#she could be the woman of my dreams me thinks

[hcneymooners]

✸ TRITWWISIYTSTICS ⤷ chapter ii. i was in the shower, shaking, and she was outside.

( read on ao3. )

synopsis & masterlist: here.

cw: animal death (non-graphic), mentions of grief and loss, the eroticism of feeding the woman you don't know but you're dreaming about already.

notes: thank you so much for all of the support on the first chapter. please let me know what you think. i would love to know anything you would like to tell me. my inbox is always open, and i always love you.

all of paige’s ghosts flooded her in sleep, so she dispelled them by gasping awake and rolling over the hills of azzi’s bare thighs. 

they’d flipped, two coins rusting in the dark, left to tarnish together until even god forgot which one was heads, and ended up curved together—two moons of women, half slivers barely a forehead apart. azzi’s mouth had parted slightly as she dreamed, and maybe paige was too disoriented to process anything else, but she swore it smelled sweet. she could’ve sworn that the sun had come through earlier, but maybe that was a figment of her imagination.

she lay in the dark for a while, rolling her neck and trying to loosen her body from its military indoctrination. this woman is not a threat, she thought repeatedly like a prayer. she hadn’t seen the inner body of a church in so long. 

and even if she was, paige continued, you are stronger. 

the thought made her feel more ill than anything. she clenched her jaw, flexed her fingers until the bone threatened to bubble and split the skin. she tried to recall her family members, tried to say their names or attach them to fading faces. when she got to her younger brother, her throat closed, and her hips twitched just enough to tell her that this venture was over. she tried to say his name, just one more time. her throat closed around it like a fist.

she would not fall back into sleep, she knew this. so, she lay there with her hands palm up across her chest. she resisted the urge to place a palm against the warmth of azzi’s side. 

the lack of touching was useless. she could feel something deep inside of azzi radiating into her, seeking out the similar fog that smothered whatever it was that had remained. 

it was like spores.

✸

azzi was dreaming; this much she knew. it was a nice dream, a calmer one. it was one without inês’s empty eye sockets, now filled with bejeweled bells. it was one without inês’s gaping, fat, pink mouth trying to close over her name. it wouldn’t hurt too much to wake from. 

still, it had its own pain. perhaps it was the joy.

in this dream, azzi was stock still on a basketball court. she stood alone, hair braided down into two thick plaits that brushed at the tops of her shoulders. every time she moved, the ends of the braids kissed her. again, and again, they kissed her because she was curious and couldn’t stop neither her hunger for this new world nor the hunger for the faux-intimacy of that faux-touch.

she was unsure of whether or not she was in uniform. when she looked down, she could only see how her hands were pulsing around a ball. maybe it was the world. she dropped it and reached back, clawed her fingertips through the braids until her curls fell thick and sweet around the fullness of her face. she turned to look over her shoulder. 

she saw a river of blonde hair. 

she knew the nape of that pale neck.

azzi slipped into the sweetness of late morning. at first, she didn’t understand, and then she felt that her existence was different.

she sat up, no stranger to the velveteen darkness, and listened to the sounds of that strange woman tiptoeing around her house. with a tender breath, she finally slipped from the bed, skin dappled in the little light let in through the balcony window’s curtain, and turned the warm water valve outside of the room’s bathroom. she tucked herself into the porcelain body of the bath and let the heat send light through her body. 

she straightened her hair.

when she came into the kitchen, she found paige sitting still with a hand around the thin limb of her gun’s trigger. she remained respectful of azzi’s instruction to leave it by the door, sitting cross-legged by the entrance to the cabin. she twisted to follow azzi’s dance throughout her home. 

paige didn’t mean to watch her, but she did. she watched the way azzi’s hands moved with care, not hesitation. she watched azzi shoulder open a cabinet and pull out a thin pack of dried meat. then: a few wrinkled peaches, coaxed from the solar-powered belly of the fridge. she gazed on as azzi sliced the peach gently, carefully, clinically as if she were handling a heart.

medical background, then. as if to agree with her, azzi’s full lips parted and let words slip out like a wrong birth; too early and exposed. 

“you’re underweight,” azzi said, flinching slightly when the duck hit the pan. paige watched a spray of oil droplets go high.

she didn’t answer. her jaw set. her gaze went down to her hands and outlined the bones of her rifle, before she transferred it back to its leaning post and stood. she shuffled into the kitchen and sat awkwardly at the round, oak table. 

azzi skewered a slice of peach and fed it to the fire. she turned it over after a few minutes, the caramelized side now dark and gleaming.

“you need protein. fat. salt.” a pause. “the others fed you?”

“there were no others,” paige said, “but i had rations.”

azzi turned toward her, the sun frail against her cheekbone. she pressed her lips together and then,

“your voice.” a pause, as if she hadn’t meant to say that. “are you—did you come from the midwest?”

paige gazed at her, blue eyes gleaming, before she answered. “minnesota.” then, “where were you?”

something seared through azzi’s stomach, and her hands tightened around the ridge of the knife. “virginia.”

she plated the food without speaking again. 

the smell rose warm and smoky between them. somehow, there were greens tucked in. paige couldn’t help the wrinkle of her face at the sight of the leaves. azzi set the plate down and finally looked at her. 

“this is the last of the duck.”

paige’s eyes met hers. “you didn’t have to.”

azzi gave her an almost tired look. barely fond. “yes. i did.”

they ate until the silence grew stiff. azzi could feel all of her disquiet boil within her. the fragments of her dream pressed into her nerves like blades.

paige chewed slowly, methodically, her jaw working through both the meat and the unfamiliar act of being cared for. she didn’t make a sound, but azzi could feel the hesitation in her. she noted the way paige avoided the peach, the way her eyes swept the room like she was already counting exits.

azzi’s curls began to press forward at her temples, kissed free from the water’s steam and the slow march of time. her straightened hair, warm and glossy only minutes ago, had started to ripple at the roots, like even it no longer wished to be held so tightly.

carefully, she leaned forward and picked up a limp sliver of grilled peach off the other woman’s plate. she carefully dusted a duck-wet sprig of kale from the top of it and then dropped it onto paige’s unused fork. paige watched her arrange it—god, did she watch. then the peach fled into her mouth.

“you can’t only eat what’s not good for you,” azzi told her.

paige wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist, then pushed her plate forward. her eyes didn’t leave azzi, not exactly, but she didn’t stare. she traced the space between them. she observed like a soldier, tracking something she hadn’t decided whether or not to kill.

“you don’t like greens?” azzi asked, tilting her head but adjusting nothing in her tone.

paige shrugged one shoulder, finally letting her tongue brush peach from the roof of her mouth. the tip of her tongue was dark pink as it swirled across the vermilion of her bottom lip. “never did.” she didn’t apologize.

azzi smiled faintly. “good to know.”

she rose and leaned back against the counter, a faint crescent of sweat beneath her collarbone. she didn’t bother hiding her fatigue. or her distance.

“so,” paige said, voice dry as flint, “how’s this work? you feed the strays, or am i a special case?”

azzi arched a brow. it wasn’t an offense. it wasn’t warm either. 

“you’re not a stray,” she said. “but you are a disruption.”

paige’s mouth twitched. maybe that was the closest she came to a laugh. azzi went on. 

“the commune lets me live my life as i want it. i patch up the children when they fall, and i touch the wrinkled and weathered skin of the elders when the wind breaks their hips. people are still terrified of growing old even when there’s not much life left.” paige’s mouth twitched again. azzi, again, thought of her tongue. “i give them antibiotics, help them with supplemental ivs, and provide makeshift hospice services. otherwise, i take nothing.”

“and in return?” paige asked.

“they let me have my perimeter. they don’t come knocking. they don’t ask about the water system. or how many solar panels i have. they don’t ask about the cabin, or why i’m—why she—” left me. “they don’t ask about why it’s just me.”

paige ran her tongue along her teeth, considering that.

“and me?”

azzi crossed her arms, her sweater sleeve slipping down her forearm. her skin was smooth and reminded paige of the dunes she’d spent nights scoping. her eyes were not.

“will they ask about you?”

“no,” paige said. “what do you expect from me?”

“you haven’t taken anything yet,” azzi said. “but you will. that’s just human nature. so, i guess i’ll know then.”

a long pause. paige nodded once, then looked away. her jaw worked slightly, like she was chewing on something bitter. azzi softened. slightly.

“there’s work, if you want to stay.” her voice was even. “i don’t feed idle mouths. you can track. you’re quiet. that matters.”

paige’s gaze flicked back to her. still cautious, but clearer now.

“i don’t make messes,” she said.

azzi turned back to the sink. “everyone makes messes.”

outside, the wind picked up, brushing past the curtains like a second thought. the light shifted—blued and white, like the bones of morning trying to stay alive. azzi reached up and tucked her curls behind her ears. they popped right back out. she didn’t bother again. she began to wash the dishes.

at the third plate, azzi said it. not dramatically, because it wasn’t a warning, but it still had some gravity.

“we’ll need to hunt. you need protein, and meat will get you there somewhat while i figure out the greens situation.” a beat. “i prefer a scalpel to a rifle.”

paige didn’t ask why. she only rose to azzi’s side, reached down, and dried a plate. she set it down. then:

“it’s not easy to be a good shot.”

“i never said i wasn’t a good shot.”

paige thought of speaking, but didn’t. she couldn’t understand it. 

“were you always a doctor?” the question came unbidden, surprising both women.

azzi shook her head. “pre-med.”

something about the way she said it made paige envision the anatomy of her throat, dark inked lines spiraling across smooth skin. lines without any label. a learning curve.

paige dried another plate. “i’m going to take a walk along the north loop,” she said. “won’t go far. just get the lay.”

azzi didn’t turn, but she nodded. and that was that. when she finished cleaning the sink, she turned away and sent a spoon spinning from the counter to the floor.

they both went to reach for it. their spines bent in the same way. their hands nearly touched. 

neither looked up.

azzi stayed down.

✸

it was only a few days later that paige better understood what azzi meant when she clarified preference over capability. 

it had rained the night before. the ground was as soft as a body returning to earth, and the grass still held the chill of early morning. dew sparkled like beads on the long, green tongues. azzi stepped forward, quiet in her boots, the wind tugging at the ends of her scarf.

she stayed in place for only a moment, watching as paige brought her hair up into a loose loop at the base of her neck. she watched the blonde’s body flex, her muscles extending and tensing to become a part of her weapon. she was well-trained. azzi’s gaze lifted to what sat at the other end of the gun’s muzzle.

“wait.”

paige locked up, twisting to look at azzi standing small in the backyard. azzi maneuvered past her, body shivering avidly through the loose cotton of her tee. across from her: a feral cow. most likely abandoned or escaped. it watched her approach, blinked at her. 

brown eyes, long lashes, a gaze that made it hard to lie. for a moment: inês. her brothers. 

azzi knelt. grief slid low through her, ringing out, unclean and unstoppable. she crawled the rest of the way, uncaring of whether or not paige thought she was debasing herself.

(paige didn’t. she’d crawled, once.)

“i promise,” azzi whispered, voice hoarse, coming close enough to haul up on her hands and press her forehead to its temple. her hand slid over the thick ridge of its neck, the skin soft as churned butter, pale and rippling with warmth. “you’ll feed us. warm us. i will use your bones, your hide, your fat. nothing will go to waste. not a piece of you.”

the cow didn’t move or spook. it shifted minutely, head pressing into azzi’s cheek. its eyes were so large. azzi wondered when the last time someone had loved it like this was.

“i promise,” she said, louder but still hoarse. “i promise to use all of you.”

she crawled to her feet. stepped back. 

paige coiled again, finger twitching. again, she didn’t take the shot. now, she stood and approached the cow with an open hand. 

i prefer a scalpel to a rifle.

before, paige could not understand it. she did now.

two lithe fingers came to the middle of its head and slid down to the gnarled twist of its overgrown horns. she tilted it downward, coaxed it into turning with the familiarity of a farmhand, and led it away into a patch of wood so thick azzi could not see inside of it without a deep strain. 

azzi did not strain. instead, she retreated into the cabin. the shot rang out, quick and merciful.

when azzi finally came into the world again, only the pressed grass remained, still warm where the cow’s knees had folded as it accepted her covenant. paige was taking longer to come back than she’d expected. 

when paige returned, dusk painted her in rust and hush. there was blood across her cheekbone, a drying thread at the hinge of her jaw. azzi looked at the body in her arms, wrapped in fabric. she looked up at paige’s chest, bare now except for a well-worn sports bra.

their gazes collided for one suspended moment, earth against sky. 

