#or if you were designed and made to be a certain way are your actions truly are your own or is it just your programming

[fishing-for-blood]

Thinking about that one post for a Tumblr user is briefly lamenting the revelation they had about accidentally making a theme in all of their writing to be grief. Glancing nervously at the pile of stories and characters I have after having a similar realization.

[elikajinnie]

Hate Is A Strong Word - N.R

P: Slytherin!Ni-ki X fem!reader

Synopsis: You never imagined that the picture perfect Slytherin would like you

Warnings?: Fluff, Misunderstandings, bullying (not from N-ki). Insecurities.

a/n: So this is the start of my Hogwarts au for each of the members. Ni-ki is the first one out! :D The next one will be Jake!

masterlist

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As the heavy oak doors of the Transfiguration classroom creaked open, you walked in alongside your friend Leeseo. The room, illuminated by large arched windows that allowed beams of sunlight to dance across the stone floor, was already buzzing with the chatter of students.

Leeseo nudged you gently, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I heard today’s lesson is going to be something really challenging,” she whispered, her excitement barely contained. You nodded, sharing her eagerness. Transfiguration was one of the most fascinating subjects at Hogwarts, and Professor McGonagall’s classes were always a blend of rigorous discipline and awe-inspiring magic.

As you took your seats, you glanced toward the front of the classroom. There, standing tall and composed by the blackboard, was Professor McGonagall. Her stern yet kind eyes surveyed the room, ensuring everyone was settled. With her wand in hand, she exuded an air of authority and wisdom, her emerald robes flowing gracefully around her.

The murmurs gradually subsided as McGonagall stepped forward, her presence commanding your attention. “Good morning, class,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “Today, we will be advancing to human transfiguration, a complex and delicate branch of magic that requires utmost precision and concentration.”

The mention of human transfiguration sent a ripple of excitement and nervousness through the room. You exchanged a quick, thrilled glance with Leeseo. This was the kind of magic that defined wizardry, the intricate spells that transformed the very essence of matter.

Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, and the blackboard behind her filled with neat, precise instructions and diagrams. “Now, before we begin, I must remind you of the importance of practice and control. Improper transfiguration can have… unintended consequences.” Her eyes swept the room, emphasizing the seriousness of her words.

With a final nod of understanding, you prepared your wand and opened your textbook to the designated chapter.

After Transfiguration, your day continued with a series of classes, each filled with the usual hustle and bustle of student life at Hogwarts. Charms was lively as always, with Professor Flitwick’s enthusiastic instruction keeping everyone engaged. Herbology followed, where you worked in the greenhouse, learning about magical plants and their properties.

As the day wore on, you eventually made your way to the dungeon for Potions class. The air grew cooler and the corridors darker as you descended, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. You and Leeseo entered the dimly lit classroom, settling into your usual seats near the middle. Around you, your classmates were chatting in low tones, the anticipation palpable.

The door swung open with a dramatic flair, and Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him. The room fell silent instantly, every student turning their attention to the formidable Potions Master. Snape’s presence commanded a certain respect—or perhaps fear—that was undeniable.

“Today,” Snape began, his voice a silky drawl that carried a hint of menace, “you will brew a Veritaserum.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the class. “A truth potion, which when correctly brewed, will compel the drinker to reveal their innermost secrets.”

He moved to the front of the classroom, where a cauldron was already simmering. With precise, deliberate movements, he began demonstrating the brewing process, adding ingredients with a practiced ease. His every action was fluid, almost mesmerizing, and you found yourself taking meticulous notes, your eyes darting between the instructions in the textbook and Snape’s methodical demonstration.

“Take care to follow the instructions exactly,” Snape intoned, his dark eyes sweeping the room. “Any deviation could render the potion useless… or worse.”

He finished his demonstration and stepped back, crossing his arms. “I have set up each of you with a partner, so I expect you all to work together,” he announced. The room buzzed with curiosity as you waited for your name to be called.

One by one, Snape called out the pairings. Leeseo was partnered with a Gryffindor student, and soon your name came up. “You will be working with Nishimura Ni-ki,” Snape declared.

You glanced over at Ni-ki, a Slytherin student known for his cunning nature and sharp intellect. Your eyes met briefly before he stood up and walked toward you, his expression neutral. He took the seat beside you, and for a moment, you simply looked at each other, assessing.

“Shall I cut and you brew?” Ni-ki asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded in agreement. “That sounds good.”

With a silent understanding, you both began your task. Ni-ki’s hands moved deftly, slicing ingredients with precision and efficiency, while you focused on the careful process of brewing, ensuring each step was followed meticulously. Though you didn’t converse much, there was an unspoken coordination between you, a shared goal that drove your efforts.

The potion started to take shape, its color gradually shifting as you added each ingredient in turn. Ni-ki’s sharp observations and quick corrections were invaluable, and you found yourself appreciating his expertise despite your limited interactions.

As the final stages approached, the potion glowed a soft, silvery hue, indicating you were on the right track. Snape prowled the classroom, occasionally stopping to observe or comment on various pairs’ progress. When he reached your desk, he paused, scrutinizing your work with his usual critical eye.

“Acceptable,” he murmured, giving a slight nod before moving on. It was high praise coming from Snape, and you felt a sense of accomplishment.

After you and Ni-ki finished brewing the Veritaserum, you let out a quiet sigh of relief and settled back into your seat. The potion simmered gently, its translucent glow a sign of your successful collaboration. With the class winding down, you pulled out your notebook and began doodling absentmindedly, your mind drifting.

Ni-ki, meanwhile, was meticulously sorting out the remaining ingredients. You stole a quick glance at him, curiosity getting the better of you. His recently dyed light hair hung in front of his eyes, accentuating his piercing stare. Despite his cold demeanor, there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that seemed to see right through people. His robes fit him perfectly, the black fabric contrasting sharply with his pale complexion. The Slytherin badge, neatly stitched into his robes, was complemented by the prefect badge pinned just beside it, a testament to his standing and discipline.

You had to admit, even if only to yourself, that Ni-ki looked good. There was something striking about him, an aura that was hard to ignore. But you would never voice this thought out loud. You admired him quietly, keeping your appreciation to yourself. Despite his coldness, he wasn’t like some of his fellow Slytherins who resorted to bullying and teasing. No, his crime was different—he was aloof, detached, and seemingly emotionless. He was an enigma, always keeping to himself and his close-knit group of peers.

As you doodled, you found your thoughts wandering. What was Ni-ki hiding behind that expressionless face? What would it be like to see him smile, to see his features soften with joy? Did he ever feel sadness, and if so, did he let himself cry? These questions swirled in your mind, each one deepening the mystery that was Ni-ki.

Before you could ponder further, the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor signaled the end of class. Snape’s curt dismissal barely registered as you blinked, realizing how lost in thought you had become. You looked up to find that Ni-ki had already stood up and left, leaving behind a spotless workstation. The ingredients were neatly put away, the table wiped clean. In your daydreaming, you hadn’t even noticed him tidying up.

As you left the Potions classroom, the dark and cool dungeons faded behind you, but your thoughts lingered on Ni-ki. You shook your head, trying to clear the lingering questions that kept popping up about him. It wasn’t like you cared—he was distant and cold. But the fact that he cleaned up without saying a word or asking for acknowledgment—it was almost… considerate. Strange for someone like him.

You walked down the stone corridor, heading toward the next class with Leeseo catching up to you. “How was it working with Ni-ki?” she asked, her voice light and curious.

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “He’s efficient. Doesn’t talk much.”

Leeseo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Efficient? That’s not the word I expected you to use.” She grinned playfully, nudging you. “You didn’t bicker, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “We didn’t even speak much, to be honest. He just… does his part and leaves. Not much else to say.”

“Classic Ni-ki,” she mused, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “Still, it’s kind of impressive that you got to work with him. He’s got a reputation, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” You kept your voice light, trying not to dwell on the fact that you had spent the better part of Potions class analyzing the guy instead of just brewing the potion. “It’s just one class though. Nothing special.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but wonder why he kept himself so closed off. There was a quiet confidence about him, yes, but also a wall that he didn’t seem to let anyone through. It made him mysterious, sure, but also frustrating. What was he hiding? Or was it just his nature, plain and simple?

Leeseo and you reached the courtyard, the cool autumn air refreshing after the confined dungeon. You tilted your head up, letting the breeze rustle through your hair, trying to shake off the distraction that Ni-ki had become in your thoughts.

“Well, he’s not bad-looking,” Leeseo added with a grin, catching you completely off guard.

You nearly choked on air, throwing her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

She laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, you can’t deny it. He’s got that whole mysterious, brooding Slytherin thing going on. You’d be blind not to notice.”

You groaned, tugging your scarf tighter around your neck as you continued walking. “I don’t need any more distractions, thanks. We have enough on our plate with the upcoming exams and essays.” You tried to steer the conversation away, not wanting to admit that, yes, Ni-ki was ridiculously good-looking. Admiring him from afar was one thing, but beyond that? Absolutely not.

Leeseo just smiled knowingly, but thankfully, she let the topic drop as you made your way to the next class. Still, as the day went on, Ni-ki’s expressionless face, his precise movements, and the way his hair fell over his eyes refused to leave the corners of your mind.

You sighed to yourself. This was going to be harder to ignore than you thought.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It all really started one afternoon at the library when you were tucked away at your usual table near the back, surrounded by textbooks and parchment. You were completely immersed in your reading when you noticed a shadow fall across the table.

Looking up, you saw him—Nishimura Ni-ki.

Without a word, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. No greeting, no explanation, just the soft sound of him placing his books on the table. He didn’t meet your eyes, didn’t acknowledge your surprised expression. Instead, he opened his own textbook and began reading, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to sit there.

You blinked, taken aback. For a moment, you considered asking him what he was doing. After all, it wasn’t as if the library was short on tables, and Ni-ki wasn’t exactly known for being social with anyone outside of his Slytherin circle. But instead, you tried to focus on your work, convincing yourself that he’d leave soon enough.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, flipping through pages, scribbling notes in his neat, precise handwriting. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you—just sat there, quietly doing his own work. You couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him, confused by his presence. Why was he here, sitting with you, of all people?

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t hold back any longer. "What are you doing?" you asked, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing Madam Pince’s ire.

He didn’t look up from his book. "Studying," he replied, his tone clipped and direct.

You raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. But why here?"

For the first time, he looked up, meeting your eyes with that same unreadable expression he always wore. "Is there a problem?" he asked calmly, his voice steady.

You hesitated. He wasn’t being rude, exactly, but the way he spoke made it clear he didn’t think he needed to explain himself. You shook your head, deciding it wasn’t worth pushing further. "No," you muttered, turning back to your own notes.

And so the pattern began.

Each time you came to the library, Ni-ki would show up not long after. Sometimes he arrived before you, already seated at the same table, as if claiming it before you could. Other times, he’d stroll in after you’d settled down, take his seat across from you, and dive into his work. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were always short, almost dismissive. It wasn’t that he was unkind—just distant, like there was no need for conversation.

"Why do you keep sitting here?" you asked one day, after he’d settled into the chair across from you for what felt like the hundredth time.

He didn’t even look up. "It’s quiet," he answered simply, continuing to write in his notebook.

You frowned, not satisfied with the answer. "There are other tables. You could sit anywhere else."

"True." He glanced up briefly, his eyes meeting yours before flicking back to his book. "But I’m sitting here."

That was all he said. No further explanation, no invitation for more questions. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that left you feeling more confused than before.

It wasn’t like he was helping you with your work, either. He didn’t offer advice, didn’t join in on any discussions about the material you were studying. He was just… there. A quiet presence that made you hyper-aware of his every movement, even though he barely acknowledged you. It was unnerving at first, but over time, you began to expect it—Ni-ki would be there, silently doing his own thing while you tried to focus on yours.

There were moments when you found yourself glancing at him more than you should have. His hair, still that light shade, would occasionally fall in front of his eyes, and he’d push it back with a practiced motion. His fingers moved with such precision as he wrote, and his posture was always so composed, like he never let himself relax fully.

And yet, despite the quiet, there was something oddly comforting about his presence. It was strange to admit, but in the silence of the library, having him across from you became… familiar. Predictable, even.

Still, the lack of interaction left you with more questions than answers. Why sit with you every time if he had no intention of talking? What was he gaining from it? Was it simply convenience, or was there something else going on that you couldn’t see?

One afternoon, after another long stretch of silent studying, you finally broke the quiet. "You don’t have to sit here, you know."

He paused, his quill hovering over the parchment. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words. "I know," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "But I am."

And with that, he went back to his work, leaving you with nothing but the steady scratch of his quill and the growing confusion swirling in your mind.

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As the weeks passed, Ni-ki’s quiet presence at your table in the library became something you began to anticipate. It was no longer surprising when he pulled out the chair across from you, settling in without a word. At first, it had unnerved you—the silent way he occupied the space, his sharp focus on his own work, and the fact that, outside these moments, he didn’t acknowledge you at all. But now, somehow, you didn’t mind it.

In fact, you found yourself looking forward to it. His quiet company had a strange, calming effect, as if the library wasn’t truly complete without him sitting across from you. You had started to expect him there, so much so that on the rare occasions when he wasn’t, you couldn’t help but feel a little off-kilter, like something was missing from the day.

It wasn’t that the two of you had grown closer, at least not in the usual sense. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were brief and to the point. He offered no opinions, no conversation starters—just an occasional glance in your direction, sometimes a quiet nod. And yet, you had grown accustomed to the silence between you, a silence that felt oddly comfortable.

But the strange thing was, beyond these quiet library sessions, it was as if Ni-ki didn’t know you at all.

In classes, he barely looked your way. If he did speak to you, it was only because the lesson demanded it—when he was your partner for a potion, or during group work in Transfiguration. His responses were always curt, efficient, like he was checking off a box before returning to his own tasks. You would pass each other in the corridors, or see him in the Great Hall, always surrounded by his Slytherin friends, and it was like you didn’t exist. Not a glance, not a nod, nothing to suggest he even knew you.

It puzzled you to no end. You weren’t sure if it bothered you or just left you more curious. Why go out of his way to sit with you in the library if he had no interest in interacting with you elsewhere? It wasn’t like he needed help with his studies—Ni-ki was brilliant in his own right. And it wasn’t like you were friends, either. In fact, you had hardly spoken more than a handful of sentences to each other since you first started sharing a table.

You found yourself wondering more and more why he bothered. Why, out of all the places in Hogwarts, did he always choose the spot across from you? Why did he sit with you, week after week, without saying much of anything, only to act as if you didn’t exist the moment you left the library?

But you didn’t dare ask him. For one thing, Ni-ki was rarely alone. He was almost always surrounded by his Slytherin friends—usually fellow prefects or others from his house, most of whom carried an air of superiority that reminded you why you kept your distance from most of them. There was never a convenient moment to pull him aside, and even if there were, you couldn’t imagine what you’d say.

And then there was the other part of you, the part that didn’t exactly want to know the answer. What if it was something you didn’t want to hear? What if the reason was as simple as convenience, or worse—what if there was no reason at all? What if, to him, you were just a tablemate, nothing more?

You’d often catch yourself glancing over at him during Potions or in the Great Hall, trying to make sense of him. His friends would be laughing or talking among themselves, and there Ni-ki would be, sitting quietly, his expression unreadable, completely detached from whatever conversation was happening around him. You wondered if he was the same with them—distant, aloof, only speaking when necessary.

Sometimes you’d catch his eye, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something—maybe recognition, maybe nothing at all. But then, he’d look away, and the moment would pass as quickly as it came.

It became a kind of ritual—this quiet routine in the library, these fleeting moments of wondering. You couldn’t deny the growing curiosity, though. Why did he choose you, out of everyone he could have sat with? And why did it seem like he was perfectly fine with just… existing alongside you, never crossing the invisible line that separated the two of you?

You wished you had the courage to ask him. But each time you considered it, you reminded yourself of who he was—Nishimura Ni-ki, Slytherin prefect, sharp-tongued and unreadable. He wasn’t someone you could just ask a simple, casual question and expect an answer that wouldn’t make you regret it.

