#it's not a thing but I declare it as such

[pucksandpower]

Drunk in Love

Max Verstappen x fiancée!Reader

Summary: in which Max gets drunk, forgets that the two of you are literally engaged, confesses his love for you, and then gets reminded that his ring is on your finger … in that order

Based on this request

The lights from Jimmy’z spill out onto the sidewalk, a dizzying kaleidoscope of reds, purples, and blues. You stand just outside, arms crossed, as your phone buzzes for the third time in five minutes. It’s Daniel this time.

“Hey,” he says, voice just slightly too cheerful to be innocent. “So, uh, Max is-”

“I’m already here.”

“Oh, perfect. He’s …” Daniel hesitates, and you can practically see him scratching the back of his neck. “He’s just a little … spirited tonight.”

Spirited. That’s one way to put it.

You hang up before he can add anything else and glance toward the club entrance. Max stumbles out a few seconds later, propped up by Lando, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Max’s head lolls to the side, and when he spots you, his entire face lights up like you’ve just walked out of a movie.

“Hey!” He yells, voice loud enough to make a couple passing tourists glance over. “It’s you!”

You sigh, stepping forward to take him off Lando’s hands. “Thanks,” you mutter to the younger driver, who just grins.

“Good luck,” Lando says, clapping you on the shoulder before disappearing back into the club.

Max leans heavily on you, his arm slung over your shoulders. “You came for me,” he says, slurring slightly. “You’re like an angel. My angel.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, guiding him toward the car. “Let’s get you home, Max.”

He stops abruptly, digging his heels into the pavement. “No, wait.”

You look up at him, exasperated. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until we’re in the car?”

“No!” He insists, voice rising. “It’s important.”

You glance around, feeling the curious stares of a few people lingering nearby. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

Max wobbles slightly, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes are glassy but serious as he looks at you. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, louder this time. Then, almost conspiratorially, he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Like, really love you. You’re … you’re perfect.”

“Max …” You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

“No, listen!” He says, pulling back to look at you. “You don’t understand. I’ve been in love with you for … forever. But I didn’t know how to say it, and now it’s too late, because you probably think I’m some idiot who-”

“Max,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. “We’re engaged.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“We’re engaged,” you repeat, holding up your left hand where the ring glints under the streetlights.

Max stares at it like he’s never seen it before. “No way.”

“Yes, way.”

His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost childlike. “No. Way.”

“Yes, Max. We’re literally engaged. Have been for months.”

He takes your hand in his, squinting at the ring. “Holy shit. That’s a nice ring.”

You snort despite yourself. “You picked it.”

“I did?” He looks genuinely astonished.

“Yes, you did. And you cried when I said yes, remember?”

“I cried?”

“Like a baby.”

He lets out a delighted laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and bubbles all the way up. “I’m a genius,” he declares, throwing his arms in the air. “I got you to say yes!”

“Yes, Maxie. You did.”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly knocking you off balance. “I’m so lucky,” he mumbles into your hair. “Like, stupid lucky.”

“You’re also stupid drunk,” you point out, but there’s no bite to your words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes wide and earnest. “Do you love me?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Of course I love you, you idiot.”

He beams at you, his happiness so pure it’s almost contagious. “Good. That’s good. Because I’m going to marry you.”

“Yes, Max. You are.”

“And I’m never going to mess it up.”

“Not if you keep calling me to pick you up from clubs at two in the morning.”

He looks horrified. “Wait, did I call you?”

“No,” you admit, “Daniel did.”

Max groans, burying his face in his hands. “That traitor.”

“Come on,” you say, tugging him toward the car. “Let’s get you home before you pass out on the sidewalk.”

As you help him into the passenger seat, he grabs your hand again, his grip surprisingly firm. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, his voice softer now.

“I know,” you reply, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He closes his eyes, a contented smile playing on his lips. “I’m going to marry the hell out of you,” he murmurs as you buckle him in.

You shake your head, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You already are.”

And as you pull away from the curb, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the championship all over again.

[hexescore]

hey, hey, let's match!

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: little snippets of matching items with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader.

❀ ◞ author note: this is my first time writing for the arcane characters, so i hope i wrote them well! please enjoy!

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

bracelet or ring

The silver band was wrapped perfectly around Caitlyn's wrist, catching the light as she pulled her hair back into a high pony tail. She had come home later than usual and despite claiming she'd do better and work/life balance, she picked up right where she left off at work.

"Cait?" You call, peaking your head into her little workspace, seeing she's hung up a few new leads on her bulletin board. "Dinner's done," You walk further into the space, glancing around. It looked different than the last time you'd been in there, messier.

"Mmhm, I'll be there in a minute," She murmurs, "Just got a few more things to take care of..." You nod in acknowledgment, but don't leave. Instead you glance around the room some more, inspecting random but meticulously put together files and pictures.

Finally, you've made your way to where she sits in her leather desk chair, your hand gently touching her shoulder. She tenses at the sudden contact, but almost as quickly melts into your touch. She tilts her head just enough to press a kiss to your hand- her eyes catching the matching silver bracelet you wore. Despite it being subtle, the fact you two are matching causes her to grin, little butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "It's your favorite," You refer back to the dinner you mentioned, "Let's eat together."

Blue eyes trail from the silver band up to your eyes, and she bites her cheek to hold back from cooing at how much she adores you. "Alright," She sighs, pressing another kiss to your hand before packing up her work. She'll have time to do it later.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

small couple trinket set.

The smooth, wooden surface of the little cat trinket in Ekko's jacket calms his mind long enough for him to find his footing. It's not often, but when the responsibilities and fear of failing start piling up, Ekko's anxiety reaches peak. When his thumb runs over the cool wood of the trinket though he's able to calm his mind and remember back to a better moment.

"Isn't it cute? It looks like you, don't you think?" You tease as you hold the pouty looking cat trinket up to his face. You almost choke on a laugh at the way his expression matches the cat so perfectly. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at your antics as he spots the matching trinket. He picks up the other cat and smirks, holding up the cat to your face.

"Now that's a match." He says, and when you peak at the cat it's got a rather confused and dumbfounded look on it's face. You scoff, grumbling that you do not look like that. He chuckles as you set the cat down in defeat, moving on to the next stall. As you're distracted, he picks up the matching trinket set and buys them to surprise you with later.

He'll never forget the way you lit up as he handed you the cat that apparently "looked like him." Your giddy, child-like smile as you accepted it and proudly declared you named it 'Ekko Jr.' before informing him you'll 'treasure it forever and ever.' He then promptly showed you the matching piece, which you rolled your eyes at but ever so graciously allowed him to keep. Yeah, a better moment to remember.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

outfits.

"You two truly are disgusting." Viktor commented, with no malice, as you and Jayce entered the lab. Jayce just held a grin akin to a child in a candy store on his face as he looked over your outfit again- which matched his perfectly. It was surprising how many outfits Jayce coordinated in order to match you in some way or another.

"You're just jealous." Jayce held his head high with pride, turning to press a kiss to your cheek. "I'll pick you up later, okay?" You smile, leaning into the kiss and soaking up what warmth you could from him. Anyone who saw you two would surely get a tummy ache at how sweet the moment was.

"I'll be the one in the matching outfit." You chuckle, your laughter only growing at Viktor's faux vomiting. You decide to leave willingly before you were forced out, but not before giving Jayce quick peck on the lips. You run away as you hear a playful argument rise between the two.

"Seriously, how many outfits can you possibly match together?" Viktor sighs, shaking his head as he turns to continue his work.

"All of them." Jayce says earnestly, almost too prideful to not have a single article of clothing that doesn't have a matching counterpart to yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

nail polish.

It was easy to be captivated by Jinx, her voice like the lure of a siren, as she chats away about her day to you. She only gets this way because she trusts you, which in turns makes your own walls come down. Your eyes closed as you relax in her presence. Last time she had convinced you to match nail polish with her, a subtle way to claim you as hers to those in Zaun who eye you, thus you lay with your hand in hers.

Eventually she runs out of things to say and begins to just hum random tunes as the brush of the nail polish runs along your fingernails in a precise motion- as if she was painting on her newest creations. "Pink, blue, pink, blue~" When she's done she blows on them to help dry them faster.

"Jiiinx, that tickles," you whine, causing her to eye you with a mischievous smirk. At the quiet, you peak an eye open, which you regret as that's when Jinx pounces, straddling your lap and tickling you with a menacing laughter escaping her lips. "N- No! St- Stop! Please! I c- can't!" You squeak between laughing, thrashing around as she continues her attack- eventually you manage to get her off, but she looks ready to lunge at you any time.

"If you keep it up I won't let you finish my nails-" You lightly threaten, which causes her to hesitate, but she ultimately decides that maybe you could pull off a one-handed nail polish thing before attacking you again.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

stationery (pen).

It was a beautiful fountain pen with gold accents, and along the side in beautiful calligraphy was engraved 'forever.' It was by far Mel's favorite pen, it wrote smoothly, was beautiful to look at, but even more than that, it was a reminder of why she did what she did. For at home there was a matching counterpart to this pen, engraved with 'and always,' that always had her thinking about you.

Late nights had long since become a part of her routine, but the pen weighed heavy, like a message for her to wrap up her work before it got too late, and head home into the loving arms of you. So that's what she did. Mel wrapped up the last of her paperwork for the day before leaving, the commute home quiet as she fiddles with the pen, thinking of what you did throughout the day.

She smiled as she thought about how you'd greet her home, wrap your arms around her, kiss her. You'd pull her into the dining room and tell her about your day, chatting over dinner. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice when the carriage pulled up outside her estate.

It wasn't until your head peaked out the door that she was pulled out of her daydream, tucking the pen safely into her purse. She exited the carriage, her tired and weary body carrying her towards you until she was inside, ready to finally relax after a long, hard day.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

whiskey glasses.

Idiots. She swore everyone she had to work with were idiots and purposely made her work harder to do. Sevika was much too ready to return home, and upon doing so, pulled out the matching whiskey glasses. You entered the room, sitting yourself on to the kitchen counters.

"That bad, huh?" You ask, accepting her offer and taking the whiskey glass. She sighs, shaking her head. She didn't even know where to begin, but she decided on pouring herself a glass was a good start. You listen to her complaints, your finger outlining the simple design on the glass. Yours and Sevika's initials engraved into the glass- a gift from a friend.

Sevika downs the rest of her drink after she finishes telling you about her day, and you decide to bring over the bottle as you sit with her on the couch. "Whatever, I don't want to think about it anymore." She grumbles, taking the bottle and taking a swig from it. She wraps her mechanical arm around you, pulling you in closer to her.

"Tell me about your day instead," She insists, watching the way you try to mimic her in taking a swig of your drink- it goes down less smoothly than Sevika made it out to be. She chuckles at the way you cough a little, and then at the way you throw her a glare. She's quiet though, when you finally tell her about your day. It's these small moments that have her thinking about just how lucky she is.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

keychain.

"Vik, look at this!" You call him over, holding up the matching keychains for him to see. They were in the shape of puzzle pieces, and when they got close, they connected with a magnet. "Aren't these cute?" You hand them over to him and he looks over them inquisitively.

"Very," He says, before looking up at you with a small smile. "Should we get them?" He asks, though he already knew the answer. You try to act nonchalant, shrugging your shoulders and saying if 'he wanted to you two could get'em' but it was obviously all an act.

"I don't think we could leave without them." Viktor chuckles, because if there was anything Viktor loved more than his work it was indulging your whimsy. Thus the keychains were promptly bought and put to use. It was the only "fun" keychain on Viktor's, which only made it all the more special to you.

"Wait, but now we have to separate them," You realize, feeling a little guilty for forcing the two puzzle pieces to be away from each other. Viktor sighs, holding his half of the puzzle piece up for you to connect.

"It matters not the time they spend apart, as they're made for each other, and will inevitably always meet in the end."

Did he not realize he just said the most romantic thing to you? And now he's shocked you're tearing up? smh

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VI

boxing gloves.

"One, two, one, two," Hitting the striking pads, Vi stood sturdy despite you putting your full force into each hit. Breathless, sweaty, and pretty tired, Vi decides a break is well in order for you both. You thank whatever god took mercy on you and take off your boxing gloves as you search for your water.

"Hey, babe..." Vi is rummaging around in her duffle bag, the crease between her brown deepening as what she searches for continues to evade her. "Did you take my gloves?" You look up at her, before looking down at the gloves. Inside on the label, written in sharpy, is the name 'VI' clearly written.

Sheepishly you hand them back to her, "Sorry, I thought they were mine," You say, now wondering where you last put the matching boxing gloves Vi had gotten you last year. In retrospect, Vi realizes that maybe getting you the exact same pair would inevitably lead to this situation.

"Nah, it's fine. I like when you wear my stuff anyways." She teases, enjoying the way you grow flustered at her words. She always had to say something in order to mess with you, and sadly for you, it always worked.

[clockworkcanary]

Healthcare shouldn’t be for profit, and Insurance shouldn’t either.

The profit motive in health care is too much like hostage taking; what will you pay for your family member’s life? How much will you give up?

About 20 years ago, a friend’s mom had cancer. She didn’t even tell her kids(adult sons) and chose not to get treatment. No chemo, no surgery, no radiation, and also no medical debt.

When they found out, the sons were angry that she hadn’t told them, but, they weren’t rich. She wanted to leave them some savings and a house, not a pile of medical debt.

When I got cancer, it was 2013, and the ACA(aka Obamacare) helped me not declare bankruptcy because of medical bills.

The GOP fought the ACA and keep challenging and trying to gut it. It’s weaker than it should have been, the national market and the public option got stripped out of the law and the GOP controlled states never got the expanded Medicaid or properly implemented markets.

It’s still better than nothing, better than it was when my friend’s mom declined treatment. More people have health insurance than did before the law passed.

One of the things we won’t get because Kamala Harris didn’t win this election is more home health care help. Trump isn’t gonna even try, and will probably accelerate the demise of the ACA.

Stay healthy y’all.

[cheetabites]

☆彡 peppers ˳༄꠶

character: hwang in-ho / 001 / frontman

˳༄꠶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for the frontman

sfw headcannons

★ i truly believe he’d be a devoted partner to you; he literally accepted loans / bribes - loosing his job in the process - just to help his sick wife and eventually entered the squid games just to pay for her treatment

★ when he was declared victorious he was so happy to go home. but when he arrived back and was met with the news that his wife had already died, he fell into a raging depression; scapegoating the blame of her death onto others due to his immense grief. eventually he decided to go back to the games because he didn’t believe there was really anything out there for him anymore

★ deep down there’s a small part of himself that regrets giving jun-ho his kidney - if he had sold it he could’ve payed for the treatment earlier; but this hard truth was something he tried his best to repress because he felt ashamed for thinking that way, after all he still loved his brother

★ he knows about the organ harvesting. while he’s not directly involved in it, he makes no effort to stop it - if anything, he thinks it’s a good use since it would be a waste to incinerate usable organs, and because it’ll ‘help’ other people like his deceased wife (people who need transplants)

★ he still carries a photograph of his wife even while running the games, although he makes sure to never leave it out in the open. it’s always on his person one way or another. when he looks at her picture though, it’s a brief period of clarity where he reflects on his actions and what she’d think of him if she saw what he did and continues to do

nsfw headcannons

★ he’s a dom, no doubt about it. although in the beginning of your relationship he’s more of a hard dom, the further you progress with your relationship waters that down a bit; he needs a deep emotional connection with his partner to get there though

★ he’s really into marking your body; primarily though, it’s mostly hickies that he leaves on your skin - usually on your neck or on your thighs. he wouldn’t leave anything deeper than tiny purple bruises. to him, leaving bruises - that come from hard impact play, spanking, ect - on your body is unsightly and it leaves him disgusted

★ one of his favorite sex positions is definitely doggystyle. he seems to be the guy that’ll lay his arm around your front just to pull you close, so he can watch you tilt your head back with that look of ecstasy. he sometimes wraps a tie around your neck to pull your head back if he wants to fuck hard and fast

★ whenever you guys are fucking in missionary, he’ll have one of his hands wrapped around your neck as he degrades you - sometimes adding some faux pity into his tone whenever you whine that it’s too much or that it’s too big

★ he overstimulates you as a punishment. saying things like “oh now you’re complaining that it’s too much when you couldn’t even control yourself while i was away” or “you say you can’t take anymore even though you keep creaming all over my fingers, such a dirty whore”

the end! i hope you enjoyed <3!