“less mess,” paige said.

it wasn’t really. azzi would have to wash the wood off it. the dirt would sit, hard and vengeful, and azzi would have to strip and cleanse it. 

that was alright.

azzi wiped her cheeks. 

her mouth trembled, and paige thought of touching it.  her cunt clenched.

again, the bed. their bed.

that night, they lay as before: backs pressed close beneath the canopy, breath steadying in tandem. azzi listened to the wind soften against the linen drape, to the slow shift of paige’s shoulder as she reached back blindly, fumbling. two fingers brushed azzi’s stomach, missing their mark.

azzi lurched forward, then back. caught her breath.

paige, without apology, trailed lower, hand skimming across azzi’s hip until she found the curve of her wrist, the pulse tucked there like a secret. her fingers settled over it.

azzi pressed back, not pulling away but into. it is very strange.

they shifted, slowly. backs to backs become shoulders side by side. both of them on their backs now, the space between them thinned to nothing but shared breath.

still, no words.

paige’s fingers pushed upward, into the opening of azzi’s palm as if she meant to hold the whole hand. azzi stared into the dark and widened the spread of her fingers. tomorrow, she would clean the remnants of blood from underneath paige’s nails. 

she was sure to have missed some.

© hcneymooners.

[burning2know]

it's romantic in a capital R Romantic way. But it's not the right one for Solavellan IN MY OPINION. My opinion explained below.

social network and support systems are incredibly important for... well, everyone. And the point that Solas had none is a great point! He could really use some!

But pulling lavellan away from her own social support network so that she could be his doesn't work. One person does not make a social support network. that's a single node. You need at least 2 nodes to make a support network.

One person is not enough! People have blind spots, there are only so many ways Lavellan alone can help Solas. Solas is large and complicated and needs other people as well.

Given lavellan's connections, it would have been much healthier for solas to join lavellan's support network and gain access to her some of her friends as well. Now that's a real support system.

The calculation of tearing her away from her massive network to be his lone node doesn't work for me.

But, there's an argument to be made that solas has a spirit support network, and that could be cool. But that menas he's always had them, and still he's lonely. So that means this support Isn't Enough. And Maybe adding Lavellan would have made up the difference, but she did not have to abandon her life to do that. She really didn't. She could astral project into the fade. He could enter her dreams. Since they both held on all these years, it's clearly am effective way of communication. And now they don't have to avoid eachother! I see NOTHING wrong with this. It is a bit of a long distance relationship, but it's kind of beautiful to sacrifice a little to respect their mutual autonomy and let whatever other ambitions Lavellan had in her life still keep going. They could have lead to yet another reunion. It could have been like the tanabata stories. And it could have been beautiful.

The other arugment is, that was her choice! So it was empowering. Well, if it really was her choice, then maybe they could have made it obvious? Instead of making her decide (ambiguously) in a conversation with Rook, where it looked like Rook was making the decision for her. The execution of "joining him as a voluntary choice" would have been stronger if they actually did let the player-inquisitor do that. Because then you actually experience that autonomy as a player. That fall into "effective storytelling" category.

Plus, the only options available were "if you still love him, you'd join him" or "you don't love him anymore if you let him rot in jail". Where is the option of loving him but choosing not to give up her life? Or the option of not loving him (romantically) but realizing that Solas is a bigger threat to Thedas when he's alone? Would not a virtuous and selfless friend also do that?

The fact that this option is only presented in a romantic context highlights the heteronomativity and gender norms of it all. Having the woman abandon all her life for a romantic connection is an age old trope. And it is reductive and dismissive of a woman's life to siggest that this belongs to the realm of romantic relationships! Particularly egregious in the context of what Lavellan has done and whatshe stands for in the chantry. This isn't as big of a deal if they just walked back the gender locking and made solas pan afterall, and so Lavellan could be anyone. But that's still only part of the issue here.

The fact that Lavellan wasn't even shown thinking a single ounce of a thought about the people she'd be abandoning (different factions depending on player decision in DAI) to join Solas plays right into it. One might argue "Oh it's no big deal, they won't miss her, the south is destroyed anyway, she has nothing else to live for." How about elves elsewhere in thedas? How about representing the chantry now that everything has been destroyed as the elven herald of andraste? How about somebody who jas the skills to rally people together and rebuild the south? An enterprising leader could do a lot with that situation. There was nothing to even acknolwedge the inquisitor's narrative and political influence and connections she might have made in DAI.

This isn't romantic to me because a couple coming together, for me, is predicated on two people living their lives. And the process of being together is co-mingling their lives. There is no life to co-mingle if one partner abandons everything and the other is trapped in a prison.

One of the complaints I’ve heard about the Solavellan ending is about how Lavellan abandons her whole life to go with him.

Like, why is that a bad thing?

One of my largest complaints about Trespasser I had was how he had no one.

No-fucking-body at his side.

He is alone because he’s afraid of dragging anyone he cares about into his shit.

His biggest fear is dying alone.

I don’t want that for him.

Loneliness is all-consuming.

It’s awful.

Lavellan uprooting her old life is a bit sad, but it’s also really brave.

And selfless.

All for one person, so that they don’t have to be alone anymore.

I see so many arguments about whether or not Rook is morally superior to Solas.

I think they are all pretty stupid debates, because the game doesn’t even bother to let you make morally inferior choices.

You only have good choices to choose from.

But Lavellan? They are morally superior to both Solas and Rook.

We don’t see much of Inky during the game, but we know that they are really put through it.

Again.

They are single-handedly (literally) trying to fix whatever the fuck is going on in the south, while Rook & Co play Dr. Phil.

Out of all of that, Lavellan still leaves everything they know for their heart.

That’s badass. I don’t know about you.

[bratzkoo]

our three year plan pt. 3 | wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 6.5k~ Warnings/note: hi. i need someone to beta read this fic. hELP, dm me if interested!

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist

Y/N adjusted the necklace Wonwoo had given her that morning—a delicate platinum pendant that matched her engagement ring—as flashbulbs popped around them. The Jeon Industries annual charity gala was their first major public appearance as an engaged couple, and it felt like all of Seoul's elite had their eyes trained on them.

"Smile," Wonwoo whispered, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back as they posed for what felt like the hundredth photograph. "You look like you're contemplating murder."

Despite her nerves, Y/N found herself laughing at his unexpected humor. "Maybe I am. Starting with whoever designed these heels."

Wonwoo's eyes crinkled behind his glasses. "Three more minutes of photos, then I'll rescue you with an urgent call from a fictional business associate."

"You've done this before," she observed, genuinely impressed by his social navigation skills.

"Corporate heir survival tactics," he replied with a wink that made several nearby socialites sigh dreamily. "Lesson one: always have an escape plan."

As promised, Wonwoo's phone rang exactly three minutes later, and he smoothly excused them from the photo line. Y/N exhaled with relief as he guided her toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I didn't realize fake-fiancée duties would include quite so much smiling."

"You did beautifully," he said, handing her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "My mother is already texting to say everyone is enchanted by you."

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. "Somehow I doubt that."

"It's true," Wonwoo insisted. "Though she did add that your dress could have been 'more befitting of the Jeon name.'"

Y/N glanced down at her elegant but understated navy gown. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you didn't spend enough to buy a small car," Wonwoo explained with a slight eye roll. "Don't worry about it. I think you look perfect."

The compliment felt sincere, and not for the first time, Y/N found herself confused by Wonwoo's seemingly effortless ability to play the adoring fiancé. Over the past three weeks since they'd begun their charade, he had been unfailingly considerate, attentive, and convincing—sometimes so convincing that Y/N had to remind herself this was all an act.

A passing couple stopped to congratulate them, and Wonwoo's arm slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. Y/N automatically leaned into him, their bodies fitting together with a comfort that belied their arrangement.

"You're getting better at this," he murmured once they were alone again.

"At what?"

"Not flinching when I touch you," he said matter-of-factly, though something flickered in his eyes. "The first week, you tensed every time."

Y/N hadn't realized he'd noticed. "Practice makes perfect, I suppose."

"Indeed it does." Wonwoo's gaze drifted over her shoulder, his expression shifting slightly. "Your parents have arrived. Shall we go greet them?"

Y/N suppressed a sigh. "Might as well get it over with."

As they navigated through the crowd, Wonwoo kept his hand loosely entwined with hers, his thumb occasionally brushing over her knuckles in a gesture that felt oddly reassuring. Y/N found herself grateful for the contact, an anchor in the sea of social obligations she'd never enjoyed.

Her parents were deep in conversation with an elderly couple when they approached. Her father broke into a rare smile at their arrival, a public display of warmth that rarely extended to private settings.

"Ah, here they are—the happy couple!" Dr. Lee exclaimed with practiced joviality. "Chairman Park, you remember my daughter Y/N? And of course, her fiancé, Jeon Wonwoo."

Introductions were made, compliments exchanged, and Y/N slipped seamlessly into her role as the dutiful daughter and bride-to-be. She'd had a lifetime of practice at these corporate functions, though previously she'd been permitted to stand quietly in her parents' shadow. Now, as half of the merger—she couldn't help thinking of it that way—she was expected to engage, charm, and represent both families.

To her surprise, Wonwoo subtly guided the conversation whenever she faltered, filling silences and deflecting potentially awkward questions about wedding dates and future plans. By the time they extracted themselves, Y/N was genuinely impressed by his social dexterity.

"You're good at this," she commented as they made their way toward their assigned table.

"Years of practice," Wonwoo replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Corporate functions have been my second home since I was old enough to wear a tie."

"It must have been lonely," Y/N observed, the words slipping out before she could censor them.

Wonwoo glanced at her, surprise evident in his expression. "It was. Most children had playmates; I had shareholders and board members."

There was no self-pity in his tone, just a simple statement of fact, but Y/N felt an unexpected pang of empathy. Perhaps they had more in common than she'd initially thought.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice called her name. Y/N turned to see Ela approaching, stunning in a crimson gown, with Mingyu by her side. For the first time that evening, Y/N's smile was entirely genuine.

"You look amazing," Ela said, embracing her. "Both of you. The engagement photos in the business section didn't do you justice."

"Thanks for coming," Y/N replied, genuinely grateful for friendly faces among the corporate crowd. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Mingyu's company is one of the sponsors," Ela explained. "Plus, I think our parents are testing us to see if we can be in the same room without causing a scene."

Mingyu's expression was a mix of amusement and resignation. "Three months since the last public argument. I think that's a new record."

Wonwoo greeted his friend with a warm handshake that transformed into a brief hug. "Glad you made it. Our table has two empty seats if you'd like to join us."

"Rescue accepted," Ela said with a laugh. "My parents are on the other side of the room with the pharmaceutical contingent. I'm happy to delay that particular reunion."

As they settled at their table, Y/N found herself observing the easy camaraderie between Wonwoo and Mingyu. There was a genuine friendship there, built on what was clearly years of shared experiences. Wonwoo seemed more relaxed, more himself, than she'd seen him before.

"How are you really doing?" Ela asked quietly while the men were engrossed in conversation. "This can't be easy."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who was laughing at something Mingyu had said. "It's... not what I expected."

"Meaning?"

"He's..." Y/N struggled to articulate her confusion. "He's good at pretending. Sometimes I almost forget we're not really engaged."

Ela studied her thoughtfully. "Maybe he's not pretending as much as you think."

Before Y/N could question her friend further, Wonwoo turned to them, his smile warming as his eyes met Y/N's. "What are you two conspiring about?"

"Just girl talk," Ela replied smoothly. "I was asking Y/N when you two lovebirds are joining us for dinner. It's been too long since we all got together."

"Actually," Mingyu interjected, "we were thinking of hosting a dinner next weekend. Something small—just us, you two, and maybe our parents? Like a pre-wedding families meetup."

Y/N nearly choked on her water. "All our parents? Together?"

