#so there might be some personality clash there
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SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 8 - april 15 2025
pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 1501
Of course, you felt bad. Dylan’s most important boarding competition of the year fell during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, but you couldn’t not go. To Monaco. It wasn’t just the race—it was everything. Your whole life. Racing was in your blood, the paddock your second home, the people in it your family. Missing a race weekend wasn’t just unthinkable; it was impossible.
“It’s not this competition, I don’t care about that, it’s everything, not going to Japan, …”
”Dyl, I’m sorry, you know racing is my life, it has always been part of my life, I can’t give that up.”
“I should be part of your life now too” you looked at him a bit confused.
‘’You are’’
“I’m so sorry.. I love you and I really thought I could do this, that I didn’t care, not going to Japan, my competitions, all the time apart, but I’m tired of not caring”
“Dyl..” your voice trembled, unsure of what to say.
“I didn’t want to lose you, I liked that you had your own life and I had mine, but I want to share the same life as well, like you and your racing friends. I want that, someone to be at all my competitions and know everyone, I’m sorry, I thought I didn’t…” Dylan continued. And he wasn’t wrong to want to share a life with you—one that didn’t revolve around track schedules, podium celebrations, and flights halfway across the world. You were so happy you had found someone that could deal with that, it wasn’t easy. Turns out, it really isn't, not even for the coolest professional snowboarder.
At first you didn’t cry. Not because you thought it made you weak, not because the overwhelming emotion wasn’t sadness. You were frustrated—at the situation, at yourself, at the inevitable clash between the life you live and the life Dylan and most other people wanted, this always having been a subject in your life. - Max showed up later that afternoon, letting himself in with the spare key you’d given him. You were still on the couch, staring blankly at the wall when he flopped down beside you.
“I heard,” he interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Dylan texted me. He knows I’d come to check on you whether you wanted me to or not. Are you okay?”
You blinked at him. “Dylan texted you?” your voice breaking.
Max held up his hands. “Just to say you’d broken up. Don’t worry, he didn’t give me a play-by-play. But I figured you might need your twin brother to cheer you up.”
“I’m fine,” you said while crying, the words feeling hollow even as you said them.
“You don’t look fine,” Max said, his tone softer now. “You look like you’re trying to figure out how to not feel guilty about something that wasn’t your fault.”
You sighed, leaning back against the couch, trying to wipe some tears away. “It’s just...I don’t blame him. He wasn’t wrong. Racing is my life, and I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t give it up. Not for him, not for anyone. But maybe that makes me selfish.”
Max tilted his head, studying you. “You’re not selfish. You’re honest. And honestly? If he couldn’t handle this part of your life, it’s better it ended now than years down the line.”
“It’s not about handling it,” you muttered. “He wanted a life I couldn’t give him. A normal life. And I wanted him to want this one.” It was a deeper problem that had been a problem in previous relationships and friendships, for Max and you the same.
Max gave you a wry smile, as if reading your mind. “Not everyone’s built for the chaos of our world. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong for living it.”
You stared at him, the only person who understood exactly what you meant being there for you, a lump forming in your throat. “It still sucks.” You hugged him, tears falling from your eyes.
“Of course it does.” he said, holding you. - Two days later, you were curled up on the couch in your London apartment, watching a mindless rom-com when there was loud thumping on your door. Max had texted you earlier in the day asking how you were holding up, but you hadn’t expected him to organize a rescue mission.
“You’re coming out with us,” Max declared the moment you opened your apartment door, his tone leaving no room for argument. Lando stood behind him, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I’m really not in the mood,” you protested, but Max wasn’t having it.
“Too bad. You’ve been moping for days, and we’re not letting you wallow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lando. “Back me up here.”
Lando’s smile widened. “He’s right. You need a distraction. And we’re excellent distractions.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invasion
You really weren’t in the mood, but you couldn’t say no if Lando had flown over from Monaco for this. - The bar was crowded and lively, a blur of neon lights and pulsing music. Lando stuck close to your side, his presence steadying amidst the chaos. Max, on the other hand, had already disappeared into the crowd, likely chatting up someone at the bar.
“Drink this,” Lando said, handing you a cocktail with a lopsided grin.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you teased, taking a sip.
“Obviously,” he stated, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music. “It’s called distraction therapy.”
Max reappeared with shots, dragging you both to the dance floor. The alcohol had loosened your nerves, and you found yourself laughing as Max attempted to teach Lando some ridiculous dance moves. Lando’s face lit up with his usual playful grin, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
The bar Max had picked was exactly what you needed—loud, lively, and far removed from anything that reminded you of Dylan.
As the night wore on, the three of you found a rhythm—dancing, drinking, laughing. Max eventually got distracted by a group of girls, leaving you and Lando alone near the edge of the dance floor.
“You’re having fun,” Lando observed, his smile warm as he watched you sway to the music.
“I am,” you admitted, surprised by how true it felt.
“Good.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “And good riddance by the way, we dont like Red Bull anyway” you laughed, rolling your eyes. - By the time you stumbled back into your apartment, you were drunk, feeling happy, and unsteady.
You had put Max in an uber to his apartment, too drunk to stay. Classic, having to rescue him during his rescue mission for you. Leaving Lando to stay with you ‘’He snores too much when he’s drunk and I don’t want to take care of him’’.
“Thanks for tonight,” you said, kicking off your shoes and sinking onto the couch.
“Anytime,” Lando replied, dropping onto the seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.
The silence stretched, charged with something unspoken. You turned to him, your breath catching at the way his gaze lingered on you.
“What?” you asked softly.
He hesitated, his hand resting on the back of the couch as he leaned closer. “You know what.”
You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as his eyes flicked to your lips.
“Lando…”
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
But you didn’t.
When his lips met yours, it was like everything you’d been holding back finally broke free. The kiss was hungry, desperate, months of tension unraveling in a heartbeat.
You barely made it to the bedroom, your clothes scattered in a trail behind you. It was messy and impulsive and everything it shouldn’t have been.
