#so thank you for your comments in the tags always

[greenleaf4stuff]

Thank you to @wowstrawberrycow, @varda-star-queen and @itwillbeourswansong <3 Very much agree, it is a good time to spread love and positivity. Love you wonderful people, those from the Adaration Nation but also the TROP fandom and other places here on tumblr. It's always a joy to come here and see your posts and comments and tags. <3 I hope the next week will treat you well, and that you will experience lots of little joys each day to brighten it. <3

tagging @plotdesigner @gauntletgirlie @themalhambird @wowstrawberrycow @thephoenixandthecrocodile @janacariad @illegalcerebral @valar-did-me-wrong @baddybaddyadardaddy @eowyn7023 @ailendolin @hextechmaturgy @radiant-sunlight-blueberry @fumbles-mcstupid @myblacksailstales @askereiniongilgalad and so many others. <3 <3 <3

@jadest0ne @luccaa111 @softerthanthesoftest @dumb-chrissy-hoffmann

oh why did i @ you? no reason just wanted to say hi and u guys are awesome (including all my moots)

you dont have to but you can start an appreciation chain but its ur choice idrc

[gdinthehouseee]

I Belong To You: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after years of being separated, and a night of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, your ex-boyfriend, ji-yong, invites you to his penthouse.

word count: 4024

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, jealousy, slightly spicy towards the end

ao3 link

Ji-yong swirls the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way it catches the light, pretending he doesn’t notice the way cameras keep panning to you. But he does. How could he not notice the way you’re dressed in something stunning, the way you continue to command attention without lifting a finger, the way you’re pretending not to notice him too. He knows you a little too well for your liking—he always has.

Briefly pulling him out of his own head, the audience erupts into polite applause as the host rattles on about the next category, but the words barely register in his mind. He knows the drill—clap, nod, look engaged. He’s done this a million times. But tonight, it’s different. Not because you’re here. No. The two of you have been pretending not to see each other sitting so close yet so far from each other for a few years now.

Tonight is different because this time you’re not alone.

The artist you recently collaborated with is sitting beside you, leaning in too close, whispering something in your ear that makes you laugh. Ji-yong doesn’t have to check his phone to know what’s already happening. The cameras have caught it, the fans have seen it, and the internet is losing its mind. There will be clips, slowed-down edits, overanalyzed expressions. People will pick apart every second, searching for something—anything—to confirm their theories. Some will say you’ve finally moved on. Others will refuse to believe it, insisting you’re just trying to make him jealous. And maybe, in some twisted way, they’re right. Because the longer Ji-yong watches, the more certain he becomes that you know exactly what you’re doing. And it’s working.

The whispers had been there for months. Quiet speculations, half-serious comments under posts.

"Why haven’t they been seen together lately?""Ji-yong didn’t like her last three posts… something feels off.""She used to wear his jewelry all the time. When’s the last time we saw it?"

But nothing set the internet on fire like the day you released that song. It wasn’t an outright breakup anthem—no names, no obvious details. But it was melancholic. Raw. The kind of song that settled under the skin, playing in the back of people's minds long after it ended. And the lyrics…

You weren’t angry. You weren’t bitter. You were heartbroken. It didn’t take long before the theories started rolling in.

"Wait. Wait. WAIT. Is this a breakup song??"“Please tell me she just felt like making a break-up song…” "If they’re still together, why would she write this??""IS THIS ABOUT GD???”

Some refused to believe it, digging for loopholes, convincing themselves it was just a song. But the more they analyzed the lyrics, the deeper they spiraled. Someone found an old interview where you had casually mentioned, "I write best from experience." And that’s when the internet really lost its mind.

Breakup edits flooded timelines. Your old moments together—laughing, whispering, looking at each other like no one else in the world existed—now repurposed under the saddest soundtracks imaginable. Fan accounts were in shambles. Some mourned. Others coped through denial. But one tweet said it best:

"If this song is really about Ji-yong, I don’t think I’ll ever recover."

Ji-yong saw that tweet. And he hasn’t recovered either.

He should have known tonight wouldn’t have been any easier than the last few award shows. From the moment you walked into the venue, the cameras couldn’t get enough of you. The fans couldn’t stop screaming your name. And now, as you stand on stage beside him, accepting the award for Best Collaboration, Ji-yong feels a familiar, sinking weight in his chest.

You thank your team, your fans, everyone who made this happen. Your collaborator smiles beside you, the two of you standing close—too close—and Ji-yong knows the internet is already eating this up.

The lights shift. The first notes of your song together play. 

Ji-yong leans back in his seat, jaw tight, as you and your collaborator exchange a glance before stepping into position. The performance is effortless—smooth, intimate, rehearsed. Every look, every touch, every perfectly timed harmony makes it clear why the song was a hit. The chemistry is there, and Ji-yong isn’t the only one who notices. Fans are already screaming. Social media is probably on fire.

And then—just when Ji-yong thinks he can finally breathe—the lights don’t turn up again, in fact, they dim even lower. There’s a pause. Murmurs ripple through the venue.

Then, a single spotlight. It lands on you, and the opening chords of that song begin to play.

Ji-yong stiffens. He hears the collective gasp from the audience, feels the energy shift. Because this—this wasn’t publicly announced. This wasn’t planned. And yet, here you are, standing alone in the center of the stage, staring straight into the camera as you sing the first words.

"I don’t blame you, I just miss you."

The same line that had sent the internet spiraling. The song is stripped down—just a piano, raw vocals, and heartbreak woven into every note. Ji-yong doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. The entire venue is silent, hanging onto every word. Because this is the moment. The confirmation. The truth. No one can deny it anymore. This is the breakup song. This is the proof. This is what the fans had been speculating about for years.

The camera pans through the audience, catching dropped jaws, wide eyes, people clinging to their seats. Some fans are already in tears. Others are recording with shaking hands.

And Ji-yong? He’s gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turn white. Because the way you sing it—soft, emotional, your voice cracking just enough on the high notes—he knows it’s real. He knows it’s about him. 

When you reach the bridge—the part that had wrecked him the first time he heard it—your voice softens, turning almost fragile. The lyrics cut through the silence like a confession, every word laced with something raw, something unspoken. He feels it in his chest, the weight of your voice pressing down on him like gravity. The way you linger on certain lines, how your lips part just slightly before the next note—it’s all too familiar. Because he knows this song. He was the one who used to hear those words before anyone else. He was the one who knew what they truly meant.

Then, for the briefest second, your eyes flicker across the room.

And when they finally land on him—just for a moment, just long enough to steal the air from his lungs—Ji-yong forgets everything else.

It’s barely noticeable, but he catches it. The slightest hesitation, the way your breath hitches before the next lyric, the flicker of something deep in your gaze before you force yourself to look away. But he saw it. And it’s enough. Because no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many headlines or rumors or new collaborations have tried to fill the space between you—this moment tells him everything.

You still feel it, too.

Ji-yong exhales, shaking his head, running his tongue over his teeth before looking down at his phone. Without a second thought, he opens the contact that never blocked him. The contact that maybe should have blocked him all those years ago. The contact that shut the door, yet never locked it.

Your heart is still racing as you make your way back to your seat. The applause is deafening, a mix of cheers and shocked murmurs rippling through the venue. You don’t need to check social media to know it’s already in flames—fan theories igniting, clips of your performance circulating within seconds. But none of it matters. Not right now.

Because the only thing on your mind is him.

Sliding into your seat, you smooth your dress over your legs, trying to steady your breathing. Your collaborator leans over, whispering something about how insane that moment was, how the internet is probably imploding, but his voice barely registers.

Your phone vibrates in your palm.

“Come over once this is done.”

You stare at the words, fingers tightening around your phone. The weight of his message settles over you, heavy and intoxicating all at once. He’s not even pretending. No casual “Congratulations.” No vague “We should catch up.” Just this. Direct. Certain. Exactly like him, painfully so.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment before you start typing. “Yours or mine?”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“Don’t make me wait.”

A slow exhale leaves your lips. The meaning is clear.

You lock your phone, not even bothering to reply, pulse thrumming against your skin. The award show continues around you—more speeches, more performances, more things you should probably be paying attention to. But the only thing you can think about is the fact that in just a little while, you’ll be face to face with Ji-yong again. Something tells you neither of you will be walking away unscathed. You can’t help but think of the last time you were in his penthouse.

Maybe it was the rain that made everything feel heavier that night, or maybe it was the way Ji-yong wouldn’t look at you when he said it. “Maybe we should stop this.”  You had known, deep down, that he was already halfway out the door, that the fights weren’t really fights anymore but drawn-out endings neither of you wanted to name. “Would you have ever let me go?”  He had asked, voice quiet, almost pleading. And you hadn’t answered—because the truth was, you never would have. So he did it for you. And now, after standing under those stage lights, singing the words that had lived in your chest ever since—I don’t blame you. I just miss you.—you knew he was out there, listening. You knew he understood. He has always known you a little too well, and he always will. 

The city pulsed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon signs flickering in and out of focus, their glow reflecting off the sleek marble floors. Inside, it was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that felt deliberate, heavy with the things neither of you had said in too long.

You stepped further in, the soft click of your heels the only sound between you. The air smelled like him—something warm, familiar, laced with the faintest trace of smoke. Ji-yong stood by the window, back turned, a cigarette burning between his fingers, untouched. He wasn’t smoking it. Just holding it, watching the city below like it might have answers.

"You came," he murmured, not turning around. His voice was lower than you remembered, a little rough around the edges.

"You told me to."

He finally turned then, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering. His lips curled into something unreadable—half a smirk, half something else, something more cautious. Like he hadn’t actually expected you to show. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to.

"Hell of a performance tonight," he said, voice deceptively light.

You swallowed, tilting your head. "Which part?"

"You know which part."

Of course you did. It had been impossible to miss—how the audience lost their minds when the first chords of your solo rang out, how the camera panned to him the second your voice wrapped around the lyrics. The ones you had written with him still lingering in the back of your mind. The ones he recognized the moment you sang them.

You shifted, arms crossing over your chest, suddenly too aware of the weight in the air. "Did you mean it?" you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

His jaw tightened. "Did you?"

It wasn’t an answer. But maybe neither of you had one. Not yet. The silence between you stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the city still pulsed, but here—here, it was just you and him, standing in the aftermath of something neither of you had figured out how to name.

Ji-yong finally moved, stepping away from the window, snuffing out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on the table. "Sit," he said, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you knew what this was. You knew the pattern, the pull, the way the air always seemed to shift when you were in the same room. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, how many miles had stretched between you. The moment you let yourself be near him, the distance never seemed to matter at all. Still, you sat.

Ji-yong watched you for a moment before settling into the armchair across from you, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze flickered over your face, like he was searching for something—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find it.

"How long are we gonna do this?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing, more careful.

"Do what?" You knew what he meant, but you weren’t ready to give him that. Not yet.

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. "You know what. The stolen glances. The bullshit small talk when we run into each other. The way half the internet still thinks we’re secretly together."

