s leather couch with a heavy sigh, “Shit,” You whispered. 

“Shit is an understatement,” She replied, “Y/N, I’m starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.”

He’d lied to your face, unabashedly. 

"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.

It was much too late for careful. You should’ve ran after your first conversation with him but now … you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didn’t want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since you’d even felt like yourself. 

You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didn’t move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after you’d gone missing, “Y/N, Rafe’s been looking for you. What are you doing?”

“Did you know?” You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken. 

She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, “Topper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. ”

“Wh-What should I do?” You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, “I-I’ve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.”

“What should you do?” She repeated, “I think he loves you.”

“L-Love?” You seemed to choke on the words. 

From what you could tell, it didn’t seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, “What does your gut tell you?”

This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, “T-To run?”

Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, “Makes sense, he’s suffocating you.”

You sat up in your spot, “Should I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.”

“I don’t think this is the time,” She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, “If you run, he’ll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. He’s desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, you’re not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.” 

“Y-You think he can change?”

“I didn’t think so before,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. “But now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe he’ll do anything to keep you.”

You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafe’s bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations. 

There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanor’s words having finally forced you to. If you ran, he’d come after you. If you ran, you’d have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of. 

“I hope you’re not handling your personal business during workhours,” Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office. 

Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office. 

“I’m not the one who made it personal,” You spoke easily, smoothly. 

You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didn’t glance at him long enough to take in his reaction. 

“And how did I make it personal?” You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafe’s scheduled social events. 

“It’s not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.”

“Oh?” That single word was dripping with venom.

“Just makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"

“B-Because I drive you crazy. Because I’m the one person y-you want to control completely.”

“Maybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that you’ll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?”

“Y-You don’t like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.”

“You’re wrong,” He shot back.

“You’ve done a good job b-because now I can’t leave without losing everything,” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.

“Maybe I’ve been selfish.”

You scoffed at that, “You’ve mmm-made it clear that you don’t care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.”

“I know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,” Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, “Tell me what needs I haven’t tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?”

His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, weren’t you? 

“You really want to fix things?”

“Yeah,” He said like the crimes he’d committed against you were something that could remedied, “I can’t change what I don’t know.”

“It’s not just about what you’ve done wrong. It’s a-about how you handle things from now on,” You started, choosing your words carefully, “It’s about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.”

“Boundaries?” His head twisted to the side like he wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, “There’s multiple?”

“First, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I don’t want you to ever bring my friends into this again.”

“Fine, I’ll get them another apartment. I’ll even throw in free rent.”

“No,” You shook your head, “You own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.”

“I made an investment. I have to make a profit–”

“I’m serious,” You countered, “Y-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.”

Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, “Okay, they stay but you come to live with me.”

“What? Why?” It was another layer of control, not a solution. 

“Your friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they won’t want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and they’ll come to their senses about our relationship.”

The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off.  You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.

“I won’t say yes right now,” You decided, “Sss-sss-since we’re talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.”

“That won’t work.”

What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was? 

“Y-You’re asking me to move across the state with you. I-It’s t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.”

“Hmm, I won’t say yes right now,” he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.

“You just sss-said you wanted to fix things.”

“My intentions … my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. I’m getting to a certain age and I’ve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,” The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that you’d be filling that role, “It’s a beautiful area. I wouldn’t expect you to continue your role there. You’d fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course you’d have access to even more money than I’ve been paying you.”

Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.

“What if I d-d-don’t want that life? W-What if I want my own career?”

He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “What career do you want? I’ll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, I’m not expecting kids right away.”

You hadn’t realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe seemed to talk to himself, “Hey, hey, calm down.” 

Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafe’s proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, “Eleanor, I need you here,” You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanor’s face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind. 

Though your thoughts still raced, the room’s spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, “It’ll help you feel better.”

He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, “Thank you,” You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafe’s arms, “Rafe–”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Rest,” Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.

This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!

[rainystarters]

💫 love is cosmic ! a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by red velvet's album cosmic. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust as necessary.

dialogue :

meeting you as the stars would have it.

i can't get you off my mind.

what did you do to my mind?

i want to know you.

how about you stay a little longer?

perhaps we're travelers searching for orphaned dreams.

come with me.

discover things no human eyes have seen.

i just can't say goodnight.

your love is cosmic.

you got me hypnotized.

i saw you hiding.

what are you? my god.

honey, i give you my all.

i'll find you in my dreams.

summer, autumn, winter, spring: the whole world is you.

my memories are floating away.

the beautiful times are leaving me, stealing you away.

this isn't the end ...remember.

i will gladly stay by your side.

it's you who kept me through the long nights.

no one knows where a fading star goes.

and i'll fly light-years to find you.

to you, my universe, the only reason i exist.

i'll always be here for you.

is it love?

i remember the first moment i saw you.

you feel the same way, right?

we can't play no game the right way.

it doesn't matter 'cause you're my prize.

i saw the same moon.

i want to dream every day.

i want to whisper in your ears the things i couldn't say.

we're not that young anymore.

i still remember the summer days when i first saw you.

believe in us more than anything.

i don't mind staying up all night, my love.

let's talk like we did when we were young.

i'm your friend. i'll be there.

take my hand and run.

sweet dreams, my love.

our story continues even in dreams.

when the moon shines bright, i'll tell you my story.

close your eyes and lean on me, my love.

oh, you've grown so quickly, kid.

we were always young and fearless.

we're together and we have the same dream.

actions :

crash-landing. sender chases a falling star but finds receiver where it fell.

stargaze. sender lies down next to receiver to stargaze.

daisy chain. sender weaves flowers into receiver's hair.

hypnotize. sender falls under receiver's spell, hypnotized.

zodiac. sender asks for receiver's sign.

bubble. sender blows/magically creates bubbles that surround receiver.

string. sender sees an invisible string of fate tying them to receiver.

chase. sender chases receiver through the woods.

arcade. sender loses a game to receiver while at a neon-illuminated arcade.

last drop. sender pours a drink into receiver's mouth.

hallucinate. sender finds receiver hallucinating and talking to inanimate objects.

memory. sender steps into one of receiver's memories.

sunburn. sender kisses receiver's skin and leaves behind a burn mark.

far-flung. sender wakes in another world to receiver staring down at them.

funny story. sender watches receiver trespass on a fairy ring and join the dance.

sunset. sender kisses receiver against the setting sun.

peek. sender doesn't notice receiver watching them dress through a hole.

honey. sender sends a bee to sting receiver.

stars align. sender fails to stop receiver from completing a ritual.

cosmos. sender and receiver feel each other's heart beat despite being apart.

night drive. sender and receiver drive through the night in a convertible.

butterfly. sender catches receiver transforming into [magical girl/werewolf/etc].

long-lost. sender reunites with receiver who has no memory of them.

sunflower. sender tucks a flower into receiver's lunch/purse/etc. to find later.

tarot. sender draws a card and waits for receiver to reveal its face.

flight. sender bridal carries receiver as they fly.

sweet dream. sender and receiver snuggle in bed below glow-in-the-dark stars.

may queen. sender crowns receiver queen of the spring festival.

turbulence. sender trips receiver, sending them falling.

carousel. sender grabs receiver's hand as they ride on a carousel.

moonlight. sender and receiver bathe naked in the moonlight.

astral. sender astral projects to receiver's location far away.

cat's cradle. sender performs a spell with receiver using cat's cradle.

night. sender and receiver walk through an illuminated night festival/market.

ride. sender sits on receiver's lap, straddling them.

see you. sender kisses receiver before they part forever/for a long time.

electric. sender teases receiver, brushing their lips across intimate skin.

cosmic love. sender and receiver break the bed during sex.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 3420 | Rating: E | CW: Language, Sexual Content, Male Titty Fucking | POV: Eddie | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two, Matching Each Other's Freak

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both the Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I say go back and start there if you'd like to read both.

Eddie wears it like a badge of honor. He wishes it was scrawled across his forehead instead of his arm. Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker! is a damn good soulmark, if he doesn't say so himself.

Feisty. He likes that. 

He hasn't met him, or her, yet. He's not picky, never has been. 

Eddie rolls up his sleeves, and the mark is dark black, prominent. Like the freshest, newest tattoo. And he knows tattoos. He's got some good ones, and some bad ones, but this right here is his favorite and he didn't even get to choose it. It just showed up one day, a promise of who was to come.

They have nice handwriting, whoever they are. He's always thought so. He brushes it with his thumb. He just wonders when he's finally going to get to meet them. 

It wasn't in high school, not during any of the three senior years he had. He kind of thought that was why he kept sticking around, like he was just waiting for them to round a corner.

They never did.

Now, he's a senior in college on schedule to graduate in one go, thank you very much, and still nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Oh well. It'll happen, or it won't. 

"You about done primping your hair or what?" Jeff yells from down the hall, and Eddie laughs. Jeff wanted to go to the big frat party on campus tonight and Eddie definitely wasn't opposed. He can probably off-load some weed, make a little extra cash, so sure, why not? 

Eddie settles onto the couch where he usually does his business. Right out in the open. He's the one to be feared, not the other way around. Gareth is next to him, yapping about some movie that they watched in his film class last night. Eddie's slightly interested. Playing chess against death for your soul? That does sound like something he'd like.

His arm itches. He looks down to scratch at it, right over his soulmark. This couch had better not have fucking bed bugs.

"Oh shit, Goodie's fighting with some frat boy," Gareth announces, sitting up to lean closer to the action, and Eddie looks up.

And Goodie most certainly is doing just that. 

Goodie just shoved a guy, and Eddie has about two seconds to open his arms to catch the cussing heap of a man as he slides across the coffee table, knocking Eddie's lunch box of inventory, and every goddamn drink, onto the ground. Not cool. 

What the fuck is Goodie doing? Yeah, he got the first cheap shot off, but this guy isn't small, and Goodie's definitely gonna get them all into a brawl if this dude has friends. Still, Eddie can't help but laugh, and he yells at Goodie, "You're a fucking dickhead!"  

He shifts the guy over onto Gareth, who makes an oomph sound like he's a delicate flower, as Eddie hops up to try and get this straightened out before it progresses into an actual problem.

Eddie slides his arm around Goodie's neck, and tucks him into his side in a headlock. Goodie lets him, laughing.

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie demands, looking back at the pretty, if very confused guy still sitting on Gareth who has his hands up in the air, like he's being accused of a crime.

"I'm sorry," Goodie laughs, hand finding Eddie's side, and Eddie damn well knows he's positioning himself to get out this headlock if he needs to, "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

Eddie turns back to look at the guy. If he really was picking on Goodie, there's gonna be a problem here, "He was bullying you?"

"I was not!" the guy yells. 

"He stepped on my foot!" Goodie clarifies, and Eddie laughs. Stepping on a foot is not bullying. It's an accident.

"He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?" Eddie asks, making sure he's got this right.

Goodie huffs, "Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

It was a nice gift, but still, Goodie's gonna get them in real trouble one of these days if his temper can't be, well, tempered.

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" a girl shows up shouting, hopping mad. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!"

She's rambling, hands waving in the air.

How do you know Gareth? Eddie thinks. He's never seen either of these two people in his life.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think?" the guy says, but he doesn't sound sure about that. Eddie's sure. He's fine. He's definitely fine. In more ways than one. Goodie's not gonna do shit. None of them are. "I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" he adds, and Eddie's also sure about that. Gareth's not into men. 

This was just a misunderstanding. A comedy of errors.

Eddie's life, in a nutshell. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's his loss. Eddie would definitely take one for the team.

But he can't resist. 

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie teases, still not releasing Goodie from his grasp. He deserves a little more torture. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," the girl says, like she's absolutely disgusted by this idea. Has she not seen that guy? 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says. And oh, that'll do it. Mystery solved. If neither of them want to sleep with this guy, Eddie will volunteer.

"Don't be so disgusted," the guy with the good hair and bitchy face complains. "I'm a catch."

That he most certainly is. Eddie caught him, if only briefly, and if he can reel him back in, he'll definitely be doing that.

"Do you still have a dick?" the girl asks, snippy.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly, and they're bantering. Eddie likes them. Likes this show he's unexpectedly been invited to watch.

"What she said," Gareth pipes up.

And Eddie definitely likes that this handsome devil has a dick. Eddie would like to be introduced to it, up close and personal, post-haste. 

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting Goodie stand up. Goodie shrugs, trying to get re-situated, and Eddie pats him on the back.

Jeff comes back, having missed the whole altercation, "What's going on?"

Then it turns out the girl, Robin apparently, knows all of his friends. And that is just an unfair and unjust world. 

Gareth seems determined to get Jeff caught up on all the action he missed, "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin says, like she hadn't even noticed him.

Gareth keeps talking, but what else is new, he's always talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Wait, what?

Eddie turns his head, eyes darting between Gareth and the very pretty man that looks like a deer caught in headlights, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff cuts in, beating Eddie to the punch. Well, he might not have asked it like that, but the guy laughs.

"Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Steve. His soulmate's name is Steve.

That's officially his favorite name ever, now.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains, and while Jeff will take Goodie's side, he's not gonna come in hot at Eddie, even if Goodie is angling for it.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie banters back, circling Goodie, like he's sizing him up. Pushing at his chest, and Goodie laughs, batting his hands away.

"Let me see," Steve says quietly.

Eddie stops in his tracks. He knows exactly what Steve wants to see. Eddie walks over to him, and offers up his forearm:

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

The words, Steve's words, have finally been said. They're right here on Eddie's skin in Steve's messy cursive scrawl. 

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and Eddie feels a jolt go up his spine, as he goes half-hard in his jeans, immediately.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers, he's never reacted to anyone like that.

"Uh, yeah," Steve says, and Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

They've got to leave here before he does something embarrassing in front of all his friends and a house party full of strangers.

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's even done asking. 

Back in Eddie's room, Eddie keeps running his hands over every inch of skin he can. All those moles and freckles. He's gorgeous.

This was the man made just for him?

He's never been that lucky a day in his life.

"You said it, and I missed it. Can you say it again?" Eddie asks, hand tangled in Steve's hair, pulling his mouth closer, so he can brush his lips against Steve's.

"Say what?" Steve asks, eyes glazed over. Nobody told Eddie meeting your soulmate would be such horny business. They've been touching, and rubbing all over each other for what has to be hours at this point.

"The words, your words," Eddie says, and Steve has to take Eddie's arm into his hand, looking like he's double-checking what he even said.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve pops off, laughing as he says it, and Eddie giggles with delight, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"You're a fucking dickhead," Eddie says back with affection, and Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's back and pulls him tight. 

Eddie can't believe he finally met him, and he's this gorgeous. Way out of Eddie's league, but Steve seems just as happy to be here as Eddie is, which, hot fucking damn.

He just wants to touch him everywhere, wants to see every inch of his body, wants to worship him now that he's finally here. 

Stripped down and bare, Eddie's checked him over, and Steve only has the one mark. No other tattoos. Just Eddie's own words, and miles of tan, freckled skin. And the moles. Oh, the moles. Not to mention the thick thatch of chest hair that lights a fire inside Eddie. Eddie rubs his fingers through it, and has the unexpected thought that he wants to come in it, wants to titty fuck him, even if that wouldn't exactly be an easy endeavor. Not to mention, well, maybe not something to suggest on the first date. He doesn't have to let his entire freak flag fly. 

He moves on, but will tuck that pretty mental image somewhere safe in the back of his brain, as he slides his hand down to thumb at Steve's nipple. Steve's hips come up off the bed, and Eddie knows they are going to have so much goddamn fun tonight.

Not just tonight.

Forever.

And isn't that a heady thought?

His fingers go right back to that chest hair, and his hand wanders, getting a handful of his chest, squeezing, and Steve chuckles. 

"Boobie man?" Steve asks, and it's playful, not judgmental at all.

"Fuck," Eddie says, and he wouldn't have especially said that he's a boob man. He likes them just fine, but there's something about Steve's chest hair. Manly, dark and thick in the middle, spreading up and out, that is really pressing buttons he didn't even know he had.

"I'm a pervert, the things I want to do to you will send you running for the hills," Eddie says, and Steve lets out the best sounding laugh in the world.

"Doubtful. Do 'em," Steve says, "I'm no blushing virgin. I've been around the block. I've been around several blocks, and had fun on every corner."

"Fuck me," Eddie says, rubbing his hard cock against Steve's thigh, "how come our blocks never crossed until now? My map was faulty."

Steve giggles, and it's adorable.

"You're gorgeous, and your chest hair is making me think all kinds of thoughts," Eddie admits, leaning back so he can see Steve's face.

By giving Steve space, Steve takes both hands, and presses his pecs together. There's just enough softness, just enough give, that Eddie is sure he could actually do it.

He could slide his dick between them, and feel all that hair hugging the underside of his cock.

Eddie starts fisting his own cock, watching. Wanting.

Their first sexual encounter cannot be him fucking Steve's chest. He's weird, and proud of it, but maybe not that weird.

Instead he slides down the bed, and admires Steve's impressive cock as it lays against his belly, hard and leaking. Steve flexes, making it bounce, and Eddie laughs, delighted. Can he already love him? Because he thinks he already loves him.

Eddie slides his fingers between Steve's cock and his belly, guiding it upwards, rubbing the head against his bottom lip, tongue sneaking out to taste, and then he sinks down, taking him fully into his mouth. He's a mouthful, more than, but Eddie's no quitter. Eddie moans, and Steve echoes him, as Eddie uses his free hand to grip Steve's hip.

He wants to blow him, wants to roll him over and eat him out until he cries and begs for Eddie's cock. He wants it all, wants everything, and thinks he just might get it.

Eddie's never had sex like this before. And he's had some damn good sex. This just feels like a whole different level of attraction, of connection.

Soulmates. 

He thought he knew, but he really didn't.

Steve's in his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, working him over like a goddamn pro. Arms wrapped around Eddie's neck, mouths locked together, sharing breath, unwilling to let one another go. 

He was right. He is feisty. Just not in the way Eddie had always expected. 

Eddie's getting close, and he snakes a hand between them, fisting Steve's cock, hoping he'll be able to to take him over the edge right along with him. 

"Eddie," Steve breathes against his mouth, a warning, and Eddie nods up and down, encouraging him.

"Do it, god, do it. Come," Eddie demands, and Steve does. Warmth hitting Eddie's hand, his belly, as Steve tightens down on Eddie's cock, pulsing with his orgasm.

Eddie pushes up into him, still chasing his own, when Steve unceremoniously slides up and off him. He's bewildered, stunned for the heartbeat it takes Steve to flop onto his back, hands pressing the sides of his chest together, an offer.

Eddie strips off the condom, slides his thighs along Steve's ribs, and leans forward, bracing himself against the headboard. Slick cock pressing into Steve's skin, the slight roughness of the chest hair a new sensation, and he thrusts. He can't see Steve's face, not from this angle, but the idea alone is enough to get him across the finish line, and he slides back, a downstroke, coming with a long, hard groan. Fuck. That was something. Too quick, but so fucking filthy that he couldn't hang on a second longer.