WN: Im so sorry guys, took way longer, I was sick :(((((
tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus@motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini@acesofspadess @widow-cevans @irisesinthegarden @ncrsbrg @f1fantasys @norrisainz33 @mayax2o07 @ipushhimback
#fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 fic#lando norris#lando norris fanfic#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#ln4 x reader#lando norris fic#lando norris imagine#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x female reader#lando norris fluff#jealous lando norris#lando#norris#lando norris one shot#lando norris x friend#ln4 fic#f1#formula 1#formula one#ln4#ln4 x you#ln4 x y/n
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malenmalenmalenmalenmalenmalenmalenmalen
#princess tutu#malen#fanart#my art#these are all from p much the same big file as well as the innblings doodles#they've just been on my mind from time to time this is all scattered ideas coming to me sporadically since...im gonna say april.#correct me if im worng im too lazy to check#these were mostly me trying to figure out her wardrobe#cos tutu has that anachronistic feel#where nothings really pinned down#and like. yall saw how much personality ducks fun littel casual fit has#i watned kinda to figure out something similar for malen?#capture that sorta outside-of-time feel+see if i can make her personality shine through#.......whatever it is its not like we actually know#i think i make her a bit more somber than shy/anxious?#but idk i wanted to give her a hint of something More than what we saw in the anime#author is a useful hint here#like i know theyre not cannon siblings im playing with my dolls here ok leave me alone#like. seeign where she could be similar to him and where they might clash. its all so fun#also some extra info i found on the image that started this madness within me is making me rethink their situation/dynamic#so yeag#anyway#aco udri 'post'
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For any toontown tierlist fans out there. I made a tierlist for toons (mainly from ttcc, some rewritten is included) since I couldn't find any. I'll attach and image below of all the ones I included, but if anyone has any suggestions I'm all ears.
Link if you want it
#clemramble#actually im tagging it now. i lied about doing it later 3s ago#ttcc#toontown corporate clash#Some of these characters are cross-server#like surlee and lowden and flippy and you get the idea.#But if they were in clash I used the clash images since it was easier on me#theres also some characters missing bc theres no wiki link and with so many toons i didnt feel like going into game and personally-#screenshotting them. But I might add more later and do it#my goal is to eventually get every toon. unless theres over 2000 in which im limited by the website#Also requests aren't just ttcc exclusive. i'll add rewritten ones too if ppl want. idc im a toon fan i heart all toons#im just a ttcc focused acc/player so i feel it disingenuous to add a bunch of rewritten toons#anyways if this exists already i'll delete but all the ones i found were like. toon species or sounds and i wanted NPCS!!!
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g*lmar rly has to be the best skajrim character on the real like even if you don't like him he just is . literally The best one i think......... on dat note i also imagine that he and ulfr*c despite being fairydust BFFs for lyfe genuinely have the worst communication skills ever seen
#text#but i already talked about how g*lmar is weird about ulfr*c anyways#literally jubilant and feeling special cus he's the only person ulfr*c actually trusts and speaks to outside of formal conversations#he's a very manly man too (like N*loth) for wanting to just control everything... well actually having ulfr*c under 'control' is enough 4 -#- him. unlike n*loth who wants to be above everything that moves. literally not about him tho#i hope that other st*rmcloaks develop a habit of going to hide downstairs in the palace whenever they can tell the vibe between -#- g*lmar and ulfr*c is off because they're gonna be yelling at each other and throwing shit around for 40 minutes in a few seconds#i don't believe they'd fight insanely often but being at an active war probably gets them heated more. Often than usual; and their -#- conflicts are never resolved. i feel like they just don't talk to each other for a good 2 days and act like nothing happened#they're way too manly and prideful to actually let the other one 'win' so they just don't say anything ever post-arguing#Tbhs g*lmar actually really likes that ulfr*c is so unstable and harrowed because it makes himself feel very good and reliable -#- but he has his limits 😂LMFAOO i bet sometimes he gets really tired of him being so traumatized. very rarely but he does think about it#i'll have to desribe that a bit better later tho... don't know how to word it atm#but maybe he wants to punch him or something BYE. no...... 💔savage as hell#he likes it in a very general sense of ulfr*c's personality especially between them but doesn't like it when it causes them to clash#this might just be mostly ulfr*c's doing cus i doubt he's actually talkative about his past issues and Troubles (torture mayhem) and -#- can't communicate anything about it or set boundaries when needed. he just gets mad or very avoidant. No fixing that tho#well it's just shameful to him so he'd rather do nothing than even admit anything to anyone Everrrrr#why does his life suck so bad LMFAOOOOOOOOO#their nasty musty mutualism .. leeching off your traumatized Bff so that he can make you feel good by saying he needs you in particular#while U pay him back with some support.......SOME#Oh well#that zero communication between some sk*rim characters looks yammy as fuck to me. A;lways. ALWAYS#nelvas is power dynamic induced...... g*lmar&&ulfr*c trauma-caused... elituli Um😂 t*llius doesn't even know any hobbies she has#bye this is why they're serving so hard
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/ I know that technically it would be impossible bc of many reasons, but I keep seeing cute fanart of D.io having met/raised tiny G.iorno and I can't help but think of dad-Diego as he's sort of an alternative universe version of Dio (or well, he replaces the antagonistic place that D.io would have normally taken in the universe in which S.teel B.all R.un takes place had it not been a reboot of the universe.) and proud D.iego on a horse carrying little g.iorno in his arm since both love animals AND IM EMOTIONAL!!!