You tilted your head, letting the words hang between you for a moment before saying, "Depends on what your definition of ‘stopping’ was."

His lips parted slightly, and you saw the moment the words hit—like an echo of that night, when he’d stood in this very room and told you that whatever this was… wasn’t working. That the two of you should stop seeing each other. When you hadn’t answered, because you hadn’t wanted to stop at all.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know why I texted you."

You leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Do I?"

"I saw you up there." His voice was lower now, quieter, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud. "Singing that song. Looking at me."

"It’s a song, Ji-yong." Your fingers curled slightly against your lap.

"Don’t do that." He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. "Don’t act like that was just a song. Like you weren’t—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You meant it. I know you did."

Your stomach twisted. Because he was right. The song wasn’t a lie. It was the closest thing to the truth you could bring yourself to say, wrapped in melody and lyrics and the weight of everything left behind. You had known the moment you performed it that he’d hear every unspoken word between the lines. And yet, a part of you had still been surprised by how much it seemed to hit him.

Ji-yong leaned forward again, his elbows braced on his knees. "Did you write it because you were angry?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The song." His gaze burned into you. "Was it because you were angry at me?"

You let out a breath of something close to a laugh, shaking your head. "No, Ji-yong."

"Then why?"

"Because I missed you."

The words hung between you, heavier than anything else in the room. Ji-yong’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. "So what, you missed me, but you moved on?" His voice was lower now, rough around the edges, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. But you knew him too well—knew the tension in his shoulders, the way his leg bounced slightly, the heat in his gaze.

You frowned. "What?"

"Him." He tilted his chin toward the muted TV, where clips of your performance still played, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You and him." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his jaw flexed. "That’s real, isn’t it?"

"Ji-yong—"

"Just say it." His voice was firmer now, raw with something that almost sounded like desperation. "Tell me you’re with him."

Your breath caught in your throat. "I’m not."

Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe—but it was gone in a second, buried under something heavier. "But you could be, right?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You look good together. The internet thinks so, anyway. Maybe that’s what you needed—someone who wasn’t afraid to have you by his side, out in the open."

You flinched at the accusation in his tone. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" He leaned in, his eyes burning into yours. "You think I don’t see the way people talk? How they say you’re happier now? How they beg you to move on from me?" His voice dropped even lower, like he was choking on the words. "Maybe you already have."

Your chest tightened. "Ji-yong, it was just a song. Just a performance."

"Doesn’t look like that’s all it was."

"And whose fault is that?" The words snapped from your lips before you could stop them, and Ji-yong stilled, his breath hitching.

Silence stretched between you yet again. Your heart pounded, but you didn’t look away. "You were the one who said we should stop, remember?" Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. "You walked away first. And now you’re angry because someone else was willing to stand next to me?"

Ji-yong’s throat bobbed, his fists clenching against his knees. "I—"

"You don’t get to be mad about this."

"Like hell I don’t." His voice was rough now, sharp with emotion as he sat forward, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You think I wanted to walk away? You think I don’t regret it every fucking day?" His jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you with him? Seeing the way you smiled up at him tonight, the way he had his hands on you like he had the right?"

Your breath caught, your stomach twisting. "Ji-yong—"

"It makes me sick," he rasped, his voice nearly breaking. "Because it should be me."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with everything unspoken, everything left behind. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingers trembling against your lap.

And then, softer this time, almost like he hated himself for admitting it—

"It should’ve always been me."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in the space closing in, crackling like a live wire. His eyes searched yours, dark and desperate, and something in you snapped.

Before you could second-guess it—before reason could talk you out of it—you surged forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him in.

Ji-yong barely had time to inhale before your lips crashed into his. A sharp inhale, a shuddered exhale—then he was kissing you back with just as much fire, his hands flying to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The moment his fingers dug into your skin, a quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat, and that was all it took for him to completely unravel. His hands slid up, one tangling into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His lips were frantic, almost desperate, molding against yours in a way that felt both familiar and like something entirely new. You gasped against his mouth as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his grip tightening like he was terrified you’d slip away again.

The taste of him—faint traces of champagne and something unmistakably him—sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, as if holding onto him could stop the past from swallowing you both whole. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. And so, so dangerous.

When the two of you finally needed to breathe, your breaths tangled in the space between you, uneven and desperate, his forehead pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. His grip on your waist was firm, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your outfit, as if releasing you meant losing you all over again. His name was on the tip of your tongue, but the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the longing—held it back. Instead, you exhaled softly, your fingers loosening their hold on his shirt just enough to smooth over the wrinkles you had left behind.

"It always has been you."

Ji-yong tensed. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn’t move. Like the words had struck him too deeply, like he wasn’t sure he had heard them right.

And then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching, desperate for something—reassurance, confirmation, maybe even permission. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice rough.

Your hand slid up, resting against his cheek, your thumb brushing just below the dark smudge of eyeliner that had started to smudge from the heat between you. "It always has been you, Ji-yong."

Something in him broke.

With a sharp inhale, he crashed his lips against yours again, this time with even more urgency, like he had something to prove. Like he needed to remind you, remind himself, of everything you had once been. His hands roamed, gripping, pulling, desperate to keep you as close as possible. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound with a groan, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world blurred into nothing.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head just the way he liked. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation, like he was trying to erase the time you had spent apart. Like he needed to remind you exactly who he was, who he had always been to you.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, his breath warm as his mouth trailed lower. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down the column of your throat, lingering at the spot just below your ear. "I tried, baby." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening at your waist. "I really fucking tried to move on."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, needing something to ground yourself as his teeth grazed your skin, his lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck that had your breath hitching. "Ji-yong..."

With a growl, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the nearest surface—a sleek, marble counter, cool against your overheated skin. His hands spread your legs, stepping between them as he pulled you in, molding himself to you like he belonged there. And he did. The two of you belong to each other.

Your lips met again in a mess of teeth and tongues and unspoken words, the air between you thick with everything you had left unsaid. His fingers trailed up your thighs, his grip firm, possessive, like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he could touch you again.

"Tell me you still feel this," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. "Tell me I’m not the only one losing my mind."

You didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, you tugged him closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "I never stopped."

Ji-yong cursed under his breath before crashing his lips to yours again, this time deeper, hungrier, as if those words had undone something inside him. His hands slid to your waist, gripping tight as he lifted you off the counter effortlessly, carrying you through the familiar space like he’d done a hundred times before.

Your back hit the couch, his body covering yours in an instant. His mouth never left your skin, trailing fire wherever he touched. "You’re mine," he murmured against your collarbone, his hands sliding down, gripping your thighs to pull you even closer. "And I’m yours."

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[shinonart]

I recently sold a painting a I got to hand it to the new owner personally and just seeing the joy brought by having the painting in their possession was so special.

It brings me immense joy and happiness to know that what I create can really brighten someone's day.

This is a great segue to say that I try to read all the comments and tags I get even if I might not respond due to being busy and I'm just really happy to see my work resonates with people on some level.

Thank you all for your kind words! I always appreciate them!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 6: Tarzana]

A/N: Where has the time gone??? We are officially halfway done with this series! Thank you so much for reading, besties. It has been an honor to curse you all 🥰🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, T.J. Maxx, Chinese food, a phone call from Minnesota, illness, entertainment industry misogyny, Jace is clueless, Becca bakes bread.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“What happened to your foot?” Baela asks from the kitchen. She’s doing yoga poses in the middle of the floor. Jace is noisily pawing around in the refrigerator. His iPhone is on the counter, and from it emits a horrible throbbing Charli XCX song that sounds like something they would use to torture prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

“Yeah, I wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me,

When I go to the club, club, club, club, club…”

You are lying across the orange couch with your left ankle elevated on a stack of pillows and covered with an ice pack. You flip a page in one of those heavy coffee table books with lots of pictures from Barnes & Noble; Baela’s parents bought it when they were furnishing the apartment, and again you are reminded—the weight in your hands like solid gold—of how much they believe in her. The book is about the history of Los Angeles. “Becca pushed me.”

Jace gasps and looks up from the refrigerator. “Why would Baela do that?!”

“No, Jace, Becca,” you say. “My agent’s fiancée Becca. That’s who pushed me.”

“Oh,” he says, and resumes rummaging around in the refrigerator until he finds a cannister of Pillsbury biscuits. He cracks it open and begins plopping pucks of dough on a baking sheet.

“Did Becca find out?” Baela asks you as she does the Reverse Warrior pose. “About the…you know…”

You shrug, guilty, defeated. Your swollen ankle pulsates hotly. You are bone-tired and wholly uninspired, a foreign feeling that makes you wonder if the part of you you’ve always assumed was eternal could die after all. “I guess. I kind of tried to confess but she seemed to already have it figured out.”

Baela snaps upright and gawks at you. “Why would you confess?!”

“I thought you said what I did was wrong.”

“Well yeah, it was, but that doesn’t mean you tell his fiancée! You don’t know her! What if she’s crazy? What if she’s like that astronaut lady who put on a diaper so she could drive nine hundred miles to pepper spray her ex’s new girlfriend?!”

You frown morosely down at the book. “You’re right. It was stupid. I just felt bad.”

Jace slides his baking sheet of Pillsbury biscuits into the oven. On the kitchen counter, your sunflowers are beginning to wilt and shrivel in their vase. You have fed them and meticulously trimmed their stems at an angle as Google recommended, but still, they cannot last forever. Perhaps you’ll dry them and they will endure perpetually in some other form, trapped in a pressed flower frame, arranged into a wreath.

Now Baela is sympathetic. “Are you in a lot of pain? Your foot’s not broken or anything, right?”

“It’s my ankle. And according to Google, it’s probably just sprained.”

“Do you want me to take you to an urgent care place for an x-ray? Or get you a brace from the Rite Aid down the street?”

“I really don’t think I need an x-ray…and if my parents see the health insurance got billed, they’re going to freak out and call me asking why I’m burning through even more of their money. But a brace sounds awesome!”

“Okay,” Baela says, and gives you an encouraging smile. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You’re going to slay the Marvel audition on Friday.”

“How’d you know about that?”

She points to the calendar. “You wrote it on there.” And sure enough, you did: red ink in a small black box labeled Friday, July 11th. That’s two days from now. Baela says to Jace: “Come on, we’re going to Rite Aid.”

He is distraught. “But I have to watch my biscuits!”

She groans. “How long do they need to bake?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“We’ll walk fast,” Baela says, and drags him out the door. Blessedly, Jace takes his iPhone and its disturbing Charli XCX music with him, now playing a song that sounds like television static.

As you lounge dispiritedly on the velvet orange couch, you return your attention to the book about the history of Los Angeles. A hundred years ago, Elysian Park was an oil field, lattice-like wooden rigs peppering the hills that now host Dodger Stadium, narrow sloping streets of working-class homes, Aegon’s unpretentious half-duplex, and you wish you weren’t thinking about him but regrettably you usually are these days.

You grab your phone and open Instagram. You are startled to see Becca’s profile picture in the row of stories at the top of the screen. She must have accepted the follow request you sent her weeks ago.