[ohithankyou]

there’s a chance that this is a widely held belief but in the case that it isn’t—hear me out. i don’t think buck realized that, during their breakup, tommy had told him he wants forever with him. that tommy didn’t breakup with him because he doesn’t want forever, he broke up with buck because he wants forever. he aches for forever. but his fear has led him to believe that forever isn’t his to have, regardless of his desires. tommy knows that (well. in complicated ways i would argue but i’ll come to this another time), we know that, but i don’t think this is something buck has fully realized. and this isn’t a dig at buck’s competence. not at all.

what buck was ready for that night was (what i’m assuming is) their weekly date-night out. they’d go out, watch a movie, get some dinner, come back to buck’s and spend the night together luxuriating in each other’s presence, as they often did. just a sweet night together that would be made, in buck’s mind, all the sweeter by asking tommy to move in with him and tommy accepting (because i do believe buck thought he’d say yes). and maybe he believed that their date-night out wouldn’t just be their usual date-night out, it would be a celebratory one marking an important milestone in their relationship.

and so, buck went from riding this high of asking tommy to move in with him, of leading this important next step in their relationship — likely believing that the conversation would end in them moving in together — to being told no and being broken up with instead. as in—he got hit and shot down twice. first, with tommy telling him that he couldn’t move in with him. and second, with tommy consequently breaking up with him. the latter (the breakup) being something he didn’t even process until the very end, when he asked tommy for clarification. and this lack of processing, in my opinion, was due to a combination of: buck’s own high expectations of tommy’s potential answer because he wasn’t privy to tommy’s fear (which could be its own discussion) and overall, the very abrupt nature of the breakup itself which carried a ton of emotional whiplash. but once buck did understand that he was broken up with, i think that’s all he was able process.

given all of this, i would care to bet he absolutely didn’t register what was, essentially, tommy’s declaration of love to him during that emotionally hectic moment. i also don’t think that it’s something he’s realized since then. again, not a dig at his competence, but more so the emotions surrounding being broken up with taking precedence in his mind. and this would ultimately explain in someway, why he’s trying not to give into his urges—into his desire to call tommy. and why he’s baking instead.

but also, we know that he wants to reach out and was going to do so when he caught tommy bubbling him (until he was interrupted). so i do trust that he knows tommy likes him, i don’t think he doubts that, but he’s hasn’t realized or processed the full extent of tommy’s feelings. and given that, i’d say that buck’s desire to text tommy (as far as the mid-season finale) is largely fuelled by his own feelings (which is a good thing and in my opinion, shows growth). as, buck knows what he wants and that’s tommy—now and in the future. maybe he’s not able to express it through words but at his core, he knows that everything he expressed to him that night, he did so because he meant it (and plans to mean it). so, if or when buck realizes tommy also wants forever but his fear is keeping him from taking that chance, i do believe buck would immediately reach out and challenge him.

[myclovernew]

player 333 (myung-gi) x fem!reader

⟢ pairing: myung-gi x fem!reader (basically replacing junhee as player 222 sorry jo yuri my queen)

⟢ fluff but a little steamy near the end...

⟢ word count: 4k

⟢ a/n: hai everyone this is my first ever fic here on tumblr and i haven't written anything in over four years so i apologize if the writing is terrible LOL

the annoyingly cheerful music blaring at what felt like 7 in the morning woke me up. the last thing i could remember before falling asleep was getting into a white semi-van driven by a man in a red hoodie whose face i couldn't quite make out. so where in the hell was i now?

blinking a couple times before rubbing one eye, i slowly slid up to the point where i could feel the cold, metal backboard of the bed you were in through the thin polyester jacket i had on. that's when i realized i was in a completely different outfit than the one i had on the night before. looking around, i noticed others slowly waking, everyone in the same outfit as mine with only a slight difference. you were all numbered, and my number was 222.

a guy who was in the bed directly in front of mine started waking up at that moment, mumbling something incoherent to himself and then letting out a huge sigh. the number on the back of his jacket was 333. only when he turned slightly to his left is when i realized; i'd recognize that side profile anywhere.

"lee my-" before i could even finish calling out his name, the speaker sent out feedback indicating the start of something unknown. everyone was awake at this point, walking towards the center pool of people.

that's when an alarm went off, and an automatic door let in a group of eerily mysterious people dressed in pink jumpsuits, their faces covered by black masks with either squares or circles painted on them in white.

"i would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," one of the square guards started. i was watching from the foot of my bed, trying to scan the crowd to navigate that piece of shit. i can't believe that asshole is here too, i thought to myself while half paying attention to whatever the square guy is saying.

"everyone here will participate in six different games over six days." games? what are we in, grade school? "those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

now that's what i wanted to hear. when that salesman looking guy approached me a week ago, he had me play a game of ddakji, which i was a natural at. so of course i beat him on the first round. he gave me 100,000 won as a prize and a rustic brown business card with only a number on the back. i debated on calling the ominous number for days on end, but the final straw was having all 58 of my calls to that asshole myung-gi ignored. he had "borrowed" 500,000 won from me to kickstart a stock he was investing in and just never paid me back. a couple of weeks after was when i found out his dumbass had led a bunch of his stream viewers to invest in the wrong coin, causing a lot of not-so-happy, middle aged men struggling to make ends meet to go after him.

anyway, i was determined to make him pay.

a couple of people from the huge crowd started yelling out remarks, demanding for answers.

"what happened to my clothes?" "did you kidnap us?" "why are you wearing a mask?" "show your face!"

then one person started asking for their phone, insisting that they had to check the crypto market.

"player 333, lee myung-gi," the square guard had declared. my head immediately snapped up, eyes glued to the screen that had just turned on. a video of myung-gi started playing and it was him being embarrassingly bad at the same game of ddakji i had played with the salesman. i couldn't help but laugh to myself as hundreds of people watched him get slapped, how humiliating.

"current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." oh you had to be joking.

that made the measly 500,000 won he owed me look like nothing. no wonder he was ignoring my calls, the loser had absolutely no means of paying me back, let alone getting rid of his own debt.

i lost sight of myung-gi when the guards had us line up and sign what looked like a consent form to play the games. it seemed a bit excessive, but i guess they had to keep it all professional. we then had our photos taken before being led up multiple flights of pink, maze-like stairs.

all at once, three giant doors opened up to a large, sand-filled area. the guards instructed us to go in and stand behind the red line drawn on the ground. at the very end of the field was an enlarged cartoonish doll. what could we possibly be doing here?

i looked around for myung-gi again, hoping to catch him by surprise when he saw my face afters months of ignoring me.

"the first game is red light, green light," a woman's voice iterated through the speakers. red light, green light? i hadn't played that since i was a kid. "cross the finish line before the five minutes are up. if you do, you pass."

this honestly felt like a joke. why were we getting paid to play children's games?

"everyone!" i squinted my eyes to see a middle-aged man, his number being 456, run to the middle of the crowd. "everyone, pay attention!" he was waving his arms like a mad man to try and get everyone to listen to him.

"this is not just a game!" what?

"if you lose, you die!" there's no way that was true. did he mean get eliminated? they wouldn't really kill us, would they? i looked around to watch everyone else's expressions. some started visibly shaking, others shaking their heads in pure disbelief.

at that moment, the robotic doll turned around and put her hand up to her eyes.

"let the game begin."

the first "red light, green light" was said and everyone began to move. as soon as the doll stopped to look around, i stayed as still as possible. the man from earlier was still yelling at everyone to freeze, and something in me started to believe in what he was saying about the game. as i froze in place, i scanned the people around me. 239, 009, 176, 028, and 333. found you.

the next "red light, green light" played and i ran towards myung-gi. he might've been a crypto bro who practically lived at the pc cafe, but damn he was a fast runner. the next couple of "red light, green light's" went off and i was just about a feet behind him now. that's when a loud "bang" echoed throughout the hall. a gun shot. more gun shots sounded, followed by ear-piercing screams. stay still, stay still, i thought to myself.

then it went silent. everyone who was still alive was frozen in their places, not even moving when the doll said "red light, green light." my eyes focused on myung-gi. he was breathing so heavily i could hear him.

"red light, green light." the man from earlier, player 456, was the only one to move as he ran past all of us. "red light, green light." he moved a bit further, with his back facing us.

"the doll detects motion," he yelled out as he had one hand behind his back, moving it around to prove what he was saying was true. so as long as the doll couldn't physically see me moving, i would be fine.

"we're running out of time. we have to move!" shit.

"red light, green light." everyone moved then, finding someone bigger than them to hide behind. i was still behind myung-gi, who i admit was shorter than most guys here, but then again so was i. we were almost by the finish line, with a little less than a minute left.

"red light, green light." we moved again in a synced matter. but just as the doll was about to turn her head, myung-gi tripped on someone's foot. he's going to die, i thought. without thinking, i put out my arm, and grasped onto the back of his jacket.

"don't. move," i whisper-yelled, my teeth gritting against each other. myung-gi didn't make a sound.

"red light, green light," i let go and he regained his balance, the two of us crossing the finish line. i bent over, my hands resting on my knees as i tried to breathe normally again.

"y/n?" myung-gi questioned. i looked back up to him, scanning his face. as much as he was confused as to why i was here, he also looked relieved to see a familiar face.

"aren't you going to thank me?" i retorted. i did just save his life.

"oh, yeah," he said, his hand reaching the back of his head, "thank you. seriously." i sighed and gave him a slight nod. frankly, i was too exhausted and too desperate to get out of this place to even demand for my money back from him right now. he opened his mouth again, like he had something to say, but got quickly distracted by the ceiling of the arena slowly closing in. the game was over.

the guards had us all walk back into the room we woke up in. it was eerily quiet; people were scared for their lives. i just wanted to go home. i didn't even care about the money anymore. why would any of this even matter if i didn't make it out alive?

everyone made it back inside as the guards followed behind the last couple of players, stopping in front of the door they first walked out of. some of the players ran down to the middle of the floor and started kneeling to the ground, rubbing their hands profusely, begging to be saved.

"we are not trying to hurt you. we are only presenting you with an opportunity," the square guard declared.

"clause three of the consent form!" i turned around to look at the player that yelled this out. it was the same man that was helping everyone in the last game, player 456. "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote. correct?"

oh thank god. we actually had a chance at getting out of here before they had us all killed.

that's when the room went dim, and a golden piggy bank was slowly let down from the ceiling. even i was mesmerized, my eyes glued to the stacks of money falling into it. the guard then explained there was a sum of 9.1 billion won in the bank, and if we all wanted to leave now, it would be split by all current players. murmurs erupted, some people wanting to stay and play more games for the sum to rise, while others still wanted to leave.

"now, let's begin the vote."

the guards started calling out player numbers, starting from the last number, 456. the first vote was an X. each player received a tag with either an X or an O, indicating what they had voted for.

"player 333." i watched as myung-gi emerged from the crowd, and walked towards the buttons. i swear to god.

the sound of the button went off and so did a flash of blue light. he picked O.

he barely even made it through the first game without my help, yet he wanted to stay and continue playing? i scoffed to myself, he really did only care about himself.

"player 222." it was finally my turn. i walked up to the voting stand, confident in my answer. i hit the X button and received my tag. walking back to the group of other X voters, i looked over at myung-gi standing on the opposite side who was also watching me from afar. i narrowed my eyes and made a face full of utter disgust and disappointment, then looked away. in that moment, i regretted saving him at all.

the voting ended shortly, the O's winning by one point. we really had to stay and play another game. it was absurd to me, all these people being blinded by the money after seeing firsthand how one wrong move could literally get you killed.

food service happened after the voting and each person was given a meal. i walked back to my bed and opened up the metal box to find a layer of white rice, topped with an egg, sausage, and picked radish. it honestly wasn't bad at all. i was eating peacefully before myung-gi walked up, holding out his box of food and resting his arms on the foot of my bed.

"you want the radish? i know it's your favorite," i looked up at him, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice and egg. the radish was my favorite, but i was surprised he remembered that at all. without saying anything back, because i was still mad at him, i took the pieces of radish out of his box and put it in mine.

"are you mad at me?" i looked up from my food again. he could not be serious. we were making eye contact now, but the purple-ish, blue ring forming around his left eye caught my attention.

"what happened to your eye?" i asked, ignoring his initial question. i don't even know why i brought it up, i could care less about this asshole.

"don't worry about it." say less! i went back to eating my food, myung-gi still hovering, waiting for the answer to his question. i gave him a "what?" look with a shoulder shrug and seems like he took that for an answer because he turned back around and started walking away without saying another word.

i looked toward his direction ever so often after finishing up my meal. he really was a loser and didn't have anyone else here, not even someone to team up with. he sat straight up on his bed, poking at the rice with his spoon. a couple of hours passed by, and it was soon bedtime. the lights in the room dimmed and everyone was in their beds by this point. i pulled the thin cotton blanket over me and readjusted my pillow so it was leaning a bit against the bed board. i lay there on my back with my hands intertwined across my chest, closed my eyes and desperately tried to fall asleep. but it was one of those nights where your eyes were sleeping, and your body wasn't. hours passed and i was still awake. i tried turning to my side, readjusting my pillow again, but nothing worked. at a loss, i just kept my eyes open and stared at the bottom of the bed above mine.

the older gentleman to my right was snoring like there was no tomorrow, and a woman in her mid-20s to my left kept turning around every 5 minutes. even if i did manage to fall asleep, i probably would've woken up because of one or the other. that's when i heard someone nearby talking, or it was more of a loud whisper. i sat right up on my bed to figure out where the noise was coming from, only to see the source was right in front of me.

myung-gi was talking... but to himself? i slowly peeled the blanket off of myself and threw both legs over the edge of my bed. i stepped on my shoes without properly putting them on, and walked towards his bed, making sure not to make anymore noise that could wake up anyone else. i watched as myung-gi continued to blurt out sentences and random words in his sleep, but i couldn't quite make out what he was actually saying. his eyes were fully closed, but his eyebrows were at a slight furrow with sweat beading on his forehead. he looked like he was burning up. without even realizing, i reached my hand out to his forehead, hovering just an inch above it. i didn't even need to make contact with his skin to know he had a fever. i retracted my hand and bent down to my feet to fully put on my shoes before walking over to the door that led to the restroom. a guard was standing by the door and it took me a good 10 minutes for him to let me use the restroom, finally convincing him by saying it was that time of the month.

i grabbed a long piece of a paper towel, folded it, and let it run under the cold water for a bit. i walked back out the door without the guard noticing the paper towel in my hand and made it back to myung-gi, who was thankfully still asleep. i reached out my arms to place the towel on his forehead, but before i could take them back, myung-gi's hand wrapped around my left wrist. his eyes were slightly open, but i couldn't quite tell if he was actually awake or not.