And besides, maybe it was better this way—better to leave the mystery unsolved than to shatter the quiet routine you had somehow built with him.

Even your friends began to notice. Leeseo had raised her eyebrows the first time she saw Ni-ki sitting with you in the library, but she hadn’t said anything beyond the occasional teasing. “Your silent study buddy’s here again,” she’d say with a wink when she caught him at the table. “You two make quite the pair.”

You always brushed it off, rolling your eyes at her remarks. But deep down, a part of you wondered if she saw something you were missing. Was there more to Ni-ki’s presence than what you had convinced yourself to believe?

It was during one of those quiet afternoons, with parchment spread across the table and the soft scratch of your quill filling the silence, that you found yourself thinking about it more than usual. Why, out of all the students at Hogwarts, did he choose to sit with you? Surely, he had plenty of friends or places he could have gone. And more importantly, why did he never talk to you outside of the library?

Your eyes flicked up to Ni-ki, who was seated across from you as usual, engrossed in a large, ancient-looking tome. His light hair fell over his forehead, slightly tousled from the breeze outside. He looked calm, composed, and completely at ease, as if this had been his routine for years.

A question hovered on the tip of your tongue, one you had been pushing aside for weeks now. But before you could find the courage to ask, Ni-ki suddenly closed his book with a soft thud. You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and he stood up, gathering his things with that same quiet precision.

He looked at you, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. For a second, you thought he might say something, but instead, he gave a slight nod—his usual, silent goodbye. Without a word, he turned and left the library, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.

You watched him go, feeling that familiar, quiet emptiness settle in his absence.

What you didn’t know was that, in Ni-ki’s mind, a storm was brewing. A quiet turmoil, hidden beneath his calm exterior, had begun to take shape, and it was all because of you. He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain focus, to keep his thoughts clear and his goals straightforward. But lately, you had become an unexpected variable in his otherwise predictable life.

At first, he had taken little notice of you. You were just another student, one among many who populated Hogwarts. But then, slowly but surely, that indifference had shifted to something else—curiosity. He began to notice the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you studied, the way your lips would curve into a small smile when you finally grasped a particularly tricky concept. There was something intriguing about your determination, something that pulled at the edges of his awareness.

As he continued to share those quiet moments in the library with you, he found himself observing you more intently. He noticed the small things: how you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, how your expressions shifted subtly as you worked through problems. You were a puzzle he hadn’t expected to encounter, and with each encounter, the mystery deepened.

But it didn’t stop there. What began as a mild curiosity morphed into confusion. Ni-ki couldn’t quite articulate it, but there was something compelling about you—something that made you linger in his thoughts long after he had left the library. Why did your laughter echo in his mind? Why did he find himself glancing in your direction during meals, seeking you out in the crowded Great Hall, even when he was surrounded by his friends?

It was disconcerting, to say the least. He was known for his stoic demeanor, for being the type of person who kept his emotions in check. Yet, here he was, caught in an unyielding tide of thoughts about someone he had initially dismissed. It was frustrating, and a little alarming. He was supposed to be focused on his studies, on his role as a prefect, on maintaining the reputation he had carefully crafted. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that there was something deeper to explore with you?

Every time you caught his gaze across the Great Hall or shared a fleeting moment in the library, the storm would build inside him—curiosity colliding with confusion, a need to understand you battling against the fear of opening up. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if this was all one-sided, and he was just a distant presence in your life? The idea sent a jolt of uncertainty through him.

Ni-ki’s friends began to notice his distraction. They would tease him about how often he seemed to lose focus, how he would sometimes pause mid-conversation, his eyes drifting off to the side as if searching for something—or someone. But he brushed their remarks aside, masking his inner conflict with indifference.

He found himself wrestling with a mounting desire to approach you, to understand the enigma you represented. But every time he would gather the courage to break that silence, to say something more than the necessary exchanges during class, he hesitated. The distance between you felt both comforting and suffocating.

It was a confusing dichotomy, and Ni-ki was left to navigate his own feelings in silence, unsure of where this newfound intrigue would lead him. All he knew was that every time he sat in front of you in the library, the storm inside him would shift—pushing him closer to the edge of wanting to reach out, even as fear held him back.

He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know why he kept coming back, why he couldn’t stay away, even though he knew that sitting there, in silence, only made things more complicated.

But he couldn’t stop. And he didn’t want to. He just needed to figure out how.

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It started gradually, almost imperceptibly. The silence between you and Ni-ki began to shift, not in any overt way but in small moments that made it feel… less heavy. The library sessions continued as they always had, with Ni-ki sitting across from you, his head bent over his books, while you quietly worked on your own assignments. But there were times now when you found yourself speaking.

It started off with casual remarks. Maybe it was the stress of exams or the overwhelming workload that had you venting aloud, but Ni-ki never seemed bothered by it. He didn’t offer much in return—just a short nod or a quiet hum of acknowledgment—but he listened.

One evening, after a particularly difficult day, you couldn’t hold back anymore. "I just don’t get it," you muttered, staring at your Transfiguration textbook in frustration. "No matter how much I study, I can’t seem to get this right. And McGonagall keeps assigning more complex material like it’s nothing."

Ni-ki looked up, his eyes flicking to the page you were stuck on before settling back on your frustrated expression. He didn’t say anything, just kept watching you with that same quiet intensity you had grown used to.

"And," you continued, feeling a strange comfort in speaking your thoughts aloud to him, "there’s this Slytherin who won’t stop picking on me. Every time I pass by them, it’s like they have to make some snide comment or knock my bag off my shoulder. It’s ridiculous." You sighed, shaking your head. "But I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes."

Ni-ki’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. You didn’t expect a response; you were just letting off steam. Somehow, Ni-ki’s silent presence always made it easier to say the things that were weighing on you. You could talk to him without fear of judgment or interruption. He just listened, and that was enough.

The next day, something changed. The Slytherin student who had made it their mission to irritate you suddenly stopped. They no longer sneered at you in the halls, no longer made rude remarks or tried to provoke you. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid you altogether. You didn’t understand why, but you weren’t about to complain.

And then, there was the folder. It appeared during one of your classes, a neatly organized folder filled with notes on every subject you had been struggling with. The handwriting was unmistakable—precise, clean, and undeniably Ni-ki’s. The notes were thorough, covering all the topics you had mentioned having trouble with. It was as if he had gone out of his way to compile everything you needed to help you catch up.

You didn’t know how to react at first. Gratitude and surprise warred within you as you thumbed through the pages, recognizing the meticulous effort that had gone into writing them. Ni-ki hadn’t said a word about it, hadn’t even hinted that he was going to help you like this. He had just quietly, and without fanfare, made sure you had everything you needed.

The next time you saw him in the library, you didn’t hesitate to thank him.

"Ni-ki," you began softly, looking up from your books to meet his gaze. His head lifted slightly, acknowledging that he was listening. "Thank you—for the notes." Your voice was sincere, full of the appreciation you felt. "I really didn’t expect it, but it helped a lot."

He didn’t say anything in return. He just nodded once, his face remaining as impassive as ever, as if this grand gesture was nothing out of the ordinary. For Ni-ki, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was just how he operated—helping silently, without drawing attention to it, without expecting anything in return.

But for you, it meant something. A lot, actually. It was a reminder that beneath Ni-ki’s cold exterior, there was more to him than he let on. His actions spoke louder than any words could, and though he kept his distance in almost every other part of your life, in these quiet moments, he was closer than anyone.

And so, you didn’t ask what had happened with the Slytherin who had suddenly stopped bothering you. You didn’t ask why Ni-ki had gone through the trouble of writing those notes for you or why he had stayed by your side all this time in the library. Because somehow, you knew. This was just Ni-ki’s way—silent, unspoken care hidden behind his cool exterior.

And that was enough for now.

One evening, during one of your usual study sessions in the library, you were stuck. The upcoming exam loomed over you, and no matter how many times you read the same question, the answer refused to reveal itself. You sat there in silence, frustration building as you stared blankly at the page in front of you.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of parchment and soft footsteps in the distance. Ni-ki sat across from you, as usual, his head bent over his own work. The silence between you two was comfortable by now, and you didn’t expect it to be broken anytime soon. You sighed, trying to push through the mental block that had settled over you.

Then, you heard movement—a soft rustling. Glancing up, you saw Ni-ki standing. For a moment, you thought he was leaving, and disappointment bloomed unexpectedly in your chest. You looked back down, resigned to continuing your struggle alone, but then something surprising happened.

You felt the faint shift of air and the quiet creak of the wooden bench, startled, you turned your head and found him sitting right next to you. His presence was closer than it had ever been during these sessions, and it made your heart race for reasons you didn’t entirely understand.

"Where are you stuck?" Ni-ki asked, his voice soft but clear. There was no trace of his usual distance, just a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

Blinking, still mildly in shock from the sudden change in his behavior, you pointed at the question that had been giving you trouble. You half-expected him to glance at it, make some passing comment, and return to his seat. But instead, Ni-ki leaned in slightly, examining the material with a focused expression.

He began speaking, his voice calm and smooth as he explained the concept in clear, concise terms. There was a quiet assurance in the way he spoke, his words precise and easy to follow. He wasn’t just repeating the textbook either—he was breaking it down in a way that made it understandable, relatable even. You listened closely, hanging onto each word, and slowly, like fog lifting from your mind, the confusion began to clear.

With each sentence Ni-ki uttered, the material started to make sense. What had seemed impossible moments before was now manageable, the concepts clicking together as he guided you through the steps. His voice had a soothing quality to it, calm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to sit with you and explain.

You found yourself glancing at him occasionally, taking in the way his eyes stayed fixed on the book, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he worked through the material with you. There was something unexpectedly gentle about the way he spoke, something that contrasted with the cold, distant persona he usually kept up. And in this moment, sitting side by side in the dim light of the library, it was hard to remember why you had ever thought of him as distant at all.

When he finished explaining, you stared at the page for a moment, absorbing the new understanding. It felt like a weight had lifted, and for the first time in hours, you felt a surge of confidence that maybe—just maybe—you could actually manage this exam.

"Does that make sense now?" Ni-ki asked, his voice still soft.

You nodded, almost dazed. "Yeah… it does. Thanks."

He didn’t say anything in response, just gave a small, barely noticeable nod before settling back into his seat, returning to his own work as if nothing unusual had happened.

But something had shifted between you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but the air felt different now—less like the quiet companionship you had grown used to and more like… something else. Something unspoken.

You sat there for a few moments longer, still processing both the study material and the fact that Ni-ki had just sat next to you, helped you. He hadn’t done it begrudgingly either; he had simply done it because you needed help. And his presence, his voice, had made all the difference.

As you returned to your notes, you couldn’t help but glance at him again, wondering what other sides of Ni-ki lay hidden beneath the surface.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

One evening, after hours of studying and flipping through books, you found yourself exhausted. Your eyes were burning from reading the same passage over and over, and you sighed loudly, resting your head on the table. Ni-ki glanced up from his work, giving you a quizzical look.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, almost concerned.

You nodded, not lifting your head. “Yeah. Between Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology, I feel like my brain is going to melt.”

There was a pause before you heard him shifting in his seat. “Potions is your weakest subject, right?”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. It wasn’t like Ni-ki to make small talk, and the fact that he remembered your struggles in Potions caught you off guard.

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting up straighter. “It just doesn’t click for me like other subjects do.”

Ni-ki seemed to consider this for a moment before responding, “I used to be terrible at Potions too. In second year, I once brewed a Sleeping Draught that knocked out half the class. Snape wasn’t pleased.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a laugh escaping you. “No way! You, bad at Potions? I can’t believe it.”

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

Another time, while working on your Charms essay, you noticed Ni-ki was unusually quiet—even for him. He wasn’t reading or writing, just sitting there, staring at his open textbook with an intense focus that seemed off.

You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay? You seem… distracted.”

He didn’t look up at first, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the table. “I’m fine,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You waited, sensing that he wasn’t fine at all. After a long moment of silence, Ni-ki finally spoke again, quieter this time. “I’m… just thinking about some things. It’s nothing important.”

You could tell that was a lie. He was always so composed, so in control of his emotions, that seeing him unsettled was strange. But you didn’t push him. Instead, you offered something simple.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his expression softening just a little. He didn’t say anything, but the small nod he gave you felt like a thank you.

Another late night, the library was almost empty, save for you and Ni-ki at your usual spot. You had been studying for hours, and exhaustion was starting to settle in. You stretched, groaning as you reached for your quill.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered. “My brain is fried.”

Ni-ki glanced up from his book, closing it with a quiet snap. “Take a break.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the suggestion. “You? Telling me to take a break? What’s gotten into you?”

“Even I take breaks sometimes.”

Skeptical, you raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen it.”

Instead of responding, Ni-ki stood up and stretched, motioning for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s walk around for a few minutes.”

Confused but curious, you followed him out of the library and into the cool night air. The two of you walked in silence for a while, the soft breeze helping to clear your mind. After a few minutes, Ni-ki broke the silence.

“You push yourself too hard sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the observation. “You’re one to talk.”

He shrugged “Maybe. But I know when to stop.”

But perhaps the most unexpected moment came one late afternoon, as you both sat in the library, quietly working on your respective assignments. You were in a lighter mood that day, having finally finished an essay that had been plaguing you for weeks. Feeling more relaxed, you absentmindedly began talking about the ridiculous antics of a few fellow students during Herbology, mimicking the professor's reactions with exaggerated gestures and voices.

Ni-ki, as usual, didn’t say much, just listened with his usual calm expression. But then, something shifted. When you imitated Professor Sprout tripping over a Mandrake root, you caught it—the faintest twitch of his lips. At first, you thought you had imagined it, but then it happened again. His lips curved up into a small smile, and for a brief moment, Ni-ki’s usually composed face broke into something entirely different.

You froze mid-sentence, staring at him in shock. Ni-ki—quiet, serious, and often unreadable—was smiling. Not just a polite smile, but a genuine one, and you could see a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed your stunned expression.

“I… I didn’t know you could smile,” you blurted out, completely forgetting your earlier train of thought.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and then, to your utter disbelief, a soft chuckle escaped him. It was quiet and brief, but it was there—a real laugh. And suddenly, the cold, distant image you had of him cracked just a little more, revealing something warmer, something softer beneath the surface.

He quickly composed himself, the smile fading but not disappearing entirely. “I’m not a statue,” he said dryly, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that you had never seen before.

“I mean, I guess I just assumed…” you trailed off, still processing the fact that you had just witnessed Ni-ki laugh.

And then, with a small smile still playing at the corners of his lips, Ni-ki returned to his work, leaving you to sit there.

But one of the most memorable moments between you happened during a study session where, for once, things were going smoothly. You were both focused on your work when a random thought popped into your head, and without thinking, you said it aloud.

“Do you think Professor McGonagall’s animagus form ever accidentally knocks things off tables like a real cat?”

Ni-ki looked up at you, clearly confused. “What?”

You laughed, suddenly realizing how ridiculous the thought sounded. “I mean, she’s a cat, right? What if she just can’t help herself and bats things off desks?”

For a moment, Ni-ki just stared at you, and you thought he was going to tell you off for not focusing. But then, to your utter shock, he started laughing—a real, genuine laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it was pure, and the sound of it made your heart skip a beat.

“Why would you even think of that?” he asked, still chuckling.

You shrugged, grinning. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

Ni-ki shook his head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

But there was no malice in his words, only a warmth that hadn’t been there before. And in that moment, you realized just how much closer the two of you had become. And seeing him laugh—really laugh—was something you wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

----------------------------------------

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. You had just finished another study session in the library with Ni-ki. He had helped you with a particularly difficult problem, and though he was his usual quiet self, you had left feeling a sense of warmth—like things between you were truly starting to shift. Maybe Ni-ki didn’t always show it in public, but you were sure he valued your time together, even if it was mostly in the library.

However, as you made your way through the corridors, feeling content from the productive session, a group of girls—Ni-ki’s admirers, if you were honest—blocked your path. Their expressions weren’t friendly, and you could tell right away that something was off.

