#life and stories are more complicated than that

[undeadentropy]

I always create the same ancient horny vampire milf as a surrogate parent and mentor with a complicated and tragic fuck backstory more elaborate than the main story, which itself is a reminder to the cast that this too shall pass. When you live for centuries you experience the same tropes a good few times in your life.

I don't mean for her to be in every story I make but she is.

[dailyadventureprompts]

See You Back at the Bonfire: Checkpoint Based Resurrection in D&D

Artsource

Between doing a writeup on soulsborne inspired campaign settings and another on the oldschool/newschool disparity between challenge and story, I got to thinking about death and its place in gamified narratives. Darksouls was the obvious influence, but I couldn't help but think of Dungeon Meshi, World of Warcraft, and supergiant's Hades.

Back in the day death was common in d&d, the challenges were unforgiving and the characters were expendable as they were simple. High level might as well have meant "high scoring", as the rewards for overcoming deathtraps and monsters with save-or-die abilities were directly translated into character progression. Death in this instance amounted to a combo breaker, being sent back to square 1 in a roguelike to do it all again. Over time though we started getting attached to our avatars, especially those of us who played primarily for story, leading characters to become too emotionally or mechanically complicated to feed into the blender.

This leaves the modern DM in a bit of a lurch: death by mooks or misadventure denies a satisfying (or heartwrenching) endpoint to the story you're collectively telling with your players. Look no further than Critical Role, where there are a small number of plot-meaningful deaths ( Vexhalia in the Tomb, Mollymauk to the Iron Shepards) and then a much larger tally of obligatory moments where someone fails one too many death saves and requires the use of a spell slot. The DM is forced to play with gloves on much of the time, holding back from creating real challenges because they don't want to kill any of their characters at the wrong time.

What I’d like to propose is that when it comes to challenge vs story we can have the best of both worlds if we’re a little more freehanded when it comes to resurrection. It'll take some tinkering and it won't fit for every story, but as a baseline assumption to the d&d formula, I think it could be quite useful.

How It'd Work: If someone dies before their appointed time , their body can be brought to a local temple to have the gift of life restored to them. Temples of their own deity are thought to work best, but lifegiving deities like Pelor or Illmater are known to be quite freehanded when it comes to raising the dead, and even small countryside shrines are known to work in a pinch. The resurrection may not work if the body is damaged, desecrated, or incomplete, though sometimes the spirit is simply incapable or unwilling to return.

For adventuresome types, this means that if you bite it while exploring the wilderness or some dank ruin you best hope your companions like you enough to drag your corpse back to the nearest altar. Likewise hope that you've kept on good terms with that god. If your entire party wipes, there's a chance for a good samaritan (or enterprising corpse picker) to help you out, though they'll usually help themselves to what's in your pockets in the meantime.

Some temples also sell rare tokens or burnable offerings that can transform any mundane campfire into a one-use resurrection altar, though the expendable nature of these charms mean they are in high demand.

Behind the scenes: what we've done here is turn character death from a plot derailer into a plot generator. Whenever someone in your party dies, it's your excuse to introduce new npcs, questhooks, and worldbuilding. Hades uses this trick to soften the blow of defeat with story progression, and DunMeshi uses it to build out the setting.

We can likewise take a point of inspiration from soulsborne games which use the player's desire to find a safety granting bonfire to spur exploration; What's the first thing the party are going to when hitting a new settlement after renting a room at the inn? Check out the neighbourhood temples to see which of the local gods is sympathetic to them. Same thing with seeking out the shrine nearest to the dungeon entrance before descending lower to face greater threats, which has them engaging with the location's story while discovering a minor questhook to endear themselves to the shrine god.

This is also to say nothing of all the fun adventure-fodder surrounding the mechanics including all the delightful "came back wrong" possibilities.

Finally let's talk about some gameplay assumptions: It's a tricky art building d&d encounters, especially since 5e play tends to default towards having fewer encounters per day, meaning a greater importance on these encounters being more challenging. This is a problem that I and many other DMs have wrestled with; finding the right degree of challenge for the encounter to be meanacing and meaningful, but without going so far as to risk an unexpected character death derailing my game. There's only so many permadeaths a player (and a story) can endure, to say nothing of the narrative killing tpk, which can scrap months of investment and storytelling potential.

Videogame designers figured out this balancing act of narrative and risk a long time ago, bumping characters back to a checkpoint when the player is overwhelmed by a challenge. The Soulsborne franchise built it's reputation on this "If at first you don't succeed, die, die again" mentality, which let them build the challenging ( read: engaging) gameplay the series is known for. Games like Hades go so far as to make this reset a centeral point of furthering the plot, allowing the narrative to expand with each stumble along the player's insurmountable climb.

By allowing characters to be easily revived, we end up with the best of both worlds when it comes to narrative vs. difficulty. The encounters we build can be more challenging in the moment if we know we won't accidently end a campaign if the dice get mean. This also makes players more likely to make big swings and try for optional content knowing the campaign less likely to end if they fuck up.

While some people might take umbrage with the idea of making resurrection commonplace, D&D already allows for characters to be revived though in-game mechanics at the cost of cleric spells and diamond dust. The devs figured out pretty early that even in a game centred around frequent violent clashes, it sucks to have a character you're invested in die unexpectedly, and it's better for the health of the game/narrative to be able to get those characters back at a cost. The problem is that these resurrection mechanics are siloed off to mid/high level characters, when it's the low level adventurers who are most fragile and thus most in need of an in-game safety net.

Secondly, look at the Soulsborne series as the inspiration for this post: part of the reason players are able to "Git Gud" is because the fast respawns allow for players to get right back into the action after making a fatal error, allowing for a "die, die again" playstyle focused on persistence and adaptation. This likewise allows developers to develop gameplay scenarios that are properly intimidating:

[foreverdolly]

Intolerance cannot be beaten with tolerance. 

I have always written and read as a means to escape from my day to day life, even before the struggles of adulthood was even a blip on the horizon. This blog is a safe space for me. I love hearing that my writing, despite the fact that it is nothing but fanfiction (for now, at least), helps people escape for a little while as well. Whether you’re reading before bed in order to silence your mind for long enough to get some shut eye or pulling up tumblr during a rough and emotional day, somewhere along the way you found your way to me. I cherish the fact that our paths have crossed like this. 

Right now, more than ever, the world feels like a very terrifying place. I hate the idea of lifting the finely tuned veil that I have tried to cast over this blog, what with it being my safe little corner of the internet, but silence is complacency. I refuse to be complacent to what is going on right now in the United States of America. When I woke up on November sixth there was an impending sense of dread. As a woman who had listened to the vitriol from the other side, I was naturally terrified. Waking up and seeing “your body, my choice” plastered on every social media site was nothing short of horrific. There is no woman or girl in this world that has not been violated in some way by a man, whether that be physically, verbally or emotionally. 

I look at the hateful rhetoric disguised as Christian love- pastors preaching about eradicating the queer community. About taking away a woman’s bodily autonomy. About ripping children away from their parents. They paint the progressive thinkers to be monsters. To that I say: who are truly the monsters?

We are more worried about banning drag queen story times than protecting our youth who are being killed whilst trying to do something as innocent as receive an education. Our people are living paycheck to paycheck and we're more focused on stripping people's basic human rights away from them than uplifting the impoverished.

This country takes away social media platforms or buys them out all together as a means to monitor the speech and behavior of its people. It dictates how we will raise and teach our children all while forcing them to assimilate to a consciousness of their own design. Women are dying every day due to health complications. Transgender youth and adults would rather eternally sleep than put up with the constant harassment and erasure. The gay and lesbian communities are having their way of life threatened. . . and for what? 

The states have never seemed this divided. It is no longer a difference of politics but a difference of morals. Beyond even that, it is a total lack of empathy. The vocabulary being thrown around by that side is eye opening: “eradicate”,“purge”,“the reckoning” etc. 

Fear mongering is something that I absolutely abhor, but I truly mean it when I say that these next four years are going to be rough. I am certain that the rules and regulations that will be put into place will affect us for many years to come. We are going backwards- back to a time where people of color were terrified to leave their own homes because of the threat of violence. A time where people couldn’t love who they wanted. A time where women had rights stripped away from them and were seen as little other than cattle. 

If there was ever a time to fight then now would be that time. We all have a voice, no matter how quiet. Use it. 

Reject racism. Reject sexism. Reject classism.

This blog is a safe space for those that are genderqueer, queer, and of color. We are trapped. The fire is coming from inside of the house and sadly we can no longer save those that are throwing themselves into it as kindling. 

If you are scared and need someone to talk to please message me. I will give you my personal discord so that we can chat regularly if you need someone on your side right now.

If you feel alone please know that you are not. 

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 5) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

The Atlanta airport is different after months of European terminals. Everything's louder, more familiar, more home. Leila's dragging her designer luggage (a gift from Josette on her birthday) past Popeyes and Chick-fil-A, the smell making her realize how much she's missed proper Southern food.

Her mama nearly drops her church hat when she walks through the door unannounced, clutching her chest like Leila's appearance might send her straight to Jesus.

"Lord have mercy! What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did that boy—" Jeanna Mae's already reaching for her phone, probably to alert the whole prayer circle about her prodigal daughter's return.

"Mama, breathe." Leila drops her bags by the door, taking in the familiar scent of sweet potato pie and those vanilla plugins. The house looks exactly the same – family photos covering every surface, that ancient TV guide that hasn't been opened since streaming existed, her daddy's old recliner still in its spot of honor.

"Don't tell me to breathe when you show up looking like somebody broke your heart." Her mama's fingers are flying across her phone screen. "And I bet it's about that captain of yours. The one who won't admit his feelings."

"Mama—"

"Don't 'mama' me. You flew across an ocean to run from that boy. I raised you better than that."