"stay," he croaked, his voice coming out raspy. i stood there unsure what to do and his grasp still on my arm. "please."

well it's not like i could fall asleep anyway. i used my feet to take off my shoes and climbed into his bed, using his arm as a pillow. i cautiously turned to slightly face him, but myung-gi looked like he had already fallen back asleep. i turned back around, closed my eyes, and without even knowing it, fell asleep right then.

i felt warmer than usual as i started waking up to the same music that played when i first got here. eyes still closed, i turned over to my right side and felt even warmer. it was a nice feeling and i wanted to stay here just for a couple more minutes.

the chatter from the people around me woke me up. vision still blurry, i blinked profusely to make sure i wasn't hallucinating. i was looking straight at myung-gi, our faces almost an inch apart. his eyes were still closed and i could even hear his heartbeat; we were that close. we were also under the same blanket now, not knowing how i even got to that position considering he was hogging the thing when i first laid down.

i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to move now because then he'd wake up and i'd have to confront him. i just kept looking at his face, focusing on the bruise from yesterday, which was now a little darker in color. he didn't look like he still had a fever, but something in me wanted to check anyway. i freed my left arm from my own grip and slowly raised it up to his forehead, but before i could even check, myung-gi opened his eyes. i quickly dropped my hand and closed my eyes, pretending like i had never even woken.

fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit.

then i heard him starting to laugh, myung-gi was laughing at me. i peeked one eye open and he started to laugh even harder. now i felt myself heating up. guards please take me now, just take me now. as i was about to say something, myung-gi used the blanket to cover me entirely and pulled me in even closer.

"what the fuck are you do-" i tried to get out, but my voice got muffled by the blanket as he brought me in even closer. oh my god i thought i was going to explode.

"you hiding something under that blanket?" a voice questioned from outside. i took that as my queue to stay as silent as possible.

"no, why would i be?" myung-gi answered back.

"don't talk back to me, fucker. unless you want a matching black eye." oh, so this must've been the person that beat the shit out of myung-gi yesterday. myung-gi didn't respond this time, but i could feel his arm around me loosen as the footsteps got further away. i reached for the rim of the blanket and pulled it back down enough for my face to show. that was a bad idea, because i was just about touching his chest now.

"if you wanted a hug you could've just said so," he said sarcastically, a one-sided grin forming on his face as he looked down at me.

"in your dreams," i said, all flustered. i quickly pushed myself away before he could pull anything else and practically stumbled out of the bed. i didn't even look back as i put on my shoes and walked out to regroup with the rest of the players.

they had us get into groups of five for the second game, making it a game based on team effort. i teamed up with four older guys, one of them being player 456 from earlier. i was glad i didn't end up with myung-gi this game, because honestly i didn't know how to face him after last night. but i still found myself glancing over at him throughout the game to make sure he was still alive.

we both got through the second game, but it was still silence between us. i didn't go up to him and neither did he try and talk to me. i couldn't fall asleep that night either, but i didn't dare get out of my bed.

the next game came around quickly. i stuck with the group i had made during the previous game, and we quickly got the hang of this new game. we were placed onto a merry-go-round like platform and spun around until the music stopped. the speaker would blurt out a number and the same amount of people would need to run and find a room to stay in. if the room had more or less people than the number that was said, you would die. as a group of 5, we got through teams of 3 and 6 pretty easily. but then the speaker called out 2. i looked up as everyone paired up, and i had no one. my mind went fuzzy, everyone was running around screaming and looking for their friends. i felt like i was going to faint until i felt someone grab onto my wrist and started to drag me off the platform. i picked up on the pace and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

we ran into a purple room and shut the door. my back was pinned to the wall as myung-gi still held onto my wrist. we were both trying to catch our breath, but then he leaned in closer. my body froze and we were only inches apart again. i was looking into his eyes, then panned down to his lips, just to trace back up to his eyes again. the door clicked shut and we were stuck in here. together.

in that moment, i felt his lips touch mine. i closed my eyes as i let myself melt into the kiss. he let go of my wrist and positioned one hand at my waist while the other creeped up the back of my neck. i could feel my shirt fleeting as his fingertips made contact with my skin ever so lightly. my hands made their way up his chest as i gripped onto his shirt and pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a whiny moan from him. i wanted this to go on forever.

the door made another clicking sound, letting us know we could go back out. i loosened my grip before myung-gi could get his hand up any higher under my shirt.

"we have to," i let out, mid-kiss, "go." we both came to a stop then, realizing we had to go back out onto the platform. i quickly straightened up my shirt with my hands and reached up to myung-gi's hair which was looking all disheveled now to smooth it back out into his natural middle part.

"we're not done yet," he whispered into my ear as we walked out the door, parting ways once again.

that's when i knew i'd be getting a good night's sleep tonight.

[caseuoiseau]

Oh BTW there's Lead Truthers now.

Which is great, because conspiracy theorists' paranoid daydreams have had a way of working up the ladder in a Trump presidency, probably because the end results benefit the ultra-wealthy so much.

(Although the bleach thing was probably just...actively not using his brain to come to a logical conclusion.)

But yeah, there's a lot of people put there who seem to think that they regulated lead out of paint so people wouldn't be able to protect themselves from 5G, and I just love that I might have to spend any part of the next 4 years fighting to keep any more lead out of the environment.

(And to the points about smog: I remember smog getting regular airtime when I was a kid, and while I dont remember anyone declaring smog to be over, I do remember looking at the various cities I visit and realizing they weren't covered with a big yellow umbrella smudge.

I don't know when my parents' cataracts started developing, but they had them repaired during the pandemic, and the thing the both of them said was that they couldn't believe how blue the sky was. They couldn't remember the sky being so vividly blue since they were kids. Wild.)

[missarchive]

preview - american jesus, spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

just a little taster for a sugar daddy!spencer series im cooking up ;)

Link to full fic

this will be a smut!!

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

You: That depends, what are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

DrReid: Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

You: And what do you want in return?

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

DrReid: Exactly what you’re willing to give.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

You: That’s a clever way of saying nothing

You: Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

DrReid: Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

You: And what game is that?

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

DrReid: The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

You: I don’t recall agreeing to any rules.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

DrReid: You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You: You’re awfully sure of yourself.

The response came almost immediately:

DrReid: Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

You: I think you already know the answer.

The reply came almost instantly:

DrReid: Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

You: And where exactly is that?

His response sent a chill down your spine:

DrReid: Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

You: Trust is earned, Dr. Reid. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared:

DrReid: Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

You: Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play.

His reply came quickly, the final twist of the knife:

DrReid: We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

You: What makes you so sure of that?

The reply came quickly, like he’d been waiting for you to challenge him:

DrReid: Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You: Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken:

DrReid: Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

You: Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary.

His answer was slower this time, deliberate, calculated:

DrReid: That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

You: And you think you’re the one to teach me?

His response was devastatingly simple:

DrReid: I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pre-tense with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

[nerdygirlramblings]

omegaverse 141

a/n part of this once again inspired by @dragonnarrative-writes and their comment on a previous chapter. also, if you have ideas for a title, that'd be great 😂

cw: a/b/o dynamics and typical omegaverse breeding (m! and f! omegas can get pregnant) mentioned

previous

In the interim between your meeting with Captain Price and dinner with the task force you call your family pack. You know your moms and dad will give you their honest opinions, and right now you want that more than anything.

"Hey pretty girl," Dad says when he picks up the video call. "Everything okay? You usually don't call on a weekday unless we've planned it." For a moment you simply take in his smile and the way he's trying to reassure you.

You deflect. "How are you feeling, Dad?" He's carrying another litter, and after losing the last two, you know how important it is to everyone that this one is successful.

"Your moms have pretty much put me on bed rest," he says, rolling his eyes. "But you called us, honey, what's going on?"

You sigh. This is what you called them for. "Well, I wanted your opinion on something," you tell him.

"Just my opinion, or do you want the moms' too?"

You tell him you want everyone's opinion, so he moves through your childhood home to where your moms are, each room he passes drawing forth another bittersweet memory that has you missing him and your pack even more.

He finds your moms in your childhood bedroom, being transformed into a nursery, again. He sits on the rocking chair you remember, the one that floated between the three kids' bedrooms each time there was a new litter. Once your moms are standing behind Dad, you tell everyone about the offer to join Price's task force, and by extension his pack.

The more you tell them, the more your mind snags on how appealing being part of a pack is. But you can't help but be scared of the implications of that desire. Despite how Price laid things out, it's going to be hard enough to prove you're worthy of being on the 141, and if you become part of their pack, you'll never escape the talk about sleeping your way on the task force.

Your parents can tell your mind is somewhere else when you hear Mum insert your name into Bowie's "Space Oddity."

"Sorry, Mum. Wha' was i'?"

"I was just saying this - the task force, I mean - sounds like a great career opportunity. But I can't abide how much more danger this puts you in."

Mama adds, "Sounds like this alpha knew how to broach this. Didn't cock it up. And I agree with Mum, this is much more dangerous than what yer doing now. But sweetie, ya didn't see yerself when ya talked about what this would mean ta ya. And what doors it might open for other omegas like your brother."

You tear up. Both your moms see this for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is. You notice no one's mentioned the other half of Price's offer. "Dad?" you prompt, "Wha' da you think?"

Dad watches you for a few minutes, smiling but sad: you can see it in his eyes. "I think you need to say yes, honey. Even if it scares us more, i's the right thing fer you." Your moms don't chime in; they don't need to. But you need want their thoughts on becoming a pack omega, Dad's in particular.

"And the other part?" you ask quietly, looking away.

"Honey, becoming pack omega fer yor moms was one of the hardest and easiest decisions I ever made. I love yer moms," you watch their faces through his declaration, both putting a comforting hand somewhere on him, "and they gave me all of you pups. If Price is as good an alpha as he is a Captain, if 'e's a guiding hand for his pack, then you couldn't have a better mate. In the end, trust your omega."

And that's the crux of the matter isn't it. Your omega has been scratching at your hind brain all afternoon because she wants to take Price up on both offers as soon as possible, but you need to be smart about optics and your career.

You tell your parents you love them and thank them for their honesty, promising to tell them what you decide before the ink dries. You end the call with a few minutes to spare before dinner and take that time to pull your emotions together.

next

[aesthetically-dying101]

Wifed up

A/N: im trying this type of thing out, but what happens if the JJk men saw you without your wedding ring? (tbf, im sure this has been done by others before, i sure as hell aren't the first to write this, won't be the last.)im genuinely so scared of posting this lmfao, okay but anyways

Characters: Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Sukuna, Shiu. (in said order)

Nanami:

Nanami almost got whiplash when he noticed the ring—your wedding ring, for heaven’s sake—wasn’t on your finger.

But when he stepped through the door of your shared home, grocery bags in one hand, jacket slung over his arm, and caught sight of your bare hand…well, he nearly dropped the tomatoes.

It wasn’t like him to jump to conclusions—he prided himself on logic, on maturity. But standing in the doorway of your shared home, the scent of vanilla and butter wafting through the air, his heart skipped a beat for all the wrong reasons. He could see you through the archway leading into the kitchen, flour dusting your forearms, a faint smear of chocolate on your cheek.

You looked radiant, as always. But the empty space on your left hand? That detail stood out sharper than a curse in a crowd.

Nanami’s mind, traitorous for the first time in years, whispered an awful thought: Was she hiding it? Why? What if she’s inviting someone else over while I’m at work?

He hated the thought. Hated that it even crossed his mind. But he was only human—humans with hearts could be irrational, especially when they cared so deeply.

The seconds stretched, but his mind was already racing. His rational side kicked in almost immediately, reminding him that you were probably just taking it off while baking—something harmless, right? You’ve always done that. It’s just a ring.

But... It had been a conversation in the office that kept nagging at him all week. His coworker—someone he’d known for years—had just found out that his wife of ten years had been cheating on him. The betrayal had rocked him to his core, and for the last few days, Nanami had been wondering how something like that could happen. His mind lingered on the idea that a partner could hide something so big, and the doubt, for just a second, crawled into his own relationship. What if you were hiding it too?

He shook his head. Get a grip, Kento. Still, he couldn’t quite quell the question lingering at the edge of his thoughts.

“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.

You turned, a bright smile lighting up your face.

“You’re home early!” you exclaimed, wiping your hands on your apron.

“I am,” he replied, voice steady, though his sharp eyes didn’t miss the bare ring finger you so casually flaunted. “Where’s your ring?”

Your eyes widened in realization.

“Oh, that!” You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I took it off while baking. Didn’t want to get dough all over it. It’s right over there.”

You pointed to the windowsill by the sink, where sure enough, both your engagement and wedding rings sat neatly side by side.

Relief flooded him so fast it almost made him dizzy. He nodded, keeping his tone light. “I see. I suppose I should’ve known you wouldn’t be that careless with it.”

“Careless?” You scoffed, playfully offended. “I’m meticulous, thank you very much.”

He smiled faintly, his heart settling back into its usual rhythm. You stepped closer, your grin turning mischievous. Before he could react, your flour-dusted hand slapped his backside with an audible smack.

Nanami froze, incredulous, as you dissolved into laughter.

“There,” you declared between giggles. “I marked my territory. Now wash your hands and help me.”

Nanami followed you after shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie. He slipped off his own wedding ring and set it carefully beside yours on the counter before rolling up his sleeves. For the next hour, the two of you moved seamlessly, kneading dough and rolling croissants together. The air filled with the warmth of the oven and the soft melody of your laughter.

By the time the pastries were golden and flaky, Nanami leaned against the counter, his hand resting on your lower back. The soft touch quickly turned into something more as his lips brushed your temple, then your cheek. You turned to meet him halfway, mouths molding together in a kiss that deepened quickly, his hands firm against your waist.

Nanami’s lips were warm and urgent against yours, every brush of his mouth sending a shiver down your spine. His hands, once gently resting on your waist, now gripped you tighter, pulling you flush against him as your body aligned in all the right ways.

You could feel the heat building between you, your chest pressed against his as your hands worked on the button of his shirt with determination, your fingers fumbling only slightly as you pushed him further against the counter. He groaned against your lips when you tugged at his tie, undoing it with quick, practiced movements.

“Someone’s eager,” he teased, his voice low and rough, but the words disappeared as your lips traced the edge of his jaw-his perfect jaw, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck.

“I’ve been waiting all day,” you murmured, hands sliding down to the waistband of his pants. His breath hitched when you unbuckled his belt and slid your hand inside, brushing against him with the kind of intention that made him gasp, his body instinctively bucking into your touch.

You grinned against his skin, the heat of the moment clouding your mind. This wasn’t just about passion—it was about claiming him, showing him with every touch that he was the only one. You slid your hand lower, your fingers grazing him with a teasing pressure that made his breath quicken.

