#unspoken plan guarantee

[dedicatedfollower467]

also just like. on the subject of characters talking through things way too easily in fiction...

have none of y'all heard of how if you see them planning, it's going to go haywire??? tvtropes has an entire page dedicated to the "unspoken plan guarantee"

it's like a STAPLE of fiction writing IN GENERAL that if you see a group of people planning something and you are explicitly informed what the plan is, it's going to go wrong.

because otherwise there's no narrative tension and it's FUCKING BORING.

and YES THIS APPLIES TO SEX SCENES BRO.

[lastlycoris]

“Hey. How are you holding up?” Petra - Dr. Allison, her anesthesiologist 2 years out of residency but would also ignore her if she addressed her like an attending - asked as she sidled up right next to her on the bench she sat on. In the other girl’s hands was a can of Coke, which she then passed over to her.  

She calmly accepted the can with shaking hands before resting it against her head. Only then did she noticed it was warm. 

“Sorry, Lab wouldn’t let me sneak it in the blood bank fridges,” the dark-haired girl grinned, seeing the clear disappointment on her face, “Cold drinks are a bit of a luxury anyway. How are you holding up?”

She stared at the can of soda, passing it from one to another.

“No one’s ever done a surgery like that before, ” Euridice sighed as she cracked open the can of warm soda, “ and me not having completed even my first year in surgery thought I could do it.”

She pressed her hand over her face and then tilted her head towards the starry sky above.

“Believed all the hype my mentors heaped on me - the next best thing since the scalpel,” she chuckled painfully, “And now I feel like I just killed my patient with my hubris.”

Petra didn’t reply. She simply stared at her with calm brown eyes as if inviting her to continue. 

“I don’t know what I could’ve done differently,” she continued, “But is that because there was nothing else that could’ve been done or is it because I just don’t have the experience to think of it?” 

“Maybe start out by thinking about what you did do?” Petra said with a small smile, “Talking out loud usually helps me think.”

Euridice drank another mouthful of warm soda as she recalled the surgery an hour prior.

“...We managed to get an IO line in with minimal bleeding from the drill. The man’s tough tissues which made things difficult at first helped with the tamponade afterwards,” Euri said, “and then we started transfusion as intended. While that was running, I attempted to cut through the exposed portions of abdomen with the scalpel to no avail, hence why I went for the bone saw.”

“It worked, and I was able to open up the surgical field. And I didn’t nick anything important,” she said with a frown, “Maybe I was too cautious at the time. I felt like I could’ve done it faster...but at the same time, the skin and fascia could’ve just given way like a piece of plastic, and I could’ve end up cutting the bowel and vessels underneath.”

“So you probably couldn’t have opened up the surgical field faster then. What else?”

“I had to get to the suspected bleed,” she continued on, feeling more calm than distressed as she continued, “there was definitely injured small bowel throughout the abdomen, but it was the bleed that was going to kill him first.”

“Given the trajectory of whatever pierced him, I suspected he nicked something retroperitoneally, likely his aorta. Blood was leaking from the abdomen as I dissected the mesentery and eventually the IVC away using a scalpel. A lycan’s innards seem to be far less resistant to trauma than his skin and muscle.”

“I saw the blood spurting out of the aorta. I tried to start preparations for the repair...” she gritted her teeth.

“But that’s when he started crashing.”

“I don’t get why he had to start crashing then,” Euridice closed her eyes before standing straight up, anger boiling in her chest as she screamed at the sky. “You idiot! You’ve endured for so long! You were so close! Just ten minutes more! Ten minutes...” 

She could feel something hot on her face, which she wiped with her sleeve. And then a soft touch on her shoulder.

Petra sighed, having stood up with her and a hand on her shoulder, “You know that’s a lie. Just setting up the bypass as well as clamping of the aorta would’ve needed more time than that.”

“I could’ve accessed endovascularly through the iliac artery from the star-.”

“Blindly? When you didn’t even know where the aortic injury was or that there was one?” Petra sarcastically countered, “Didn’t realize you were a psychic, Euri, or had such a reckless streak in you.” Petra flicked her in the cheek.

“Hey. Watch it,” she frowned as she rubbed the spot. Petra stepped back, expression serious.

“Look. I’ve seen surgeons - attending-level surgeons - make stupid mistakes in cases far simpler than the one you just performed - outpatient cases where they had infinite time to mull over what they would do. And still blow it,” Petra said with the confidence of experience. “There was nothing more you could’ve done. And we just went over the reasons why.” 

“Not to mention,” Petra continued, “At least you gave this person a fighting chance. I guarantee if it was anyone else on call tonight, they would’ve just let him die, even before seeing those intraosseous needles fail to go through.”

“So stop moping,” Petra finished, voice all business now, “We still have a job to do, and I can’t have the surgeon on call off her A-game.”

She’s right. There’s still work to do. 

“There we go. That’s a better look on you, Dr. Ariston,” Petra nodded with a smile as she stood up, “Well, you know where to find me if there’s a case to do. See ya around, Euri.”

“Umm yeah. Bye. And thanks.”

The other woman hummed in reply as she walked towards the rest tents.

She looked at the warm can of soda in her hands and chugged the rest down. 

“Right... Still got a job to do, Euri.” 

[spidey-webs]

The real tragedy of the whole “Batman contingency plans” thing escaping containment into the wider cultural zeitgeist is that it’s become completely divorced from the original context of, you know, the Tower of Babel story-line happening after a beloved member of the Justice League did in fact go mad, become all-powerful, and destroy all of reality.

Which is devastating because it loses so much when you take Hal Jordan out of it! In both adaptations and fan discussions!

Despite only being mentioned by name once in the story, Hal haunts the whole narrative in how unspoken he is. The whole theme of the story is the failure to communicate and how it destroys trust, and an essential part of that is how the whole League won't (and can't) talk about Hal.

When Kyle finally tries to bring him up, Wally shoots him down. He is the forbidden topic at the heart of the League's breakdown of trust!

When the contingency plans plot is removed from the context of Hal's fall from grace, isn't proceeded by a JLA founding member doing what was supposed to be unthinkable, Bruce's actions lose their emotional core. It becomes just "Batman is the coolest and smartest and also a huge untrusting asshole" instead of "Bruce was already on the knife-edge of crippling paranoia regarding his powerful allies, and then one of those same allies started slaughtering people and he couldn't do a thing to stop it, confirming all his worst fears and sending him right over the edge"

You take Bruce's feelings of very personal betrayal out of the equation. He's not operating on just hypotheticals, but fears that were heartrendingly justified!

Bruce claims the reason for his plans on some past mind-control incident, but Clark calls Bruce out on it being an excuse.

Maybe that's how it started, but there's a reason the fail-safes aren't against mind-control and possession. The fail-safes are ways to permanently stop your friends should they willingly or unwillingly become a threat.

And they both know it. They've argued about Hal several times before.

Bruce has a lot of unresolved feelings about Hal. He's still hurting.

The contingency plans are not some cold, clinical necessity. They are the product of pain.

I think all readings and tellings of the Tower of Babel should be followed by the JLA/Spectre story.