#;ooc#ooc#REALISTICALLY SPEAKING- even if og d.io had for some reason kept custody of g.iorno; he would prob have been a terrible dad#but im a bit conflicted because of the interactions they have in the games if u put them in the same team#and also bc of d.io's own conflicted relationship with his own father making me think that it could be the opposite#that he wouldn't be as terrible to his own son-#but then i think about the fact that even with all the love in the world from his adoptive dad and j.onathan#he still wanted to wreck their lives (specially j.onathan's)#so im like;; mmmmmm#i think it would be a conflicted thing#something about feeling a sense of pride in regards to g.iorno but#more in the sense of; g.iorno being a reflection of himself; so i mean he would feel pride but in a#selfish sort of manner#i cant quite put it into words but; it would be a very layered dynamic of father-son#especially bc g.iorno turned out to be a very righteous person having zero hesitation to sacrifice himself for others#meanwhile d.io would NEVER#so albeit g.iorno is super clever and smart; a matter of pride; his ideals and character is against dio's#ANYHOW!! back to d.iego UIGTFBRUGB#d.iego isn't inherently pure evil i'd say- but he also isnt a good person definitely#and his way of seeing the world would clash with g.iorno's#but in a silly type of au; i find fanart where d.io takes care of little g.iorno to be too sweet😭😭😭#its like when i see fanart of j.otaro with lil j.olyne; its too cute!!#i know it might look a bit ooc BUT!!! dad diego summoning lil dinosaurs for g.iorno to interact with#since he's also so linked to animals#SOBBING
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Didn't get to smoke before work this morning (also not at all confident I took my meds) and while I'm managing the immense stress of the day (hello three new projects) rather well I'm reminded that the ritual of a spliff and a cup of coffee does in fact help keep my teeth dull and my temper subdued
#asked my fellow hiring committee members one of whom is my supervisor if i was really the only person who liked one candidate#and was blatantly honest that I think the issue at hand is the ego/insecurities of the man who oversees this role/department#and we have to toe the line of choosing someone good for the job and who wont be bullied by him/clash with him 24/7#and id been shocked that i was the only one who saw potential in one or two candidates and ultimately i think it's due#to the fact im less willing to let the supervisors insecurities/ego play a role in this. and i said as much#and the response was a laugh and 'well shit everyone duck for cover he might hear us james is getting nasty '#and I'm not really im just tired of pretending like that isnt the core of the issue here. his ego has been wounded for the whole o last yeat#*year and now he's continuously making it everyone else's problem and whomever gets this role with be the Andy to his Miranda#except he has so little to offer in terms of real guidance i feel. hes going to bully and boast and be petty to whomever gets chosen#but any attempt to say that to leadership will get waved away ultimately because he's leadership and he's fought to get his own admin#so rather than get someone with a diverse and varied skill set who can match him in work and intensity#we'll end up with some kid who probably cant set boundaries and will get steamrolled completely#so yeah im irritated by the whole process. and my lack of meds today is making it hard to play nice about it
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🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 - interpret as you will
send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.
ooooh ok ok ok ok five oc impressions comin' right up! sorry this took so long i had to think about some of these (and also i paused to finally make darby a banner lol)
Syb + Micah
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality:
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive (occasionally) / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure (she's down if micah is!) / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals (while micah is with john and while syb is with the resistance) / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
Syb + Lilith
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality:
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious (in a very sexy way) / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! (please!)/ wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship (assuming syb ultimately joins the cult):
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies (formerly) / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them (ie, they meet while syb is fighting for the resistance):
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird scary / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
Jonah + Micah (apologies in advance, jonah's a little freak)
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality:
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive (it's lowkey a turn-on for him) / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious (also lowkey turns him on) / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely (from an entirely realistic perspective. micah would eat him alive and no way he's trying anything with john's girl fdl;ajkfd) / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals (he is that annoying little sibling who thinks she's trying to take his brother john away from him) / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other (AT BEST tbh and any mean thing micah says about him is completely justified) / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
Darby + Lore (literally all i can think is the two of them meeting on earth when darby is like. 16 and eager to try out the fake ID she made, lore clocking it and booting her from the bar, and then 5 years later darby returns to the same bar (dropped out of college and working as an elevator operator/unauthorized mechanic at some ritzy hotel) and lore always carding her just becomes an inside joke. one that continues if/when they meet up again in halcyon)
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality (please note that darby is a chaos gremlin:
grating / irritating / frustrating (if lore tries to stop darby from doing something dumb) / boring (if lore doesn't entertain darby's more destructive shenanigans) / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends (would 100% have sex with lore just to rile up the good vicar (her favorite pass-time)) / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends (maybe?) / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
Stefano + Bright
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality (they've only just met so he doesn't have much to go off yet, but!):
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them (a very funny question since as long as it passes the harkness test and everyone's consenting, stefano will have sex with just about anything/anyone):
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure (basically, if bright was down, he'd be down but absolutely zero worries if not) / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other (at least he thinks so, thus far) / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
n/a since we're still in first impression stage :)
#look. my reasoning for there being a certain amount of tension between micah and syb#is highly influenced by how 1) syb was staunchly resistance for a long time#and 2) micah doesn't like jacob and syb doesn't like john#so there is a little bit of distrust there as well#but i imagine they'd get along /better/ after syb joins the cult#because like. loyalties aside. i feel like syb and micah would get along fairly well#syb would be so in over her head dealing with lilith it's kind of adorable#and fdljadf i'm so sorry micah for jonah being a little creep. it's just that he's a little creep#i think lore and darby could be fun but lore strikes me as /significantly/ more emotionally mature than darby is#so there might be some personality clash there#but darby would totally think lore is cool#and stefano is looking forward to potentially learning more about katya's new friends#micah hale#lilith mallory#lore jameson#bright#oc: deputy sybille la roux#oc: jonah seed#oc: darby wells#oc: stefano vestri
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is it just me or... are the reputation rewards for fontaine underwhelming as hell?