“You’re the only man I need, Nanami Kento,” you whispered, meeting his eyes as you pulled him closer, grinding your hips against his. The friction had your pulse racing, a primal need building in the pit of your stomach.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you even tighter against him as he kissed you again, this time with a desperation that matched yours. His lips were insistent, almost possessive, as his hands slipped under your shirt, his thumbs brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver.

The air was thick with heat, your body aching with want, when suddenly—

DING!

The oven timer went off.

You both froze.

The croissants.

“Oh no—!”

You shoved away from him with a frustrated gasp, already heading toward the kitchen, but not before you shot him a glance. “You’re so distracting!”

Nanami watched you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breath. His eyes darkened with amusement, and he chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

"We'll finish this later, don't worry."

Gojo

Gojo’s feet dragged heavily as he entered the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound. The weight of the mission still hung over him—bones aching, mind buzzing with residual adrenaline.

He didn’t want to think about the cursed spirits he'd just fought or the cursed techniques he'd barely been able to avoid using in full force. All he wanted now, all he craved, was the soft familiarity of home.

And you.

His wife.

There you were—curled up on the couch, your form relaxed and peaceful, your face lit by the flickering light of the TV screen. It looked like you'd fallen asleep while watching something, your body sinking into the cushions, soft and beautiful.

But then—

His eyes narrowed.

His eyes immediately fell to your left hand.

Empty.

No wedding ring. No engagement band.

His heart skipped a beat. For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. The weight of exhaustion, the tightness in his chest, everything—it all vanished in the face of that empty ring finger. His mind instantly went blank, and then... panic.

Where the hell is it?

A thousand questions shot through his head at once, each one more suffocating than the last. His mouth went dry, and he stepped closer to you, his mind reeling. It didn’t make sense. You’d always worn your rings, no matter what.

During the mission he hadn't used his Six Eyes and scan everything in the house, to check on you, but.... He’d been distracted. Too focused on that cursed mission, on the job, on things he shouldn’t have let slip.

His eyes flicked back to your hand, that empty space where your ring should have been. His mind spiraled further into dark thoughts.

She... She took it off? But why?

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Was this it? Had it finally happened? Was this the moment when everything changed? When you... left him?

He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t think.

Did she meet someone else?

His pulse quickened at the thought. He wanted to scream, to shout, but the silence around him felt suffocating. Every step closer to the couch felt like a thousand pounds pulling him down. He stopped in front of you, staring at your unconscious form, the way you seemed so... peaceful, like everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

What the hell is going on?

It was almost like a switch had flipped inside him—like something deep within him, something raw and protective, had been triggered. His anger, his fear—it boiled over. It had to be something. She wasn’t just going to forget her rings.

His voice was low, rough, as he bent down close to you, his tone colder than he meant it to be.

"Hey," he said, almost a hiss. "What the fuck is going on?"

His heart clenched at the coldness of his own words, but his fear was all-consuming. He needed answers. Now.

You stirred, your eyelids fluttering open at the sound of his voice, but it was the confusion in your gaze that stopped him for a second. For just a moment, it was like the anger and fear drained out of him, replaced with a spike of guilt. This wasn’t the way to approach you. He wasn’t supposed to be... scaring you. But he couldn’t help it.

What if I’m losing her?

You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry from sleep, but the panic in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

"Satoru...?" Your voice was soft, laced with that sweet, familiar confusion he loved. The panic in his eyes, the intensity in the way he stared down at you—it wasn’t the Gojo you were used to. He looked almost... unhinged.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you pushed yourself up slowly, feeling the exhaustion still clinging to your body. There was a fleeting second of fear that rose in you—this wasn’t how he usually acted.

What’s going on?

The man who had always been the first to laugh in the face of danger, the man who could break down any barrier with a joke or a smile, was now standing there—almost trembling. This was no playful teasing. No, there was something else in the way his body stiffened, the way his voice cracked with uncertainty.

His voice was a harsh, cold rasp as he bent down closer, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he wanted.

“What the fuck is going on?” He tried to keep his voice from trembling, "Where’s your ring?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Your hand instinctively went to your finger, but it was bare. You frowned. "Oh..." The fog of sleep was lifting now, and the look on his face was making your heart race.

But before you could even say anything else, Gojo’s eyes narrowed, and he straightened up, suddenly tense.

"I’m not playing games, [Y/N]." He could feel the anger bubbling up again, his breath coming faster. "What the hell is going on? You’ve been in this house, and now you’re not wearing it? Are you seriously gonna tell me it’s some accident?" He gestured wildly, his frustration impossible to hide.

You recoiled slightly, caught off guard by his tone. The fear in his voice, the desperation that edged every word, it hit you hard. He was scared.

But you could feel it, too. You could feel the rage he was hiding beneath his frustration, the doubt gnawing at him, the belief that something was wrong—that he wasn’t good enough to keep you.

The thought almost made you ache. You couldn’t believe he’d think that. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, so terrified that his wife had... what? Cheated on him?

"Gojo," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I didn’t—I didn’t take it off for any reason like that." You looked at him, trying to calm his rapid breath. "I was cleaning the bathroom earlier... with bleach. I didn’t want to risk damaging the rings, so I took them off and put them in a little dish in there while I worked. I... I must’ve forgotten to put them back on after I collapsed on the couch."

The explanation was so simple, so mundane, that Gojo felt an overwhelming rush of relief flood through him. He closed his eyes and sank back onto the couch, rubbing his face with both hands.

You were just tired.

You hadn’t been out with someone else. You hadn’t thrown away everything they’d built together.

His mind had created a monster out of nothing. He had jumped to conclusions because he was weak, scared of losing the only person who mattered. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, and yet, here he was, completely unraveling over the thought of you slipping away from him.

"God," he muttered, voice breaking slightly. "I thought you... I thought I wasn’t enough for you. That maybe you'd—"

"Stop," you cut him off, pulling him close with a soft tug on his shirt. You pressed your forehead to his chest, feeling the tension in his shoulders. "Don’t even think that, Satoru." You wrapped your arms around him, grounding him. "You’re my everything. I wouldn’t throw that away."

Gojo’s arms tightened around you, his face buried in your hair as he exhaled a shaky breath. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just the sound of your breathing and the rhythmic beat of your hearts.

When he finally pulled back, he cupped your face gently, his blue eyes searching yours with a mix of relief and affection. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"Next time," he said softly, almost shyly, "just leave a note. Like, ‘I’m cleaning and definitely not inviting other men over,’ so I don’t go insane."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but you couldn’t help but laugh. "Yeah, I’ll do that."

Gojo pulled you back into his arms, this time much softer, as if the whole world could melt away in this moment. He could feel his heart finally steadying. You were here, you were safe. The rest of it didn’t matter.

He kissed the top of your head, whispering softly, "Just promise me one thing, okay?"

You looked up at him.

"Never scare me like that again."

You smiled, a soft, sleepy smile, and nodded.

"I promise."

Geto:

The last thing on your mind was the delicate gold band around your finger, the symbol of your marriage to Geto, which you had carefully removed so as not to get it covered in dirt.

Geto paced through the entrance, his brow furrowed with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. After being away on business for a few days, the first thing he was told upon his return was that something had happened with you—his wife—and that you weren’t wearing your wedding rings.

Before he could utter a word, one of his cult followers had nervously approached him, eyes wide with anxiety.

"Master Geto... We... we noticed the absence of her rings. The lady—"

"Where is she?" he snapped, his voice low, yet carrying an unsettling edge.

His follower hesitated for just a second before pointing toward the garden. "She's there, with your daughters."

Geto’s heart skipped a beat. He clenched his fists, a flood of emotions threatening to overtake him. Did you really... no, he refused to believe it. You couldn't be removing your rings over something so trivial.

He strode quickly, irritation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. As he reached the garden, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

There you were, kneeling on the soft earth, laughing as his daughters ran circles around you, their giggles filling the air. You were covered in dirt from working in the garden all day.

You glanced up and saw him standing there, eyes dark with unspoken words. He was staring at you with a strange intensity.

“Suguru,” you said, wiping dirt from your cheek, and then you noticed the look in his eyes. His pupils were dilated, hands gripping the edge of the stone wall with white-knuckled intensity. “What’s the matter?”

His gaze dropped to your bare fingers before snapping back to your face.

"Why are you not wearing your rings?" he asked, his tone colder than usual.

You blinked. The question caught you off guard, and a wave of amusement flooded over you.

“What?” you asked, incredulity mixed with humor. "I just didn’t want to get them dirty. I’ve been in the garden all day with the girls.”

His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You think I care about that?" His voice rose a little, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You don't understand... how much it means to me—"

You stood up slowly, brushing your hands off and laughing softly. “Suguru, calm down. You’re acting like I’ve sold the rings for magic potions or something,” you teased, holding them out to him with a playful grin.

The sudden tension in the air seemed to break with your words. He stared at the rings, then back at you, his expression wavering between annoyance and relief. He wasn’t sure whether to be mad or laugh at himself for overreacting.

But when you walked toward him, digging in your pocket, then placing the rings back on his hand with an amused smirk, he couldn’t help but release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pulled you into a tight embrace, his chin resting against the top of your head.

"I was worried, okay?" he muttered. "I've done so much for you, and I... I couldn’t figure out what was going on."

You snorted, wrapping your arms around him. "You’re a disaster sometimes, you know that?"

"I’m just... protective," he mumbled, his voice now laced with a touch of vulnerability.

"You’re sweet," you said, smiling up at him, "but a little too protective for your own good sometimes."

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small, tender smile from forming on his lips.

“I can’t help it when it comes to you... And these,” he added, tapping the rings, “are more important than you realize.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers tracing the edges of his rings.

"I know, Suguru. But I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t want to ruin them in the dirt. I still love you just as much."

His hands gently cupped your face as he gazed down at you. “I know. But if you ever take them off again, make sure I’m there when you do."

You raised an eyebrow. “You want to be the one to take them off for me?” you teased.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe I’ll start taking them off myself, then.”

You laughed, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the lips. His arms tightened around you, the world outside of the garden fading into the background.

Your laugh echoed in the air, soft and sweet, as the tension between you melted into a comfortable warmth. Suguru leaned his forehead against yours, his breath a little ragged from the release of his worries.

"You're impossible, you know that?" you whispered, pressing your lips against his.

"Only when it comes to you," he replied softly, his smile genuine and fond. "But I love you anyway."

Toji:

It was a late afternoon when Toji returned home, exhausted but relieved to be done with another job. He stepped into the quiet apartment, the faint smell of Megumi’s favorite snacks still lingering in the air. It had been a good day for the boy, he’d told Toji earlier that he’d had fun at the park with you.

Toji was just about to toss his jacket aside and relax when something on the bathroom counter caught his eye. His wedding ring. But... not hers. Her band was sitting alone next to the sink, glinting in the dim light, empty.

His heart skipped a beat.

His stomach twisted. He couldn’t breathe for a second.

He picked up her ring, turning it over in his hands as if some answer would magically appear. But nothing came. The silence in the bathroom was suffocating, and his chest began to tighten as his mind spiraled into chaos.

She wouldn't... But the thought was there, like a seed growing inside him.

Shit. Not again.

It had happened once before—his ex, the woman who had broken his trust in ways that still haunted him. That memory burned his skin like acid as the anger surged through him. He could feel the old rage coming back, the bitterness of betrayal cutting deeper than ever before.

He paced in a circle, trying to make sense of it. His mind raced—had she really gone that far? Were they just another statistic, another couple destroyed by his own mistrust? He couldn’t imagine it. Not with her.

But there it was: the absence of her ring. What else was he supposed to think?

His hands trembled as he grabbed his phone, fists clenching around it as he typed out a text to Shiu: She’s gone. I fucking knew it. Packing. She’s been seeing someone else.

The words were harsh, but they felt right in the moment. The ring was gone, the reminder of what they had was now nothing but a cruel joke. He stormed into the bedroom, ripping open the closet doors. His mind was working too fast to think straight—he started shoving clothes into a bag, his chest tight. He should have never trusted her. Never allowed himself to be vulnerable.

He allowed her to become a stepmother to Megumi, let her get close to his son. And now, this. How could I be so stupid? he thought bitterly.

Toji’s blood boiled, and his mind spiraled further into the pit of grief and disbelief. He’d let his guard down, let her become a part of his life, a part of his family, and now this? He slammed a fist against the wall, shaking with fury.

An hour passed. He didn’t care. The world outside continued as usual, but in here, in his heart, everything was falling apart. He couldn’t do this again. He wasn’t going to let someone else ruin him.

Then, the sound of the door clicking open interrupted his spiral.

He turned, eyes wild, ready to unleash all of his pent-up rage.

And then he saw you. Megumi was holding your hand, looking at him confused, but his gaze didn’t linger long on the kid.

“Is everything okay?” she asked cautiously, eyeing the half-packed bag by the door.

"Where the hell is your ring?" Toji's voice was low, laced with the venom he was trying to suppress. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring her down. "Where's your fucking wedding ring?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

Toji's glare didn’t soften, and he lifted her ring from the counter, letting it dangle between his fingers. "I thought we were past this bullshit. Thought you’d at least have the decency to—"

She deadpanned, and without a word, raised her hand to his face. His eyes followed her hand, expecting some gesture of defiance, some excuse. But then he froze, seeing the bandaged pinky and ring finger on her hand, the fabric wrapped tightly in place.

Her gaze was flat, her voice devoid of humor as she stated, “I didn’t want to lose my damn finger. It’s swollen, and I couldn’t take the risk of it getting worse. I thought you’d be worried about that.”

Toji stared at her hand, feeling the rage that had consumed him moments before start to fade, replaced by a dull ache in his chest.

“You—” He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. He dropped her ring back onto the counter, as if the weight of it suddenly felt too much.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his head lowering, suddenly feeling like a fool. His fists unclenched, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes right now, but his voice cracked with regret. “I thought... I thought you were—”

"Cheating on you?" You finished the sentence for him with a quiet, amused tone, raising an eyebrow. You slowly walked over to him, your expression softening.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to hide the embarrassment in his voice. “I fucked up, huh?”

You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Toji... really? You thought I was gonna leave?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “I’ll make you dinner, okay? Just... next time, try asking before packing your bags.”

He let out a defeated sigh, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. “Yeah, yeah. I overreacted. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You kissed him... which quickly turned into more, until:

"Ew."

You broke the kiss, laughing lightly.

Sukuna:

It was an ordinary day at the palace—at least, that’s what it seemed like. The sun streamed through the large paper windows, casting a soft light on the traditional tatami mats, where you were seated, diligently working on your calligraphy with Uraume. The brush glided over the paper as the delicate strokes formed beautiful characters, ink staining the tips of your fingers as you focused.

Your wedding ring, that simple yet precious band that bound you to the King of Curses, was nowhere to be seen. It was placed on the nearby wooden table to avoid smudging ink on its gleaming surface.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence.

"Where is it?"

The low, thunderous tone could only mean one thing: Sukuna was furious. His eyes—four of them—narrowed as they scanned you, focusing on your left hand where the ring should’ve been. His breath quickened as the pressure in the room thickened.