It provides the necessary emotional conclusion to the unspoken conflict! Because they finally have to talk about it! They heal the broken trust! Bruce admits how much Hal's betrayal hurt him and his faith in heroes, and gets past it! Instead of letting a former and potential future threat be eliminated as his fail-safes say he should, he invites the threat back, even if he can't guarantee it won't happen again, because he chooses to believe in his friend!

The contingency plans are a cool and interesting concept, but again, you can't just...take Hal out of it. You can't make it about some evil alternate versions, or about Clark. By doing that, you lose the most heartbreaking part of the story. Batman isn't in the right or the wrong, but he's not heartless. He's brokenhearted.

[lazysoulwriter]

good boy - harry styles.

It wasn’t something you planned to say. It just slipped out, rolling off your tongue like it had always belonged there. Harry was sprawled out on your couch, his head resting on your lap, eyes closed as your fingers lazily ran through his curls. The soft glow of the TV flickered against his skin, but neither of you were paying attention to the movie anymore.

“You’re all relaxed, aren’t you?” you murmured, your nails gently scratching his scalp. A small hum left his lips, followed by a contented sigh. “Feels nice.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at the way he melted under your touch. His face was soft, peaceful, and utterly at ease. Then, without thinking, it came out—soft, teasing, affectionate.

“Good boy.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open instantly, and you felt his whole body tense slightly against you. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything right away—just blinked up at you, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

You froze. “What?”

His brows furrowed for a split second before something else took over—a slow, lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Say that again.” Your cheeks warmed, realizing the effect those two words had on him. “What, ‘good boy’?”

His breath hitched just barely, but you caught it. “Yeah. That.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, testing the waters. “You like that?”

He swallowed hard, fingers twitching against your thigh before curling around it, his touch firmer than before. “Maybe.” Your smirk grew, and you leaned down, your voice dropping into a whisper just for him.

“Good boy.”

This time, you didn’t miss the way his fingers dug into your skin, or the way his breath stuttered. His eyes darkened, something flickering behind them—something deeper, more intense.

"Careful, love," he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher, thick with something unspoken. His fingers trailed up your thigh, slow and deliberate. "Keep saying that, and I might have to show you just how good I can be."

Your stomach flipped at the implication, heat curling low in your belly. You raised a brow, pretending to be unfazed, but your voice betrayed you—just a little breathier than before.

"Oh?" You dragged your nails through his curls again, tugging just slightly. "Is that a promise, Styles?"

His smirk deepened as he sat up, shifting so that his face was mere inches from yours. His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again, a silent challenge dancing in them. "Not a promise," he murmured, voice like honey, smooth and slow. "A guarantee."

[urmommt]

ch1 Sealed with a kiss (jayvik x reader)

Summary:

After months at the Late Latte Cafe, your routine had become predictable—making coffee, jotting orders, and chatting with customers. You never imagined two of those customers were the brightest minds at the academy—or that they’d become your friends. Jayce’s booming laugh and easy charm made him impossible to miss, while Viktor’s quiet wit and sharp focus drew you in more subtly. Simple interactions grew into saved tables, shared jokes, and conversations you looked forward to more than you’d admit. Soon, it wasn’t just friendship. Every glance, touch, and late-night talk felt charged, like something unspoken was waiting to surface. And part of you didn’t want it to stop.

The undercity was always shrouded in a haze of gray, a suffocating mix of smog and shadows that seemed to cling to every surface. The streets were a labyrinth of narrow alleys and crumbling buildings, their foundations long eroded by neglect and desperation. This was where you grew up, where survival wasn’t guaranteed, and every step was taken with caution.

You remembered waking up to the hum of machinery, the clanging of metal echoing through the thin walls of what you called your apartment. It wasn’t much but it was home and that was all you needed. The air always smelled of oil, rust and another more distinct smell, one that you couldn’t put a name to but a scent you’d grown used to nonetheless. Now that you thought about it, it was most likely the smell of the smog. The one bane of your existence and the thing that set you back as soon as you came out the womb much like many other Zaunites.

The only Zaunites that weren’t set back as much by the smog were the rich ones and Janna knows you weren’t one of those. Your pathetic ragged clothes and constant dirt on your face were clear distinctions of your socioeconomic status and you were certainly not rich at all.

Your father worked in the factories, his hands constantly stained with grease and exhaustion. He always came home late, carrying the weight of the day on his slumped shoulders, but he’d still manage to put on a tired smile when he saw you.

“How’s my little Zaunite scholar?” he’d ask, his voice tinged with pride. He was a very proud Zaunite and although you never understood why you knew his pride in Zaun wasn’t entirely unaccounted for. Zaun did accomplish many things and through the danger of living here the people still survived and even sometimes thrived.

You’d show him the notes you’d scribbled on scraps of paper, equations and ideas you barely understood but wanted to learn. He’d ruffle your hair, tell you that you were destined for more than this place, that you’d make it out one day. His belief in you was unwavering, even when you doubted yourself.

The undercity was harsh, but it taught you resilience. You learned how to navigate its dangers, how to keep your head down while quietly dreaming of a life beyond the grime and shadows. The undercity wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind, a constant reminder of where you came from and how far you wanted to go.

You’d learned early on to read people, to gauge intent in a glance or a gesture. It was a skill that had kept you safe, but also one that made you hyper-aware of the divide between those who thrived in the undercity and those who merely survived. For you, survival had always been about keeping your head down, staying out of trouble, and planning for a future that felt impossibly far away.

When the opportunity came to attend the academy in Piltover, it felt like a lifeline. Your father had worked tirelessly to make it happen, sacrificing more than you’d ever know to give you a chance at something better. The day you left, he’d hugged you tightly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re going to make me proud, kid,” he’d said, and those words were the last he’d ever said to you before he passed away in your first year at the Academy.

Now, as you stood behind the counter at the Late Latte Cafe, the memories of the undercity felt like a distant echo, though they were never far from your mind. The warm, golden light streaming through the windows and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee were a stark contrast to the world you’d left behind. Here, the hum of espresso machines and the murmur of conversation were your new soundtrack, a soothing rhythm that brought a sense of normalcy to your days.

The door chimed softly, pulling you from your thoughts. A pair of customers walked in, their presence commanding attention even before they reached the counter. As you looked at them you felt a sense of DeJa’Vu as though you’d seen them someplace, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

One of them was tall and broad-shouldered, his confident stride and easy smile making him hard to ignore. The other was leaner, his movements measured and deliberate, a sharpness in his gaze that seemed to take in everything at once.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the slight flutter of nerves their presence brought.

The taller one spoke first, his tone warm and friendly. “Two Americanos please. Busy day ahead.”

The other simply nodded, his attention briefly flickering to the menu before settling back on you. There was something about the way he looked at you, as if he were trying to read through you, into your soul.

You prepared their order quickly, handing them the cups with a practiced smile. “Good luck with your day,” you said, and they both offered brief thanks before heading to a table by the window.

It was a fleeting interaction, one that lasted only moments, but it lingered in your mind long after they’d sat down. Something about them felt different, though you couldn’t quite place why. Shaking off the thought, you turned your attention back to the counter, wiping it down as the morning rush began to pick up.