He pants, and scoots back down to Steve's waist. Admiring his handiwork. Come is stuck in Steve's chest hair, and some shot upwards, hitting the underside of Steve's chin, pooling in the hollow of his neck.

"Fuck, we are meant to fucking be," Eddie says, rubbing his thumb through the mess, darkening his chest hair even further, matting it together.

Steve laughs, "I'm gonna need a shower, but goddamn, you were worth the wait. I've been waiting for somebody to match my freak."

Eddie laughs, delighted and wowed by this man under him. His fucking soulmate. He moans, and buries his face in Steve's neck as they cling to each other, spreading the mess further. They're both gonna need showers, and that's totally fine with Eddie. Worth it.

And this was just the first time. First times have no business ever being that good, and Eddie presses his mouth to Steve's sweaty neck, offering him open-mouthed kisses.

Offering Steve himself, his love, his whole future if Steve is willing to take it.

All of his freak, and more.

Morning comes too soon, and Steve slides out of bed to get dressed. Eddie watches as Steve pushes down his sleeves, and then changes his mind, pushing them back up towards his elbows. 

"It's supposed to be sunny and seventy, definitely up," Eddie chimes in, hands tucked behind his head, just enjoying the free show.

Steve smiles, "Yeah. Just, habit. I've hidden my mark for so long it's gonna take some time to break the habit."

"You hid it? Why?"

"Well, you're a fucking dickhead didn't seem wildly romantic. I had no idea it wouldn't be directed at me," Steve says, and oh, Eddie never thought of that.

Eddie gets out of bed, and wraps his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight, "I'd never. But I get it. I thought mine was towards me, too. But I was wearing it like a badge of honor. Fucking Goodie," Eddie teases.

Steve grins, "He finally introduced us. I can't be too mad at him."

And Eddie isn't mad either, he owes Goodie several beers. A new pair of shoes if he's still salty that his toe got stepped on. Whatever he wants, within reason.

"Do you really have to go to class?" Eddie asks.

"At least my first one. Six more weeks to go."

"Yeah, yeah. Same boat. You anywhere near the union for lunch?" Eddie asks, hopeful.

"Yes. Meet you there at twelve-twenty?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. That works. Eddie doesn't want to take his hands off of him, doesn't want to let him out of his sight, like he might disappear, even if that's irrational. They've exchanged numbers. Apparently all of Eddie's friends know Steve's best friend. Steve's not going anywhere. 

"Here," Eddie says, walking over and rummaging through his closet, pulling out a black t-shirt, "wear this. Nowhere to hide."

He hands over the shirt, and watches as Steve tugs off his Henley, tossing it onto Eddie's bed, and then slips the new shirt over his head. Corroded Coffin emblazoned across his chest, and Eddie grins. He's got a soulmate.

He's got Steve. 

"Look at you," Eddie says.

Steve looks down at his chest, "Oh, my friend Chrissy talks about this band."

"You know Chrissy?" Eddie asks, because Jesus H. Christ, of course Steve does. The universe was working overtime to get them connected, but for some reason they were just stumbling around the same campus like fools, not making it happen, for four years.

"You know Chrissy?" Steve repeats. "I've been meaning to introduce her to Robin, I think they'd hit it off. We should all do something. Goodie can push me down again, or whatever it is that you all do for fun."

Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, "He's not usually that aggressive. He must have been possessed by our profane soulmarks."

Steve smiles at him, and it makes his heart flip in his chest. How did he get this lucky? Steve Harrington is perfect. He couldn't have picked better if given the choice. He's really something else.

"The universe thought we needed a shove, literally."

Eddie grins. Definitely worked. Job well done.

"Full transparency? That's our band," Eddie says, a smile tugging at his lips as he touches the logo on Steve's chest, "and we have a slot at The Cave on Friday."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve says, leaning forward to kiss him one more time. Eddie kisses him back before Steve really has to leave, the door closing softly behind him.

Steve may have had to go, but Eddie'll see him later, and they'll pick this right back up where they left off.

Eddie picks Steve's discarded Henley up off the bed. Maybe he'll wear this today. He doesn't need to wear his mark like a badge of honor anymore. He won the whole goddamn lottery, because Eddie's finally met his match, his soulmate, and Steve is more than he could have ever hoped for. He can't wait to see what the future brings for them. 

He pictures an entire life shared between Mr. You're A Fucking Dickhead and Mr. Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker.

And Eddie laughs, absolutely delighted by the prospect. 

He can't wait.

Read Steve's POV here.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 3 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: As the icy distance between Y/N and Giselle begins to thaw, fleeting moments of vulnerability hint at the cracks in Giselle’s polished façade.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

A few days had passed since the gala, and the penthouse had fallen into a state of sterile quiet.

Giselle and Y/N barely interacted, their paths crossing only briefly in the vast, echoing space they now shared. Giselle seemed content to treat Y/N as though she were invisible, her focus consumed by work and the constant buzz of her phone or tablet.

In the mornings, Giselle left early, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floors as she strode out the door without so much as a glance in Y/N’s direction. In the evenings, she returned late, her presence marked only by the soft clink of her key card on the counter or the muffled sound of her voice as she took a call in her office.

To Giselle, Y/N’s silence seemed convenient, a background detail that required no attention.

For Y/N, the days stretched long and solitary. Since leaving her part-time jobs as part of the contract, she found herself filling the hours by scrolling through her phone, reading, or sketching in the small notebook she kept by her bedside. Giselle transferred her monthly sum equivalent to what Y/N had earned from her jobs, so she could transfer most of it to her mom, just as she had done when living with her family. Despite its grandeur, the penthouse felt like a gilded cage. Its immaculate surfaces and muted tones were undeniably beautiful, yet lifeless, providing none of the warmth or comfort she yearned for.

The diamond ring on her finger was a constant reminder of the role she had agreed to play, but in these quiet days, it felt like she was playing that role alone.

Y/N sat at the kitchen island, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as the soft hiss and clink of the coffee machine punctuated the silence. The penthouse was as quiet as ever, its vast, open spaces amplifying the stillness. The polished surfaces of the counters and cabinets reflected the pale light streaming in through the windows, casting a cold, almost clinical glow over the room.

She glanced at the city skyline beyond the glass, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the edge of her phone. Her thoughts drifted back to the gala, the way Giselle had transformed so effortlessly from distant and detached to warm and charismatic, captivating the room with her charm.

But the moment they were alone, the act had fallen away like a discarded costume. The warmth in her voice, the affectionate touches, all of it vanished, replaced by the sharp, businesslike demeanor that Y/N had come to associate with Giselle.

The transformation was jarring.

Y/N exhaled softly, shaking her head as she stared down at her phone.

“It’s not personal,” she reminded herself, for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’s just the way she is.”

The thought was meant to soothe her, but it didn’t help. If anything, it only deepened the ache in her chest. She had known from the start that this arrangement wasn’t about emotions or connections, it was a contract, nothing more. And yet, the starkness of Giselle’s coldness still stung in ways Y/N hadn’t anticipated.

The coffee machine let out a final hiss as it finished brewing, its soft click pulling Y/N from her thoughts. She stood, crossing the room to pour herself a cup. The warmth of the ceramic mug in her hands was a small comfort, and she cupped it tightly, letting the steam curl around her face.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, sharp and deliberate, breaking the silence. Y/N turned just as Giselle entered the kitchen, her presence as commanding as ever.

Giselle was dressed impeccably, her tailored blazer and pencil skirt hugging her figure with precision. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and the faint click of her heels against the tiled floor added to the aura of authority that surrounded her.

“Morning,” Giselle said briskly, her voice devoid of any warmth or familiarity. She moved to the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee without so much as a glance in Y/N’s direction.

Y/N offered a polite smile, raising one hand in a small wave. She didn’t bother typing a response on her phone, Giselle had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in pleasantries.

For a moment, Giselle’s gaze flicked toward her. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered for just a beat too long before she returned her attention to her coffee.

“You’ll be accompanying me to a lunch meeting today,” Giselle said matter of factly, her tone as clinical as the setting around them. “It’s a small group, investors. Your role is simple. Smile, look engaged, and don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

The words landed heavily in Y/N’s chest, the instructions clear but cutting. She nodded, forcing her expression to remain neutral even as her fingers tightened slightly around her mug.

Giselle didn’t seem to notice or if she did, she didn’t care. She sipped her coffee, her other hand already reaching for the tablet she had set on the counter. Her attention shifted seamlessly to the screen, her fingers scrolling through emails with the same efficiency she applied to everything else in her life.

Y/N turned her gaze back to her phone, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress the frustration bubbling within her.

The way Giselle spoke to her as though she were an accessory, a prop to be positioned perfectly in the background, made her chest tighten. But Y/N knew better than to let her emotions show. This wasn’t about her feelings.

"Just focus on the deal", she told herself firmly.

The thought steadied her, if only a little. She reminded herself of why she was here, her family, their struggles, the debts that had weighed them down for so long. This arrangement might be cold and transactional, but it was also her lifeline.

She sipped her coffee, the bitter taste grounding her as she forced herself to push the frustration aside. Across the room, Giselle remained engrossed in her tablet, her expression as composed and distant as ever.

Y/N glanced at her for a moment longer before turning back to her phone. The tension in the room felt almost suffocating, but she told herself it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

Giselle had left for the office and Y/N spent the hours that followed immersed in her sketches. By midday, the sound of the elevator chiming announced the CEO's return. Y/N glanced up from her notebook just as the doors slid open, revealing Giselle.

“We’re leaving in fifteen,” Giselle said briskly, her eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on Y/N. “The car’s waiting.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her pen pausing mid-stroke. She quickly stood, gathering her things as Giselle disappeared down the hall to freshen up.

True to her word, fifteen minutes later, Giselle was ready, her presence commanding even in the simplicity of her preparation. She led Y/N to the waiting car with her usual composed efficiency, her pace brisk but unhurried. The restaurant was tucked away on a quiet street in one of the city’s most prestigious neighborhoods, its entrance understated but elegant. Inside, the décor was an embodiment of subtle luxury, muted tones, soft lighting, and sleek furnishings that exuded sophistication without being ostentatious.

Giselle walked in with her usual commanding presence, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors. Heads turned as she entered, her sharp features and tailored ensemble projecting an air of effortless authority.

Y/N followed closely, her heart pounding as she took in the scene, the clinking of fine glassware, the low murmur of conversations, and the faint strains of classical music playing in the background.

A small group of investors was seated at a round table near the center of the room. They stood as Giselle approached, their smiles widening in welcome.

“Miss Uchinaga,” one of the men said warmly, extending a hand. “Always a pleasure.”

Giselle returned the handshake with a polite smile, her composure flawless. “Thank you for meeting with us,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying just enough warmth to set the tone without losing its professional edge.

Her hand lightly rested on Y/N’s arm as she turned to introduce her. “This is my fiancée, Y/N,” she said.

Y/N nodded politely, her lips curving into a soft smile as she raised a hand in greeting.

The investors responded warmly, though their curiosity was evident. Their eyes lingered on Y/N, intrigued by her quiet demeanor but clearly unsure of how to engage with her.

As the lunch progressed, Y/N sat quietly beside Giselle, her posture straight but not stiff. Her hands rested lightly in her lap as she listened intently, her gaze shifting between the speakers. She didn’t fully understand the intricacies of what they were discussing, but she followed enough to recognize the dynamics at play, Giselle commanded respect, and the investors were eager to align themselves with her vision.

It wasn’t long before one of the men, a middle-aged gentleman with salt and pepper hair, turned his attention to Y/N.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he said with a warm smile. “What do you think of all this?”

Y/N froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden attention. Her cheeks warmed as she glanced at Giselle, who raised a subtle brow, her expression unreadable but expectant.

Y/N hesitated, then gestured with her hands to indicate that she didn’t speak. Her movements were smooth and fluid, her proficiency in sign language evident.

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and then his expression brightened. “You sign?” he asked, his tone delighted.

Y/N nodded, her hands moving quickly to respond. “I’m fluent.”

He grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. “Well, that’s wonderful! I know a bit of sign language myself.”

His hands moved clumsily as he signed back, “I’ll try. Be patient.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her hands responding gracefully. “You’re doing fine.”

The exchange caught the attention of the rest of the table.

“What’s she saying?” one of the women asked, her curiosity piqued.

The man glanced around the table, his grin widening. “She says she’s fluent and that I’m not completely hopeless,” he translated, earning a ripple of laughter from the group.

The ice was broken, and the man continued to act as a translator, relaying Y/N’s signs to the rest of the table.

“Do you have any hobbies?” one of the women asked, leaning forward with interest.

Y/N smiled and signed her response. “I enjoy painting. It’s relaxing.”

The group reacted warmly, asking follow up questions that Y/N answered with her hands, the man translating each response with surprising enthusiasm.

From her seat, Giselle observed the interaction with quiet intensity. She said little, letting the exchange flow naturally, but her sharp gaze lingered on Y/N.

As the conversation continued, Giselle found herself watching Y/N more closely. There was something captivating about the way Y/N signed, her movements graceful yet deliberate, her expressions subtly conveying emotions that her hands couldn’t.

But more than that, Giselle noticed how the investors seemed drawn to her. Despite her initial instructions for Y/N to stay in the background, she had become the center of attention, her natural charm cutting through the formality of the meeting.

One of the women leaned toward Giselle with a smile. “She’s lovely,” she said softly. “And very engaging. You’re lucky to have her.”

Giselle returned the smile with practiced ease. “I know,” she said smoothly. “She has a way of drawing people in.”

The words were calculated, part of the role she was playing, but as Giselle glanced back at Y/N, she couldn’t deny their truth.

By the end of the meal, it was clear that Y/N had made an impression. The investors were smiling and laughing as they prepared to leave, their earlier formality replaced by an easy warmth.

The middle-aged man shook Y/N’s hand enthusiastically before turning to Giselle. “You’ve got a gem here,” he said with a wink. “Don’t let this one go.”

Giselle offered a faint smirk, her tone measured as she replied, “I don’t plan to.”

As the group departed, Giselle and Y/N lingered for a moment. The hum of the restaurant returned, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations filling the space.

Giselle turned to Y/N, her expression unreadable. “You handled yourself well,” she said, her tone calm but edged with acknowledgement.

Y/N tilted her head, pulling her phone from her bag. Her fingers moved carefully over the screen as she typed out a message. After a moment, she turned the screen toward Giselle.

“Thank you. It was easier than I thought.”

Giselle’s gaze lingered on the phone, then shifted to Y/N. For a brief moment, her sharp eyes softened, but her expression quickly returned to its usual composed neutrality.

“People like you,” Giselle said simply, her tone devoid of emotion but carrying an undertone of acknowledgment.

The words, though delivered with Giselle’s usual detachment, made Y/N’s chest tighten. She nodded, slipping her phone back into her bag as they walked toward the car.

The car ride back to the penthouse was quiet, the low hum of the engine the only sound breaking the stillness. Giselle sat with her legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights. Her profile was sharp and unreadable, her expression betraying nothing of her thoughts.

Y/N sat beside her, stealing the occasional glance. The silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, but she couldn’t decide if it was tension or simply Giselle’s usual detachment.

Finally, Giselle spoke, her voice breaking the quiet.

“You have a natural presence,” she said, her tone cool but not unkind. “People notice you.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the unexpected comment. She tilted her head slightly, reaching for her phone. Her fingers hesitated over the screen before typing.

“In a good way?”

Giselle turned her head slightly, her eyes flicking briefly to the phone before returning to the window. “It’s useful,” she said simply, her words measured. “People trust you. It makes them... easier to manage.”

The statement was clinical, devoid of sentiment, but it struck something deep in Y/N. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a reminder of her role.

She glanced down at her hands, her fingers brushing against the diamond ring on her finger. The weight of it felt heavier now, a physical representation of the unspoken expectations that hung between them.

The car pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse, the sleek hum of the engine cutting off as the driver stepped out to open the door. Giselle exited first, her heels clicking against the concrete as she strode toward the elevator.

Y/N followed closely, her steps quieter but no less deliberate. The elevator ride was silent, the faint hum of the machinery amplifying the tension that lingered between them.

When they stepped into the penthouse, the cool, sterile atmosphere of the space immediately enveloped them. Giselle set her bag down on the counter with practiced precision, her movements as controlled and deliberate as ever.

“Get some rest,” she said without looking at Y/N. “You’ll need it.”

Y/N nodded, watching as Giselle disappeared down the hallway to her quarters without another word.

The silence of the penthouse felt heavier than usual, pressing down on Y/N like a physical weight. She stood in the living room for a moment, her eyes drifting to the city skyline beyond the massive windows.

The image of Giselle’s cool detachment lingered in her mind, her words replaying over and over. “People trust you. It makes them easier to manage.”

Y/N sank onto the couch, slipping off her heels and letting them drop to the floor. The ache in her feet was nothing compared to the tension coiled in her chest. She pulled her phone from her bag, her fingers hovering over the screen as she typed a message to herself.

“Am I just another piece on her chessboard?”

The thought made her stomach twist, but she didn’t delete the words. Instead, she stared at them for a long moment before locking her phone and setting it on the coffee table.

She leaned back against the cushions, her eyes drifting shut as she tried to push the day’s events from her mind. The weight of the ring on her finger was impossible to ignore, but she focused instead on the bigger picture, the reason she was here, the reason she had agreed to this in the first place. 

The days in the penthouse began to blur together, each one a quiet echo of the last. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows in golden streaks, casting long shadows over the sleek furniture. Despite the luxury surrounding her, Y/N found the space oddly lifeless, its grandeur doing little to chase away the persistent silence that filled the rooms.

A routine settled back into place.

Each morning, Giselle left early, her movements crisp and purposeful, the quiet rhythm of her steps echoing through the penthouse. Even in the evenings, her return was marked by a reserved presence. She often retreated to her office, where the faint glow of the light spilled into the darkened hallway, a lone beacon of her late-night focus.

During evenings if Giselle emerged into the shared spaces, it was only briefly, to pour a drink or skim through her tablet, her interactions fleeting and detached.

For Y/N, the days felt suspended, dragging on with a suffocating stillness. She found herself watching Giselle from afar, trying to uncover the person behind the composed exterior. Giselle’s every move seemed deliberate, her routine unyielding, but now and then, there were cracks in the veneer, small moments where the façade softened, revealing something raw and unguarded beneath.

At first, the changes were so subtle that Y/N thought she might be imagining them.

Giselle’s tone, while still sharp and professional, occasionally softened during their brief exchanges. Instead of curtly assigning Y/N tasks or outlining expectations, she would sometimes ask if she was comfortable with a particular outfit or schedule.

“Does this work for you?” Giselle had asked one afternoon while reviewing an upcoming event.

The question had been so unexpected that Y/N had hesitated before nodding. Giselle didn’t comment further, but the small consideration lingered in Y/N’s mind.

There were other moments, too.

Once, while Y/N was quietly sketching in the living room, she had glanced up to find Giselle standing by the window, her expression unusually pensive. She held a glass of wine in her hand, but she wasn’t drinking it, her gaze fixed on the distant city lights.