Why the hell would she do that now?

Surely, there are no benign reasons. After a moment’s hesitation you can no longer resist and click on Becca’s story to view it. It’s a photo of her giving Aegon a kiss on the cheek; they’re both laughing, his nose is scrunched up, it’s honestly pretty adorable. You tap the X in the corner of the screen to escape the image as quickly as possible, and yet it remains: red neon glowing on the backs of your eyelids, flames of arson in your throat.

You go to Becca’s profile. A quick browse of her stories and posts reveals homemade baked goods, scenic outings in nature, faux-candid selfies, and lots of home decorating. She has a blog that is linked in her bio—rebeccawilsonwrites.wordpress.com—like she’s freaking Gwyneth Paltrow recommending jade yoni eggs on Goop. She also has three Pekingese dogs, woefully inbred wobbling wheezing creatures, and you are reminded of your mother’s colony of Akitas.

Becca’s most recent culinary masterpiece is apple cinnamon bread. The loaves look flawless, golden brown and scrupulously sliced. Her caption reads: Made with delicious Honeycrisp apples, picked fresh at a local orchard! @superstargaryen loved them! Then there is a series of emojis: apples, hearts, bread, more hearts.

You return to your main feed and scroll manically through the photos and video clips there, desperate for a distraction. You see a post featuring a quote from Robin Williams—I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy—and a foggy memory is evoked like the rippling distortion of heat refraction rising up off a freeway.

You think: Didn’t Robin Williams die by suicide because he had a terrible disease?

You go to Google, conduct some basic research, and confirm the details. Then you search: Viserys Targaryen Lewy body dementia. But you find no relevant results.

You open your email, and at last you have your distraction: a reply to a message you sent yesterday night, an invitation for an interview.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her office is on the third floor. Early afternoon daylight floods in through the glass walls; there is a large tropical orange flower in one corner of the room, a specimen that could never survive here in the arid Southwest without shade from the sun and religious misting. Marion May Davis, Mari for short, is in her mid-fifties and has lines in her face and natural grey hair cut into a tidy Anna Wintour bob. She looks her age, and she looks real, two things you liked about her when you found her online. Mari is an agent. Maybe she’ll even be your agent soon.

“Oh, I love Maroon 5,” she sighs romantically as she scrutinizes your resume.

“Me too!” you lie, smiling so forcefully your cheeks are beginning to ache. You don’t want to leave Aegon, but you have to. He’s torturing you, he’s killing you. The Marvel audition is tomorrow, and you cannot bring yourself to care about it. There is a pink neon sign on Mari’s office wall that reads in whimsical cursive: good vibes only. Not terribly original, but you appreciate the sentiment.

You tap your black ballet flats anxiously against the bamboo floor as you watch Mari contemplate your resume. You have hidden your ankle brace in your purse. You are wearing a simple sleeveless grey sheath dress that Baela saw at a Brooks Brothers and bought for you—It’s so classic! she had said—and matching cool-toned eyeshadow: sparkly lilac Betrayal by Urban Decay, silver Iced Out by Huda Beauty.

Mari asks: “Did you have any trouble finding the office?”

“No, not at all! But I did have to park super far away because I am awful at parallel parking, and somehow it feels even hotter than usual here.”

“Well, we’re so far inland.”

You are in Tarzana, and it is Thursday July 10th, and you have the sense that time is rapidly ticking down, not just to the end of the year when your parents will summon you back to Minnesota but to September when Aegon is getting married on Turks and Caicos. From outside you can hear cars and pedestrians on Ventura Boulevard, an east-west asphalt artery of shops, hotels, and offices in northwest Los Angeles, the site of a former ranch established in 1919 by Tarzan author Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Mari puts your resume down on her transparent glass desk, naked except for a MacBook Pro. Frigid air pumps out through the vents on the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll take you.”

“Really?!” you squeal; and yet you cannot ignore that this feels bittersweet. Aegon’s really getting married? I’m really leaving him? “Yay!”

“Yeah, I like your energy. And your outfit is great, very European, very chic. The makeup, well…” Mari chuckles. “They’ll do that for you at shoots. But tone it down a bit more for auditions. They want to see you as a blank slate they can scribble all over.”

“Sure,” you agree instantly. “I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your best client ever!” I won’t even hook up with you and thereby enrage your significant other!

Mari is typing on her MacBook Pro. “Give me a few days to send your stuff out and see what I can find for you. I love that picture of you with the sunflower…where was it taken?”

“The Flower District,” you say, thinking of the day you went there with Aegon and got ice cream afterwards, and he had remembered that you like vanilla.

“Delightful.” Mari is still typing. “I’m also going to email you the contact info for a friend of mine. He’s a plastic surgeon, he’s fantastic, I recommend him to all my clients. I’d like you to do a consult with him.”

You are ripped out of your not-so-distant memories, your effortful enthusiasm, and you have to be intentional to not seem offended. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate that, but I’m not interested in breast augmentation.”

“Oh no, I was thinking of your face.”

You stare at her. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to your cheek. “My face? You want me to change…my face…?”

“Not change, dear!” Mari says. “Just enhance. Just make little tweaks here and there. I think you could really benefit from a rhinoplasty, and maybe something around the brows too…a lift? John will know when he examines you. He’s a magician! Have you seen the before and after pictures of Blake Lively? Or Mindy Kaling, or Taylor Swift? You’ll still look like you. You’ll just be an even better version of you!”

Outside, some tiny dog is yapping from a stroller or a purse. In this office, icy air blows down from the ceiling vent. You study Mari: undyed hair, no face or neck lift, probably not even Botox or Juvederm. “But you…you haven’t had any procedures done, have you?”

Mari smiles patiently, like she’s trying to explain a hard truth to a child, the fact that parents don’t always stay together or that pets inevitably die. “I work behind the camera, dear. Not in front of it.” Then she resumes typing on her MacBook Pro.

You watch her for a few seconds, listening to cars whooshing by on Ventura Boulevard. Then you grab your black Michael Kors purse—borrowed from Baela’s closet, at her suggestion—and stand up. Your wounded left ankle gives a shriek of protest. “Thank you for your time, but I don’t think this is a good fit. Have a great weekend!”

“What?” Mari says, peering up incredulously at you from behind her laptop, like she’s not used to being the one who gets dumped. You are already at the doorway.

“Bye!” you call with a wave, and sprint to the elevator at the end of the hall. You hammer the circular button and run inside when the doors open. Once you are alone and descending, listening to an instrumental version of Despacito, you take your ankle brace out of Baela’s Michael Kors purse and put it on. Then the elevator doors open again, and you are in another cold sterile hallway, and you hurry through a glass revolving door and escape out onto Ventura Boulevard.

The sun is blinding, the heat like an oven, your heart pounding heavily in your ribcage; your ankle throbs through the dose of Advil you took this morning. You stand on the sidewalk, jostled by women carrying shopping bags and men striding importantly by as they talk on their phones, and you try to remember which direction you came from.

I don’t want another agent, you think dizzyingly, nauseatingly. I want Aegon. But he’s driving me insane, and he’s hurting me, and soon he’ll be gone.

You get your bearings and walk east. It must be a hundred degrees. The palm trees are sparse and very tall and cast almost no shade; sweat drips down your face, your underarms, the ridge of your spine. You can’t tell if you’re panting because of the heat or because you’re freaking out or both. It’s probably both.

Your phone is ringing. You yank it out of the Michael Kors purse and answer in a breathless huff. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” Mom chimes. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you say, although you’re certainly not. The sun is beating down like you’re a lizard under a heat lamp. “I just had an interview with—”

“Listen, we have to get you home for bridesmaid dress shopping,” Mom continues briskly. Ambiently, you can hear Clara chatting away about different fabrics, chiffon and tulle and satin and lace. “I’m looking at flights right now. How’s the first week in August?”

“Well, Mom, I’m really not sure because my schedule is changing all the time and I never know when I’m going to have an appointment or an audition and my manager Josh yells at me when I don’t put in enough hours at Cold Stone and—”

“This is important,” Mom snaps. There is the click click click of her manicured fingernails against her laptop keyboard. “Your sister only gets married once.”

“I know it’s important.” But what I’m trying to do out here is important too. “And I’m really happy for her and I’m thrilled about the wedding. I love weddings.”

“Then act like it.”

“I just honestly don’t have a regular schedule right now and missing a week can make a big difference. Do I have to be there in person for the dress thing? Can I just send you my measurements? You and Clara have a vision for this, so just pick whatever you want me to wear.”

Mom sighs impatiently. “No, we can’t do that! Honey, you know you have difficult proportions. We need to see the dress in person and order any alterations.”

“Okay,” you concede, feeling woozy and leaning against a streetlight that burns your arm. “Fine. Yeah. The first week in August is great.”

“And it’s especially vital that you look your best because you’re going to be the maid of honor. Yay! Isn’t that exciting?!”

You touch your furrowed forehead; it’s slick with sweat. Your period started this morning, and that can’t be helping the situation. “Does Clara want me to be her maid of honor?”

Faintly, you can hear Clara saying something about her best friend Kinsley, and your mother shushes her. “It should be her only sister,” Mom tells you.

“…Is that a no? Because Kinsley can do it, I really don’t mind. If I land a role I’m not necessarily going to be able to fly back for planning and parties and stuff—”

“You will be the maid of honor,” Mom insists. “Your father and I are paying for the wedding. We want you to be the maid of honor. Friends come and go, but family is forever. That’s the end of it.”

“Okay,” you say, and it comes out like a whimper; the heat is overwhelming. “Mom, I have to go, I have to try to find my car. I forget where I parked.”

“I’ll email you the tickets once I buy them.”

“Thanks!” you manage weakly, then hang up and wobble on your sprained ankle in the direction of your Honda, eastward, away from the ocean, back towards the Midwest from which you once made your botched exodus.

Suddenly you feel violently ill, and your vision begins to go dark, and you know you need to sit down before you pass out on the sidewalk and roast to death. You dart into the nearest building, a T.J. Maxx, and flee through throngs of shoppers to the furniture section. You collapse into a leopard-print armchair and sit there slumped and gasping, glistening with sweat, the room spinning around you. There is a fawn-colored shag rug on the floor that reminds you of one of Becca’s Pekingese dogs. You lean over and vomit the contents of your stomach onto it: a piece of toast with a teaspoon of peanut butter, a banana, some red grapes, a lot of Diet Coke.

Oh God. Oh no.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed yet; it doesn’t seem like it. Then you quickly roll up the shag rug and shove it under a dresser. You return to your leopard-print armchair and cover your flushed face with your trembling hands, your blood like boiling water beneath your skin.

Do I have to change my face to be an actress?

You shake your head, trying to expel this thought like seagulls from a picnic, sharp bold beaks pecking mercilessly for crumbs.

I have to get out of here. I have to get back to my car.