Later, as you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment, the day’s events replayed in your mind. You should have been focusing on your biology project for university, the one that had been looming over you for weeks. Instead, your thoughts kept drifting back to the two customers, their presence as vivid in your memory as it had been in the cafe.

The undercity had taught you to read people, to notice the small details that others might miss. And something about those two told you they weren’t just ordinary patrons. You pushed the thought aside, opening your laptop and forcing yourself to concentrate on the work in front of you. There were deadlines to meet, goals to achieve, and you weren’t about to let anything distract you from the future you’d worked so hard to build.

Still, as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the images of their faces flashed in your mind—the warmth in one’s smile, the intensity in the other’s gaze. You shook your head, trying to focus. You couldn’t afford distractions, not now. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if that brief encounter was the start of something more significant. For now, though, all you could do was wait and see.

guys pls dont shit on this its my first jayvik fic and i promise chapters will get longer they wont stay short omg TwT

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yanderes in a Zombie Apocalypse...The Kind Survivor

Imagine the zombie apocalypse starts and suddenly the entire world itself is turned upside down. Those who survive are the ones who can adapt quickly or be lucky enough to be dragged by the former. You re some of the few that adapt turning everyday items into tools and weapons to guarantee your survival. While you could go at it alone you don’t. Shaking your coworker or classmate out of their horror-stricken state and saving them from being eaten. 

“Hey you better move it or you’ll end up just like them.”

Maybe you know you’ll be lonely or that you can’t leave someone behind or maybe it's because it's them. Always so forthcoming and so kind to you before the world turned into this. Maybe you consider this payback for their hospitality, either way, you’re leading them away from the danger to regroup somewhere safe.

“T-thank you (Y/n).”

“It's fine, Wendall. Just keep moving we can’t rest here.”

“Right!”

He’s the Kind Survivor, the one who holds onto his sweet, trusting persona. Leaving you to be the untrusting hardened protector. Your roles become clear as you unwillingly are added to a group of fellow survivors. Of course, it’s him who proposes staying with the team still silently accepting your unspoken alliance. Even when the group discards your opinion for their own plan, he advocates for them, soothing your anger.

“I don’t trust them Wendy!”

“(Y/n) we can’t do this alone! We have to trust in them!”

“Until we can’t. What do you plan to do then?!”

“T-then we can leave. Okay (Y/n)...I’ll start thinking about us….about you more okay?”

“Thanks… I’ll be more open-minded.”

For a while, this will work, with your Kind Survivor becoming an important voice in the group while you gain their respect and reverie. Wendall couldn’t be happier, falling into a sense of normalcy as he watches you grow emotionally. For a while, this feels right. 

But this doesn’t last.

The first betrayal ruins him opens his eyes. One selfish member's actions put everyone at risk but who suffers the most is you. Led out on a fool’s errand only to be swarmed and backed into a corner. Nothing but your wits and survival instincts to let you lead the remaining scouts with you. You’re holed up in a roof for days, forced to stay quiet, stave your hunger, and remain vigilant. As you hoped, Wendall and the surviving group arrive with food and medicine as everyone reunites.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!”

“Hey, Wendy.”

“Oh, my–(Y/n) you can’t believe how happy I am to see you!”

“...I trusted you’d come…and you did.”

No one’s more happy to be reunited than your Kind Survivor who doesn’t dare relay the frustrating tale of that one’s betrayal. Only holding you close and rubbing his face against your head as he burns your scent into his memory all over again. It's another member who tells you while Wendall lasor focuses on checking you for any and all injuries. You don’t seem all that perturbed–your inclination to trust the others was right—all was well. Sure there was betrayal but you didn’t like that one member much at all so it wasn’t much of a deal to you. The same cannot be said for your Kind Survivor.

“I’m okay Wendy. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten in days I wouldn’t call that fine.” 

“Wendy I–”

“Hush. Eat before anything…please.”

He’s still so sweet. Always so kind. But something's…amiss. The other members feel he’s not the same. Those on midnight watch find his eyes staring at your resting form, not even moving away when they joke with him. When he does turn to look at them, there’s something fiery, something dark lingering behind those eyes before he hides them with his typical amicable smile. They begin to fear him.

“Ah, Wendall-san?”

“What is it? Jjitjg?”

“Uh, nothing never mind.”

The members have a right to. Wendall is dealing with an anger he’s hardly ever experienced. All his life had been a constant string of highs—working his dream job, meeting you, getting to hang out with you. But then the world turned mad which didn’t initially scare him as much as it should. Somehow being saved and haphazardly comforted by you it still wasn’t so bad. He thought the same when you both joined the group. But when that one member betrayed the whole team it shattered him. How could they?! Leaving his (Y/n) out there! When they so courageously followed the so-called leader on this goose chase!? What was his baby doing now while they simply huddled in fear of that one?! How were you feeling being so far for so long?! 

He? He was dying. 

Would you be disgusted that your Kind Survivor was truly contemplating letting all the others die while he went to search for you? Disgusted in knowing that it was he who was behind that one’s sudden psychosis? He didn’t care!

But when he saw your smiling face he was relieved but still fuming. This..band of wretches was why you were bedded for a week. These worthless meat sacks were using up the supplies meant to take care of you. These fleas were eating all the food that should have rightfully belonged to you.

It was a rising resentment. Pushed down and suffocated every time so that he could steer this group right and properly encourage your latest streak of compassion. It made you so much more integral to the group, as a protector and a leader. 

It made his skin crawl. He was so proud of you.

It was another member’s incompetence that puts the nail in the coffin–the entire group’s coffins. Since the death of your old leader the group was out of sync; squabbling and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Of course, the most incompetent one volunteered for the role; forcefully pressuring the others to follow their lead. It led to chaos. The chaos that relied on you to save everyone again. Again, forcing you to risk your life.

“This–this–this is the second time–”

“That I’ve survived the impossible? Don’t know, guess I’m just the best human shield there is.”

“No! This is the second time you’ve almost died because of them! I can’t–I can’t!”

He snaps. 

You can calm your Kind Survivor all you like but the damage has been done. He’ll bow and apologize to everyone who’s witnessed it. But he’s not sorry. He’s determined. At a moment's notice, he fights to free you from them even if you resist. Physically you might be able to overpower him but he shouldn’t be underestimated. After all your Kind Survivor has learned so much. So many ways to subdue you, so many ways to trick the group; running off with you will be easy. With so much time to plan he’ll get his plan off without a hitch. 

By the time he’s done, you’ll both be miles away from the ruins that were this ragtag team.

“I’m sorry (Y/n)...I thought we’d be safe with others. Now I know we’re better off on our own; where only we can trust each other.”

Your Kind Survivor has grown a lot and he’s learned not everyone’s worth both of your compassion. In fact, he’s made the executive decision to actively keep it and you all to himself.

By any means necessary.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

you're a mean one, mr. miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift

warnings: jackson era, grumpy old man!joel, significant other!reader, fluff, mild angst, gift giving, christmas at the miller's, so many polaroids

word count: 3.8k

12 days of pedro masterlist - ty to @hellishjoel for organizing this project <3

The Miller household always gets a little tense around the holidays. When the days shorten and snow begins to fall, Joel throws himself into patrols and plans for winter-proofing Jackson, and it's all he'll talk about for months. It's obvious he does it on purpose. 