Before Leila can defend her life choices, her phone explodes with notifications:

Yolanda: BITCH YOU'RE HOME??? Kenzi: Emergency drinks at Slim & Husky's in 30. This is not a request Tasha: Don't even think about saying no. We saw your IG stories Yolanda: Already ordered the wine. GET HERE

Her mama's already pushing her toward the stairs, that knowing look in her eyes. "Go change. Your girls are waiting. But don't think this conversation is over. I want to know everything about this William boy too."

"How do you even—"

"Baby girl, I might be old but I know how to use Instagram. Now go. But we're having a proper talk when you get back."

An hour later, she's squeezed into a booth at Slim & Husky's, surrounded by her best friends since middle school and enough pizza and wine to fuel a proper intervention. The restaurant's busy for a weeknight, filled with that specific Atlanta energy she didn't realize she'd missed.

"So let me get this straight," Yolanda leans forward, wine glass dangling dangerously while her bamboo earrings catch the light. "You got TWO fine African men fighting over you? In EUROPE?"

"They're not fighting—"

"Girl, please." Kenzi rolls her eyes so hard they might get stuck. "One's bringing you Lebanese food while the other's having whole breakdowns in tunnels? That's fighting. That's fighting in multiple languages."

"And you're here because…?" Tasha raises an eyebrow, already reaching for another slice. "Because from where I'm sitting, you running from good dick. Multiple good dicks."

"I needed space," Leila adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit that makes her friends exchange looks. "From both of them. From all of it."

"Space?" All three look at her like she's lost her European mind.

"From the situation," she clarifies. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about your captain being clearly in love with you but too scared to say it?" Yolanda's got that look that means she's about to start speaking truths nobody asked for.

"Or about you dating his teammate to make him jealous?" Kenzi adds, signaling for more wine. "Because baby, that's what you're doing."

"I am NOT—"

"You are." Tasha cuts her off, voice gentle but firm. "And baby? That never ends well. Trust someone who knows."

"Plus," Kenzi adds, "that William seems sweet. He doesn't deserve to be your rebound."

"He's not—"

"He is." All three say it in unison, years of friendship making them a well-oiled truth-telling machine.

"Look," Yolanda sets down her wine glass like she's about to deliver a sermon. "You got these two fine men – both rich, both fine as hell, both clearly interested. One's bringing you food and treating you right, while the other's having whole emotional breakdowns over you but won't say why. And instead of dealing with it, you flew home to eat pizza with us."

"The pizza is good though," Leila mutters.

"Not better than French dick," Tasha coughs into her wine.

The truth of it all hits different over pizza and pinot noir in her hometown, surrounded by friends who've known her since she was wearing Limited Too and dreaming about her first kiss. Maybe she did run. Maybe she's still running.

But maybe she needed to come home to figure out where she's actually trying to go.

"So what are you gonna do?" Kenzi asks softly.

Leila looks down at her phone – no messages from Aurélien, but three from William checking if she landed safely.

"I don't know."

But that's a lie.

She does know.

She's just not ready to admit it yet.

"Well if it isn't the finest women in Atlanta."

The voice makes Leila's entire body cringe before she even looks up. Torrance Johnson – high school quarterback turned local gym trainer – is standing at their table with that same smile that definitely worked better ten years ago.

"Torrance," Yolanda's voice could freeze hell. "Don't you have some protein shakes to blend?"

But he's already focused on Leila, eyes doing that slow scan that makes her wish she'd worn a turtleneck. "Damn girl, Europe's been good to you. When'd you get back?"

"She's not staying," Tasha cuts in. "And she's taken."

"By two men," Kenzi adds helpfully, earning herself a kick under the table.

"Two?" Torrance's eyebrows shoot up. "Nah, can't be. Our Leila? Miss Voted Most Likely to Marry Her Books?"

Something about the way he says it – that hint of dismissal, that suggestion that she couldn't possibly have multiple men interested – reminds her exactly why she left Atlanta in the first place.

Her eyes catch on his deliberately distressed jeans, probably bought that way from some boutique in Buckhead, and suddenly all she can think about is Aurélien. How he dresses like every Atlanta rapper's Pinterest board come to life, all designer streetwear and chains that probably cost more than Torrance's trainer fees.

"You should go," she says finally, not even looking up from her wine. "Your protein shakes are calling."

"Come on now—"

"She said go." Yolanda's voice carries enough attitude to make several nearby tables look over.

He leaves, but not before dropping his card on the table with a wink that probably works better on girls who haven't seen him throw up at prom.

"The audacity," Tasha mutters, reaching for more wine. "Acting like you ain't out here with whole European footballers fighting over you."

"They're not—"

"Girl, if you say they're not fighting one more time," Kenzi cuts in. "We've seen the videos. Your captain looked ready to commit murder in that tunnel."

"And William?" Yolanda adds. "That's not just trying to get some, that's husband behavior."

Leila's phone buzzes – another text from William asking how her first night home is going. Nothing from Aurélien, but Cama has sent her a video of him absolutely destroying the training ground equipment.

"You know what's funny?" she says finally, still staring at her phone. "Aurélien dresses exactly like these Atlanta boys trying to look hard. All ripped jeans and chains and-"

"Baby," Tasha interrupts gently, "the fact that you're thinking about how he dresses tells us everything we need to know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yolanda starts, "that you flew across an ocean to get away from your feelings but you're still noticing his clothes."

"His very expensive clothes," Kenzi adds. "Not whatever Fashion Nova collection Torrance was trying to rock."

"Can we not—"

"Compare them?" Tasha grins. "Too late. We've all seen your Instagram stories. We know exactly what kind of men you're working with now."

"And neither of them," Yolanda adds, "is anything like these local boys trying to act like they're something. Your captain might dress Atlanta, but baby? That man's got that real money energy. And William?"

"Pure class," Kenzi nods. "The way he looks at you in those photos? Like you hung the moon or something."

"Meanwhile Aurélien looks at you like he's trying to figure out how to possess your soul," Tasha observes. "In a hot way."

"Y'all are doing too much," Leila mutters, but her cheeks are warm.

"Are we though?" Yolanda challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've got two whole meals fighting over you in Europe while Torrance 'Peak in High School' Johnson is trying to get your attention with some jeans he probably bought at ASOS."

"The difference," Kenzi adds, "is that Aurélien's probably wearing jeans that cost more than Torrance's car."

"And William's probably never worn distressed anything in his life," Tasha laughs.

"Can we talk about something else?" Leila pleads. "Anything else?"

"Sure," Yolanda grins. "Let's talk about how you're going to handle going back to work. That's coming whether you're ready or not."

The reminder sits heavy in her stomach. One week left of pretending she's not running from her feelings. One week of Georgia comfort before facing reality.

Her phone buzzes again – a text from her mama this time:

That boy called me again. The captain. Asked how you were.

She turns her phone face down.

The chatter at the table felt like a lifeline, a reminder that even with the chaos of her love life — or whatever this was — her friends never changed.

"Alright, y’all," Leila starts, her tone light but her fingers nervously taps her glass. "If we’re gonna dissect my life like this, at least give me something useful. Any advice for handling… all of this?"

"You mean William?" Yolanda grin like she’s been waiting for this moment. "Or both of them?"

"Both," Leila admits, earning a chorus of gasps and exaggerated cheers from around the table.

"You kissed him, though?" Kenzi presses. "William? Wilo? What was it like?"

Leila took a sip of wine, letting the anticipation build. "It was… nice," she says, feigning nonchalance.

"Nice? Girl, come on!" Kenzi groans.

"Fine," Leila relents, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. "It made my kitty purr."

The table erupts, laughter bubbling up loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.

"Big purr!" Yolanda cackles, fanning herself dramatically.

"And yet, you’re still hung up on Aurélien," Tasha says knowingly, swirling her wine like she had the upper hand in this conversation. "You can’t hide that."

"Because he’s got her heart," Yolanda teases. "William might’ve gotten a kiss, but Aurélien’s the one she wants to risk it all for."

"Okay, okay, but," Kenzi cuts in, her tone shifting into unsolicited-advice territory. "If you’re really gonna give Wilo a shot, you need to bring your A-game. Like, head game on ten."

Leila groans, her head falling into her hands. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret asking this?"

"Because you probably are," Yolanda teases, ignoring her protest. "But listen up. The trick with a guy like William? You gotta be confident. Show him you know what you’re doing. And eye contact. Always."

"Exactly," Kenzi agrees, raising her glass. "And if he gets all quiet or grabs your hair—"

"I’m leaving," Leila interrupts, though she stayed firmly in her seat, face buried in her hands.

"You’re not going anywhere," Tasha says with a smirk. "This is gold, and you know it."

"I can’t believe I’m having this conversation," Leila mutters, peeking up from her hands.

"Believe it, baby," Yolanda says, taking a sip of her drink. "And take notes, because we all know William’s got that 'nice boy' energy, but Aurélien?"

"He’s giving 'break-the-headboard' energy," Tasha finishes matter-of-factly, earning another round of laughter.

Leila tries to glare at Tasha, but the heat rushing to her cheeks betrays her. "Y’all really have no chill, do you?"

"Not when we’re right," Yolanda says, sliding her phone across the table. "Speaking of Aurélien, have you seen this picture of him on the pitch? Look at his tongue."

Leila glances down reluctantly, only to be met with an image of Aurélien mid-game: shirt clinging to his torso, a sheen of sweat glistening under the stadium lights, his tongue peeking out in what was either concentration or defiance. His face was as expressive as ever, eyes lit with determination.

"You’re telling me this man isn’t whispering filthy things in French while making you see God?" Yolanda asks, her tone almost academic.

"I’m saying nothing," Leila says, snatching the phone and flipping it over. "Y’all are too much."

"But we’re not wrong," Kenzi shot back. "Aurélien looks like he’d talk you into doing things you didn’t even know you wanted to do. Just with that voice."

"And that tongue," Yolanda adds, grinning devilishly. "Girl, do you know how expressive his face is? Like, come on. He’s not just scoring goals on the pitch."