Your 2003 Honda Accord is parked no less than a ten-minute walk away. You wait a little while to give yourself time to cool down—a T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need assistance and you politely decline, then he frowns down at the floor as if he’s thinking: Isn’t there supposed to be a rug here?—and then you venture back out into the heat. Immediately upon leaving the shade and air conditioning of the T.J. Maxx, your nausea returns with a vengeance and you stumble as the sidewalk sways beneath your black ballet flats. People laugh at you like you’re drunk or high. You retreat back into the T.J. Maxx and seek refuge in the leopard-print armchair.

What am I going to do?

You fumble your phone out of the Michael Kors purse and go to call Baela…then you remember she’s currently on a transcontinental flight to Paris to film Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. You call Jace three times, but he doesn’t pick up. Maybe he’s in class. Maybe he’s asleep.

Aegon?

“No,” you mutter to yourself. “No way.” Out of ideas, and not able to think all that well anyway under the present circumstances, you call Mason. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey!” he says excitedly. “You back in Minnesota?”

“No, sorry, I’m in L.A.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How’s that going?”

“Actually, not that great at the moment.”

“Yeah, you sound weird.”

“I’m really sick. I think it’s the heat. I’m trapped in a T.J. Maxx and I can’t get to my car, and even if I could I’m worried I’d crash while driving home.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Mason says distractedly, and you can hear that he’s typing two thousand miles away in his Minneapolis office.

“What should I do?”

“Call an Uber?”

This is sensible, and yet you moan helplessly in your armchair. A T.J. Maxx employee is sniffing around the dresser where you’ve stowed the soiled shag carpet, grimacing. “A ride all the way down to Harbor Gateway is going to cost over a hundred dollars. And my parents will see the charge on my card. And what if I pass out and the Uber guy robs me?”

“Call your agent?” Mason suggests. “He probably won’t rob you.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not? Isn’t that his job, to take care of you?”

You blink dazedly at a rack of baby clothes, sailboats and elephants and ladybugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Well I can’t drive to L.A. to pick you up, so you gotta figure something else out.”

“Okay,” you surrender. “Thanks anyway. Bye.”

“Bye. Let me know next time you’re home for a visit!”

“Totally.” But you have no interest whatsoever; you can’t even envision kissing him. You are, to your misfortune, very much so a one-dude type of girl, as Aegon put it.

You stall for a moment, opening random apps on your phone, scrolling blindly through Instagram. Now you feel less sick and more exhausted, like you could fall asleep and never wake up, although you’re developing a powerful hammer-like thudding just above your left eye. Another T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need help finding something, and you pretend to be considering buying the leopard-print armchair. A manager is using her radio to ask if anybody knows where the shag rug went. Out of alternatives, you call Aegon.

“Hello?” he says when he picks up, like he’s surprised to see your name on his screen.

“Hi,” you reply miserably. “I’m dying.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re not dying. Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at a T.J. Maxx in Tarzana. I think I have heat sickness or something. Every time I try to walk to my car I almost pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re not used to temps like this, are you?” Aegon sounds kind, gentle, wise, and you hate how much you want to like him again, to be friends, to be more than that. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m just finishing up a shoot in Studio City and I can probably be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Cool!” you cheer feebly.

“A T.J. Maxx, right?”

“Yup. On Ventura Boulevard.”

“Okay. See you soon, I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

“Thanks,” you murmur drowsily.

“No problem,” Aegon says, and hangs up.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, gulp some down to clean your mouth out and immediately throw it up into the sink. You hide in a stall and rest your head in your hands for a while—ankle throbbing, skull aching, cramps in your lower belly—and only leave when Aegon texts you that he’s two minutes away. As you stumble past the leopard-print armchair now damp with your sweat, you see an employee discovering the shag rug under the dresser and unrolling it. He recoils and shouts: “What the fuck is that?!”

Just outside the T.J. Maxx, Aegon is double-parked and receiving jeers and honks from his fellow motorists. He ignores them. Aegon has closed the top of his Chrysler Sebring convertible and inside the air conditioning is on full blast, an Arctic tundra, the ice cream freezer at Cold Stone Creamery. You throw yourself limply into the passenger’s seat and pull the door shut, which feels like it takes immense effort. Then Aegon surges into traffic and barrels down Ventura Boulevard. You rest your head against the car window and close your eyes.

Aegon prods you with a large chilled bottle of blue Powerade he must have grabbed from a 7-Eleven or something.

“I can’t drink that,” you say dimly.

“Yes you can.”

“Do you have, like, a sugar-free version or—?”

“Shut up. Drink the Powerade.”

You take the bottle, twist off the top—again, this seems to take far more strength than it should—and swallow several gulps, hoping they’ll stay down. Almost immediately, the hammer strikes just above your orbital socket begin to dissolve away, and you feel a little more alert, and your nausea does not make another appearance.

“Better, right?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” you admit, touching your skull in dull amazement.

“It’s the magnesium. It’s good for headaches. And the salt helps you rehydrate. What the hell are you doing all the way up here in Tarzana, anyway?”

You sip your Powerade as you stare out the window, watching buildings and palm trees soar anonymously by. Aegon gets on the 101 heading east towards Elysian Park. You know that’s where he’s taking you without needing to ask. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my face?”

“What?”

“My face. Like my nose and my eyebrows. Do I have weird eyebrows? Is that why no one thinks I can be an actress?”

“Your eyebrows are fine,” Aegon says, glancing over at you, confused. He’s wearing the black suit that he dons for film sets, a skinny tie, a half-untucked white shirt. He notices the brace on your left ankle. “Damn, Sunshine, you’re a mess today. What happened there?”

You drink your Powerade as you debate whether to tell him about Becca. You decide against it. “I tripped and fell because I’m an idiot.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“So my new agent will take me seriously.”

Aegon must be startled—he turns to look at you, then back to the rushing five eastbound lanes of the freeway—but he stays calm, dispassionate, like he’s trying not to scare you away. “Is that who told you to cut up your face?”

“Turns out I don’t like her, so. Never mind.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Aegon says, sounding a bit relieved.

“I am.” And maybe you’re relived too. “For now.”

“You down to get lunch?”

“I don’t want to vomit in front of you.”

He smiles. “I’ve seen worse things, I guarantee it.”

“What about my car?”

“Where exactly did you leave it?”

You have to think for a while, finishing the Powerade and letting your mind become useful again, and then you recall that you parked on a side street by a dog daycare, Dog-E-Dayz or Dog-E-Den or something like that.

Aegon picks up his phone and calls his receptionist Brandon. “Hey, Brando! Listen, your favorite client left her car in Tarzana. Yeah, I know. Way out there. So it’s parked near a dog daycare about a half-mile from the T.J. Maxx. Can you look up the address and get a tow guy to pick it up and take it down to the garage at her apartment building? Great. You have the model and plate number and everything? You’re a genius. And I’ll pay you extra for the inconvenience. No, no, I insist. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Then Aegon plugs his phone into the aux, and for some reason he puts on an Eminem playlist, and you doze against the cool clear window until you get to Chinatown.

The waitress Lanying asks Aegon about his siblings—“How is Aemond? What about Helaena? Okay, and what about Daeron?”—and Aegon smiles and nods and patiently reiterates that they’re all fine. You are led to the usual spot by the fish tank, massive black-and-orange oscars floating behind the glass and glowering at you, their bulging eyes reddish and hostile. Soon the table is cluttered with a tea kettle and two cups, wonton soups, your moo goo gai pan, Aegon’s boneless spare ribs. You eat cautiously, each bite slow and groggy. A family seated nearby has a baby girl, and she giggles and smacks the table with her tiny chubby hands each time you wave at her. Aegon watches this, oddly wistful for someone who admittedly has never wanted children.

“Here,” Aegon says, offering you a forkful of his boneless spare ribs. “Eat.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You look droopy. You need fat and sugar and deliciousness.”

You acquiesce and let him feed you the morsel of pork, sweet and fatty and rich and sublime. You chew very slowly, and still it’s gone too soon.

“You have to eat more,” Aegon says. “I think that was part of the problem today.”

“Thank you for rescuing me. I’m pretty sure it was just the heat. And I was kind of upset about the appointment with the agent lady, and my mom called and stressed me out about Clara’s wedding. And oh, by the way, I got my period so no need to worry about that. Whoo hoo.”

Aegon doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke. He gazes at you thoughtfully, then uses his fork to point at the baby girl at the next table. “Do you want kids?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I love kids. But I have like fifteen more years to reproduce, and if I want to be an actress I kind of have to do that first.”

“I figured. You worked at summer camps in Watts, right?”

“After-school programs. All the other employees hated me, I never wanted to yell at the kids or tell them what to do, I’d just get down on the ground and play with them. I’m so great at Uno.”

Aegon smiles. “Yeah?”

“And Sushi Go, and Scrabble, and Apples to Apples.”

“Apple girl from Appletown,” Aegon says, skimming the zodiac calendar written in red ink, twelve animals and their descriptions, attributes, shortfalls, perfect mates. Then he taps it. “Which one are you?”

You flinch, cave in, feel tremendously low. He really doesn’t remember. It didn’t matter to him, I didn’t matter to him. You stab at your moo goo gai pan with your fork, looking down so he won’t see how upset you are. “You are so fucking mean.”

But Aegon is bewildered, like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, July 14th, and you are ringing up a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Doughn’t You Want Some for a Los Angeles Southwest College student when Aegon walks into Cold Stone Creamery, the string of metal bells jangling against the glass door. You go to meet him by the ice cream freezer, where Aegon scans the menu of Signature Creations. He is carrying a manila folder and wearing a yellow t-shirt with a tan jacket thrown over it, dark jeans, and white-and-gold Nike Killshots. He seems confused.

“You don’t want an Our Strawberry Blonde like last time?” you say. You haven’t seen or heard from him since your Marvel audition, which was pretty dismal. Aegon stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, and even though he put on his black sunglasses and grinned at you when it was over, you could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Oh yeah,” Aegon says. “Yeah, I do, thanks. That’d be perfect.”

You make his ice cream, Aegon pays in cash, and then you ask Josh if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. Aegon evidently wants to talk to you; he sits at the table by the window and watches you expectantly. Josh reluctantly agrees and you take a seat across from Aegon. He holds out his spoon and won’t speak to you until you take a bite. Eventually, you do: chunks of fresh strawberries, sticky caramel, rich fluffy whipped topping, jarringly sweet and cold and perfect, even if it’s not what you’d usually order.

“Well, you didn’t get the Marvel job,” Aegon says.

“I’m not shocked. They barely looked at me.”

“But I might have found you something else.”

“A dog food commercial? A brief and soulless flashback of somebody’s dead wife?”

“A feature film,” Aegon says, and you stare numbly at him.

“What?”

“Indie, Sundance. Starring role. First billing. I got you an audition.”

You snatch the balloon down just as it begins to float away. You’re trying to prepare yourself for disappointment. “They’re not going to like me.”

“They might,” Aegon says. He lays the manila folder on the table and slides it over to you. “I’m not supposed to let this out of my office, so don’t lose it.”

“It’s the script for the audition?”