Christmas is basically an unspoken no-no under his roof, and there might as well be a swear jar for the word if his reaction is any indication. He refuses to acknowledge it and only tolerates the day itself because he knows it makes you and Ellie happy. 

You just wish it made him happy, too. You know it used to. Every year, Tommy regales stories about their Christmases in Austin as kids, and later with Sarah. Joel loved Christmas. 

They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.

All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time. 

Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it? 

You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.

You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.

If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.  

So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.

"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"

Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face. 

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.

"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."

"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.

You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.

"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."

She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.

"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."

"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."

She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here. 

"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.

"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."

You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple. 

He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.

But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion. 

You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.

"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"

Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.

"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."

Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember. 

Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.

"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.  

"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."

She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.

"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."

Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.

No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.

"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.

It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.

She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.

"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.

"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."

She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.

"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.

"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.

A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly. 

Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.

"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.

"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate. 

"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.

"Now." 

ONE YEAR LATER

Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day. 

You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.

In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season. 

Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too. 

Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project. 

By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.

Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment. 

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.

“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television. 

“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”

He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.

“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.

“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.

“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.

“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”

Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation. 

“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look. 

You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.

“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.

“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction. 

Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”

“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.

“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.

“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.

“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”

He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.

“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing. 

And in that moment, the flash goes off.

Yeah, this is the one.

The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.

Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.

And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.

As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter. 

"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest. 

You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.

"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."

He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.

"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.

"You wanna see it?" 

His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.

"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"

That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.

He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors. 

Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book. 

He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you. 

The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.

“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall. 

You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.

He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.

“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.

thanks for reading and happy holidays!

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[ohnoyuno]

One step at a time.

Pairing: jeong jaehyun x female reader Genre: angst, established relationship Warnings: emotional distress, discussions of miscarriages, fertility issues Word Count: 2615

Summary: Jaehyun and Y/N’s love is tested when a medical challenge brings up old wounds. As they navigate their emotions and confront fears of loss, will they find a way back to each other through the pain and heartache?

Disclaimer: I am aware that the portrayal of fertility, IUDs, and miscarriages in this context is not medically accurate or representative of real-life experiences.

Y/N and Jaehyun had always been practical, understanding that their complicated lives, with his idol career, her unpredictable health, and the uncertainty of the future, made starting a family a difficult prospect for them. 

Despite using birth control, Y/N’s uncommon condition caused contraceptives to fail. She had always known that pregnancy was a possibility, but it came with its own heartbreaking pattern—miscarriages.

Her health made it difficult for her to carry a pregnancy to term, as she was prone to ectopic pregnancies, resulting in a miscarriage each time. This pattern not only shattered her hope but also took a toll on her heart and body. No matter how much she tried to prevent it, her condition meant that even a successful pregnancy would come with significant risks.

She had tried everything to avoid it, but it seemed the universe had other plans. The doctors had offered little in terms of a solution, and the only option left was the IUD—a chance at some peace, to finally prevent the pregnancies that led to such painful endings. But there was a catch. The IUD could give her the security she needed, but it also carried the devastating truth that it would make it harder for her to conceive naturally in the future, should she ever want to.

It was a decision she had been wrestling with for months. It wasn’t a choice she wanted to make, but it felt like the only way to protect herself, to avoid the possibility of more heartbreak. And yet, the thought of never being able to have children when the time was right, when she and Jaehyun were ready to start a family, haunted her. How could she make a decision that could potentially rob her of a future they had once dreamed about?

Then came Jaehyun’s military enlistment, a turning point neither of them had anticipated. His enlistment was brought forward, and everything changed. The idea of a break had always been there, something they knew was coming, but neither was prepared for the magnitude of it. They were still living in their shared apartment, but the distance between them felt palpable. They had decided to take a break—not a clean break, but one that left space for doubt, confusion, and unspoken emotions.

Even though they were no longer officially together, their lives remained intertwined. They lived in separate rooms, yet still shared a home. Jaehyun would return during his military leave, and there were nights when the boundaries they had tried to set between them blurred. In those moments, they found themselves back in each other’s arms, knowing they weren’t supposed to, but unable to stop the pull they had toward each other. It wasn’t easy, but it was their reality.

Y/N thought about it all, about Jaehyun, about the future, about the pain of every miscarriage. And with the weight of it all, she came to a decision that it was time to get the IUD. Their relationship was no longer the same, and with Jaehyun away for his military service, it felt like the right moment. There were too many uncertainties ahead, and this, at least, would provide her with some stability.

She knew that the future wasn’t guaranteed. She didn’t know if she would ever be able to have children naturally, or if Jaehyun and she would ever be able to come back to each other in the way they once had. But for now, this was the decision she had to make. The IUD might offer protection, but it also sealed her fate in a way of accepting that, for now, she was alone in making these choices, in navigating her body and her future without the certainty of the man she once believed she would build it all with.

Jaehyun happened to be back home the weekend before Y/N’s appointment on Monday. She knew it was ultimately her choice, but for some reason, she felt like Jaehyun needed to know. So, the night before her appointment, she told him. 

Jaehyun was seated up against his bed frame reading a book when y/n knocked on the door. “Hey, sorry to disturb but I need to tell you something.”

Jaehyun looked up, setting his book aside as he took in the sight of her standing at the doorway. There was a familiar weight in Y/N’s voice, one he recognized all too well. “No, no, it’s okay. Please, come in. What is it?”

Y/N hesitated for a second before stepping inside. She moved towards his bed, sitting on the edge with a careful distance between them. She inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m going to the gynae tomorrow… to get an IUD put in.”

Jaehyun felt his breath hitch. He swallowed thickly before responding.“Wait? That means?” He kept his voice even, but the sinking feeling in his stomach betrayed him.

“Yes, like what they said previously…” she murmured, fingers twisting in her lap. “there will only be a 40% chance for me to conceive naturally in the future.”

A suffocating silence filled the room. Jaehyun’s hands curled into fists on his lap as he processed her words. “If I hadn’t come back this weekend” he finally said, his voice quieter now, “were you only going to tell me after you’d done it?”

She let out a sharp exhale. “Please don’t make this about yourself.”

Jaehyun ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his expression. “Y/N, we promised to build a family together. Don’t you want that with me anymore?”

His words stung, and he knew it. Y/N let out a bitter chuckle. “Jae, we are not even together anymore. I don’t even know why I’m here telling you this when I don’t even need to.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “Cancel the appointment. I do not approve of this.”

She stared at him in disbelief before standing up. “You do know you don’t have a say in this.” Y/N fought back. 

Jaehyun stood too, his voice desperate now. “We are only on a break, Y/N. We made promises. We can’t say for the future.”

Y/N shook her head, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I can’t believe you right now.” Her voice wavered, but her resolve didn’t. “Will you stop being so selfish? Have you thought about how I’ve gone through five miscarriages? Five, Jaehyun.”

His face paled. The mention of it alone felt like a blade through his chest.