"Alright, that’s enough!" Leila protests, trying to keep her composure despite the riotous laughter around her.

"Enough?" Tasha raises a brow. "Girl, we’ve barely started. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About him and that—"

"I haven’t!" Leila lies, her voice is a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

"Uh-huh." Yolanda wasn’t buying it. "Listen, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. That’s not just casual interest. That’s 'call out my name when you’re about to come' energy."

Kenzi nearly spat her drink. "I mean, facts, but damn, Yolanda, say it with your chest."

"She already did," Tasha quipps. "And she’s not wrong. Leila, you’ve got two literal snacks fighting over you. One’s sweet, one’s spicy. You’ve gotta at least taste one."

Leila groans, her face in her hands again. "Y’all are insufferable."

"But you love us," Kenzi says, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "And we love you. We just want you to live your best life. With both of them, if that’s what it takes."

"Big facts," Yolanda says, raising her glass. "To Leila living her best life, with Aurélien, William, and whoever else makes her kitty purr."

Leila couldn’t help but laugh, raising her own glass in surrender. "Y’all are ridiculous."

"Ridiculously right," Tasha says with a wink. "Now, tell us more about that kiss. Did he grab your waist? Your face? Both?"

And just like that, the teasing continued, leaving Leila both mortified and comforted. If nothing else, her girls always had her back, even if it meant roasting her into oblivion in the process.

*********************************************

Leila was halfway through her third slice of pizza at Slim & Husky’s when her phone buzzed on the table. The low hum of conversation and the warm scent of garlic and cheese filled the space, but the message on her screen stole her focus.

Wilo: Can you come to London next weekend? I miss you.

She stared at the words, her stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the food. Her friends were busy splitting a cinnamon roll flight, oblivious to the sudden weight in her chest.

"You good?" Kenzi asks, nudging her shoulder.

Leila blinks, quickly locking her phone. "Yeah. Just Wilo being… Wilo."

"Oh, what’s he saying now?" Yolanda leans in, her curiosity obvious.

"Nothing important," Leila mutters, waving them off.

Her friends gave her knowing looks but didn’t press further. Leila took another bite of pizza, forcing herself to focus on the moment, the laughter, the easy camaraderie. But her phone felt heavier in her pocket now, like it was daring her to check it again.

Later that night, back at home, the scent of fried chicken and collard greens still lingered in the air from dinner. Leila leans against the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone lukewarm. The hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as her mama wiped down the table, and her daddy sat at the head, finishing the last of his sweet tea with a satisfied sigh.

"That hit the spot, baby," he says, patting his belly. His trucker hat was tipped back on his head, a little smudge of grease still on his hands from unloading earlier.

Her mama smiles, but the look she gave him was clear: We need some girl time.

He caught the silent signal and grins, pushing back his chair. "Alright, I know when I’m not needed. Leila, you make sure your mama doesn’t go pulling out another project this late. I’m gonna grab a shower."

"Yes, sir," Leila says with a small smile, watching him leave the room.

Her mama waited until the sound of the shower started before she finally spoke.

"You got something on your mind, girl?" her mama asks, setting down the dishcloth.

Leila hesitates. "No. Just tired."

Her mama raised a brow but didn’t push. Instead, she grabbed a glass of water and leaned on the counter across from Leila.

"You get my text about Aurélien calling me today?" she asks, her tone deceptively casual.

"Yeah."

"Wanted to check on you. Asked how you’ve been," her mama says, sipping her water.

Leila frowns. "What did you tell him?"

"Told him you’re grown, handling your business," her mama replies easily. "But he sounded worried. Said he missed you.”

Leila’s chest tightens, but she kept her expression cool. "He didn’t say that to me."

"Maybe he’s scared to," her mama says, fixing her with that all-knowing look. "Men don’t always say what they mean, but they show it in other ways."

Leila snorts, shaking her head. "He’s all talk, Mama. If he cared, he’d show up. William’s the one actually trying."

Her mama’s lips quirks up in a small smile. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared of what it would mean if Aurélien came through. Scared to let him in."

Leila looks away, her throat tight. "I’m not scared."

"Sure you’re not," her mama says lightly, pushing off the counter. She paused to kiss the top of Leila’s head. "Just don’t be so busy keeping your options open that you miss out on what you really want."

As her mama walked out of the kitchen, Leila’s phone buzz again.

Wilo: Please, Leila. I just want to see you.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, but her mind isn’t on Wilo. It was on Aurélien and the way his name had sounded coming from her mama’s lips. The way her heart had skipped just a little at the thought of him calling to check on her.

***************************************

Leila only has a few more days at home, and it’s messing with her head. She thought coming back to Atlanta would give her clarity, but instead, it feels like everything is weighing on her even more. The whole thing with Aurélien and Wilo — it’s making everything harder.

Should she quit being Aurélien’s PA to be with Wilo? Or just quit being a PA altogether and finally figure herself out? But if she does quit, she’s not going back to corporate. Hell no. That life nearly drained her dry the first time around, and she’s not making that mistake again.

Still, the idea of starting fresh sounds good — better than being stuck in the middle of whatever this is. But then Wilo texts her again, and curiosity gets the better of her. What could this thing with him really be? Would it work if she gave it a real shot?

It’s late, but she picks up her phone and finally replies.

Leila: I’ll come see you this week.

His response comes almost immediately.

Wilo: This week? You sure?

Leila: Yeah. I’ll let you know when I land.

She doesn’t give herself time to overthink it. By morning, her ticket to London is booked, and by the afternoon, she’s already on her way to the airport. Her mama gives her one of those tight hugs that says, I know you’re up to something, but I’ll let you figure it out. Her daddy tells her to be safe, his attention mostly on the game playing on the living room TV.

The flight is smooth, and she spends most of it bouncing between nervous excitement and second-guessing herself. By the time she lands, her resolve is still intact, but she’s made one decision for sure— she’s not staying at Wilo’s house. That’s too much temptation, and she needs to be as clear-headed as possible.

Her hotel is chic but understated, the kind of place that feels luxurious without screaming it. She texts Wilo her room number once she’s checked in, her pulse kicking up as she sends it.

Not even twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

When she opens it, Wilo is standing there, dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, but somehow still looking like he just stepped out of a GQ spread. He’s holding a bouquet of white roses and grinning like he’s relieved she actually showed up.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice low and warm.

"Hey," she replies, stepping aside to let him in.

The air between them feels heavy but not uncomfortable. He hands her the flowers, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sends a jolt straight through her.

"I wasn’t sure if you were serious," he admits, watching her as she sets the flowers on the desk near the window.

"I was," she says, turning to face him. "I just… needed to make sure I was doing this for the right reasons."

"And?"

"And I’m here," she says simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Wilo steps closer, his gaze steady and unflinching. "I’m glad you are."

Leila feels her heart skip, but she keeps her cool, determined to stay clear-headed and focused. She’s not here to get swept away — at least, that’s what she tells herself.

"So," she says, breaking the moment before it gets too intense. "What’s the plan?"

He grins, his dimples making an appearance. "I thought we’d just wing it. Unless you’ve got something in mind?"

"Wing it works," she says, grabbing her jacket.

As they head out, she can’t help but wonder if she’s walking into something that will make everything even more complicated — or if, for once, it might actually lead to something real.

Leila and Wilo keep it low-key, staying under the radar as much as possible. No fancy dinners or crowded hotspots — just little moments that feel easy. They grab coffee at a quiet café tucked into a side street, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a barista who doesn’t even blink at Wilo’s recognizable face.

Later, they wander through a park, laughing about something stupid Wilo said. It’s simple, and it feels good — so good that Leila starts to think this could actually work.

At one point, they find themselves in a small record store. Wilo flips through vinyls, holding one up every now and then with a smug grin. "You’d love this," he says, handing her a Prince album.

Leila rolls her eyes but takes it anyway, her fingers brushing against his for a second too long. It’s moments like this that make her question everything she thought she wanted or didn’t want.

As they sit down for a late lunch at a quiet bistro, she sneaks a photo of Wilo, mid-laugh, the light catching just right on his face. She uploads it to her Close Friends story, tagging it with a coy little caption: London’s treating me well.

Her Close Friends list is carefully curated. Aurélien isn’t on it — he never has been — but Jules and Cama are. And if she knows anything about them, they’re definitely going to report back.

And she doesn’t care.

Part of her wants them to. She wants Aurélien to see the photo, to know she’s here, to feel something. Everyone keeps saying he has feelings for her, but he’s never done anything to prove it. No grand gesture, no confession, not even a drunken text. If he has feelings, he hides them well, and Leila’s tired of guessing.

As the day goes on, though, her phone stays silent. No text, no DM, nothing. She tries to push it out of her mind, focusing on Wilo instead. He’s attentive, sweet, and clearly into her, and she knows she should be grateful for that.

But as much as she tries to stay present, Aurélien lingers in the back of her mind.

When she gets back to her hotel that evening, Wilo walks her to her door, his hand lingering at her lower back. He leans in to kiss her, but she stops him with a soft smile.

"Not tonight," she says, her voice gentle but firm.

Wilo steps back, nodding. "I get it," he says, his tone understanding. "Goodnight, Leila."

"Goodnight," she replies, watching him walk away before stepping into her room.

As she sits on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, she starts to wonder if it’s time to cut her losses entirely. Maybe Aurélien’s silence is her answer. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

She exhales sharply, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. Whatever happens next, she knows one thing for sure: she’s done chasing after a man who won’t meet her halfway.

Leila wakes up to the soft hum of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. She groggily grabs it, squinting at the screen. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Training’s at nine. Match starts at six. Rest up so you don’t fall asleep in the stands.

She rolls her eyes but smiles, setting the phone down. Today is her last full day in London, and as much as she’s enjoyed the ease of her time with Wilo, the reality of going back to Madrid looms like a cloud over her.