“It sure is.”

This can’t be happening. “How did you get them to agree to put me on the list?”

Aegon shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me.”

You place your palm on the folder to make sure it’s real. “What’s the movie about?”

He smiles as he licks strawberry ice cream from his spoon. “Vampires.”

“It’s horror?”

“Kind of horror. Kind of romance. I think it’s just right for you.”

“When’s the audition?”

“This Saturday.”

“Okay,” you say, savoring it, this liminal hope you can’t stop yourself from feeling. You’ve always been an optimist. Perhaps no number of curses can change that. “Okay. I’ll be ready, I promise.”

“Don’t forget about the charity gala,” Aegon reminds you. “It’s Saturday night, the same day. But there are like ten hours in between so it shouldn’t be a problem, even if the audition runs late.”

You peer through the window at pedestrians walking by outside. It’s twilight, and streetlights are turning on, and neon tubes glow with cold chemical fire. “I don’t think I want to go to that.”

“You have to. It’s work. I can introduce you to industry people.”

“Is Becca going to be there?”

“Of course. But she won’t bother you.”

Why does he cheat? you think forlornly, and then you remember something Aegon said the day you first met: Life is short. I try to keep it delicious. “I’ll go,” you agree under duress.

“You sure will,” Aegon says, and scrapes the last of the ice cream from his bowl and gives it to you, his plastic spoon heavy with melting pink magic.

When you return to your apartment well after 11 p.m., Jace is sprawled across the orange couch in his pajamas and watching Blade. He is noisily slurping Pad Thai from a takeout container. You kick off your work Sketchers and remove your ankle brace. It still twinges, but you’re healing.

Abruptly, you recall Aegon’s paranoia concerning Jace’s presence at your 4th of July festivities. “Hey, Jace?” you say, getting an idea.

He glances lazily over at you. His dark hair falls in chaotic curls around his face. “Yeah?”

“I have to go to a charity gala on the 19th. That’s this Saturday. It’s very fancy and very formal, and I don’t really want to go alone and have no one to talk to. Do you want to go with me?”

You had imagined this might take some convincing, and yet Jace is immediately amenable and has only one question. “Will there be free food?”

“Yeah, I assume so. Probably an open bar too.”

“I’m in.” Then he winks and makes a joke. “It’s a date.”

[moonchild9350]

Coffee, Love, & Messages

summary: you take interest in the barista at the cafe down the street after he wiggles his way into your heart

pairing: Lee Felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

notes: just cute and cliche Felix :)

If you enjoyed please reblog, comment, and like!

Please do not copy, translate, modify, or use this work elsewhere without my permission. ©️moonchild9350 (2025)

It’s another early morning, the sun slowly rising in the sky, warming the world up after a chilly night. You walk along with the others on their way to yet another work day. You keep your head down until you pass Isle Street, your eyes searching eagerly for your little cafe you stop at everyday to buy a coffee.

You perk up a little as you pull the door open, the scent of fresh roasted coffee meeting your nose as you step into the facility. The cashier, Darcy, gives you a smile and begins to ring up your order, as they’re already familiar with your go-to’s since you’re a devoted customer. You pay and thank Darcy and walk to the pick up area, your heart pounding in your chest.

Rocking back and forth on your toes, you watch the black haired barista skillfully make your drink. His lithe fingers tap the side of the cup before wriggling his wrist to make a design with the milk to finish up your drink. You find yourself holding your breath as you watch him pick up a black pen and begin to write, his eyes focused and tongue slightly sticking out in concentration.

Butterflies tickle your belly as he hands you your drink with a smile, the freckles that litter his face highlighted due to the rays of sun shining through the window. You smile and nod before walking out of the cafe, not daring to look at your cup until you’re safely back on the sidewalk.

Taking a breath you look at your cup and giggle at what is written:

“The sun may shine, but not as much as your smile”

You blush at the message, silently chuckling at how cheesy it seems. The first sip tastes amazing, just the way you like it. You continue on your way to work, ready to tackle the day.

— —

The next day you enter the cafe, going through the motions as always. While waiting for your drink, you take a moment to watch the barista, eyeing his name tag that read out Felix. He had decorated it with stars and a moon today, the precision impressive.

As he finished up your order, he caught you staring. A wide grin spread across his face as he set your cup down.

“Y/n” he said all the while staring into your eyes.

You felt your cheeks heat up and your stomach do a flip. Grabbing the cup, you murmured a quick thanks and dashed out of the store. As you blended in with everyone else walking to work, you took a look at the cup to see what was written.

“Your eyes are like the stars twinkling in the night sky.”

You couldn’t help but think back to his name tag, filled with stars. It was enduring to think he thought of you like the stars that litter the night sky as beautiful and bright as always.

But wait, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Who’s to say he thinks of you in that way. He probably writes down little messages on all his customers cups.

Shaking your head, you looked straight ahead and walked with renewed purpose. You would not let these little messages and his pretty face get to your head.

— —

Everyday, Felix wrote on your cup, filling it with phrases that made your heart beat faster and your palms to sweat. He smiled his brilliant smile and eyed you like you were a precious pearl.

You tried to not let it go to your head, but it proved difficult to do so when you see him everyday. Slowly, you found yourself falling for him, wanting to get to know him more. The feeling terrified you and you wanted nothing more than for it to go away.

So you decided to stop going to your favorite cafe and instead go to one a little out of the way. Despite the distance, it was perfect as there was no Felix.

Your mornings were now filled with a typical coffee run. It was a little disappointing that you had to get to know the workers there and they you, but found it necessary for your heart to do so.

As time went on, you began to slowly forget about Felix, about his radiant smile, hundreds of freckles and his gentle hands that were skillful in what they do. But that was okay with you, as it was just another person you’d come across, one that you would meet and forget just like with all acquaintances.

— —

One morning as you grabbed your daily coffee, you found yourself looking at the side to see what was written, just to find it blank. Staring at the blank space, you felt your heart twinge and your smile fade.

There should be a quirky little phrase there. One that is so cliche but cute at the same time that it makes your stomach do flips but in a good way.

You couldn’t help but think of Felix, how he’d carefully make your drink. How he’d hand it to you with a smile, his beautiful black hair falling in his eyes as he gazed at you.

As you took a sip, your pace slowed, annoying those around you as everyone stepped around you. It wouldn’t hurt to stop by and see him right? Who’s to say he even still works there? It has been a while after all.

But, you’ll never know if you don’t go back and see. Tomorrow you will stop by your old cafe and see if he still works there. Hopefully he won’t be too angry with you for basically deserting him.

— —

The next day you got ready with extra care, styling your hair perfectly and dressing in an outfit you think he’d like. You decided on a neutral look for your makeup, the gold and bronze blending beautifully on your skin.

As you walked to the cafe, your heart raced, the feeling intensifying as you got closer to your destination. There was no reason to be nervous, you’re just getting coffee after all. But the thought of seeing Felix again made you nervous, excited, and cautious all simultaneously.

Arriving at the spot, your hand reached for the door. ‘You got this,’ you thought as you entered the cafe.

You were greeted with the roasted beans and a hint of vanilla, a scent that seemed to be solely in this shop. It was comforting, as if you were coming home which in a way you were as this was your favorite shop.

Darcy looked up from the register to greet you, but stopped in her tracks at the sight of you.

“Y/n! Hi! Long time no see. Your usual?” She asked with a warm smile, her fingers already tapping away on the screen.

“Hi. It’s been so long. Yes please, I’ll take my usual,” you responded.

You didn’t dare look to see who was behind the bar, not wanting your heart to be crushed if Felix wasn’t there. After paying, you walked to the pick up area with your head down.

Your phone was your distraction as you waited for your drink, pretending to be interested in some article that had popped up. Finally you heard your name, the persons voice ringing deep but softly.

You gasped and looked up, your eyes meeting the dark brown ones that were staring at you. Grabbing your drink, you felt your cheeks grow hot and you’re sure they were a shade of red that is surely embarrassing.

Felix continued to stare at you, his eyes taking you in, roaming from your head to your waist.

Suddenly he cleared his throat and said, “enjoy,” gave you a smile and turned away to prepare the other drinks in queue.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and walked out of the cafe, your chest tight and armpits sweaty after the encounter.

You grasped your drink tighter in your hand before glancing down to see if anything was written there. What you saw took your breath away and made you stop, those around you grumbling at the sudden obstacle.

“your heart beats, your blood flows, your love blooms like a flower in spring.”

Below that was a phone number, his you’re assuming. Felix gave you his phone number and you’re sure he was waiting for you to notice in the shop…and you didn’t. Shit.

You picked up your pace, hurrying to get to work, your mind on what you will say to Felix when you text him. Once you were settled in, you picked up your phone and opened your messages.

It took you forever to figure out what to say, your nerves getting the best of you. Finally you decided on a message and pressed send.

Hot barista:

Hi, this is y/n :) Sorry I didn’t look at your message before I left the shop 🫣

You sat back in your chair and waited. Would he respond? Or would he just delete your message? But surely he wouldn’t right? After all he’s the one who gave you his number. You went back and forth in your mind, arguing about whether or not he’d respond.

Finally, your phone dinged and you scrambled to read the message that was on your screen.

Hot barista:

Felix: lol it’s ok. I didn’t say anything either. I’m glad you texted me though!

Biting your nails you let out a chuckle.

Hot barista:

Omg of course! I love the little quotes you left on my cup. I always looked forward to them.

Hot barista:

Felix: Oh good. I thought they may have been too cheesy lol. Which leads me to my next question. Want to grab a bite to eat tonight?

Hot barista:

Yes, I’d love that!

Hot barista:

Felix: Perfect. Come by the cafe at 7?

Hot Barista:

I’ll be there :)

You were going on a date with Felix. You repeated the phrase in your mind over and over, giddiness taking over the linger you sat there and thought about it. You were over the moon that he felt the same way as you do and you couldn’t wait to see what the night had in store.

— —

You met Felix at seven as agreed at the cafe, Darcy giving you two a smirk as she watched him approach you. You couldn’t help but smile, the gesture reaching your eyes as you stared at the man in front of you.

“Ready?” Felix asked, returning the smile.

You nodded and followed him out of the door. The walk was quiet, both of you nervous to say something that would embarrass you. However, it didn’t last long as Felix pointed at a truck and said, “that’s where we’re going. Best tacos in town.”

“I love tacos!” You gushed, excited to eat the treat.

“Yeah? Well good. I thought you would.”

From there, you both chattered, asking each other questions to get to know each other. Felix paid for your food, pouting when you tried to stop him. The pout was so cute though, his eyes downcast, and his bottom lip jutting out to give him a puppy dog look, that you just couldn’t say no.

He was a perfect gentleman, ensuring you had everything you needed, helping you with your trash, and making sure you were on the inside of the sidewalk on the way home. You had such a great time that you really didn’t want the night to end.

Once at your apartment building, you both stopped in front, unsure of what to say. You looked at Felix, searching his eyes for anything at all. He seemed to be thinking, his gaze far away even though he was technically looking at you.