Before you could say anything, they pushed you into an empty classroom, closing the door behind you. The leader of the group, a girl you recognized as one of Ni-ki’s more obsessive followers, crossed her arms, sneering.

“So,” she began, voice dripping with disdain, “you think you're special, huh? Just because you spend time with Ni-ki in the library?”

You froze, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stared at them, trying to keep calm.

“Do you actually believe he cares about you?” another one chimed in. “He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but the leader cut you off. “Oh, please. He pities you. You should hear the things people say. They’re always wondering why he wastes his time on someone like you.”

Her words hit hard, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “That’s not true. He helps me because he—”

“Because he what?” she interrupted with a cruel laugh. “Because he likes you? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates you. He never talks to you outside the library, does he?”

That made you pause. It was true—Ni-ki never approached you in the halls, never spoke to you outside of your library sessions. He barely acknowledged you in class unless it was absolutely necessary. Even when you saw him with his friends, he acted as if you didn’t exist.

They could see the doubt in your eyes, and the girl smirked, sensing victory. “See? You know it’s true. If he really liked you, why would he act like you don’t exist when you’re not sitting across from him in the library?”

You stayed silent, unable to find an answer. The doubts they were planting in your mind started to grow roots, wrapping around your thoughts and pulling you into a spiral of overthinking.

“He probably thinks you’re a burden,” one of the girls said with a mocking laugh. “I mean, why else would he avoid you in front of his friends? He doesn’t want them to see him hanging out with someone like you.”

The words stung, each one cutting deeper than the last. You tried to fight back, tried to tell yourself that Ni-ki’s quiet nature didn’t mean he didn’t care, but their accusations fed into your worst fears. What if you really were just a burden to him? What if he did pity you, and that’s why he never spoke to you outside of your study sessions?

You kept quiet, and they could see they had hit their mark.

“Face it,” the leader said, stepping closer with a satisfied smirk. “Ni-ki feels sorry for you. You’re nothing to him.”

You bit your lip, holding back the sting of tears. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but the words had already wormed their way into your head. Why did he only talk to you in the library? Why didn’t he ever approach you outside of that space? You thought you had gotten closer to him, but maybe you had been wrong all along.

They left you there in the empty classroom, their mocking laughter echoing in the halls as they disappeared. You stood frozen in place, your thoughts swirling with doubt and confusion, questioning everything you thought you knew about Ni-ki and your growing connection with him.

That one question kept repeating in your mind: Why didn’t he talk to you outside of the library?

After that confrontation in the empty classroom, you couldn’t shake the words that had been thrown at you. The girls' taunts, the doubts they had planted in your mind—they echoed endlessly, gnawing at your thoughts and twisting everything you thought you knew about your relationship with Ni-ki. Every time you walked through the halls, you felt a strange weight on your chest.

You began to pull away, slowly at first. It started with cutting your library sessions shorter. Where once you might have lingered for hours, speaking to Ni-ki about anything and everything, now you found yourself packing up your things earlier, offering hurried excuses about homework or other commitments. Ni-ki would glance at you but never say much, and his silence only added to your doubts. It was almost like he didn’t notice your growing distance, or maybe, you thought bitterly, he didn’t care enough to ask.

The distance grew wider as the days passed. You started skipping your library sessions altogether, avoiding the places you knew Ni-ki would be. The once-familiar space where the two of you had shared quiet moments now felt like a weight, a place filled with uncertainty and confusion. You didn’t know what to make of your feelings, or of Ni-ki’s. Were you really just a burden to him? Did he pity you, as they had said?

It hurt too much to face him, so you stopped trying.

In the hallways, you could feel his gaze on you. Even if you weren’t looking, you knew when Ni-ki was nearby. It was as if some invisible thread still tied the two of you together, but now it felt frayed and fragile, a connection you didn’t know how to mend. You passed by him in the corridors, your head down, avoiding his eyes at all costs. In the Great Hall, you chose seats far away from where he and his Slytherin friends sat. But somehow, it didn’t matter. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, his gaze following your every move, and each time, it sent a wave of guilt crashing over you.

You never looked back at him, though. You couldn’t.

You skipped classes you shared with him. It started with one or two missed lectures, but eventually, it became a pattern. Without him, you struggled, barely scraping by with borrowed notes from friends. They weren’t as clear or detailed as Ni-ki’s notes, but they would have to do. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for help again.

Despite all your attempts to avoid him, Ni-ki’s presence lingered everywhere. You didn’t know if it was your mind playing tricks on you, or if he really was watching you more closely now. Whatever it was, you felt more conflicted than ever. You wondered if he noticed your absence, if he cared, but then that gnawing insecurity crept back in, reminding you of what those girls had said. He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.

The more you thought about it, the more you withdrew. Doubts clouded every memory of your time with Ni-ki, twisting your perception of everything he’d done for you—the notes, the help with your studies, the quiet moments you’d shared. What if it had all been one-sided? What if you had been nothing more than a project, a pity case?

And so, you kept your distance, avoiding the boy whose piercing gaze you could no longer bear to meet, and wondering if maybe, in the end, they had been right all along.

-----------------------------------------

You had been so lost in your thoughts, your mind circling around the same questions, the same doubts, that you didn’t even realize where your feet were taking you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you noticed the dim, cold lighting of the dungeons, the walls lined with stone, and the distant murmur of voices. You froze, recognizing how close you were to the Slytherin dorms.

Instinctively, you were about to turn and head back the way you came when the sound of laughter caught your attention. It was light, warm, and carefree—a sound that felt almost foreign in this part of the castle. Curious, despite yourself, you peeked around the corner.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Standing there, casually leaning against the wall, was Ni-ki. His head was tilted slightly back, his face scrunched up in genuine amusement, his white teeth flashing in a wide grin. He was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his normally stoic expression completely replaced by something so light and happy that it shocked you. You had never seen him like this before. His laugh, his smile. It made him seem younger, softer, almost…adorable. For a moment, you were completely transfixed, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

But then, your eyes flickered to the people surrounding him. His friends—other Slytherins you recognized—were standing nearby, laughing along with him. Among them, you spotted a few of the girls who had cornered you in the empty classroom, their cruel words still echoing in your mind. The sight of them, standing so close to Ni-ki, chatting and laughing as if everything was normal, sent a jolt of discomfort through you.

And then, before you could react, one of Ni-ki’s friends noticed you. His expression shifted slightly as he leaned in to whisper something in Ni-ki’s ear.

Ni-ki turned.

Your heart dropped.

His gaze locked onto yours from across the hallway, his laughter fading instantly. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a gasp escaping your lips as you quickly turned on your heel and speed-walked down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between yourself and that scene as possible.

Your heart was pounding, your thoughts racing. He was laughing with them. With those girls… The image of his bright smile, so carefree, so natural, was seared into your mind, but it was tainted now by the memory of the people surrounding him—the people who had made you doubt everything.

Had he heard what they said? Did he know?

You didn’t wait to find out. All you knew was that you needed to get as far away from the dungeons, and from Ni-ki, as quickly as possible.

You didn’t exactly know how you ended up in the library, but here you were, tucked away in a quiet, hidden corner that no one ever really bothered with. It was your place, somewhere you used to come to study, or more recently, to avoid. The shelves towered above you, enclosing you in their safe, comforting silence, but it did little to ease the heavy weight in your chest.

Wiping away the stray tears that had already started to fall, you slid down to the floor, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your bag dropped beside you with a soft thud, the books spilling out carelessly, but you didn’t bother to pick them up. It felt like too much effort, like you couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but curl in on yourself.

Tears fell freely now, and you buried your face in your arms, trying to muffle the soft sobs that escaped. Everything had just… built up. The confusion, the distance, the hurt from what Ni-ki’s admirers had said, and now seeing him so happy without you. You had tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that he was just a library acquaintance, but the truth was that it did matter. More than you wanted to admit.

The quiet of the library felt like it was pressing down on you, suffocating in its stillness, yet at the same time, it was the only place where you could let go like this. Where no one would see you, no one would ask questions, and no one would tell you that you were being silly for feeling this way.

You cried softly, the hurt you’d been bottling up for so long finally breaking free. The words of those girls echoed in your mind, their sneering voices telling you that Ni-ki pitied you, that he didn’t care, that you were nothing to him. The worst part was that you had started to believe it.

The image of Ni-ki laughing with his friends flashed before your eyes again, and it only deepened the ache in your chest. He seemed so happy, so… distant. And you? You were nothing but a fading presence, something he could ignore outside of your shared library sessions. You had convinced yourself that maybe you had become friends, maybe there was something more, but now, it all felt like a lie.

The sobs came harder now, your chest tightening painfully as you curled further into yourself. You didn’t want to care this much. You didn’t want to feel this way. But here you were, hiding in the shadows of the library, crying over someone you weren’t even sure cared about you at all.

The quiet shuffling beside you broke through your tears, making you look up from your curled position. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Ni-ki standing right there, holding your bag in his hand, his face full of worry. His usually composed expression was soft, eyebrows knitted together as he searched your face.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You sniffled, quickly wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve and nodding, though your heart wasn’t in the gesture. You looked away, half-expecting him to leave like always, to walk away and give you space. But instead, you heard him set his bag down. You glanced at him, shocked, as he sat beside you on the floor.

Ni-ki leaned back against the shelves, closing his eyes for a moment before sighing deeply. "I know you’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice softer than usual, yet it held a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. He opened his eyes, looking directly at you, and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

You sat up, startled by his question. "What? No, no, of course you didn’t!" you answered quickly, panic rising in your chest.

He tilted his head slightly, clearly unconvinced. "Then why…" His words trailed off as he sighed again. He looked at you, his expression filled with something close to concern. "Please… tell me. I’m worried about you," he admitted, his voice quiet.

His words made your heart clench. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made it harder to stay quiet. You gulped, trying to steady yourself. This was the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to say the words that had been haunting you since that confrontation. But seeing him here, sitting beside you, waiting for an explanation—it was enough to make you break.

"I…" You began, your voice shaky. "It’s not you, Ni-ki, really. You didn’t do anything wrong." You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. "Some girls… they confronted me, said that you pitied me. That you thought I was a burden… and it got in my head. They asked why you never talk to me outside the library, and… I started wondering if they were right."

Ni-ki’s expression shifted immediately, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What? Why would they say that?"

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. "They said I was stupid for even thinking we were friends… that I didn’t matter to you outside of studying."

There was a long pause, the silence hanging heavily between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes. But then, after what felt like an eternity, Ni-ki’s voice broke the silence.

"That’s not true," he said quietly, his tone firm but gentle. "You’re not a burden. I don’t pity you."

You slowly looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. His usual calm exterior was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

"I didn’t know you felt like that," Ni-ki continued, his voice soft. "I… I just didn’t think you’d want to hang out with me outside the library. I didn’t think I was someone you’d want to be around like that."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. "What? But… you’re always surrounded by people. Why would you think that?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, people, not friends. Most of them just see me as Ni-ki, the Slytherin prefect or whatever. I don’t… I don’t let people in easily. But you…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "I guess I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed your company until you started avoiding me."

His words made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth amidst all the confusion and hurt.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I didn’t mean to make assumptions or push you away. I just… I didn’t know what to think."

Ni-ki shook his head, his gaze softening. "It’s okay. I should’ve been more clear with you." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "I want you to know… I don’t just think of you as someone I study with. I…" He trailed off again, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. He looked vulnerable, in a way you had never seen before.

"I care about you," he finally said, the words slow and deliberate, as if he had been holding onto them for a long time. "More than you think."

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. For a moment, you just sat there, staring at him, unsure of how to respond. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it made your chest tighten in a way that was both overwhelming and comforting.

"I…" you started, your voice faltering. You didn’t know what to say, how to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

But you didn’t have to say anything, because in that moment, Ni-ki smiled at you—genuinely smiled, the corners of his lips turning up, his eyes softening. It was a small, almost shy smile, but it was enough to make you realize that everything you had been overthinking, all the doubts and insecurities, had been for nothing.

Ni-ki cared. He had always cared.

Ni-ki stayed by your side, his presence steady and comforting as you finally let the weight of everything spill out. You told him about the girls, your voice shaky at first, but as you continued, you felt lighter, as though every word lifted a little bit of the burden off your chest. His expression shifted the moment you named them, his brows drawing together in a way you’d never seen before—serious, almost dangerous.

For a moment, you worried that he might storm off, that his calm demeanor would crack and he’d go after them. But instead, he simply listened, his face tight with restrained anger, and when you finished, he surprised you once again.

He opened his arms.

Without a second thought, you slid into his embrace, feeling his warmth surround you, his arms wrapping securely around your back. His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—a real, genuine smile.

"They were wrong," he murmured softly, his voice vibrating through his chest. "You mean so much more to me than they could ever understand."

You felt your heart swell at his words, the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling. He didn’t hate you. He never had.

When you finally pulled back from the hug, your gaze met his, and the intensity of his eyes made your breath hitch. His face was still close, his cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he paused, swallowing nervously.

"I…" he began, his voice a little shaky. "I need to tell you something." His eyes darted away for a moment before finding yours again, determination setting in. "I’ve been… thinking about this for a while, and I just—" He sighed, clearly flustered. "I don’t know how to say it."

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden vulnerability. Ni-ki, the calm, collected boy who never seemed to let anything rattle him, was stuttering and blushing, his usual composure unraveling before your eyes.

"I-I like you," he blurted out, his face now fully red. "A lot. I have for a while, but I didn’t know how to say it. I’m not good at this stuff, and I didn’t want to make things weird between us, but when you started avoiding me, I—"

He was rambling now, his words spilling out in a rush, and you could tell he was struggling to keep up with his own thoughts. It was so unlike him, seeing him this vulnerable, this unsure. It was endearing.

Before he could continue, you acted on impulse, reaching up to gently cup his face and pulling him toward you. His eyes widened in surprise just before your lips met his.

For a split second, you could feel his shock, his body freezing beneath your touch. But then, just as quickly, he melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your face, pulling you closer. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, but then the kiss deepened, his movements growing more sure, more confident. He held you like you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The world seemed to disappear around you, the weight of everything that had been bothering you fading away in the warmth of his embrace. It was just you and Ni-ki, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than either of you realized.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, your face warm from the intensity of the moment. Ni-ki stared at you, his lips slightly parted, still processing what had just happened.

"I… uh…" He blinked, his usual calm demeanor shattered, and it made you smile.

"That was your way of saying you like me too, huh?" he asked with a sheepish grin, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

You laughed softly, nodding. "Yeah… I like you too, Ni-ki."

His smile widened, this time filled with a mixture of relief and happiness. "I’m glad," he said softly, his voice warm and full of sincerity.

For a moment, you both just sat there, basking in the newfound closeness, the tension that had been between you for weeks dissolving into something sweet, something real.

"Let’s forget about those girls," he murmured after a while, his forehead resting gently against yours. "They don’t know what they’re talking about. All that matters is you and me, okay?"

You nodded, your heart full. "Okay."

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[cavegirlpoems]

So many TTRPG people, like yourself, seem to exist in a world where players don't actually enjoy the campaigns they're in, and don't actually like playing with the people they play with, and your whole approach to game mechanics seems like it's about trying to bribe these people to continue playing at a given table.

i have no idea where you get this idea from, I play a bunch of different games - including freeform text rp, fest larps, parlour larps, regular tabletop campaigns, longform play-by-post games and narrative wargames - and I have a lot of fun doing it. I wouldn't be a game designer if I didn't actually enjoy games. The thing is, if you study game design and ttrpg theory seriously, you think about the intent behind design decisions. Game design doesn't just happen by accident, the designer put a given rule in for a reason. So, you ask yourself why the designer made the game the way it did, and what they were trying to achieve.

A significant tool for game design is considering the feedback the game provides; what behaviours that ruleset rewards and what it discourages. (You can apply this analysis to other games, too, like video games). When I'm talking about a bribe, it's in that context; how does the game reward you for doing things, and what things does it reward. (For example, 'scrabble' rewards you for playing words with weird letters in them by making those letters worth more points.)