By the time she’s up and moving, Wilo’s already at the training ground, leaving her with a slow morning to herself. She takes her time getting ready, picking out a sleek but casual outfit for the game: a fitted cream sweater tucked into high-waisted jeans and ankle boots. Makeup just this side of "I woke up like this" but definitely intentional and finally using her contact lenses (bout goddamn time).

As the day creeps toward evening, she grabs an Uber to the stadium. She’s buzzed into the VIP entrance, her name already on the list, and escorted to her seat in the family section. The energy inside the stadium is electric, fans chanting and waving scarves as the teams warm up. She watches Wilo out on the pitch, his warmup jacket zipped up to his chin as he jogs and stretches. He looks calm, focused, and seeing him like this — so in his element — makes her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t expecting.

The match kicks off, and it’s tense from the start. Liverpool presses hard, their attacks relentless, but Arsenal holds their own. Wilo is sharp on the ball, threading passes with precision and orchestrating plays like he was born to do it. Leila watches, captivated, her hands gripping the edge of her seat every time he makes a dangerous run or intercepts a pass.

At halftime, the score is still 0-0, and the tension in the stadium is palpable. Leila scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself, but her notifications are quiet. She had half-expected a message from Jules or Cama, but apparently, they’ve decided to keep their mouths shut or maybe Aurélien just doesn’t care.

The second half is even more intense. Liverpool finally scores, and the stadium goes silent except for the away fans celebrating. But Arsenal fights back, and in the 50th minute, Wilo delivers a stunning assist that leads to an equalizer. The crowd erupts, and Leila finds herself on her feet, cheering and clapping like she’s been an Arsenal fan her whole life.

When the final whistle blows, the game ends in a 2-2 draw. It’s not a win, but it’s a hard-fought point, and the energy in the stadium reflects that.

After the match, she’s escorted to the family area. She spots Bukayo Saka almost immediately, his bright smile unmistakable as he chats with a group of people. He notices her standing off to the side and makes his way over.

"Hey, you’re Wilo’s friend, right?" Bukayo asks, extending a hand.

Leila shakes it, her lips curving into a polite smile. "Yeah, Leila. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. He’s been talking about you all week."

Her cheeks warm at that, but she keeps her composure. "Hopefully, only good things."

Bukayo laughs. "Yeah, don’t worry. All good things."

They chat for a bit, Bukayo’s easygoing nature making the conversation flow effortlessly. He’s mid-sentence when someone else calls out to him, and he waves before excusing himself. Leila glances around the room, her eyes landing on a familiar figure — Ibou Konaté.

Ibou catches her gaze and raises an eyebrow. "So. You and Wilo, it's serious, huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start."

He chuckles, those famous dimples appearing. "Brussels was interesting. Aurélien wasn't exactly subtle about his mood."

Leila freezes. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on," Ibou says, leaning in. "You think Les Bleus don't talk? After those Israel and Belgium matches? Aure looked like he was one bad pass away from committing murder every time Wilo was mentioned." His tone is knowing, just this side of teasing. "He's not gonna like this. Not one bit."

"Ibou—" she starts, a warning in her voice.

He holds up his hands. "Just saying. Some captains get… particular about things." The way he says it makes it clear he's talking about Aurélien specifically. "Wilo's a good guy. But Aure? Man's complicated."

Leila can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Tell me about it."

She chats with Ibou for a few more minutes then he gave her a hug before he left. Her phone then buzzes. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Where you at?

She types a quick response: Family area. Waiting on you.

A few minutes later, he appears, freshly showered and dressed in casual streetwear. His eyes find hers instantly, and he makes his way over, his lips curving into a soft smile.

"Tired?" he asks, sitting down beside her.

"Not really," she lies. In truth, the emotional weight of the day — of the entire trip — is starting to catch up with her.

"Good," he says. "I want to take you out for one last drink before you leave."

She hesitates, but only for a second. "Okay," she says, her voice steady.

They leave the stadium together, slipping out a side exit to avoid the lingering fans and media. The bar he takes her to is quiet and intimate, tucked away in a corner of the city she doesn’t recognize. They sit in a cozy booth, nursing their drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

For a moment, it feels easy — like they’re just two people enjoying each other’s company without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

But as the night winds down, the reality of her impending departure settles heavily between them.

"Thanks for today," she says as they stand outside the bar, the cool night air nipping at her skin.

"Anytime," he says, his eyes searching hers.

She knows she should say more — explain how much she’s appreciated his kindness, his patience, his effort — but the words catch in her throat.

Wilo steps closer, his hands finding her waist in a way that feels both casual and deliberate. "Can I take you back?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

She nods, and just like that, they’re walking back to her hotel. The streets are quieter now, the city winding down around them. Leila keeps her hands in her pockets, but Wilo’s presence beside her feels grounding, a steady reminder that for tonight, she doesn’t have to figure everything out.

At the hotel entrance, she pauses, not quite ready to say goodbye. "You don’t have to walk me all the way up," she says softly.

"Didn’t plan to," he teases, though his smile is gentle.

Still, he lingers. He tilts her chin up with a finger, his touch light, testing. When she doesn’t pull away, he leans down and kisses her. It’s soft at first, a question she answers without hesitation, leaning into him like she’s been waiting for this all night.

His hands slide to her hips, pulling her closer, and for a moment, she forgets everything — Aurélien, the uncertainty, the nagging voice in her head telling her this is a bad idea. All she knows is the warmth of Wilo’s lips against hers, the way he tastes like the pint he ordered earlier, the way he makes her feel wanted.

When they break apart, she’s breathless, her heart pounding. "I should…" she starts, but the rest of the sentence never comes.

"You should," he agrees, though there’s a glint in his eye that says he knows she won’t.

Panic creep into her thoughts, uninvited but impossible to ignore. Wilo is right here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. Why is she still holding back?

"Do you want to come up?" The question slips out before she can stop it, her voice quieter than she intended.

Wilo studies her for a beat, searching her face for something —hesitation, regret, a reason to say no. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, because he nods. "Yeah," he says simply.

The elevator ride to her floor is silent, the air between them charged. By the time they reach her room, her nerves are buzzing, though she doesn’t quite know if it’s anticipation or anxiety.

Inside, she tosses her bag onto the chair and turns to face him. He’s already close, closing the distance between them in two strides. This time, his kiss isn’t soft or questioning - it’s confident, urgent, like he’s been waiting for her permission all night.

Her hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, sliding under the fabric of his shirt. His skin is warm, his muscles taut under her touch. He groans softly against her lips, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"Leila," he murmurs, his voice rough. It’s not a question, but it feels like one, like he’s giving her a chance to stop this before it goes too far.

But she doesn’t want to stop. Not tonight. Not when everything feels this good, this right.

"Don’t think," she whispers, her words muffled against his lips, feeling a pull to give in even though her mind is screaming at her to stop.

It feels too good — his mouth on hers, his hands now sliding under the hem of her sweater, fingertips brushing her skin in a way that sends a bolt of heat straight through to her kitty. For a second, she can forget everything. Forget the uncertainty, the guilt. Forget Aurélien and the pressure of what she’s supposed to want, what she’s supposed to feel.

Her heart beats faster, and the only thing that matters is the way Wilo’s kiss deepens, pulling her closer as if they’re both drowning in each other, but even as she gets lost in the sensation, the thought of what this means for later creeps up, a whisper in her mind.

Stop before you do something you’ll regret, her inner voice warns, and it’s almost a shout against the moment. She should pull away, tell him this is a mistake, that she’s not ready to complicate things more than they already are.

Yet then, the conversation with her girls back in Atlanta echoes in her mind. Because why should she keep hanging on to something that wasn’t even clear? Wilo is here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. He’s showing her attention — something she craves, something that’s been missing for too long.

She breathes in, pulling away just enough to look at him, her hands resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it carries a weight. "I’m not... I’m not gonna go all the way," she says, almost like a promise, though part of her wishes she could just let go.

Wilo doesn’t pull away, his eyes searching hers, gauging her intentions. "Just a taste, then?" he murmurs, the question laced with a little teasing but also an understanding. He isn’t pushing her. He’s letting her make the call.

A part of her wants to shake her head, to step back and stop this before it goes too far. She knows better, knows she shouldn’t be using him to fill a gap that Aurélien has left wide open. However, Wilo’s not asking for anything more than what she’s willing to give him right now — and, hell, maybe she needs it. Plus, he got her panties wetter than a Slip N' Slide.

She smiles a little, though it’s hesitant, her mind still conflicted. "Yeah," she says softly, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "Just a taste."

And in that moment, it feels like a decision.

His lips are back on hers instantly, and the kiss deepens with an urgency that’s different now, like they both know the boundaries but are still curious enough to see how far they can go. His hands are sliding back to her waist, tugging her closer until she can feel the heat of him through their clothes.

Wilo’s hands are warm, exploring, but careful. He’s taking his time, sensing her hesitation, allowing her the space to pull back if she needs it. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lets herself go, leaning into the moment as his lips travel to her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Every kiss feels like a promise she isn’t sure she’s ready to make, but she’s here, and she’s going to live in the now. She’s not sure how much longer she can keep pretending she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him.

Leila can feel her pulse quicken as Wilo’s hands slide down her arms, gently tugging at the fabric of her sweater. The air between them crackles with the same electricity that had been building ever since her first day in London.

With a soft tug, he pulls the sweater over her head, leaving her in just a bra. She can feel the cool air of the hotel room against her skin and Wilo’s eyes don’t leave hers as he strips off his own shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. She feels her breath hitch, the sight of him sending a wave of heat through her.

He notices her reaction, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

Ho-ly shit. Leila nods, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… wasn’t expecting all of that."

He chuckles softly and gets closer, his hands resting gently on her hips before his lips find hers. Leila kisses him back, feeling the pull of desire stir within her.