“You know how it was.” she continued, her voice breaking. “I really do not want to have to go through that ever again.”

Y/N blinked away her tears before turning on her heel and walking out the door before Jaehyun could say anything.

Jaehyun sat frozen, the weight of Y/N’s words pressing down. Five miscarriages. He had been there for every single one, watching helplessly as Y/N’s hope shattered each time. The pain in her voice was something he couldn’t ignore, yet a part of him couldn’t let go of the future they had envisioned together.  

He sprang up from the bed and rushed out of his room, catching up to Y/N just as she was reaching for her bedroom door. “Y/N wait, wait” he pleaded, grabbing her wrist gently. “Please, don’t walk away like this.”

Y/N sighed, turning to face him, her expression unreadable. “What do you want me to say, Jaehyun? That I’ll change my mind? That I’ll put myself through that pain again just because we made promises when we thought things would be different?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his grip loosening. “I don’t want you to think you’re alone in this.”  

She turned to face him then, her eyes filled with exhaustion. “Alone? Jaehyun, I was alone. Every single time.” Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze. “You were there, but you didn’t feel it the way I did. I was the one lying in hospital beds, the one waking up in the middle of the night feeling empty, the one who had to pretend to be okay while my body reminded me of everything I lost.”  

Jaehyun clenched his jaw, his chest tightening with guilt. “I know I can’t fully understand what you went through,” he admitted. Jaehyun’s throat tightened. He wanted to tell her that he had suffered too, that every loss had broken him just as much. But it wasn’t the same, and he knew that. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t grieve, Y/N. It doesn’t mean I didn’t lose something too. I thought we were in this together,” he voice barely a whisper.  

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I know, Jae. I know you hurt too. We were in this together. But I can’t keep putting myself through this, hoping for a different outcome every time.”

His hands dropped to his sides, his mind spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. He knew he had no right to dictate her choices, but the fear of losing the life they had dreamed of together terrified him. 

“So that’s it?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. “You’re just… giving up on us?”

Her expression softened, but there was a finality in her eyes that made his heart ache. “I’m not giving up on anything, Jaehyun. I’m choosing myself for once.”  

Jaehyun felt his heart drop. He wanted to fight, to say something, anything. To make her change her mind. But deep down, he knew this wasn’t a decision Y/N made out of anger or impulse. It was something she had thought about for a long time, something she needed.

He nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he murmured, barely able to get the word out.

Y/N gave him a small, sad smile before turning toward her bedroom door. She hesitated for just a moment, as if waiting for him to stop her one last time. Finally, she whispered, “Good night, Jaehyun.”

But when he said nothing, when he made no move to reach for her, she exhaled softly, more to herself than to him, before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Jaehyun stood there, staring at the closed door, feeling like the woman he had loved and still loved, had somehow slipped through his fingers again.

The next morning. 

Jaehyun pushed himself out of bed, the absence of the usual noise of their shared mornings hanging in the air. His footsteps were quiet as he made his way into the kitchen, where he saw Y/N sitting by the window, sipping her tea, her gaze fixed on the quiet world outside.

“Morning,” Jaehyun said awkwardly, his voice still thick with sleep.

Y/N looked up, her eyes softening slightly when she saw him, but there was a hint of tension still there, like a thread pulling between them that neither had quite figured out how to untangle. “Oh, hey,” she replied, her tone easy but her attention still half on her tea. “Weren’t you supposed to head back to the barracks an hour ago?”

Jaehyun shuffled closer, his hands slipping into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I’ve requested for another day off,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I… I want to go with you. To your appointment.”

She turned slightly, eyeing him with a mix of surprise and frustration. “Jaehyun, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” he replied simply, stepping further into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, watching her. “I know you don’t need me there, but I want to be.”

Y/N sighed, her attention shifting back to the steaming mug of tea in her hands. “Jae… this isn’t something you can fix by just showing up.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice soft. “But you really shouldn’t be by yourself today.”

Y/N didn’t speak for a moment, as if weighing the decision in her mind. Jaehyun waited, studying the way her shoulders tensed, the way she hesitated before speaking.

Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly. “Jaehyun, I know you care. But you can’t just come back and pretend like everything’s fine.”

Jaehyun flinched at her words, though they weren’t harsh. They were just the truth, a truth they had both been dancing around. “I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, taking another step toward her. “I know things are different now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care. I can’t just leave it like this. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at her cup, tracing the rim absently with her finger.

“You don’t have to fix everything, Jae,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Some things can’t be fixed. You’ve been gone for so long, and we’re just… we’re just not the same anymore. Also, I’ve been doing things alone for a while now.” she said finally, “I had to learn how to be okay without you.”

Jaehyun swallowed hard. He knew that of course, he did. He had left, after all. And though it wasn’t by choice, though he had tried to hold on to her before he enlisted, the distance between them had grown too wide.

Jaehyun’s chest tightened. He could feel the weight of the words, could feel them like a physical presence, pressing down on him. “I don’t need it to be the same. I just want to be here, with you, for whatever it is we have now. I regret leaving things the way I did,” he confessed. “I thought, maybe after my service, we could figure things out. But now it feels like…” He trailed off, unsure how to put the ache in his chest into words.

Y/N’s hands paused, her grip tightening around the mug. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, her gaze steady but distant. “You don’t get to regret something that you walked away from. I didn’t get to choose when I had to live without you. And now you want to come back and make it right, but it’s not that simple, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun’s heart sank, her words cutting deeper than he anticipated. He wanted to argue, to say that things were more than what she was making them seem to be. But he couldn’t. She was right. They weren’t the same anymore, and no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t going to change overnight.

He stepped back, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if we’re not the same, I still want to be by your side.”

Y/N’s eyes lifted to his again, her expression unreadable. “You really want to do this? After everything?”

Jaehyun nodded, his voice steady now. “I do.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between them like a chasm, both of them uncertain of the next step. 

Setting the cup down on the table, she said “Fine,” her voice gentle but firm. “You can come with me. But this doesn’t change anything, we can’t just pick up where we left off.”

He nodded, understanding the weight of her words. “I don’t need it to.” he said while stepping toward the table to sit down. “I just need you to know I’m here. For whatever it is we have now.”

Y/N gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Let’s just get through today, okay. No promises, no expectations.”

Jaehyun’s chest tightened, but he didn’t protest. Today was all they could handle, and maybe that was enough for now. “Okay,” he murmured. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

The heaviness of everything they’d been through clung to the air, but for a moment, there was a quiet understanding between them. For now, though, the only thing that mattered was that he was here. And he wasn’t leaving, not just yet.

Masterlist

[comicaurora]

Inspired by that previous ask, is there a specific name for that kinda really specific trope where two allies stage a big fight/argument between them, usually to draw out the villain or because they need to convince the villain that one of them is Super Down To Turn Evil Now? (Crucially, the heroes deliberately set the fight up and both of them are in on the plan and aware it's not a real fight, not any of that miscommunication-enabled bs)

That's the Fake Defector! The trope as written includes the cases where the "traitor" doesn't explain the plan to their friends first and there's a degree of miscommunication, but since its execution often relies pretty heavily on the Unspoken Plan Guarantee, the audience usually doesn't know how much information their allies actually have when they "turn traitor," and will only find out who was in on it when they inevitably reveal that they're actually still a good guy.