The thing is, ultimately, every game relies on a simple proposition; that if you volunterily use its rules, you will have fun. You don't need to follow the rules, and you can have fun without them, but the idea is that using the rules will let you have more fun, or a different type of fun, than if you didn't. (For example, throwing a ball around is a bit fun, but if everybody agrees to follow the rules of basketball, you get a different experience that a lot of people prefer). So, the only bribe you're making on the interpersonal, out-out-of-game level (unless something weird is going on) is "if we play this game it will be fun". When I talk about bribes and incentives, it's *inside* the game, after we've all agreed to the game's proposition of "if you use the rules, you will have fun".

Now, what counts as an incentive varies by game. Some, like Warhammer 40k, are challenge-based, and have ways to keep score of success and victory; here, things that signify overcoming the challenge are your incentives; how you get a high score, how you win, etc. Others, like most ttrpgs, are creative-based. What constitutes an incentive within the game's structure is less precisely defined. By and large, though, these incentives tend to be things like increased agency within the game fiction, space for creative expression, and experiencing and learning about more of the game fiction. (In this structure, 'being more mechanically powerful' can be thought of as a way of granting a player more agency, because their actions are more likely to succeed and result in the outcomes that they want. If the mechanical growth is lateral as well as vertical, then how to get more powerful is - itself - a venue for creative expression in what to prioritise, which is also a reward).

In the same way that you have the adage that 'restrictions breed creativity', the same goes for Fun. Limiting your scope from anything-goes freeform by voluntarily agreeing to use a set of game rules can produce similar results. Voluntarily limiting your agency in the fiction according to a set of game rules produces a friction that players of roleplaying games find enjoyable to push against. In this context, a reward structure within a game serves the useful purpose of signposting which direction you should push to get the fun kind of friction. A game which limits your options, and then gives you more options when you engage with certain behaviours, is telling you that those are the intended behaviours. Likewise, a game that limits your options even further when you do something is encouraging you not to do that. This is because game designs are not neutral and universal, they exist to create specific experiences. A game that rewards you by giving you more space for creative expression when you get in a fight - and gives you less space for creative expression when you avoid violence - is one that wants you to engage in violence, because it's designed to be a game where you have fun by fighting. This isn't bribing the players to sit down at the table and play the game; that has already happened outside the context of the game. They have already agreed to the game's offer of 'if you use these rules, you will have fun'. Rather, this bribing is within the game-space, the games mechanics encouraging the players to engage with it as intended, in the way that will be most fun. IE: these incentive structures are a tool the game uses to achieve the promise it makes; they guide the players towards the fun that they volunteered to have. Hope that makes sense. * * * Now, your initial ask is a weird take that's entirely unrelated to anything I've posted, and - particularly from an anon account- oddly antagonistic. I don't know if you're genuinely confused about game design, or arguing in bad faith. Either way, this probably doesn't merit the small essay I've produced, but have one anyway, it's always fun to clarify my ideas in written form.

[ruruvxz]

“Where is my friend, smiley?”

Idol!Huh Yunjin x Idol!Reader

↳ synopsis: It was infuriating watching everyone ship you and your label-mate, you didn’t even know how anyone came to that conclusion, you didn’t even interact with her in the public! (Or from public knowledge you didn’t) So why would anyone know about your embarrassing relationship with her?

↳ cw: kinda mean reader, use of language, established relationship, reader is in a fake group, reader was in Produce 48, lovesick yunjin, hidden relationship, tooth rotting fluff (kinda a yapfest abt how much you love her…)

↳word count: 2.5k

a/n: literally my first time writing after awhile, usually my stories are old renditions/proofreads of stories i wrote back in 2023. so this is something im actually really proud of! also this story kinda was inspired by “tingin” by cup of joe more than it was inspired by “where is smiley” by serani poji… LOL

౨ৎ It was odd, and everyone agreed, that the partnership with Huh Yunjin from Le Sserafim and Y/N from Serendipity was perplexing. The only thing connecting both of the girls was the industry they happened to be in, other than that they had nothing in common. Of course, the argument could be made that you and her both participated in the hit reality competition "Produce 48", but everyone knew that was quite a flawed counterpoint.

This was because you were practically thrown out after a few episodes before getting scouted by HYBE to debut months later. And you made it apparent that you didn't want to interact with anyone associated with the production of that show. So with Le Sserafim's debut years after yours, you found it baffling that your company wanted you to "hang out" with the rookie groups, it was infuriating. You worked so hard just to be put with a bunch of girls who couldn't care any less about how much you tried. Despite that, you found mountains and mountains of carefully orchestrated videos of “so-called" proof about you and Yunjin being the "best" of friends.

Whatever it was connecting the both of you was a mystery the fans must solve, and being honest with yourself, you found the whole circumstance mildly infuriating.

So at every turn you tried avoiding that mischievous redhead wherever you went, even when it came to recording meaningless video collaborations, you always mustered up a half-assed excuse. It came to the point where you went out of your way to hide in uncomfortable places just to avoid her friendly banter. Though no matter how hard you tried you could always hear her voice linger longer than it should have in the back of your head. Or maybe it was just how awfully loud her voice was, to the point that it left a ringing sensation in your ear.

It came as no surprise when you heard her voice calling out to your other members inquiring about your whereabouts. This was usually your cue to hide away from prudish questions, last time she had asked you "Do you come here often? You look like you do" unprovoked! Admittedly you knew she didn't mean any harm, but it still struck a cord within you, and knew she was probably going to run towards you asking all sorts of questions. You picked yourself up from whatever task was put on you and quickly ran away from her voice.

Of course, you knew what you were doing was more than ill-mannered, but god forbid she quizzes you one more time about trivial interests. But that was better than confronting her, confrontation was your worst enemy, and so was Yunjin's mannerisms. She was the physical embodiment of what a "dog personality" was, always eager to learn more and help everyone out. it kinda freaked you out to some jealous extent.

So trying your best not to start any conflict with this poor redhead, you decided to best course of action was to camp out around the building's designated lounge. Hoping today would not be the day she decided to check this certain deserted area. All you could do now was fish out your phone from your back pocket to read some forums about your performance and pray that no one would notice you here.

On the other hand, Yunjin was getting more and more hopeless trying to find you around the shared building. Feeling a little lost as she mindlessly drifted across section to section of the HYBE building. Though it hadn't taken poor Yunjin a while before spotting you from the corner of her eye. Her eyes lit up when she saw you mindlessly scrolling on your phone, the energy filling her up with excitement as she inched closer. As she came closer you couldn't help but notice her come closer and closer, realizing your interaction was inevitable.

Jerking your head up to meet her gaze, Yunjin waved her hand as she came within reach of you, letting out a fake smile before putting your phone down. You glanced at her and back to the empty seat resting in front of you, she beamed a bright smile before quickly and "casually" sitting down. Yunjin opened her mouth to speak before you cut her off with a hum.

"Remember, we're the only ones here so make sure to be a little quiet, alright?" You hushed, while she gave you an approving nod, she spoke up this time making it apparent that she was trying her best not to draw attention to the both of you, not like last time.

"Of course, I just wanted to see you it's been so long since I've seen your face..." Yunjin pouts as she looks around making sure the coast is clear from the nosy "enthusiast" who was always oh so curious about you and Yunjin's relationship. Your spine chilling at the thought of people making up such absurd theories about your closeness. The way they could put together such in-depth statements about the both of you always stumped you, how did they manage to procure all this information?

Even Yunjin claimed time and time again that she knew nothing about these fan-made theories, or how her fans managed to get old screen captures of both of you. In actual reality, Yunjin most definitely knew more than he should have! Mainly because it was practically her fault that images of the both of you were wafting around on the internet. See, she wasn't exactly the silent type when it came to friendships/relationships, she loved airing out her own business, which usually came back to bite her in the ass. So needless to say when her old Spotify account was coincidently launched into mainstream media people quickly connected the dots.

For someone who was adamant about avoiding her Juniors, you happened to be insinuated in every one of her, oddly, romantic, playlists. Either that be by a photo of the back of your head being the cover of a playlist titled "The Perfect Pair", or by the fact that all the descriptions were... Unusually corny... even by Yunjin's standards. Each careful string of words all connected with an underlying message about adoration for a certain someone. This didn't help her case since she always spoke about you in high regard whenever she was in a lonesome interview.

And the evidence staked against her was just the tip of the iceberg, it was in fact, much deeper than she'd originally like to admit. If someone with a genuine interest in your relationship with Yunjin researched just a little more about the both of you, they'd probably discover your relationship cut deep. And yes— as much as you tried to avoid how embarrassing your elimination was during Produce 48, you came across one of the greatest person you’d ever meet.

The way she laughed so carefreely, and how her eyes crinkled whenever she smiled, while her gaze brightly met yours. Everything about her made your heart stop, it made you freeze up whenever she looked at you during practice, and it made you such a fool. You knew it was for the better to avoid her, if you didn't, you'd probably be so whipped so hard that you couldn't focus on your own career. But it was so hard, especially whenever she'd run towards you after every practice and performance telling you how well you did. (No one actually noticed anything because you never really got any screen time sadly...) Even if you left fairly early on, Yunjin slipped you her number so you could both keep in contact.

After that day, the one thing you swore not to do, was instantly thrown out the window, as every waking moment you'd secretly visit her to give her your luck. And when things didn't go her way, and she was eventually eliminated, you comforted her in your arms. Before you debuted, you would actively seek your smiling friend, laughing under the neatly shaded picnic table outside the PLEDIS building. It wasn't much nor was it very significant, but being by her side was more than enough for you.

Even after you debuted, you never broke contact with your dear friend, words couldn’t describe how much she meant to you. She congratulated you every step of the way, and you backed her up twice fold, no matter how turbulent her career was becoming you’d stick by her side no matter what. Because to see her smiling face was more than enough for you and you wouldn’t let anything or anyone damage that. So when she finally told you how much you meant to her, you couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling.

Though when she debuted and years later light babble started to circulate around the corners of the internet, you so desperately wanted to stay away from her, not to damage her career. It was difficult but her happiness, and that smile you treasured so much was on the line, and you wouldn’t—couldn’t let her lose that.

(Of course, she knew what you were doing, she wasn’t an idiot, but it just made her love you even more, the way you cared so much made her heart swoon deeper for you. Yunjin didn’t want to sway your plans because she didn’t want to ruin your career as well, so she too, went with it. But that didn’t mean she ever kept you a secret. You belonged by her side and she didn’t want anyone to forget that. So yes, she was subtly hinting towards her loving fans that her heart fell in the palms of someone else’s.)

So that was what led the both of you to the circumstances you were entangled in right now. Having to camp out in secluded places, where only your faint laughter could fill her ears, and hers only. You reminisced on your past with her, how carefree you both used to be during your youth, but you wouldn’t trade what you had right now for anything. Despite how secretive the both of you were, you were content with having her hands interlocking with your fingers. It was small, honestly not even comparable to how she used to intertwine your lips during rush hour on the bustling streets of New York, but both made your heart race nevertheless.

As she talked about how practice went, your eyes drifted to how she’d scrunch her eyes whenever she laughed about what happened with Eunchae. Despite all the hardships she’s dealt with over the years, she was still the carefree girl you fell in love with. It was honestly surprising how your eyes never faltered off of her even after years of dating. You tried to take the advice from your family and peers that this was some teenage infatuation, but even through crowds of people, you’d pick her gummy smile before anyone else’s.

Your mind drifted to how you’d give her the moon and back, even if no one was watching, you’d give her everything you had. Your eyes, your heart, your mind, anything you could give her, you would. Yunjin couldn’t help but notice your gaze falling from hers and to her cheeks, she curiously stopped her story to call out to you.

“Ah Y/N, are you okay? Are you tired, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have talked your ears off—“ You cut her off by raising your hands to her face, she looked confused as she cupped her face. Yunjin looked even more shocked when you started to pinch her soft cheeks. Squishing them like marshmallows before laughing to yourself silently.

She (very pathetically) tried to swat your hands away before finally giving in with a giggle, placing her hands on top of yours. “You have such an adorable smile, have I ever told you that?” You speak, pulling her cheeks up to force a smile, not realizing she was smiling from your comment. Caressing your hands with her thumb she spoke up once more.

“Yes actually, you always tell me that my love.” She responded, her cheeks flushing red as you continued to play with her face. The way her eyes squinted like a crescent moon made you adore her even more than before.

“Your smile is just so adorable, I’m afraid I might hide it away from everyone.” You joked as you continued, she looked at you even more lovingly than imaginable, if you weren’t in public, you’d probably be kissing her face all over instead of playing with it. You were so distracted by how charming she looked that you didn’t notice a meddlesome paparazzi sneaking in and taking a very sneaky photo of the both of you. (And even if you did notice, you didn’t have the power to stop them, they’d probably run off with the photos before you could even stand up. Though they would probably release the photos later on in the day, and it would rightfully annoy you. You couldn’t deny the fact you were a little grateful that the people knew, the Huh Yunjin was, Y/N L/N’s)

“There you go again— Hey! You know, that was the first thing you told me when we met.”

“Was it really?”

“Yeah, you told me how beautiful my smile was, I was kinda surprised since you approached me in such a huge crowd of people.”

As Yunjin recited the moment you met, you remembered in detail about the interaction, because that’s what changed the trajectory of your life. (The backstage was crowded with everyone getting ready in their bright pink and white uniform, the cameras weren’t rolling so it was awfully loud. Your broken Korean wasn’t helping your cause as you tried your best to converse with your fellow trainees. The sea of faces was difficult to remember, there were 96 contestants after all. Despite how deafeningly loud everything was, and how overwhelming everything felt, your eyes wonder towards a light-brown bob. Her face caught you off guard, she was stunning, and the way she smiled made the world go silent for a few moments. And you needed to talk to her, or this moment would slip through your tender fingers, so you pushed through the crowd just to have one conversation with her.)

“How embarrassing… I hope no one finds out about that.” You sheepishly admit as you move your hands away from her face and intertwine your fingers back to hers.

“I’m sure they’ll find away, but before they do, my smile will always belong to you, Y/N.” She lifted one of your hands back to her face and cupped it to one of her cheeks before smiling softly. Making the already silent lounge even more quiet, as your mind only focused on her delicate smile. The same one you’d turn tides to protect. Your smiley.

opm and ppop lovers rise tf up!!!!!

[adrienneleclerc]

And writing this I’m thinking, what if Charles is dating a reader who’s a HUGE F1 fan and is so expressive when she’s watching from the garage but like Rebecca kinda side eyes her and make her feel self conscious about how she acts, thinking to herself “am I being annoying? Loud?” Yes? No?

and the can she decide she dgaf because she's excited and showing her support to the person she loves?

That was always going to be the plan! Like home girl from the States, she’s Latina, we’re expressive! Even my mother who can’t stand soccer will be excited when it’s the World Cup! When it comes to Formula 1, personally, I am just as bad as the tifosi.

Not Your Average WAG

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N was not your average WAG, she does not go to the paddock in cute designer outfits, she walks into the paddock repping Ferrari. While fans LOVE her because she is just like them, a certain WAG does not.

Warning: Spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: No hate to Rebecca, I don't really have a set opinion on her like I don't know her. But she’s going to be a major BITCH like kinda classist as most stereotypical Europeans are. Also…I MADE IT TO 1K FOLLOWERS! But this is probably not my best work so do with that as you will.

Y/N and Charles were in Y/N’s Monaco apartment, Y/N was by the kitchen counter, eating some ice cream, while Charles was watching a movie on her couch and eating popcorn. Though Y/N and Charles have been dating for a year, Y/N has never been to a race, despite her being a big fan. She is the creative director of a fashion magazine so she doesn’t have much days off and ends up watching the race on the TV she has in her office until…

“Charles, muñeco, guess what.” Y/N said, sitting next to Charles on the couch, Charles paused the movie and turned to face Y/N.

“What happened, Mon coeur?” Charles asked, Y/N took the popcorn bowl and placed it on the coffee table.