"It could be... interesting," Wonwoo said diplomatically, though Y/N could see the same apprehension in his eyes that she felt.

"By 'interesting,' you mean potentially catastrophic," Ela said with a laugh. "But maybe it's better to get it over with before the wedding planning really begins. My parents already have opinions about the venue, and I'm sure yours do too."

The conversation shifted to wedding plans—all hypothetical, all part of their charade—but Y/N found herself struggling to focus. The reality of how deep their deception ran was hitting her anew. This wasn't just about living together and attending occasional events. There would be family dinners, wedding preparations, a lifetime of intersecting social obligations before they could execute their exit strategy.

Three years suddenly felt like an eternity.

"That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Wonwoo asked as they drove home, the city lights casting intermittent shadows across his profile.

Y/N leaned her head against the cool window, exhaustion setting in now that they were away from prying eyes. "It was fine. You were right about the escape tactics."

"I've had years to perfect them," he replied, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Though I must admit, having you there made it more bearable than usual."

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the admission. "Really?"

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Really. It's nice having someone to share sardonic glances with when Chairman Park starts his third investment story."

The observation made Y/N laugh. "I thought I was being subtle."

"You were. I'm just becoming fluent in your expressions." Wonwoo navigated a turn, his hands steady on the wheel. "Your left eyebrow raises slightly when you're skeptical, and you have a particular smile that doesn't reach your eyes when you're being polite but unimpressed."

The accuracy of his observation was unsettling. "You're very observant."

"I told you, I notice things," he said simply. "Especially about you."

The statement hung between them, weighted with an implication Y/N wasn't sure how to interpret. Before she could respond, Wonwoo changed the subject.

"About the dinner with Ela and Mingyu—we don't have to go if you'd rather not."

Y/N considered the prospect of all their parents in one room. "No, Ela's right. If this were real, our families would be getting to know each other. We should maintain the illusion."

Wonwoo nodded, though he seemed distracted. "I'll confirm with Mingyu, then."

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence. By the time they reached home, Y/N was struggling to keep her eyes open, the emotional toll of the evening catching up with her.

"Go on up," Wonwoo said as they entered the house. "I'll lock up."

Y/N paused at the foot of the stairs, watching as he moved through their shared space with familiar ease, checking windows and setting the security system. In just three weeks, they had developed a domestic rhythm that felt strangely natural—Wonwoo taking care of the house's security, Y/N usually managing the kitchen on her days off, both of them respecting each other's space and privacy.

"Wonwoo," she said impulsively, "thank you. For tonight. You made it easier."

He looked up, surprise and something warmer flickering in his eyes. "You're welcome. Sleep well, Y/N."

As she climbed the stairs, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting between them—something beyond the parameters of their arrangement. The thought both intrigued and alarmed her as she prepared for bed, removing the delicate necklace he'd lent her for the evening.

It wasn't until she was drifting off to sleep that she realized she'd stopped thinking of their engagement as entirely fake. Somewhere in the past three weeks, it had become real in small, domestic ways—not the love, perhaps, but the partnership.

The realization should have frightened her more than it did.

Morning brought a return to normalcy as Y/N prepared for her hospital shift. She was pouring coffee into her travel mug when Wonwoo appeared in the kitchen, already dressed for work in a crisp suit that made him look every inch the corporate heir.

"Early meeting?" she asked, noting the time. It was barely 6 AM.

"Board presentation," he confirmed, moving to the refrigerator. "You're on until eight tonight?"

Y/N blinked, surprised he'd remembered her schedule. "Yes. How did you know?"

Wonwoo withdrew a paper bag and handed it to her. "I made you lunch. Nothing fancy, just some kimbap and fruit."

Y/N stared at the bag, then at Wonwoo, completely caught off guard by the thoughtful gesture. "You didn't have to do that."

"The hospital cafeteria is abysmal, and you always forget to eat on long shifts," he said matter-of-factly, as if preparing her lunch was the most natural thing in the world. "There's extra if you want to share with Seungcheol or your friends."

Y/N was momentarily speechless. It wasn't just the lunch that stunned her, but the casual demonstration that Wonwoo paid attention to details of her life—her schedule, her eating habits, her workplace friendships.

"Thank you," she finally managed. "That's... very kind."

Wonwoo shrugged, seeming almost embarrassed by her gratitude. "It's what partners do, right? Even fake ones."

There it was again—that blurring of lines between their arrangement and something more authentic. Y/N didn't know how to respond, so she simply nodded and finished preparing her coffee.

As they moved around the kitchen in their morning routine, Y/N found herself hyperaware of Wonwoo's presence. The domesticity of their situation struck her anew. In a parallel universe where their engagement was real, this could be their life—shared mornings, small considerations, the quiet rhythm of two lives intertwining.

The thought was both comforting and disquieting.

"I should go," she said, gathering her things. "Good luck with your presentation."

Wonwoo looked up from his own coffee, his expression softening. "Be safe. Text me if you'll be later than eight."

The concern in his voice seemed genuine, and Y/N found herself nodding. "I will."

The drive to the hospital gave Y/N time to process her confusion. Wonwoo was proving to be nothing like the cold corporate heir she'd imagined. Instead, he was thoughtful, perceptive, and surprisingly easy to live with. Their fake engagement was beginning to feel like a real partnership, at least in the domestic sense, and Y/N wasn't sure how to feel about that development.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, she had resolved to maintain clearer boundaries. This was still a temporary arrangement, regardless of how comfortable it might become. Getting too attached would only complicate their eventual separation.

As Y/N changed into her scrubs, her phone chimed with a message from Wonwoo:

Forgot to mention—your mother called yesterday about wedding venue tours next month. I said we'd discuss it and get back to her.

Reality crashed back. The wedding. Of course their families would expect planning to begin in earnest now that their engagement was public. Y/N texted back a quick acknowledgment, her earlier contentment evaporating.

This was the reality of their situation—a constant performance, a fabricated future they were building solely to dismantle later. No matter how genuine Wonwoo's kindness might be, it existed within a framework of deception.

She needed to remember that.

"Someone's got an admirer," Alexys commented, dropping into the seat across from Y/N in the cafeteria later that day. "That lunch looks way too good to be hospital food."

Y/N glanced down at the meticulously prepared kimbap Wonwoo had made. "It's nothing. Just something quick from home."

"'Home,'" Alexys repeated with air quotes. "Still weird to think of you shacking up with Tech Prince Charming."

Ela joined them, setting down her tray with a sigh. "Ignore her. She's just cranky because Tiya from pathology rejected her latest batch of samples."

"Not rejected. Questioned," Alexys corrected indignantly. "As if I don't know how to prepare a proper slide after six years. Just because she has an MD after her name doesn't mean—"

"We know," Y/N and Ela said in unison, having heard this particular rant many times before.

Alexys narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Let's talk about Y/N's fancy fiancé instead. Spill the details on domestic bliss."

Y/N picked at her food, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "There's nothing to spill. We're... adjusting."

"Adjusting, huh?" Alexys wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"It's not like that," Y/N protested, perhaps too quickly. "We have separate rooms."

Ela studied her thoughtfully. "But you're getting along? He's treating you well?"

The genuine concern in her friend's voice made Y/N soften. "Yes, he's... not what I expected. He's actually very considerate."

"Considerate enough to make you lunch, apparently," Alexys observed, stealing a piece of kimbap. "Damn, that's good. Can he cook for all of us?"

Despite herself, Y/N smiled. "He does enjoy cooking. Says it relaxes him after work."

"A rich, handsome man who cooks," Alexys sighed dramatically. "Are you sure this is an arranged marriage and not a Hallmark movie?"

Y/N's response was interrupted by the appearance of Seungcheol, tray in hand. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please," Ela said, shifting to make room. "We were just discussing Y/N's domestic situation."

Something flickered across Seungcheol's face as he sat down. "Right. The engagement. It's all anyone's talking about since those photos hit the business section."

Y/N hadn't considered how public their arrangement would become within the hospital community. "People need to find better gossip."

"You're the CEO's daughter suddenly engaged to a tech mogul," Alexys pointed out. "It's prime hospital gossip material."

Seungcheol picked at his food, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something more reserved. "So, how is... everything? With the engagement?"

Y/N felt a strange tension, aware of both her friends' curious gazes and Seungcheol's careful neutrality. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she replied carefully, maintaining their arrangement's secrecy while acknowledging the arranged nature of the match.

If she had been watching more closely, she might have noticed the flash of hurt in Seungcheol's eyes. But Alexys quickly steered the conversation toward her latest pathology department grievance, and the moment passed.

As lunch continued, Y/N found herself increasingly aware of Seungcheol's unusual quietness. Had she said something wrong? Before she could consider it further, their pagers went off simultaneously—multiple trauma incoming from a building collapse.

Professional mode took over as they rushed to the emergency department, personal concerns set aside in the face of immediate need. For the next several hours, Y/N lost herself in the work she loved, the rhythm of emergency medicine washing away her conflicted thoughts about Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and the increasingly complicated web they were weaving.

It was late evening by the time things calmed down, all patients stabilized and either admitted or discharged. Y/N was updating charts at the nurses' station when Seungcheol approached, two cups of vending machine coffee in hand.

"Thought you could use this," he said, offering her one. "It's terrible, but it's caffeinated."

Y/N accepted gratefully. "Thanks. You were amazing in there with that crush injury."

Seungcheol shrugged, though his eyes warmed at the praise. "We make a good team."

"Always have," she agreed, the familiar ease of their friendship reasserting itself.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, shoulders occasionally brushing as they moved around each other with the synchronicity born of years working together. It was comfortable, predictable—everything her arrangement with Wonwoo was not.

"There's a hospital fundraiser next month," Seungcheol said suddenly. "Black tie, very fancy. Will you be attending with..." He hesitated. "With your fiancé?"

The question seemed loaded with something Y/N couldn't quite identify. "I suppose so. These public appearances are part of the package now."

Seungcheol nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "Right. Of course." He paused, then added quietly, "Are you happy, Y/N?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. "What?"

"With the engagement," he clarified. "Are you happy?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to answer truthfully without revealing too much. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she repeated, the practiced line feeling hollow even to her own ears.

Something shifted in Seungcheol's expression, a flash of emotion quickly masked. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters."

Before Y/N could respond, another nurse called Seungcheol away for assistance with a difficult IV. As he walked away, Y/N had the distinct feeling she'd missed something important in their exchange.

Her phone vibrated with a text from Wonwoo:

Running late at the office. Don't wait up. There's dinner in the fridge if you're hungry when you get home.

Home. There was that word again, carrying a weight and meaning Y/N wasn't ready to examine too closely.

The next morning, Y/N awoke to the sound of voices downstairs—one familiar, one unexpectedly female and definitely not Korean. Curious, she pulled on a robe and padded downstairs to find Wonwoo in the kitchen with a young woman who could only be Haerin, her glamorous younger sister.

"Unnie!" Haerin exclaimed, rushing to embrace Y/N. "Surprise!"

Y/N returned the hug automatically, too shocked to do anything else. "Haerin? What—how—"

"I told everyone I was doing a cultural exchange program, but really I just missed my big sister," Haerin explained, stepping back to examine Y/N critically. "Still working too hard, I see. Those are definitely new eyebags."

Wonwoo watched their reunion with an amused expression, already dressed for work despite the early hour. "Your sister arrived about twenty minutes ago. I was just making her breakfast."

"He's cute," Haerin stage-whispered to Y/N. "And he cooks. Did the universe finally reward you for all those double shifts?"

Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "Haerin, this is Wonwoo, my—"

"Fiancé, yes, I know," Haerin interrupted with a dismissive wave. "The announcement made it all the way to my Italian Instagram. Very chic photos, by the way."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who seemed remarkably unfazed by Hurricane Haerin's arrival. "I didn't know you were coming."

"That's what 'surprise' means, unnie," Haerin said with a laugh, hopping onto a barstool at the kitchen island. "When Mom told me you were engaged, I had to see this miracle for myself. My workaholic sister, actually settling down? I thought the apocalypse would come first."

Wonwoo set a plate of perfectly prepared eggs and toast in front of Haerin. "Coffee?"

"Bless you, yes," Haerin replied with a dazzling smile. "I can see why she said yes. A man who makes breakfast is worth a thousand with fancy cars."