[lvis44]

Sweet Escape - The Wedding Pt.1 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Language, Alcohol Consumption, its really just a whole lot of fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+

Summary: Paradise is supposed to be fun and relaxing... a Sweet Escape, but when unspoken feelings and jealousy rise to the surface, everything can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye.

Notes: The beginning of the long awaited wedding! I have decided I will be releasing this in chunks, I cannot guarantee when each one will be coming but it will all be in the universe soon enough. I love you all and appreciate those of you have been kind and patient, I'm still here y'all I promise. Once again I cannot follow the same tense while writing and this has not been fully edited.

I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy! xxx

Previous Sections: Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Epilogue

What if I come and stay until 11:55?” His voice is whiny and desperate, making you laugh.

“Lewis, you have to go before Charlotte and Miles come and drag you.” You tell your pouting fiancé, still laughing at him.

You’re standing outside the fancy restaurant rented for your rehearsal dinner, snow falling around you as people start to clear out. Lewis had been attached to your hip for the last few days, his adoration for you only growing as you two approached your wedding day, The day that you had perfectly planned together.

“Wanna sleep next to you though.” Lewis says quietly, a cheeky smirk on his face as he pulls you against him, his hand traveling down to your bum.

“Lew! My parents are right there.” You whisper shout, grabbing his forearm to move it up to your lower back.

He just laughed, shaking his head before pressing himself against you even firmer, “Seriously, can we stay together just a little while longer? Promise I’ll leave before midnight.”

You could tell his intentions weren’t to sleep and you knew you would be hard pressed to kick him out later in the evening. You’re not a particularly traditional person but you were holding to sleeping apart the night before the wedding, much to his dismay. His mother had been the one to bring it up during wedding planning and while Lewis thought it was a horrible concept you were more than happy to go along, it made her happy and it made everything feel even more real. Two suites had been rented for the night at different hotels, mostly to keep Lewis from sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night.

“Bruv, if you don’t let go of her and come get in the damn car, I will remove you myself.” Miles’ voice boomed from behind you, saving you from having to turn your fiancé down yet again.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing Miles and Charlotte were tightly wound, the stress getting to them both as if it was their own wedding. You could see that Lewis was finally accepting defeat, rolling his eyes but nodding to Miles, motioning that he would be there in a second.

“It’s fucking crazy that the next time I see you will be at the altar.” Lewis whispers, looking giddy yet anxious.

“Gonna be Mrs. Hamilton tomorrow!” Your voice was quiet as you tried to hold back your squeal of excitement.

You were beyond elated to be marrying your best friend. When he proposed he had made it very clear that you could be engaged as long as you wanted, that nothing needed to be rushed. Only two years later you were here, ready to marry the love of your life in less than twenty four hours.

“Son, I think Miles is going to explode if we don’t all get going.” You hear Anthony laugh from nearby, evidently amused by the frantic state that Miles was in.

“Okay, okay.” Lewis just laughs, glancing at Miles who was now pacing outside of the black town car.

“I love you, get some sleep, need you in tip top shape tomorrow.” You say to Lewis, leaning up to place a family friendly kiss to his lips as you pat his chest

“Yes ma’am, I love you too.” Lewis mumbles against your lips.

Lewis stares at you for a moment, love pouring out of his dark brown eyes before squeezing your waist once more and walking off toward Miles who looks about ready to shove Lewis into the trunk if it means they’ll leave any quicker. Having said your goodbyes to everyone earlier, you make your way over toward Charlotte where she’s waiting by your own matching town car.

“You look much calmer than Miles was.” You laugh as she makes a ridiculous display of opening the door for you.

“Well thankfully I’m in charge of the much easier spouse,” She giggles, following you into the car, “I knew you’d stick to your guns and send him on his way. Miles on the other hand has about ten different plans of ways to just about lock Lewis in his room, pretty sure a straight jacket is on the table.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing Lewis will more than likely continue to complain throughout the night. You would be lying if you said you truly didn’t want to be next to him for the night, you always sleep better in his arms, but you know one night away from each other won’t kill either of you, you’ve done it countless times before. It’s been rather adorable to you how clingy Lewis had gotten over the past few weeks, it was rather unlike him but you weren’t going to fight it. You know it’s something he does sometimes when he needs to ground himself, and right now his emotions are at an all time high. There had been a few snafus with decorations and such in the weeks leading up to now, each one seemed to wind him that much tighter, the perfectionist in him struggling.

When you arrived in the suite you were exhausted and ready for your pajamas but knew there was no way you were ready to go to sleep just yet. Your mom was waiting for you in the suite when you arrived, already opening a bottle of wine and urging you and Charlotte to come sit with her, a much needed moment of decompression. You’ve been busy all day; last minute preparations, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner with all of both of your families. You were drained yet still so full of adrenaline. Being around Lewis all day had helped immensely, always so in tune with each others moods and needs, more than once he had rescued you from a conversation that felt like it had just gone on too long. It also helped that he was bubbling with excitement and energy, even after so long you frequently questioned where he got it, the level rarely faltering.

It wasn’t long before Charlotte was excusing herself to go get ready for bed, leaving you alone with your mom.

“This is all still so crazy to me.” Your moms voice is quiet and kind.

“Which part?” You laugh, taking a sip of your wine.

“All of it!” You mom says, gesturing into the air, “The fact that my baby is getting married, that her wedding is in a castle, that she’s marrying a man that we watched and admired racing for years, the fact that he’s the love of her life, just all of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at your moms little rant, because it was true, so much of it felt surreal but everything was perfect.

“I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.” You tell her softly, sincerely, taking a moment to think back on everything that has happened over the last three years.

Growing up, Sundays were reserved for F1, you and your mom massive Hamilton fans from the very beginning of his career. When you had told her that you had met him she freaked out nearly as much as you originally had, fangirling in a way you had never thought possible. Your dad thought it was impressive too, making a comment about you never leaving the city to come home and visit them now that you were hanging out with celebrities. When you told your parents that you were dating, your mom was incredibly happy for you but never let her admiration of Lewis get in the way of her daughter's well being, she made sure to check in with you frequently, always worried that his distance and status may be taking a toll on you. Your father on the other hand was less than pleased when he first learned about your relationship, preconceived notions about Lewis’ personal life and persona taking over, less than pleased with the age difference between the two of you. It took a while, but Lewis was able to win him over and you’ve never been more grateful for anything, you were desperate for all the people you loved to get along.

Now you had a fiancé who spoke with your father without you needing to be around, a mother who had befriended Lewis’ mother and stepmother and adored him, and were mere hours away from becoming his wife. Life truly does come at you fast.

“You’re ready?” Your mom asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

“I truly don’t think I’ve ever been so ready for something. I’m nervous of course but there’s no one else that I would rather be with for the rest of my life. I’m sure of that.” Your voice was confident as you spoke, meaning every word.

“I’m so glad you found someone so good for you hun, he truly is a dream. Hell, I wish I had met someone like him when I was your age,” Your mom laughed, sending you a wink, “don’t tell your dad I said that.”