“My boss gave me the okay to work remotely so I’m able to go to the Hungarian Grand Prix with you.” Y/N said.

“Really? That’s great! Finally, you’ll get to see me in action.” Charles said, pulling Y/N onto his lap.

“I can’t wait! I’m gonna be like Luigi in Cars, I have the Ferrari shirt you gave me, your hat, I have some things from Etsy that I could totally wear like the Forza Ferrari friendship bracelet. Oh, I’m so excited!” Y/N hugged Charles and he giggled at his cuddly girlfriend. When Y/N stopped hugging him, Charles just stared at her with that dopey smile on his face. “What?” Y/N asked.

“Nothing, you’re just so cute.” Charles said, kissing Y/N’s cose, making her scrunch her nose. “We’re going to Hungary tomorrow, you might wanna pack now.” Charles taps her thigh.

“Help me pack?” Y/N asked and Charles nodded, both getting up to go to her room to pick out the clothes she’ll wear this race weekend. “Wait, you sure I’ll be able to stay in your hotel and everything? I mean i am going last minute.”

“Oh Mon coeur, ma belle, belle petite amie, I was hoping your boss would give you the okay to work remotely so I already booked everything for us. So yes, you will be staying with me at a 5 star hotel in Budapest, beautiful view and everything.” Charles kissed Y/N “So I’m thinking we could go out every night, you’ve only been to New York and Monaco, so we are going sightseeing in Hungary.” Charles said, going into Y/N’s closet and start picking out what he would like to see his girlfriend wearing. Charles placed everything on her bed.

Y/N observed the outfits Charles picked out. “Wow, Charles, love the outfits, but you are such a guy, the yellow sundress?”

“You look so cute in it, though! Come on, mon coeur, you look amazing in these outfits and this way, I get to show up how beautiful my girlfriend is.” Charles said, kissing Y/N.

“Alright, it’s fine. I’ll just wear your hoodie on the plane with my jeans.” Y/N said.

“And you’ll still be the prettiest girl on that plane ever.” Charles said.

“Thank you.” Y/N said.

They landed in Budapest and Charles drove them to their hotel. Y/N was in awe of everything since she has never been to another European country before. When they got into their hotel room, Charles told Y/N to change into one of her cute outfits because they were going to meet Carlos and Rebecca at the hotel restaurant. Y/N came out with the first outfit.

“How do I look?” Y/N asked

“You look beautiful, Mon coeur.” Charles said, stepping closer to kiss her and twirled her around. “You ready to meet them?”

“Yes, what, should I do my hair? I think it’s messy from the plane ride,” Y/N said

“Mon coeur, don’t panic, it looks fine, but if you want to do your hair, may I suggest a half up half down ponytail with the white bow?” Charles asked.

“Muñeco, why do you like it when I wear bows?” Y/N asked.

“Because it makes you look so cute.” Charles kissed her.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Y/N did her hair and the two walked down to the restaurant. Carlos was the first one to stand up from the table to say hello to Charles and Y/N.

“Carlos, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.” Charles introduced them, Carlos and Y/N greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek.

“So nice to meet you, Charles talks about you constantly.” Carlos says and Charles blushes. “But here’s our table. Rebecca, this is Charles’s girlfriend, Y/N.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Y/N said.

“Nice to meet you too.” Rebecca said with a tight smile. “So Y/N, have you ever been to Budapest?

“No, this is my first time. I’ve only been to (the state your from or New York), (where your parents are from), and Monaco, obviously.” Y/N laughed off but she saw Rebecca make a face so she took a sip of water that was on the table. Don’t know why she’s judging when her name is literally a character from Full House.

“So Y/N, Charles tells me your a fan.” Carlos said and Y/N immediately became more comfortable, which Charles noticed immediately.

“Yes, I’m a huge fan. Ive always been a fan of Sebastian Vettel so when he went to Ferrari, I obviously went with him. But when he left, I stayed a Ferrari fan for you and Charles and damn, being a Ferrari fan is not easy.” Y/N said causing Charles and Carlos to laugh because it’s true, Rebecca didn’t react.

“You must be pretty excited to experience your race.” Carlos said.

“Oh, this is your first race?” Rebecca asked. “That’s a surprise considering you’re such a huge F1 fan.” She emphasized the word huge.

Lunch continued and when they finished, Charles and Y/N went to their hotel room.

“I think that went well.” Charles said.

“Are you kidding? Rebecca hates me.” Y/N said.

“She doesn’t hate you, she seemed very interested in getting to know you, asking you all those questions.” Charles said,

“Muñeco, i know you’re not a girl but don’t be such a guy, you didn’t see the faces she was making when I would talk. It’s like she hated to hear me talk.” Y/N said

“Well, Mon coeur, you two are going to spending a lot of time together this weekend.” Charles said.

“Well I know that but like what do we talk about? Because it became pretty clear I can’t talk about F1.” Y/N said.

“You’ll figure it out, bébé.” Charles said, kissing her.

The next 2 days were difficult for Y/N to say the least. On media day, she walked into the paddock with Charles, wearing a CL16 Ferrari jersey, black shorts, platform vans, and a CL16 Ferrari hat with pins she bought from Etsy.

“You look great.” Charles said, kissing her. “I’m going to the MainStage for some questions, you can walk around, try to get along with Rebecca.” Charles said.

“Okay, have fun.” Y/N said. She then starts walking around, she spotted Kika, who she has met on double dates with charles and Pierre, she was wearing a sundress. Kika then spotted Y/N.

“Y/N! Hey, I can’t believe you’re here, oh my gosh, you look so cute.” Kika said, hugging her, kissing her cheek.

“Me? You look amazing, I mean obviously, you’re an off duty model.” Y/N said laughing, Kika giggled as well.

“I gotta go with Pierre but I’ll call you.” Kika left and Y/N saw Rebecca wearing navy pants with a matching vest. She saw Y/N decked out in Ferrari and smiled

“Wow, if I didn’t know you, I’d think you were a crazed fan.” Rebecca said. Y/N didn’t react but kept walking around, hoping to run into Lily.

The rest of media day and Friday, Y/N tries to make conversation with Rebecca, she doesn’t really cooperate, Y/N gave up talking to her. It was now the qualifying session, Y/N and Rebecca were watching in the hospitality. Y/N saw that there were 3 minutes left in Q1 and Charles was a driver at risk.

“No no no no no no, come on, Charles.” Y/N was lowkey stressing but then Charles made it to 3rd in the last minute. “Yes!! Let’s go!” Y/N cheered, standing up from the couch. The rest of the quali sessions were like that, Y/N stressing whenever Carlos or Charles were drivers at risk and in the bottom 5. Y/N was beyond happy when Ferrari made 3 and 4, however, she noticed Rebecca side eyeing her whenever she was cheering, she tried to tone it down a little but she was happy for Charles because after Monaco, he wasn’t doing that well.

When Charles finished the interviews after quali, he entered the hospitality and sat next to Y/N on the couch.

“What did you think?” Charles asked.

“I’m so proud of you, you did so well.” Y/N said, hugging him.

“Let’s go to the hotel, change, and we’ll go out to eat?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Y/N said. They went to the car, the ride was pretty quiet until.. “Am I annoying?”

“What do you mean ‘annoying’, Mon ange?” Charles asked.

“Exactly what I’m asking, am I annoying? Are there days where I’m talking and you’re thinking ‘will she ever shut the fuck up?’ or not, muñeco?” Y/N asked.

“Never, Mon coeur, I never thought you were annoying. Why are you asking? Did something happen with Rebecca again?” Charles asked.

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t like me. She keeps making faces when I’m cheering. Like sorry for being excited that my boyfriend moved up from being a driver at risk, I like F1, I was practically raised with the sport, and she even judged me for wearing your merch.” Y/N said pouting, Charles felt bad, her first race weekend should have been a great experience.

“Don’t pay mind to her, Mon coeur. Tomorrow is the race, I hope to place on the podium, and hopefully I’ll get to see you in Ferrari merch.” Charles said.

“Yeah.” Y/N said.

It was race day! Sadly, instead of wearing her Ferrari merch, she wore the fifth outfit to try to fit it with Rebecca. Charles saw her doing her hair, kinda disappointed that she wasn’t wearing Ferrari.

“I thought that outfit was for dinner.” Charles said.

“Well this way we could go to dinner right after the race.” Y/N said, Charles still looked at her. “I know what you’re thinking, muñeco.”

“You don’t have to change, you know.” Charles said. “You won’t really see her much next season. If you’re coming to more races, I mean.”

“I know, but I just wanna see if she’ll treat me a little better.” Y/N said, however, Rebecca stayed the same. Both were in the hospitality watching the race, Y/N was pacing because, surprise surprise, Charles had engine trouble.

“Y/N, stop pacing, geez.” Rebecca said and Y/N stopped and looked at her.

“I have had it with you. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I am done with your judge faces. You don’t want to hear me or someone else talk about the race or express excitement when my boyfriend or someone else’s favorite driver is doing well, then don’t come to races.” Y/N expressed. Rebecca looked shocked.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Rebecca said.

“Good, now hopefully Charles will move up from P7 to podium at least.” Y/N said. She expressed emotion as she usually does and not a single reaction from Rebecca, so much better than before. Charles got P2, Y/N went to the podium celebration, and once Charles got down from the podium, he kissed Y/N, champagne flavored kisses, of course. “So proud of you, muñeco.”

“Yeah? You watched everything?” Charles asked.

“Of course, your best race yet.” Y/N said, they kissed again and went to the drivers room.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! So I’m thinking for Just An Inchident, which if you don’t know, will be an F1 Band AU

I won’t be using Y/N BUT you’ll get your own nickname so you could read for either members of the band (Carlos, Charles, Lando, Lewis, and George/Max). Comment which nickname should be for which band member and that nickname would be strictly used by them ONLY

[lyvhie]

hi requesting a jeno x reader where jeno is so strong compared to reader and he gets turned on by that and it results in him manhandling reader -🦋

boyfriend!jeno × fem!reader (18+ mdni)

summary: had a bad day? don't worry, he'll make it better.

a/n: so, FIRSTLY, i actually didn't understand the concept of manhandling in a sexual situation, but i tried my best after doing some research, i'm sorry if that's not what you wanted 🥺 i can try another one if you don't like it!

cw: smut, pwp, unprotected penetrative sex, petname.

jeno wasn't sure when exactly he started to feel this way, but whatever it was that drove him crazy and made him feel so intensely was all your fault.

you were tiny, small, delicate—so much that he couldn't help but want to... break you. he knew he was stronger and bigger than you, and he couldn't help but feel the desire to exert that strength over you. it wasn't in a bad way, of course, but at first he was hesitant about that, like, what if you actually broke?!

however, you weren't quite so naive either. you had noticed his subtle glances at your neck, the certain intent in his gaze suggesting he wanted to wrap his hands around it as soon as he could.

and you were partly to blame; for example, you had toyed with him by squeezing his bicep or wrapping his arm around your neck in a side hug, all small, innocent actions that seemed purposely designed to provoke him further.

and then you gave him the chance to fulfill his desires. first, it started with just restricting your movements, like pinning your hands above your head with just one hand while the other held your waist to keep you in place as he was too busy burying his cock inside you.

then, it became him wrapping his hand around your neck, just light squeezes that were already making him thril inside, seeking for more, and you were more than happy to submit yourself to it.

he enjoyed seeing you helpless under him, and that's why, after a seemingly harmless discussion about "how was your day," you ended up bent over the kitchen counter. his hand pushed your face down against the cool surface—a small hint of dominance and control that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

the skirt of your dress was lifted until he had a nice view of your ass. your panties draped around your ankles as he thrusts into you from behind. the wet sound of his cock sliding through your slick folds was all you could hear, besides your loud moans, of course. “y-you should see yourself right now,” he said hoarsely, “all dumb because of my cock. does it feel good, huh?” he leans over you to lightly bite your shoulder, not really getting an answer from you.

feeling you body respond positively, jeno slides his hand around your neck and applies just enough pressure to make you gasp. he leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he says, "is this what you wanted? to be completely at my mercy?" not able speak, you nod frantically, your pants turning into whimpers. he squeezes tighter, controlling your air flow carefully as he continues to pound into you, each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it difficult for you to breathe properly.

he groans when he feels your walls clenching around him, indicating that you were close, "let go, baby," he encourages hoarsely, his teeth grazing your earlobe and quickens his pace, his hips slamming into yours. he feels his own release building up, his muscles tensing with anticipation. he releases your hands and grabs onto your waist instead, pulling you back into him as he thrusts even harder.

your hands were holding the edge of the counter as you try to hold on, your body shaking from the intensity. jeno's finds its way to your clit, rubbing slow circles as he continues to choke you. seeing you like this drives him wild, knowing he's the one making you feel so good. "come for me, baby" he murmurs huskily, increasing the pressure on your sensitive bud. your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your whole body convulsing as you cry out out his name. he follows shortly after, emptying himself inside you with a final grunt.

you stay like that for a moment, both trying to catch your breaths before jeno slowly removes his hand from your neck and pulls out of you, his seed dripping down your thighs. “wow, that was… wow,” you said still panting, making him chuckle and spins you around to face him, catching you when your legs buckle slightly. “are you good?” he asks softly, cupping your face and caressing your cheeks. “yeah, i think i'll always tell you that my day was terrible if that's your way of comforting me.”

[silent-stories]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

aka noah acting like a big cat

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The late evening was peaceful, the kind of quiet that settled comfortably between the two of you. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in warm light, casting shadows on the walls as you lay in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. The music in the background was a low, calming hum.

You could sense Noah nearby, moving slowly around the room, preparing for bed. There was a certain quiet to his actions tonight, a subtle hesitation that didn't go unnoticed.

He had always been the type to keep some things to himself, particularly when it came to small comforts. He never asked for much, especially when it came to something as simple as the physical affection he craved after long days, but you had grown to recognize the signs.

The way he'd grow quieter, a bit more contemplative, almost as if he were waiting for you to notice without having to ask.

You pretended not to watch as he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing the familiar expanse of his tattooed back. The intricate designs that wound across his skin were a familiar sight, yet no matter how many times you saw them, they still had the ability to catch your breath.

But to you, it was more than just the tattoos. It was the way his skin moved beneath them, the subtle rise and fall of his muscles, the warmth he radiated when he was close.

And then, without saying a word, he came over to the bed and climbed in beside you, his bare chest brushing against you as he lowered himself on top of you, careful to find a comfortable position for both of you, so as not to crush you under his weight.

He nestled his head into the crook of your neck, his body pressing into yours in that familiar, comforting way.

You didn't need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it in the way he leaned into you, the way his breath fanned against your skin. It was always like this: he didn't need to speak and you knew what to do. His quiet presence was enough.

Gently, you put your phone aside and let your hand move to his back, your fingers lightly brushing against the warm skin at first. You started slow, tracing the lines of his tattoos absentmindedly, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingertips.

You could sense him relax instantly, his body softening against yours as if the touch alone was enough to ease whatever tension had been lingering.

Gradually, you began using your nails, dragging them softly down the length of his back, applying just enough pressure to make him sigh in contentment. His breath deepened, the steady rise and fall of his chest becoming more rhythmic, a sign that he was fully immersed in the moment.

You knew this was exactly what he needed-what he craved, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

Your nails traced along his spine, traveling from his shoulders down to his lower back in slow, deliberate motions. Each stroke brought a deeper sense of relaxation, and you could feel the weight of his body sinking into yours, the warmth of his skin melding into your own.

His head remained nestled in the crook of your neck, his lips occasionally brushing against your collarbone in a way that made you smile.

There was something so intimate, so unspoken about this kind of touch, the kind that wasn't rushed or hurried. You could tell how much he enjoyed it, how much he appreciated the way your nails gently scraped across his skin like a big cat looking for cuddles.

It was a silent comfort, a moment shared without the need for words or explanations.

As your fingers continued their lazy path along his back, your touch traced the familiar lines of his tattoos once more, briefly noting the tiny freckles that dotted the spaces between the ink of the flowers on his shoulders.