Moments passed before he snapped out of his reverie and cleared his throat. “I had fun y/n. Can I…” he paused for a moment and blushed, the red accentuating his freckles.

“Uh sorry, I’m nervous. You’re so pretty y/n. I’ve like you for a long time. That’s why I always wrote those phrases on your cup. I’d love to see you again.”

He ran his hands through his hair and then looked at you with hope in his eyes. He had said all of the things you’d hope, that he liked you just as much as you liked him, that those messages were indeed a way of flirting with you.

“I like you too Felix. I’d like that,” you replied and smiled.

Felix let out a sigh of relief and chuckled. However, once the moment passed you both stood there, neither one of you moving. You held each other’s gaze, as if it were a contest to see who would break contact first.

Your eyes darted down to his lips as his tongue brushed against them, before looking back into his eyes. You felt your heart flutter as he step closer, and closer until he was directly in front of you with barely any space in between.

His hands grasped your chin gently, his fingers soft against your skin. You held your breath as he slowly leaned down until his lips touched yours for a gentle kiss. He held his lips there for a moment before withdrawing just to lean down and kiss you again.

The fireworks went off in your head, the warmth settling around your heart within your chest. This moment was perfect. And as Felix stood back and grinned at you, his hands tucking a stray hair of yours behind your ear, you couldn’t help but think how he’s an angel from above.

Now you had another reason to love coffee.

divider by: @cafekitsune

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @katsukis1wife @my-neurodivergent-world @hanniebaeee @hwanghyunjinismybae @channiesrightasscheek @skzdreamer13 @lezleeferguson-120

[scorpioriesling]

You Belong With Me

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairings: Lucien x reader

Summary: Going between the Autumn, Spring, Night, and Day courts, Lucien had struggled to find a place of belonging. You are his reminder that he does have a place -- and that, would always be with you.

Warnings: some light angst, a little fluff

SR’s Note: All love for sad little Lucey <3 This was a request using prompts #22, #30, and #53 for @hardcoremarvelfan ! Thank you for your patience. Dropping some non-smut to breakup the smut train I've been producing lately, lol. Nonetheless; enjoy!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

11:52.

That was the time on the wall clock when the front door opened, closing heavily as you listened to the familiar heavy footsteps downstairs.

It was always like this; your mate would come home late, exhausted from the day's work -- but who were you to blame him? Not only was he the Night Court emissary, he also did dealings in his native court of Autumn as well. Not to mention, he'd been seeing his real father more often, though he travelled all the way to the Day Court for that -- only to come back to the Spring Court by the end of the day, longing only to rest his head for a few hours.

You could tell the responsibility was weighing heavily on him.

His footsteps sounded on the stairs, and though you'd just cleaned, you didn't consider chastizing him for wearing his shoes around in the house. After a long, Hellish day -- all you could offer him was comfort. Peace. Whatever he needed to get through an entire night of sleep.

The bedroom door squealed on its hinge as it opened, and you felt the bed dip behind you. Turning over, you met the narrow eyed redhead with a sleepy smile of your own.

"Damned door," he huffed, shucking his clothes off until he was merely in his boxers. "I'll fix it one day. I swear it."

You reached for him, your own sense of longing coming in the form of wishing to comfort your husband.

"You don't have to worry about fixing anything," you mumbled, and he sighed, scootching closer to you. "I'll sleep just as happy beside you whether that door squeaks or not."

A small smile pulled the corner of his mouth upward at that, and you felt a sense of pride at it.

He laid behind you, his chest pressed against your back as his muscles eventually began to relax. He yawned deeply, which pulled one from you as well as he tucked his chin along the dip of your neck. You thread your fingers through his own as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Slowly, sleep overtook you.

✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The lights were bright in the grand ballroom of the Autumn Palace, the crystals on the chandeliers near blinding as they glittered overhead. Their warm glow gast a golden sheen across the room; champagne flutes, women's jewelry, masquerade masks and all -- they all glittered in the ambiance.

You'd attended as a favor to your cousin, who was unable to make it to the celebration this evening. You hadn't minded, though -- the Spring Court balls were lovely, but you'd never been to the Autumn Court before. Tamlin had other business to attend to, so he instead requested you go in his place, accompanied by his best friend, of course.

"I can see you undressing me with your eyes."

Your gaze zeroed in on the fox mask before you, and you chuckled.

"I bet not; you can barely see anything through this thing."

Lucien laughed, reaching out a hand to brush his thumb across the edge of the golden fawn mask you bore. Your breath caught in your throat; Lucien was handsome, yes, but in a devastating way. A way that you didn't see in other males, a way that speared any hope in your chest that-

"Well, I can see enough to know that you are eyeing me, Fawn." His nickname sent a rush through you, one he'd been using for years that never got old.

"Maybe it's because I find foxes to be so, damn, attractive." You winked, despite the blush on your cheeks. The orchestra ascended in the background, and pairs were making their way into a neat circle around you. Your longtime friend held out his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

You grinned, taking his hand as he led you to the outer edge of the circle. It felt good, having stability when you knew no one at this gathering. You'd known Lucien for, Gods, forever it seemed -- so, when his hand slid to your waist, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Well... not really, anyways.

The butterflies in your stomach, however... those were a little out of the ordinary.

You followed his lead, keeping in time with his steps as your bodies hovered close to one another. The upsweep in tempo from the band propelled you on, faster and faster with each step. Lucien gazed down at you, though his expression was foreign.

"W-what?" You asked, dropping his hand and bringing it to your mouth. "Is there something on my face?"

He smiled quietly, his eyes boring into yours even through the small holes in his mask.

"Only your stunning features." He replied, his breaths coming out softer as he held you closer to his chest. Your cheeks pinkened again, and he leaned in closer to your ear.

"Thank you for acompanying me tonight." He whispered, and you rubbed a comforting hand on his shoulder where you'd held onto him.

"Oh, it was n-nothing," you stuttered embarassingly, shrugging to play it off. "Any favor for Tamlin is-"

"No, I mean seriously." He said, drawing back to gaze into your eyes once more. "Even though I'm on good terms now with my family," he choked on the last word. "...it's still awkward to parade around this place. I don't really belong here."

It'd been a year since Under the Mountain, and only a few months since Beron's death. Sure, him and his brothers were on speaking terms again, but this was his family.

Your heart clenched.

"Lucien... you do belong here, this," you waved a hand at the room around you. "This is where you're from; this very well could be where you truly belong." The lights dimmed, and the music tapered off as the sensuality of the room increased. You hadn't noticed; all you could focus on was Lucien, standing before you, his gaze squarely on you.

"To be honest, I don't think I really belong anywhere," he huffed a laugh, and your eyes watered. "Hell, Tamlin owns a gorgeous estate, but... I'm not Spring Court by blood."

"Lucien-"

He sighs, draping your hand over his opposite shoulder as he slides both hands around the small of your back.

"Really, I only feel a sense of belonging when I'm with you."

Your eyes widen, your heart threatening to explode -- you stare up at him, watching as his gaze flickers to your mouth.

Pressing up onot your tiptoes, you pull him as close as you can get him, before your lips touch his for the very first time.

Little had either of you known, it would not be the last.

✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You rose early that morning, silently untangling yourself from your mate's grasp before sliding out of bed. You stretched, basking in the morning light as pleasant, soft memories floated through your mind.

Lucien's hand holding yours as you moved about the ballroom.

Your first kiss, how soft and gentle it'd been.

You practically hummed as you stepped down the hallway, the remnants of your dream clinging to your mind like sticky honey.

"Thank you for acompanying me tonight."

How his silken hair glinted under the lights.

You twirled around the kitchen, putting a kettle on for morning tea and preparing toast for the two of you.

"To be honest, I don't think I really belong anywhere."

That particular part of the dream brought you to a halt, your hand still pressing down on the toaster lever. Your heart squeezed, as it did before -- how horrible a feeling, especially for someone as wonderful as Lucien to experience.

Your brows knit as sadness overcame you.

"Really, I only feel a sense of belonging when I'm with you."

That bit swelled your heart only a little, selfish as it was. You adored your husband, and was grateful to the Mother and all things holy that he truly wanted to accept the mating bond; but him not feeling as though he belonged any place?

"Overthinking again are we, fawn?"

Your gaze lifted, reaching that of Lucien's heterochrome eyes. He leaned in the kitchen doorway, still shirtless but now in comfortable pants, at least.

You sighed, your attention turning to the toast as it jumped over the rim of the toaster.

"Noooo," you drawled, taking it out with nimble fingers as to not scald yourself. The kettle began to steam, and when you turned, your mate had already lifted it from the burner.

"You forget we share this," he motioned to his temple, and you rolled your eyes. "Lovely dream you had last night though."

His arms wrapped around your torso as you spread butter on the bread, and your breath hitched. Warmth flooded the bond, bringing a little smile to your face.

"I remember it as though it were yesterday," you offered him your teary smile, and he pulled away, his hand catching your wrist as he did.

"Lucien," you huffed, setting down the butter knife as you followed him to the middle of your small shared kitchen. He drew you close, his one hand on your lower back, the other holding your own.

"Dance with me?"

You grinned, following as he stepped shortly around the room. His chin rested atop your head as you swayed together, and he pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

"I should be the one comforting you right now," you said quietly, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. "After the week you've had-"

His fingers threaded through your locks, brushing them in a soft, tender way before he spoke again.

"My darling, you are my comfort." He stated, and a small, emotinoal tear escaped over your waterline. "If I could, I'd stay right here forever with you doing just this."

Emotion clogged your throat as you reflected on everything the two of you had been through. Under the Mountain, the Spring COurt demise, Beron's death, the Hybern War, his promotion to Night Court emissary and learning of his father...

You tilted your chin up as one of his hands caressed your cheek. He kissed you, like he had all that time ago; gentle, sweet, perfect.

"You are my real home, Y/N. This," he looked between the two of you, smiling when his eyes met yours again.

"This is exactly where I belong. With you."

✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[fic-writer-confessions]

I've always disliked x reader fic--not, like, hate, but you know the attitude. The "y/n" jokes, thinking of them as sort of cringey, being annoyed by them in the fandom tags... and so on and so forth.

But on the other hand, I've been writing fanfic for 15 years now. I know that my work is good--and that's not a confidence thing, it's just that creative writing is my literal full-time job, and has been for years.

I've written for so many different fandoms, both large and small, in so many capacities: fluff fics, angst fics, long multi-chapter fics, one shots, NSFW, ye olde "holy grail" fics (M or E rated one-shots spanning about 15k with the lowercase lyrics titles), slash, femslash, straight pairings, gen fics, you name it.

Without fail, over the past five years or so, the amount of engagement I get is just... disappointing, most of the time. I appreciate every comment I get, and I have made genuine friendships and relationships with people who appreciated my work. I'm also writing for myself more than anyone else. But it's still disheartening when a fic I've spent weeks working on gets maybe 3 comments. I know it's just the new fandom etiquette not to comment, but still.