Y/N felt a surge of panic. Haerin had always been able to see through her, even as children. How long before her perceptive sister realized their engagement was a sham?

"I have an early meeting," Wonwoo said, checking his watch. "I'll leave you two to catch up. There's plenty of food if you're hungry, Y/N."

"Thank you," Y/N managed, still processing Haerin's unexpected arrival.

Wonwoo paused beside her on his way out, then, to Y/N's shock, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Have a good day," he murmured, just loud enough for Haerin to hear. "I'll text you later."

The casual intimacy of the gesture left Y/N speechless. As the front door closed behind him, she turned to find Haerin watching her with raised eyebrows.

"Well, well," her sister said, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Interesting."

Y/N touched her cheek, still warm from Wonwoo's kiss. "What's interesting?"

"The way you looked at him just now," Haerin said, taking a bite of toast. "Like you actually care about him."

"Of course I care about him," Y/N replied automatically. "He's my fiancé."

Haerin's eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Sit down, unnie. Eat something. Then you're going to tell me what's really going on."

"I don't know what you mean," Y/N said, pouring herself coffee to avoid her sister's scrutiny.

"Oh please," Haerin scoffed. "I've known you my entire life. Three months ago you were complaining about being married to your job. Now suddenly you're engaged to Korea's most eligible tech heir? Something doesn't add up."

Y/N should have known she couldn't fool Haerin. Her sister might project an image of carefree frivolity, but beneath the designer clothes and perfect makeup was a razor-sharp intelligence.

"It's complicated," Y/N hedged, joining her sister at the island.

"Complicated as in arranged?" Haerin guessed, her tone softening. "I figured as much when Mom started dropping hints about 'advantageous connections' after I refused to come home from Italy."

Y/N stared at her sister. "You mean—"

"If I'd been in Korea, it probably would have been me instead of you," Haerin confirmed with a grimace. "Sorry about that. Though I have to say, you seem to have landed the better end of the deal. He's hot, he cooks, and he actually looks at you like you matter. Arranged or not, there are worse fates."

Y/N wasn't sure how to respond. The idea that Wonwoo looked at her "like she mattered" was both comforting and confusing. Was he that good an actor, or was there something more genuine in his attentiveness?

"It's not what I planned for my life," Y/N finally said, opting for honesty without revealing their secret arrangement.

Haerin reached across the island to squeeze her hand. "Few things ever are. But sometimes the unexpected turns out better than the plan."

"When did you get so wise?" Y/N asked, studying her sister's face. There was something different about Haerin—a new maturity behind the fashionable facade.

"Italy has been educational in more ways than one," Haerin replied with a mysterious smile. "But we're talking about you, not me. Is he good to you? Really?"

Y/N considered the question. Wonwoo's thoughtfulness, his respect for her career, the small ways he tried to make their arrangement easier—all genuine kindnesses that went beyond their agreement.

"Yes," she admitted. "He's good to me."

"Then maybe give it a chance," Haerin suggested. "Not just the arrangement part, but the relationship. You might surprise yourself."

Before Y/N could protest that their relationship wasn't real, her phone chimed with a message. She glanced down to see a text from the hospital administration:

Approval for your participation in the Philippines medical mission (May 15-June 15) is pending final review. Please submit additional documentation regarding coverage of your regular duties during absence.

Y/N's heart leapt. The month-long medical mission she'd applied for months ago—before the engagement, before Wonwoo—was finally moving forward. It was exactly the kind of work she was passionate about: bringing healthcare to underserved communities, using her skills where they were most needed.

"Good news?" Haerin asked, noting her expression.

"Potentially," Y/N replied, already mentally cataloging what documentation she needed to submit. "A medical mission I applied for might be happening."

Haerin's brow furrowed. "When is it?"

"May through June."

"Isn't that around when Mom was talking about venue tours and engagement parties?"

The realization hit Y/N like a bucket of cold water. Of course—the mission would conflict directly with the wedding planning their mothers were eager to begin.

"I'm sure Wonwoo will understand," Y/N said, though uncertainty crept into her voice. "My career was one of our conditions. He knows how important these missions are to me."

Haerin looked skeptical. "It's not just about Wonwoo, though, is it? This is about appearances. You disappearing for a month in the middle of engagement celebrations isn't going to look good to either family."

Y/N felt a familiar frustration rising. This was exactly why she'd resisted the arranged marriage in the first place—the inevitable clash between her calling and her family's expectations.

"I'm still going," she said firmly. "If this arrangement is going to work, Wonwoo needs to support my career just as I respect his."

Haerin studied her for a long moment. "You know, for someone in an arranged engagement, you sound awfully invested in making it work."

The observation struck uncomfortably close to home. "It's a partnership," Y/N said defensively. "For however long it lasts."

"Hmm," Haerin hummed noncommittally. "If you say so, unnie. But I think there's more happening here than you're admitting—even to yourself."

Y/N changed the subject, asking about Haerin's adventures in Italy, but her sister's words lingered. Was she becoming too invested in their arrangement? Was she starting to see it as something more than the temporary solution it was meant to be?

And how would Wonwoo react when she told him about the medical mission that would take her away for a month, just when their families expected them to be planning their future together?

The question troubled her more than it should have for a relationship that wasn't real.

The hospital fundraiser was in full swing when Y/N and Wonwoo arrived, the grand ballroom of Seoul's most exclusive hotel transformed into a glittering showcase of wealth and influence. As the daughter of the hospital's CEO and the fiancée of a tech mogul, Y/N found herself the center of attention despite her preference for anonymity.

"You look beautiful," Wonwoo murmured as they entered, his hand warm at the small of her back. "That color suits you."

Y/N smoothed the emerald silk of her gown, chosen specifically because Wonwoo had once mentioned it was his favorite color. The realization that she'd considered his preferences made her pause. When had his opinion started to matter?

"Thank you," she replied, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "You clean up nicely yourself."

It was an understatement. In his tailored tuxedo, Wonwoo looked every inch the successful heir, though Y/N had come to recognize the subtle tension in his shoulders that appeared whenever they attended public events.

"Shall we make the rounds?" he suggested, scanning the room. "Your father is watching."

Sure enough, Dr. Lee was observing them from across the ballroom, his expression expectant. Y/N suppressed a sigh. "Duty calls."

They spent the next hour circulating among Seoul's elite, playing the part of the devoted couple to perfection. Wonwoo kept her close, his fingers lightly entwined with hers, occasionally leaning down to whisper observations that made her laugh despite her nervousness.

By the time they reached the hospital staff section, Y/N was exhausted from the performance. She brightened at the sight of Ela and Alexys, both looking elegant in formal wear that contrasted with their usual scrubs and lab coats.

"Finally!" Alexys exclaimed. "We thought the corporate vultures would never let you go."

"Hospital benefactors," Ela corrected with a subtle elbow to Alexys's ribs. "Show some respect to the people who fund your lab equipment."

Wonwoo chuckled. "It's fine. I've called them worse in private."

Y/N glanced up at him in surprise. It was easy to forget sometimes that beneath the polished corporate exterior was someone who understood the frustrations of navigating the elite business world.

"Where's Mingyu?" she asked Ela, noticing her friend's husband's absence.

"Running late. Some crisis at the office." Ela rolled her eyes fondly. "He works almost as much as your fiancé."

"Speaking of workaholics," Alexys interjected, "Seungcheol's been looking for you, Y/N. Something about next week's schedule."

Y/N scanned the room, spotting Seungcheol in conversation with several other nurses near the bar. "I should go check in. Work stuff."

Wonwoo nodded, releasing her hand. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with Mingyu when he arrives."

As Y/N made her way across the ballroom, she was acutely aware of the weight of Wonwoo's gaze following her. It was both comforting and unsettling, this constant awareness of his presence.

Seungcheol looked up as she approached, his face lighting with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Y/N! I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Hospital CEO's daughter," she reminded him with a rueful smile. "Attendance is mandatory."

He nodded toward where Wonwoo stood with Ela and Alexys. "Your fiancé seems to be fitting in well with your friends."

There was something in his tone that Y/N couldn't quite identify. "He's easy to talk to once you get to know him."

Seungcheol studied her for a moment. "Alexys mentioned you two hit it off right away. I guess arranged marriages aren't always what people think."

Y/N felt a flicker of discomfort at the reminder of their deception. "It's... complicated."

"Is it?" Seungcheol's voice was quiet. "You seem happy together. The way he looks at you..."

"How does he look at me?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious about how their performance appeared to others.

Seungcheol's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Like you're the only person in the room."

The observation sent an unexpected warmth through Y/N. Was that true? Did Wonwoo really look at her that way, or was it just part of their charade?

"Alexys said you wanted to discuss the schedule?" she prompted, eager to change the subject.

"Right," Seungcheol seemed to collect himself. "We're short staffed next week. I was hoping you might be able to pick up a few extra shifts."

"Of course," Y/N agreed readily. "Just let me know which ones you need covered."

They fell into familiar professional conversation, the awkwardness fading as they discussed work matters. Yet Y/N couldn't help noticing that Seungcheol seemed different—more reserved, less free with his usual easy humor.

"Is everything okay?" she finally asked. "You seem... I don't know, off somehow."

Seungcheol hesitated, then sighed. "I'm just surprised, I guess. By all of this." He gestured vaguely in the direction of Wonwoo. "It happened so suddenly."

"That's how these arrangements work," Y/N said carefully. "Efficiency is valued over romance."

"And you're okay with that?" There was something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or something deeper. "Being with someone because your parents arranged it?"

Y/N felt cornered by the question. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she replied, the practiced phrase feeling hollow.

Seungcheol looked hurt, though Y/N couldn't understand why. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters," he said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by a commotion from the pathology department's table. Alexys's voice rose above the elegant murmur of the fundraiser:

"Are you serious right now? You rejected my samples because the labels were 'slightly smudged'?"

Y/N turned to see Alexys facing off with a slender woman in a striking blue gown—Dr. Tiya Park, the new pathologist who had apparently become Alexys's professional nemesis.

"I rejected them because they didn't meet proper documentation standards," Tiya replied calmly, though there was steel beneath her pleasant tone. "Patient safety isn't negotiable, even for rushed labs."

"Oh please," Alexys scoffed. "You've been finding excuses to bounce my work since you started. Just admit you have a problem with the med techs."

Y/N exchanged an alarmed glance with Seungcheol. "I should probably—"

"Yeah," he agreed. "Before Alexys gets herself fired."

They hurried over to the rapidly escalating situation, Y/N reaching Alexys just as she was building to what promised to be a particularly colorful assessment of pathology department politics.

"Alexys!" Y/N interrupted, taking her friend's arm. "There you are. Dr. Kim was just looking for you about that new equipment order."

Alexys blinked, momentarily derailed. "What equipment order?"

"The important one," Y/N emphasized, tugging her away from Tiya. "The one we need to discuss right now."

Tiya watched them with cool amusement as Y/N led Alexys toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, Seungcheol following closely behind.

"What are you doing?" Alexys hissed once they were out of earshot. "I was just getting to the good part."

"You were about to cause a scene at the hospital's biggest fundraising event of the year," Y/N corrected. "In front of the board, the donors, and pretty much everyone who signs your paychecks."

"She started it," Alexys muttered, though some of the fight had gone out of her. "With her 'documentation standards' and her perfect hair."

Seungcheol stifled a laugh. "Her hair? That's what you're mad about?"

"Have you seen it?" Alexys demanded. "It's unfair to look that good in scrubs and formal wear. She's probably one of those people who wakes up looking perfect too."

Y/N and Seungcheol exchanged amused glances. "Sounds like you need another drink," Y/N suggested. "One that doesn't involve confronting the pathologist who processes all your lab work."

"Fine," Alexys conceded with an eye roll. "But this isn't over. That woman is out to get me."

As Seungcheol escorted Alexys to the bar, promising to keep her away from the pathology department for the rest of the evening, Y/N felt a warm presence at her back. She turned to find Wonwoo, an amused expression on his face.

"Your friend is... spirited," he observed.

Y/N laughed despite herself. "That's one word for it. Sorry about the drama."