Uraume, sensing the tension, stepped back slowly, not daring to make a sound. You, however, remained seated, doing your best to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. You couldn’t help it—Sukuna? Jealous? Oh, this was going to be entertaining.

"What are you talking about?" you asked innocently, not lifting your gaze from the ink-stained paper.

"The ring, woman," Sukuna growled. "You know exactly what I mean. Where is it?" His voice shook with a barely contained fury as he approached.

You could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. The air around him crackled with murderous intent, but it was impossible to ignore the mix of frustration and… confusion? Ah, he didn’t know what to think, and that only made it funnier.

"I left it off for now," you replied casually, trying to mask your amusement. "I didn’t want to get ink on it while I was working with Uraume."

"Don’t lie," Sukuna hissed, his four arms crossing tightly in front of him. "You’re telling me you, a lowly human, can’t even remember where you left your precious wedding ring?" His voice was cutting, sharp as a blade.

You almost snorted, but you swallowed the laugh just in time. Oh, Sukuna really was something else when he was jealous. The sheer audacity of him to think you’d even remotely be unfaithful was beyond hilarious.

You stood up slowly, turning to face him as he loomed over you like an ominous cloud. His eyes were wild, like he was ready to destroy everything in his path.

"Is that why you’re so upset?" you teased, the corners of your mouth curling up. "You really think I would take off my ring to… go play around with someone else?"

Sukuna’s gaze flickered. His four arms twitched as if to lash out at you, but he held himself back. The tension in the air was suffocating.

"Don’t play with me," he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "What kind of fool do you think I am?"

You couldn’t help yourself anymore. The laughter bubbled up inside you, and you laughed, covering your mouth as you did so. Sukuna stared at you, his eyes burning with confusion and fury. He looked like a king who’d just been betrayed, but somehow even more terrifying in that moment.

"Oh, come on," you teased further, walking up to him and standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "You didn’t seem to think I was a ‘lowly human’ a couple of days ago when you were pounding into me like a savage."

Sukuna’s eyes widened in surprise, and his face turned a shade darker, his body stiffening with rage.

"Don’t you dare," he spat, his four arms reaching out and grabbing you by the waist with a force that would make most humans break. But you? You weren’t just any human. You were his human.

"And now you’re talking about it?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low. "You’re trying to make me look like a fool, huh?"

Despite his anger, you couldn’t suppress your grin.

"You’re the one who’s acting like a fool, Sukuna. Jealousy doesn’t suit you."

His eyes narrowed further, but he didn’t admit he was wrong. No, he wouldn’t do that. Instead, with one swift motion, he picked you up, his grip unyielding. His four arms surrounded you, holding you close.

"You’re lucky I don’t kill every single person in this palace for daring to let you out of my sight without that damn ring on your finger," he muttered through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. The fact that Sukuna—the Sukuna—was losing his temper over something as trivial as a ring was almost too ridiculous. Almost.

"All this over a ring?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, still smiling. "Really, Sukuna? You almost killed everyone because I took off my ring for a couple of hours?"

He didn’t respond, but his grip tightened around you, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you toward your shared quarters. As he walked, you wrapped your arms around his neck, not able to stop the teasing smile on your face.

"You’re kind of cute when you're jealous, you know that?" you teased, nuzzling his neck lightly.

Sukuna’s eyes flickered to you, the hint of a growl rumbling in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. The king of curses was undeniably a jealous man, even if he refused to admit it.

And when he finally laid you down on the futon in your quarters, his hands were soft—almost gentle—as he placed a hand on your cheek, his expression still dark but… not as angry as before.

"I’m not going to let you out of my sight again," he murmured, eyes burning with possessiveness. "You’re mine."

You smiled, reaching up to touch his face. "I’m yours," you whispered back.

And just like that, all the tension in the air seemed to melt away, leaving only the comfort of being together.

Shiu:

Shiu Kong was not a man prone to sentimental gestures or overt displays of affection. His love was quiet, steady, and often hidden beneath his sharp tongue and stern demeanor. But he was observant—painfully so. It was this keen eye for detail that had always served him well in his work. Today, however, it left him grappling with a tight knot of unease that coiled around his chest like a curse.

You hadn’t been wearing your wedding ring.

Shiu noticed it that morning when he passed you in the kitchen. You were distracted, bustling around with your usual energy, and when you handed him his coffee, his sharp eyes caught the faint, bare line on your finger.

No glint of the ring he’d placed there.

It wasn’t like you to forget something like that. Shiu wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but the thought nagged at him throughout the day. The image of your bare hand replayed in his mind as he handled the paperwork on his desk, and when the hours dragged on, so did his thoughts.

Were you upset about something? Did the ring bother you? Or—no, that was ridiculous—was it deliberate?

His workday felt endless. By the time he stepped into the apartment, his shoulders were tight with tension. Shiu kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie, his heart heavier than he cared to admit.

“Hey,” you called from the kitchen, bright and cheerful. “You’re home! Dinner’s almost ready.”

He stepped into the room, leaning casually against the doorframe. But you knew him too well to miss the way his brow furrowed or the faint stiffness in his posture.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head.

Shiu’s lips pressed into a thin line. He never shied away from confrontation, but this… he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Still, he was Shiu Kong, and hesitation wasn’t in his nature.

“You weren’t wearing your ring this morning,” he said bluntly, his voice even but laced with an edge of something vulnerable.

You blinked, startled, before looking down at your hand as if just realizing the absence yourself. “Oh!” You quickly held up both hands, palms open. “It’s not what you think. I took them to the jeweler to get cleaned today. I didn’t want to forget and leave them on, so I took them off last night.”

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he exhaled a slow, almost imperceptible breath. “That’s it?”

“Of course that’s it!” you said, laughing. “What, did you think I was mad at you or something?”

Shiu clicked his tongue, his usual deadpan expression returning, though the faintest flicker of relief danced in his eyes. “Tch. You could’ve mentioned it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

You stepped closer, reaching for his hand and squeezing it with a warm smile. “Sorry, I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

You winked and he grumbled something under his breath, but his fingers curled around yours, holding on just a little tighter than usual.

Later that night, when you slipped the ring back onto your finger and flashed it proudly at him, Shiu allowed himself the barest smirk. He didn’t say anything, of course, but the way his hand lingered on your back when he walked past spoke volumes.

Maybe he wasn’t the romantic type, but damn if he didn’t love seeing that ring on your finger.

A/N: oki so this was an attempt, i dunno if this is any good but hey, you live you learn

Masterlist

:)

[grimaldiapologist]

Writing on a blog dedicated, at least in spirit, to our dissociative identity disorder, this is something that fascinates me. For context - living with the poster child disorder of "that's not even real" and "you're just faking it to get out of jail" and "you're just histrionic with bpd I know this because I took a psych class once in uni", that some fucking airheads still make their paycheck "criticising" in the psychology field (and teaching), the fear of being declared a faker, an attention seeker, a liar, a self-centered and stage-obsessed criminal-until-proven-otherwise came as a free package with the diagnosis. Just the suspicion of the diagnosis was enough for all of those labels. From whom? Everyone.

The first time I dared to open my mouth to my psychiatric nurse, she was putting me against the wall for lying and omitting, because in her view, I was doing too well with no explanation. In reality, at that point, I'd spent some months after becoming aware of the system getting to know them and reading up on how to get the basics of communication together, and working through the first chapters of Coping With Trauma-Related Dissociation, which helped us understand what we needed to do with one another in order to stabilise and feel safer in our everyday life. Things were actually going wonderfully, I wasn't lying, but I was omitting, yes. I was omitting, because even though at that point I knew nothing about DID beyond what I was learning from resources and my friend/now partner, who'd been in the community for a long time and gave us crucial peer support in terms of figuring our situation out, I knew extremely well the stigma associated with "split personality", and our first and primary instinct has always been to hide and cover the existence of the system.

But she was forcing it, so I told her. I was asking for help, yes, but with the context of doing so well - we were winning, and we wanted to keep winning.

She promptly told us we weren't allowed to leave, and started to set us up for involuntary inpatient stay. Exactly what we'd been afraid of the most: that "the psychiatric system" would imprison us and kill us, kill the parts of us who were vulnerable, with cocktails of medication in padded rooms and straitjackets and whatnot that we'd seen in the movies. (And, to a degree, during our actual inpatient stay years before.)

The resident psychiatrist did a quick evaluation of us and released us after, clearly annoyed at the nurse for overreacting and putting us in the extremely triggered and traumatised state that we were in, but it did permanent damage.

Very soon after, we discovered the online "discourse" on the validity of DID, and the "fake claiming" communities. This is all we inherited, first thing, with our diagnosis - which we did get after the above clusterfuck, within a year, with the aid of a specialising therapist and years of notes from our history, or so I assume. I can't remember, it's been years, and I have DID. The point is, even the DID community itself demands that you will never show a bright side to your disorder.

You either suffer all of the time, always, you hate yourself, you hate your other selves, you want to die, and you're forever a mess and you're in eternal war against yourself, or you're faking.

We are not this way and have never been. Prior to discovering the system, we were poorly. To spare the details, at 29 when we were diagnosed, we hadn't worked a day in our lives, dropped out of school at 12, and spent about a decade locked indoors with suicidal spirals being the expected main event of every three days or so. But our main strength has been our us, the family that we have, and the care that we've shown each other all along. Even if we can't love ourselves, we can love each other, and after learning communication - learning to listen, learning to talk - we've been doing phenomenally. Our condition has changed from treatment-resistant and debilitating to actually, we no longer need SSRI medication at all, after being on it for our whole lives. And luckily, this is enough proof for us, but not the world.

No, we're now in that funny place where our partially treated trauma/dissociative disorder looks like too much fun to the world. We're fine and we love each other. We indulge in dressup, we have our own silly little blogs and journals each with their own specific equipment like fancy ink pens and wares of stickers and decor, we have galleries of fake Instagram pictures of ourselves, we use PluralKit on Discord and talk to ourselves like we own the chat - among friends, anyway, or just between ourselves in our private one. All of this means we're fake, fake, fake, fake. God forbid a man has fun. God forbid a woman takes an afternoon to herself to give herself a makeover and go on a date. God forbid a guy just wants to feel comfortable and laugh and express himself, or have a chat with his closest friends.

We're not in enough pain all of the time to be "true" DID anymore. If we were "true" DID then we'd still be in the untreated, pre-diagnosed state. This is a stagnant disorder of identities that may never experience growth or true humanity. All I am allowed to be is a filthy, incapable hikikomori afraid of the world, because anything else is fucking weird to people.

I'm sorry, but. None of your fucking business. I've spent 33 years of my life split squarely on a tightrope over the chasms of "I don't want to die" and "I want to kill myself now". I'm 33 fucking years old and I've earned my goddamn license to feel good, actually. I'm allowed to be fucking weird because I'm developmentally disabled. I will never not be the way that I am, and I also have no intentions to ever be anything but the way that I am, I'm just aiming to be better at it.

This now means that I'm not actually allowed to talk about my disorder... basically anywhere but here and in therapy. No matter where I go, people treat me like a criminal. People who don't have DID tell me I'm faking for clout and larping (LARPing is great by the way and you should absolutely try it out instead of using it as a weird slur online) and they're the champions of true sufferers who are there to nobly remind me that REAL people with DID are actually so in pain all of the time and dying unrecognised while freaks like me... post on Tumblr for attention or whatever I don't fucking know I'm still disabled and in chronic pain and I can't do shit with myself regardless of our overall improvement - and people with DID tell me what I have isn't real DID and I'm "anti-recovery" or whatever because I don't subscribe to their specific dogma of recovery (which, for the record, every single microcosm of the recovery community has their own version of, and they all hate each other for it). The latest edition of how this fucked us over was our choice to write frankly about the positive sides of how the often negatively portrayed coping mechanisms of DID can be turned to work for recovery, and how things like substitute beliefs (believing things that are factually untrue such as 'I am an actual dragon trapped in a human suit' when you're not) can be used not to distance one from reality to escape but help one adapt into it (because I am a dragon in a human suit, a dentist cannot scare me), and had the whole conversation just without warning or any sort of notice deleted from the community. Mods never replied to my request on clarity on what the fuck they were doing and why, and I haven't been back in the community since, either.

And it's hilarious. The whole fucking thing is hilarious. You're faking it if you've recovered too much, because a true sufferer of a severe mental health condition would never recover, but if you don't recover enough, you're anti-recovery, and therefore also faking. There's a slim venue of acceptable suffering in an eternal still-shot in the middle, but you're not actually allowed to exist beyond it or past it in any capacity.

The only true DID case is a non-person who is incapable of growth and change, for a disorder that is all about identity, which by definition is all about growth and change.

I'm so tired of it. Sorry, freaks, I'm gonna freak the way that I freak from now on. I'm too well-adjusted these days to be your perfectly martyred poster patient.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.

[holyblonded]

baby fever | birds of a feather

parings: paige bueckers x black!oc, irene paredes x platonic!oc

summary: while paige is in spain for the summer, she and cecilia babysit mateo for irene

warning: mentions of knives and i think that’s it tell me if i am wrong

notes: this was genuinely the cutest thing to write 🙏🏾 manito is short for hermanito

Cecilia laid on the dune sofa in her apartment, her long legs were placed over Paige's lap as said blonde sat in a cloud of anxiety.

"Baby, are you sure everything will be okay? We've never been responsible for a human that wasn't one of my siblings," Paige voiced her worries to the striker next to her.

Cecilia sent Paige a warm smile. "Don't worry Amor. Mateo is basically my sibling and he's a relatively easy toddler. You just have to play legos with him and he's fine. Oh! Recently he's been into outer space so entertain him on that topic-"

Cecilia's ramble was cut off by the doorbell followed by a rhythmic, yet familiar knock. Once Cecilia moved out, Alexia insisted that there should be a certain knock that all younger and veteran players know for security reasons. Many members like Irene take it seriously— Cecilia hated the knock, which ironically was the beat of the Barcelona Anthem song.

"That's Irene and Lucía," Cecilia announced as her feet carried her towards the door with Paige following close behind. Before Cecilia could open the door, it was opened by a visibly disappointed Irene and a smiling Lucía holding an excited toddler.

"Maitea (sweetheart), why is your door unlocked?" Irene fussed. "That's very dangerous, you don't know who's around."

"There's no one else around," Cecilia deadpanned and she wasn't wrong. Across the hall, the only other people on her floor was Jana and Kika who were both currently home. Not to mention the whole complex was high security.

"Eso no importa (that doesn't matter)," Irene insisted. "Se trata de su seguridad (it's about your safety)."

"Ay, stop fussing, Irene. Cari is grown," Lucía argued in honor of the now twenty year old who she handed over Mateo to. The boy plopped his head down on Cecilia's shoulder and looked at Paige who smiled at him. Mateo smiled back but shoved his face into her neck and waved back at Paige.

"Thanks again for watching him, Cari," Lucía thanked, placing a kiss on Cecilia and Mateo's forehead "Thank you, Paige. Bye, loves."

"Thank you, Paige," Irene followed her wife's lead placing a kiss on the young ones foreheads before closing the door and using a button to lock it.

Cecilia turned around with Mateo in her arms, "Hey, Manito (brother) . Do you remember Paige?"

Mateo shyly nodded, remembering the girl from the celebration party for the championship win the other day.