Y/N had quickly looked away, not wanting to intrude on the rare moment of vulnerability, but the image stayed with her.

Y/N, for her part, stuck to her role as best she could. She avoided unnecessary conversations, kept her questions to a minimum, and did her best to maintain the balance of their arrangement. But despite her efforts to remain in the background, she couldn’t ignore the moments when Giselle’s actions seemed to go beyond mere obligation.

There was the time before another dinner with investors when Giselle came to the Y/N room to hurry her and noticed Y/N struggling to zip up her dress, without a word, stepped forward to help. Her hands were cool and steady as she fastened the zipper, and though the moment was brief, Y/N had felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

Or the evening when Y/N found a small bouquet of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, their vibrant colors standing out starkly against the muted tones of the penthouse. There was no note, but when she glanced at Giselle later that night, she thought she saw the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes.

These moments were fleeting, often explained away by Giselle’s characteristic practicality, but they hinted at something deeper.

Y/N began to notice the way Giselle’s gaze lingered on her during their events, the subtle way her posture shifted whenever Y/N seemed uncomfortable. It wasn’t overt care, Giselle was far too guarded for that, but it was enough to suggest that she was paying attention.

The changes weren’t dramatic, but they were there. And for Y/N, who had grown used to the silence and distance between them, they were enough to make her wonder.

The soft hum of the penthouse’s central air system filled the silence as Y/N stepped out of her room. The day had been long, marked by yet another round of distant interactions and a private event that left her drained. She moved toward the dining area, expecting the same sterile quiet that greeted her every evening.

But tonight was different.

The table was already set, its pristine surface adorned with elegant place settings. At her usual spot sat a covered dish, the polished dome glinting under the warm glow of the pendant lights overhead. The soft amber lighting cast a golden hue over the room, making it feel uncharacteristically inviting.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her eyes scanning the unexpected scene before landing on Giselle.

The CEO was already seated, one leg crossed over the other, her tablet balanced in one hand. She looked as composed as ever, dressed in her usual attire, but there was something oddly relaxed about the way she leaned back in her chair, a glass of wine resting on the table beside her.

Giselle glanced up as Y/N entered, her expression unreadable.

“Sit,” she said simply, gesturing to the chair across from her. Her tone was calm, but it carried an undertone of expectation that left little room for argument.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her chest. This wasn’t part of their usual routine. She had grown accustomed to eating alone, her meals left for her by the housekeeper, with Giselle either absent or holed up in her office.

Still, she nodded silently and moved to her seat.

The chair’s leather creaked softly as she settled into it, her eyes darting to the covered dish in front of her. She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing against the polished dome before lifting it.

Her breath hitched.

Steam curled up from the plate beneath, carrying the unmistakable aroma of her favorite dish. Every detail was perfect, from the garnish on top to the way it was plated with care.

Her fingers hovered over her phone as she quickly typed out a message, her heart racing. She turned the screen toward Giselle.

“How did you know this is my favorite?”

Giselle set her tablet down, her sharp eyes meeting Y/N’s. For a moment, she didn’t speak, as though weighing her response. Then, in her usual measured tone, she said, “It’s my job to know things.”

The explanation was clinical, as if she were discussing a business strategy, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze, something softer, almost reluctant, that didn’t align with her brusque demeanor.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she typed another message, her fingers moving more slowly this time.

“Thank you. It’s... thoughtful.”

Giselle didn’t respond immediately. She picked up her glass of wine instead, swirling the liquid before taking a measured sip.

“You’ve been doing well,” she said finally, her voice even. “Consider it a small acknowledgment.”

The words were typical Giselle, detached, businesslike, but the gesture itself spoke louder than her tone.

Y/N studied her for a moment longer, searching for any sign of warmth beneath the polished surface. But Giselle’s expression had already returned to its usual neutrality, her attention drifting back to her tablet.

With a quiet exhale, Y/N picked up her fork and took her first bite. The familiar flavors danced across her tongue, and despite the lingering tension in the room, she found herself smiling.

“Good?” Giselle asked, her voice casual.

Y/N nodded, quickly typing a response.

“Perfect.”

Giselle glanced at the screen briefly before returning to her work. “Good,” she said simply, her tone almost too casual, as if dismissing the significance of the moment.

But for Y/N, the gesture lingered. It was more than a meal, it was a small crack in the wall that Giselle kept so carefully constructed around herself.

As she finished her dinner, Y/N allowed herself a brief moment of hope. Perhaps, beneath the layers of professionalism and detachment, there was more to Giselle than she let on.

A few days later, the car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Fashion Week venue, its sleek black exterior reflecting the kaleidoscope of flashing lights outside. Y/N could already hear the chaotic noise, shouted questions, instructions from handlers, and the relentless click of cameras. It was a wall of sound, muffled slightly by the car’s thick windows but growing louder with every passing second.

Giselle exhaled softly, her demeanor calm and collected. She had always avoided such events unless absolutely necessary, preferring to let her work speak for itself rather than courting public attention. But with the looming partnership with Lueur and the image of a devoted fiancée to project, she had stepped into the spotlight with a calculated precision.

“This is part of it,” Giselle murmured, more to herself than to Y/N.

Y/N’s heart began to race as the door opened, the din of the crowd rushing in like a tidal wave. Giselle exited first, stepping out with her signature poise and grace. The flashes intensified, the cameras snapping away to capture every detail of her entrance.

Y/N hesitated briefly before stepping out, the noise and light hitting her all at once. It was overwhelming, the glare of the cameras, the shouted questions she couldn’t even begin to decipher, and the sheer mass of people pressing closer for a glimpse.

Giselle extended her arm, and Y/N looped hers through it instinctively. The contact was grounding, a thin thread of stability in the chaos surrounding them.

“Keep your head up,” Giselle murmured softly, her tone low but commanding. “Smile. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”

Y/N nodded faintly, forcing her lips into a small, polite smile. The cameras were relentless, capturing every step as they made their way up the red carpet.

The noise seemed to grow louder as they moved closer to the entrance. Y/N kept her head slightly lowered, her gaze focused on the path ahead to avoid being blinded by the constant flashes.

The path was a gauntlet of flashing cameras and shouted questions. The crowd surged forward at times, contained only by the velvet ropes and vigilant security.

“Giselle! Over here!” “Y/N! Who designed your dress?’” “Smile for us, please!”

The calls blurred together, merging into a chaotic wall of sound. Y/N kept her gaze slightly lowered, her focus trained on the path ahead to avoid being blinded by the relentless flashes.

Then, suddenly, the controlled chaos broke.

A man with a camera broke from the crowd, pushing forward in an attempt to get closer. His lens was practically shoved into Y/N’s face as he shouted for her attention.

“Over here! Y/N, give us a smile! Look this way!”

The intrusion was jarring. The camera was too close, the man’s voice cutting through the already overwhelming noise. Y/N flinched instinctively, stepping back and pulling slightly away from Giselle’s arm. Her breath caught in her throat, the disorienting moment sending a surge of panic through her.

Before she could fully register what was happening, Giselle moved.

She shifted in front of Y/N in one smooth motion, her body acting as a shield. Her arm extended slightly, creating a barrier between the photographer and Y/N.

“Step back,” Giselle said sharply, her tone laced with authority.

The photographer froze, startled by the steel in her voice. He muttered an apology, retreating back into the crowd as security intervened to restore order.

The moment was brief, over in seconds, but it left a lingering impression on Y/N.

Giselle turned her head slightly, glancing back at Y/N. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice quieter now, carrying an uncharacteristic note of concern.

Y/N nodded quickly, her hands brushing down the front of her dress as she steadied herself.

Giselle didn’t say anything further, but her hand moved to rest gently on Y/N’s back, guiding her forward. The touch was subtle but firm, a steadying presence that helped Y/N regain her composure.

They continued up the carpet together, Giselle maintaining her usual confident demeanor as though nothing had happened. To the crowd and the cameras, it was just another perfect moment in a flawless evening, but to Y/N, it felt like something more.

The noise of the crowd faded as the heavy doors of the venue closed behind them, the sudden quiet almost jarring. The soft murmur of voices and the distant sound of a live string quartet filled the space, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Y/N let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly now. She glanced at Giselle, who was already scanning the room, her sharp gaze assessing the crowd with practiced ease.

Y/N pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. When she was done, she held it up for Giselle to see.

“Thank you for stepping in.”

Giselle’s eyes flicked to the phone, and for a brief moment, her expression softened. The hard lines of her face eased, and a faint warmth flickered in her gaze.

“It’s part of the deal,” she said quietly, her tone carefully neutral. But her hand lingered on Y/N’s arm for just a moment longer than necessary, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress before she let go.

The gesture, though fleeting, didn’t feel like business to Y/N.

As they moved deeper into the venue, mingling with the other attendees, Y/N found herself replaying the moment in her mind. Giselle’s sharp command, the way she had positioned herself as a barrier, the steady hand on her back, all of it had felt so natural, so instinctive.

Y/N couldn’t decide whether to feel grateful or confused. Maybe both.

Whatever it was, it left a warmth in her chest that lingered long after the event had begun.

The quiet of the penthouse wrapped around Y/N as she sat on the wide windowsill in her room, the cool glass pressed against her back. The city stretched out before her, a sprawling canvas of twinkling lights and distant movement. From this height, the noise of the streets below was nothing more than a faint hum, a soothing contrast to the chaos of the evening.

The day’s events replayed in her mind like a montage, each moment sharp and vivid.

The way Giselle had instinctively stepped between her and the photographer, her voice cutting through the noise with an authority that demanded compliance.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her hands, which rested in her lap. Her fingers brushed absently against the fabric of her dress, as if still feeling the ghost of Giselle’s touch.

It wasn’t the first time Giselle had shown a flicker of care, but tonight had been different. It had been genuine or at least, it had felt that way.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the stillness. Y/N reached for it, the light from the screen illuminating her face in the dim room.

The message was from Giselle’s assistant, a reminder about tomorrow’s schedule. Simple and efficient, like everything else in this arrangement. Y/N’s eyes lingered on the notification, her thumb hovering over the screen.

She set the phone aside without responding, leaning her head back against the glass.

Y/N’s reflection stared back at her faintly in the window, her features softened by the dim light of the room and the glow of the city beyond.

She thought about Giselle, about the small moments that had begun to hint at something beneath her carefully constructed façade.

Why? The question lingered in her mind, insistent but unanswered.

Giselle’s kindnesses were fleeting, always followed by her usual detached demeanor, as though she regretted letting the cracks show. Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of it. The gestures seemed too deliberate to be accidents, but Giselle’s guarded nature made it hard to believe they were entirely uncalculated.

Y/N exhaled softly, running a hand through her hair as she leaned her forehead against the glass. She didn’t know if she wanted to untangle the truth of Giselle’s actions. Maybe it was easier not to.

But despite her uncertainty, Y/N couldn’t deny that something had shifted. For the first time in weeks, the weight of the arrangement didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

Y/N slid off the windowsill, padding across the plush carpet to her bed. She climbed onto the sheets, leaning back against the pillows as she let her body sink into the softness.

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, her thoughts still circling around Giselle. What was it that made someone like her, so polished and cold, show these fleeting glimpses of care?

Y/N’s fingers itched to pull out her phone and type a message to Giselle, something simple, maybe just a thank you for the way she had stepped in tonight. But she hesitated.

Would Giselle brush it off? Dismiss it with another one of her detached comments?

Y/N sighed, tucking her phone under her pillow instead. The words could wait.

As her eyes fluttered shut, the lights of the city still flickering faintly through her window, Y/N held onto the warmth of those moments. Small and fleeting though they were, they offered a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Giselle than met the eye.

The days that followed the event were oddly quiet, the penthouse steeped in an unspoken tension.

Y/N tried to settle back into the routine, but something felt off, an undercurrent of unease that she couldn’t quite name.

The small moments of connection she had shared with Giselle at the event lingered in her mind. They had been fleeting, but meaningful enough to leave a faint warmth in her chest. Yet now, Giselle seemed even more guarded than before, her presence sharp and distant, like a blade kept just out of reach.

Y/N told herself not to dwell on it. Giselle was an enigma, her walls impenetrable. Trying to understand her was like chasing shadows.

One morning, as sunlight poured through the penthouse’s towering windows, Y/N sat at the kitchen island with a steaming cup of coffee. The comforting bitterness of the drink filled her senses as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. The peaceful moment was broken by the sound of sharp, deliberate footsteps echoing down the hall.

Y/N looked up just as Giselle entered the living room, her phone pressed to her ear. She was dressed impeccably, as always, but her posture was more rigid than usual.

The rapid cadence of Japanese spilled from Giselle’s lips, her tone clipped and precise. Her free hand gestured subtly as she spoke, the motion betraying a rare hint of agitation.

Y/N watched from her seat, her curiosity piqued. Giselle rarely showed anything other than complete control, and this sudden tension in her demeanor was like a crack in the polished armor she always wore.

The call ended abruptly. Giselle pulled the phone away from her ear and placed it on the counter with a quiet but deliberate thud. She exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the city skyline visible through the windows.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before reaching for her own phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed out a message, her movements careful.

“Is everything all right?”

She held up the phone hesitantly, her heart beating a little faster as Giselle’s sharp eyes turned to her.

For a moment, Giselle didn’t respond, her gaze flickering between the screen and Y/N. Her expression was guarded, her jaw tight.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “Just business.”

But the way her shoulders remained tense and her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the counter told a different story.

Y/N nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wanted to press further, to ask what had rattled her so visibly, but the distance in Giselle’s tone warned her to let it go.

As Giselle turned and walked toward her office, her footsteps soft but purposeful against the hardwood floors, Y/N found herself staring at the counter where the phone had landed.

“Fine,” Giselle had said, but it was clear she was anything but.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her mug as she tried to push away the unease creeping into her thoughts. Whatever was troubling Giselle wasn’t her business or at least, that’s what she told herself.

But the memory of Giselle’s clenched jaw and distant gaze lingered, leaving Y/N with the unshakable feeling that something was shifting, just out of sight.

The quiet of the penthouse deepened as the night settled in. Outside the windows of Giselle’s office, the city sparkled in the distance, its lights casting faint reflections on the glass walls. The faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the building were the only sounds that accompanied her.

Giselle sat at her sleek black desk, the soft glow of her desk lamp illuminating her sharp features. The light cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the minimalist elegance of the space. The shelves behind her were lined with carefully arranged books and awards, their polished surfaces reflecting her meticulous nature.

In front of her sat an unmarked envelope.

Unlike the neatly typed correspondence she was accustomed to, this envelope was different, its edges were slightly creased, the paper heavier and rougher to the touch. It had arrived that morning, mixed in with her usual stack of business letters and invitations, its plain exterior drawing no attention from her assistant.

But Giselle had noticed it immediately.

Her sharp eyes studied it for what felt like an eternity. The lack of a return address and the faint smudge on one corner told her it had been handled carelessly, unlike the precision with which her professional correspondence was always prepared.

With a measured exhale, she reached for the envelope. Her fingers slid under the flap, breaking the seal with practiced ease. The sound of tearing paper seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly in half. She unfolded it slowly, her movements deliberate.

The words were scrawled in a hasty, uneven hand.

“Still playing the part of the untouchable queen, are we? Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you owe me. The truth has a way of coming out, Aeri. You can’t keep it buried forever.”

The message sent a chill down her spine. Though the note was unsigned, Giselle didn’t need a name to know who had sent it.

Her grip on the paper tightened slightly, the edges crinkling under her fingers. Her jaw clenched as her mind raced, old memories stirring like ghosts she thought she’d buried long ago.

Jeno.

It had been years since she had last seen her brother, but his presence lingered like a shadow, always waiting to reemerge at the worst possible moments. His words, written in the same spiteful tone she remembered from their last encounter, echoed in her mind.

Her breath came in measured intervals, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm exterior. Giselle sat frozen, her eyes scanning the words again and again as if hoping their meaning would change. But the threat was clear.

Her brother had always been unpredictable, a dangerous combination of charm and malice. Jeno knew how to hurt her, how to twist the knife in ways no one else could. And he had leverage.

Her fingers curled tightly around the letter before she forced herself to relax. With a slow, deliberate motion, she folded the paper and set it on the desk. Her gaze flicked toward the office door, ensuring it was firmly shut.

No one could know about this. Especially not Y/N.

The younger woman was already entangled in Giselle’s fabricated life for reasons that had nothing to do with her past. Involving her in the twisted dynamics of the Uchinaga family would only complicate things further.

Giselle opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a small, silver key from her blazer pocket. She unlocked the drawer and slipped the letter inside, placing it beneath a stack of old, forgotten files. The drawer clicked shut as she turned the key again, ensuring it was secure.

Leaning back in her chair, Giselle let out a slow breath, her hands resting on the polished surface of the desk. Her sharp nails tapped rhythmically against the wood, her mind churning with possibilities.

Jeno’s timing was deliberate, it always was. He had a knack for appearing when she was most vulnerable, his threats a constant reminder of the secrets they both shared. Secrets that could destroy everything she had built if they ever came to light.

Her gaze drifted to the city skyline beyond the glass. The lights were steady and unchanging, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her chest.

For a brief moment, her polished façade cracked. The weight of her past, the weight of the letter, pressed heavily on her. But as quickly as it slipped, she forced the mask back into place.

There was no room for weakness. Not now. Not ever.

Giselle stood, her movements as precise as ever, and adjusted her blazer. She smoothed her expression, the icy control returning to her features like armor being reaffixed.

Whatever Jeno wanted, she would deal with it. Alone. 

And no one, not Y/N, not the media, not even Jeno, would see her falter.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Just A Spark (Gonna Let It Happen)

Or: five times hasan helped you + 1 the one time you helped him

feat: fire fighter hasan

tw: mention of drinking, cursing, mention of ptsd/trauma

thanks to the wonderful @the-phantom-author for letting me run with their idea. @medlarmeadows and @abadarkade for their wonderful suggestions and always offering ideas when i run out

more hasan here

one. first encounter

sometimes, when the thick blanket of night falls in the room, hits his eyes even though they’re blocked by his arm-he wonders exactly what he did wrong in a past life to be here.

he isn’t sure if he believes in that past life bullshit; people with cards and stars that tell him he looked at someone the wrong way, years ago, in a different lifetime, landed him here- but fuck, he did something wrong.

it’s the steady beep of a half broken fire alarm that makes an eye snap up. it’s ironic, or something, that the fire stations fire alarm would be broken, but he can’t find himself caring enough to pull up a chair, find the screwdriver, to care long enough to do something for it.

instead, he lays with his forearm over his eyes, counts the seconds in between the beeps, find the peace in the lull between the five seconds.

there’s parties to go to; things he could make himself do-instead, he lays in a twin sized mattress that lightly reeks of a delicate mixture of body odor and oil.

Last nights call plays in his head: what was suppose to be a harmless call for a ninety year old-the flash of fear in her eyes when he gets there, holding her hand and promising her it’ll be okay-

he sits up and flips the pillow over to the cooler side, hopes that makes a difference, tries to face the wall and count the markings that line the wall.