"Don't apologize. It's the most entertaining thing that's happened all night." His eyes crinkled with genuine humor. "Most hospital conflicts I've witnessed are conducted through passive-aggressive emails, not ballroom showdowns."

"Alexys doesn't do passive-aggressive," Y/N explained. "Just aggressive-aggressive. But she's brilliant at her job."

"The best ones often are a bit unconventional," Wonwoo agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Speaking of which, how's the medical mission paperwork coming along?"

Y/N stiffened, surprised he knew about it. "How did you—"

"Haerin mentioned it," he explained. "She was concerned about the timing."

Of course Haerin would bring it up. Y/N braced herself for Wonwoo's objections, preparing arguments in defense of her career commitment.

"I know it conflicts with the wedding planning," she began, "but this mission is important to me. It's the kind of work that makes a real difference."

To her surprise, Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully. "I assumed as much. Have you contacted the program director about the specific training requirements? Some NGOs have preparation protocols that start months before departure."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his practical support rather than the resistance she'd expected. "I... yes, actually. There's a weekend training session next month."

"Let me know when it is," Wonwoo said. "I'll make sure our schedule is clear so you can attend without any conflicts."

"You're not going to try to talk me out of it?" Y/N asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Wonwoo looked genuinely confused. "Why would I? It's your career, Y/N. Your passion. That was our agreement, wasn't it? That both of us would continue our professional paths without interference."

Relief and something warmer flooded through her. "Yes, but I thought—with your parents' expectations—"

"My parents' expectations are not your problem," Wonwoo said firmly. "We'll manage them together. If you want to go on this mission, then we'll make it work with everything else."

Y/N studied him, trying to reconcile this supportive partner with the corporate heir she'd initially dreaded. "Thank you," she said finally, meaning it. "Most people don't understand why these missions matter to me."

"I'm not most people," Wonwoo replied simply. "And I don't have to understand something completely to respect that it's important to you."

The statement, delivered without fanfare, touched Y/N more deeply than any grand gesture could have. Perhaps for the first time, she felt genuine gratitude for the partner she'd been assigned.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of both sets of parents, converging on them with the determined air of people with agendas.

"There you are," Mrs. Jeon said, her critical gaze sweeping over Y/N. "We've been discussing wedding dates with your parents. June seems ideal—"

"Actually," Wonwoo cut in smoothly, "we were thinking of a fall wedding. September or October."

Y/N shot him a grateful glance, understanding immediately what he was doing—pushing the timeline beyond her medical mission.

"Fall?" her mother repeated, clearly disappointed. "But the gardens are so beautiful in June."

"Y/N has professional commitments in June," Wonwoo explained, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Her medical work is important, and we both want to respect that."

Y/N's father frowned. "Surely these... nursing duties can be rescheduled. The merger—I mean, the wedding—should take priority."

"On the contrary," Wonwoo replied, his voice pleasant but firm. "Y/N's dedication to her profession is one of the qualities I most admire. We won't be scheduling our wedding at the expense of her career."

Silence fell among the parental contingent, all four clearly taken aback by Wonwoo's stance. Y/N herself was speechless, never having witnessed anyone—much less a corporate ally—defend her nursing career to her father.

"Well," Mrs. Jeon finally said, her tight smile not reaching her eyes, "I suppose we can discuss the timeline further at dinner next weekend. Ela's mother was just telling me about their lovely home in Gangnam."

As the parents drifted away, clearly regrouping for their next assault, Y/N turned to Wonwoo in amazement. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," he replied simply. "Partners support each other. Even fake ones."

There it was again—that line between pretense and reality blurring until Y/N could no longer clearly see where one ended and the other began. Wonwoo had defended her, not for show or because their agreement required it, but because he genuinely seemed to respect her work.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that their engagement was just a three-year plan with a predetermined expiration date.

As the evening continued, Y/N found herself watching Wonwoo with new eyes, noticing the small kindnesses he extended not just to her but to everyone around him—remembering Ela's assistant's name, helping an elderly donor navigate the crowded ballroom, listening intently to Alexys's animated explanation of some lab technique.

This wasn't just the polished performance of a corporate heir. This was who Wonwoo was beneath the public persona—attentive, considerate, and surprisingly genuine.

The realization was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because it meant the next three years might be more bearable than she'd initially feared. Terrifying because it made their eventual separation all the more complicated.

What happens, she wondered, when pretending becomes too close to reality? When the lines between performance and truth blur beyond recognition?

As Wonwoo caught her watching him and smiled—that private smile she was beginning to recognize as meant only for her—Y/N felt something shift inside her. Something that made their three-year plan suddenly seem both too short and too long.

Too short for whatever was beginning to grow between them.

Too long to maintain the pretense that it meant nothing.

[paradoxf0x]

My parents made fun of me my whole life for not liking black and white movies. As a kid I absolutely refused to watch them and my parents called me spoiled, uncultured, said my generation lacked the attention span to appreciate good cinema. And I hated it. They wouldn’t listen to me when I told them black and white movies made me feel uncomfortable. They forced me to watch various old classics to prove how great they were, even resorting to showing me ones in full color, and I hated almost all of them.

And that’s because I didn’t hate old Hollywood movies because they were in black and white, I hate old Hollywood classics because of how women were represented and treated: like objects whose entire personality, hopes, and dreams get completely and utterly changed by the main male protagonist and this is portrayed as good and right. Even as a kid I could see this portrayal of a willful, confident, inspired woman be transformed into a “good women” by a domineering man until she perfectly fits in this housewife stereotype and it made me feel sick to my stomach. Women lacked any personhood at all in almost every one of my parents beloved “old classics.”

I guess all this is to say parents often say things like, “we didn’t raise you to be this way” or “why would you think we believe [some specific thing]” but like, it’s not just the things you directly tell your children that shapes who they become, it’s everything you expose them to and the message behind those things. Children are really quite remarkable at picking up context, so it’s important you’re aware of not just the direct message you’re sending, but the subtext and context of everything around it.

[pit-stop-princess]

Click Click - Chapter Three

Ollie Bearman x Photographer!Fem!Reader

Kimi Antonelli & Antonelli!Sister!Reader

Summary: I came to F1 with my little brother Kimi to photograph his rookie season, not to fall for his best friend and Haas's golden boy. Somehow, Ollie Bearman keeps ending up in my shots!

Warnings: Angst, fluff, awkward text messages, young Kimi panicking, self-doubt, talk of perfection, picture of woman in swimsuit, light swearing

Word Count: 1694, not including text threads or social media posts

Notes: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It's very long. I'm graduating in just two weeks, so I've been feeling very nostalgic lately, and this chapter very much reflects that. Val's face claim is Niki Victoria for the sake of consistency. All in all, please enjoy and let me know what you liked about it!

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Nine Years Ago, ages 11 & 12

The kart was still smoking faintly when I reached the edge of the track, skidding to a stop just past the barriers. Kimi had ripped off his helmet and sat slumped in the grass, tear tracks already streaking the dirt on his cheeks. His hair stuck to his forehead in damp little curls, and he looked about two seconds from a full meltdown.

“My engine died,” he said, voice breaking halfway through. “It just- it stalled and I couldn’t fix it and I DNF’d the race and-”

“Hey,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Breathe, Kimi. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sniffled. “I practiced so hard. And I was gonna win. You said I could win.”

“You can win.” I reached out and wiped a smudge of oil off his nose. “Just not today.”

He curled his hands into fists. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” I agreed. “But you’re not done yet.”

He looked up at me through wet lashes, lip wobbling. “What if I never make it?”

I smiled, even though my throat was suddenly tight. “Kimi, I swear on the stars you will. And when you do? I’ll be there. Every race. Every lap. Camera in hand, yelling louder than your entire pit wall.”

His eyes went wide. “You promise?”

“I promise,” I said, tears pricking my own eyes, pinky out. “You race. I’ll shoot. Deal?”

He linked his pinky with mine. “Deal.”

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Present Day

speed bump = Kimi, ollie bearman = Ollie Bearman, that bitch val = Valentina (Val)

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Val was waiting for me at the airport. She's tall, all sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes, with beautiful curls that live in a perpetual state of artful chaos. She’s got the kind of style that looks effortlessly put together, even when it’s just thrifted jeans, a cropped tee, and golden hoop earrings.

We met at fourteen, two kids who dreamed too big for their school and the nuns who ran it.

Val was the new girl from Florence with clean blue nail polish and dreams of being a model. I was the girl with a camera instead of friends, always in the back of the classroom documenting shadows and corners and silence.

We were on a class trip when I asked if I could take a picture of her for the first time. I posed her, set up my angle, and got the shot. It was my first photo I was truly happy with since leaving Kimi.

When I showed Val the shot, she gripped my arm and told me I was the only one who made her look like her.

We’ve stuck together ever since.

She speaks with her hands, her heart, and absolutely no filter. One minute she’s dramatically reenacting a conversation with the cute barista at the cafe, the next she’s waxing poetic about the symbolism in a street mural or why that particular pigeon seems to be giving her attitude. There’s always a snack in her bag, a book with a cracked spine, and at least three bandages for other people’s blisters.

I told her how I loved motorsports, but stopped when Kimi went to the academy. I showed her the pictures I had taken, a year old at that point, and then newer pictures of people, landscapes, close-ups, and everything in between.

“You always think you’re photographing people doing something. Driving. Laughing. Walking. But the ones that matter, they’re when the person forgets they’re doing anything at all. It’s the breath between words. The blink after a smile. That’s the truth.”

When we left school, we built our empires. I would photograph for her, she would model for me. Our portfolios grew in tandem. She got her first job with a boutique brand in Milan. I got published in a small arts zine out of Rome. When I landed a travel feature for a new indie magazine, Val came with me to the Amalfi coast, wearing vintage scarves and red lipstick, standing barefoot on sea-slick rocks while I got the shot.

“You make me look like someone worth looking at,” she said once, quiet and serious, as we reviewed the prints in a café booth sticky with sugar.

I laughed. “You always were.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Before you, I just felt… pretty. Now I feel seen.”

And now, here she is, picking me up from the airport, hugging me so tight I lose my breath, already talking a mile a minute about the pasta she made and the barista she may or may not have a crush on but is too stubborn to admit it.

“I missed you,” I say into her hair, which smells like bergamot and sea salt.

She squeezes me tighter. “You left for, like, two weeks.”

“I know,” I say. “Too long.”

She pulls back, squints at me, then grins. “You look pale.”

“You look chaotic.”

“Thank you,” she says proudly. “Now come on. I made pesto. And I want to hear everything.”

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“So. Kimi sent you Ollie’s number, you texted first, he responded, and then the conversation died.”

“SÌ, basically. I think he might have been busy because he said he was ‘just training’ but I don’t know if I came across as too awkward.” I said, flopping down on her couch. “We haven’t talked outside of Kimi introducing us, so maybe it was too soon?”

Val shrugged her perfectly tan shoulder. “Maybe.”

“You’re supposed to lie and assure me it wasn’t too soon.”

She blinked at me. “Okay, you came off tragically normal. That’s even worse.”

I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” She said, standing up gracefully. “Now come on, you’re back home, and we’re going to the beach. I need fresh air, and you need the sun.”

“I’m not that pale!”

She threw my swimsuit at me.

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I had missed the beach.

By the time we got down to the shore, the sun was bright and the sea was throwing glitter across the surface with every wave. I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the edge of the tide, the sand already cool and damp beneath my feet.

I just stood there, let the breeze get into my hair, let the waves pull at my ankles, let the sun kiss my skin. I could hear Val rustling around behind me, probably laying out her towel like a ritual, probably already monologuing to a seagull.

I turned just in time to see her toss a sun-warmed peach into the air and catch it like she was in a commercial for perfect summer evenings.

“Come on,” she called. “You're allowed to be dramatic, but not that dramatic.”

I laughed, and it felt good, loose and warm in my chest. I jogged back up the shore, collapsing beside her and stealing one of her chips.

“Hey!”

“Friend tax.”

We spent the rest of the day sunbathing and taking pictures. As much as I loved photographing F1, I missed taking photos of Val.