#⇢₊˚⊹ 🩷∥ruby∥yo，ide yo !!#like i guess the crystalfy trap might be useful...?#i don't usually have below 300 crystalflies in my inventory so i don't need it#i just don't condense my resin that much cuz i'm either doing bosses or leylines most of the time#people who are constantly out of crystalflies might find some use out of it tho#but it might end up like the sumeru ingredient speeder-upper thing and be completely impractical to use over just catching them manually#unless you're too lazy to collect them. which is fair enough#i doubt it's actually gonna be that convenient unless it works like the parametric transformer tho#the wind generator looks interesting. but not enough of a draw for me to divert my bounties to fontaine to rush to get it#i hope it essentially works like a mid-air dash forward. or like a wind ring. that might give me incentive to use it over the feather fan#even the wind glider is kinda...#this is just my personal opinion and mine alone，but the asymmetrical color scheme is not doing it for me#my main hope was to get a different blue glider that isn't the wings of companionship so qiu doesn't have to keep wearing the latter#but i don't like how it looks on him at all. the light blue side just clashes too much#and the only characters i have that kinda look good with it are barbara and layla#except for the fact that the wings of companionship match layla's aesthetic and color scheme perfectly#and the dragonspine wings just match barbara way better#it'll basically only look good on focalors#and even then it doesn't look like it'll match her perfectly since the asymmetry on her outfit doesn't look as pronounced#but i guess theme-wise it fits her perfectly so that's probably enough#i'm gonna put it on chongyun for a while whenever i get it just for the hell of it#but yeah. i'm not a big fan of this glider#i'll be not-so-patiently waiting for natlan's glider instead#i hope to god it's true fiery bright red and there's no asymmetrical or stripey bullshit a la kfc glider#i will forever hope for a pink event glider tho#(event glider cuz i doubt they could possibly justify being able to get a pink glider in-story)#(although if they do i hope they do as soon as possible)#(yk what. i wish the reward for maxing out the sacred sakura was a pink windglider and not the teapot realm)#(and they just made the teapot realm purchaseable after the archon quest like the sumeru one)#(cuz that's the literal only place that would've made sense to have it permanently in-game)
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"what was it like having integrity for once" no jerry i. i don't think you have that.
#random thoughts#guess what motherfuckers it's blue man time#the whirly dirly conspiracy. the pissmaster episode. when he tried to manipulate summer into giving him money in the purge episode.#listen i love jerry so much but dude you're NOT a moral paragon quit kidding yourself#rewatching this episode is honestly like yeah this sucked as much as it did the first watch#mainly because jerry and rick honestly are not that different? which is probably why they clash so much#honestly i think it'd be cool if they did another friendshine episode with summer and morty diving into their scrambled minds#and trying to sort out memories and personality traits manually#and when they inevitably get it wrong they have to face some preconceived notions they hold about their father and their granddad#and also this is when they learn about what happened on the whirly dirly#also since their brains are scrambled they have to figure out whose memories are whose and they take the place of whoever's memory it is#so there are two seperate plots running at once where summer's in one memory and morty's in another#and they both have an 'oh god i thought i was in rick/dad's memory but i was actually in dad/rick's memory!!!'#also memory rick is in there somewhere. idk who he'd play off better because on one hand#summer is very much like diane so memory rick (who doesn't remember diane because he's bp's idea of what rick was like as a 35 year old)#might play nicely off her? but on the other hand#a rick who so recently had diane killed would be SO interesting for morty to interact with#idk maybe in this version of events the garage (whose priority would be keeping rick alive) would shove all the brain matter into rick#and keep jerry alive as like. a courtesy. so summer and morty have to dive into the same head so memory rick could split between them#or maybe a fragmented version of memory rick exists in both heads! god a fragmented version of a memory from someone else's head. so fucked
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Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.
He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.
Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.
Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”
Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”
Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”
Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.
“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.
Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”
Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.
The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.
“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”
You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.
Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”
Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”
Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.
“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?
He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”
Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”
Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.
He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.
The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.
Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.
"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”
Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”
Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.
“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”
Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.
Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.
The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.
Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.
Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”
Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.
You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”
Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”
Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.
“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”
Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.
You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”
Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.
“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”
You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.
“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.
Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.
The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.
Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.
Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:
Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”
Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”
Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”
Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.
Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.
Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:
What now?
Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.
You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.
And you wanted her to be happy.
The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.
“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.
Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.
You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.
“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.
“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”
Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”
“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”
Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.
There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.
“First things first—likes and dislikes.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.
When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.
The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.
Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.
The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.
Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.
You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”
He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.
“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”
You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.
Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.
“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.
You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.
“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”
Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.
“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”
You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”
Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.
“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”
Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.
“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”
“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”
By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.
At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.
Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.
Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”
"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.
You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.
More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.
One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”
Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.
You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.
After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.
Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity.
You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.
But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?
That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.
That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.
You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.
Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”
You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”
He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.
You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.
Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”
“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”
Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.
“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”
Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”
You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”
His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”
You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.
He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.
Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"
Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.
"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"
Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”
“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”
Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.
“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”
Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.
Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.
“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”
Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.
“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”
Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.
“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.
After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.
Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.
Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.
The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.
Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.
Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"
Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.
“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.
“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”
Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.
"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.
Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”
Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory.
Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.
Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.
Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.
“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”
Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.
“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.
He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”
Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.
As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.
Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.
When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”
Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.
“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”
With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.
“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.
If Adira was here.
A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.
The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.
Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.
The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.
It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.
On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.
The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.
You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this.
Simon, with Adira, was something real.
Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.
As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!
P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3
BIG ASS TAGLIST: @notsochillnerd @xanvasy @nightunite @reyy001 @liliemb04 @doodle-cat16 @wwe1rdc0re @multy-fandom-lover @skylarmitchell @athenianharpy @mxtokko @watu2ka @gifted-aurora @sapphire-jelly26 @janeety @lem-hhn @natdu @honey-teaaaaaaaa @gg-trini @kawaiivanilla-chan @despairinglakepasta @gaida-511 @jayjkay @watersquirtpewpewboomm @nikt-wazny-y @dragon-bubs @thisishwrworld @prettygirlwhoreadsatnite @illusionistlover @just-pure-trash @theliqouricebtch @sullyoung @me-llyssa @drewsuncrustables @phosphoracat @sabrina-senpai @shadowdark00 @imttryi @brokenxintroverted @eevily @aiyaaayei @coffeeandtealol @codcosplayer @scaleniusrm @momoewn @classaysstuff @fancymilkshakewitch @tessakate @a-lil-bit-nuts @beautifuleaglealpaca @vickieesstuff @captainchrisstan @alyyaanna @kaeyasfuturewife @huehuehuehuehehe @allllium @the-number7 @idfkimhereforsmut @katzarantos @tamayakii @7haze @k-bakuhoe @armycaratlover @thecoolestastrophile @montenegroisr @little-b33 @pantheonofbeauty @oooof-ifellforyou @ang3lc @littleracco0n @dravenskye @supaturtl3 @maciswack @carebear209 @bassandlace @3ndar @bespectacledhuman @xshellchenx-blog @astro-stars @avavie @vexillum-moeru @nina-from-317 @gazsluckyhat @1-800-g00ber @yukisdelusional @styx-eclipsed @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @nommingonfood @idkwhattodosooo @noheadcanons-juststories @zaqnette @fluffysmiko @aliciamorov @mageknight-anya @athaliw @princessloveweird @lucypaulette @hikotaru @julesjunimos @xqhro @blushingskulls @foodisbaepinterestislife @thecursebreaker @harperdoodle @taygirl24 @alfie2401 @devoetee @kodokunarisu-blog @lovealwaysserena
#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley#cod x reader#call of duty#singlemom!reader#we meet again#sunshine sunni
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Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.
Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.
Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.
Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.
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manager is about to go on vacation and then shortly after he gets back, coworker is moving. But I guess while manager is gone, boss is gonna be in here which means... I might lose my job before the week is up lmao
#personal#thankfully manager already told boss about my next job so he cant be upset when i dip early on mondays and Wednesdays#so thats cool#but already hes asked some stupid shit of me this morning that im like yea thats not gonna fly actually#and him bitching about how someone always needs to be in here? np#no lol#ive been here two hours now and have received zero emails and zero walk ins#ive gotten three phone calls but they were all spam so it doesnt even matter#oh but someone always has to be here#for what???#then hes asking me to fucking cold call people#no<3#so i sent a bunch of emails but thats all youre getting out of me#so i feel like we might be clashing and idk man you cant be mad at me for wanting to call more shots#especially since im in here far more than hes ever been#anyway. if he gets weird on me for crocheting i will simply leave for the day
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Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture
Culture is defined by a collection of morals, ethics, traditions, customs and behaviours shared by a group of people.
Hierarchy and Social Structures
Within every culture, there is a hierarchy. Hierarchies are an important part of any culture, usually do ingrained that one within the culture wouldn't even question it. Hierarchy can be established either by age, gender or wealth and could even determine roles within their society. Sometimes hierarchy can may be oppressive and rigid whilst other times, ranks can intermingle without trouble. You should consider how these different ranks interact with one another and whether there are any special gestures or acts of deference one must pay to those higher than them. For example, the Khasi people of Meghalaya (Northern India), are strictly matrillineal. Women run the households, inheritance runs through the female line, and the men of the culture typically defer to their mothers and wives. Here are a few questions to consider:
How is a leader determined within the culture as a whole and the family unit?
Is the culture matriarchal? Patriarchal? Or does gender even matter?
How would one recognise the different ranks?
How would one act around somebody higher ranking? How would somebody he expected to act around somebody lower ranking?
Can one move socially? If not, why? If so, how?
Traditions and Customs
Traditions are a staple in any culture. These can be gestures or living life a certain way or to the way a certain person should look. Traditions are a personal detail to culture, they are what make it important. Tradition can dictate how one should keep their home, run their family, take care of their appearance, act in public and even determine relationship. Tradition can also be a double edged sword. Traditions can also be restrictive and allow a culture to push away a former member if they do not adhere to them, eg Traditional expectations of chastity led to thousands of Irish women being imprisoned at the Magdelene Laundries. Customs could be anything from how one treats another, to how they greet someone.
How important is tradition?
What are some rituals your culture undertakes?
What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?
Are there any traditions that determine one's status?
Values and Opinions
Values and Opinions are the bread and butter of any culture. This is the way your culture sees the world and how they approach different life hurdles. These may differ with other cultures and be considered odd to outsiders, what one culture may value another may not and what opinion another holds, one may not. There will be historical and traditional reasons to why these values and opinions are held. Cultures usually have a paragon to which they hold their members to, a list of characteristics that they expect one to if not adhere to then aspire to. The Yoruba people value honesty, hard work, courage and integrity. Here are some questions to consider?
How important are these ethics and core values? Could somebody be ostracised for not living up to them?
What are some morals that clash with other cultures?
What does your culture precieved to be right? Or wrong?
What are some opinions that are considered to be taboo in your culture? Why?
Dress Code
For many cultures, the way somebody dresses can be important. History and ethics can effect how one is meant to be dressed such as an expectation of chastity, can impose strict modesty. While other cultures, put more importance on details, the different sorts of clothes worn and when or what colour one might wear. The Palestinian people (من النهر إلى البحر ، قد يكونون أحرارا) denoted different family ties, marriage status and wealth by the embroidery and detailing on their thoub.
Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?
Are there any rules around what people can wear?
What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?
What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?
Language
Language can also be ingrained as part of a Culture. It can be a specific way one speaks or a an entirely different language. For example, in the Southern States of America, one can engage in a sort of double talk, saying something that sounds sweet whilst delivering something pointed. Bless their heart. I have a post on creating your own language here.
Arts, Music and Craft
Many cultures are known for different styles of dance, their artwork and crafts. Art is a great part of culture, a way for people to express themselves and their culture in art form. Dance can be an integral part of culture, such as céilí dance in Ireland or the Polka in the Czech Republic. Handicrafts could also be important in culture, such as knitting in Scottish culture and Hebron glass in Palestine. Music is also close to culture, from traditional kinds of singing such as the White Voice in Ukraine and the playing of certain instruments such as the mvet.
Food and Diet
The way a culture prepares or intakes or treats certain foods are important to a culture. In some cultures, there is a diet yo adhere to, certain foods are completely banned. With Jewish culture, pork is prohibited along with fish such as sturgeon, along with shellfish and certain fowl. Meat must also be prepared in a certain way and animal byproducts such as dairy, must never be created or even eaten around this meat. This is known as kosher. The way one consumes food is also important to culture. In some cultures, only certain people may eat together. Some cultures place important on how food is eaten. In Nigerian culture, the oldest guests are served first usually the men before the women. In Japanese culture, one must say 'itadakimasu' (I recieve) before eating. Culture may also include fasting, periods of time one doesn't intake food for a specific reason.