An alarm blares over head.

he wonders if he squeezes his eyes shut long enough, picks the sides of the pillow up and slams it into his ears. instead, he sits up with a sigh, pulls his shoes up and says a hail mary to whatever supernatural powers be, wills it to be better.

The engine starts up, James, his partner forever, hops into the seat next to him and they’re off.

Three streets away in a yard only lit up by a fire, you find yourself borderline pacing.

The coughing didn’t bother you. At least, not at first.

The bonfire started hours ago, before the sun had set, hiding behind clouds and dipping in and out of them, as if it was an elaborate game of hide and seek that you were losing badly.

The coughing was almost expected. Peter and Paul, the two idiots together, disappeared off an hour ago with a large container of gasoline and a glint in their eye that you didn’t fully trust-honestly, you were surprised it took this long for it to catch up with you.

“Dude,” someone, you think his name is Scott, a friend of a friend, speaks up: “The first cough is whatever. The second? Sure. but the third? Can you please get it together?”

It’s dramatic.

an anxious habit, your hands go to the side of your hand, nail to your head to scratch at an invisible itch.

"Hey," Scott says in-between the coughs, scratches at his throat, "what's in these brownies anyways?"

Peter speaks up: "Nothing ground breaking. A family recipe-"

"Oh, please," Ava snorts, "Is the family recipe from a box found at Meijer's?"

"Fuck off, you're disrespecting my dead Nana," Peter puffs his chest out, "Who's dead, by the way, you sick fuck-"

"Guys," Scott is borderline wheezing, "The brownies?"

Peter rolls his eyes, "Oil, mix.." He ticks them off on his fingers, "Oh, I added some chopped walnuts in, to spice them up-"

"Stop trying to make 'spice them up' happen. Your Nana did not say that."

"Walnuts?" his eyes go wide, "I'm allergic-"

it's a blur after that. Yelling, running around, phone calls with fingers shoved in their ears to block out the noise, frantic googling that yielded no results

Honestly, the first thought you had when you saw him was relief. you wonder if that's what he's use to; the guardian angel status, the way he walks into a room with authority, like nothing actually scares him

Ava walks next to him, although it's less walking and more running, trying to run to keep up with his strides

You have Scott leaning against a dead tree trunk, his shirt ripped off in a panic, his hand on his throat as if he could scratch the itch out-your hand rests over his, your face close to him as you try to talk him off an invisible ledge.

"You're going to be fine," You're saying, trying to convince yourself, more than anything, "by tomorrow this is going to be a funny memory we'll all look back at-"

Hasan recognizes this-knows that it's you more panicked than him, and he realizes how out of his element he is-needs to rescue a cat in a tree, reset a fire alarm-

EMS comes in first, breaks up the two of you-you take the hint, inch further away so you're not in the way, but can still hear what’s going on-if he’ll make it.

“Hey.”

your head whips up. eyes stinging, didn’t realize you were crying until the familiar pinch came.

“Hey,” you shake your head, “sorry. Am i in the way?”

The taller man shrugs, “he’s good. James got him, too.”

He studies you for a second.

“are you okay?”

before you can answer stuff is flying from his belt; a smaller pack hits by your feet, a walkie talkie inches from your toes-

he plops down next to you with a groan, like that took a lot out of him.

Panic looms. blooms in your chest, fills it, threatens to take over-

“here.”

he digs in his jeans and pulls out a caramel candy, holds it by the wrapper.

“isn’t that an old man candy?”

you sniffle but a shaky hand reaches out, grabs it and unwraps it.

“it’s Hasan, by the way.” the man says gently, eyes downcast as he unwraps his own, “and it’s not.”

finally some comfort, the rise of panic crashing like a wave in your chest as it retreats for now.

“Hasan the old man,” you settle on, “got it.”

two

"You've got to be kidding me."

Hasan chomps on gum as if he doesn't have a care in the world

"I know the medical emergency was a little above your pay grade," You hope your voice doesn't come out as shaky as it feels, "So I figured saving my cat would be more up your alley."

He snorts, rolls his eyes as he cranes his neck to look up the tree.

"What's it's name?"

"My name?" You scratch at your neck, not sure how this is relevant but if it saves your cat-

"No," hasan says slowly, "The cat-"

"Oh."

You hope he doesn't see the rising red splash across your face

"Tomato," You clear your throat, "Tomato is the asshole who thought it was a good idea to climb a tree at five in the morning when i have an interbiew in an hour and my hair is still wet-"

and my hair is still wet- your hand flies to your head, where a towel is still damp and wrapped around your head, stained and worn with age-past hair colors stained and marked the towel up

"Hey,"

Hasan's voice brings you down, crashes you back to earth. Instead of the rising heat on your face and the worried roar in your head, your back in your front yard. Hasan stands in front of you-a too tight uniform shirt across his chest, stained, a mop of curly hair and a constellation of freckles across his face.

wide eyed, looking at you, his hands on either side of your arms:

“you’re fine,” he’s saying, “Tomato is fine. i’ll get her down in time.” he hesitates for a second, considers the weight behind it, “i promise.”

he turns to the tree before you can see him flustered:

“what a fucking stereotype,” he sighs, calls over his shoulder, his shoulders already aching from the work out he’s about to get: “got a ladder?”

there’s a quick fight between you two (“just tell me where the ladder is“ “you’re going to save tomato! you can’t carry the ladder too!”) before he throws his hands up and makes his way to the small shed in the corner of the yard, ignoring you, all but marching back to the scene of the crime.

“can you hold the ladder?” he says gently, before a smile paints across his face, “can you handle that much?”

the bastard is smirking now. in the sunlight his freckles are more pronounced, can trace the lines of them on his face.

“shouldn’t you have someone with you?” you’re calling up gently as he scales up a ladder. he’s clicking his tongue as he does so.

he doesn’t answer:

“i fucking hate cats,” he’s saying instead, “murderous, ungrateful bastards-“

his fingers reach out at the branch, so close to touching Tomatoes tail-he hisses, climbs up another branch.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Hasan huffs, scaling the tree higher

“can you blame him?” Nibbling fingernails, “some scary man is climbing up a ladder and invading his space-“

“handsome?”

head titled back as he slowly climbs the ladder, “what?”

“a handsome man, i assume you said,” hasan continues, silence for a second before there’s light rustling; a branch falls, a bundle of leaves-you’re about to ask if he’s okay before he retreats back, an orange bundle under his arm, meowing and yelling at him as he carefully climbs down. Heavy gear clatters around him, and you worry about it falling off of him for a second

once his feet are down he continues:

“a handsome man,” he finishes, “who rescued your cat, right?”

silence

“right?”

“thank you, hasan.”

three

you run through the list in your head: eggs, milk, loaf of bread-

music seems to blare around you. wraps around you, makes your head pound-your only plan to try and get out as quickly as you can.

Faces pass; none familiar, all just as frantic and busy as you are-

cans of soup- your eyes scan the shelves, falls on the familiar red branding-fingers reach out, almost grasp it-fall

again.

reach, fingers brush against it-push it back a little further.

“mother fucker-“

“need help?”

the voice is familiar. too familiar. your eyes narrow, back still to them.

“i think you need me at this point,” the voice is almost gleeful, “should just follow you round to help-what is it? chicken noodle? you look like a chicken noodle soup enjoyer”

“it’s tomato.” you grumble unhappily.

“tomato?” he turns around, head over his shoulder, “hmm.”

he looks tired. bags under his eyes, hair a million different directions, shirt is untucked and stained-a pen cap is hanging on for dear life at the neck of a stretched out shirt.

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“shouldn’t you be calling the fire department for something?”

“awe,” you finally smile, snatching the can, “you do miss my calls-“

“when they see your number they automatically dispatch me to you. you’re a liability.”

you reach for the can but he holds it higher in the air, a smirk creeps on his face:

“what do you say?”

a huff, “please?” you try, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes: “there’s no way you think that’s what i want.”

“who’s your favorite fire fighter?”

“what’s your partners name? Rob? He is-“

he huffs, turns his back to you and sets the can back on the shelf, his fingers still brush against the can as he hums like he’s considering his own soup options-

“hasan, please. my chili depends on you-“

he ignores you, still humming, as you pull on his shirt:

“you’re my favorite firefighter,” you find yourself saying, “it hurts to say that.”

he turns around, hands you the can: “was that so hard?”

four

weeks pass. with job deadlines on the horizon, your apartment all but falling apart-it’s easy to forget about about anyone else.

sleep finally finds you. a cold side of the pillow, eyes finally shut-

a fire alarm blares that makes you shoot out of bed. tomato lays at your feet, grabbing him, running outside to the yard, sweater long forgotten.

by the time you’re at the yard, you can at least see the building isn’t burning up. in fact, you can’t see anything. you weigh your options for a second, considering ignoring the blaring fire alarms before you hear the fire truck and groan, knowing what’s coming up, knowing who’s around the corner.

the second the car parks everyone is running out, talking into walkie talkies-

“is this you?” hasan calls as he jogs past you, “you’re an arsonist at this point-“

you go to yell back and he’s gone.

an hour later he appears. his hair is disheveled, his shoulders slump. he walks next to his partners, something in his hand-

“if you need cooking lessons, i volunteer,” hasan says, “i can teach you how to fucking make ramen-“

“why do you assume that i’m behind all bad things that happen here?”

“your track record doesn’t help,” he says, “to begin with. and this has your name written all over it. please,” he stops, drops the pan and claps his hands together as if begging: “let me teach you how to cook.”

“it wasn’t fucking me!”

his eyes narrow: “Please. no one believe you-“

“you’re a dick. don’t you have a donut to eat? or-“

“that’s police officers, idiot.” he huffs, “and fuck them, anyways. look-“

he stops, leans into you, “i know just the place. i’ll teach you-“

“you aren’t teaching me how to cook! and it’s not me!”

“fine,” his eyes narrow, “but the next call here, if it’s yours, i take you to a cooking class-“

“what-“

“even if it isn’t your call. you owe me a date.”

his hand outstretched to you: “a deals a deal-“

“what’s in it for me?”

“i’ll leave you alone.”

you groan, knowing that’s not going to happen. sunrise threatens to fall over the horizon, and you know he won’t give up anytime soon-

your hand falls into his-larger and calloused-slips into his like a missing puzzle piece, like a perfect piece-

“it’s a deal.”

five

look, this isn’t bribing.

but after your fourth call to your apartment this month, you figured you at least owed them something for coming out-even if they somehow always sent just Hasan out-

you couldn’t sleep, anyways. or at least, that’s your excuse. the tray of baked goods threatens to fall out of the seat any second.

The door to the station is open, all the workers walking around, half suspenders down, shirts untucked, plates of food half eaten-

you couldn’t find your guy in the line up,is your first thought. before you quickly shake your head, trying to get that idea out as quickly as it came. he isn’t your guy. if anything, he’s the pain in the ass who keeps saving your ass-

putting the car in park, saying a prayer before grabbing the plate and walking in, hoping you look more confident than you feel.

“Well,” one of the firefighter smirks as you show up, “have any batteries that need to be changed?” he teases, “or is cilantro in trouble? hasan hasn’t shut up-“

“it’s tomato,” hasan appears behind him, “i know my mortal enemies name.”

“look what the cat dragged in-“

“it’s almost like you’re at the place where i work. imagine that-“

“i made brownies.”

the guy next to him immediately perks up, grabs the plate and pulls back tinfoil: “thank you!”

hasan stops him before he can run off, grabs a brownie before he can leave, eyes it as you stand in front of him.

“so,” he says, “what’s the trick with this? i don’t have any allergies-“

“damn. nut allergies are the most common allergies. i thought that’s how i could take you out-“

“and they aren’t burned-“

“that wasn’t me with the ramen, you dick.”

“these look good.”

“always the tone of surprise,” you roll your eyes, “most people would say thank you.”

“why would i say thank you before I’m potentially poisoned?”

“you’re insufferable.”

“here,” he smirks, “you take the first bite.”

“i’m not hungry-“

“that’s exactly what someone who poisoned food would say to get out to eating it.”

“you’re a dick, give it to me.”

“ah,” he says instead when you reach for it, his hand still on the brownie as he leans forward, a hand cupped under your mouth as he goes to feed you the bite.

“this is outrageous,” you roll your eyes as pink rises up, but don’t put up more of a fight as it makes contact, as you bite off, “it’s delicious”

he watches you carefully as you chew

“see?” you roll your eyes: “now you.”

“eh?” he shrugs, “i don’t know how hungry i am-“

you gasp and he giggles, before shoving it in his mouth:

“not bad.” he settles on.

+1

“if you’re looking for your guy, he called in sick.”

you aren’t proud of the fact that they know who you’re really here for, and less that you know the man who yelled that-Michael-will proudly tell hasan that.

“what?” you tease, “the big baby can’t handle a little bit of a cold?”

he snorts: “he did the kids fire safety at the elementary school this week-he blames them.”

“what a baby.”

you try and make polite small talk. they’re all fine-the entire time, thinking of the plan you’re already cooking in your head.

everyone knows where he lives. the house was famous before the newest fire fighter bought it (and when you’re in a small town like this, a new guy on the team is a big deal, gets around) and in the center of town, you pass it every day on your way to and from work: seeing him leave in the morning, at night, still in his uniform, shirt untucked and wrinkly as he moves around his front yard: tends to the garden on the side of the house (looks like he’s very proud of his herbs he’s growing, at least) hunched over as he flicks his tongue and has a small ceramic bowl of kibble for the gang of cats that seem attached to him-

a quick stop at the only grocery store in town, the paper bag of groceries on your lap, your stomach bubbles and bursts as you worry your lip about this-

you park the car and find yourself in front of his house before you can talk yourself out of it.

tapping your foot, waiting for him to answer-

“hullo?”

he still looks good, even sick.

glasses crooked on his face, his hair a mess, the tip of his nose is red, lines over his freckles from a pillow-

he groans. stands in the doorway, his hand against the doorframe.

“i’m off duty,” he tries, “you’ll have to put out your own fire-“

“heard the kids made you sick,” you say instead, ruffling through the plastic bag on your wrist, “nothing ramen can’t help.”

“ramen?” he laughs, “like-“

“it wasn’t me!” you insist, can feel your heart thump in your ears, “let me redeem myself; make you some soup.”

“i can’t call the fire department-“

“if i start a fire i’ll put it out myself, i promise.”

he laughs: “i guess i’d like to see that.”

comfortable silence for a second.

“so?” you push, “the soup?”

his eyes narrow for a second before his hand slowly slides up the doorframe, an invitation in-you duck and act like you can’t see the smile light up his face

[seokvrtual]

02:34 AM 사랑 ﹕— 💭 teach my mind

eunseok will wait, no matter how long it takes you to finally love him back.

you hate being out of control.

you hate working in groups because you don’t have any leader qualities, and the presence of one turns you into a mere follower. you hate it when blood rushes to your cheeks, showing how affected you are by the situation at hand, revealing your cards to the other person. you hate it when things don’t go according to what you initially planned, feeling weak against the forces of the universe, and you’d be damned if you let anyone other than yourself decide how things will go.

you especially hate how you can’t control how your heart behaves around eunseok.

eunseok, who’s been especially good to you, the stoic man who goes out of his way just so your lips will curl up. eunseok, who is bad at small talk, yet goes on to drawl about the weather just so the two of you can converse a little longer.

you think he’d be the perfect boyfriend for you—the perfect boyfriend to your unmoving cold heart, the perfect boyfriend to bring over to your parents’ house. but you just can’t make your heart budge.

it stings like alcohol poured over a fresh wound when eunseok brings his lips to touch yours, how the older kisses you fervently, his hands roaming to worship your body, muttering small praises against your skin as if he were saying a prayer.

you wish you could put eunseok first, love him just as he loves you, kiss him without the heaviness burdening your gut. you wish your heart wouldn’t ache whenever you look into his eyes and wish they were someone else’s.

“do i have a chance?” he asks one particularly chilly night. you left the window open, relying on the wind blowing outside, leaving the ac off. you feel eunseok’s lips brush against your shoulders, tracing the invisible marks eunseok wishes you had let him leave.

(“no marks, please,” you say in a hushed tone when you feel eunseok mouthing all over your neck and chest.

he halts his actions, pausing. he doesn’t look you in the eye, but you know behind those hollowed eyes of his, disappointment lies.)

you feel yourself choke on the nonexistent words at the back of your throat. you gulp it away, feeling eunseok’s eyes burn holes in the back of your head.

you hum instead, your heart clenching for not being able to answer straight. you call yourself a coward in your head, mentally pulling at the ends of your hair.

“i can hear your thoughts,” eunseok croaks out, pulling away. you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself, missing the warmth he had given you. you think you’re so selfish—selfishly keeping him to yourself when you’re not anyone’s and especially not his.

“don’t ask me questions you know the answers to,” you whisper in the dead of the night, your breath hitching as you feel the bed shift.

you feel him get off the bed, rustling around for his clothes. you think this is it, that you’re finally putting an end to the charades you've been playing for so long.

oddly enough, you don’t feel any relief. instead, you feel a gut-wrenching pain delivered to your heart, your breath quickening as the realization sets in that eunseok’s leaving.

you hate that you can’t control the tears coming out of your eyes, how you feel pathetic crying over something that was bound to happen. would things have been different if you knew how to love him and hadn’t been stuck in someone else’s world?

eunseok is the moon that orbits around your world, and yet you can’t help but yearn for something hotter and brighter.

a creak comes from the door opening, and you have never sat up as fast as you do now.

you see eunseok, carrying a glass of water, one hand sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “i figured you needed to drink water.”

a sob leaves your mouth, leaving both of you in shock.

eunseok immediately rushes to your side, carefully putting the glass of water on the bedside table. his arms wrap around you as if that’s the only place for them to be. he rubs your back, trying to soothe you, but your cries only get louder.

“i’m so sorry,” you begin, “you deserve so much better.” you blurt out, pulling away from the embrace you had come to know.

“you deserve someone who will love you as much as you do.”

eunseok cups your cheeks gently, as if he’s holding the world in his hands. “hey, it’s okay,”

“i’ll wait,” he whispers against your forehead as he brings his lips to your skin.

you feel his breath against your hair, steady and calm. “i will always wait.” he repeats softly like it was a promise.

you find yourself pulling away once more, like you always do. eunseok halts you from separating from him fully by cupping the cheeks of your face once more. you sigh, bringing your forehead against his.

“you shouldn’t,” you breath, “it’s unfair.” you let out a final croak.

he just smiles, a small, sad smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “i decide what’s fair for me.”

the door is wide open for eunseok to leave, to take his exit, but he waits. he waits like he’s sitting on the couch, picking up the book on the coffee table, waiting for you to finally decide what to wear. he waits like he has been doing it his entire life and that’s the only thing he knows.

eunseok waits just like he’s waiting for christmas to come around. you’d argue that it’s not that simple and he’d answer right back that it is— he loves you and that’s simple enough for him.

he will wait, even if it takes you a hundred years.

this is mostly a word vomit lol. this one is for my girlies that ARE the problem and the girlies who can’t commit. inspired by niki’s anaheim.