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❤️ liked by kimi.antonelli, valentinavlogs, olliebearman, & others

yourusername back home for a little while with @/valentinavlogs 🐚🩵

view comments

valentinavlogs lookin like a couple of baddies

⤷ yourusername girl what are you talking about 😭

user34 I wish this was my life

⤷ user23 don't we all??

kimi.antonelli come back ollie hasn't stopped asking about you

⤷ olliebearman shut up, kimi

❤️ liked by author

user80 will she be at the next race?

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Five Years Ago, ages 13 & 15

It was late.

Too late for the track to still be echoing in his head, but I could see it in the way he sat on the curb- hunched over, hands loose between his knees, helmet abandoned beside him like it’d said something mean. The kart was parked a few feet away, half-loaded onto the trailer, the last stragglers from the paddock already packing up and heading out.

I sat down next to him, not saying anything at first. Just breathed in the warm, dusty air, the scent of engine grease and old asphalt.

He didn’t look at me. Just said, flatly, “I was shit today.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was. I spun out. I missed the apexes. I didn’t listen.” He ran both hands through his hair, frustrated. “Everyone saw it. They always see it. Every mistake, every second too slow-”

“Kimi.”

He kept going like I hadn’t spoken. “And I can’t keep up. Not with the guys the scouts are watching. Not if I keep messing it up every time it counts. Maybe I’m not- maybe I’m not cut out for it.”

“Andrea.” I touched his arm. “Look at me.”

He did, eventually. Eyes bright and wet in the glow from the nearest overhead light, jaw tight with everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“You are not your lap time,” I said gently. “You are not your placing or your telemetry data or how many people are looking at you. You are the kid who listens. Who learns. Who takes everything people throw at him and actually gets better. That’s rare, Kimi.”

He sniffled, quietly. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

I tilted my head, nudged my shoulder into his. “You want to be perfect. But you don’t need to be. The ones who last? They take the hits, take the lessons, and come back swinging. You already do that.”

He picked at a loose thread on his race suit. “You’re always chasing the perfect picture.”

“SÌ, I am. Everyone is chasing perfection fratellino, but all you can do is attempt to be better than your past self. Learn from your mistakes, give yourself grace, and prepare for the next round.”

He didn’t say anything, so I looked up, out, into the vast stretch of stars overhead, and said, “You know what I think about sometimes?”

He glanced at me. “…What?”

“How lucky it is. That we’re on the same planet. In the same moment in time. Under this same sky.” I gave him a small smile. “Like, out of every possible version of the universe, we ended up in this one. Where I get to know you. Be here with you.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s weirdly comforting.”

I shrugged. “We’re small. But we’re not alone.”

He leaned against me then. Just a little. Not enough to crush me with shoulder pads or helmet hair, but enough that I could feel him start to breathe normally again.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Always,” I whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere, Kimi. And even when I’m not beside you we are still under the same sky, remember?”

He looked up, lips twitching into something soft and tired and real. “Same sky.”

[loverlessnight]

My Favourite Polin FanFiction: Alternate Universe

Modern Setting

Cruel & Unusual: A Tale of Personal Growth: Penelope Featherington is officially over Colin Bridgerton. Deservedly so. She’d worked tirelessly over the last twelve months to move on from him. She’d listened to Lizzo on repeat, read every self-help book under the sun, been to therapy, and even changed the plot of her novel from a coming-of-age romance to a zombie thriller in a world devoid of men. In fact, she was seeing someone, not exclusively, but it was certainly heading in that direction. She’d done everything in her power to move on from her stupid, heart-wrenching, soul-destroying crush. Everything short of having a lobotomy. Which was why it was a tad concerning that she’d just shagged him.

so come give me a hug (if you're into getting rubbed): The three times Colin and Penelope were just cuddling. You know, as friends. That's all. Really. And the one time- Well, you know.

Faking It: When the editor-in-chief of Mayfair Magazine insists that Penelope work with a new writer on her sex column, she wants to scream. When she finds out it’s Colin Bridgerton, she wants to murder something (or someone). It’s been five years since she last spoke to him and a lot has changed. Penelope has changed. And she is not about to let him steal her column out from under her. Especially not when he’s under her.

Heatwave: Colin is three days into the worst heatwave south-east England had ever seen, that ripe, delicious, irresistible Omega scent sending his Alpha slowly insane, Aubrey Hall is Hell on Earth. And it’s all Penelope Featherington’s fault. Her and her fucking boyfriend.

Call Me: If Colin could only want her when there was a few thousand miles between them, so be it. Even if it stabbed brutally at something inside her for nearly two bloody years, Penelope had allowed herself the indulgence, thinking it was all she’d ever get of the man she loved with a wasted, aching, childish heart. One version of him wanted her, and that was enough. Because it had to be enough when it was all Colin wanted from her. Until she met Harry.

Call you when the party's over: Colin and Penelope were just friends. At least mostly, they were just friends. Completely and perfectly friendly and one hundred percent normal about ninety percent of the time. Even when he was couch surfing at her flat between jobs abroad, everything was okay. They were just friends. Well, for six days of the week anyway.

I'm Having His Baby: Penelope Featherington has a drunken one-night stand with her best friend, Colin Bridgerton, and there are major consequences. They now have to figure out how to mend the pieces of their broken friendship all while navigating this complicated and life-changing journey they've found themselves on together.

tie me up, tie me down: Penelope needs to learn to give up control. Colin thinks he has the perfect solution.

a little bit closer (you're my kind of man): Colin believes his 6 months away have been spent in a long distance relationship with the woman of his dreams. Penelope believes she's never going to get over her unrequited crush on her rather touchy best friend. What could possibly happen between the two of them, alone on this balcony?

Growing Pains: For a few years, Anthony was the only Alpha in his pack—his family. Benedict—his only true littermate considering the small age gap of two years—was an Omega which was pleasant. His younger brother perfectly balanced him out especially after their father had passed away. Only for Colin to start showing signs of presenting a year after. Now there was a baby Alpha in the house again.

Friends Can Kiss?: “Fine, I’ll kiss her.” Colin declared, “It’s not going to change anything. You idiots all think a kiss is some mind-bending moment. But you will see that friends can kiss and just go on living happily as they were.”

Double-Sided Tape: How the fuck does Colin Bridgerton not only fall in love once, but twice, with the same damn woman? But more importantly, how does he make it abundantly clear to her just how desperately he wanted her?

Big Deal: One rainy evening Colin decides to teach Penelope how to play poker.

Bless The Telephone: Or, the one where Penelope and Colin start having phone sex as “friends.”

I'm Making Her a Mama: The one where Penelope and Colin decide to make a baby “as friends.”

august: Penelope Featherington is house-sitting for Violet, and Colin comes home early from his travels.

EpiPen: Five times Bridgertons decide to stop eating nuts, and the time Colin realizes he’d given them up a long time ago.

Bad Idea: "Why won't you have a threesome with me?" After years of a rather unconventional friendship, the least Colin expected was to top the list of people his friend would consider having a threesome with. But when a drunken game night with the Bridgertons brings to his attention that he is in fact the last person on the list (in addition to the fact she is seeing this annoyingly handsome man), Colin must take matters in his own hands.

(Almost, Not Quite) 36 Questions: What happens when two nerds start gossiping at a posh wedding reception late into the night.

False Grudges and Unexpected Sleepovers: Enemies to lovers in one bed with a dash of praise kink.

breathe: during Christmas at Aubrey Hall, Colin discovers Penelope enjoys getting crushed.

motivation: Penelope helps Colin study for his exams. Colin needs some extra motivation.

City Lights: Sometimes she wonders what people would say if they knew that Penelope Featherington was Colin Bridgerton's booty call. Felicity would probably spin it into some grand adventure, casting Penelope as the lonely figure stood on some moonlight shore as she waited for her lover to return. Eloise would undoubtedly be violently sick and then call her an idiot... and Penelope, well Penelope could hardly believe it herself. It has to stop though. It has to.

Soft: Penelope and Colin fool around whilst hungover at Aubrey Hall, and turn their relationship upside down.

but i'd like to just pretend: It's not friends with benefits. It's friends OR benefits.

if it's the thought that counts (let's think it through): Colin had asked her to take his virginity. Not lose it with her, like throwing it in the bottom of the closet with the old school shirts unworn for years, or like a treasured bracelet, adored until it falls off one day never to be seen again. Take. Like it was his to give and hers to claim. Like she could cherish it. And she’d said yes.

The Age of Exploration: Under the summer sun of Aubrey Hall childhood best friends Colin and Penelope uncover a different type of heat which neither can ignore.

Wrong Number: Penelope gets a breakup text from an unknown number, (spoiler alert, it's Colin) and absolute chaos ensues.

Snowflakes in Her Eyelashes: The Bridgertons are all jetting off to the Scottish Highlands for Christmas and Penelope Featherington is coming with them this year. She's a close family friend and gets along famously with each and every member (young and old) with one significant exception-- the third eldest son, Colin Bridgerton. They may have been best friends as children, but now, in their mid and late twenties, they couldn't be further from friends. These days they can't even be in the same room with one another without trading verbal jabs that intensify steadily until someone literally has to pull them apart. After a lot of deliberation, though, Penelope accepts Violet's invitation despite this fact. She figures they'll be staying in a huge house and there will be a crowd of other people to distract herself with. What she can't possibly know, however, is that the storm of the century and a series of unforeseen events are going to make that house and that crowd much, much smaller.

Cradle Robbing: When his parents are caught up with the birth of yet another Bridgerton baby, little Colin seizes his opportunity and switches his baby sister with the delightful little redheaded baby he has become infatuated with at daycare.

Regency Setting

Dr Bridgerton; or With his educated eyes, and his hand between my thighs: There lay in Penelope a sickness, or so she had been told. A very specific kind that only this physician, as he called himself, could potentially be willing to alleviate for her, if there were any hope at all. At least that was what the flyer had said. A gentleman by the name of Mr Bridgerton had developed a technique of stimulatory effect to relieve the sufferings of women. Of sharp tongues and short tempers gone in a few months or less, within three sessions with his special apparatus.

The Bridgertons' Ward: When Viscount Edmund Bridgerton finds an unconscious little girl while playing hide and seek with his children, the Bridgertons' lives become a little more yellow. But the question would always remain: Who is Penelope Aubrey?

(Lack) Luster: Everyone knew that the spinster lady of the Featherington barony had no intentions of marrying and similarly, no man had any intention of marrying her. So why, pray tell, was the newest Bridgerton bachelor chasing after her skirts like she was some pretty little chit?

Of Stirrups and Silk: The Bridgertons had never known fortune, stability, or favor from the ton. So how on earth could they refuse when Lady Penelope Debling extended her hand, and told them she would guarantee their success in the marriage mart?

Royalty

buried in the shallow grave: In a world where the marriage ritual leaves a permanent mark on you, the word that reflects your match’s first impression of you appears in your skin. On her wrist, visible to anyone close enough to read it, was written her word with golden letters. Shallow.

golden crown, bloody sword: the Adventures of Princess Penelope and Sir Colin, her Knight Protector!

Western

sweet things need time to grow: local cowboy offers to help farmgirl dig a well (aka cowboy colin meets prairie girl pen)

Vampire

Crimson Reveries: Colin is not obsessed, but he has noticed that Penelope’s lips have always been tainted red ever since her presentation. It is quite striking against her porcelain skin and fiery red hair — it draws the eye, that is for certain. As temptation prevails and a kiss is shared under the moonlight, deeply buried feelings begin to unravel. Night after night, Colin is haunted by dreams of crimson lips, pearly white teeth, and a passion that leaves him breathless. Yet, something unsettling lingers behind the dreams. As the days pass, and the line between reality and fantasy starts to blur, his mind spirals into unnatural territory. He wonders if her lips bear the colour of something… more eternal than red paint. And that perhaps, it is not truly him she desires, but rather something he possesses.

Fantasy

My Jolly Sailor Bold: Little mermaid Pen tries to eat and gets eaten instead.

Medieval

My Knight in Shining Armour: Penelope had come to terms with the fact that she would always live her life by the sidelines. She was a skilled healer and her business was booming, yet, the villagers did not trust her. They thought her a witch and shunned her. Bar from Genevieve, the local seamstress, they all avoided her like the plague unless they required her services. One day, while out to gather for ingredients for another potion, she nearly got trampled over by a horse. Instead of meeting death, however, she met something else. Or rather someone else... Now, why was the handsome knight making her mind go all fuzzy? More importantly, would she ever see him again?