What are some traditional dishes in your world?
What would be a basic diet for the common man?
What's considered a delicacy?
Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?
Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?
What would a typical breakfast contain?
What meals are served during the day?
What's considered a comfort food or drink?
Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?
Are there any banned foods?
What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?
Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?
Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?
Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?
How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?
#Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture#As promised#If I fail my German exam I'm blaming ye#Culture#Building a culture#Fantasy Guide#WorldBuilding#WorldBuilding guide#WorldBuilding help#Writing help#writing#writeblr#writing resources#writing reference#writing advice#ask answered questions#writers#writing advice writing resources#spilled ink#ask answered
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One piece of acting advice that has stayed with me for years in regards to both writing and drawing as well is: "Don't use the body to act what the character is saying. Act what the character is THINKING."
Like, as a very, very basic example: a character is apologizing by saying, "I'm sorry." But that line is going to look and sound different depending on what the character is thinking. Crossed arms and a sullen tone can mean that a character is actually thinking: "I don't mean it and also I hate you." A pleading tone and reaching out to take the other character's arm can mean: "Please don't leave me." A tired voice and slumped shoulders within context could mean: "I did what I had to do."
This is one way to begin to do "Show, Don't Tell" in storytelling. It is trusting your audience to see the depth and to catch on to the things you leave unsaid. It's fun to let the audience be observant and clever. It is also reflective of real life, where people are often scared of being vulnerable, or don't necessarily even understand their own emotions, or can't articulate their own thoughts, or have difficulty identifying the true feelings of the people around them, and so don't say very much.
There are exceptions to this advice, of course. In writing especially, rather than in a visual medium, some POV characters are very good at reading emotions from body language and others are not, and their observations in the narration may reflect this skill. Some characters will assume everyone around them is always angry with them or simply not pay attention to other people's moods at all, personalities which can also be subtly communicated to the audience and later used in the story in some interesting way.
Some characters have excellent control over their body language and tone of voice, because they are on-guard, highly trained in some fashion, or a very good liar. They will not easily communicate their true thoughts through their body language or their actions. Their lie can be so good that it can be slipped past the audience as nothing important to the plot until it comes back to bite. Their oddly perfect control over their body in a tense situation can instead maybe be used to indicate to the POV character and/or the audience: "Oh, there's something up with this person."
Body language will also change by culture and class and disability and so on. This clash can cause communication problems between characters, as a character's affectionate pat on the shoulder of another might be intended as casual comfort, but be received as overly intimate condescension. Different cultures / people can even have very different opinions on what level of eye contact and overlapping speech is rude.
This advice was originally given to me in the context of illustration and animation, in which it is very common for inexperienced artists to act out the words that the character is saying in mime-like gesture. In media for young children, we might choose to keep things very simple, as toddlers struggle to learn what it looks like and feels like to be angry or happy. But past that? People don't really behave this way. What we say and what we really mean are not always synchronized, and we can use the body to communicate this.
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arcane characters in an alternative universe x fem reader
writer's note: hello guys... so i have been sooo obsessed with this idea since i finished season 2 and i wanted to share it with the world, hope u guys like itttt. also i'll probably continue this as a series, so be free to give any feedback or ask for suggestions ;)
characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.
Viktor
job: viktor is a renowned scientist specializing in artificial intelligence and robotics, highly recognized for his research in biotechnology. he's also a guest lecturer and a leader in technological innovation.
hobbies: he would enjoy scientific documentaries, philosophical readings, and stargazing. viktor would take nighttime walks to gaze at the stars and ponder the universe's mysteries. he might also love solving intricate puzzles and sudoku, always seeking intellectual challenges.
social media: on linkedIn, viktor would share articles about his scientific breakthroughs and collaborations in the field of biotechnology. on Instagram, he would keep a low profile but occasionally post pictures of his lab or progress in his research. from time to time, he might upload a story featuring his dog or a visit to the park for some mental clarity.
music: he enjoys classical music and electronic instrumental pieces, a blend of avant-garde with a touch of nostalgia. pianists like ludovico einaudi or experimental electronic composers like amon tobin would be to his liking.
favorite food: viktor enjoys simple yet comforting meals. he loves complex soups like spicy ramen or handmade italian pasta. everything must be fresh and minimally processed.
lifestyle: he would live in a minimalist, functional apartment equipped with advanced technology tailored to his health needs. viktor would maintain a strict exercise routine to manage his condition but remain private about his life. he’d find solace in a structured routine of rest and meditation.
how you’d meet: you would meet him as a journalist interviewing him at a scientific event where he’s presenting his research. your curiosity and sharp questions would surprise him, and although he’s initially reserved, he ends up revealing more of himself. after the interview, you ask him out on a date, intrigued by his worldview and genius. the encounter would be tense yet captivating, and the chemistry would be immediate.
Jinx
job: jinx would be an influencer and video game streamer, but with a unique twist: she creates explosive content, featuring “experiments” and pranks infused with rebellion and subversion. her personal brand is chaos and limitless creativity.
hobbies: jinx would be highly creative, loving visual arts, graffiti, and digital art. she's an avid gamer, drawn to chaotic, open-world games filled with action and unpredictability. another hobby could involve collecting rare or unusual items, filling her space with eclectic and seemingly nonsensical objects.
social media: jinx would totally dominate platforms like tiktok and instagram, posting chaotic videos, bizarre memes, and unpredictable content. she also has a twitch channel to stream her wild activities, like creating art or "breaking things" on live. her followers would never know what to expect, as she loves to surprise them.
music: jinx is a fan of punk and electronic music. bands like the clash and die antwoord resonate with her rebellious spirit. she loves loud, energetic music, perfect for maintaining her high adrenaline levels.
favorite food: she loves fast food, but not just any fast food—the more eccentric, the better. a xxl burrito loaded with sauces or a hot dog with wild toppings are her favorites, and of course, sweet things, she would eat crumble cookies for breakfast almost everyday.
lifestyle: jinx’s life would be messy and disorganized, likely living in an apartment full of creative chaos where her imagination runs wild. she’d be constantly on the move, rarely staying in one place for long due to her restless nature.
how you’d meet: you first caught jinx’s attention through your positive comments and donations in her streams. at a fan event, when it was your turn, you introduced yourself as the one who had been supporting her content and suggested a collaboration, since you were a new streamer. to your surprise, jinx agreed right away, leading you to her manager, and winked at you before the event continued.