[sprintingowl]

Tales Of Crystals

Hey in the early 90s Hasbro put out a tabletop roleplaying larp for tween girls called Tales Of The Crystals, and there's a lot going on here, so I want to talk about it.

First, I want to give credit to @riseupcomus on twitter for doing a thread on it first. Riseup's thread is linked at the bottom, right after hasbro's pdf of Tales Of Crystals.

Now, what is Tales Of Crystals? Well, it's a journaling game. And it's an indie TTRPG. And it's a larp kit. And it's an audio game. And it's a cryptography kit.

It comes with its own map, rulebook, a cassette tape with multiple scenarios, a non-dice-based resolution system, four player roles, and a ruleset that's split up so that each of the four players is in charge of a different part.

If feels like a high concept, big swing indie title from 2024, but it's got thirty years worth of jump on the modern scene.

The basic premise is that the players are crystal bearers in the court of a fantasy kingdom, and there's an evil nation in the goblin swamp next door, and they have to guard the nation against treachery and ensorcellment and whatnot. It's not super duper fresh, but with how many things the game is juggling it's extremely reasonable that the plot's a little plain.

Each player's crystal comes with a power, and the powers are asymmetrical. The Leader gets the Crystal Of Shimmering Ice, which lets you oneshot enemies (nonlethally, by freezing them for a minute.) The Protector gets the Crystal Of True Sight, and can see through all lies and enchantments and mind control enemies for a minute (tbh this one is just better). There's a healing crystal and an invisibility crystal as well---and interestingly the invisibility crystal is given to the role responsible for journaling everybody's adventures. The game recognizes that at least one player of a fantasy larp for tween girls in the 90s is probably going to be a wallflower writer, and deliberately enshrines that role.

Tales Of Crystals has a solid core loop, with a deck of cards for prompts and a cassette tape for scenarios and a little circle with YES and NO marked on it that you can scatter your gems onto to get oracle answers to questions during play. It also has a LOT of gimmicks.

There's a tube of powder you can sprinkle on things to disenchant them. There's a mirror you need to read script that's been written backwards. There's three cryptographic cyphers at the back of the book. There's a box specifically for confining the evil Spider Crystal (after you've sprinkled it with powder to neutralize it.) This is a game of dozens of components, and it's a miracle the design is so tight that they all loop together so well.

Now, I don't have sales data (riseup might,) but I suspect maybe this thing didn't sell amazingly. It requires you to set up six or so distinct locations around your yard, pretty much needs a group of exactly four friends to play it, requires you to give clue elements to your parents---you'd have to be cool with it, your friends would have to be cool with it, your parents would have to be cool with it, and you'd have to have a big suburban yard in order to get a proper intended game experience. That said, its larp design is really stable, its gameplay is carefully thought out, and it includes a section at the start to encourage you to play safely and a section at the end to talk about your game together, journal your experiences, and to clean up the game components as a group when you're done.

This is good tech! And it even specifically recommends having a snack and relaxing afterward.

Tales Of Crystals doesn't use terms like bleed and session zero, but it's a good ways ahead of the curve on larp and ttrpg safety.

I didn't find the designer's name (they're listed as uncredit on BoardGameGeek, not mentioned in the PDF, and missing from the wiki page,) but they knocked this one out of the park. There's stuff in here that modern indie ttrpg designers could learn from---myself very much included.

So if you like ttrpgs, 90s magic, and stuff like Tamora Pierce and Sailor Moon, give riseup's original thread a look, and definitely check out the PDF link.

I'm thrilled this thing exists, and I hope more designers get to look at it.

[separatist-apologist]

Do you have any recs for Feysand-like characters romance but healthier? I love them but I love the wholesome parts of them so so much more and it would be nice to enjoy them in a sweeter setting. I will take books/shows, even movie works but not my favourite option.

It's fine if you don't have any. Thanks anyways.

I consulted my feysand experts (@thesistersarcheron, @rosanna-writer, @octobers-veryown, @kataravimes-of-the-shire, @velidewrites, and @reverie-tales - this is what everyone came up with) (under cut due to length):

One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig (duology, complete):

Elspeth needs a monster. The monster might be her.

Elspeth Spindle needs more than luck to stay safe in the eerie, mist-locked kingdom of Blunder—she needs a monster. She calls him the Nightmare, an ancient, mercurial spirit trapped in her head. He protects her. He keeps her secrets.

But nothing comes for free, especially magic.

When Elspeth meets a mysterious highwayman on the forest road, her life takes a drastic turn. Thrust into a world of shadow and deception, she joins a dangerous quest to cure Blunder from the dark magic infecting it. And the highwayman? He just so happens to be the King’s nephew, Captain of the most dangerous men in Blunder…and guilty of high treason.

Together they must gather twelve Providence Cards—the keys to the cure. But as the stakes heighten and their undeniable attraction intensifies, Elspeth is forced to face her darkest secret yet: the Nightmare is slowly taking over her mind. And she might not be able to stop him.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by Victoria E. Schwab:

France, 1714: in a moment of desperation, a young woman makes a Faustian bargain to live forever and is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets.

Thus begins the extraordinary life of Addie LaRue, and a dazzling adventure that will play out across centuries and continents, across history and art, as a young woman learns how far she will go to leave her mark on the world.

But everything changes when, after nearly 300 years, Addie stumbles across a young man in a hidden bookstore and he remembers her name.

Unsteady by Peyton Corinne:

Rhys Koteskiy is back — at least, he's supposed to be.

During last year’s Frozen Four, the Waterfell University hockey captain, and NHL legacy, took a brutal hit that left him with a concussion and a new discomfort on the ice. Plagued by nightmares and panic attacks every time he attempt to skate, Rhys wonders if he’ll ever play again — if he’ll ever want to.

Sadie Brown is staying focused this semester — no matter what.

Currently drowning in debt, custody hearings for her younger brothers and skating practices, she's just trying to make it to the next day. A spitfire figure skater known for her bad attitude and frequent disappearing acts, she has a reputation on campus. And it’s not a pretty one.

When she accidentally witnesses one of the golden boy hockey captain’s panic attacks and attempts to help him, a strange sort of understanding strikes up between them.

No questions asked. Just comfort.

But Rhys finds himself drawn to Sadie. Where he feels empty, a shell of the man and player he was before, Sadie is so full of everything it bursts from her; every emotion she feels seems like it’s blasted at max. Rhys is desperate to feel anything, Sadie wants to stop feeling so much.

But healing doesn’t mix with secrets, and they’re both skating a thin line, unsteady .

Red String Theory by Lauren Kung Jessen:

 When it comes to love and art, Rooney Gao believes in signs. Most of all, she believes in the Chinese legend that everyone is tied to their one true love by the red string of fate. And that belief has inspired her career as an artist, as well as the large art installations she makes with ( obviously ) red string. That is until artist’s block strikes and Rooney begins to question everything. But then fate leads her to the perfect guy . . . Jack Liu is perfect. He’s absurdly smart, successful, handsome, and after one enchanting New York night—under icy February skies and fueled by fried dumplings—all signs point to destiny. Only Jack doesn’t believe. And after their magical date, it looks like they might be lost to each other forever . . . until they’re given one more chance to reconnect. But can Rooney convince a reluctant skeptic to take a leap of fate?

Neon Gods by Katee Robert:

He was supposed to be a myth. But from the moment I crossed the River Styx and fell under his dark spell... he was, quite simply, mine.

Society darling Persephone Dimitriou plans to flee the ultra-modern city of Olympus and start over far from the backstabbing politics of the Thirteen Houses. But all that’s ripped away when her mother ambushes her with an engagement to Zeus, the dangerous power behind their glittering city’s dark facade.

With no options left, Persephone flees to the forbidden undercity and makes a devil’s bargain with a man she once believed a myth... a man who awakens her to a world she never knew existed.

Hades has spent his life in the shadows, and he has no intention of stepping into the light. But when he finds that Persephone can offer a little slice of the revenge he’s spent years craving, it’s all the excuse he needs to help her—for a price. Yet every breathless night spent tangled together has given Hades a taste for Persephone, and he’ll go to war with Olympus itself to keep her close…

A modern retelling of Hades and Persephone that’s as sinful as it is sweet.

The Magician's Guild (Black Magician's Trilogy) by Trudi Canavan:

"We should expect this young woman to be more powerful than our average novice, possibly even more powerful than the average magician."

This year, like every other, the magicians of Imardin gather to purge the city of undesirables. Cloaked in the protection of their sorcery, they move with no fear of the vagrants and miscreants who despise them and their work-—until one enraged girl, barely more than a child, hurls a stone at the hated invaders...and effortlessly penetrates their magical shield.

What the Magicians' Guild has long dreaded has finally come to pass. There is someone outside their ranks who possesses a raw power beyond imagining, an untrained mage who must be found and schooled before she destroys herself and her city with a force she cannot yet control.

Hoarded by the Dragon by Lillian Lark:

A thief doing a final job and the dragon caught in a precarious situation that changes both of their lives.

He’s powerful and wealthy and he hates me.

But I have something he wants.

It wasn’t a part of the plan.

I’m the thief stupid enough to break into a dragon’s hoard… and walk away pregnant with his baby.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson:

With a flick of her paintbrush, Isobel creates stunning portraits for a dangerous set of clients: the fair folk. These immortal creatures cannot bake bread or put a pen to paper without crumbling to dust. They crave human Craft with a terrible thirst, and they trade valuable enchantments for Isobel’s paintings. But when she receives her first royal patron—Rook, the autumn prince—Isobel makes a deadly mistake. She paints mortal sorrow in his eyes, a weakness that could cost him his throne, and even his life.

Furious, Rook spirits Isobel away to his kingdom to stand trial for her crime. But something is seriously amiss in his world, and they are attacked from every side. With Isobel and Rook depending upon each other for survival, their alliance blossoms into trust, perhaps even love . . . a forbidden emotion that would violate the fair folks’ ruthless laws, rendering both their lives forfeit. What force could Isobel's paintings conjure that is powerful enough to defy the ancient malice of the fairy courts?

Isobel and Rook journey along a knife-edge in a lush world where beauty masks corruption and the cost of survival might be more frightening than death itself.

Desire In His Blood by Zoey Draven:

Gemma Hara is drowning under the weight of her father’s debts. Working herself to the bone, she knows that if she doesn’t pay them off in time, the sadistic creditors will take everything: their home, their respected name, and, worst of all, her two beautiful sisters.

To save her family, Gemma agrees to do something reckless: marry a wealthy and mysterious stranger, who offers her a wicked bargain she can’t afford to refuse.

However, his bargain comes with one terrifying catch. Because her husband-to-be is a Kylorr.

One of the most fearsome alien races in the Four Quadrants, the Kylorr are beastly monsters, all muscle and menace, with powerful wings, depraved cravings, and berserker-like rages. The worst part?

They survive on blood.

Cold and cruel, Azur of House Kaalium, the High Lord of Laras, demands Gemma as his blood bride. To feed from her. To use her body in whatever way he wishes. For paying off her family’s debts, he expects her complete submission.

What neither of them predicts is how his bite doesn’t bring pain—it fills Gemma with more exquisite pleasure than she’s ever known. And as she finds her footing on a strange new planet, the one thing Gemma thought she’d never surrender might be at risk after all.

Her heart.

Too bad her new husband can’t seem to decide if he wants to break it…or keep it forever.

Master of Crows by Grace Draven:

This is the question that sets bondwoman, Martise of Asher, on a dangerous path. In exchange for her freedom, she bargains with her masters, the mage-priests of Conclave, to spy on the renegade sorcerer, Silhara of Neith. The priests want Martise to expose the sorcerer's treachery and turn him over to Conclave justice. A risky endeavor, but one she accepts without hesitation--until she falls in love with her intended target.

Silhara of Neith, Master of Crows, is a desperate man. The god called Corruption invades his mind, seducing him with promises of limitless power if he will help it gain dominion over the world. Silhara struggles against Corruption's influence and searches for ways to destroy the god. When Conclave sends Martise as an apprentice to help him, he knows she's a spy. Now he fights a war on two fronts -against the god who would possess him and the apprentice who would betray him.

Mage and spy search together for a ritual that will annihilate Corruption, but in doing so, they discover secrets about each other that may damn them both. Silhara must decide if his fate, and the fate of nations, is worth the soul of the woman he has come to love, and Martise must choose continued enslavement or freedom at the cost of a man's life. And love.

[foreverl0stinmymind]

Obey me! NSFW alphabet headcannons

Character: Mammon

A: aftercare (What they're like after sex)

He's super clingy. Might as well be superglued to you. B: Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner's)

Hands. He loves his partner's hands. C: cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He enjoys playing with it, and loves it everywhere. D: Dirty secret

He once worked as a glory hole for spare cash. E: Experience (how much experience do they have?)

He isn't the most skilled, but if told what to do, can do it. F: Favorite position

Tied to his bed, spreadeagle. Or bent over the hood of his car, his fluids dripping down his legs. G: Goofy (are they more humorus? Or serious?)

He goofs off a lot, but if asked, will go dead serious. H: Hair (how groomed are they? Shaved? Trimmed? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

He has fine, light pubic hair, that he doesn't trim or shave. It is much straighter than normal, and if his skin was lighter, his hair would be invisible. I: intimacy (how romantic are they?)

He doesn't act super romantic, instead he kinda is just a crying whore. J: jack off (masturbation)

He does it. A lot. Lucifer once told him that if he spent half as much time studying as he did jerking off, he'd have perfect grades. K: kink

He's a sub. Also, I could see him being into petplay. He loves being pegged. L: location (where do they like to do it?)

His car. M: motivation (what turns them on?)

Neck bites. He loves being marked up. N: No (Things they won't do, hard limits)

He's a good boy, there's nothing he won't do. O: oral (do they prefer to give or receive? Are they good at it?)

He LOVES to give oral. Either blowjobs, eating out, or rimming, he loves it. If you gave him enough people to suck off, he could probably cum just from that. And his glory hole experience has made him quite skilled. P: pace (how fast are they? Slow an sensual, or fast and rough?)

He's rarely the one thrusting. He likes it rough though. Q: quickie (how do they feel about quickies?)

He wants to be taken apart slowly. R: risks (how likely are they to take risks/try something new?)

Risks are his game, baby! Tie him up, gag him, and leave him on a street corner, completely nude. S: stamina (how long can they last? How many rounds?)

He doesn't last long, but can go as many rounds as his partner wants. Sure, he'll be overstimulated and crying by the end of it, but What's the fun if he's not? T: toys (do they own any toys? Do they use them on a partner, or themselves?)

He has a chastity cage, and a variety of butt plugs. All for use on him. U: unfair (how much they like to tease)

He tries to tease, but sucks at it. He turns a delightful cherry red if you tease him, though. V: volume (how loud they are/what sounds they make)

Loud. Moans, whimpers, gasps, begging. W: wild card (random NSFW headcannon)

He wears a vibrating plug to school some days. X: X-ray (what's under their clothes?)

He's got a good six inches on him. Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

So high. He's a horny little slut, and knows it. Z: Zzz. (How fast they fall asleep afterwards)

He passes out in seconds.

Other characters:

Lucifer

Levi

Satan

Asmo

Beelzebub

Belphie

Diavolo

Barbatos

Simeon

Solomon

[just-french-me-up]

IN THE DARK

Fandom: The Sandman Ship: Dreamling Rating: E | 2k | Read on AO3 Tags: Smut & Angst; Post 1889 Meeting; Porn with a Hint of Plot Mixed In; Smut in the Dark; Dream Can't Use His Words for Shit; Angsty Ending

The whole evening was a blur. A succession of steps, one in front of the other, fueled by anger at first, exasperation even, that quickly soured into gut-wrenching sorrow. Most of the fuel after that had been liquor. Hob could not even remember where he'd ended up. Not the White Horse, surely. That would have been too painful. Too fresh. At least he'd managed to secure a bed with fresh enough linens and privacy, which was not-half bad, considering his state. The room lacked windows, but it was all the same to him. Wrestling with your thoughts hardly required lighting.

The whole evening was a blur. No. Not all of it.

Not the part that kept haunting him. The cold stare glaring at him with indignation. The smile that turned to a hard line once he'd dared suggest the possibility of friendship. The striding steps, eager to distance him from that very notion. It all whirled inside Hob's mind, as vivid as when he'd seen them. Fucking idiot. He should have played his cards better. Their 1789 meeting had left him too comfortable, too bold. Wanting, also. He could have sworn...

Hob tossed around in bed, unable to fall asleep, replayed the scene again and again, what he could have done differently, said differently. Would his Stranger have stayed, then? Would they have parted as friends, in anything but name, the nature of their relationship hanging in the air, an ever-growing question mark never to be answered?

The candles had long burnt out, leaving him in the dark, his musings for only company. Hob imagined himself still at the inn, in centennial company. That was two meetings cut short. Perhaps next time... Would there be a next time? He'd had to run his mouth, daring his Stranger into admitting their friendship. What if he did not show, a hundred years from now? What if he sat at their table in 1989 and no one came? The loneliness of it made him ache. No... Surely, he would not...

The floorboards of the room creaked, making Hob start, his eyes flying open. No one had opened the door, of that he was certain. There was nothing to see, yet he stared into the darkness, not so much afraid than expectant. He had lived long enough to know he was the only ghost roaming this earth.

Something pressed into the mattress, digging a slight dent into it. A hand. A knee, perhaps. Hob swallowed. He could have sworn there was a dim glint shining in the darkness, like an eye blinking as something shifted on the mattress. Deep and ruby-red.

It occurred to him he ought to scream, call for help, anything, yet Hob could not bring himself to. The tension in his muscles lacked the crisp grip of fear. It was something different. Something more all-encompassing still. Something eager, deep inside of him.

Legs, for they were irrefutably legs, straddled his, trapping him under the covers. The raspy whistle of his own breathing filled his ears, making him deaf to anything else. Something wet seeped through the linen covering him, dampening the sheets. As the invisible form leant forward, Hob felt drops falling on his chest. On his neck. Rain. Or rather the aftermath of it. One does tend to get soaked, making a dramatic exit under the usual London drizzle.

Hob's clothes had long been peeled off, discarded, abandoned in a careless heap on the floor. Now the sheets stuck to his skin like a sheen, sole barrier between him and the darkness. He could feel his heartbeat reverberate through the fabric as a warm breath tickled his lips. He swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say, something clever, something funny, but words eluded him. Words had brought him nothing but trouble that night, truth be told. Better not fuck things up further. Whatever quip he would have come up with hardly mattered, in the end. Hob couldn't have delivered it anyway. Not with the lips suddenly pressed against his own.

It was the furthest thing from tender. It was rushed, demanding, tasting of latent anger and frustration, almost pining him to the mattress. The initial shock barely lasted a second before Hob answered in kind, his body coming alive under the sheets. He reached in the darkness, his hands landing on wet clothes, wet hair, gliding, slipping, holding onto anything available with a primal urge. It would not have looked pretty under any light. A good thing that was not a concern.