They stumble backward onto the bed, their lips still tangled in a kiss, the heat between them intensifying. She can’t help but enjoy the feel of his hands on her body, the way his fingers move with intention, his touch confident yet tender. When his hands wander, brushing along her sides and up her back before copping a feel on her titties, his dick pressing against her thigh; she arches into him instinctively. His touch makes her feel seen, cherished, in a way she hasn't felt in a long time.

Leila wonders what would happen if she let go entirely. What if she just let herself be free of all the things that tie her down?

Even in the heat of it all, a small part of her pulls back. She remembers the life she’s built — the career she’s worked for — and wonders if she’s willing to risk it all for something that might be temporary.

Her phone starts vibrating. Once. Twice.

One of Wilo's hands is tracing lazy circles along her lower back. "Ignore it," he murmurs, his lips still brushing the shell of her ear.

She does — until the phone goes nuclear. Ping. Ping. Ping-ping-ping. A digital storm that practically rattles the walls.

Wilo raises an eyebrow, pulling back just enough to glance at her phone. "Damn," he mutters under his breath.

Her screen is chaos. Four missed calls. Multiple texts. And, of course, a voice note from Aurélien.

The timing? Almost comical. Almost.

Leila swipes open the messages. They’re an avalanche — each one more urgent than the last. Her thumb hovers over the voice note, hesitant but not enough to stop her. A ticking time bomb of potential drama.

She looks at Wilo, a flicker of guilt passing through her, before her eyes drift back to the phone. Wilo doesn’t move, just watches her, unreadable.

"Give me a sec," she mutters, pulling away from him and sliding off the bed. The space between them feels too wide now, too obvious, but she ignores it, heading for the bathroom.

Door closed. Her back pressed against it, she lifts the phone to her ear.

Aurélien's voice hits her like a slap. Broken. Fragmented. Each word jagged, like he's stumbling through a maze of his own making.

"Leila, I—" His breath hitches. "I can't—" The silence is thick, filled with the things he's too scared to say. "Je suis—"

Her heart, traitorous as ever, speeds up. She presses the phone tighter to her ear, her own breath shaky in response to his.

Another ping. A text. She opens it without thinking.

First, a video. Aurélien's hands. His long fingers dancing over the piano keys in that way she knows too well. The melody — raw, unfinished. Like he’s trying to patch a hole in the air between them.

Then, a screenshot. A letter. A confession. Handwritten, messy, vulnerable. It’s almost too much to take.

Her breath catches.

The world outside the bathroom door feels distant. Almost unreal. Her mind pulls her back, urging her to breathe, to think. But the words on the screen? They’re the kind that push all logic aside.

Her finger hovers over the phone, but she can’t bring herself to delete the message. She opens it again.

The letter fills the screen, and it makes her chest tighten as she reads.

"I don’t know how to say it — words always fail me when it matters most. I’ve tried so many times, but each time, the words slip away like sand between my fingers. So this time, I’m writing it down. Maybe that’s all I can do. Maybe it’s enough to be honest.

You’ve become the quiet in my chaos. The calm in my storm. You’re the one I think about when I’m too tired to think about anything else. The one I reach for when I feel like I’m losing myself. But I never said it. And I should have. I should have said it, Leila. I should have been better at telling you that you matter, that you're my rock, more than just okay.

Maybe it’s too late now. But please know, it’s never been anyone else but you.

I’m sorry for not being brave enough before. But I’m here now. I’m ready to fight for this, if you are.

Aurelien."

She gasps as she finishes reading. His words, they hit different than before. She’s used to his confidence, his charm, his ability to make everything feel effortless. But this? This is him. Vulnerable. Honest. The rawness of it leaves her heart aching in places she didn't even know were sore.

It’s a love letter in its truest sense — one that doesn’t gloss over the mistakes, but lays them bare. The kind that you don’t often hear. And for the first time, she feels it. He’s finally saying the things he should have said long ago.

But is it too late?

The question sits heavy on her chest, and she hates that she even has to ask. She wants to be angry. She wants to throw his words back at him and walk away. But she can’t. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s been holding on to him, or because she’s scared of what this newfound honesty means. All she knows is that his words have shattered the wall she’s been building around her heart.

Aurelien’s been her whole world for so long. Maybe she’s been waiting for him to catch up, to finally see her the way she’s always seen him. But she’s not sure she has the strength to wait any longer.

She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her mind. The cool air in the bathroom doesn’t help. Neither does the soft knock on the door.

"Everything alright?" Wilo’s voice is low, gentle, and when she doesn’t answer immediately, he pushes it open just a fraction.

Her heart skips at the sight of him. He’s standing there. He doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. He can see it in her face, in the way her hands are trembling slightly as she holds the phone.

"I’ll be fine," she says, her voice a little too sharp. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.

Wilo doesn’t press. He just steps into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze steady, like he’s giving her the space to breathe and figure it out for herself.

She stares at the phone again, knowing she can’t keep going back to the message. But it’s impossible to look away from it now. His words are etched in her mind, replaying over and over again. She thought she was over him. That she could move on, that the pieces would fall into place. Yet now?

She’s not sure.

Finally, she slides the phone back into her pocket, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"I don’t know what to do," she whispers, more to herself than to Wilo, but he hears her. He always does.

"You don’t have to decide right now," he says softly, but there’s a certain weight to his words. "You’re allowed to take your time, Leila."

Her chest tightens at the gentleness in his voice. He’s not pushing her. Not demanding answers. This isn’t about picking between him and Aurelien. It’s about what she wants, what she’s willing to fight for.

And the truth is, she’s tired. Tired of waiting, tired of not being seen, tired of trying to make things fit where they don’t.

But the letter… the letter is the first time he’s shown up for her, even if it’s a little too late. She doesn’t know if it’s enough to make up for everything, but it’s a start.

Leila takes a deep breath meeting Wilo’s gaze for the first time, really looking at him. He’s patient, understanding. And in his eyes, she doesn’t see the same questions that have been haunting her.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "For being here."

Wilo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he pulls her gently back into his arms, and for a moment, she lets herself feel the warmth of his presence, the steadiness of him.

But in the back of her mind, Aurelien’s words linger.

It’s never been anyone else but you.

Is it too late to believe him?

.............tbd

[immortalmolloy]

Daniel was shocked and he froze for a moment. He could feel the way the boat rocked gently and hear the soft sound of waves lapping at the ship’s hull outside. The room was lit very dimly by a single lamp in the corner.

It was surprising to hear Mina say that he was a light in her life. Daniel had always seen himself as more of a black hole. Hearing Mina say how much he meant to her and how special she thought he was, it meant so much to Daniel. It made him want to be everything she needed. And it made him think maybe he didn’t always need to run to Armand when he was desperate to hear kind words and praises. Mina would assure him. He wanted to do the same for her.

He was usually good with words but this was a complicated subject that hurt him too. Daniel felt shame for things he had done too. He had been so sure back then that he knew who the monsters were. Now he doubted that. Violent memories haunted him in his sleep more often than he’d like to admit.

He was so grateful for Mina. He didn’t know how she was exactly before they had met, only knew what she had said and what he saw in her mind. He understood choices she had made. He couldn’t understand completely but he didn’t blame her for things she had done. She made hard choices. She was strong and brave. She survived and endured.

Daniel had changed a lot too since he met her. He owed her everything. She saved him again and again. He could never repay her for how she rescued him from the grave he was determined to crawl in. She had given him purpose and shown him true love that he had been searching for. She helped him to grow into the person he was meant to be.

“I can’t pretend to know it all,” Daniel said finally. “I do understand how it is to feel like the worst kind of monster, to have your past choices weighing on you suffocating you slowly, to be haunted by painful memories in your sleep. I see their faces. The monsters. The ones we hunted. Some of them deserved it-at least, I think they did. But others... I used to believe I was the hero in the story. I thought I knew who the monsters were. And now, I don't know anything. I’m always going to Lestat for reassurance. Lestat tells me all of the terrible things he’s done and that’s the only way I stop hating myself.”

Daniel sighed. “We can’t forget these things we’ve done. You don’t have to carry it alone, though. We have each other always and forever. I may not have known you so long ago but I do know you now. I know your heart and mind and soul. We were meant to find each other. You are my soulmate for all eternity. You're one of the bravest, strongest people l've ever known. You made hard choices because you thought it was the right thing to do and maybe you didn't always get it right. Maybe neither of us did. But you still deserve the world, Mina. You are amazing and you deserve love and to heal from this stuff. I’m here for you. I’ll help you.”

He kissed her forehead and held her close. "I don't know where I'd be without you. I don't even know who I'd be. You gave me purpose, Mina. A reason to fight, even when I wanted to give up. You’ve shown me love. I could never thank you enough for how you rescued me and saved me. If I’m a light in your life then you’re the whole damn sun in mine.”

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[lurkingshan]

The other day in a conversation about I'll Turn Back This Time, @troubled-mind asked me about my favorite dramas that show the same couple falling in love multiple times, in different iterations.

So of course, I am now here with a list! Takes on the fantasy trope that ITBTT uses--an alternate universe and/or time travel mechanism that sets up the protagonist to fall in love with the same person, or different versions of the same person, more than once--is actually not super common in dramas, but there are a handful of shows that do something like this:

Triage 

If you ask me what is the best QL with this trope, I don't even need to think about it: Triage is the answer. I love this show, and alongside its masterful suspense plot you get to watch these two try (and fail) to get the other to fall for them over and over again. It's a great time.

Someday or One Day 

If you ask me what is the best drama with this trope, period, I have to hand it to Someday or One Day, a Taiwanese drama that is probably my favorite time travel alternate universe romance of all time. In this one you get multiple versions of the same characters falling in love with each other and traversing time and space to find each other. It's so good that a Korean production attempted to replicate its magic. An absolute must watch for people who love this trope!

Every You Every Me

Now we're getting into some with asterisks. In this show you get to watch the same two actors play multiple different pairs who fall in love with each other in different universes--kind of. I can't say more or I will spoil it for those who haven't seen it yet! It's not a perfect show by any means, but it's a lot of fun.