Vi
job: vi would be a personal trainer at a gym where high-profile personalities often train. she’s both physically and emotionally strong, helping others unleash their own power.
hobbies: vi would love contact sports like boxing and gym training. she might also enjoy martial arts. her loyalty would make her eager to reconnect with old friends or spend time with family whenever possible.
social media: vi might have an instagram profile focused on her active lifestyle and workout. she’d post photos from her daily routines and some snapshots with friends. she will definitely have a twitter account for direct, unfiltered takes on societal issues.
music: she likes classic rock and some hip-hop to keep her energy high while working out. the rolling stones and eminem would be among her favorites.
favorite food: vi enjoys healthy, energy-boosting foods like fresh quinoa salads and protein shakes. occasionally, she indulges in organic beef burgers, but her diet is generally balanced.
lifestyle: vi would live in a modest yet cozy space, likely in a less glamorous area. her home would reflect her rough-and-tumble nature, surrounded by people from her community. it would serve as a personal sanctuary amidst the chaos of her life.
how you’d meet: you’d meet vi as your personal trainer at the gym. as an actress just starting out, you needed to build a stronger physique for an upcoming role, and vi was the perfect fit. she saw your dedication, but also noticed that there was more to you than just physical strength. you understood discipline, but you also had moments where you needed emotional space to breathe, something she admired. vi, with her no-nonsense attitude, would push you to your limits, but also knew when to slow down and listen. through the intensity of the workouts, you'd both find a deep connection, bonding over your shared past struggles.
Caitlyn
job: caitlyn would be a lawyer specializing in civil rights and public defense, with a progressive agenda promoting social justice. she also has a strong influence on local policies, fighting for equity in underprivileged communities.
hobbies: caitlyn would enjoy outdoor sports like hiking or horseback riding, appreciating nature in her spare time. she also attend high-profile events or collect art. she’d value the company of intelligent people and cherish dinners with friends who share her worldview.
social media: caitlyn would have a professional presence on linkedIn and twitter, sharing insights about legal topics, public policies, and social justice. on Instagram, she might showcase her life as a high-profile attorney, attending events and offering glimpses of her personal life while maintaining a polished image.
music: her musical taste is varied, from classical composers like chopin to contemporary pop. however, she most enjoys music that helps her unwind after a stressful day at work.
favorite food: she loves gourmet dishes, especially mediterranean cuisine. she’s a fan of fresh salads with tuna, tabbouleh, and balsamic vinaigrette, but she also enjoys the trendy haute cuisine dishes.
lifestyle: caitlyn would reside in a chic, modern apartment in an upscale neighborhood, blending minimalism with sophistication. her structured life would revolve around work, with her social life carefully curated to complement her professional image.
how you’d meet: you’d meet as a client seeking her help with after getting a divorce with your ex husband. caitlyn, impressed by your intelligence and determination, decides to support you beyond the professional consultation. from there, a deep connection based on trust and mutual respect would begin to flourish.
Jayce
job: jayce would be a lead engineer at a renewable technology company, focused on creating sustainable devices that revolutionize the world. his charisma and passion would make him a regular at innovation conferences, where he inspires young inventors.
hobbies: jayce is passionate about outdoor sports, especially running and cycling. he enjoys being active, both to keep his body fit and to clear his mind. he also enjoys collecting tech gadgets and experimenting with new tools for his company.
social media: jayce is active on twitter, where he shares news about technological advancements, as well as his thoughts on the social impact of science. he also has an instagram, where he posts pictures of his outdoor expeditions and tech events, showing a more human and accessible side.
music: jayce has a diverse playlist that combines artists like imagine dragons, the weeknd, and 80s classics like journey. In his calm moments, he might listen to hans zimmer to relax with something epic and motivational.
favorite food: he loves italian food, especially homemade lasagna, but he also has a taste for desserts like tiramisu or a good cheesecake.
lifestyle: jayce would live in a modern loft with large windows and lots of natural light. his home would reflect his success and sense of style, with built-in technology that makes his day-to-day life easier. he likes to keep the space immaculate, but without making it feel too stark.
how you’d met: you met jayce at the launch event of a new tech device. you had come along with a friend but ended up having a passionate debate about potential flaws in the prototype jayce was presenting. rather than getting upset, he was impressed by your insights and invited you behind the scenes to discuss further. that interaction sparked a connection, both personal and professional, he even asked for your number.
Ekko
job: ekko's a young entrepreneur who runs a community workshop in a disadvantaged neighborhood, where he teaches children how to build gadgets and repair things. he also has a startup that creates accessible technological solutions.
hobbies: ekko loves skateboarding, painting murals with social messages, and designing gadgets in his free time. he likes to play video games and explore new virtual worlds.
social media: on instagram, ekko would share photos of his murals, videos of his skateboarding tricks, and technological projects. he would have a youtube channel where he teaches how to build things from scratch and shares ideas for social impact.
music: his playlist would include artists like childish gambino, tyler, the creator, and indie bands like gorillaz. he enjoys lo-fi and chill beats while working.
favorite food: he prefers street food, like tacos al pastor or gourmet hot dogs, valuing its connection to the community and the convenience of grabbing a quick bite to eat while he's busy.
lifestyle: ekko lives in a loft filled with tools, street art, and unfinished gadgets. although his life may seem chaotic, he finds a sense of order within his creative space.
how you’d met: you met ekko at an urban festival where he was showcasing skateboarding and street art. you approached him to ask about his mural, and he ended up telling you the story behind the design. when you mentioned your interest in social projects, he invited you to one of his community workshops. since then, art and creativity have connected you both.