Eventually, his fingers hooked around a delicate chain, his fingertips following it to the familiar emerald shape weighing at the end of it. It would have shone from a deep red by the candlelight, Hob knew it. He could picture it in his head, the same way he could picture his Stranger over him, his brow infinitely serious as his teeth grazed his lower lip. Hob's thumb brushed the side of the ruby, and he felt the body over his shiver, almost as an echo.

His Stranger pulled back sharply.

You dare, Hob could read in the silence, although neither spoke a word. All he could hear was the Stranger catching his breath, bursts of air coming in and out in a captivating rhythm. He'd gone too far again. Pushed past what he was allowed. The Stranger would storm out any second now, disappear into the very fabric of the night, the same way he'd gotten in.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as a hand closed around his wrist, pining it to the mattress. The pressure against his thighs and his groin increased at his Stranger leant forward once more, as though to face him. Hob imagined him stern, his lips thinned with disapproval, eyebrows drawn into a frown. He could not say he disliked it. Some attention was better than none.

The Stranger shifted once more, his body brushing against the outline of Hob's cock through the sheets. An accident, no doubt. An unfortunate consequence of the position he'd chosen. Hob doubted his Stranger had even noticed. Except it happened again. And again. And again, maddeningly slow, hindered by superfluous layers, leaving Hob achingly hard and frustrated. Wanting. Yet he could not bring himself to move. What if his Stranger left again? What if he stopped? He wasn't sure he could bear him stopping, no matter how frustrating his current ministrations were. The grip around his wrist tightened, sending a twitch through his cock. God's wounds, surely his Stranger could feel how hard he was. Hob bit back a strangled sigh, a plea for more at the back of this throat. No. He would not ask. He would not risk breaking the delicate spell that bound them to this moment with another ill-chosen word.

Something cold rolled against his lips. Another drop of rain, Hob through, but it bore more weight, felt more solid. He could feel the ruby's elegant edges against his mouth, hanging close, taunting him. There was another roll of his Stranger's hips, and Hob instinctively closed his lips around one of the curved angles. A low groan answered instantly, sending alarms through him. Hob waited a second. Then two. His Stranger did not pull back. If anything, he leant closer, offering more of the ruby as his hips kept rubbing against Hob's cock. No words needed. Hob ran his tongue across one of the facets, delighting in the lewd sound that earned him. He'd always suspected his Stranger was not made of stone, in spite of the latter best efforts to prove him otherwise. How much more could he get out of him before he'd be rejected as too familiar? Too bold? A flick of his tongue seemed acceptable enough, judging by the Stranger's loud approval.

Soon, toying with the gem got insufficient. Hob could feel it in the hand holding his wrist, in the slight wheeze in his Stranger's laboured breathing. The sheets were yanked off him, somehow. Where he could have sworn his Stranger wore clothes, his touch only met skin. Cold, still-lightly-damp-from-the-rain skin. His was scorchingly hot, clashing at the junction in a tantalising way. He could now feel the weight of his Stranger's cock against his own, heat flaring through him at the realisation. He would have given everything he owned to see them now, flesh against flesh, seeking pleasure in friction, his Stranger's body aflame.

The exhilarating grip around his wrist did not loosen, but Hob suddenly remembered he had another hand he could use freely. Instinctively, he wrapped it as best he could around both of their cocks, stroking down. Over him, his Stranger gave an approving moan, his hips rolling in tandem with his touch. Hob's tongue twirled around the ruby again, hot breath blowing against the gem, sending both him and the Stranger into a frenzy. He was hardly more than his hand, his cock, his lips, his burning skin in that moment. The rest of him was secondary. He was barely aware of the Stranger's hand bracing against his chest, nails almost digging into his flesh in a delicious bite. What he felt, however, were the fascinating spasms jolting through his companion, tension mounting, mounting, until his body gave, warmth spilling across Hob's stomach. Overwhelmed, Hob followed with a hoarse shout, stroking them until the last spark of pleasure had left him.

The rest was a blur. Yet another. A blur caught between wakefulness and the drowsy glow of pleasure. Hob remembered the content feeling as he lay against the mattress, still warm from exertion. He closed his eyes for a second, expecting his Stranger to join him, to take place against him in a bed that fit only one. He must have fallen asleep, for when he awoke, daylight flooded the room.

--

He was alone, that morning, the sheets neatly drawn over his body. As he looked around, Hob saw no evidence of a visitor, either in the room itself, or on his own body. The taste of the ruby still lingered in his mouth, but there was little proof he had actually touched it, or anyone, for that matter.

A dream, he thought mournfully. Wishful thinking.

He'd have a hundred years to mull it over. It wouldn't be the first time he'd thought of his Stranger that way. This was only the most vivid imagining from a centuries long string of them.

As he dressed in damp clothes, Hob didn't notice the half-moon shapes dug into his chest. They were barely a hint, a dent, his immortal body resorbing them the same way it would resorb any wound, from the lethal to the benign. They would not leave a single mark in an hour's time. A clean slate.

The mind hardly healed the same. It clung to the memory of it, flashes, sensations echoing through him as he looked around the room once more before closing the door behind him. An itch to scratch for the century to come.

Next time I see him, Hob thought to himself, I'll know. In 1989, I'll know.

--

His whisky had warmed in its glass a long time ago.

It was past midnight. Most of the patrons had found their way out of the White Horse, perhaps heading to the latest trendy club to spend the remainder of the night. Not Hob. Stubborn, he refused to leave, leaning against the bar, his gaze set on the entrance door. He'd started jittering about an hour ago, the realisation slowly sinking in.

Perhaps it had all been a dream, after all. The sensations still haunted him, a hundred years to the day. Come on... Show yourself...

"You waiting for someone?"

"I think I've been stood up."

[nopainnowhump]

Cracks in the Glass Pt.10

TW: Menstruation, bodily functions, mild panic, emotional distress

The courtyard that overlooks my room is always busy around this time of day. I sit on my bed, my gaze taken by the activity outside. I see many children around my age playing and chatting. They don’t wear any uniforms, nor do they require the constant gaze of onlooking cameras. The only thing that would separate this scene from any other is the fact that a boy just made fire erupt from his hands. Beside him, a girl creates an array of blossoms and blooms sprouting from where she’s standing.

It pisses me off. I don’t care that they’re having fun; I’m pissed because I’m trapped in this fucking room 24/7. I’m pissed because I can’t do what they’re doing. I look at the cup on the table beside my bed. It’s the only thing not bolted to the floor. I quickly drink down the rest of my water and place it on the bed in front of me. I stare at it intensely, searching for the flame behind my eyes. For the invisible hands to tear out of my corneas and lift it up. Holding my breath, I lift my hand, prompting it to float. But nothing happens. I look out the window again. A different boy takes a ball and throws it so high up, I can’t even see it anymore.

“Agh,” I grunt out, throwing the cup to the floor. The plastic bounces on the floor, echoing through the room. I don’t get it. They took the collar off, so why isn’t it working?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He knows what she’s trying to do. He stares at the second monitor, showing the security footage of her room. Her, sitting on her bed, staring daggers into a plastic cup. She’s tried a few times in the past weeks to use her powers on different objects: a cup, her pillows, the door. But it won’t work, not with the chip in her neck at least. He debates whether or not to go check on her. This place is designed to help the patients live with their powers, not make them something to be ashamed of, but on the other hand, she’s not ready for that responsibility, and he runs the risk of scaring her off, preventing her from wanting to use them altogether.

An alert dings on his computer, and he looks at the email subject. “Confirmed DNA Match.”

He lets out a sigh and rubs his hands on his face. He’s not going to open it right now. Because if he does, he knows his job is about to get a whole lot more complicated. He then sees an update on his calendar taking up a space for the next two days. He closes the tab and looks at his notes for this week:

Reluctantly taking medications but only with clear explanations and assurances from staff.

Occasionally pretends to swallow pills and hides them, requiring extra monitoring.

Recently started accepting medications with fewer incidents, though remains visibly tense and tearful during the process.

Progress noted: more responsive to verbal prompts from Anna. Allowed assistance during one shower session but remained stiff and silent throughout.

First unsolicited verbal exchange occurred during a session with Thomas (“Thomas”), marking significant progress in trust.

Today:

Attempts to use telekinesis noted on multiple occasions (e.g., staring at objects, small hand gestures).

He looks back at the monitor to see her back to working on the cup. He closes out the window and heads her way.

Reaching the cell, he knocks on the glass, making his presence known. Catching her attention, she quickly stands up, acting as though she was simply admiring the cup and its simplicity.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” She shrugs her shoulders and sits on the bed with a bounce. “Nothing?” he says in an exaggerated tone. “Well, in that case, do you wanna play cards or something? I’m headed out this afternoon, so I won’t be here to play for a day or two.”

She straightens out in bed, concern flaring across her expression. “Why?” she says in a hushed voice. If he didn’t know any better, she almost seemed sad to hear of him going.

“I have a work thing, but don’t worry, Anna’s still gonna be here to check on you, and y’all can have lots of fun. I do think, however, she is an expert at Crazy Eights, so I’d put on your A-game.” Whenever Thomas comes, he brings a casual environment with him. She likes that. She doesn’t like that she’s gonna be stuck with that girl for two days.

She lays on the bed and huffs through her nose, pulling the blanket over her head. “Okay, well, if you don’t wanna play, I’m gonna go ahead and get going then. But hey.” He waits for her to poke her head out of the blanket. “I need you to promise me that you’re gonna be nice to Ms. Anna, okay.” He gives her a stern look, not his normal relaxed demeanor. “I don’t want to come back and hear that you hurt her or were being difficult because I know you love to give her a hard time.”

He angles his head in her direction. “I need you to say that you understand.” She sits up and slumps her shoulders forward and sighs, “Okay.” His gaze relaxes.

“Thank you. Hey, how about if I hear that you were good, I can see if I can try to get you out of this room for a few hours, okay?” She basically launches to her feet in anticipation, eyes as wide as the moon. “Out. I want to go out,” she says, hands pressed against the glass, leaving light fingerprints.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see. I’ll see you soon,” and with that, she watches as he makes his way down the hallway. The excitement of potentially being able to go outside makes her antsy and restless and maybe also gives her a stomach ache.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My stomach hurts relentlessly. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before���it’s like my organs are being ripped apart. I know because I’ve felt that before. I curl up tighter on my bed. By now, the sun has set, casting a thin darkness over the room.

I sorta miss Thomas—not that I actually miss him. I’m just fucking bored. I brush away the thought. Okay, maybe I do miss him a bit. It’s only been a few hours, and I already wish he was here, clacking away at his computer. I sigh and sit up in the bed. Maybe going to the bathroom will help.

I make my way to the toilet and pull my pants down.

“Shit.”

The heat drains from my face as I see the blood saturating my underwear. What’s going on? If I’m bleeding, then they’re going to take me to sick bay. If I’m in sick bay, then I’ll be strapped down for days on end—and the needles and—. My breath hitches as my thoughts race with the consequences of this new discovery. Quickly, I take the underwear off and throw them into the corner. Grabbing a fresh pair, I shove toilet paper inside to catch any remaining blood.

Why couldn’t this have happened when Thomas was here? At least maybe he’d console me in my sick bed. Maybe even rub my back. I quickly exit the bathroom and sit on the floor by my bed, careful not to move to avoid dislodging the paper. I sit like a statue, frozen, until little Miss Sunshine herself walks up to the glass.

“Hey, girlie,” she says in an enthusiastic tone. “I’m pretty sure Thomas told you, but I’ll be with you for a couple of days. I thought we could watch a movie or play cards.”

I barely move, giving only a subtle head shake to acknowledge her suggestion.

“Are you sure? I know you’ve been alone for most of the day since Thomas left.”

I shake my head, keeping my expression firm. I sit uncomfortably still, quietly hoping she hasn’t noticed the blood starting to seep through my pants.

“Okay, then I’ll—”

She stops mid-sentence, and I know it’s over.

“Oh, girlie.”

Her inflection changes to one of sympathy. I immediately cover the spot by sitting on my knees. Without thinking, I blurt out, “I’m not sick!” My heart pounds in my chest as panic rises.

“G-Go away!” I shout, tears threatening to spill over.

She crouches down to my level, her tone gentle. “I know you’re not sick,” she says with a sweet smile. “Can I help you, though? I think you got your period.”

“Leave me alone!” My pleas grow more desperate, hoping she’ll realize I’m not going to allow her to do anything.

“Ella, listen to me. I know you’re not sick. You got your period. Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head violently, pressing my hands against my thighs as if I can somehow erase the evidence.

“I’ll be right back,” she says gently, standing up and leaving.

The second she’s gone, I scramble to my feet, darting into the bathroom and wedging myself between the toilet and the wall. Moments later, I hear her call out from the other side of the door.

“Ella.” She pauses for a moment. “Honey, I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

The door creaks open, and I curl up tighter, wishing I could disappear. She stands in the doorway, taking in my pitiful form.

“Ella,” she says softly, “will you let me help you?”

In her hands, she holds fresh clothes, a washcloth, and a few pink packets of something I don’t recognize. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I won’t come in if you think you might hurt me. So, I'm gonna ask you again, can I come in?”

My emotions take hold of me, and the tears streaming down my face turn into full-on sobs. My gasps and cries echo through the bathroom. Gently, she places the items down on the floor next to me and takes a seat on the floor.

“I promise you’re not sick,” Anna says softly, her voice cutting gently through my cries. “This is something that happens to every girl. It’s scary the first time, especially if you’ve never heard of it.” She picks up the pink packet from the top of the pile, holding it up so I can see. “Every month, for about a week, you’ll bleed. It’s not a bad thing—it just means your body is growing up and preparing to become a woman. You might feel more tired or emotional, and you might get a stomachache too.”

I glance up at her, my heart pounding. I hadn’t told her my stomach hurt, but it does. I look at the packet in her hand, then back at her face, trying to process what she’s saying.

She unwraps the packet, revealing a long white, soft-looking pad. The crinkly wrapper falls to the floor, and she holds the pad up for me to see. “This is a pad,” she explains gently. “You put it in your underwear to catch the blood. You’ll need to change it every few hours, but that’s completely normal.”

Her voice stays calm and steady as she studies my expression. “It happens to every woman you’ve ever met, including me,” she adds, a small, reassuring smile crossing her face. “Do you want to put on some fresh clothes?”

I nod hesitantly, the reassurance in her tone easing some of the panic swirling in my chest. My hands tremble slightly as I take the clean clothes and the pad from her. My mind feels like it’s racing, but her calm presence keeps me grounded enough to move.

Anna smiles warmly and stands, stepping back toward the doorway. “Take your time,” she says gently, leaving the bathroom door ajar. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Once I’m alone, I let out a shaky breath and stare down at the items in my hands. The clean fabric feels soft and comforting against my fingers. I fumble awkwardly as I try to mimic what Anna showed me, finally managing to get the pad in place. Changing into the fresh clothes feels like shedding a layer of panic, though the fear still lingers at the edges.

When I step out of the bathroom, Anna is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a small bag of items she must have brought. She looks up immediately, her smile warm but not overbearing, as if she knows I need gentleness right now.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Feeling a little better?”

I don’t answer with words, just give a small nod before sitting down on the floor a few feet away from her, pulling my knees to my chest.

Anna doesn’t push. Instead, she pulls out a small bottle of nail polish and holds it up. “You know what always made me feel better when I was your age? Painting my nails. Want to try it?”

I glance at the bottle in her hand. The soft pink color catches the light, and though I can’t explain why, it makes my chest feel tight. Slowly, I extend my hand toward her, unsure but curious.

Anna’s face lights up, though she keeps her reaction calm. “Alright,” she says, uncapping the bottle. She scoots closer, taking my hand gently in hers. “You’ve got such pretty nails, Ella. This is going to look great.”

As she carefully brushes the polish onto my nails, I watch her hands move steadily and deliberately. The cool liquid feels strange but not unpleasant on my skin. My fingers feel heavier with each coat, but it’s oddly... nice.

“You know,” Anna says conversationally, her tone light, “when I was your age, I used to do this all the time with my sisters. We’d sit in the bathroom and gossip about silly things like boys or school.”

I tilt my head slightly, the faintest flicker of curiosity breaking through my guarded thoughts.

“Of course, none of it really mattered,” she continues, glancing up at me with a soft smile. “But at the time, it felt so important. Funny how that works, huh?”

I don’t respond, but I let my fingers relax in her hand. The polish gleams softly under the light as it dries, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eases.

When she finishes, she gently blows on my nails to help them dry. “There,” she says, leaning back to admire her work. “What do you think?”

I lift my hand, examining the soft pink sheen on my nails. It feels strange, like I’m looking at someone else’s hand. But it’s also... pretty.

Anna starts packing her supplies into the small bag. “Well, it’s getting late,” she says, standing and brushing off her knees. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” She ruffles my hair lightly and gives me a quick smile. “If you need anything, just call out.”

As she heads to the door, I sit quietly, admiring my nails. The pink glints faintly as I wiggle my fingers, and a warm, unfamiliar feeling blooms in my chest. For a moment, I think maybe Thomas can stay gone an extra day or two.

OK, so this chapter was kinda two separate ideas that I kinda got carried away with. If you have any suggestions please leave a comment. I love to read y'alls feedback! I'm gonna head to bed.

Pt.11

[amrv-5]

Where's Everett? (1966) Or: Alan Alda raises an invisible alien baby

Part of a series of writeups of unaired or otherwise inaccessible TV objects ft. Alan Alda, which I was able to access via the Paley Center for Media in NYC (November 2024). 

Where’s Everett? (1966) - Producer, Creator, Writer: Ed Simmons; Associate Producer: Jon Zimmer; Director: Gene Nelson. 

Cast: Arnold Barker - Alan Alda; Sylvia Barker - Patricia Smith; Dr. Paul Jellicoe - Nicolas Coster, Lizzie Barker - Doreen Miller; Murdock - Frank DeVol; Milkman - Robert Cleaves. 

Summary: When a basket containing an invisible baby appears on the doorstep of Arnold (Alan Alda) and Sylvia Barker (Patricia Smith), the couple clashes over what to do. Arnold, a professional science fiction author, thinks they ought to turn the baby over to be studied. Sylvia thinks they ought to raise it as their own. The couple call in family friend and pediatrician Dr. Paul Jellicoe (Nicolas Coster) for help, all while trying to balance keeping invisible baby Everett a secret from their daughter, Lizzie (Doreen Miller), nosy neighbors (Milkman - Robert Cleaves) and investigating reporters (Murdock - Frank DeVol). 

Plot recounting: The show begins in an unassuming suburban American neighborhood, white-picket-fence’d, green lawn’d, and quiet. A tracking shot follows an empty, floating wicker basket down the street, through a white picket fence, and up to the door of a house. The basket floats down to sit on the doorstep. The doorbell is rung by an unseen entity, whose footsteps are audible as it hurries away. The camera follows the invisible entity back down the street, panning to reveal a large spaceship parked on one of the suburban lawns. The spaceship opens, a staircase descends, footsteps are heard ascending it, and the staircase retracts. The spaceship flies away. Meanwhile, the doorbell is answered by Arnold Barker (Alan Alda), still in his dressing gown. He regards the empty basket with confusion as a baby—not visible—begins to cry. The intro plays: A cheerful, upbeat tune over yellow title cards listing cast and credits. 