The contrast between them, the dark, intentional designs and the light, natural marks-was something you always noticed. They were just a small reminder of the details you loved about him, details only you knew so well.

You shifted slightly, adjusting to make yourself more comfortable beneath him, your hand never pausing in its soothing rhythm. His body felt heavy against yours, but not in a way that burdened you. It was the kind of weight that brought comfort, the kind that told you he was completely at ease, that in this moment, you were exactly what he needed.

His breathing grew even slower, and the tension that had once been there was long gone. He was completely relaxed now, lost in the gentle strokes of your fingertips across his skin. You didn't need to look at him to know his eyes were closed, his mind drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

You continued your slow, soothing motions, the pads of your fingers alternating with your nails. There was no rush, no urgency, just the two of you in your peaceful space.

His face remained buried in your neck, his lips occasionally brushing against your skin in soft, absent kisses on your shoulder or behind your ear, his cheek resting on your shoulder.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, you shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up over both of you. Noah murmured something incoherent against your skin, half-asleep, his grip around your waist tightening for a moment, then softening again when he realized you were not going anywhere.

You smiled into the dim light, your own eyes growing heavy.

The last thing you remember before drifting off is a soft, whispered "I love you." You couldn’t tell if it was a dream or reality, but you'll definitely ask him in the morning.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1

[marilynthornhilllover]

*chants* Lady D size kink/tentacle kink! Lady D size kink/tentacle kink!

Kinktober fic #2

What eyes can’t see

Lady Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

Warning: smut, mommy kink, manipulative kink, cunnilingus, tentacle sex, skin marking.

A/n: this is a bit lengthy so I apologize, I’ve never written a smut fanfic on tentacle before so I hope you enjoy<3 happy spokey season👻

Dr. Alcina Dimitrescu was said to be the best gynecologist doctor in town. Everyone said that she takes care of every woman’s problems as if it were her own, and never failed to make anyone feel comfortable and every woman who ever went to her for treating left her office with what was said to be shaky legs. But the reason for this was never revealed. They all just said that she worked some kind of magic and now they feel fantastic down there and we’re able to perform their sexual duties as normal.

So there you sat, in the doctors office waiting for your name to be called, it was really late in the night and you were completely exhausted. You’ve been there since eight in the morning but the line was tremendously but since you weren’t going to be given other opportunity to be off work for a day you settled on the waiting game.

“ miss y/l/n?” Your head shot up in the direction of which your name was called and there standing was the doctors assistant. She was a short girl with an enclosed composure, a black pencil skirt with a fitted red blouse. Her hair was curled and tucked away neatly behind her ear as her green eyes smiled warmly at you but her lips didn’t mirror the action.

“ doctor Dimitrescu will see you now.” She spoke softly before retreating down the dimly lit hall. You quickly stood up, grabbed your purse with you then proceeded to follow her lead. Honestly the clinic wasn’t what you would have expected. It was small but gave off a warm and cozy vibe making everyone who entered feel safe and comfortable. The lady came to a halt infront of a big shiny black door with a gold plate that read “ Dr. Alcina Dimitrescu “ on it. She knocked three times in sync before turning the handle and allowing you to entire before her.

“ doc, this is your last patient for the night, she’s been here all more so I’d suggest rewarding her for her patience, and goodnight I’ll be taking my leave and signing out shortly ” the red head announced before she closed the door behind you. After a while you just stood there awkwardly, the office was just like the other parts of the clinic, dimly lit. Her desk took up half of the room even though it was huge. She had shelves with books and medicine and pictures on the wall of what seemed to be flowers with blood on them. Weird…. Maybe even creepy.

Her office was modern with a little bit of a historical background to it, it seemed more ancient like or maybe even European, you knew a European interior design when you see one.

The room was filled with the mixed scent of citrus and lavender but something old and sweet giving it a sweetened spicy scent. On the opposite side of the room was a bed with a sheet of plastic on it like all hospital beds but it was big and on each side had toys…. Sex toys to be exact. You saw vibrators, dildos, anal toys etc. you were too entrapped in your own world that you didn’t even notice that the raven hair goddess was now full on staring at you.

“ do they intrigue you?” A low husk voice asked, you were suddenly torn away from your trance and that’s when both your eyes met. The gaze lingered for a moment before you quickly looked away and swallowed thickly. Something about the way she looked at you made you wanna run away and never come back or even if the ground could open and sucked you in that would be nice. You could feel your face heat up and your breathing start to get shallow.

“ no need to be nervous darling….come take a seat” she spoke up again, her voice was low and dripped like honey but it had a certain roughness and firmness to it, like a soft command but you heard a little bit of exhaustion behind it as well. You found yourself obeying her order and move swiftly to sit in front of her on the chair provided, the quicker you got this over with the better. You didn’t know why you had decided to wear a short mini shirt that rested only above your upper thighs exposing your bare skin because for a moment you could have sworn that you saw her eyes lingering a little too long on your legs. When they caught your eyes again a shiver ran down your spine.

Alcina raised from her chair and slowly walked around her desk, as if she wanted to intimidate you. She carefully sat on the edge right infront of you and crossed her legs. Man she had legs for days…She studied your face for a moment before she allowed her eyes to wonder down your body. She watched how your fingers held onto your purse for dear life, how your chest heavied with every breath you took and of course you clenching your thighs shut tightly.A subtle smirk appeared on her face for a quick instant before it quickly disappeared.

“ so what brings you here today must be quite serious? My assignment says you’ve been here all morning, is that so?” She asked taking a step closer towards you, and soon you realized where the spicy smell was coming from, it was from her, her perfume was strong and it clung to you like a rope and was suffocating you. Her entire presence was intoxicating. Never once did you think an older woman could get under your skin like this….. a doctor to be exact. Well that’s a new kink unlocked for you….

Again you were broken away from your trance when a hand came in contact with your chin and pushed your head upwards.

“ what’s troubling you my dear?,you seem to keep getting lost in these thoughts up here quite often” She asked, but somehow you felt as if she already knew, obviously it was something sexual or else you would not be here. You would have gone out of town to see another doctor. You felt lost for words but you didn’t wanna seem stupid so you attempted to answer her question.

“ I—I um—I’m” you quickly became a stammering mess and quickly shut your mouth in embarrassment. She smirked and pursed her lips, shaking her head, either in encouragement or disappointment either way the gesture made your thighs clench tighter.

“ take your time darling” she interrupted, her grip on your chin tightening as her hand slowly creeped downwards to your neck. You swallowed again and squirmed in your seat.

“ I’m having trouble masturbating…..” you finally blurted out, closing your eyes shut tight expecting her to laugh or do something to match with your awkwardness but inside she just remained still and, now you felt even more stupid for closing your eyes. Alcina released your chin pivoted to retrieve a small note pad from her desk, quickly scribbling something down before putting it back down in it’s before position.

“ is that it? What do you have trouble with specifically?” She asked kneeling in front of you as her hand snaked their way up your calves then up towards your thighs, you almost jumped out of your body and her hands came to an immediate halt.

“ hey, I’m not here to make you feel comfortable ok? I’m here to help, you’re a bit tense I want you to relax ok?” She asked, almost like a whisper and you nodded.

“ use your words baby” she said firmly and you sighed.

“ yes doctor” you replied a little too loud. You cringed internally at your volume choice and hide your face in the palm of your hands. But Alcina quickly tore them away and placed them back down at your sides.

“ good girl” she purred. She gave you a pushing look which made you remember her question. You tried to think of a way to tell her your sexual problems without sounding weird but nothing was coming to mind.

“ I can’t explain it….” You whispered shyly slouching down into the chair. Alcina chuckled and looked up at you through her lashes.

“ it’s ok darling there isn’t anything I haven’t heard before and even if it is I’m sure I can find a way to work around it, I’ve been in this job for over 30 years I’m no stranger to anything, I’m a professional…..” she said, her tone of voice deepening on the last word which again caused you to shiver once more. You thought about it for a second and trust me her eyes are some of the most reassuring ones ever.

“ I can’t make myself cum….” You whispered. You didn’t even know if she heard it because it barely left your lips but regardless she better had because you wouldn’t be repeating yourself. She shook her head and smiled.

“ now that I can work with my love, now fill out this form and I’ll be right back, follow all instructions that’s there on the paper ok?” You nodded and she handed you a sheet of paper before exiting the room. You sighed a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding before looking down at the paper before grabbing a pen from her pen cup on the desk. You held the paper up close and began reading it’s contents. Some questions were quite reaching and definitely had some privacy concerns.

Some asked how you like having sex, where, toys or fingers, what were your kinks etc.But never the least you filled it out just in time for when the door opened again and alcina stepped through, you handed her the paper and she scanned through it with the best poker face you’ve ever seen before she hummed with contentment before she then proceeded to walk back to the door, locking it before returning back to her desk.

“ you can pull the curtains and take off your clothes, when your finished you’ll call me” she spoke, turning her computer back on as her finger moved swiftly over the keyboard. You stood still trying your best to process what she just asked you to do.

“ you need me to get naked?” You asked in slight disbelief and you watch as she nods but not looking up to properly confirm.

“ I need to do some tests” she replies when she realizes that you went quiet.

“ and what test require me to be naked?” You asked with maybe too much attitude, now you got her attention. She glanced up at you and for a moment you see her stern poker face crack and little and a glint of desire pass through her eyes, but she masks it well and cover it up with a twitch in her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry are you here to get help or ask me about my job because by all means continue I have all night my next shift doesn’t start until ten tomorrow…” the room goes quiet and the tension continues to rise until it becomes unbearable so you just comply and proceed behind the curtains and begin taking off your clothes. Then you were abruptly interrupted when alcina steps in and pulls a rollable stool infront of you. You quickly cover yourself and look away.

“ up on the bed and spread your legs” at this point you couldn’t even complain. You came here for something now you need to let her do her job. You hoped up onto the bed and pressed your back against the plastic pillow and slowly opened your legs shyly. You were honestly kind of embarrassed because you were damp down there and you didn’t know why, maybe it was the sexual tension between you both, or maybe it’s the fact that no woman has ever seen you down there before. Alcina drew her stool closer towards the edge of the bed and pulled you down by your ankles and you release an audible gasp.

She pulled out a box of gloves from her cabinet and put on a pair.

“ chose a toy and demonstrate to me how exactly you play with yourself” she hoaxed out, your breathing became more elaborated and it came out in shorten breaths, alcina sensed your hesitation so she gently caressed your ankles. You dipped two fingers down between your folds and started sliding them through your wet slits gasping quietly at the contact. You refused to make eye contact with her, she had something naturally sinful in her eyes. Your fingers took their time and dragged themselves up towards your clit, drawing out small circles around the small bud.

You eyes closes and you bite your lip as you dip two of your digits into you soaked cunt. A moan coarses its way from your throat as you slowly start pumping your fingers within yourself. You started off with a slow intense pace before you increased it going deeper and rougher, but no matter how fast you went you never seemed to reach a high or a climax, it was like walking towards something but the closer you got the further out you had to walk. The room was filled with the sound of your fingers slotting themselves in and out of your cunt and your gentle quiet moans. You fingers eventually got tired and you stopped with an exaggerated sigh.

You opened your eyes and you were met with the most lustful stare by alcina, you almost forgot where you were and seeing her lustful eyes made you tremble under her gaze.

“ ok, I can see you have a mental block mostly, your not thinking about the pleasure enough, your not touching yourself before or properly at all— have you ever had sex with anyone? Man, woman?” She asked emphasizing on the last word a tad bit too much. You shook your head and she nodded.

“ ok here’s what i want you to do, just lay back and close your eyes for me ok?” You nod and she flashes you a warm smile for the first time since you’ve entered the office and for once you had hope but you hoped you wouldn’t leave this room with a crush on your doctor because god knows that wouldn’t end well. You fixed the pillow behind yourself and layed down spreading your legs to the widest they could go. Suddenly alcina comes up to you and places a soft peck against your lips.

Your taken back by the sudden action for a second but soon enough you caught on to what she was trying to do. You kissed her back with more force and passion and she matched you in an instant. Her lips were soft but played a dangerous game, the heat of it all was getting to you. You moaned against her lips which gave her the perfect opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth without a fust. Her tongue fought against your in a battle for dominance but after a while you gave up and fully submitted to her. You loved the way her tongue felt roaming your mouth.

She then broke the kiss and began kissing her way down your neck and collarbone all the way down to your chest. She nipped at one of your nipples before pulling a bud into her mouth. She sucked gently on the bud before gently grazing her teeth on it before continuing sucking and pulling at it. You swore you felt a small thud or heartbeat in your pussy that you never felt before. She was making you feel things and it was intense. You didn’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know if you should run or hide or scream and jump.

One of you hands reached up and grabbed her hair pressing her mouth closer to you as your eyes looked down at her. As if she could sense you looking up at her eyes locked with yours. Alcina was a smart woman, skilled too, she distracted you for a moment and got you turned on so she could insert two fingers into your cunt with ease. Your eye contact with her came to an end as they now rolled back. The moan you let out was absolutely loud absolutely pornographic.

Your hands flew to something to cling onto but you ended up tearing the plastic on the bed instead, oops too that’s too damn bad. The stretch was brutal, but it felt so good, the way she filled you up was uncomfortable but you loved it. you’ve been fingering yourself for years and never once did you feel this good. It felt as if she was tearing your pussy apart but pleasure quickly subsided the pain. Alcina kissed your stomach as she continued her way down until she was face to face with your cunt. Her fingers slowly began easing their way in and out of you in a way that felt too damn good to be true.

You could feel your world spinning as your mind began to get clouded, ascending you to cloud nine.

You whimpered desperately as she slowly starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you, hitting that spot and nudging your clit every time. She’s so gentle but so rough making the pleasure build inside you slowly, burying deep in your gut and creeping up your spine. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible and you could feel a weird tingling feeling deep within your stomach and you try to shake it off as much as possible but it soon becomes unbearable. Alcina continues her work for a while before she releases her fingers and allows her mouth to take over. You feel her tongue move across your clit a few times teasing the small bud before making it’s way up and down your folds flavoring your taste.

What this woman was making you feel was nothing like what you’ve ever felt before and it was scary. Your hands flew to her hair as you tried to pull her away but she wouldn’t budge. Your back arches and you feel this overwhelming pressure building up in your lower abdomen and your entire body feels like it’s about to go up in flames at any given moment.

“ fuck— alci— doctor please i—I can’t do this, it’s too much” you breathed out before a moan over took you and your back arched again and your grip in her hair tightens. Her eyes flick up towards your and you swear you see her smirk. She’s chuckles softly and the vibration goes straight to your core. She pulls away and you feel something slimey creep it’s ts way up your thigh. You flinch and look down to see a dark tentacle submerging from alcinas back. Your eyes widen and you feel like running away for real this time but the fear feels good.

Sticky substance drips from your thigh area where it was before it makes it’s way further up your cunt.

“ I’ve always wanted to use my tentacles on someone” she purred sinfully.

“ I wanna make you cum on them til you break” she whispered. The tentacle makes it’s up up to your hole and hovers itself there for a while. It was huge, we’re talking big dick energy here, just in the form of a tentacle. It was fucking hot.

“ I want you to fuck me so bad, pleaseplease make me cum I wanna cum so bad” you became a broken record for her and you didn’t care. You needed to be stuffed you needed to be filled so good. It runs down your slit ,letting the slick suckers wake up your pussy, sliding through the sticky mess that was dripping out of your cunt. The tentacle suddenly gently slid it’s s way into your hole which caused you to prop yourself up onto your elbows and let out a soft cry of pleasure. It stretches you open so good it’s unbelievable.

You whine uncontrollably when he tentacle began thrusting fast and at a deep curved angle within you. Your muscles clench and spasm around it as the suckers brush hastily against all the best spots inside you.

“ that’s it baby I’m right here, be a really good girl and mommy will reward you” you manage to hear alcina say as another one of your whines overshadows the room. The tentacle fucks into your pussy at a fast pace and you feel your walls closing in. The squelching noise was driving you insane. The slithering slimey feeling of being fuck and stuffed by a tentacle was unmatched. Alcina used her finger to help you climax faster by rubbing your clit at a fast pace.