"Hey, Mateo," Paige greeted as Mateo slightly peaked out from his hiding spot. "Want to play with legos?"

This obviously piqued Mateo's interest as he squirmed to be released from Cecilia's hold and grabbed Paige's hand to pull her towards the Lego bin Cecilia had for him.

Paige sat cross-legged on the living room floor as Mateo eagerly dove into the colorful bin of Legos, his small hands sifting through the pile with purpose.

"What should we build?" Paige asked, leaning forward with a smile that matched the toddler's enthusiasm.

"A spaceship!" Mateo declared, his face lighting up at the idea.

"Of course, a spaceship. Good call," Paige said, her tone serious as though the toddler had just proposed the most genius idea.

Cecilia leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, watching them with an amused grin. "Make sure it has wings and room for astronauts, Mateo. You can't have a spaceship without those," she teased lightly.

"Baby, do you want to help?" Paige asked without looking up, already piecing together the ship's base.

Cecilia shook her head. "Nope. I'm leaving this masterpiece to the two of you. I'll start on lunch."

She made her way into the kitchen, the sounds of pots clinking and cupboards opening mixing with the lively chatter between Paige and Mateo. Every now and then, Cecilia would glance over her shoulder to see Paige carefully listening to Mateo's instructions, his small hands guiding hers to place the Legos exactly where he wanted them.

"Look, Cece!" Mateo exclaimed, holding up their completed spaceship proudly.

"It's amazing, Manito! And so fast! It must be the best spaceship in all of Barcelona," Cecilia praised as she set a cutting board on the counter. "But I need my two engineers in the kitchen now. We have a very important mission: making sandwiches."

Mateo jumped up eagerly and grabbed Paige's hand, tugging her toward the kitchen.

"Alright, Chef Cecilia, what's the plan?" Paige asked playfully as she lifted Mateo onto a stool at the counter.

"Mateo can help me with the peanut butter and jelly, and you, my sous chef, can chop fruit," Cecilia replied, handing Paige a knife and a bowl of strawberries.

The kitchen became a hub of laughter and tiny mishaps. Mateo accidentally smeared peanut butter on Cecilia's cheek, prompting a playful scolding. Paige sneakily ate a strawberry, earning a mock glare from Cecilia. Eventually, the trio sat down at the small table to enjoy their simple but heartfelt meal.

After lunch, Paige followed Cecilia into the bedroom with Mateo in tow, the toddler already rubbing his eyes sleepily. Cecilia carefully tucked Mateo into the small toddler bed she kept in the spare room for visits.

"Do you want a song, Manito?" Cecilia asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

Mateo nodded, his eyes half-closed. Cecilia sat on the edge of the bed and began to sing a soft Catalan lullaby, her voice gentle and melodic. Paige stood in the doorway, her heart swelling as she watched Cecilia's calm and nurturing demeanor.

When Mateo was finally asleep, Cecilia quietly left the room and closed the door behind her. She turned to find Paige leaning against the wall, her expression a mix of admiration and something else Cecilia couldn't quite place.

"You're amazing with him," Paige whispered.

Cecilia smiled, reaching for her hand. "He's easy to love."

Paige hesitated, her fingers tightening around Cecilia's. "I think I might have baby fever.”

Cecilia blinked in surprise before a soft laugh escaped her lips. "You? Miss 'I can barely keep plants alive'?"

"I'm serious!" Paige whispered, laughing despite herself. "Watching you with Mateo... I started thinking about our future. I don't know, maybe not right away, but someday."

Cecilia's teasing expression softened. "You'd want kids with me?"

"Of course," Paige said, her voice steady. "You'd be an amazing mom, Cece. Watching you today just confirmed that for me."

Cecilia's cheeks flushed, and she pulled Paige closer, resting her forehead against hers. "Someday," she murmured. "I'd like that too. But for now, let's practice with Mateo and see if we survive the rest of the day."

Paige laughed quietly. "Deal."

[iamgonnagetyouback]

childhood sweethearts and paper rings

james potter x reader where you both realize your love through paper rings

↬ word count : 3,438 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : fluff overload, pining, a sprinkle of angst but resolved quickly, excessive paper rings

↬ inspired from : (a bit) ➺ paper rings by taylor swift ♡

↬ author's note : childhood best friends to lovers is james potter’s ultimate trope. argue with the wall.

navigation┆james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter was seven years old when he decided that he was going to marry you. He didn’t understand much about marriage—only that it meant you’d be together forever, which sounded like the best thing in the world. After all, you were his best friend, and if forever wasn’t you, then who else could it be for?

The Potters and your family were close friends, and most weekends, you were bundled into the fireplace to floo to their house. James would meet you on the other side, grinning wildly and already tugging your arm to drag you outside. The two of you were inseparable, whether you were building forts in the garden or chasing each other around with toy brooms.

“Sunny, you’re supposed to catch it!” James exclaimed one summer afternoon as he tossed a quaffle your way. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up impatiently.

“I’m trying!” you yelled back, laughing as the ball sailed past your outstretched arms. You were too busy giggling to notice James running to retrieve it. He came back with dirt on his knees and his hair even messier than usual.

“We’ll practice until you’re as good as me,” he declared, puffing out his chest in mock importance.

You scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at him. “What if I don’t want to be good at Quidditch? What if I want to be the best cake-eater in the world?”

James grinned, his own cheeks turning pink. “Then I’ll be the second-best. We can do it together.”

By the time you were eight, James had discovered the fine art of crafting paper rings. It started when he saw his mum making origami flowers for a party. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed near the good parchment—but his dad handed him some scraps, and the rest was history.

The first paper ring James gave you was lopsided, crumpled at the edges, and had a faint ink smudge from where he’d tried to draw a flower on it. You’d accepted it with wide, delighted eyes, slipping it onto your finger like it was made of gold.

“What’s this for?” you’d asked, holding it up to inspect the crooked folds.

“It’s…” James hesitated, suddenly bashful. “It’s a promise. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be there for you.”

You grinned so brightly he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll always be there for you too, Jamie!” you chirped, and the name stuck, much to his parents’ amusement.

At nine, you and James built a treehouse. Or at least, you started to. James had insisted on using magic, and after much begging and wheedling, his mum had charmed a few planks of wood into place.

“It’ll be our secret hideout,” James said as you hammered nails into the rickety ladder.

“For what?” you asked, holding the ladder steady. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, and there was a streak of mud on your cheek, but you couldn’t have been happier.

“For… secret plans,” James decided. “Like how we’ll sneak extra pudding without anyone noticing.”

You beamed. “And maybe we can put all the paper rings here too. Like a treasure chest!”

He thought that was the best idea ever.

By ten, James had made you more paper rings than either of you could count. Some were decorated with little doodles, others with clumsy attempts at flowers or hearts. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasuring them like the precious artifacts they were.

One rainy afternoon, you and James sat cross-legged on the rug in his room, watching the droplets streak down the window.

“Sunny,” James said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you know what love is?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Not really. I think it’s when someone makes you really happy. Like my mum when she bakes my favorite cookies.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think it’s when someone does things for you. Like… like when you gave me the bigger half of your pie last week.”

You grinned, your toothy smile making his cheeks heat up. “Then I think love is when you gave me your scarf when I was cold.”

He grinned back, lopsided and bright. “Maybe love is when we’re best friends forever.”

When you turned eleven, everything began to change. A letter arrived, delivered by an official-looking owl, and James practically dragged you across the room to celebrate.

“We’re going to Hogwarts together!” he exclaimed, lifting you off the ground in his excitement. “This is going to be the best year ever!”

You squealed, clutching onto him as he spun you around. “Jamie, I’m so excited!”

Later that day, he gave you another paper ring. It was neater this time, folded carefully with gold-trimmed parchment he’d begged off his mum.

“This one’s special,” James said solemnly as you slipped it onto your finger.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Because it’s the last one before Hogwarts,” he said. “But I’ll make you loads more when we’re there.”

You beamed, clutching the ring to your chest. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” he promised.

And that was the thing about James Potter. Even when he didn’t fully understand what love was, he knew one thing: it was always going to be you.

At Hogwarts, you quickly became part of the infamous Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and you. Whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks or plotting pranks on the Slytherins, the five of you were inseparable.

James had a knack for getting the group into trouble, and you had a knack for talking your way out of it.

“It’s not my fault Snape looks so funny when his robes turn pink,” James argued one day, as you all hid in an empty classroom after a particularly successful prank.

“You used an entire bottle of dye,” Remus pointed out dryly, though he was biting back a smile.

“Totally worth it,” Sirius said, high-fiving James.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Do you think he’ll ever figure out it was us?”

“Who cares?” you said, laughing. “Jamie, you’re brilliant.”

James beamed at your praise, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

But while James was fearless in most things, there was one subject that turned him into a bumbling mess: Lily Evans, although you understood the feeling, cause she was gorgeous.

“Merlin’s beard, just look at her,” James sighed dreamily one afternoon as the five of you sat under a tree by the Black Lake. Lily was a few yards away, reading a book and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

James turned red. “I am not!”

“You absolutely are,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “If you’re going to pine, at least do it with some dignity, Prongs.”

“I’m not pining!” James protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You drew a heart with her initials in your Transfiguration notes yesterday.”

“I did not!” James said, horrified.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “You did. I saw it too.”

You burst out laughing, leaning into James as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Jamie, it’s okay to have a crush. Especially if it's on Evans. I do too but the difference is you’re terrible at hiding it.”

“You lot are the worst,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

Despite the relentless teasing, you were always James’ biggest supporter. When he finally worked up the courage to ask Lily out in your fifth year, you were the one who gave him the pep talk beforehand.

“You’re James Potter,” you said firmly, gripping his shoulders. “You’re charming, funny, and completely brilliant. If she doesn’t say yes, it’s her loss.”

James smiled nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently.

And even though a small part of you felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name, you pushed it aside. Because James was your best friend, and you’d always be there for him—just like he’d always be there for you.

It happened gradually, so slowly that you didn’t notice at first. The paper rings, once a constant in your life, became fewer and fewer. By sixth year, they stopped altogether. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, you and James were still thick as thieves. He was busy with Quidditch, the Marauders, and his relentless pursuit of Lily Evans.

But deep down, you missed them.

Then one day, an owl from your parents arrived during breakfast in the Great Hall. You tore open the envelope eagerly, only to feel your stomach drop as you read the letter.

The treehouse at the Potters burned down.

Your chest ached as you reread the words. The treehouse, your secret hideout, the place where you’d kept all the paper rings James had ever given you—gone. Reduced to ashes.

You left the Great Hall in a daze, clutching the letter as tears blurred your vision. It wasn’t just a treehouse. It was years of memories, laughter, and promises that now felt lost forever. You needed to tell James. He would understand.

You found him in the courtyard, a broad grin on his face as he spoke animatedly to Lily. She was laughing, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and for a moment, you hesitated.

Then you saw it: a paper ring in his hand. Your heart clenched painfully as he turned it over in his fingers, showing it to Lily with the same excitement he’d once reserved for you.

You felt a lump form in your throat. It was silly, really. You’d known for years that James fancied Lily. You’d encouraged him, teased him, supported him. And yet, seeing him with a paper ring—your paper ring—meant for her…

It felt like losing a part of yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could see you, the letter crumpled in your hand. As you hurried back to the common room, you tried to push the image from your mind, but it clung stubbornly.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe Lily had finally agreed to a date. Maybe the ring wasn’t even for her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the ache in your chest told a different story.

You didn’t sleep much that night. The weight of the treehouse’s destruction—and the memories it held—pressed heavily on your chest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to breakfast, your usual bubbly demeanor dimmed.

James was already there, sitting with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, recounting some Quidditch play. He caught sight of you as you approached, and his grin faltered.

“Morning, sunny,” he greeted, nudging the bench beside him. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

You plopped down next to him, twisting the edge of your sleeve. “James… the..the treehouse, it burned down.”

His face froze, confusion quickly giving way to shock. “What?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

You handed him the crumpled letter. He read it, his expression shifting to heartbreak. “Our treehouse? The one we built with my mum’s old cushions and all the fairy lights?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “All the paper rings… they were in there, James.”

For a moment, he just stared at the letter. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like they used to when you were kids, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the familiar scent of parchment and pine comfort you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—”

You missed the way his breath hitched, his soft oh of realization. Missed the quick glance he threw across the table to Lily, whose knowing gaze met his. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, as if she understood something neither of you had quite pieced together yet.

But you were too caught up in the hug, too lost in your own heartbreak to notice anything else.

James Potter was not one to do things halfway. The moment he realized how much those paper rings had meant to you, he made it his mission to bring them back into your life in abundance. It started small—a single paper ring folded neatly and tucked into your Potions book during class.

“James,” you whispered, holding it up with an amused smile. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he whispered back, grinning mischievously before turning back to Slughorn’s lecture like he hadn’t just slid a tiny masterpiece of folded parchment into your life.

But James Potter didn’t stop at small. Soon, the paper rings started appearing everywhere. One in your bag during Transfiguration. Another tucked into your scarf at breakfast. A stack of them slid under your pillow one night. He even charmed one to float down from the owlery like a paper snowflake as you walked past.

The grandest moment came during Defense Against the Dark Arts. James, thinking he was being discreet, crept over to your desk mid-lecture to slip a particularly colorful ring onto your parchment. Just as he leaned down, a shadow loomed over both of you.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. The class went silent, every head swiveling to witness James Potter caught red-handed.

James straightened, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just delivering a very important piece of classwork, Professor,” he said smoothly, holding up the paper ring as if it were a prized essay.

McGonagall’s lips twitched, though she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But if I catch you again, you’ll be writing lines until your quill runs out of ink.”

“Yes, Professor,” James said solemnly, though his wink to Sirius betrayed him.

As McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, you swore you saw her glance over her shoulder and wink—wink—at you. For a moment, you questioned your sanity.

By the end of the week, you had more paper rings than you knew what to do with. You didn’t have the heart to throw them away—not after all the effort James had gone to—so you started collecting them in an old chocolate box you found in your dorm.

Every night, you added the day’s rings to the collection, tracing your fingers over the creases and folds as you smiled to yourself. It was ridiculous, really. They were just bits of paper, after all. But each one felt like a tiny promise—a reminder of a boy who made the world brighter simply by being in it.

It was another morning at the Gryffindor table, and James was unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be drumming his fingers on the table, bantering with Sirius, or laughing at something Peter said. But today, he was poking at his eggs, lost in thought.

Remus noticed first. Of course, he did. “You haven’t mentioned Lily in a while,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened? Did she finally hex you into silence?”

Sirius barked a laugh, and Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice. But James just shrugged, looking nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” he said casually, as if he weren’t about to drop a bombshell. “Well… that’s not happening.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. “Really?” you blurted, a little too loudly. You immediately ducked your head, heat rushing to your cheeks.

James smirked, but it wasn’t his usual mischievous one—it was softer, more thoughtful. “Yeah, she kind of pointed out that I might have feelings for someone else.”

The table went silent. Even Sirius, who rarely let anything keep him quiet for long, was staring at James in surprise.

“And?” Remus prompted, leaning forward like he already knew the answer.

“And I realized… she was right,” James admitted, his voice quieter now.

“Oh,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” James said, turning to look at you with a curious expression. “It is.”