Arnold and his wife Sylvia (Patricia Smith) investigate, attempting to locate the crying baby. They decide the sound must be coming from inside the apparently empty basket. Though Arnold is doubtful, he puts a hand inside the basket, and quickly withdraws it: He was bitten by something invisible, which left visible teeth-marks (“Arnold, there’s a baby in that basket!” “But a baby what?”). The couple try to decide what to do with the invisible baby. Arnold suggests they report it (“Why don’t we call the police and have them give the baby back to Claude Rains?”), but they eventually settle on calling their friend, pediatrician Dr. Paul Jellicoe (Nicolas Coster) for advice. 

Arnold explains the situation to Paul, who refuses to believe him, due to the fact that Arnold is a professional science fiction novelist. Eventually Paul agrees to come over for Arnold’s sake, convinced that Arnold is sick, drunk, or otherwise hallucinating. Meanwhile Sylvia feeds the baby, whom she has named Everett, oatmeal, which disappears off the spoon. Arnold complains about the ridiculousness of the situation, and Everett responds by flinging oatmeal into his face.

When Paul arrives, Arnold shows him to Everett’s wicker basket—but they realize that Everett has crawled away, prompting a carefully thorough and shoeless (“You might step on him!”) search of the floor and furniture, until Paul notices a floating piece of candy and realizes Everett the invisible baby is real after all. Paul gives the baby an exam and notes that the child is healthy and normal, except for an unusually high body temperature and, of course, the invisibility (“Just think, Arnold, you’re going to save a fortune on clothes.”). He recommends the Barkers not mention the baby to their young daughter Lizzie, worrying it might have an adverse emotional impact. 

Lizzie descends the stairs and states that she dreamed she heard a baby crying. The Barkers and Paul play a game of hot potato with invisible baby Everett, trying to keep him away from Lizzie without arousing her suspicion or looking too obviously as though they are holding something invisible and baby-sized. The tradeoff only works until Everett is placed back into his basket and begins to cry. To the surprise of the Barkers and Paul, Lizzie takes the revelation with equanimity: “Invisible baby,” she says, pleased, before rocking Everett in her arms and asking if the family can keep him. 

Sylvia hears the milkman outside, and asks Arnold to buy some extra milk for the baby. Arnold, still believing they ought to turn the baby over to somebody in authority, reluctantly agrees, and hears from the milkman that a rumor is going around the street: A flying saucer was spotted on a neighboring lawn early in the morning.

Arnold is surprised and then delighted by the news, and suggests that it could be a boon for his career. He proposes handing the baby over to science in a public fashion, imagining the headline attention it might receive, and the increase of attention towards his books. Sylvia, however, wants to keep Everett, distressed by the idea of the baby being “poked at” and studied; she states that whoever dropped the baby off must have wanted them to care for him. 

The doorbell rings (Arnold: “If nobody’s there, maybe it’s the parent.”), and reporter Murdock (Frank DeVol) asks if the Barkers have any information about the flying saucer rumor. Arnold attempts to tell the reporter about Everett, but Sylvia and Lizzie undermine him by implying he is relaying a story he’s working on, mentioning his career as a science-fiction writer, and hiding the baby, so when Arnold directs the reporter to pick Everett up, he finds nothing in the basket. Arnold immediately panics, believing Everett has crawled away again (“Where’s Everett?!”), and begins to search the floor on hands and knees. The reporter leaves, convinced Arnold is insane. 

Sylvia and Lizzie assure Arnold that the baby isn’t lost again—they only relocated Everett to an armchair. Arnold picks Everett up for safekeeping and tries to convince his family one last time that they can’t possibly raise an invisible baby. He slowly begins to doubt himself as he speaks, noting that they have always wanted a son, before Everett manages his first word: “Dada.” Arnold leaps over a couch and begins to hop around, delighted, holding Everett to his chest (“He knows me!”), accepting his role as Everett’s new father. 

(Semi-Alda-specific) review: So awesome. Went into this one knowing the premise “Suburban couple find and raise invisible alien baby” and was prepared for it to be pretty hard to take, but was pleasantly surprised by its consistent humor and how well it committed to a pretty ridiculous conceit. Ed Simmons wrote for Martin and Lewis, which feels just about right, given the zaniness of the script and the prevalence of tossed-off one-liners. Unclear on how this would have worked for longer than one episode, but I’m sad we never got to see it attempted. Alda and Smith are particularly excellent at what seems, while watching, like a long-form improv warmup game: They commit and commit well to ‘holding’ baby Everett, transferring him between each other, rocking, soothing, lifting, and otherwise gently handling baby-shaped empty air, which if you stop buying the existence of the baby becomes insanely funny insanely fast, but in the watching process is pretty sweet. Really excellent for Alda specifically because he does befuddled but well-meaning and generally reasonable suburban dad so well as a role type; plus he’s wearing a wonderfully 60s velour tracksuit top, which is so visually fun it’s almost a character in itself. Verdict: Don’t miss this one if you visit the archive. Such a treat.

[p5x-theories]

Yaoling's Confidant

(last updated 9/17/24!)

This post documents the fully filled-in information on Yaoling Li gained through progressing her Confidant! It contains things that could be considered spoilers for her Confidant, as part of the information is a summary of its story.

Yaoling is available in the evenings most days, when it isn’t rainy. Her Confidant is tied to the Knowledge social stat, and level 17 Knowledge is required to fully complete it.

Favorite Presents

(An asterisk (*) marks the special presents added with (and unlocked through) Miyu Sahara’s Confidant, which are liked by all Confidants currently in the game.)

Limited Card Set A rare collection of cards with debut photos of and dream declarations from members of idol groups.

Supernatural Video There's no telling what might actually happen in this supernatural-themed video...?

Mysterious Glasses Black-framed glasses that are said to allow the wearer to see invisible things.

Special Nut Mix A nut gift pack that can quickly replenish energy and help balance nutrition.

Adult Smart Ring This metal ring puzzle suitable for adults can effectively exercise finger flexibility and is also helpful for exercising brain power.

Latest Digital Camera The latest digital cameras not only have a higher resolution, but are also easy to operate.

Traditional Dim Sum Combination A dim sum gift box with traditional shapes and fillings, allowing one to taste the most authentic Japanese flavor.

Kendama A very popular traditional toy that requires some practice to master.

High-Performance Electric Toothbrush A popular model of electric toothbrush from a well-known brand that can effectively clean your mouth.

Limited-Edition Keychain* This keychain has a unique shape, and is well-made, but there weren’t many of it produced. It has a certain collector’s value.

Bulk Snacks Value Pack* A combo pack containing a variety of traditional snacks that will remind people of the taste of childhood.

Advanced Essential Oil Combination* A value-for-money set of essential oils, with multiple functions to help you relax your mind and body.

Chestnut Cake* Fragrant chestnut cake with mild sweetness to suit most people’s tastes.

Musical Snow Globe* A snow globe that plays music, and can be shaken gently to make snow fall inside.

Desktop Incense Machine* A household incense machine that is small in size, so it can be placed anywhere.

Jasmine Tea Elegant and pure flowers are baked in the hands of a tea craftsman to make tea. The charming aroma is also one of the most popular features of this tea.

Personal Information

Birthday: May 20 Zodiac Sign: Taurus Age: 19 years old Profession: Undergrad Height: 164 cm Weight: 51 kg Blood Type: ?? Interests: Tea, desserts, movies Features: Chinese food

Story

Character Details An international student from Sichuan, China, living in an apartment in Yongen-Jaya. It seems that her Japanese is not very good... she will misunderstand the meaning of words, and sometimes use some strange Japanese.

Personal Data 1 Yaoling Li is an international student from China whom I met by chance in the supermarket in Yongen-Jaya. Because she is new here, she is not very familiar with Japan and the Japanese language. She hopes that I can help...

Personal Data 2 According to Yaoling's introduction, she seems to have chosen to study abroad at the request of her parents. After arriving in Japan, she felt that her life was dull and she lacked motivation. She hopes that I can help her understand Japan and figure out the purpose of studying abroad.

Personal Data 3 As our first stop exploring Japan, Yaoling and I went to the used bookstore street in Jinbocho. After experiencing the cultural differences between China and Japan, the change in scenery seemed to make Yaoling very motivated.

Personal Data 4 For our second stop exploring Japan, we went to Harajuku, where young people gather. This place seemed to remind Yaoling of some of the scenery in her hometown, and she even began to investigate "spicy crepes"...

Personal Data 5 While discussing with Yaoling the next stop on our Japan exploration trip, we met Yaoling’s neighbor, Yukimi Fujikawa. After seeing Yukimi be severely disciplined by her mother, the enthusiastic Yaoling felt that she could not just sit back and ignore it, so she decided to ask Yukimi to go with us on our next trip...

Personal Data 6 At Yaoling's invitation, Yukimi went to Asakusa with us. Contrary to the lively Yaoling, Yukimi pays attention to following the rules. Even if her ideas are different from her mother's, she will act according to her mother's plan. Yaoling seems to be very worried about this...

Personal Data 7 Yaoling hoped that Yukimi could be brave enough to be herself, and the difference in their ideas eventually turned into a conflict at the tea ceremony... After the fight with Yukimi, Yaoling seems to have begun to reflect on whether she was qualified to criticize other people's beliefs.

Personal Data 8 In order to express her apology to Yukimi, Yaoling hopes to organize a tea ceremony for Yukimi together with me. After experiencing various twists and turns together, the relationship between Yaoling and I gradually changed.

Personal Data 9 At the second tea ceremony, Yaoling shared the culture related to Chinese tea and cuisine, and her thoughts on her travels, with Yukimi. She also solemnly apologized to Yukimi. At the same time, Yaoling's frankness and sincerity also moved Yukimi.

Personal Data 10 Yukimi mustered up the courage to tell her mother her true thoughts. At the same time, Yaoling seemed to understand her parents' good intentions. Although the matter has come to an end, it seems that Yaoling's life in Japan will continue. The journey will require her to continue working hard.

Voice Lines

Japanese VA: Ru Thing | Chinese VA: XiaoLianSha

(As I can only add up to ten audio files per post, I’ll only include the Japanese lines below! Feel free to ask for the Chinese ones, though.)

I am Yaoling Li from Sichuan, China. I'm happy to meet you.

I still don't understand Japanese very well... there may be some mistakes. I hope you aren't angry! Thank you!

(Note: the "Thank you!" is spoken in Chinese, not Japanese!)

Obviously it would be fine to continue studying in my own country. Why would my parents want me to study abroad? Maybe when I find the meaning of studying abroad, I can understand what my parents were thinking.

It's just a stereotype to say that Sichuan people love spicy food! But... it would indeed be tastier if Japanese food could be spicier...

Sensei not only served as my guide in Tokyo, but also helped me find the meaning of studying abroad... He's not just a guide to Tokyo, but a guide to life!

Yukimi-san follows the rules and works very hard to control her thoughts... In comparison, I do whatever I want... No, would you say I'm "opinionated"?

Is Sensei also interested in Chinese tea? I can explain it to you any time, if you have the chance! Hehe, this time it's my turn to be Sensei's sensei!

Confidant-Specific Bonuses

Rank 1 Ingenuity: Unlocks some infiltration tools for crafting.

Rank 5 Chinese Cuisine Recipes: Unlocks some Chinese dishes for cooking.

Rank 9 Reward for Hard Work: Unlocks more infiltration tools for crafting.

Rank 13 Skilled Skills: Gives a chance for some materials to be returned after crafting infiltration tools.

Rank 17 The Charm of Chinese Cuisine: Unlocks more Chinese dishes for cooking.

[acesgarden]

I have simplified the MANY meanings of the cards for the sole purpose of picking out a singular power. The cards go deeper than what I have shown, depending on the spread, question, interpretation, etc and you should absolutely do your own research and study the cards if you are interested in learning tarot.

Quirk: Tarot Matter!

Basics! :

User! : Emerson A. Conway

Type! : Emitter

Range! : Long/Short-range

Desc! : The quirk allows the user to gain differing abilities from the meanings, representations, and appearances of major and minor arcana of tarot. The user can only use one card at a time.

Manifestation! ; Emerson’s quirk manifested at four years old. She was at daycare playing with her friends before she felt all weird and tingly. The next second she was on the ground, feeling things peel off of her arms and legs. There were cards around her the second her eyes opened. Cards she did not recognize. Em reached for them and subsequently began to activate them, her body’s markings glowed and chaos ensued. Once the daycare attendants managed to steal the cards away, things calmed down. But Emerson had her parents called, who were ecstatic upon collecting her. Em was twice as excited as her parents. Thankfully though, no one was hurt in the chaos, minor damage that was easy to fix was all that had been done but Emerson’s parents paid for it to be fixed.

In-depth! :

Card Manipulation! ; The user can manipulate the cards to move and make them float. As well as use them like weapons.

Absolute reading! : A simple but major ability of the user’s quirk. It allows the user to make connections and understand the cards in full, no matter the order or question. Its just as if they were speaking to her. It’s how she can give complete accuracy in her readings.

The Fool Card! : The Fool card, the beginning and ending of the major arcana marked with the number zero. The card allows the user to manipulate the potential of an item or person. Essentially allowing the what or whoever to become extremely good or extremely bad at whatever the user wishes.

It has limits: only one point of potential can be imposed at a time. The change of potential occurring on another object reflects to the user. There are limitations to what can be changed, similar to genie wish rules: No cheating death. the user is not in control of fate and can only influencing/sway it.

The Magician Card! : The Magician card, is number one. The door to new possibilities and the gateway to the suits. A combo of boundary manipulation and summoning. An off shoot of Manifestment. The user can push two boundaries together to create an invisible hole, allowing the user to move from one place to another. Or allow the user to move an object to another place. Basically just teleportation with extra steps.

The limits of such abilities are important to acknowledge. Depending on how big the hole is, affects how far the boundary could be made. Smaller objects can go father and larger ones are shorter distances. The location must also be within view or at this time within ten meters of the user.

The High Priestess Card! : The high priestess card, no. 2. This card is of intuition and the inner self. The subconscious mind if you will. The user can make illusions pertaining to one’s mind. Whether the user’s own or someone else’s. The illusions are realistic able to bypass a person senses and perception of sight, taste, smell, and hearing. But if anyone but the user touches the illusions they vanish.

The limits of the quirk are that the user must be touching the person, a piece of them, or something sentimentally attached to them to create the illusions. Unless it’s the users subconscious she is using. Illusions only last up to five minutes if not touched.

The Empress Card! : The Emperess and Emperor cards are two side of the same coin. Both rulers with crowns who control. The Empress is of femininity and is motherly, nurturing, loving, etc. The user of this card can control something’s healing factors, lending their own energy to help speed up another’s healing process.

The limitation of this is that the user can in no way shape or form bring somewhere back from the dead. The user will share the pain of the individual they are healing and if sever enough the wounds too. The user can not heal themself, as there would be no added energy to speed up the process.

The Emperor Card! : The Emperess and Emperor cards are two side of the same coin. Both rulers with crowns who control. The Emperor is of masculinity and is authoritarian, structured, a father figure, etc. The user of this card can become extremely persuasive and commanding with their voice.

it has limitations, the user can not straight out control someone, only suggest and be persuasive. The louder and clearer their voice the more persuasive and commanding they become. They are at their strongest when they can say it to the others face or ear.

The Hierophant Card! : The Hierophant or sometimes called the pope or priest card is of tradition and structure, but also of wisdom and knowledge. It’s the opposite of the High Priest, and instead of conjuring up false images. The user can absorbe information just by looking at something.

The limitation are as follows: the user can only absorb information from written text, whether that be books, instructions, written music sheets, etc. It’s possible to pick up information from online sources like articles, blogs, texts, emails. As they are considered writing.

The Lovers Card! : The lovers card, just want youd except it is of: love, relationships, unity, and balance. The user gets the ability to feed off of and share their love from and to others Giving whoever a adrenaline boost. The user must be within a general vicinity of a person, it works better when in contact with the thing.

It has its limitations. The user has a limit of how much love they can take and expend to and from. But if they continue to use it they can emotionally exhaust themself. The adrenaline boost only last for around five minutes at minimum, that depends on how much love is used.

The Chariot Card! : The Chariot, the lead to victory and overcoming challenges. Determination, willpower, control and success. This card aids the user in such ways. Allowing them to have a fighters intuition, simply if the user has had physical contact with their opponent or their quirk they could adapt for their next moves.

It has its limitations, the user can only predict one person at a time and only one move ahead at a time. It won’t always be accurate due to the fact that it is a prediction based on previous moves, and will not always be accurate to what their opponent will do to fight back.

Strength Card! : The strength card does exactly as the card is. Strength and power. The user is granted a variety of enhanced abilities while the card is in use. Such as enhanced strength and enhance stamina, as well as the user getting enhanced endurance and enhanced durability.

There is limitations based on the amount of energy the user has. If they become to low on energy their quirk can shut off by its self to keep them from doing to much. The have limits on how enhanced they can become while the card is active. Their enhancements work better if they have stretched or prepared themselves like a normal workout.

The Hermit Card! : The Hermit card is about withdrawal and the search for one’s inner-self. The card allows the user to play with her opponents senses and perception to hide herself in plain sight. covering the sight, smell, hearing, and taste. The user becomes practically invisible.

The card had its limitations, there is a limit to how long it can be kept up. Typically keeping hidden for up to twelve minutes in a time. The perception change does not work on touch and even with the perception change if they are felt they could easily still be hiding.

The Wheel of Fortune Card! : The wheel of fortune, the card of changes and cycles and fate we can never avoid. This card is nothing more than a fail safe card. A card incase any of the others were too broken to be used. The user can use this card to get access to a weaker form of any cards ability. That does include the Wheel of Fortune card itself too.

There are limitations, the wheel can only be spun once every twenty four hours. There is always a high chance of not getting the ability the user wanted or getting one that can be rather useless in their time of need. If spun and lands on ‘the Wheel of Fortune Card’ the user gains no abilities from that spin, the card can only be spun once.

Justice Card! : The justice card, the card of bringing about cause and effect, consequences, karma, etc. The user gets the ability to send back any and all of the damage done (to themselves) onto their opponent in a kinetic reflection/outburt of the built up energy.

It has its limitations, if to much damage is stored up it can become to much and the user woo rehearse it automatically so the stress on the body isn’t too much and damages it unintentionally. It can become harder to move the more it’s built up.

The Hanged Man Card! : The Hanged Man, a card about sacrifices and patients, letting go and reflecting on yourself. This card allows the user to preform essentially cord cutting rituals. They can break ties between a person and another person, places, things. Removing things in order to let power grow. Removing ‘distractions.’