“ oh my fucck—feels so fucking good” you cry as you felt how the tentacle had now curved itself in you, kissing you cervix at just the right angle and pace, you looked down to see the most beautiful sight of alcina focused on rubbing tight circles around your clit to the little tummy bulge that was evident on you lower abdomen. Alcina spreads your legs a little wider getting the tentacle a deeper access in you and your eyes roll back as you grabbed the plastic. You feel your body spasm and trash against the bed as the feeling of what felt like cumming and squirting completely took over you.

You felt as your pussy clenched down hard against the tentacle causing it to flatten and squirm inside you. Your back arches a little when your juices shoot out from you as you squirted. You feel the tentacles release their own juices inside you before taking their time exiting you and disappearing. You looked up at Alcina who was smirking down at you.

“ you came here not knowing how to simply cum and now you just learned how to squirt naturally? Fast learner I must say” she gets up and pushes the stool away, she takes your hand in hers and sits you up on the bed.

“ I’ll see you on Thursday for a follow up session” she said with the smirk of the devil….. you walked out of the office with shaking legs and small bruises along your inner thighs but you couldn’t be more eager for Thursday to approach….

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D  is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so. 

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien. 

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up. 

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did. 

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.   

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists.   Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.  

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates. 

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract).  Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict. 

Raiders:  fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important. 

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time). 

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding.  Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse.  If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.  

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while.  Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one. 

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause.  To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it.  Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

[indierpgnewsletter]

Playing Rabbits in an RPG from 1976

(This continues our 2024 series, 10 Games From The First 10 Years. First published in the Indie RPG Newsletter)

It is genuinely surprising to me that in 1976, within two years of D&D coming out, someone published a game about being rabbits. It makes a little more sense when you realize that it was inspired by Watership Down and the designers were, I believe, zoologists or something similar. But having read it, the premise is the least interesting part of this game. It has so many fascinating little ideas.

Bunnies & Burrows is a game about rabbits … but these aren’t just rabbits, they fight, explore, gamble, study herbs, see the future, parley with beetles, find love, have children – and the list goes on. The end result are characters that ironically feel more human than you’d imagine.

As I play more games, I learn about games, sure, but I’m also learning a lot about myself. And a rule of thumb has slowly emerged: I want to play games that lead to interesting, surprising, unique things being said by the players. I’ve sometimes phrased it as “people want to say cool shit at the table”. I’m people.

Bunnies & Burrows starts with D&D as a jumping off point – there’s that old, familiar rolling 3d6 down the line to get your stats. But that’s more or less where the similarities end. You have rules for fighting but it’s not D&D combat – this game is often described as having “the first martial arts system” but what this means is that fighting is mostly weapon-less and involves declaring actions that flow into each other as patterns or c-c-combos. Basically, some actions set up other actions – you can’t Rip into another rabbit unless you already pulled off a Bite & Hold in the last turn. Some actions like Run aren’t possible if you’ve just done a Pin or a Rip in the previous turn and so on. I didn’t actually get to play out a fight but these rules got me grinning.

And the whole thing is like that. The study and application of herbs is meant to be a little puzzle where through trial-and-error and dice rolls, you slowly figure out what’s good for you and what isn’t. The languages and persuasion rules mean that certain characters can become envoys to other species. Because a language can mean the difference between things turning violent and a peaceful negotiation between rabbits and a mother scorpion that has accidentally wandered into their warren.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of these little pieces are eccentric and inelegant – always more convoluted than you’d like but still a major leap forward in playability because in the end, it’s a d100 roll under a target number. All the fiddliness – and there’s a lot of it – lies in the absolutely esoteric ways this game invents for calculating that target number. But I find it easy to forgive this in an old game, especially when the most interesting part of the game doesn’t lie in the mechanics but the negative space the rules seem to create.

The donut hole in the centre of this game – fruitful void? uncrowded centre? – is the question: What is rabbit society like? This is a setting question – or rather, a system of relation question – that is never asked but it must be answered. The mechanics have some opinions. For example, every player picks a profession when they make a character – Empath, Seer, Storyteller, Scout, and so on. Some of this comes from Watership Down, which can, of course, be your ready-made answer – it’s the unstated but obvious setting sourcebook for this game. But if you don’t go down that route, you’ve got a juicy problem: What do we value? What do we despise?

[shaisuki]

pleasantries

CONTENT WARNINGS. anxiety + references of cheating + power play

NOTE. yay! updated this one and more to come? seriously i don't know how to continue this.

SYNOPSIS.

chapters one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

you hate overtime. you finally understand what nanami meant when he said it to you one time while he visited you to look after the twins. you remember it was a cold night and he's hanging his coat in a spare chair of your house while the twins were still crawling. their little bodies wrapped around your legs, afraid that you'll leave them but you won't. they're just that clingy and needy to you, their mother. you appreciate nanami when he took the time to look after the twins like they were his own but you thrown that thought away. you made clear that as much as you appreciate nanami when he helps you of raising the twins, it is not his responsibility. it is yours and nanami respected that which you are grateful for.

late nights at this office made you miss the twins and haibara and nanami. you began to wonder what they're doing right now. the twins were surely sleeping after being tucked by their uncle haibara and nanami, you were not so sure. he could just be out and doing his stuff. the unfinished paperworks was sure you were not getting home anytime soon but certain circumstances may push you to finish this tasking paperworks.

your eyes glazed at the screen in front of you. not even the blue light saved you from getting your eyes strained and the impending headache is already building up throughout your skull. a soft hiss leaving your mouth as you blink your eyes and taking your eyes off the screen. you need to take a break, away from this.

“take a break, will you?” a voice popped beside you. playful and concerned the tone is but it almost made your heart crash and your body freeze. a shaky breath escaping your lips. from your reaction it was like a serial killer hunting you had found you and got you cornered with no means of escape. a thousand anamnesis briefly flashed through every corners of your brain. the long buried came surfacing and it took was just his and presence of your former bully now ceo of the company where you work at.

you firmly planted your feet on the floor before using it as a leverage to push the chair you sit to gain a not-so-rude distance to your boss. placing your hands in your lap before clenching it to fist to calm yourself and to stop the small tremors of your hands. might as well to stop your legs from bouncing. “i-i was about to. i'm c-close to finishing.” you stammer. wincing at the way you spoke internally and trying not to cringe.

the dimness of the office floor and the sudden drop of temperature didn't do anything to ease your nervousness and realizing that you were the only one left except with him. the dark glasses he wore did nothing to conceal the color of his eyes and it was lighter with the dimness surrounding both of you. it only brought you bad memories and you don't want to lose composure because of it. “you didn't change. you were always the diligent one. keep doing that and you will might be my favorite employee.” he scoffs at what he said. clearing his throat. “scratch that, you are my favorite.” grabbing a nearby chair for him to sit down and the chair seems to be smaller than it was from the his huge stature made it. he sat and faces you. your knees almost bumping but you recoiled at the closeness.

it didn't escape gojo's gaze at the action. a pang of a pain that he didn't recognize blooms in his heart and he didn't like it. he was sure the building would be empty minus the staffs who maintains the cleanliness in their designated spot. he was wrong. when he stops at your floor to check up on you or think of whatever gift he can leave at your desk, he found you. working tirelessly at whatever work you need to do. thus, a chance was presented to him. it's a chance to get you closer and crack the tough exterior you have. he was redeeming himself to you. however it was difficult seeing how you defend yourself from him. afraid that he'll harm you again but it was past like that. he wasn't his past self and so are you.

“are you not going home?” you ask him. he gave you a quick shake of his head. “i'm not until you're finished.” he reasons. part of it true and a lie. there's no rush to go home when all that awaits for him is the coldness of his penthouse. spacious and designed for his taste. it's devoid of warmth and sayuri wasn't too fond of it and he wasn't with his fiancee. sayuri's spoiled and even with the few hints of her being there, it bothers him. what he needs is someone. someone who can share a home with him and the answer's in front of him.

there's no use arguing to him. he's your boss and you can't say that his presence is unneeded and you did what's best. ignoring him like he didn't exist but it's impossible that he's dead staring at you. watching your every move. waiting for you to fumble and that brings the unnecessary anxiety you have been feeling lately.

since when's the last time he had the chance to look at you like this, gaze at you like you hung the moon and stars and even more than three years had passed since he last saw you, there isn't a bit that you had changed except maybe for the weight that you gained more and the look in your eyes. despite the uncertainty with how things have been for you since you stepped in his company and meeting them two, there's a look of fierceness in them like you're protecting someone and needing the strength to protect them and it's the look he have seen from his mother. a thousand times she did when he needs her. shielding from his father's demanding orders about him being his protege, his heir. the days would come back haunt him if his father had seen as his son. his blood and nothing else but a child of his own.

it's a memory he didn't want to think of, now he took over of his family's legacy. he should be focusing on what's present in front of him and he gladly drowns in your presence. looking at you and memorizing every inch of your features. still in his position he can see that natural eyelashes of yours, the roundness of your eyes and when they look at him, he gets a little weak. gojo would like to brush his nose against to yours. feel the roundness of your cheeks like he did when you slept in a little the morning after he and suguru had ravaged you. takes a glance at your sleeping figure and he didn't realize that he was already admiring you and he would like to kiss you once again. the softness of your lips in his while he takes you fully. it will come a long way before he can do that again. forgiveness isn't a easy thing to do and he regrets it a little bit of how he treated you.

enthralled by the menial tasks you were doing, the beep of the monitor shutting down brought him back. you were packing up and sorting the folders and putting them by the small rack of your desk for tomorrow's use. you didn't wait for him after you've slotted your chair below the space of your desk. walking towards the elevators and he follows suit. pressing the button for ground floor. there's only a ding and then the casual whir of the elevator. none of you dared to break the silence despite gojo's chatty nature. not wanting to make you uncomfortable furthermore and he only looks at the reflection of you both in the elevator doors.

ding!

the elevator stopped before opening its doors. you both stepped out and made way through the exit of the building. the cold night air hits you both. nipping the skin that is left uncovered. the young ceo glanced at his watch before looking at you. “shall i escort you home?” you were quick to dismiss his offer. “no, thank you. i can take myself home.” you say before leaving him in front of the glass doors of his building. you take a pause to your steps. contemplating and you hope you're not going to regret what you're about to say. “thank you for staying with me until i got my work done but please don't make it a habit. i don't want trouble.” you told him. “have a good night.” you slightly bowed as a sign of respect to him, not as a person but as an employee.

you didn't gave him room to reply and you were off. down to the direction of the nearest train station. his car already in front of him before the valet stepped out to give him his keys and before he took off. his blue eyes shimmer behind his dark glasses until he can see no longer of your retreating figure.

the chains make a clanging sound. resonating in the empty room and there's a sharp rattle of the chains mixed with the sound it was making as the sandbag was swung in different directions. it rounded into a circular motion until it was back again to the cause of the movement. steely purple eyes fixated on the poor equipment and anticipating the movement of it coming back to him, his fist collided with it again. followed by more and with a harsh punch, the sandbag broke the chain where it was attached. toppling on the corner with a thud and that was the cue for him to stop. the equipment no longer useful to him.

geto swiped a sweat in his forehead. finding the end of the strip of the cloth wrapped around his hands before pulling it and dumping it to the trash bin. he take a bottled water for him to drink and plopped down the couch. before his lips can taste the water, his phone rang. the caller id flashing in the screen of his phone and geto sighs before swiping to answer the call.

“any progress?” he say without greetings. anticipating the answer on the other end and he hears a shuffle before it was answered. “barely. she's avoiding me. i managed to stay with her after i found out she was staying late.” he can hear the frustrated tone of his friend. “she told me i shouldn't do it. she don't want to be in trouble.” gojo huffs. annoyed how the night ended but at least you talked to him even it was brief. “you are trouble.” suguru chuckles before turning into one of a serious. “it doesn't help you're her boss and you're engaged. they will talk and you know the jealous fits your fiancee have.” gojo rolls his eyes. wiping the fogged mirror he was staring his reflection at. “i know and that means, it's going well with you?” he bites his tongue to stop the sarcastic tone he was about to unleash.

geto thought about it. his past encounters with you and slowly, you were trusting him. it wasn't the result he wanted cause he can be impatient at times and he's dying to feel you once again but progress is still progress. “yeah. she's slowly accepting me.” gojo scoffs and geto hears it. “you want her to open up to you? stop being an entitled asshole to her. show her you're not your past self. being sincere won't cost you anything.” it have and gojo winces at it.

“satoru?” geto hears a feminine voice in the background and he ends the call before he can hear anything else. he thinks of you. he should take you on a date sometimes. one you can't refuse and show you a good time and treat you the way you deserve and see that smile he have been wanting. directed to him and only him. he's the only one that can make you smile and you won't need gojo. he looks at the time. he should be planning to make you his, again.

there's a sudden beep signalling that the call was ended. gojo turned around only to meet his fiancee. standing in the bathroom door. her perfume reeks and her loose waves daintily passed around her shoulders. wearing only a thin nightgown and gojo hides the distaste he have for her. this was an arrangement. both of the families agreed it should be done. sayuri was only her for the night and he can live that. “aren't you going to bed?" her voice too sweet for his tastes. he likes your better. sweet and gentle compared to sayuri's. “just a second.” he says before turning off the light switch and joining her.

“how's your day?”

“the usual.” her fingers came rubbing circles in his chest. she intentionally pulls the straps of her thin nightgown and he wasn't really in the mood and how he can be when all he can think is you. fuck. maybe he can use sayuri and pretend it was you but the delicate features of his fiancee isn't the same as you. a tiny waist and a handful of flesh he can grab. it wasn't enough. he needs you. full and ripe for him to tear apart while you cry his name. he rubs his eyes and looks at sayuri. it would be only temporary. “sayuri?” he call to her. the girl besides him was all ears. “yes?” he would be in trouble if he was to call your name instead of her. “come here.” and without hesitation her lips was on his.

now's the world is getting smaller to you three and you have no excuses of avoiding them. you can endure it. you endured it for the quarter of your whole life, what's the difference if you can do it one more again. now the stakes are higher and you're risking the existence of your children with them. you don't know how it will end but you know you have to protect your twins even it's the last thing you will do.

taglist: @missakward123 @lupitalove @i00bear @socialanxietyvictim @tourmalxine @labelt-san @ghostlyworld @kashxyou @chiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuu @cute-sucker @skii-high @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jossayuuu @bubblesandsand1-0 @ply4vnce @witchymermaid12 @luna-v-roiya @mariyumemi @sinfullygay @higurumapet @kvk6433gkcigv @s-j320 @bts-skz @imcreepininyourheartbabe @hazzelle-kento @cashcadaver @n1vi @kiruupon @vebbiewuzhere @its-princessmara @ssetsuka @unicornqueen05 @idkwhattfimdoinghere2 @sunnytyun @tomriddles-wh0re @ya-mamaaaaa @wateriswhatiam @red-writes @saltyladyflower @greyclouq @bahurani @lovayle @okayiamkassandra @sealikesushi @sanzuandmikey @spicana @luvsymai @uniquenicefangirl @ushijimaschubbs @lansy-4 @aesonsgirl @eggieshiteru @jellibean2018 @uchihabucketlist @sunaemoby @cupidscourt @divinedolliebun @rottmntrulesall @mmeharuno @sleighter @haesify @desperadaparasapagmamhal @ichikanu @daytej @0honeylemonade @definetlythinkimanalien @thulhu @mastermasterlist1p1

[vanteguccir]

chris w a marvel nerd gf

── ୨୧ !　HEADCANON;

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Where you're Chris's girlfriend and obsessed with Marvel <3

──　Chris first noticed your Marvel obsession when you casually dropped a deep-cut reference during a conversation. You were talking about something unrelated in a friend's hangout, and suddenly, you quoted Tony Stark with a mischievous smile. Chris’s quickly recognized it from one of those Marvel edits that show up on his TikTok from time to time. From that moment, he knew you were special.