Silco
job: silco is said to be the ceo of an unconventional investment firm, operating in both legal and grey areas. his presence in the business world is both feared and respected, and he's an exceptional strategist.
hobbies: silco enjoys mental games, reading philosophy, and political theory. he's so drawn to collecting rare and valuable historical objects. his strategic mind keeps him constantly occupied in finding new ways to consolidate his influence.
social media: silco doesn't have traditional social media, preferring to keep his personal life out of the public eye. however, he may be present in secret forums or private groups where he influences others' opinions. his focus is always on discretion, seeking control rather than exposure.
music: he prefers classical and jazz music, as both help him reflect on the nature of power. he likes composers such as bach and miles davis, whose music lends itself to both reflection and strategic planning.
favorite food: silco appreciates sophisticated dinners such as grilled steaks and red wine pairings, he has a taste for exotic dishes that reflect his unique style.
lifestyle: silco lives in a dark, minimalist penthouse, decorated with abstract art and exclusive pieces that reflect his reserved personality. his home is designed to be a refuge from the outside world.
how you’d met: you met silco at an exclusive art gallery, where you both seemed out of place compared to the more pretentious attendees. you made a sarcastic comment about an overly abstract piece, and silco, overhearing, couldn’t help but smile and reply with a similarly sharp remark. that initial spark led to a fascinating conversation about power, art, and ambition.
Mel
job: mel would be a high-level businesswoman, leading international consulting projects for large corporations. she's known for being a visionary in the most complicated negotiations.
hobbies: she loves collecting contemporary art and painting in her spare time. mel enjoys attending galas, cultural events, and traveling the world to discover new artists and traditions.
social media: her instagram shows her sophisticated life: exclusive events, international travel, and art in progress.
music: mel listens to contemporary jazz by artists like esperanza spalding or soul by adele, also likes the soft rhythms of sza while working or relaxing.
favorite food: she enjoys haute cuisine, especially seafood and dishes with exotic ingredients. she always accompanies her meals with a good white wine.
lifestyle: mel lives in a modern penthouse in a cosmopolitan city. her home is a mix of luxury and art, with minimalist decor that highlights her personal collection of unique pieces.
how you’d met: you met mel at a cultural retreat abroad, where both of you attended a dinner organized by a local art collector. while everyone else was engaged in small talk, you caught her attention by passionately discussing a sculpture by an emerging artist. intrigued by your perspective, she joined the conversation, and the exchange of ideas lasted all night.
Sevika
job: sevika it's a security manager at a well-known company, overseeing high-risk operations. she also has a personal business involving customizing motorcycles and tactical equipment.
hobbies: sevika do boxing, martial arts, and of course, rides her motorcycle. she enjoys billiards and hanging out at local bars with her friends.
social media: her instagram features photos of her bike, videos of her workouts, and casual moments at bars or gatherings. although, she's not very active.
music: she listens to classic rock bands like ac/dc and metallica, as well as punk groups like the clash, but she also has a softer side with occasional blues.
favorite food: she prefers home-cooked food like stews or well-made burgers, always with a craft beer on the side.
lifestyle: sevika lives in a simple but cozy apartment, with personal tools and memories. her lifestyle is practical and adapted to her need for constant movement.
how you’d met: she met you at a bar when someone was being annoying to you. she jumped in without a second thought, and it led to a deeper conversation about her life experiences. her interest grew when she saw that you weren't easily intimidated, and from there, you started hanging out.
#arcane#arcane imagine#viktor x reader#arcane x female reader#arcane x reader#arcane headcanons#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#jinx arcane#jinx x reader#ekko arcane#ekko x reader#arcane jayce#jayce x reader#viktor arcane#mel medarda#mel x reader#arcane silco#silco x reader#vi arcane#caitlyn kiramman#sevika#sevika x reader#league of legends#jinx x you#viktor league of legends#jayce x you#mel x you#ekko x you#caitlyn x you
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𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ
as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛
⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚
⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k
𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader
𝒢 ⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance
𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.
✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!
﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist
Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.
It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.
It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.
Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.
That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.
It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.
Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.
Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.
A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.
A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.
But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.
All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.
And, there, he stands in front of you.
“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.
You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.
The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”
Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.
Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”
He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.
Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”
You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”
The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”
Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.
“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”
A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.
He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”
Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”
“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”
There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.
“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.
In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”
Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”
Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.
Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”
So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”
With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”
You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.
Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.
Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.
If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.
Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”
You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.
Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.
It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.
He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”
“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”
Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”
Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”
You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.
He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”
You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.
“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”
That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?
A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”
Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”
A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”
The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”
Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.
Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.
“I used to come here all the time,” he says.
“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”
When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”
Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.
“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”
He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?
“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.
His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”
No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.
A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”
Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”
“I’ll walk you home.”
You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”
He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.
“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”
Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.
In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.
But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.
But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.
You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.
So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.
You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.
Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.
You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.
“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”
He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.
“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.
“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”
Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”
“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”
You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.
Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.
He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”
You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”
“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”
You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”
Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”
You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”
His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”
Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.
“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”
His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.
Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.
You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.
Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.
Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.
In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?
Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.
“Why is it that I always find you crying?”
His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”
Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”
Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”
His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.
“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”
You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.
Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.
“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”
Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”
“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”
Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”
Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.
Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”
Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.
“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”
Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.
But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.
You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”
He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”
The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.
How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.
“Do they all love?”
That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”
Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”
“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”
All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?
Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.
“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”
Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.
“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”
Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.
The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.
Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.
“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.
So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.
The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.
And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.
It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.
He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.
Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.
“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”
Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”
Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”
“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.
Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.
“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”
A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”
Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.
“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”
The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.
He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”
“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.
Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”
You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.
“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”
You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.
He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”
Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.
His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”
Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”
“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”
Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.
But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.
“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”
Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.
Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”
Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”
You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.
“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”
Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.
You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.
He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”
You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.
Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.
He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.
“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.
“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.
You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.
What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?
So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.
Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.
When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.
What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.
You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.
“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.
Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.
Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.
When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.
The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.
ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.
Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.
And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.
The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?
God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.
Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.
When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.
“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”
You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”
“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”
The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”
You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”
“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”
Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”
His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”
That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.
Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.
“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”
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