[gcddcsscs]

emily laughed when she heard erik teasing her. she knew he recognized her eyes watching the tray of food. "yes, i am." she whispered as she felt his palm over her ass as she just arched her back to raise her hips. a light chuckle escaped her lips as he told her that she would have to earn them to eat. "how bossy..." she teased.

as she heard his voice, his words against her ear, emily smiled. he wanted her to beg. she loved that and whispered. "i am so hungry... please do me. mount me..."

feeling his two fingers sliding inside of her, emily moaned as she just closed her eyes. "fuck, baby. do you see how wet i am for you?" she asked as she just smiled, looking down at the pillow. her breasts were pressed against the mattress as she could hear the sound of his finger being sucked by her heat. the woman groaned as she rested her cheek now on the pillow, ready for her boyfriend to do her.

"then fill me." emily whispered as she just felt the playful slap on her ass. she breathed lowly as she looked at the croissants, hoping he would soon enter her and make her scream of pleasure.

as he teased her entrance, emily laughed. she jumped lightly as it brought her waves of pleasure but was almost begging him. "please, penetrate me..." there was something very sensual in her request as her heart raced.

his words drove her insane. this was pure torture: she was terribly hungry, for food but also for sex. she felt his cock slowly entering her but immediately withdrawing. not even having time to feel the special spot being teased. "erik..." she almost protested as she tried to raise on her elbows but couldn't. instead, the woman arched her back to offer him a better angle.

"come on... i want this..." she moaned of protest. she could feel him gliding his cock along her slit and just cried out. "at this point, you're going to just cream my pussy and nothing else." she chuckled.

this little torture was unbearable. each time she felt his cock pushing into her, emily was once again disappointed that she didn't feel him deeper into her. when he asked her to use his words, the woman sighed.

"do you think a bitch, a mare or any other female would have the patience that i have?" she asked, teasing him. "please, mount me. come into me. please.. i want you to make sweet love to me, to make me feel like the woman of your dreams. i want you to show me how much you've longed for my touch. i want you to feel that i want this every single day, to be closer than ever to you."

pausing, emily finally said: "please fuck me."

Erik watched her gaze drift toward the breakfast tray, noticing the hunger in her eyes that mirrored a different kind of appetite altogether. He smiled wickedly, knowing exactly how to tease her.

"Hungry, baby?" he asked, his voice deliberately low and rough. He ran his palm over the curve of her ass, savoring the goosebumps that rose under his touch. "You'll have to earn those croissants."

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "I want to hear how badly you want it first."

His fingers traced the delicate line of her spine, moving downward with deliberate slowness until they reached the wetness between her thighs. Finding her still slick with desire, he dipped two fingers inside her, feeling her body clench around him hungrily.He could feel her getting wetter around his fingers, her body responding to his every touch. The power he felt in this moment was intoxicating.

"You don't get to taste anything else until I've had my fill," he said, withdrawing his fingers. He couldn't resist giving it another playful slap, harder this time, delighting in the pink handprint that bloomed on her flesh.

He positioned himself behind her, teasing her entrance with just the tip, watching her squirm.

He loved this power, the control of withholding exactly what they both craved. His hands gripped her hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of her spine. The breakfast could wait. Right now, he wanted to feast on something far more delicious than pastries.

"The longer you wait," he teased, sliding just an inch deeper before withdrawing - the hungrier you'll get." He watched her body react to his torment. Erik's cock throbbed painfully, the head slick with pre-cum as he continued his exquisite torture. He dragged it along her slit, coating himself in her arousal.

He pushed just the head inside her again, feeling her heat engulf him, then pulled back completely. "Use your words, Emily," he crooned. Erik pressed, circling his hips so his tip brushed against her sensitive spots without giving her the satisfaction of fullness.

[enden-agolor]

i dont know when i hit 2k followers, but apparently i did. here's some petra's to celebrate

[mohntilyet]

had a dream vg got dlc where the ui would shift and change to look like origins with the font and design and then introduced a dwarf character from da2 who was like. the hanged man’s owner and one of varric’s carta contacts who brought rook and the veilguard to solve a mystery in kirkwall to do with merrill’s eluvian. dear lord bioware let me drive the car NOW

[gcddcsscs]

"yeah.." she moaned as she could feel his tongue gliding over her wet cunt. she closed her eyes as he sucked her clit and cried out as she arched her back, her right hand gently caressing the back of his head. "diego..." she moaned her name as she heard his question. what were her thoughts actually? there was a mix of tenderness and naught in her thought. a part of her wanted diego to mount her again, be the handsome and hot king who would claim her as his. she also thought about the life she wanted to have with diego. a life where both would love each other so dearly, have so much passion to explore their kinks and be bonded forever. "i just am eager to start this life with you."

looking at his eyes becoming dark and hungry, emily just moaned deeper as she heard his next words. she loved how possessive he was, how dominant and dirty as well. it made him even handsomer, made him look like a god claiming his own woman. "i think my belly will swell with so much of your cum." she whispered. emily smiled as she imagined her swollen belly with his seed. there was something extremely hot in this image, making her whisper: "i would love you to breed me once." she let escaped. she had loved diego for years, of course she wanted in the future to have her own family with him. while for now they could simply be protected, eventually emily knew that she would love the day he truly breeds her. imagining her belly swelling, her breasts looking bigger. she bit her lip and just moaned at the thought of it by touching herself. "yes..." she whispered, keeping rubbing her clip.

as he repeated her fantasy, she moaned louder. "yes! yes, fuck me against a tree in the woods. in an empty alley... fuck me publicly or in a party..." she kept rubbing her clit as she arched her back, feeling his fingers pumping into her ass. feeling the third one, emily moaned louder. "i dreamed so many times of you waking me up in the middle of the night... your cock ravishing my little pussy, the bed moving at each hip thrust you'd give me..." she nodded. "baby, you can fuck me whenever you want." she smiled and caressed his face tenderly.

"oh yeah?" his voice hummed against her skin, his face buried between her legs. he licked a stripe over her cunt once more, sucking slightly on her clit, before he looked up at her. "and what are your thoughts?" his own mind was racing. he could think of a thousand things he wanted to do to her. he might never run out of fantasies. after ten long years of longing for her, of being surrounded by her beauty, he had a lot of wasted opportunities to make up for. in fact, he wasn't sure they'd be leaving this bed for at least a week. he wanted to ravish her, to find out every way he could make her cum, to explore every inch of her, fuck every hole, kiss her everywhere.

she was so perfectly reactive, her back arching off the bed. though his cock was not quite ready to go again just yet, it twitched with need, and his eyes were dark and hungry as he watched her carefully. "mhmmm," he agreed. "want to keep you full of me day and night. plug you up with my cum, load after load, to see how much you can take. do you think your belly would swell with it?" he touched her flat stomach, imagining it rounded with gallons of his cum trapped inside her. "that's it, baby girl. touch yourself. play with those tits for me." it was intoxicating, watching her enjoy these dirty fantasies as much as he did, telling him her body was made for him. he had never felt so in control, so powerful.

"oh yeah? you'll let me fuck you against a tree in the woods? against an alley wall? in the bathroom of a restaurant? the backroom of a party?" he kissed along her thighs with every question. after pumping two fingers into her ass for more than a minute now, he added a third. "and what if i need you while you're sleeping? laid out so peacefully next to me in bed. but i just can't wait. i need you. could i fuck you then?"

[dandelion-wings]

Still thinking about this one, so:

---

Despite what the Knights' only remaining Outrider seems to believe, Diluc isn't stalking Kaeya.

He does need to talk to him. In person, not through letters. Certainly not through Jean, who has only ever known half of Kaeya's story. She has assured Diluc that she has no interest in becoming his alpha, nor he in being her omega, but Diluc can't trust even that--Kaeya *lies*, and can get away with it to everyone but Diluc himself, who even far away in Snezhnaya had felt the twinge through their bond whenever he did it.

Which is exactly why Diluc needs to talk to him in person. When the truth had come out in their youth, Kaeya's dreams and the twinge of his lies tangling together into something Diluc knew was big enough to take to Father, he had trusted Father's plan to disarm him. Keep him at the Winery, train him for its management and business, and keep him out of the Ordo and safely away from any of Mondstadt's other levers of power.

(*'Love him,'* Father had said, smiling sad-eyed at Kaeya clinging to Adelinde on the far side of the courtyard as if she was his only protection, and ruffled Diluc's hair. *'His father certainly didn't. In time, he'll understand that Mondstadt is where he's actually cared for.'*)

Diluc no longer possesses that naive faith in Father's wisdom. He can't assume that his plan to win Kaeya over actually worked. Not when the very moment he'd left, Kaeya had abandoned the Winery and stepped straight into a position with the Ordo. Not when so much *dread* floods their bond every time Diluc tries to approach him.

There are other reasons he might feel that dread. Diluc can think of plenty. But one of them is, very possibly, that he's dreading what Diluc might tell the Knights, and Diluc can't ignore that possibility.

Neither, though, can he force Kaeya to bear his presence with that silent fear so loud and harsh between them. It isn't in Diluc, any longer, to override what Kaeya wants. He's no longer the young fool he was in so many ways, and one of them is that he understands, far too late, that he can't just *make* Kaeya feel calm and cared-for and safe under the aegis of his brother and alpha. He lost any power to do that the first, impulsive time he tried.

So he watches Kaeya from a distance, learning his schedule, learning his habits, noting what he does and who he talks to. Learns the Outrider's schedule, too, so that he can do it when she's out on patrol and not when she's around to glare and accuse him. She doesn't frighten him, and neither does the Lawrence woman, but that doesn't mean he cares to provoke that confrontation.

Plenty of Kaeya's drinking companions are suspicious--but, while Kaeya is merely Quartermaster, not an investigator or guard with the powers of arrest, somehow most of those he gets too involved with eventually end up arrested. The knights he spends the most time with all seem loyal and honest. If he's feeding intel to anyone through dead-drops or clandestine meetings, he's somehow avoiding Diluc catching any sign of it. Rosaria scoffs when Diluc tentatively asks her if *she's* seen Kaeya do anything she might question.

"I wouldn't trust him with a bottle of wine, but I'd trust him with my life," she tells him. "The only people he's feeding intelligence are me and the Acting Grand Master."

Diluc swallows down an irrational, unjust jealousy and abandons that line of discussion.

He can't trust that reassurance either, reliable a defender of Mondstadt as Rosaria seems to be. Kaeya is a liar, and an excellent actor--he knows *that* all too well--and no doubt has the nun's measure far better than does Diluc. It will take more time, and more observation, to draw a complete conclusion.

If he could just *talk* to Kaeya, question him directly and wait to see whether he senses the twinge of a lie-

Observation will be good enough. It isn't stalking when it's potentially in Mondstadt's defense.

***

The Ordo Librarian is an interesting figure, competent and confident, yet reluctant to exert herself even when it would be to the Knights' benefit. She's also both Jean and Kaeya's very close friend. She visits the Angel's Share regularly with each of them, and sometimes with both. Rarely does she come alone.

Not long after her last visit with Kaeya, though, she does. Comes alone, sits at the bar, and nurses first a single glass of wine and then an herbal tea for hours, nearly until closing. As everyone else trails out and she lingers, eyes on him and smiling faintly, Diluc grows more and more tense.

"Master Diluc," she says at last, less than half an hour from closing, with the only other patrons left out of earshot. She leans across the counter, chin propped on her hand. "You really do have to stop stalking Kaeya. He's much less fun to chat with when he has his shoulders up around his ears."

"I'm not stalking him. If he comes into the Angel's Share with you, that's his own-"

"It isn't just in the Angel's Share, cutie. I'm not going to argue with you about exactly what you're doing. I'm just going to warn you that if you keep doing it, I'm going to have to ask Jean to intervene. She doesn't want to do that, and Kaeya doesn't want her to, and I'm sure you don't want her to either, but I can't put up with this forever. You've done enough damage, don't you think?"

For a moment, all Diluc can see is red. The blaze of flame, long as it's been since he's wielded it, not the dull blood-red of the Delusion he still keeps secretly tucked away.