For a moment, his hazel eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out if you knew what he meant—if you felt the same.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius, who clearly couldn’t handle the suspense, interrupted with a loud, “So, who’s the lucky person, Prongs? Don’t leave us hanging!”

James flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius teased, elbowing him. “Out with it, mate!”

But James just shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not telling,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

The conversation shifted after that, Sirius dragging Peter into a heated debate about whether or not owls secretly judged their owners, and you found yourself staring at your plate, your thoughts spinning.

You didn’t know what to make of James’ words. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Was it… you?

You glanced at James out of the corner of your eye. He was laughing now, teasing Peter about his messy handwriting, but there was something different about him—something softer.

You pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be you. Could it?

The Owlery was quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls roosting in their perches. You had just tied your letter to your parents onto a barn owl’s leg, stroking its feathers as it took off into the morning light. Beside you, James was doing the same, his handwriting as messy as ever but filled with his usual warmth and charm.

As his owl soared into the sky, you lingered by the ledge, watching the horizon. James leaned beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the kind that came with years of friendship. But you couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast, about what he’d said, and about the way he’d looked at you.

“So,” you started, your voice soft, “this… someone else you might have feelings for.”

James froze, his hands gripping the stone ledge. “Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “That.”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, that.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Right. Well…” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, taking a step closer.

He glanced at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours. “Because, well because it’s you,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, delicate and trembling. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” James said, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s always been you, I think. I just… didn’t realize it until Lily pointed it out. And then when I thought about it—about us—it just made sense, you know? You’ve always been there. You’ve always been you.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “James…”

“I know it might be weird,” he said quickly, misinterpreting your silence. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just thought you should know, because I—”

“I feel the same,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

He blinked at you, his mouth hanging open. “You do?”

You nodded, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I do.”

For a moment, James just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“Brilliant,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You laughed, the sound light and bubbly, and he joined in, his joy infectious. Before you knew it, he was stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

“I, uh, don’t have a proper ring,” he said, his voice nervous but warm. “But…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar folded strip of parchment.

Your breath hitched as he gently slipped the paper ring onto your finger, his touch lingering. “There,” he said, his smile soft and a little shy. “Perfect.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest swelling with warmth. It was so James—simple, sweet, and utterly wonderful.

“Perfect,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you looked up, he was already watching you, his hazel eyes filled with something so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“Does this mean you’re stuck with me?” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” James said, grinning.

And as the owls cooed above and the sunlight bathed the two of you in gold, you knew you would. Forever and always.

[insidekatmind]

Beyond the Fear~Jude Bellingham

Plot: you and Jude fight because he wants a child but you don't feel ready

wearing: angst, sweet ending

You are in the small park next to the apartment complex where you live, where the afternoon sun filters through the branches of the trees, creating bright spots on the grassy ground. The children run and laugh around you, their energy is contagious. You enjoy spending time with them, organizing little games, telling stories or helping them with their homework. It is a moment of lightness, of pure carefreeness.

Jude, your boyfriend,watches you from a distance. It is not unusual for him to do so. He often leans on the fence of the park or sits on a bench a few meters away. You recognize him immediately.

"You always stay here, huh?" he says one day, leaning in with a smile that tries to hide something deeper.

"I like being with them," you say, pointing to the group of children playing hide and seek. "They're so full of life."

Jude nods slowly, but his gaze doesn't move from you. It's intense, almost piercing. You feel the weight of his eyes on your face, on your hands as they fix a little girl's braid.

"You're incredible with them,"he murmurs at one point. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but loud enough to reach your ear."You know... sometimes I think about what it would be like to have a child of our own."

His statement takes you by surprise. You turn to him, trying to read the enigmatic smile on his face. "A child, huh?" You ask with a light laugh. *"Don't you feel like you're rushing a little?"

*But Jude doesn't laugh. He takes a step closer, letting the silence between you thicken. "I'm not kidding," he says with a sincerity that both makes you uncomfortable and intrigued."Every time I see you with them... I can't get the idea out of my head of what you'd be like as a mother. Perfect, I'd say."

You blush, looking down. "It's a nice thought, but... it's not the right time."

"When will it be, then?" he insists, gently taking your hand. His touch is warm, reassuring, but you sense a sort of hidden urgency.

His fingers trace small circles on your palm, a silent, insistent request for your acquiescence.*

"Jude..." you hesitate, looking up. Your eyes meet his intense look. "We've only been together a few months...it's too early to think about such serious things."

*He nods, but there's a stubborn stubbornness to his expression. "I don't believe in fate, destiny, or crap like that." He says, a little harshly. "But from the moment I saw you, I was sure of one thing: you were made for me."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. You've heard them before, in small declarations of love and passionate embraces. But this time it's different.

Jude's fingers tighten around yours, almost anxiously. "There's something about you, something that makes me feel..." he struggles to find the words. "I don't just feel attracted to you because you're beautiful, or funny, or intelligent. It's like I've known you all my life. Like in my soul, deeper than I can put into words, I know you're the one."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. You've heard them before, in small declarations of love and passionate embraces. But this time it's different.

Jude's fingers tighten around yours, almost anxiously. "There's something about you, something that makes me feel..." he struggles to find the words. "I don't just feel attracted to you because you're beautiful, or funny, or intelligent. It's like I've known you all my life. Like in my soul, deeper than I can put into words, I know you're the one."

His grip on your hand becomes almost painful. "I want to share everything with you. I dream of going through life together. Of having adventures, of loving you till we're 80, of having children... I know it sounds silly but... I can't see myself with anyone but you."

You look at him, torn between surprise and affection. He's so vulnerable here, so different from the usual self-assured man you know.

"I... I don't know what to say," you stutter, trying to order your chaotic thoughts. "I love you, too... But what we have now is so good... Why must we rush into things?"

His eyes narrow, as if your answer is not what he expected. He runs a hand over his face, frustrated. "I'm rushing? It's been months, darling. We're not getting any younger. Life is short. I don't want to waste a instant."

Your heart beats faster, not just because of his intense gaze, but also due to his words. His insistence on the concept of time makes you uncomfortable, you feel pushed into a choice.

"I understand that you want these things, believe me. But we're still figuring each other out. We should enjoy this phase of our relationship..." you try to reason, but Jude interrupts you, his voice a little more urgent than before.

"What do you mean 'figure us out'? I feel like I know you better than myself! What more should we know?"

You take a small step back, overwhelmed by his persistence. You'd hoped that this talk would end with a laugh, in a warm hug. Instead, it's becoming an argument, something you didn't expect.

"There are so many things we don't know about each other," you explain, your voice wavering a bit. "We haven't gone on any significant trips, we haven't met our parents, we haven't faced any serious problems... these are all fundamental things, Jude."

A small shadow of annoyance passes over his face, making his features harden.

"What are you implying? That our relationship is not serious because we haven't done all these things? That it's all just an illusion?"

You shake your head, trying to find the right words to express what you feel. "No, no, I'm not saying that at all. I'm just trying to be realistic. We can't make big decisions if we haven't experienced many things together."

"I don't know, I don't know..." you say, frustrated and a little scared.".We both know it's not just about time. It's a feeling, it's an intuition."

Jude makes a small sound, almost like a scoff.

"This isn't about your damn intuition," he says, a hint of anger finally breaking through. "I want a life with you, I want to wake up next to you every morning... Is it so hard to understand?"

You shake your head, feeling tears stinging your eyelids. This conversation is taking a direction you weren't expecting, and it's hurting you.

"Of course, it's not hard to understand. I want those things too, but..."

He suddenly grabs your shoulders, almost shaking you. "But what, huh? What is holding you back from making a commitment?"

"It's not that I don't want to make a commitment," you try to explain, your voice choked with sobs. "I love you, you know that. But committing to a life together...it's a huge deal."

He lets out a breath that sounds like a strangled laugh, and releases your shoulders, taking a step back.

"I see. Commitment must come when you're ready, huh? The right time, the perfect set of circumstances..." he says, his voice full of sarcasm.

His words cut deep. You feel accused but don't understand why.

"Jude, that's not what I'm saying..."

But he silences you, his gaze burning with frustration and disappointment.

"Isn't it?" he asks bitterly. "You want to keep playing this game until everything is perfectly aligned, until it's too late. But life doesn't work like that."

You feel a sense of panic, like things are spiraling out of control.

"Please, stop... This is not how I wanted this conversation to go." You take hold of his forearms, your fingers wrapping around his tense muscles. But he doesn't soften.

"How would you want it to go, then? Would you like me to wait until we're old and gray?" Jude says, his sarcastic tone like a blade in your heart.

you look at him trying to make him see reason "Jude we are only twenty-one years old"

He looks at you with a mix of disbelief and anger.

"Twenty-one is not that young, darling," he retorts through gritted teeth. "Many people have families at our age. Hell, some get married at eighteen !"

You let go of his arms, taking a small step back. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, but you try to keep your voice steady.

"But most people wait. Just because some others go through these steps early doesn't mean we have to do the same."

He lets out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"So what, we'll just wait and wait and wait some more... just because most people do?"

His tone is harsh, like he's expecting a specific answer that you can't give him.

"I... I don't know..." you stutter, overwhelmed by the force of his insistence.

He takes a step forward, closing the small distance between you. "Exactly. You don't know. You have no idea when you'll feel ready, and you have no idea how much time you're asking me to waste."

His words cut deep. They make you feel like a fool, like a coward who's afraid to make decisions. But you try to keep control, even though your vision is starting to blur from the tears you're holding back.

"I'm not asking you to waste anything... I just want..."

He cuts you off with a sharp laugh. "You want... what, exactly? Do you even know what you want?"

The question hangs in the air like a heavy cloud, and you struggle to find an answer. In a way he's right.

"Of course, I...I want a future with you," you start, trying to keep your voice from trembling.

"But I also want to enjoy being young, to do things we can't do once we have responsibilities, bills to pay, maybe a family..."

He looks at you, his gaze intense and critical.

"You think having a family would prevent you from enjoying life? Do you think having responsibilities would make everything impossible?"

There's a hint of hurt behind his anger, as if your words are twisting a knife in an open wound.

You take a deep breath, trying to make him understand what you feel."No, that's not what I'm saying. I know there will be beautiful aspects too, moments that will fill us with joy..."

He shakes his head, dismissing your words.

"But you're afraid. You're scared of the commitment, of the responsibility. Of giving up your freedom."

You shake your head fiercely, feeling like he doesn't understand you at all. The tears are ready to burst, like a dam about to break.

"I'm not scared of commitment. I love you more than anything! It's just... It's a big decision, can't you see? I'm not scared, I just need time."

He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. "Time. Always more time. But what if I don't want to give you time? What if I don't want to spend my youth waiting for you to make up your mind?"

His words sting like a knife, leaving you cold.

"So what, you're just going to give up on us because I want a little more time?" you ask, your voice choked with tears.

He doesn't respond right away, his gaze averted. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, a hint of regret in his tone.

"Is it really just a 'little' more time? Or another year, two years... or maybe five?"

You swallow hard, the reality of his words sinking in. It's true, you can't give him a definitive timeline. The thought of losing him fills you with fear, but the thought of rushing into something you're not ready for is equally scary.

"I don't know..." you whisper, fighting back tears. "I just wish you could understand."

He sighs, and his features soften a bit. "Understand what, darling? That you need to figure stuff out before committing to me? That I have to sit around and wait for you to make a choice? How do you expect me to be okay with that?"

The accusation stings, and your frustration begins to match his.

"I'm not impossible! I just need time."

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How much time? A month? Six months? A year?"

His insistence is exhausting, and you suddenly feel the need to defend yourself.

"Stop pushing me! I can't give you a damn timeline because I don't know how long it will take me to be ready!" you cry out, surprising even yourself with the volume of your voice.

His eyes widen at your outburst, clearly not expecting such a reaction from you. The silence that follows is tense, filled only by the sound of your heavy breathing.

He looks at you for what feels like an eternity, his expression a mixture of frustration and hurt, and then sighs, running a hand over his face.

"You know what? Forget it. We're going around in circles. It's pointless."

A pang of pain stabs your heart at his words. You feel abandoned, like he's giving up on you without even trying to understand.

"So that's it? You'll give up on us just like that?" You ask, your voice cracking with emotion.

His words cut deep, making you feel like a fool, like a child who doesn't know what they want.

"Is it so hard to wait?” You say, your voice trembling with tears.

He looks at you like you've said something stupid, and he snaps.

"Yes, damn it! It's hard! It's harder than anything I've ever done. Spending day after day, not knowing if you'll ever want to build a life with me. Wondering if I'm just wasting my time."

It breaks your heart to hear him express his fears like this, to realize how much this hurts him. You want to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him it will be okay. But the words choke in your throat.

"I... I don't want to hurt you..." You whisper, your voice trembling with sobs.

He lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they're filled with an intensity that makes your heart stutter.

"But you are hurting me. By not knowing what you want, by not giving me some kind of certainty. Do you even see a future with me?"

"sure baby" whispers softly

His expression softens slightly at your words, but his eyes remain searching, as if he's trying to understand more than just your answer.

"You say you see a future with me, but do you really? Are you sure I'm what you want? Because if I'm not, you need to be honest. I'm tired of being in this limbo, of waiting for you to make up your damn mind."

Your heart aches at the pleading in his voice, and you reach out a trembling hand towards him.His closeness, the certainty in his voice, it's so tempting to give in to his reassurance. But doubt still nags at you.

"But what if I can't figure it out?" You whisper, feeling like a failure."What if I'm stuck in this feeling forever?"His closeness, the certainty in his voice, it's so tempting to give in to his reassurance. But doubt still nags at you.

"But what if I can't figure it out?" You whisper, feeling like a failure."What if I'm stuck in this feeling forever?"

"Of course I see a future with you," you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.'But I just.. I need a little more time to be absolutely sure."

Jude looks at your outstretched hand, his expression still edged with frustration.

"Time. Always more time. But how much is enough? How long until you're 'absolutely sure'?"

He looks at your outstretched hand, his expression still edged with frustration.

"Time. Always more time. But how much is enough? How long until you're 'absolutely sure'?"

You shake your head, feeling frustrated and helpless. It's true, you can't give him a timeline, but you want him to understand.

"I don't know..." you admit, your voice thick with guilt. "I just want to be sure, to be absolutely sure, that we're doing the right thing here. A life together, it's a big deal, it's a huge commitment..."

A hint of disbelief flashes in his eyes.

"You don't think I know that?" He asks, his voice rising slightly. "I know it's a huge commitment. And I'm ready for it, dammit, I've been ready for a while."

His intensity makes you shudder, but you try to steady yourself.

"I know you're ready. And I'm scared, okay? I'm scared that I won't be able to give you what you want, that I won't be enough."

Jude looks at you incredulously, surprised by your confession.

"You think you're not enough? Is that what this is about? You being scared you're not good enough for me?"

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes again. The fear of not being good enough, of not measuring up, has been at the back of your mind for a while now, but you've never voiced it.

He lets out a breath, his expression shifting from incredulous to something softer.

"Goddammit, darling, is that what you think?"

You nod again, unable to speak as the tears start to fall. The weight of your insecurities is suddenly too much to bear

He watches you for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and hurt.

"You really think I'd want to spend the rest of my life with someone who's not 'good enough'?"