4 Minutes 

This show is not a great example of this trope IMO, but it sort of gets at the experience, as you see a few different versions of the lead characters and their relationship through various narrative turns. I'm keeping it vague because saying much more would be spoilerific!

The Legend of the Blue Sea

A mermaid meets a conman, has a whirlwind romance, and then deletes his memory. But oops! They were already lovers in a previous life, her mermaid powers are not working quite as planned, and she can't stop herself from finding him again anyway. It's all a bit more complicated than that, but the point is you get to watch these two find each other and fall in love several times in multiple lifetimes. And damn did I love it every time.

Until We Meet Again 

In this drama, the story is about two souls who meet again in another life after a tragic end in their first. So it kinda fits here, but their reincarnated souls go into new characters played by different actors, so the experience of watching it is a bit different. This one is less about time travel and choice as it is heavy on the red string of fate.

Extraordinary You 

In this fantasy drama, our mains are side characters in a manwha who gain sentience and start trying to change their story together while an omnipotent writer keeps shuffling them back to where they think they belong and deleting their memories of each other. It's definitely a unique twist on this trope, and you get to watch them fight to remember and fall for each other and find a way to take control of their destiny over and over again.

In addition to narratives with a fantasy construct that resets or produces multiple iterations of the core relationship, I also thought about second chance romances where you get to see both the original and the second chance love story in full, giving you the experience of watching the same two people fall in love twice. Some noteworthy dramas in this category:

Lighter and Princess

This drama centers on two tech genius types who originally fell in love in college and started a company together before something went very wrong, resulting in his incarceration. The story picks up when he gets out of prison and sets out to reclaim his legacy, and you get to live both their first and second love stories in detail. One of my absolute favorites and permanently in the rewatch rotation.

We Best Love 

This story is told in two parts, with the first focused on their original enemies to lovers romance in college, and the second their reunion after a confusing and closure-less break up. It's honestly kind of a mess but I love it so much anyway, in no small part due to the actors.

The End of the World With You 

And now for something a little darker! This one is heavy on the toxic psychosexual vibe, and all the more fascinating for it. Two former lovers meet again at the end of the world, and we see what went wrong for them in college and watch them sort through the wreckage as adults and try to make something of the time they have left.

First Love: Hatsukoi

Two high school sweethearts get separated by life circumstances, and meet again twenty years later to realize they are still not over it. I was charmed by the teen love story in this one especially.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

Let me end on a note of excellence and take this opportunity to again implore everyone to watch this beautiful show. Both iterations of this relationship are compelling and complicated and full of deep feeling; it's one of the most satisfying second chance romances I have seen, and after everything they've been through, it's so rewarding to see these two get the chance to fall in love again.

[otmaaromanovas]

Do you know what the girls liked to read and what their interests were ?

Hello! I have tried my very best to include detailed quotes and information about OTMA's interests and what they liked to read, so this is quite a long post!

Olga

Olga sometimes played the piano and sang, and she was considered the best pianist out of the family. Sophie Buxhoeveden recalled that

"She could play by ear anything she had heard, and could transpose' complicated pieces of music, play the most difficult accompaniments at sight, and her touch on the piano was delightful. She sang prettily in a mezzosoprano. She was lazy at practising, but when the spirit moved her she would play by the hour."

Olga also had a playful streak, and would enjoy playing practical jokes on her tutors when she was a child. When she was older, she sometimes joined in Anastasia's mischief. From a letter to her father in 1915:

“I am sitting in Mr. Gilliard’s rooms near the door of his water-closet where Trina’s little nasty girl Katya is sitting locked in by Anastasia and myself. We’ve just drawn her along the dark passage and pushed her in... Katya is still locked in the W.C. She is knocking and wailing behind the door but we are implacable"

Katya is thought to have been one of Ekaterine 'Trina' Schneider's maids, Ekaterina 'Katya' Zhivaya.

Fittingly, Olga seemed to enjoy comedy books. She sometimes wrote about the books she was reading in her diary:

Friday, 12 August 1916: "[I was] lying down in the hammock and read the second part of “Surgery.”" Sunday, 23 October 1916: "After 10 o'cl. came over and read Sladkopevtsev's funny short stories" Wednesday, 20 November 1916: "After 11 o'cl. to bed. Read V gostyakh u turok [Visiting the Turks] by Leikin."

I think that on 23 October, Olga is referring to Vladimir Vladimirovich Sladkopevtsev, a writer and actor who authored over 300 short stories. Nikolai Alexandrovich Leikin was a satire and comedy writer, and his book Visiting the Turks, part of a comedy series about a traveller, was published in 1897.

Olga brought several books with her to the Ipatiev house, including religious and history books:

And Mary Sings Magnificat, a religious book with handwritten prayers and poems composed by Olga, another interest of hers.

The Eaglet, which I believe is the Russian edition of Edmond Rostan's play based on the life of Napoleon II

The Princess and the Goblin, a children's fantasy book, gifted to Olga when she was a child by her aunt Irene

France in All Ages, a gift from Nicholas II, likely a history book

Tatiana

Tatiana had an interest in needlework and embroidery, regularly sewing clothing and blouses for herself, her sisters, and her friends. Whilst OTMA were all taught needlework by their mother, Tatiana was the most skilled. Anna Vyrubova remembered that Alexandra's "best pupil" was Tatiana,

"who had an extraordinary talent for all kinds of handwork", making "beautiful blouses and other garments, embroideries and crochets".

Tatiana also enjoyed fashion. Vyrubova also remembered that:

"she was able on occasions to arrange her mother's long hair, and to dress her as well as a professional maid"

Similarly, Sophie Buxhoeden noted that Tatiana would step in to style hair when the usual hairdresser was unavailable.

"Tatiana Nicolaevna loved dress. Any frock, no matter how old, looked well on her. She knew how to put on her clothes, was admired and liked admiration."

Tatiana's interest in fashion was reflected in her diary, where she noted when they were measured for dress fittings and that her and her sisters had a hairdresser that would curl their hair for special occasions. Similarly, she described having their heads shaved in 1917 as a "horror", but, ever sensible, noted that "now we feel comfortable".

Tatiana also had an interest in Russian history, particularly when she got to help with Alexei's lessons during 1917 to 1918. She enjoyed reading, and makes more references to reading for pleasure in her diaries than Olga does, but unlike Olga she tended not to give the titles of the books she was reading. She mentions reading “The Wide Wide World" to Maria, which was a popular novel written by American author Susan Warner in 1850, that has Christian moral lessons as its core.

Tatiana brought many books with her to the Ipatiev House. A few had annotations that Tatiana wrote, and flowers that she kept between the pages. The majority of books that Tatiana brought with her were religious, many inscribed by Alexandra Feodorovna and appear to have been gifts to Tatiana during 1917-1918. These included:

Our Lady of Beneficence

Book of Hours - I believe that these were read accompanied by prayer

Letters on the Christian life

On the Patience of Sorrow

The Life and Miracles of St. Simeon the Righteous of Verkhotursk - St. Simeon was patron saint of the Ural region

The Life of Our Father St. Seraphim of Sarov - Nicholas II approved St. Seraphim's canonisation, and the events for the solemn canonisation were attended by the Imperial family

Tatiana also brought several moral and religious books gifted to her during her childhood and teenage years, including:

Great Canons of St. Andrew of Crete

Collection of Services, Prayers and Hymns

The Beauty of Self-Control - published in 1911, this was an instructional book advocating for a Christian lifestyle

Non-religious books include

The Wider Life

Life's Open Door

The Brave Life - a book by Lidiya Charskaya, who was a very popular author for Russian girls. It tells the tale of a noble girl who decided to join the army as a cavalryman

Fables of La Fontaine - considered classics in French literature, funny short stories for children

Anthology of Childhood

Tatiana also had several history books

The History of Peter the Great - written by historian and children's writer, Sofya Afanasevna Chistyakov

Tales of Shakespeare - likely the popular children's book written by siblings Mary and Charles Lamb. They summarised different Shakespeare plays, making them suitable for young children. Mary wrote the vast majority, however her name was omitted from the authorship declaration for years in favour of her brother.

Tatiana was a fan of classics, writing to her friend Zenaide Tolstaya "I read a lot. I decided to read all the books by our best writers from the beginning to end! I also read books in English and French." Olga wrote in her diary on Saturday, 3 December 1916 that "Tatiana read “Gdye apelsini zreyut” [Where the Oranges Blossom]", another travel comedy by Leikin.

Maria

Maria had a strong interest in drawing and painting. She was naturally left handed, and like many people in the past, was encouraged to write with her non-dominant right hand instead. However, when she did art, she was able to use her left hand, which I imagine was much more comfortable!

This is confirmed in a letter from Russian tutor Pyotr Vasilievich Petrov to Olga, where he wondered whether Maria

"does not want to write [a letter] because she is not allowed to write with her left hand, and the right one refuses to write"

In 1916, Alexei asked Maria if she could draw a picture of his spaniel, Joy, for him

"16 December 1916. My dear darling Alexei! I don’t know how big you want me to draw Joy, but I will give it a go, and if it doesn’t turn out, I can do it again…. I have just tried to sketch Joy but it didn't work out because I don’t really remember what he looks like and it ended up looking nothing like him, so I won’t send it to you. When you bring Joy to me, then I will be able to draw him."

Sophie Buxhoeveden remembered:

"[Maria] alone of the sisters, had a decided talent for drawing, and sketched quite well, always with her left hand"

You will also notice that a lot of Maria's photograph albums are 'hand tinted', where she has painted over the photos to add colour.

Maria was also very interested in children, and loved spending time with babies and kids. She loved visiting the local 'Nanny school', an orphanage. In 1914 she wrote to friend Olga Vorovona that she enjoyed visiting them:

“such awfully sweet darlings... We gave them all presents and they were so happy with them and each one showed their nanny what they got…. I love little children so awfully much, play with them and carry them in my arms. Do you love babies?"