──　Chris loves planning dates around your Marvel obsession. He surprises you with movie marathons at home, where he’s bought your favorite snacks and even ordered limited-edition Marvel-themed blankets and pillows to make it feel like a cozy theater experience. Sometimes, he’ll even dress up in a Marvel-themed t-shirt - that you made him buy - just to see your face light up when you notice.

──　Knowing how much you love the MCU, Chris often surprises you with rare or vintage Marvel comics. He’ll visit specialty comic book stores or browse online for hours to find issues that feature your favorite characters. He loves watching your reaction as you open the gift, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you carefully flip through the pages.

──　You’re constantly discussing Marvel theories with Chris, sometimes late into the night. Whether it’s speculating on future MCU plot twists or debating the morality of certain characters, Chris loves listening to your passionate insights. Even if he doesn’t always have the same level of knowledge, he’s deeply engaged and loves hearing your perspective. He often jokes about how you should have your own Marvel theory YouTube channel.

──　When a new Marvel movie is about to be released, Chris makes it an event. He’ll buy tickets for the earliest showing possible and might even suggest wearing matching Marvel-themed outfits. On the day of the release, he’ll clear his schedule and refuse to film any new video, knowing how much it means to you to be among the first to experience the film. Your excitement is contagious, and he finds himself getting just as pumped up as you.

──　Your place is filled with Marvel collectibles; action figures, posters, Funko Pops, and more. Chris always finds a way to add to your collection, whether it’s a rare figure he stumbled upon or a custom-made piece featuring your favorite characters. Sometimes, he even helps you rearrange your display shelves to make room for new additions, joking about how you might need an extra room soon. When it comes to the limit of not having any more free space on your house, he brings the new ones he bought to his own house and puts it on his room.

──　If you’re into cosplay, Chris is your biggest fan and supporter. He’ll help you gather materials, give you feedback on your designs, and even assist with makeup and costume details. When you’re at a convention, he’s right by your side, taking pictures of you in character and proudly posting them on social media with captions like, "Look at my superhero!". He’s also the type to hype you up in front of others, making sure everyone knows how much effort and passion you put into your cosplay.

──　Watching Marvel movies together is a regular activity in your relationship. Even if you’ve both seen them countless times, it never gets old. Chris loves seeing how you react to your favorite scenes, and he always smiles when you recite lines word for word. He’s learned which moments in the movies are your favorites, and sometimes he’ll nudge you playfully just before they happen, sharing a knowing look.

──　When you’re out shopping together and you spot Marvel merch, Chris encourages you to indulge. Whether it’s a new t-shirt, a limited-edition figure, or even Marvel-themed kitchenware, he’s always happy to see you so excited. He’ll often sneak items into the cart when you’re not looking, only to surprise you when you get home.

──　Because of his fame and how media knows Chris has an obsessed Marvel girlfriend, he often receives invites for you both to attend Marvel movie premieres together. In there, Chris loves watching you take it all in; the energy of the crowd, the excitement in the air, and your wide-eyed awe at seeing your favorite characters on the big screen. He’s always by your side, holding your hand, and whispering little comments in your ear during the movie, making the experience even more special.

──　Whenever there’s Marvel news - whether it’s a new movie announcement, a casting update, or a trailer drop - Chris is the first to send it your way. He loves seeing your reaction, especially when you get excited about something new. Sometimes, he’ll wait until you’re together to show you, just so he can see your face light up in person.

──　Chris fully supports your Marvel obsession and never makes you feel like it’s silly or too much. He loves that you’re so passionate about something and appreciates how it brings out your playful and enthusiastic side. Sometimes, when you’re having a tough day, he’ll put on your favorite Marvel movie or bring you a new comic to cheer you up, knowing it’s an instant mood booster.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A/N: I totally mirrored myself on this one, I've been a Marvel obsessed girl since I was born, and Marvel is definitely part of my everyday life 😭🥺🩷

[kamotecue]

finally found ∞ j. fleming

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

summary: everyone has a soulmate, it’s their destined half. you wondered when you’ll find yours, considering everyone in your family already had found theirs. aussie!reader

you ever heard of the word soulmate? most people think it’s someone you’re destined to be with—they aren’t wrong. however, there are two types of soulmates, a platonic one and one that’s romantically.

some are either fated with a platonic soulmate, or a romantic one. you’d be able to tell through the tattoo that was marked on your skin. whether it was designed with a heart, signifying a romantic one—or an arrow, for platonic one. yet your soulmate tattoo had been linked with a heart, there was also a football signaling your soulmate’s hobby.

but they aren’t just your other half—they’re the one person in the world that would know you better than anyone else. a soulmate is someone that inspires you, to become a better person.

the one that would love you unconditionally, who accepts you for who you are—and the one you’ll carry with you forever.

despite being the middle child of the family, you were the only one who hadn’t met their soulmate. and every family reunion you’re parents would remind you of that.

but you’re only 21, you had focused on university—studying in a prestigious school like stanford. you had graduated from your major, which was architecture.

you heard someone clear their thoughts as your head snapped up, looking at steph—one of your team’s captain. concern was held in her eyes, as you had tied your laces swiftly.

“nervous, l/n?” steph asked, as you had stood up—the eyes of your teammates had made their way to you, as you shrugged.

“just got lost in my thoughts, cap.” you commented as she hummed, giving you a soft nod.

“focus, yeah? we need one of our best strikers after all.” you gave her a nod, as you were handed the trainer jacket, you were confirmed to be part of the starting eleven.

but you had noticed something after the national anthem had ended—you weren’t wearing it.

“your gloves, n/n. don’t you usually wear them?” emily had asked, as your eyes widened.

“i must’ve forgotten it in the locker room.” you commented as the starting line up began to shake hands with the other players. everything was going smoothly, until your hand grazed hers.

the soulmate mark had glowed, as you came to cover it—quickly putting your hand around your left wrist. jessie had hummed before continuing, but you knew a teammate of yours had caught that.

“found her then?” kyra teased, as you softly glared at the midfielder who laughed at your expression. the whole team looked at the duo in confusion, as you cleared your throat, wanting to focus on the game.

the game had started, hayley was the only one that managed to score in the first half—two beautiful goals at that. but now that it was half time, you had simply took a breather.

“will you talk to her?” kyra swung her arm around you as you had entered the tunnel, not knowing how a certain canadian looked at the action.

“after the game, i’d like to focus.” you said, as kyra gave you a nod, removing her arm only to tap you on the back.

the whole half time break, the team was listening to the coach’s tactics as they had also focused on getting hydrated.

but when you stepped on the pitch again, a certain person with freckles noticed how you wore the gloves. the black gloves suited you perfectly, covering your wrist as the glowing mark was hidden underneath.

canada had managed to slip a goal past macca in the 52nd minute. it was fleming who had scored, despite there only being one goal to differentiate the game—you wore a soft smile on your face.

you might be against each other, but it was your soulmate after all. as she celebrated with her teammates, she had turned to look at you—she noticed how soft the smile looked, how adoration was seen in your eyes, making a soft smile go on hers.

as you had made a quick tap on the ball in the 58th minute, you were tackled by chloe lacasse who had managed to clip your ankle.

the land was a bit awkward, as your wrist managed to break your fall—but a pop was heard, making you groan.

kyra was the first one to be beside you when the whistle had blew, she knelt at your side as you held your wrist in pain.

“let me see.” the physio said as they analyzed your wrist, you had grimaced in pain as they did their job.

“looks bad.” kyra said, as you didn’t even look at your wrist. you instead focused on her jersey—being injured was something you hated.

“stop commenting on how bad it looks, ky. i thought you’re supposed to be comforting me!” she laughed at your distress, giving you a small hum.

“alright, seems like you’ll be subbed off. mary would be taking your place.” she commented as she took note of mary who was waiting to enter the field. you had missed how the canadian midfielder looked at you in concern, on the sideline their captain sinclair looked at you with interest.

how could she not? it wasn’t normal that someone had caught jessie’s eyes. you were escorted off the field as the crowd had clapped for you, mary tapped your shoulder as you painfully hummed.

you were sitting at the bench, a cast was worn around your left wrist—the game was coming to a close and canada hadn’t scored another point. but the dreams of the canadian team were shattered as they were unable to catch up, the whistle had blew as your teammates ran on the field—you just sat there in disbelief.

“won’t you join them?” the kit man had commented, as you hummed, contemplating it.

“i will.” you had walked onto the field, hugging your team one by one as kyra had wrapped her arms around your waist bringing you up.

“kyra!” you nudged her with your good hand as she chuckled before putting you down. you had saved jessie last, she gave you a soft smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“i suppose we would talk later, yeah?” jessie said, as you gave her a nod. strawberry kisses was playing in the background, as the team made their way around the pitch, doing a lap as usual.

you watched as jessie’s family held her in their arms, a sad smile made its way to your face. you were contemplating on going there, or not—but a soft smile was shown on jessie’s mother, she had gestured for you to come closer.

as you stood beside her, you noticed how jessie’s eyes were a bit red. but that didn’t matter, as she went into your arms. you rarely might have talked to each other, but she wanted your hug.

“jessie’s soulmate then?” her mother asked, as you gave her a timid nod. you were shy, not to mention she is one of your soulmate’s parents.

“although we’re a bit sad at the game, welcome to the family.” she said, as you gave her a small smile before thanking her.

“just met my family, yet you’re already in their good books.” she teased, as you chuckled feeling a bit shy. which was not normal as you were one of the out-going ones in the australian team.

“could i perhaps have your jersey?” jessie’s sister, elysse had asked shyly as you gave her a small nod.

“i need a bit of help though.” you said, looking at your cast as jessie hummed.

“i’ll help you.” jessie said, you raised your arms as jessie had tugged at it, managing to sneak a peek at your exposed stomach.

“would you want it signed?” you asked, as she gave you a shy nod. a fellow fan had handed you a pen as you used your right hand to sign the cast.

“here you go.” you said, as jessie had passed her sister the signed jersey. you knew your teammates would tease you, as they had watched the interaction.

you gave her a cheeky grin, before you bid goodbye. she understood as she had her own duties, media duties which is what she dreaded.

yet that was your happily ever after, you had spent the night talking to her—rather than joining your teammates. but it was worth it—the teasing the team would give you.

[crudely-drawn-ben]

Introducing Trilogy

Yesterday I released Trilogy, a new tabletop RPG crafted to support you in having grand adventures in worlds of your own making.

There are several reasons I started writing Trilogy, but the biggest one is that I ran a Dungeon World podcast called Crudely Drawn Swords for seven years and that was a lot of time to think about what we were playing. To a degree Trilogy is the game I wish that we could have had to run the podcast.

Starting from the question "what would a purely PbtA game for epic fantasy look like?" I started thinking more widely - what do I want from a fantasy game? And the truth is that I want a game that supports the structure of characters and their interactions but doesn't tie itself to a specific setting.

Trilogy begins with The Appendices - conventionally in epic fantasy these are at the end and document information about the wider world that might not have made it into the story, but here it is where you sit down as a group and decide what tone you want your game to have, and your world looks like. What kind of place is it? What magic is there? What is religion like? What are the major cultures where the story begins? How would it feel to be in this world? Trilogy doesn't tell you any of these things, it gives you the tools to think through how you want your world to look.

This creates a secondary challenge - without knowing what the world looks like, how could I design character classes for this type of game? Trilogy answers this by going back to the fundamentals - instead of a conventional character class, the playbooks in Trilogy represent a narrative arc. Some of them, like The Fighter, The Priest, or The Magus, look like familiar classes. Others, such as The Volunteer, The Mentor, The Weapon, or The Defeated, are a little different. Character arcs have a set of turning points, story beats that allow you to advance along your arc after you have collected a certain amount of experience. Some are positive and others negative, you choose which ones you want to hit and when, but every character's story has its highs and lows and to get the most from the game you need to lean into both. A character can pass through three arcs as they grow and change, like the three volumes of a trilogy.

The aim of the game is to create a slower but satisfying sense of progression - instead of hit points characters take Stress and Harm like in other Powered by the Apocalypse games that can have both mechanical and narrative effects. That makes combat feel dangerous, but the game also offers more ways to solve problems without getting into combat - I have played games where the player characters never got into a fight, instead resolving confrontations through an ingenious selection of alternative strategies including "lying" and "vomiting magic ink all over the floor." I'm genuinely enthusiastic about this game - I think I would be as excited about it if somebody else had written it. It leans hard into the joy of discovery and the excitement of adventure - you can play it as spooky and whimsical or gritty and hard-edged and anywhere in between.

Because I was writing it I even got to make most of the examples of play roll out as the story of someone's game, something I always appreciate when I read it. It also contains every technique I use as a GM in the hope that even before people get the chance to play it (heaven forbid any TTRPG afficionado have books we haven't got around to playing yet!) people who read it will still be able to use that advice in their other games. So that's Trilogy, the game I've been working on for the last few years. I think it's pretty great and I hope you will too:

Obviously it's a full-priced game and that's a big gamble from an unfamiliar creator - if you want an idea of what it's like in practice we've got the CDS team back together and we're starting a streamed campaign so you have a chance to see it in action. You can find that over on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxpXacko9Nc

The first episode includes me notably failing to use OBS at both the beginning and end, and I can't make any promises things will improve in that regard, but it should be a good opportunity to see how the game shapes up from this start and with this crew I know it's going to be funny and take some wild swings. If you're interested in reviewing Trilogy or you really want to give it a try but you can't afford it, drop me a message

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Poly LJ + Jason teaching reader how to bake hcs/scenario? Whichever u prefer!

This request was cute as hell, thank you for sending it in :)

If there's one thing above all else those two boys are really fucking good at, it's baking. They can both make the most delicious, intricately decorated desserts you'll ever eat in your life, and they make it look so easy every single time. Of course, as their partner and main consumer of their sweets, it was only a matter of time before you were asking them to teach you how to make delicious things as they do, and who were they to refuse you? Anything to spend time with you and make you happy, but even aside from that, they'd both be lying if they tried to say they hadn't fantasized about baking together with you before, so their acceptance of your request came quite easily.

The thing about the two of them, though, is that they're both very different teachers. While they were both able to agree on helping you make a tiered cake, the way they went about doing so was (humorously, in your opinion) different. Jason, ever the gloater, was trying to be a show-off every step of the way, doing things in methods and paces you wouldn't be able to keep up with as a beginner, and so you'd be left standing there, not quite sure how to replicate his abilities. Jack, chuckling behind you at Jason's behavior, would then step in to help you in a much easier way. He'd guide you with his hands, standing behind you and explaining every step and why it needs to be done a certain way. This, of course, makes Jason very pouty, standing off to the side with his arms crossed and his bottom lip puffed out a bit, jealous of Jack's closeness to you and mad at his own ego for getting him into this situation in the first place. Once it's time to decorate your cake, though, he's shooing Jack out of the way and saying it's his turn to help you and be so close to you, much to the amusement of both you and Jack. At least you had the courtesy to not laugh at Jason for his jealousy, but Jack didn't give him that same privilege, laughing at him so hard Jason's skin was flushing red.

Jason replicates Jack's earlier behavior this time around, helping to keep your hands steady as you beautifully decorate the cake, even lifting you if needed so you can reach the top tiers more efficiently. While decorating and choosing colors and little add-ons is always Jason's favorite part of baking, he gives you full creative control, happy to see you having so much fun. If you want help piping any intricate designs he's more than happy to assist you. He'll do a few lines himself, and then place the frosting bag into your hand, and while gripping your hand with his he'll help you squeeze with the right amount of pressure and movement speed so that you can easily copy what he was doing. Your general excitement over the whole thing makes both of them so happy, and they both constantly interrupt any of your actions to give you kisses and hugs because they just can't help themselves. Once it's time to try the cake they let you have the first piece, and it's come out wonderfully. Once they both try a piece they can't help but agree it just might be the most delicious cake they've ever tasted, which makes sense, because, after all, this cake was made with your love in it. They just might have to eat you up next, with how cute you look with your frosting smeared all over your mouth, and they'll enjoy every bite.