Its limitations are, only up to three things can be cut at a time, and for one person at a time. The thing or some visualization of said thing must be learnt in order for the user to be able to cut the tie between them fully. Once cut the ties cannot be restored by her, it’s possible to manually restore it but that is difficult to achieve.

Death Card! : The Death Card, despite its name it symbolizes transformation, changes, and the end of a cycle. This card allows the user to siphon away energy from the things around them. Primarily through touching a part of whatever the thing is. Leaving the thing at having a greater chance to grow bigger and stronger and the user becomes fueled.

The limits of such ability is there is a limit to how much energy the user can siphoned from things at one time. The energy cannot be passed from one person/thing to another person/thing. The energy has a limit to what can also be stored in the user at a time before they get a surge.

Temperance Card! : The card of Temperance represents harmony, tranquility, balance, etc. The user of this card is granted the ability to bring others in harmony with themselves and their quirk, allowing them to have temporary access to a more controles version of their quirk.

The limits of such quirk are that it’ll only work on the allies the user has made contact with before turning on their quirk. Anyone else will not feel the effects. The user can only affect up to three people at a time. Which will also be determined based on how much power they use while she’s in her state. The more they use, the quicker their share gets depleted.

The Devil Card! : The Devil Card. A card of hurt: Addiction, oppression, powerlessness, limitation. This card allows the user to take on traits, specifically of any animal the user has come into contact with in the last twenty-four hours, pior to activating this ability.

It has many limitations. The user must have been in contact with said animal(s) with in the last twenty-four hours prior to activation, they can not copy any human traits, the user has a limit of three animals per transformation.

The Tower Card! : The Tower Card, a card that may react negatively too. It is transformative and a sign you are leaving the unstable. But the power the card offers is based on the destructiveness of said card. The user can shatter things with just a simple touch, making whatever they touch or their surroundings unstable.

Its limits are to acknowledge. Some things take longer to break then others, the smaller the item the easier it is, and the bigger it is the longer it takes. In similar fashion to biotic and abiotic things, biotic takes longer while abiotic is faster. The destruction can only spread up to five meters from the user spreading as they move around and from place to place.

The Star Card! : The card of the stars, the card can suggest hope, faith, inspiration, and renewal. The stars are plentiful and bright, but can go untouched. The user gains the ability to manipulate and generate plasma. Using it to make miniature stars and explosions, some form of electricity, and something akin to an aurora borealis.

The limitations of this ability when activated is the user must be entirely focused to pull and form plasma or have some form of electricity to siphon plasma away from to use the card. The plasma must be calculated as they can effect not only their own but other magnetic fields.

The Moon Card! : The Moon Card, its dual sided the light of imagination and the dark side of what can become of it. The user gains the ability to look into another’s dreams, viewing their nightmares and making them feel as real as they were, like they are relive them.

It has its limitations, the user can only get access one persons nightmares at a time, and the user must come into contact with their chosen person for his too work. The user will be a witness to the nightmare the subconscious forms, being linked together.

The Sun Card! : The Sun Card, it suggesting optimism, happiness, joy, and confidence. All associated with light and the sun. The user will gain the ability of light from said card. The user can manipulate light, shaping it, reflecting it, etc. Commonly the user will manipulate the brightest of their own light their body produces.

The limitation that exist: the user can only manipulate existing light from various light bulbs, flames and the sun it’s self. They cannot create their own light, and light can be overwhelmed by darkness and therefore weakened or put out rendering the card useless.

Judgment Card! : The Judgement Card, number twenty-one. Rooted in self-reflection, awakening and purpose. The card grants the user with the ability to clears others heads, removing any negativity or outside influence from a persons mind and judgment of a thing, or situation.

The limitations of such abilities is the user can only clear the minds of around five people, usually three. The user must make contact with the persons forehead to clear it, whether though a tap of a finger or kiss.

The World Card! : The World Card, the final and last card of the major arcana. Twenty-two. It represents completion, a sense of belonging and harmony and wholeness. The user can connect and control the environment around them. Primarily the flora and weather.

The limitation of the ability are as follows, the user uses their own energy to help grow plants and accelerate their growth. When it comes to weather it’s often effected and intertwined by and with the user’s own emotions.

Suit of Cups! : The suit of cups belongs to the element of water, allowing the user to manipulate it. Transforming it into different states as long as there are water particles. Theoretically, the user could manipulate the water inside a person to control them.

The limitation of which, has to deal with the which number of the suit they use. Aka the ‘power/level’ cards.

Suit of Swords! : The swords belong to the air element. It allows the user to manipulate the air around them, whether that be by create winds, changing the pressure of it to cause explosions or implosions, creating shields of solid air by compressing the pressure, using the air molecules to enhance their senses, etc.

The limitation of which, has to deal with the which number of the suit they use. Aka the ‘power/level’ cards.

Suit of Pentacles! : Pentacles belong to the earth. The user can manipulate the earthen material: dirt, rocks, dust, sand, metals, minerals, etc. The user could take massive chunks of earth, break it. Shape or make it into something new. Theoretically, the user could create golem like creatures amongst others to use in battle.

The limitation of which, has to deal with the which number of the suit they use. Aka the ‘power/level’ cards. The user can not control plants.

Suit of Wands! : This suit belongs to the fire element, allowing the user to manipulate the flames. They must either be made prior to manipulating them, or the user could alternatively use their own body heat or make heat to produce flames.

The limitation of which, has to deal with the which number of the suit they use. Aka the ‘power/level’ cards. If using their own body heat, the user will then need to take a period of time to warm up, or alternatively use the flames created for that.

Drawbacks! :

Connection! : Due to her being mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually connected to the cards she can feel all damage that is done to the cards, tearing, burning, scratching. So she is very protective of them once they exit the case. She also needs to keep up her connection, using her cards in a regular basis to keep their relationship strong. Once the cards are destroyed she must take time to recover it and create new ones which takes a lot out of her.

The Fool Card! : Depending on what potential she changes she could negative affect her own chances. Ie: [classmate] has a higher potential to avoid being knocked out by the villain. In return Emerson would have a lower potential to avoid being knocked out by the villain.

The Magician Card! : Because of the user slipping between points in time to different places. It can mess with her memory, causing temporary short term memory for awhile. Losing minor things nothing too important.

The High Priestess Card! : Emerson can get migraines and mental exhaustion from overuse of the creation and keeping up with the illusions. She also, similar to her cards, can feel any damage done to the illusions whether it’s quirk related or not.

The Emperess Card! : Due to her healing and the fact she has to use her own energy to heal others she uses it up and can suffer from over exertion of energy and passing out.

The Emperor Card! : Because her voice is the main component of her quirk, using it to persuade and command to much can lead to staining it or worse losing her voice all together for some time.

The Hierophant Card! : Absorbing and taking in to much information. at one time can lead to excessive migraines that make it impossible to think, which would render get ability to use any information useless.

The Lovers Card! : The love she feeds off of or gives can lead her to consuming it giving too much and facing emotional exhaustion or suffering from a rush of negative emotions.

The Chariot Card! : An overuse of her intuitions can lead to her getting migraines as well as temporarily slow her reflexes, she gets sleepy.

Strength Card! : As she enhanced her strength, endurance, durability, and stamina. She exerts pressure on herself which can lead to straining, fatigue, passing out, and even insomnia.

The Hermit Card! : They find themselves from perception, which can affect her own senses. Making it harder to perceive or sense things like any regular person could. Making it easier for her to get overwhelmed by things like her surroundings.

The Wheel of Fortune Card! : The only drawbacks that will affect her are the ones belonging to the card she spins. The Wheel of Fortune Card itself’a drawbacks are none.

Justice Card! : Similar to Strength, she puts to much pressure on herself during the kinetic build up. Which can cause straining, muscle pain, stress fractures, and tendon injuries.

The Hanged Man Card! : Because she cuts connections for herself and others she can begin to feel disconnected which can interfere with her card’s relationship. And subsequently her ability to use them.

Death Card! : She can siphon off too much energy and send herself in a sugar/energy high. It only lasts for up to five to nine minutes. Before crashing and passing out.

Temperance Card! : When she uses this card, Emerson is a conduit and must remain focused if she is to keep up. Even though she’ll lose focus or focusing becomes harder, the more she can focus the longer she can last. Leaving her vulnerable to be taken advantage of.

The Devil Card! : The longer she remains attached to the animal traits manifested, the more tempting animalistic instincts become. She can give into them a little to remain in control but it could lead to them becoming even more tempting.

The Tower Card! : The ability of destruction, while it’s primarily focused on her surroundings. The longer it’s used the more it spreads to her own body, from finger tips, to hands, to lower arms, to upper arms and shoulders, etc. It affects her nervous system the most.

The Star Card! : The electricity she takes the plasma from can travel with it. And if she isn’t careful enough can leave burns and even shock her.

The Moon Card! : Over using her nightmare abilities can lead her to having nightmares, during both the day and night, leading to insomnia. She also is left vulnerable when using her quirk because she, once activated, has to over see the nightmares to keep them up.

The Sun Card! : Over using the light from The Sun Card’s ability can leave her disoriented and possibly to temporary blindness.

Judgement Card! : By clearing others energies she leaves her own vulnerable to darker judgments our influences. Easily becoming overwhelmed with emotional sensitivity.

The World Card! : Her emotions are tied to the weather once this card is active. Not only does her emotions effect the weather, the weather can effect her emotions. With the plants she can over exert herself and her energy tiring herself out.

Suit of Cups! : Because the quirk pulls water from bodies of water around her along with herself she can get pretty dehydrated and needs to keep herself fueled.

Suit of Swords! : Because she manipulates the air she can rip away air that contains oxygen. So her headpiece has a retractable mask that allows her to siphon off only oxygen for her to breath.

Suit of Pentacles! : During one of her special moves revolving around earth made creatures she is left vulnerable due to focusing on creating and maneuvering and sensing. Which could leave her own senses funky as they readjust to not using the earth.

Suit of Wands! : She is not immune to her fire and can easily sustain burns from using it, and can overheat herself.

Ultimate Movies! :

Tarot Matter: Wheel of Fortune! : This move is something she thought off a long time ago. She’d been inspired by the wheel of fortune for this, obviously. Emerson has the cards rotating around her like a barrier, constantly switching out cards and using their abilities to attack the instant they connect. The cards are randomized or picked, and often the last resort for her. This is very draining and pushing of her quirk.

Air Guard (& variants)! : Coming soon…

Armor (& variants)! : Coming soon…

Name! : desc

[listenheresweaty]

uhhh for the hc requests limbobur cos he makes he go feral and i just want hime to have some comfort

Someone made a fangame of Limbobur, btw! It's called "Limbo: The Saddest story in the World" (i think. there is a playthrough on youtube. about 42 minutes).

Since he's receiving comfort, I'll assume that the reader has died and joined him in limbo

His reaction is going to depend on how long he's been there, and how much he knew you before he died.

If you were dating/close and you die during the late beginning (2-3 year) of his time in Limbo, you've stumbled upon the worst of Limbobur. It's when he's screaming himself hoarse, clawing at the walls, trying again and again to board the train no matter how many times that invisible force knocks him back. He's a mess. He doesn't want to return to life, exactly, but he really, really wants out of the train station. When the train rolls in with your soul in tow, he runs towards it, thinking that it's for his escape. Instead, it pushes him back again--- and pushes you in as well. You stumble into him, and he clasps his arms around you by instinct, staring at you uncomprehendingly.

Wilbur's almost disappointed. But no matter. At least he isn't alone anymore, as he cradles your face and bombards you with questions--- what do you see? are you really dead? are you with him? can you see him? hear him?

He obligates you to help with his escape attempts. Maybe if there are two people running at the doors, it'll work. Don't bother trying to argue. He isn't going to miss out on an opportunity to escape this hellhole just because you are acting all apprehensive.

Early Limbobur has so many breakdowns. He doesn't react when you hug him, only muttering, rambling on about how much he wants to leave, all his thoughts and theories on limbo so far--- but when you try and pull away, he sits up so quick it startles you half to death. He grabs your arm and looks at you with wild, pleading eyes, terrified you were about to disappear.

Please hold Wilbur's face, bring him to sit sideways in your lap as you cradle him. Let him cry and scream. He won't hug back, but trust me--- your actions will be appreciated later on. On the downside, he's never letting go. not for a couple years.

It's only towards the middle of his time in limbo, when he begins to give up, he's a little more attentive: closing his eyes in bliss when you stroke his hair, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, looping an arm around your waist. It's then that he starts holding conversations with you. It's then when he finally asks how you died.

Wilbur doesn't smile-- not even a fake one. He's withdrawn, distant. You both failed to get out, even with your combined efforts. Wilbur will never, ever believe it to be your fault.... but he can't help feeling bitter.

----------

If you visit him around the time Tommy did, he's calmed down. Cheerfully, he welcomes you, bringing you over to a deck of cards and encourages you to play with him. Wilbur notices you staring at the old, bloody scratch marks on the wall, laughs and waves it off. "Pay no mind to that. The me from 6-7 years ago was a mess." (i think he canonically said something similar to tommy).

Wilbur still hates Limbo, but still believes he deserves to be there. He talks about his death with morbid ease, regardless of how uncomfortable about the topic you seem.

Actually, if you are particularly panicked about your new situation, he'll just keep talking about whatever's on his mind, not wanting to face your mental state-- it reminds him too much of his experience 6-7 years ago. rants about philosophy, politics, and random ideas. you don't want to talk? That's alright! You can just listen. It's been years since he's had anyone, he'll take what he can get

Act more composed though, and you might make a more meaningful connection. Talk about your previous lives with solemnity, and he will join you in your speculation, nodding along and occasionally giving his quiet input.

Ask him if he's alright, he will blink in surprise and confusion. "...I'm good." he says, but only because he didn't know what else to say. Did you really just ask him that? Have you seen where the two of you are trapped?

Ask him if he needs a hug, he will fall silent. ".. It's--- it's fine." He says, blinking as if he's having trouble remembering what one is.

Ask him if he wants a hug, and he will have nearly the same reaction. But instead of brushing you off, he will nod and say, "Sure", in a choked voice.

holds you so tight you fear your ribs will crack

pet his hair or scratch his scalp and he might actually whine.

He won't cry though. He wants to, but the pressure just builds up in his throat at chest cavity instead of leaking out of his eyes, which stay stubbornly dry. It's incredibly frustrating.

Give 👏 wilbur👏  back👏  massages

any kind of massage. rub his shoulders, jaw, back, scalp. anything to calm the tension and frustration of being unable to get his emotions out.

You offer him to sit in your lap one day, and although he's confused, he complies. as soon as you start rubbing circles into his shoulderblades, he melts like butter.

completely limp. he almost knocks you down by just falling back against you

it's not a perfect remedy, but it's the best you can do.

you better not let him go >:(

Will give faint, tired smiles if you give him physical or verbal affection.

Whenever you are holding him from behind, he will always turn his head to the side as if trying to get a look at you-- wanting to be as close as possible.

trembles when you hold him. he can't control it

------

visiting at the very end of his limbo

By the 13th year though, Wilbur is catatonic. He doesn't care about whether he deserves to be there or not--- what determines who deserves punishment, anyway? What moral code exists for a dead man?

He wants out. Tommy has already visited and left him (he screamed when tommy disappeared, for the first time in years)

As soon as Wilbur sees you roll in, he's rushing over, tugging you onto the platform

He's almost the same as if you had visited him towards the middle of his limbo, but with key differences

1. He is a lot quieter, ranting much less

2. He doesn't let you out of his sight. This is post Tommy's revival, so he's tense and half-expecting you to disappear, leaving him alone again.

3. Because he no longer believes (or cares) that he deserves to be in Limbo, he avoids the topic of his death. it's not as easy to talk about anymore.

If you hug him, he'll just hold you tight, silently.

You can't hug him from behind though. You have to be facing him, so he's able to wrap his arms around you and ensure that no one will take you away.

hope these were satisfactory :)

[heroesfixated]

50/50 Heroes - The Mysterious Symbol

There's one more mystery scattered throughout the episodes I have yet to discuss: the mysterious eye-question mark symbol.

Episode 12B - The Invisibles

This is the first episode that we officially see this symbol appear on a book that J.C. is reading.

From this book, he has discovered a map leading to a secret room in the library, marked by the symbol, as well as having it on the door's handle. He calls the room a "lost time chamber", however, his description of it being a "fun room to escape the teachers" is only based on a legend.

Upon opening the door, the room appears to be empty and long abandoned.

That is, until Lenny discovered a secret switch, revealing the actual hidden room. It's interesting to point out, that we never get to see what's inside, not even a peek, leaving us with only Mo and Sam's reactions, as they remain the only people (including Lenny) to have seen the inside of this room.

As of right now, I have no idea what this room could be, or what secrets may lie in there. Their reactions don't indicate it being anything dark or mysterious, but either way, I am certain this room will come back to play a major role in season 2.

However, this is not the only episode we get to see that green book...

Episode 25A - Sam Plays With Time

In this episode, when Sam and Mo time travel 10 years back and search their grandmother's house for some information on how to get back to their timeline, Sam is seen checking this book before being interrupted by Mo and closing it.

This prompts a question (assuming there is only one copy of this mysterious book/journal): how did it end up in J.C's hands in the present time, if it used to be in Wanda's possession? The only thing J.C. says is that he "found" it, which doesn't explain anything.

And in true Gravity Falls fashion, let's not forget the question of all time: who's the author of the journal?

However, the journal and the room are not the only times we see this symbol. Interestingly enough, several adults in the show seem to have/know about this symbol as well.

Episode 13B - A Sizable Problem

For example, the symbol appears on Peter Witherspoon's (Amber's father) ID card, which we can see when Sam is calling Mo from his pocket.

Episode 16A - A Dazzling Future

We can also see it on the janitor's ID card in this episode when he announces that he is quitting the job.

Episode 22B - Good Old Mo

It was also seen drawn by Mr. Brick. Even tho his conscience has been turned into a baby by Mo's half-power, he still seems to know about the symbol and purposefully draw it on the door.

How and why do the adults know about it? Perhaps it's not a symbol representing one single person, but instead it's a group of people, which some adult characters we know belong to?

That's not all, though, as we still have a few more random appearances of the symbol to go through.

Episode 15A - Dramedy My Friend

Kevin, the town's first police dog, has this symbol on his collar in both the big picture and his statue.

Episode 25B - Who Took the Fly Swatter

Moreover, J.C. and Amber's detective board has two pieces of paper with the symbol, one is seemingly some kind of document or note.

And in that same episode, when J.C. is talking about his ancestors, the very first one is shown with the symbol on the beetles.

Episode 26 - Swatteroo the Sublime

And this collection wouldn't be complete without the mysterious person's hand. The symbol on it could be a drawing, a tattoo, a mark left after some magic, or even possibly a scar, like the one Gruncle Stan from Gravity Falls had burned onto his back.

How does all of this connect, what does it imply, and what does that symbol mean? It is seen in many almost random places and it's hard for me to pinpoint any correlation between these moments to come up with one fully explained theory. Hopefully, this mystery will also be explored and explained when or if season 2 comes.