"You don't know Kaeya half as well as you think you do," he tells her, turning away and setting a glass down a little too hard.

"I could say the same about you. Mate-bonds aren't the end-all and be-all of knowing someone, and I don't know if you've been counting, but it *has* been three years." He can hear her stool scrape against the floor behind him as she stands. "Keep my warning in mind, Master Diluc. And try actually talking to him, instead of lurking in the shadows and pretending you're not eavesdropping. You may not like what he has in mind if you don't."

Diluc stares at the cracked glass in his hands, taking slow, controlled, deliberately deep breaths, and says nothing. After a moment he can hear her heels on the floor as she departs. Once the door has closed behind her, he heads into the back room to throw the glass away.

***

(She's right. He *doesn't* like what Kaeya has in mind, at all. He had never imagined that, with the blighted bond between them, Kaeya could so badly misread Diluc's intent. But then, with that same bond, he'd just as badly misread Kaeya's own.)

Kicking around a new omegaverse scenario on Discord last night/this morning (I make. so many omegaverses. that I am gradually trying to uncringe enough about to actually talk about) and was just seized with the need for Lisa's POV about it, mostly because "Lisa sees Kaeya's reaction vs. Jean's reaction to Diluc's return and tries to decide whether she needs to do a subtle murder or not" is a trope I made up myself for me but nonetheless absolutely adore. So:

---

It's a lovely day out, a warm sun cut with just enough of a breeze to keep her from getting sweaty, so Lisa has insisted on tea out in the gardens below the Ordo instead of indoors. Jean isn't joining them this afternoon, which is a shame, but Eula and Amber are both in from the field and happy to be invited. Kaeya has, as often happens, invited himself.

Eula is in the middle of indignantly complaining about her family's latest shenanigans when Kaeya tenses, and he, she, and Amber all look almost simultaneously towards the garden entrance. Lisa, less vigilant than any of them but certainly interested, follows their gaze.

There's a gentleman heading their way, dressed in an unseasonably heavy black coat, his red hair vivid against it. Eula's eyes narrow in recognition, and Kaeya sets down his tea and sits even straighter. It's entertaining to watch both Eula and Amber do the same in response. Lisa settles back in her chair and takes another sip of her tea, watching closely.

"Kaeya," the man says, without even a glance at the rest of them. "Jean told me you would be out here. I wanted-"

Kaeya flinches. It's a tiny movement, just enough to be visible, and then a smile spreads over his face that Lisa doesn't believe for an instant. She sees Amber sniff the air and brace her hands on the table to stand.

"-to talk to-" The man cuts himself off, going white. He takes a step back almost defensively, then shakes his head. "Never mind."

He turns his back and flees the garden as if Amber and Eula are actually after him. Lisa takes another long, thoughtful sip of tea, looks at Amber slowly relaxing in her seat and the glances she and Eula are exchanging, watches out of the corner of his eye as Kaeya slumps in his own seat and then regathers himself enough to stretch out and casually take a cookie, then lowers her cup and smiles sweetly at him.

"I take it that was our newly-returned Master Diluc Ragnvindr?"

"You have a good eye." Kaeya gives her very nearly the same languid smile he had his long-missing alpha, every genuine emotion shuttered away.

Lisa wonders what Master Diluc had gotten down their bond in the moment that Kaeya flinched. Surely much, much more than any of them, even Amber with her alpha's nose, picked up on. There are reasons why Lisa is willing to let Jean keep their relationship quiet and bondless until the Grand Master comes back, and the thought of having Jean's anxiety in her head day in and day out is certainly one of them.

"I don't like him," Amber declares, loud and decisive. "He didn't even look at Eula!"

"Oh?" Kaeya smirks at her. "He didn't look at you, either. Is our little Outrider getting big enough that that's a problem?"

Amber sputters angrily. "No! I'm not- it's not about stupid alpha stuff! It's because he was *rude*."

"He was at that. Maybe you should call him out next time." Kaeya's smirk broadens. "You do want a rival or two to face down if you want to catch anyone's eye, you know."

"I'm not trying to!"

"Amber doesn't need to get into foolish fights in order to impress anyone," Eula says, taking the bait, and Kaeya, eye gleaming, immediately begins needling her as well.

Lisa sits back to watch again, ready to rein him in if he needles either of them a little too sharply. The subtle shifts in their relationship this past year constitute delicate new growth, and she won't see it wilted. But Kaeya's shoulders are relaxing again as he teases them, and it *is* an effective distraction.

***

While Lisa insists on quiet in her library, she doesn't insist on absolute silence. It's interesting, and sometimes useful, to listen in on the patrons' gossip.

"I heard Diluc Ragnvindr is back in town," someone whispers, back in the natural studies section. "But everyone says he isn't going to return to the Knights...."

"Of course he wouldn't," their companion scoffs. A little more loudly, but not loud enough to scold. "Master Jean would never let him. Not now that Master Kaeya's the quartermaster. She'll keep Master Diluc well away from him."

"But aren't they mates?"

"They're *bonded*, if that's what you mean. But Master Diluc wasn't even a knight yet and Master Kaeya was even younger when it happened. Master Crepus hushed it up, but... well, they may not be Lawrences, but the Ragnvindrs *are* aristocrats. Why else would Master Jean have taken him away from the Winery as soon as Master Diluc left it?"

It would explain the flinch, but something about it doesn't taste right. Lisa knows that Jean and Kaeya have secrets between them, but Jean *would* have told her. If not before, then when Master Diluc did return, so that Lisa would know to intervene if she had to. Besides, Jean had been genuinely delighted by the news that he was back in Mondstadt. She wouldn't be if that was the story.

"Why wouldn't Master Jean challenge him for his claim, then? I've heard that- you know- not that Master Jean would ever do anything inappropriate. But it wouldn't be, if she did challenge him."

The voices are drawing closer, and Lisa makes sure she looks like she's paying close attention to marking returned books, though she could do this simple little spell in her sleep.

"Politics, probably. She needs some kind of excuse, and until Master Diluc gives her one- Oh! Miss Minci," the knight says as they round the corner, smiling nervously. "I didn't realize you were in."

"I came in after you," Lisa says, with a gracious smile. "Do you have books to check out, cuties?"

She checks out their books, pretending not to notice their awkward silence and making no comment on their discussion. No point in taking offense when she and Jean *are* keeping their affairs quiet. They aren't the first people to assume that Kaeya lives with Jean for prurient reasons, or, more kindly, to imagine a star-crossed forbidden romance between them.

To be fair, Lisa had probed at that exact possibility before she dedicated herself to acquiring Jean's affections. But she's quite certain, bond or not, of Jean's loyalty.

***

If Master Diluc's return is causing a resurgence of such rumors, though, Lisa would rather Jean and Kaeya not be blindsided by them. She doubts that Kaeya *would* be, even if no one says them to his face--he's quite good at tracking such whispers and rumors. Jean, though, relies on him and Lisa to keep her informed of such things, and Lisa isn't sure Kaeya would share this one.

Lisa can also confess to some personal curiosity. It may not be the one the rumors claim, but there is a story in that blighted interaction in the garden.

"I overheard an interesting conversation in the library the other day," she tells them over dinner the next time Jean invites her over for the night. "It seems there's an interesting theory going around about you refusing to let Master Diluc return to the Knights. Mixed in with that old nonsense about the two of you being secretly, passionately in love."

"If that's so, I can guess which one it is," Kaeya says, smiling ruefully. "Unfortunately, no one's put me in a position to deny it."

Jean frowns. "Oh, no. Not the one Father had to investigate when you were younger? I thought he'd settled that years ago."

"You know how it is. A good rumor never dies entirely. All it takes is a few people willing to be convinced that Father paid the Church off to hide the evidence, and, well." Kaeya shrugs. "The cavalry won't be convinced that their Saint Diluc did any such thing, so as long as I stay friendly with them, it'll eventually die down. The other half we won't be able to do anything about until I move out."

"Do you want to?" Jean asks, bracing herself as she does for bad news.

"And live where? I'm not quitting as your quartermaster." Kaeya gives her a reassuring smile and reaches for the wine, refilling his glass. He offers it to Jean, who waves it off, and Lisa, who holds her own out to be topped off, before setting it back down. "Let me handle it."

"I may be able to help, if you'll tell me enough of the truth to do it with." Lisa smiles innocently in response to his amused look. "And I *am* curious."

Kaeya salutes her with his glass. "The only part the rumor has right is that Diluc *was* acting on impulse, but it was hardly the salacious one everyone likes to think. It wasn't that long after Father took me in, you see, and Father wanted to adopt me formally, but circumstances fell out such that it wasn't possible. If Diluc had one flaw at that age, it was that he was bad at thinking out plans. Since my birth parents abandoned me, if I was his mate, I would be as close to legally Father's son as possible without actual adoption. And both of us were a little too young to understand what we were actually getting into."

"Neither of them thought to bring it to Master Crepus first," Jean adds in affectionate exasperation. "Diluc presented it to their father as a fait accompli, and it did cause some terrible trouble at the time. But Father proved that... that all Diluc did was bite him, which was the only legal problem."

"The rest was merely an issue for the Ragnvindr reputation, and Father was excellent at handling that."

A very childish action indeed, but unless Jean's father actually *was* complicit in far more than she realizes, it still doesn't explain the flinch. Lisa lets prurient curiosity get the better of her and leans in. "So did you end up childhood sweethearts?"

Kaeya chokes on his wine, splutters a moment, and wipes his face with the napkin Jean hands him while she uses his to blot at the tablecloth. "No, that wasn't- no." Regaining his composure, he sets his glass down, leans back, and smiles at her, just as he had in the garden after Master Diluc left. "Do you recall that book I loaned you? The childhood favorite of Jean's, where the honorable alpha knight sits in front of the beautiful omega's door with her sword drawn through her heat?"

"Kaeya, you *didn't*."

"I thought it was adorable," Lisa assures her, before turning back to Kaeya. "Don't tell me-"

"Jean made him read it too, before I even came to the Winery," Kaeya says, with relish. "I suspect it was his model, because that's exactly what he did, for six years straight. He always was the picture-perfect noble knight and alpha. Jean was the only one who could exceed him, in either area."

"That's not true. He was my better and you know it. I admired that about him very much."

"Mmmm. Well. If Commander Fredrica had died to Eroch's machinations, I doubt you would have...." Kaeya waves his hand briefly, and his smile slips. Jean goes sad-eyed, but nods.

*There*. Lisa would swear to it that right there, in that trailing-off and waved hand, is the reason for that flinch. She doubts Kaeya would respond to further prying, no matter that he's nearly finished that second glass of wine, but that doesn't matter. Jean clearly knows what he's referring to. Lisa will push with her, later, when she gets her alone and finds a good window to ask.

For now she smiles, and says, "*I* would certainly agree that Jean exceeds him in knightly dedication, though I will confess to being biased," and enjoys watching Jean blush.

[bmpmp3]

tomodachi life really went off with those bonzi buddy ass voices. win xp type text to speech. all character creation focused games should have this.

[averageestrogenenjoyer]

Brienne of Frickin' Tarth!!!! best girl!! best girl brienne!!!!

Oh my god oh my god oh my god but thinking about Brienne and how she didn’t reject her femininity by choice but everyone else rejected it for her because she wasn’t conventionally attractive so the only role she felt she could fit in to in society’s eyes was that of a warrior and how she was in love with Renly because he was nice to her and danced with her and treated her how all the other girls her age were treated even if it was just for a night and how she never feels like she fits in as a woman because she’s ugly but she never fits in as a man because she isn’t a man but she can’t go back now that she knows what its like to be free from those constraints but there is still a small part of her that wonders what it would be like if maybe, just maybe… and I just… George had absolutely no right to write a character that good

[sajagz]

🌸 From One Mother’s Heart – Please Read 🌸

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

With love and endless gratitude

[iniziare]

This feels so good to do. Tag drop: Ezio Auditore. Verses for GI/HSR/DA are a WIP.

[scentofpines]

yesterday night i dreamed about living in some dystopian world where i killed someone with my bare hands before i had to flee the gestapo-style police through the entire country and today i dreamed about finding a cute cat and her fluffy kittens and taking them home and cuddling them.

my mind is so multifacetted.