Four books belonging to Maria were found at the Ipatiev House. Interestingly, two of these appear to have been textbooks from her lessons. They were:

On Paris - I believe this was written by popular author Vasily Petrovich Avenarius

Visual Teaching of Foreign Languages

Reflections

The Role and the Ring - perhaps the narrative poem by Thomas Browning?

Anastasia

Anastasia thoroughly enjoyed acting and mimicry. She always participated enthusiastically in plays staged by the children, and was remembered by many people who knew her as an excellent mimic.

"She had a comic gift as a mimic, picking out people's foibles in a way that made everyone laugh. "What a bundle of mischief," recalls her godmother, Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, the Tsar's sister."

She liked to tease her tutors to make them laugh, going as far as "throttling" Pierre Gilliard. Sydney Gibbes, her English tutor, recalled her walking into class dressed as a chimney sweep, covered in soot, and sat down as if nothing was amiss, causing lots of laughter amongst her siblings.

"Through the years he preserved from Tobolsk two cheap exercise books, each labelled ‘English’. ‘M. Romanof’ had written her name on one label. The other book belonged to A. Romanova (Shut Up!) Tobolsk 1917-1918.’ Grand Duchess Anastasia, more exuberantly talkative than her sisters, seized on one of Gibbes’s exasperated moments. When he told her to shut up, she asked him how to spell it and adopted it as her nickname."

In a letter to Russian tutor Pyotr Vasilievich Petrov, she expressed her annoyance at him by purposefully filling the letter with spelling mistakes:

"Wikied P.V.P. I am very, very upsit with you. Why didn’t you write a litter to Maria and me? I’m telling you, you are very, very bad, extremely bad even. Maria and I have written you so meny letters and you haven’t replied. I am going to make mystakes on purpose. I alredy see where I made mystakes. Anastasia. 1909. 9 November."

Anastasia also enjoyed shopping. Her nanny, Sophia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, recalled how

""Anastasia Nikolaevna was especially attracted to stores, where they sold doll shoes of various sizes…""

It's a common myth that OTMA did not go shopping - you can read more about the truth here

Only a few books belonging to Anastasia were found at the Ipatiev House, four books of essays.

The children also enjoyed the Sherlock Holmes stories, which their father read aloud to them, including The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Nicholas also read many of Chekhov's short stories to the children, including:

"The Duchess" - often translated as 'The Princess', a story about a narcissistic princess who encounters modest monks

"The Witch" - about a husband who thinks that his wife is a witch who has summoned a snowstorm

"To the Court of Law" - I believe this is an alternative translation for "The Court", a satire on the judiciary system

"The Incident" - about two siblings debating the parentage of kittens

"The Enemy" - about the grief of a doctor who lost his son

This was a very long post, but I do hope that you found it helpful! I don't have my Maria and Anastasia books on me at the moment, so please forgive me for not including more books that they read :')

Sources

Anna Vyrubova, Memories of the Russian Court, (London: MacMillan and Co, 1923)

GARF 640-1-1318

George Hawkins, Alexei - Russia's Last Tsesarevich: Letters, diaries and writings Part One: 1904 – 1915, (Independently Published: 2022)

Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings, (Independently Published, 2021)

Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Maria Romanov: Third Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters 1908-1918, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2019)

Helen Azar, Tatiana Romanov, Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters, 1913-1918, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2015)

Helen Azar, The Diary of Olga Romanov : Royal Witness to the Russian Revolution, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2013)

Helen Azar, The Romanov Family: Books They Left Behind (Ekaterinburg)

Sophie Buxhoeveden, The Life and Tragedy of Alexandra Feodorovna, Empress of Russia, (London: Longmans, Green & Go, 1929)

[dangermousie]

The best cdrama you probably haven't watched - Tribes and Empires Storm of Prophecy

Most of my airing cdramas are ending within the week and unless we get a lot of other good replacements, it means time to rewatch a favorite.

And this favorite? The sprawling, epic fantasy Tribes and Empires Storm of Prophecy. Tribes has a huge cast (one of criticisms I've seen leveled at it - but that is why I love it; it's epic in every sense of the world), but it centers around three very different men - Shaofeng Heye (Zhou Yiwei), a son of a murdered barbarian chief who will eventually lead the rebellion that tries to topple the empire, Muyun Sheng (Huang Xuan), a disregarded prince who is half-fae and whose mother was supposedly the emperor's great love who he mourns (the truth is so much darker and more complicated) and Muru Hanjiang (Shawn Dou), the cursed son of the chief general who was abandoned to live on the street due to prophecy. Sometimes they are allies, sometimes enemies, sometimes both at once.

Despite the huge budget, it was not a hit either in China or internationally - people complained about the slow pace, the large cast and the lack of ending (the drama is 70+ eps and tells only half the story.) I loved every second of it. I grew up reading Russian novels which were also sprawling, with a huge cast, deliberate pace and often lack of resolution at the end. Perhaps that is why the one audience where I think it was a hit was the Russian-speaking cdrama fandom (all the MVs I can find, btw, are made by Russian speakers.)

(The above is a gorgeous general MV)

Why do I love it? Other than the amazing visuals (it's directed by Cao Dun, all of whose dramas are genuinely stunning looking), there is the fact that it really feels like a window in a whole other world - epic and a little alien, complex, full of horror and beauty.

And there are the characters and the narrative. Because this drama does not hurry, it's not only the mains who get fleshed out - secondary and even tertiary characters are fully-fledged. Two of my favorite characters are emperor and empress - two intense monsters locked in an emotional cage with each other, clawing at others and themselves, as bystanders die.

This is a dark dark world - made before the censorship tightening up, there is none of that "tireless emperor ceaselessly working for the people" nonsense or even other character spouting about working for the greater good. The emperor and most of the imperial family are monsters, grasping for power, lives of people as ants to them. Some characters do have ideals but they are not glib or easy or fit within modern parameters. This is a narrative that starts with Shaofeng Heye's entire tribe being wiped out because of an act of kindness by a boy (and his tribe and other tribes are locked into a life death struggle for resources perpetually.) Blind loyalty to the crown is not viewed as a virtue - Muru Hanjiang's father is a monster for throwing his infant to die due to a prophecy that states he's a threat to the throne.

(another general MV)

Also, me being me, there are ships. There are a bunch, but my favorite is Muru Hanjiang x Su Yuning. She's a minor noblewoman picked to be a crown princess because her horoscope says that whoever she marries will be the ruler (interestingly, MHJ's prophecy that upended his life is that he will end the rule of the Muyun dynasty - clearly they are meant to marry at some point, heh) and she has no choice about it. Their love is glorious and largely unspoken and kinda doomed; the way the drama ends with her ditching literally EVERYTHING and following him and his clan to horrifying exile that might result in death (and even as he still tries to drive her away to protect her, she knows what he's doing and vows to wait for him) is glorious.

This MV for them is amazing:

I also loved Shaofeng Heye and Princess Muyun Yan Shuang. Not functional in the least but so hot!

(The third main OTP of the prince x spirit, I liked but not as much as these two.)

Anyway, this is my next rewatch.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 9.3 - 50 Shades of Enchantment

ALICE

Real life has considerably less sexual tension than Twelve or So Swatches of Woohoo.

After a few charged moments, Vlad settles into being her actual assistant. Alice describes what she knows about the secret society—dramatic robes, creepy body movements, a penchant for cult shit out behind Pepper’s Pub—and he turns that into search terms, running down articles from old newspapers and books. 

By lunchtime, Alice’s contribution had dwindled to ordering delivery, grabbing it from the main hall, and posting a sign on the door that said “Thesis Interview in Progress” to keep everyone from knocking. It was demoralizing to go from feeling sexy and in charge to feeling insecure and bored. It was almost as if she had imagined the jolt between them. 

And maybe she did. 

Vlad didn’t seem to care about touch. At first, that didn’t matter because she didn’t want to be touched either. But now, Alice was comfortable with him, and so, of course, her fucked up brain had gone from “Please don’t touch me” to “Please give me some sign you want this by putting your hands on me.”

It didn’t help that this impromptu date was her worst nightmare. Vlad was sending a terrifying number of articles to the printer. He seemed understanding, but Alice knew that would disappear as soon as he realized that reading wasn’t something she struggled with because she didn’t care about it. Her brain flat-out refused to cooperate as soon as she looked at a page. 

Audiobooks, podcasts, and being an excellent mimic helped her hide it, but she had no time to prepare for this. The idea of reading these articles in front of him made her want to puke. 

“Alright, here’s what I’ve found,” he sets a pile of papers on the coffee table. “There are conspiracy theories about a secret society on campus going back to before the turn of the century. But the first article to name them is this one from 1895. It’s about a charity gala.” He glances at her. “Which one would you like me to read first?” 

“What?” her mouth falls open. “You would do that for me?”

“I’ve combed through hundreds of pages of amateur student writing without complaining about the quality once. And I was horny the whole time. I’d do anything for you.”

“Except touch me,” Alice blurts out and immediately feels stupid. “I mean, touch is not your thing, which is cool; I’m just worried because I think it’s my thing. Ugh, I should’ve said that before we even started dating. It’s just been a long time for me, and I was working through some stuff…” Instinctively, she holds out her hands in a protective gesture. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I tricked you. I made you think I didn’t care about cuddling, but I do. And you—”

“You don’t know what I want,” his voice is calm as he interrupts. “You haven’t asked.”

“Oh!” Alice startles and then realizes she’s still trying to physically ward him off, which is mortifying because even though she knows Vlad isn’t going to hit her, her body won’t listen. “I’ll ask now,” she mumbles sheepishly, dropping her hands. 

“Being touched by sims I don’t know is complicated. It feels like an unpleasant surprise. Actually, even with sims I know I still occasionally find myself wanting to curl up in a corner and die rather than be hugged.”