But a few weeks ago, I was scrolling through a fandom tag and saw someone wishing there were more x reader fics for a particular character--and they way they worded it was just so genuine I immediately wanted to write something for them, so I figured "what the hell" and cranked something fairly low-effort out pretty quickly.

I have never received feedback on a fic like this. This was a small blog for a small-to-midsized fandom, but the ratio of hits to comments and kudos was insane. I even had several people personally reach out to me on tumblr to thank me for the fic or ask if there was ever any possibility of me writing more x reader fic. And I did some research into other x reader fics for my other fandoms--same thing, much higher ratio of engagement.

I'm still not going to read or write much more of it myself (I'm aromantic), but damn. I get why there is so much x reader fic now--these fans engage. If they like something, they don't hesitate to say it, and if they're not sure the message has gotten across, they track you down on other platforms to make sure you know just how much they like what you do. It is so incredibly refreshing. Having only just dipped my toes in, the amount of respect I have for this community has skyrocketed. And with the research I have started doing into x reader fics--there is so much more here on a genre-convention level than I ever knew.

Not saying every fanfic writer needs to become an x reader fic author, but like... first, my god, the jokes really aren't that funny anymore when you compare them to the reality of the community. (I haven't even seen many fics use the "y/n" thing for example.) But secondly, if you're feeling discouraged about writing... just give it a shot. It doesn't have to be that long, you don't have to completely change your style for it. But give it a chance, and get a little more appreciation for your fellow fans in the process.

.

[everlastingauthor]

Dating Mihawk & Shanks

➻ Tags: Hawkeye Mihawk, Shanks, Female Reader, Dating, Romance, Smut mdni , Traveling, Exploring, Fun, Adventure, Affection, Sunshine Reader & Shanks With Moon Mihawk.

➻ Media: One Piece

➻ Request Open: ☑ Yes | No

➻ Author's Note: 9pm probably will have this uploaded around 10pm. Decided to do my first female reader fic and next fic will probably be Buggy x Male Reader, this idea for this fic I thought should be adorable and saucy so I hope that you guys will enjoy, oh please remember do 𝙉𝙊𝙏 reupload my work anywhere else or feed it to an ai please and thank you. If you enjoy this fic then please heart, comment, and reblog. If you like my content then please do follow me, I appreciate any support I can get.

Strange was it? You were dating the captain of the famous Redhead Pirates and also dating the world's greatest swordsman, you thought it was strange as well but you couldn't be happier to be dating them both. Shanks was happy to be in a relationship with you and Mihawk, the redhead always would shower you and Mihawk in affection. Even though Mihawk pretended to hate the affection you could secretly tell that he enjoyed it as well. Mihawk had his way of showing you and Shanks his affection whether it's cooking for you both, letting you guys cuddle him while he reads, or slashing anyone who dares try to harm you both. You always tried your best to split your affection with the two men. Mihawk didn't require much affection but Shanks on the other hand adored getting the attention, when he's not crawling into Mihawk's bed. He'll crawl in your bed especially when dealing with a headache from a hangover; since Mihawk will scold him and turn him away. But Shanks knows you'll make him tea and get him some water then cuddle him, rub his back, and kiss his head. " Thank you, angel you're much nicer than Hawkeyes. " Shanks would say while burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Mihawk wasn't public about his relationship with you and Shanks, and of course you and Shanks understood why. Mihawk didn't want anyone knowing that he was dating, but whenever Mihawk noticed someone was getting a little too friendly or comfortable with you and Shanks then he won't hesitate to scare that person off, Mihawk tried his best to look out for you both. His favorite thing was kissing both you and Shanks, sometimes he'll start kissing you then move to kiss Shanks then back to you again. Sometimes he'll kiss either of you longer to make the other jealous, he'll smirk if either of you pout. Mihawk didn't mind if you and Shanks took over his bed because whoever he has to roll over then he'll roll over, Mihawk is the big spoon in the relationship there is no way in hell that you'll ever convince him to be the little spoon or a bottom.

When Shanks needs to get away or Mihawk wants some peace the two men would buy a vessel to travel on with you. Nothing to worry about when you have the expert pirate and the greatest swordsman on board protecting you, the three of you will travel to different places to try new foods, relax on different island, and make memories. Mihawk of course is in charge of cooking when on board his meals leaving you and Shanks feel warm and full, you were an excellent navigator, and when Shanks isn't napping. He's up for a fight if any idiot pirates try to storm the ship. Shanks and Mihawk don't mind teaching you how to fight to defend yourself. " Remember your stance princess, you hold the sword, the sword doesn't hold you. " Mihawk said, he found this also as a good couple's activity for you and him. Sometimes he'll have you go against Shanks. " That's my girl, almost knocked me off my feet. " Shanks said, with his puppy dog smile.

Whenever the night rolled in you would convince Mihawk and Shanks to go grab some blankets and lay them down on the deck so the three of you can watch the stars, you'll lay down in the middle so that you could hold Mihawk's hand and Shanks' hand. You would talk about facts and your knowledge on stars, Mihawk didn't mind learning about the stars he found the information interesting, Shanks would pretend to understand but he's really watching how beautiful you and Mihawk look underneath the stars. Shanks would be the one to fall asleep after telling you and Mihawk about stories from when Luffy was a kid, you would fall asleep while listening to Shanks' stories, and Mihawk would already feel himself falling asleep, falling asleep underneath the stars wasn't bad so Mihawk would cover you and Shanks up with an extra blanket. He would try to stay away but would eventually fall asleep himself.

Mihawk could always get you and Shanks on your knees making the two of you bend and moan to whatever position he wanted the two of you, he was also very commanding. Mihawk knew that whatever he gave a command in the bedroom that you two would do it. Sometimes he'll tell you to undress Shanks and then tell Shanks to undress you, he'll sit in a chair drinking his wine watching you and Shanks sit on his bed nude while in a heated make out. " Go ahead touch her and show her breasts some love, and you dear give him a couple of strokes let's hear those pretty moans from both of you~ " Once Mihawk finishes his wine he'll join you and Shanks in bed. After that you and Shanks are left both sweating and spent from the limits that Mihawk had pushed the two of you to, Shanks' face is almost as red as his hair while you are sore and still trying to catch his breath. Mihawk doesn't shy away from aftercare especially after what he puts you and Shanks through, he'll clean you both up while praising you both. Telling you how delicious your cunt or how Shanks' cock tasted delightful as well. " You also took Shanks so well princess, your cunt was gripping him like it was made for him. " He would kiss you before helping you get dressed. " And sometimes I remember you are less annoying when your lips are wrapped around my cock. " He would tell Shanks.

Now while Mihawk isn't one for being on the bottom, if you and Shanks haven't bothered when he's busy, annoyed him, or something stupid. He'll let you guys being in control in the bedroom. And Shanks loves it when he gets to be in control because he'll convince to help tie Mihawk's wrists to the bed while the two of you go down Mihawk leaving the greatest swordsman grunting and letting out shaken breathes, the two of you teasing him and making him feel the limits he pushes the two of you to. " {Y/N} be careful riding him, you don't want to break him when there is still much to do~ " Shanks would say while leaving love bites all around Mihawk's chest and up to his neck. Mihawk didn't mind this and letting you two have control much often. Sometimes it would be you and Mihawk having Shanks laid out or Mihawk and Shanks laying you out. They'll praise you call you their good girl, their princess, or goddess who deserves all the pleasure.

Mihawk and Shanks love you very much and you love them very much, you were glad to be in a relationship with the both of them. All three of you have been making memories with each other, caring for each other, and protecting each other. Eventually you did get better at combat and know are skilled at the sword along with hand to hand combat so whenever Mihawk was away completing a task, Shanks didn't mind taking you with his crew on adventures. Now that you could protect yourself he didn't have to worry much about you, if anything most times Shanks was more worried about who would have to face you in combat especially when you were trained in combat by him and your trained blade skills were thanks to Mihawk.

Whenever Mihawk could relax but Shanks had to go out with his crew then Mihawk would take you to his home on Kuraigans and you didn't mind helping him and Perona around the place especially with the farming, Mihawk would show you around the island and sometimes he didn't appreciate when Perona would drag you away whenever he was talking with you, eventually Mihawk did have to relocate because of the blasted Marines, so he decided to get a small cottage farm home for you, him and Shanks. Somewhere away from trouble or the Marines, sometimes whenever Mihawk and Shanks were away, you were in the cottage adding your own touches.

How wonderful and adorable to have the affection of both of them, to know that they always come home to you. That all three of you have such a loving and trusting relationship no matter what happens the two of you always love each other, and never will let anything happen to the other, and if a family happens then maybe a family will happen, especially when Mihawk and Shanks have been planning behind your back to propose to you very soon~

[van-yangyin]

Cloud Hairstyle for Teen to Elder (FF7)

A hairstyle inspired on Cloud from Remake version for male and female frame from Teen to Elder. This time I've tried something a bit different emulating a bit the KH style but with more strands, so here with higher polycount than usual because of amount of strands I have made for this hair, I love how smooth it has turned out. Hope you enjoy it too! ❤️

PS that I write on my Patreon: My graphics tablet (specifically a Cintiq 13HD) has stopped working since the beginning of this year. I don't know if it's the cable or the connector and I'm waiting for an acquaintance to find time to look into the problem. It wasn't something I had planned for this 2025, so I'm trying my best to find a solution or the unavoidable, as it's my livelihood for work. I'm sorry I'm taking so long to do what I promised would do, but in order to finish some of them I need my graphics tablet, thank you very much for your patience. In the meantime, I'm finishing CC where I don't need it, like this one. This isn't the only CC coming out this month! I will soon reply to all of you who know who are, it has been quite difficult to find time with all this problem that has arisen (my graphics tablet) along with my social anxiety or whatever is wrong with me (I don't have any official diagnosis, I just know that I feel a lot of anxiety). Thank you for your understanding! And already 523 followers here on Tumblr, THANK YOU ALL! ❤️

❤️24 EA Swatches + Cloud swatch ❤️Teen to Elder ～ All genders and agender ❤️Hat compatible ❤️Base game compatible ❤️Child, Toddler and Infant version eventually, this post will notify you that is update if you're following me and have notify activated ❤️All LODs and maps ❤️Texture hair and hair mesh made by me from scratch, based on FF VII remake version. ❤️separate packages or merged packages ❤️HQ Compatible ❤️Custom Thumbnails ❤️CAS photos below ❤️Split hair color compatible [Extra info: I'm currently making changes in this option and expanding considerably the offer of colors and palettes this year (besides placing it in other places so that it doesn't cause problems as it happens with version located in piercings when I have everyday tags in use, although this time it won't only be for split hair color, but it will have many more options available. And maybe I will also make a special palette with all Final Fantasy hair colors of characters that I will make so that all my hairstyles can use those colors too.]

If you download my CC it means your agree with my T.O.U (English/Español/日本語).