“Secrets safe with me,” You giggled back, “but I don’t think there’s another one of him.”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” Your mom shrugged, the soft smile never leaving her face.

You can’t help but giggle at the conversation you're having with your mother. You’ve never been one to be sappy but the emotions boiling inside of you leading up to your big day are sending you over the edge, truly letting all the cliche thoughts you have about Lewis come to the forefront.

“You, my dear, need to get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you and need to be well rested for your night.” Your mom winked making you groan through a laugh.

“Mom!” You buried your head in your hands.

You and your mom have always been open with each other about every aspect of your life but you didn’t need to hear her joke about you consummating your marriage.

“But truly, you should try to get some sleep.” She laughed at your embarrassment, trying and failing to come off seriously.

“You’re right, I’ll try.” You say, rolling your eyes as you finish off the last of the wine in your glass

[another-lost-mc]

kisses on the battlefield | solomon x reader

cw: sfw. hurt/comfort. descriptions of canon-typical violence. light angst with a happy ending. gn!reader (referred to as mc, they/them pronouns). wc: 1.7k+

“No, I won't go,” Solomon argued with Diavolo, a large map on the table between them. He was already on edge from the looming danger waiting for them all on the horizon; he wasn't convinced you would be safe if he left you now. He looked to Barbatos for support, but the demon's unreadable expression made him feel even worse about this plan.

You were assigned leadership over the group of witches and wizards sent by the Sorcerer’s Society. You shared an apprehensive look with him as you crossed paths outside the tent. You both wanted to linger, to stay and share one more farewell (in addition to the hurried moments you shared earlier that day), but there wasn't anymore time.

Solomon practically threw his hands up in the air and spun on his heel so he could follow you, Diavolo's orders be damned. He knew the human sorcerers were responsible for defending the eastern quadrant—he'd find you and keep you safe. That was his intention, until Barbatos blocked his way and Diavolo called his name behind him.

Solomon snarled in frustration as he turned back to the demon prince. "The reapers don't need me. Let me pass."

But Barbatos was unmoving, and Diavolo shook his head. “The reapers need your help repairing the damage to the seal that allowed this to happen. We need to stop the hostile force here, before the three realms descend into chaos. Your pacts should give you the additional reinforcements you need.”

With a few exceptions, of course—Asmodeus and Barbatos were both needed elsewhere, and Solomon knew he wouldn't be able to summon them.

Solomon gritted his teeth. "Fine, then I'll bring MC with me. They can assist with repairing the seal." And I can keep an eye on them myself.

Diavolo sighed heavily, and Solomon saw something vulnerable in his eyes, something that looked like regret. “MC is too important to our defenses. The human sorcerers need someone to lead them that they can trust in your place. They're also the only one capable of empowering the Avatars of Sin to bolster our ranks, should we need them to."

Diavolo understood Solomon’s hesitancy. He had a similar conversation with you, privately, before Solomon arrived. You were equally torn about being separated from him and facing the unknown dangers alone. You took less convincing to go along with Diavolo's plan—you knew this was the best course of action, even if you didn't like it.

Unfortunately, there was no guarantee Diavolo could make to you that Solomon would return unscathed while he assisted the reapers with their task. Likewise, there was no promise Diavolo could make to Solomon that even if he returned, you would be unharmed.

“You have my word that I will do everything in my power to keep MC safe,” Diavolo told him seriously. It was the best the demon prince could offer to appease Solomon's doubts, but the oath tasted like ash on his tongue.

Barbatos glanced at Diavolo knowingly behind the sorcerer's back, and the unspoken truth hung between them: Solomon would become their enemy too, should they fail to protect you.

Solomon realized he had little choice. He told himself that he would do this for you, because you deserved better than a future torn apart by war and death. He uttered a curse under his breath and glared venomously at Diavolo before he disappeared.

Solomon and the reapers finally sealed the magical tear that allowed the eldritch beasts to invade from the farthest reaches of the cosmos. He went to the battlefield to find you as soon as Thirteen assured him that their task was complete.

He expected to find you on the eastern front with the other sorcerers, but all he found there was the aftermath of carnage. The ground was broken and scorched by flame and it ran wet with odd, inky-black blood. He realized quickly that the largest battle must've been fought here and his blood froze in his veins.

He finally stumbled on some lingering demons and human sorcerers that were helping evacuate the remaining survivors. As soon as they mentioned a healers' camp set up near RAD, he teleported immediately to the Devildom.

Solomon recognized the battle-weary faces of his demon and angel and human acquaintances when he arrived, but he couldn't bear to stop until he found you.

His heart clenched with equal parts hope and worry when he finally spotted Asmodeus and Simeon speaking together near one of the tents. They both greeted him with relieved expressions despite their dirtied faces and ripped clothing, stained with mud and gore.

"It's good to see you," Simeon said, clasping his shoulder.

Solomon didn't have time for pleasantries. "I just arrived. Where's MC?"

Asmo shook his head. "They're fine. Lucifer and Mammon took them to one of the tents back there," he said, pointing to a small cluster of tents close to the RAD building.

Solomon tried to push past him, but Asmo grabbed his arm. He didn't flinch when Solomon bared his teeth angrily at him. "Let me go."

"Wait," Asmo urged him quietly. "MC's mostly unharmed, but Solomon it was—it was bad."

Icy dread flooded his body all over again. "Tell me."

Diavolo snapped the would-be assassin's neck in his grasp before he flung the limp corpse aside. Not far from him, Barbatos eviscerated an enemy with a slash from the glinting dagger in his hand.

"I don't like this," Lucifer muttered at his side. Diavolo nodded and peered around. The demon army was anxiously waiting, but the invasion they anticipated was nowhere to be seen. He trusted Thirteen's information that the dark, otherworldly threat had broken through the realms' defenses, so where—?

"My lord," Barbatos breathed, staring at something behind him in the distance.

Diavolo turned as a bright red flare shot into the dark sky. Another flare followed, and another, and another after that, until the sky was littered with dozens of fiery wisps of magic. It was a signal to warn the other defensive positions that the intruders were spotted, and they all came from the east.

The wind carried the shrill, foreign language of nightmare creatures as small portals appeared across the battlefield and the monstrous entities charged through and finally began their attack.

In an instant, another large, dark portal opened above the area where you and your fellow sorcerers were stationed. The ground shook as something shot from the portal and engulfed the eastern battlefield in purple flames and black smoke.

Oh, no.

Lucifer grunted at Diavolo's side and suddenly disappeared as the power of your pact summoned him to you. Barbatos was already redirecting forces to aid the human defenders, but Diavolo felt dread pool in his stomach. He took off in flight and slashed at everything in his path, hoping they weren't too late.

Solomon paused outside your tent when he heard Mammon's familiar voice within; he sounded exasperated.

"I don't care whatcha say, Satan says you gotta rest," the Greed demon lectured you.

"Mammon, I promise, I'm okay—"

The ice in Solomon's heart cracked when he finally heard your voice.

You were alive.

"Yeah, we'll see 'bout that. How many fingers am I holdin' up?"

"...three?"

Mammon scoffed. "Lucky guess."