“Well, that’s…awesome,” Alice clears her throat.

“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy it. Or that I don’t want it with you.” He takes a step toward her. “You set my bones on fire and make my body feel like I’m tethered to this earth.”

It’s a profoundly odd sentiment. Romantic, maybe, but…honestly pretty fucking weird. “Okay,” Alice replies slowly, “Is that you saying you like to cuddle?”

He cradles her neck in response, gently tracing her jawline with his thumb.

Her breath ghosts out of her. “This seems less like cuddling and more like wanting to kiss me.”

“I do want to kiss you.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 3 of 8)

New to the story and want to catch up quickly? Click here.

If you prefer long-form, you can read this on my WordPress here.

[shes-an-oddbird]

WIP Wednesday - The Suncatcher

Thank you @annoyingcloudearthquake for tagging me! I've been working on this fic for actual years now, since the end of season 3, and I'd really love to finish it as a sort of thank you now that the show is ending. Unfortunately it's one of those fics that has grown out of control and has multiple main characters, alternating povs and is nowhere near done but I made fun little moodboards for each character to help motivate me to finish and thought I would share them and a little snippet with each. Fair warning the story was inspired by my niche obsession with Cirque du Soleil and an odd fascination with Las Vegas.

Summary: When a wealthy group of investors decides to save a struggling Las Vegas hotel, The Suncatcher, former performers Owen and Tommy are asked to revive their first Cirque show and turn it into the must-see attraction on the iconic strip. Together they recruit a misfit group of artists who deserve a second chance at the high-flying circus life and are determined to put on the best show they can even when they run into obstacles around every corner.

Neon - A Night in Las Vegas TK Strand - The Visitor - Aerial Straps/Duo Straps Artist

'The sun sets and a first time visitor falls in love with the heart of the city itself '

He passes Jonah’s door and moves towards the kitchen, stopping again when he hears voices.

“So what do you think?” To TK’s surprise it’s his dad’s voice. He didn’t even know his dad was in town.

“I think-I think you ask very good questions Owen Strand.” His mom answers. “I mean I have complete faith that he could do it, physically he’s there, mentally he’s there – “

“But – “ His dad asks and the long pause that follows makes his gut twist uncomfortably. But what?

“Emotionally I think he’s getting there,” Gwyn finally says, “Alex may have set him back a little bit.”

Alex? Why would they be talking about Alex? Why were they talking about him at all?

“Doing a show would get him out of New York, might be good for him, a way to move on?”

“Yes, but to do a show in Las Vegas of all the places, and a love story at that, especially this love story.” His mom reasons, pouring out all her concerns at once.

He hears a small amused scoff from his dad. “He’s a grown man Gwyn, surely he’s come to terms with the divorce by now.”

“I’m sure he has but it’s a bit more complicated than that, he’s always loved love but it’s never been very kind to him in return.”

“Maybe this time it will be.” Owen urges. “It’s an opportunity to start over, to try again.”

There is a long pause. TK debates whether he should round the corner to the kitchen, back track to his room or stay put in hopes of more information. His dad was talking about a show. It had been a long time since he performed although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get back at it. Nothing really compared when your old day job title could be simplified to circus performer.

“He always did love Neon, it would be nice for him to have that back.” Her voice is wistful now but his gut clenches once more at the name.

Neon. As is Neon, Neon. The old Cirque show he’s spent hours of his young life absorbed in? The show where his parents fell in love both in real life and in front of the audience every night? They wanted him to be a part of that Neon.

“So you think I should ask him?” Owen asks.

“I think you already did, good morning TK.” TK flinches. She knew he was there the whole time. He’s not surprised, his mom always could see through walls, but damn does he wish he could have had a minute longer to process everything.

[codename-adler]

coming loose by @djhedy - Kevaaron, 26k, banger playlist

Marrow Without Bone by @exyfexyfoxes - og Jerejean, 79k

Lessons in Cartography by @thespineoftherighteous - the unofficial official Andreil sequel to me, 122k

to know a man by @annawrites - Andreil, 48k, the only coffee shop AU i respect

The Way We Are by @kevindavidday - Kevaaron, 52k, doesn't get more classic/iconic than this

fragile by likearecord - Andreil, 25k, radio show AU, softttt

Fairy Lights by @kweenkday - Andreil + Kevaaron, 30k, Holiday AU

my one, my dear by @merceyca - Kevrobin!!! 18.5k

it was a murder but not a crime by gay_irl - Andreil, 22k, juvie AU

Twilight and Daytime by apparently_i_write_fanfics - my Kevaaron origin story by my beloved Ukamushu, 60k

This Complicated Life by 5a5b5p5 - Andreil, 52.5k, neilaaron bestfriendisms + restaurant AU

feels like home by @saturnwaves - Andreil, 41k, dog rescue!!!

Like Being Known by @starsandgutters - Kevaaron, 19k, amnesia AU

After You Two by Fox_Fan13 - Andreil, 14.5k, Dad!Neil, canon divergent

turn out the lights by @cielalune - Andreil, 185k, The Last of Us AU, i will NEVER shut up about this EVER

For my birthday I would love if people responded to this post with some of their favorite aftg fics hehe 🥰

[broodygaming]

Man oh man, it confuses me, very genuinely that ppl dont think that Beau and Yasha were a good end pairing. That they don’t see it. Idk. I catches me off guard every time I read it because, to me I suppose, they go together like... Chocolate ganache. You heat the milk, pour in the chocolate and stir and stir.... and you’re staring at it and there’s awkward chocolate chunks and it’s just milk with chocolate, oh my god I’ve messed it up, it’s sticking to the bottom omfg ive wasted ALL this milk holy shit I’m an idiot and - Bam. Suddenly. One last little stir and it magically transforms before your eyes into smooth rich brown chocolate ganache.  

Idk. For me. They are this fascinating twirling of strong forces that at some point just meld together to make this beautiful thing neither of them could have ever even visualized. The dichotomy of two violent women who have been battered by the world. Told over and over how Destructive they are. Who have destroyed each other in all these crazy situations? Who have been lauded as machines of war and bastions of retribution or cast out as “too much to deal with”..... These two women who have been taught over and over again that EVERY single fucking hand that touches.... strikes.... So strike back and first before they get the fucking chance.... 

Gods be damned do they deserve gentleness. 

And not to say there’s not many places you can find that. But the idea of standing there, holding your broken parts and looking around to find someone to help you... Not fix you, just help you hold them all... And the peace someone might feel handing them to someone whose hands have known pain. Someone whose hands are scarred and battered and tough. Someone who won’t be shocked to see so many broken parts. Someone who is carrying their own armful and a few more of yours won’t be a huge burden. Someone who fucking gets it. You know? I just think of Beau sliding into that hot bath and thinking of the kind words. Not even just kind words, but the acknowledgment and the sincerity. 

The... “I see you. I see you. And I’m not looking away. I will carry these pieces with you, if you might also carry some of mine”. 

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[bitchfitch]

I'm working on that spirit of spring thing and its got me curious about something

[eri-pl]

I like to HC he didn't– wait. Lúthien did not plead for Beren's life. (or my memory is v wrong again) She pleaded to be allowed to say farewell to him. and then Námo got moved by her singing and he pleaded for them being let to live together. And no, I prefer to think he didn't know this beforehand. Because it makes a better story.

Did Tuor even get to live in Valinor? All we get is "I heard it in a song". But if he did,… I don't think that's something Námo would be blinded from. Why would he. "Ulmo's pet Man gets to be an Elf" is cool but not a big turning point of history (him having a son is more of a turning point tbh).

Gimli… TBH it would be just as funny if Námo knew and just waited for everyone's reactions. 🤣 Let the guy have some fun.

I think he would know at least some about Saruman. I suppose my rule for what Námo wuold not know is "he doesn't know when the world ends + whatever makes a better story if he doesn't know it beforehand + I like patterns"

Yes, he is explicitely supposed to keep this stuff to himself, unless Manwë tells him to pronounce a doom (and even then I assume he can't tell much).

[And yes, the dwarves… it would be funny if he didn't.]

PS: @i-am-death-and-i-am-doom I went to reply to your reblog too but then I realized it's much the same, so I'll merge the replies here.

As for the timelines, let me copy what I said in the comments, because I'm tired and don't want to rephrase:

Eru knows all beforehand, so it's not like Númenor was improvised. Námo could have known in theory. As for choices and free will, it's complicated. Generally the nature of time… TLDR of how I see Námo in relation to his own choices is that he sort of was given access to a true omniscience at some point before he want to Arda and made all his choices beforehand, so now he knows what happens and what he does, and to deviate from this choices would be evil. And yes, for a human it would be a terrible, torturous existence, but he's not human, it works for him. I suppose he does treasure the rare moments of nknown, but he is fine with knowing what he will do. That's how Námo works. And as for the choices of others, he knows them beforehand (except when not), but since he does not tell them, it doesn't negate their free will. I'm sorry I can't explain it better, it's just the nature of time… Námo is stuck into the time a little differently than all the other Valar&co. Or maybe much differently.

As for the events: Lúlu and Númenor, yes, I already said I like those being on the list. Earendil… IDK (btw he was judged by the Valar, there was no asking Eru involved; the Valar have a permission to deal with peredhel in whatever way they see fit)

Long-term dealings of Men… that's an interesting idea. TBH I don't have a good sense of how the non-Musicality (non-fully-Musicality, I'd say) exactly shows, and I'd love to have more of an idea of it. I do have an idea of what this ties to, a cloud of things taht are related… but that doesn't feel like enough.

Please tell me your HCs for "what does Námo not know (or had not known before it happenned)".

(concrete events/questions, not the general definition)

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

in the years ive been off tumblr ive done a lot of traditional work so here's one of my favorites <3 it's titled "the epilogue"

oil painting & stitching on canvas, february 2024 (words by me!)