～LOD Information～ LOD0: 39760 poly | LOD1: 14209 poly | LOD2: 7102 poly | LOD3: 3551 poly >ONLY DOWNLOAD IF YOUR DEVICE CAN SUPPORT THIS HIGH POLYCOUNT THIS CC IT WAS AN EXPERIMENTATION< BUT LET ME KNOW IN COMMENTS IF YOU WOULD HAVE A LOWERED VERSION OF THIS HAIRSTYLE

~❤️DOWNLOAD LINKS❤️~

※Choose download only one version of each frame or choose download between "M-F_Merged" where two frames files are together.※ DO DON'T DOWNLOAD ALL PACKAGES, OTHERWISE YOU WILL HAVE REPEATED FILES (If you don't understand between merged or not merged feel free to ask me)

❤️PATREON or SFS❤️ (Always free, no adf|y)

☆BECOME A PATREON | TIP ME ON KO-FI☆ 

Let me know if you find any problem. 🙏❣️

Happy simming! 💛🍀

📻 @maxismatchccworld @sssvitlanz @alwaysfreecc @public-ccfinds Thank you ❤️

🛹 You can find me on Patreon | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | Ko-Fi | Simblr.CC | My F.A.Q. 🛹

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Corroded Coffin Fest: May Mayhem Bingo

Come experience the mayhem. The reverse tropes. The other side of the coin. The no good, very bad days. The headaches in the making. The absurd.

Complete any vertical, horizontal or diagonal line of 5 prompts for a bingo. Complete all 25 for a blackout. Prompts cannot be combined on the card. You can combine them with prompts from other blog events, that's totally fine! But to get a bingo for this event here, you'll need to complete prompts separately.

All entries must be posted between May 1st-31st, 2025 — in full. You can connect them in a universe, if you wish, but it all needs to be posted by the end of May.

(I know we have other events that will happen before this one, but with so many possible prompts, I wanted to get this one out early, so everyone that wants to take a crack at it would have plenty of time to work. Plus, the prompts for our 2nd Annual Corroded Coffin Fest main event that takes place in July will drop next month! I didn't want to hit you with two large sets of prompts at once.)

You can interpret the prompts any way you'd like, as long as you've focused on one or more members of Corroded Coffin of your choosing. Just read the guidelines below and have fun!

GUIDELINES:

Please tag us here at @corrodedcoffinfest when you post your entries so we can reblog them!

The word count guidelines for this challenge are fics with 300+ words.

You'll get a comment from this blog with a "❌" when it's been checked and added to the queue.

Submissions can be connected to other prompts from the pop-up, but they should still be able to stand alone.

Feel free to use the ao3 collection after you've been reblogged here!

Anyone that completes at least (1) bingo will get their own masterlist post w/completed card. You may also do individual prompts, without working towards a bingo, if desired. Those entries will be included in the full event masterlist, as always!

All submissions should include any pairings featured, a rating and any content warnings (CW) or tags that you think are appropriate. All explicit material needs be under a cut. All ships are welcome, as long as they include at least one member of Corroded Coffin: Eddie, Jeff, Gareth & Freak. Please put the prompt you are fulfilling as well, just to keep things straightforward. A sample could look something like this:

Prompt: Idiot Ball | Word Count: 1315 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | Relationships: None | CW: None | Tags: Misunderstanding, We Could Solve This If We'd Just Talk

For the artists! Art is definitely welcome! Any entries for the prompts must be Corroded Coffin focused, using any combination of the guys, together or solo. Of course, other characters can be included, too! But you need to have at least one of the CC band members in it for it to count for this pop-up event. Thank you!

Please submit your entries between 12:00 AM EST on May 1st and 11:59 PM EST on May 31st.

SPREADSHEET:

I've made a spreadsheet to help keep track of the prompts and your progress towards any bingo(s) you might want to complete. If you'd like to use it, just go to File>Make a Copy and you'll get a version you can edit in your own Google Sheets.

I also put a little blurb about each prompt, and if there's a TV trope page or something similar, I've linked to that, in case you need jumping off points. But it's totally up to you how you'd like to interpret them!

If you keep track of which prompts you've completed by ticking the Finished? box on the "CCF" sheet, it will populate into the next "My Bingo Progress" sheet, as seen here:

And you'll see what percentage you've currently finished of each possible bingo and/or blackout. (Note: Don't change the sheet names or you'll break all the formulas that make it work!)

Enjoy the mayhem! 💥

[roomwithanopenfire]

Stats Sunday

Happy March!! Thanks for the tag @nausikaaa! Unfortunately, my goal is to make this banner worse every month, so be prepared—we've only just begun.

Early post for me. I should be sleeping but I started making my graphs and then... well, here we are.

Here's my February Recap loll. Stats and graphs and musings incoming. (this post is so long but i promise there's a snippet in here)

Rest of post is under the cut. It is long. You've been warned.

I've posted two things last month! A valentine's day fic for Ebb/Fiona and Chapter 3 of the Way We Are. (Technically i posted 3 but this stranger things oneshot was posted on the 1st and written in January so it feels like January's accomplishment)

Total words written for February: 14405 (this beats Jan by 460 words!)

Days I met my writing goal (200 words): 20

Days I didn't write or edit anything: 4

Day I wrote the most: Feb 11th with 2249 (this beats last month's high score of 1717!)

Number of Fics worked on: 10 technically, but i have not been consistent with most of them. mainly worked on 3.

Daily Average: 514 words (but like last month i am highly inconsistent and my WC varies wildy depending on the day)

(I really like the little curve in the middle. also two the days that look like zero are actually 1 words, which is my placeholder if i spend all day editing)

And here's a pie chart to show my WC distribution across projects. Tbh a lot of these were fics that i've had in my fic ideas doc and all i did was make a google doc for them and word barf onto it my ideas, that's why there's so many small slices.

some slices are so small you don't even get to know my placeholder names. also i hope the title THTHIPWGI intrigues you, i'm always excited when i can title a fic right away and refer to it by a fun accyromn on my spreadsheet.

Other notable things from February:

I finished writing all of The Way We Are!! (kind of. i have one more scene to write. Monica's fault.)

I took over the @carry-on-sapphic-week event!! Check out the prompts if you haven't yet <3

I've received So Many beautiful valentines from the CO discord servers exchange. my mailbox and my heart has been full

The CO fandom was able to raise $500 for Fandom Trumps Hate!! (and I got to make a spreadsheet bc of this!!!) (also i won two auctions from this, one for each fandom i'm in)

My car battery died and I had to get a new one :/

I started a new journal!

I finally figured out how to spell February

my savage worlds campaign finally got our ship back and made it off this stupid planet that we've been on forever.

i've started watching Yellowjackets and I'm really enjoying it

I read so many CO AU fest fics and each one of them was so good. I think i've read all except one so far, and honestly this fest has been so fun i'm obsessed with you guys, you're are so talented.

SPEAKING of CO AU fest fics, @fiend-for-culture's fic, Everything In Between, is SO good, i've been thinking about it all week. you should read it (and leave a comment so i can read it bc i'm stalking the comments on this fic and there's not enough to sate me)

i have spring break in just one week!!

Okay, i promised you words, so here's a snip from my COBB.

“And I’m sorry,” Simon says. “For what?” “Driving you off yesterday.” “That wasn’t your fault. I was being terrible.” “Yeah,” Simon agrees. “But I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that.” I make a face. “I’m not having a heart-to-heart with you, Snow.” Simon groans. “Why do you have to do that?" "What" "Everytime I think we're making progress you say something nasty like that."

sorry this post is so long, thank you for reading if you made it this far

tags, hellos, and apologies:

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @ciescen @confused-bi-queer

@cutestkilla @drowninginships @facewithoutheart @emeryhall @fiend-for-culture

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @theimpossibledemon @jyae23

@larkral @lovelettersto-mars @meanjeansjeans @m1ndwinder @monbons

@noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@run-for-chamo-miles @rbkzz @shrekgogurt @simonscones @skee3000

@supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @toc-the-scrambled @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

added some new ppl to this tag list, feel free to share a wip you're working on—art, fic, etc. it does not have to stats like mine is loll. i use wipsdays as my soapbox.

[blue-jisungs]

it’s already 4/03 here so i wanted to make a post since i’ll be busy all day

HAPPY 3 YEARS ON HERE FOR ME!!! 🎆🎆🎇🎇🎇🎆

i’m gonna be forever grateful for this lil community we’ve built here. thank you all so so much for those 3 fun years!

sappy warning: writing really helps me. it always did. when im at my mental lowest, i know i can escape from reality into my silly writing world. it’s a blessing itself. but then there’s also people who enjoy it? who i became friends with because of those written works? it’s something that’s hard to believe and yet… yet here we are :)

i can’t express my gratitude enough so i did what i do the best (i would hope so)! to celebrate there’s gonna be a kevin series event! if it seems familiar it’s bc it used to be an old work of mine (wattpad times…) which i rewrote for kev. i hope you all enjoy.

i know i complain a lot about the lack of interaction and engagement – and i will. don’t get me wrong, i appreciate all of you. but with each passing year it gets worse: people do not reblog w comments, do not leave feedback. and writers want that. so i feel like, yet again, it’s a good moment to remind you… encourage your authors, comment and interact with them! hopefully that way we can even hit 10 long years together!! (or eternity if u will)

i’d also would like to shout out some of my moots – yall know who u are!! i’ve come to meet so so many wonderful people during this time and i cannot imagine my life without them… even though you’re just small people inside my screen. and even if we don’t talk much, i still love you to bits. i’ll try my best to reach out but we all know how crazy life can get.

thank you, mootsies and followers, for being with me. bearing my lows, cherishing my heights. and loving my work – a huge piece of my soul.

love, axe.

( tagging some moots friends and iconic followers (i see u guys!!) @slytherinshua @l3visbby @yudaies @loserlvrss @weird-bookworm

@fairyhaos @mirxzii @planetkiimchi @icyminghao @eternalgyu

@etherealyoungk @haecien @rubywonu @wonkierideul @seokminfilm

@gyuwrites @writingmeraki @gluion @glosskirt @piillow

@littleghost129 @laylasbunbunny @mayawastaken26 @talkingsaxy @wheeboo

@hhaechansmoless @kafka-shores @nicholasluvbot @heechwe @am00ures )

[khaoala]

this place isn't mine alone. it's ours. i'm here to support you in all your dreams.

DUNK NATACHAI as STYLE SATTAWAT episode 12 of THE HEART KILLERS

[arcanegifs]

Here are some Season 2 Arcane GIF comparisons before and after I color and sharpen them! | Season 1 Comparison GIFs

[virgothozul]

Jsdcbbccbhcb !! Merci !! tant de personnes ont réagi au précédent post en français ahahahah 🤣 c’est incroyable ! je ne m’attendais pas à tant de réactions merci merci ! Thank you everyone for the attention on my last post !!!

This is when Miles drops at the police station like a prince, a whole year later, nonchalant about his hiatus. And Phoenix is most likely losing his 💩 3 feet away.

[vanitasaurus]

little something for @iseerice !! <3 based on their post