You look down, unable to meet his gaze. Your insecurities are screaming that he deserves better, that you're not worthy of his love and commitment.

"I don't want to hold you back," you whisper, your voice barely audible."I don't want to be a burden."

He shakes his head, his expression becoming more intense.

"Hold me back? You're not a burden. Goddamnit, you have no idea the way I feel about you, do you?"

His words hit you hard, chipping away at the wall of insecurity you've built around yourself. But doubt still lingers in the back of your mind.

"What if… what if I can't give you what you want?" You ask, your voice trembling.

He takes a step closer, his gaze serious and determined.

"Babe, what I want is you. Just you. I don't care about anything else. And if you're scared you can't give me what you think I need, don't you think that's something we can talk about and figure out together?"

His closeness, the certainty in his voice, it's so tempting to give in to his reassurance. But doubt still nags at you.

"But what if I can't figure it out?" You whisper, feeling like a failure."What if I'm stuck in this feeling forever?"

He tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze.

"Then we'll figure it out together. I'm not giving up on us, on you. We'll work through it, we'll find a way. I'm in this for the long haul, no matter what."

you smile sweetly and hug him with sweetness.He hugs you back, his arms wrapping tightly around you. His embrace is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, all your fears and doubts are drowned out by his presence.

He buries his face in your hair, his voice a low murmur. "I'm not going anywhere."

hearing his words you hug him tighter "I love you Jude"

He tightens his hold on you, his heart racing at your words. For a moment, he just holds you, basking in the sweetness of your declaration, before pulling back enough to look at you.

"I love you too, darling. More than you could ever know."

[m41-d]

abt to swing a bat at a hornets nest here lol

more of a tangent to your point op, but a lot of so-called "anti-religious leftism" is led by people who have been traumatized by religious institutions and dont actually have any academic background in comparative religion so they dont realize theyre doing this. these people very often outwardly endorse anti-consumerism or anti-capitalism, but in their actual praxis they are neither anti-religious nor anti-consumerist, because in fact they adopt the consumerist industrial complex as their religion.

there are outliers to this of course but particularly in more liberal circles you will see young adults declaring themselves as communists, socialists, anti-capitalists, and of course more importantly anti-religious atheists. but in their daily lives they think that their salvation lies in commodity fetishist identity politics: buy therapy, buy psychiatric medication, buy self help books– this is the way to save you, not community. buy this pride flag, buy this political flag – how else will we know what you stand for?. buy hairdye, buy tattoos, buy piercings – make yourself visually distinct from your parents! buy subculture clothing – find community with the menhera people, the jirai kei, only they can understand what you're going through. buy this gender affirming gear, buy hrt, buy gender affirming surgery (before someone gets on my ass over this part – im medically transitioning myself so i'm not saying these things shouldnt be available, i'm just saying someone's making money off of it and they're not doing it out of love for trans people). buy this sustainable brand, buy this bracelet that funds plastic cleanup efforts – don't you care about the environment? . buy vegan food you speciesist. etc etc.

modern media analysis loves to throw around the word "social contagion" when it comes to specific branches of liberal leftism but it's silly to me, because most ideas are. a far more useful analysis imo is that this type of consumerism is the extension of usamerica's well documented civil religion, and america is the dominant power in the world right now, so these quasi-religious ideals of hyperindividualism achieved by means of commodity fetishism have high social value and therefore spread, or are in other cases forcibly installed. in a similar way that christianity spread when rome was the dominant culture either because countries benefited from adopting it or were pressured to, same story with islam i suppose although i am less versed in the history of how islam spread worldwide so i won't speak on it.

inclusive/exclusive definition of religion is obviously a hot topic and never a fully resolved debate, but i think at the very least a person engaging with this subject in good faith has to note similarities. there's a strict system of values (debated, sure, but nevertheless confined to a more or less definite canon), there's the way to practice it (consumerism) and the sense of community built around it (wider leftist populace as well as various sub-communities created around whichever facet of the identity they latch onto, be it clothing subculture, specific diagnosis, queer identity, a specific branch of activism etc) and the sense that by doing so you both get to be a Good Person TM and achieve Salvation TM ( in this case usually presented as "living as your true self" and "liberty of personal expression"). and of course, when viewed through this lens, this vicious denouncement of religion becomes very funny – no different from how believers of any main faith would always proclaaim that other religions are backwards and superstitious pagan beliefs, meanwhile their own faith is the objective truth. ditto for this cultural behemoth that's spreading from the anglosphere outwards.

people denounce traditions and rituals like 'prayer is just repeating words' or 'why would I rest on Sunday I have stuff to do' or 'going to church once a week is just mindless'

and then they say 'here's a great morning routine! repeat these affirmations every day! practice gratitude every night before bed! 5 ways to build community! Sunday reset checklist!'

my sister in Christ you're reinventing the wheel. we've been doing all that for centuries.

[mythalism]

Watching a video of the "fight Solas" ending and I find myself really disliking the fact that Rook declares that the Veil must be tied to the life of an elven god. It is treated like a fitting punishment for Solas, and even in the redemption ending, Rook all but orders Solas to sacrifice himself to maintain the Veil (or the status quo). I also can't help but feel that Solas, the last of the elven gods, is being sacrificed to maintain the Veil that he, alone, is somehow expected to magically maintain, allowing everyone else to go on their merry way. The implication here is that the elves are losing the last of their history, or pantheon, and this is a GOOD thing, and now we can all move forward and live peacefully. Am I overthinking this? 'Cause if this was the intention it does sound kind of bad.

yeah. i do agree and i dont think you're overthinking. and even if you were, im about to overthink way harder so don't worry. forgive me for getting on my legal philosophy soapbox but thats my whole brand at this point so here we go: it is a very retributive view of punishment and desert (deserved-ness) that i morally disagree with and feels outdated in the political landscape of 2024 to me PERSONALLY!! the foundation of retributive justice is:

(1) that those who commit certain kinds of wrongful acts, paradigmatically serious crimes, morally deserve to suffer a proportionate punishment; (2) that it is intrinsically morally good—good without reference to any other goods that might arise—if some legitimate punisher gives them the punishment they deserve;

obviously this is how much of the western world conceives of punishment and western media is consequently saturated with narratives that espouse this. most of the time, restorative justice is seen as mutually exclusive with retributive justice, though there are some people who say they can be used in tandem. i disagree anyway.

i think solas's endings grapple with these ideas in a way that is... messy. its confusing because we dont actually know if he is truly imprisoned, in the sense that he cannot leave. we know he is in A prison, though its unclear whether its the new regret prison that rook was in, or the black city (epler refused to clarify this during the AMA because of "spoilers", while trick said the implication is he is "going back to the prison", the epilogue slides imply he is in the black/golden city, as does his quest to heal the blight which only exists in the black city). we also do not know what capacity he has to leave. with lavellan or after being "redeemed" by willingly binding himself to the veil, he does not have the lyrium dagger but he does have the capacity to free himself from his regrets (if hes in the regret prison) or heal the blight (if he's in the black city), exemplified by his golden epilogue slides. if he is tricked or fought, he is not in a mental space to overcome his regrets and does not swear to atone by healing the blight, but he does have the lyrium dagger with him, so we can assume he can just use it to leave, the way we literally see him do earlier in the game lol. whatever message they are trying to send with his "punishment", i think it is muddied by the vagueness of what actually happens to him in the end and where he goes.

if the message truly is that he "deserves" to be imprisoned in the fade for his long list of crimes, i find that lazy and nonsensical. first of all, he loves the fade and has been dying to return to it so thats not really a gotcha, but more importantly, which crime warrants this punishment? and is his punishment proportional? this is impossible to answer because we do not know what the punishment truly is. we also dont really even know what crime he's being imprisoned for. taking down the veil? he didnt actually get to do that. are we punishing him for something he didn't do yet? is it for killing varric? sure, i guess that one works. its the strongest of the options we have, but the game is also pretty clear that its not what varric would want. what about all of the other people he has killed? the spirits he sacrifced in that siege on elgar'nans temple? the mages who summoned and corrupted wisdom which he incinerates alive? flemythal and felassan? do they deserve retribution via solas's imprisonment? would they want that? would they find it just and satisfying? the game does not ask these questions. so we dont know. does he deserve to be imprisoned for for what he did to the titans? ok, maybe. this is stronger than the others at least. but in the trick/fight endings he doesnt vow to heal the blight, so what does his imprisonment do for the dwarves and the titans spirits? this is what i mean when i say his imprisonment is retributive, but it is not even thoroughly retributive. it does not think deeply about what solas deserves for his crimes and the proportionality of such a punishment, but it is clear that we are supposed to that he deserves to be in prison, it is morally good that he is receiving "justice", and rook is a hero for imprisoning him. his punishment is presented as a moral good because he deserves it. unfortunately for veilguard, i dont think i would ever be convinced by this message in any narrative anywhere, even if it was better written, because this is not a moral philosophy that i subscribe to.

his redemption endings feel so much better and more satisfying because his vow to use his immortality and knowledge to heal the blight that he created is restorative and has a direct correlation to his crime of creating the blight by tranquilizing the titans in the first place. his imprisonment achieves nothing outside of removing him as a "threat", which is ruined by the fact that he has the dagger and can just leave lol. devoting the next significant portion of his life to alleviating the titans suffering is not just reparative remedy that directly affects the people and creatures he has harmed, it also actively makes the world of thedas a better place. to be clear, im not saying solas is innocent. he is guilty. of a lot of things. he bears responsibility for a lot of things. he would qualify as a war criminal. but i do not believe in retributive justice. veilguard having solas kill varric because trespasser made me sympathize with him "too much" is not going to make me believe in retributive justice. for the non-atonement imprisonment endings to feel satisfying you have to subscribe to this ideology of moral desert and punishment and a lot of people do. the entire american carceral system is founded on it. so is christianity. and bioware clearly subscribes to it as well. you might disagree with me and subscribe to it yourself. thats fine. but i believe it has caused a lot of harm to our world and continues to do so. seeing it manifested in media is always disappointing to me.

regardless of the technicalities of his imprisonment, his binding to the veil is the one thing that happens regardless of his ending, and i agree that it is icky for similar reasons. the veil is his responsibility, as is the blight which he will be keeping contained with his life, so i guess you can interpret it as proportional? but again, what crime is he paying for with binding his life to the veil? is he not paying for a crime at all? is binding his life to the veil even part of his punishment? or is it just something he has to do because he's the only person alive that can do it? if that is the case, that it has to be him because he is the only proper sacrifice, and not that he deserves it, then what does it say about rook that they sacrifice someone undeserving? if he is deserving, why exactly? if he wasn't the only elven god left alive, would he still be deserving of such a fate? if the answer is no, then he does not deserve to be bound. what gives rook the right to make this call? based on the convo they have before the ending where they plan to bind him to the veil, its not clear if rook binds him because they think he deserves to be bound to one of his greatest regrets, or because he's quite literally the only option. either way, i think there is an argument for it being cruel, and unearned coming from someone like rook, who really has barely been a victim of solas's sins outside of a 2 week time-out. literally harding binding him would've been far more satisfying. or imagine if fragment mythal went rogue and did it, or morrigythal did. mythal would not be justified either but at least it would be fucking banger and evil and interesting of her. anyway.

i think your point about what it means for the elves to lose their final living god, outside of mythal who is [redacted] ? is a fantastic point. through solas's binding, they also lose the veil-less future he represented that was promised to be a better world for them. would it really have been? probably not. solas clearly thinks so. but we will never know lol. the failure of the story to grapple with the dissolution of the elves entire belief system is one of its most egregious ones, and i think this is a symptom of it. dragon age's elven lore got itself into a weird spot by veilguard and i think they just abandoned it rather than attempting to write themselves out of it. i love stories that grapple with the average person's culpability as complacent in imperialism. this is part of why fullmetal alchemist is my fav story of all time and you should watch it (fullmetal alchemist:brotherhood on hulu please im begging. but you have to watch the "brotherhood" one not the other one. its complicated dont ask). veilguard seemed to want to do something like this, but they got themselves into weird spot with the elves because their evil, slavery-based empire is a thing of the distant past, and in the present they are systemically oppressed and have no social or political power.

usually in these sorts of stories, someone currently living in an imperialist society who is directly benefiting from that imperialism is confronted with their complacency and asked to rise to the occasion of standing up for what is right, despite their material best interest. they often sacrifice their privilege as a benefactor of imperialism in the present to attempt to make up for the evils that system has inflicted on others. fmab does a wonderful job of this. there is at once both an acknowledgement that no, this is not literally YOUR FAULT, you did not order a genocide or press the nuke button, but you have benefited from it and/or participated every day of your life, whether that is through the stolen land you live on, the fact that you have never seen war in your home country, the way you can buy whatever fruit you want at the grocery store any time of year, or the way your tax dollars fund the bombs being dropped on children thousands of miles away, and you do have a moral obligation to do whatever you can to fight back. i believe this is a very important lesson for the average american (and canadian since we are talking about bioware), and anyone that lives in an imperialist country, that a lot of people have not yet learned ... lol.

this feels along the lines of what veilguard was going for (or maybe they werent and this was accidental, idk which is worse), but it fails because the elves are not currently benefiting from their past empire, like at all. actually, they live in squalor and at risk of constant violence from human empires. they have experienced centuries of genocide, violence and slavery at this point in modern thedas. the imperialistic success of the elvhen empire has absolutely no bearing on their current lives, it provides them with no privilege, and it gives them no culpability in its evils. they are thousands of years removed from it. and its not like "oh the british empire was dissolved 50 years ago so imperialism is over" no. because britain's wealth and power are a direct result of that imperialism, thus they do still benefit from it presently, even if the "official empire" is dissolved. this is true for most empires. but with the elves of thedas, they have none of the power or privilege that the elvhen empire accrued through its evils. if anything, it is tevinter that benefits most from the lost elven empire considering how much of their society is founded on its technology, and the fact that. you know. they are currently, modernly, presently an empire based on slavery. OF ELVES. so why, then, does veilguard present the elves as culpable? why does the angry titan harding creature say they are "thriving" at the titans expense? why does bellara take personal responsibility for the evils that elgar'nan and ghilan'nain commit when she had nothing to do with them? the messaging with this is so strange. it would make sense if elves were still the ruling class but... they're not. the only remnants of the empire that they have access to is their own bodies... which are systemically, bought, sold, and mutilated. though the game does erase much of the racism they face in what i can only assume was an attempt to make this work.

the combo of this + solas's trick/fight endings for what is fundamentally, according to this game itself, a desire for a better world for elves and spirits, no matter if it is misled or his methods are violent, is a depressing, bleak message that i find to be irresponsible to be sending in 2024 and considering the real world groups of people that elves are based on, most notably of the dalish as indigenous north americans. veilguard sees elves lose not just their understanding of their past, dissolving their entire worldview, their conception of their cultural identity, and their relationship to their religion, all without sufficient (or any) exploration of how devastating such a process would be, but by imprisoning solas, erasing his followers and supporters from existence, and binding him to the veil, it also robs them of the possibility of a more just future... while asking you to cheer because he deserved it. dont try to make the world a better place unless you do it the right way. work with the world as it is. your attachment to the past (when you werent being genocided regularly) is a disease. you deserve to go to jail because you tried to change the world in a way that that was too disruptive. get over it! move on! rot in jail!