Solomon couldn't wait anymore. He pulled the flap aside and poked his head inside the tent. Mammon was holding three fingers in front of your face, and you were trying to push his hand away. Your face lit up with recognition when they both looked to see who had arrived.

"Look, your boyfriend can talk some sense into ya. I'll see about getting you somethin' to eat." Mammon paused when he was passing Solomon on his way out and leaned towards him. "MC got hit by some type of curse, they were real dizzy for a while. Satan thinks it's worn off, but they need to take it easy. Got it?"

Solomon stared at you but nodded slowly. As soon as Mammon left the tent, he stepped towards your cot in something like a trance. He sat on the edge of the bed and glanced down when you grabbed both his hands in yours.

"I am so happy to see you," you breathed. Your smile trembled and tears dotted your lash line.

Solomon held your hands for a moment before he rested them on your lap and cupped your cheeks instead. He cradled your face in his hands so gently. He didn't know what to say. Words failed him—he was overwhelmed by the possibility of losing you earlier, and now by the relief you were here really here.

His eyes roamed your face desperately, drinking in the sight of you—a battle-worn version of you, perhaps—but in this moment, you were everything to him. He didn't know how to put his feelings for you into words, so he leaned forward and kissed you instead.

You made a surprised noise against his lips, but your fingers grasped weakly at the tattered sleeves of his coat and you drew him even closer. It was less of a kiss and more of a desperate press of your chapped lips against his, but you felt his warm breath fan across your skin and savoured the familiar taste of him on your tongue. It was comforting proof that he was alive—that you both were.

Solomon's body trembled so much it shook the rackety bed you were in, and he broke the kiss with a sob. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, the words raspy with so many emotions. "I never should've left you."

You shook your head and the corners of your lips twitched upward. "I'm grateful that I had such a good teacher," you joked, but it sounded flat to your ears when your tired voice betrayed you.

He leaned forward and buried another sob into the crook of your neck. He crushed your body to his and he hoped the salty tears on your skin and his arms wrapped tightly around you conveyed everything he felt for you—

—he won't ever leave you, and nothing in the three realms or beyond will ever hurt you ever again—

—but all his strangled voice could manage to croak out was a broken, "I love you."

You closed your eyes and smoothed your fingers through his hair, damp with sweat and dirty from the battlefield. His arms squeezed you even tighter, and you smiled despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. "I love you too."

read more: solomon masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[3kockeleda]

The Quiet Unraveling: Navigating Complacency, Consumerism, and the Search for Meaning in a Fractured World

Let’s begin with a confession: None of us are innocent here. We’re all tangled in the same messy web of contradictions—yearning for purpose while numbing ourselves with distractions, craving justice while clinging to comfort. This isn’t a condemnation; it’s an invitation to untangle the knots together. Because the truth is, the systems that suffocate us didn’t emerge in a vacuum. They grew from our collective fears, our exhaustion, and the very human desire to just make it through the day.

1. Complacency and Conformity: The Seduction of Safety

To understand complacency, we must first confront its seductive logic: Safety is not the absence of danger, but the illusion of control. We cling to routines, traditions, and systems not because we’re naive, but because the alternative—confronting the fragility of it all—feels paralyzing. Consider the factory worker clocking in for decades at a job that erodes their body, the student drowning in debt while chasing a degree they’re told will “guarantee stability,” or the parent who swallows their political disillusionment to avoid rocking the boat for their children. These aren’t failures of character; they’re rational responses to a world that punishes deviation.

Conformity is rarely about laziness—it’s about risk assessment. When the 2008 financial crisis wiped out pensions and homes, people didn’t suddenly rise up; they doubled down on “safe” choices. Why? Because rebellion is a luxury when you’re one missed paycheck from ruin. The gig economy epitomizes this: Workers accept exploitative conditions not because they lack ambition, but because algorithms dangle the carrot of “flexibility” while eroding labor rights. The message is clear: Play by the rules, or lose everything.

Even our language betrays this conditioning. We call nonconformists “idealists” or “radicals,” terms dripping with paternalism. Meanwhile, those who uphold the status quo are “practical” or “responsible.” This framing isn’t accidental—it’s cultural gaslighting. By equating compliance with maturity, systems ensure we police ourselves.

But safety is a mirage. For every person who “succeeds” by societal metrics, there are countless others crushed by the weight of unspoken compromises. Take the corporate ladder: Climbing it often demands silencing ethics (“Don’t ask about the offshore labor”), sacrificing health (“Sleep is for the weak”), and numbing creativity (“Follow the template”). We call this “success,” but it’s a pyrrhic victory—a life half-lived in exchange for a gold watch and a retirement plaque.

The toll isn’t just personal; it’s collective. Conformity sustains systems that harm us all. For example:

Environmental Collapse: We recycle dutifully while corporations lobby against climate policies, knowing our individual efforts are drops in an ocean of industrial waste.

Healthcare Inequity: Millions accept inadequate insurance plans because “that’s just how it is,” while pharmaceutical giants price-gouge life-saving medications.

Political Apathy: Voters settle for the “lesser evil” cycle after cycle, not because they’re apathetic, but because they’ve been conditioned to believe real change is impossible.

These aren’t signs of moral failure—they’re evidence of a rigged game. Systems thrive when we internalize their limitations as inevitabilities.

Breaking free doesn’t require grand gestures. It starts with questioning the stories we’ve been sold:

The Myth of Meritocracy: We’re told talent and grit guarantee success, yet study after study reveals wealth and connections matter most. Acknowledge this, and suddenly “laziness” looks more like exhaustion from running a race with no finish line.

The Cult of Busyness: Productivity culture equates self-worth with output. But what if we measured value in rest, creativity, or community care instead?

The Fear of “Otherness”: Conformity often masks a deeper fear—of being ostracized, of losing belonging. Yet some of history’s greatest shifts began with people who dared to be “weird”: LGBTQ+ activists, disability advocates, indigenous land defenders.

Resistance can be subtle:

A teacher who skirts standardized curricula to nurture critical thinking.

A nurse unionizing despite threats of retaliation.

A teenager rejecting hustle culture to prioritize mental health.

These acts aren’t glamorous, but they’re revolutionary because they reject the premise that this is all there is.

Complacency isn’t natural—it’s engineered. Consider:

Education Systems: Schools often prioritize obedience over curiosity, training students to memorize answers rather than ask questions.

Media Narratives: News cycles reduce complex issues to binaries (left vs. right, “woke” vs. “anti-woke”), discouraging nuance.

Corporate “Wellness”: Companies offer yoga classes and mindfulness apps to placate burnout—a Band-Aid on a bullet wound—while ignoring demands for living wages or humane hours.

To dismantle this, we must name the forces at play. For instance, the bystander effect—a psychological phenomenon where individuals are less likely to act in a crisis when others are present—explains why we tolerate societal rot. If everyone’s silent, we assume someone else will speak. But when one person steps forward, it cracks the illusion of consensus.

What if safety wasn’t about clinging to the familiar, but about building systems that actually protect us? Imagine:

Economic Safety: Universal healthcare, living wages, and affordable housing so survival isn’t a daily gamble.

Emotional Safety: Cultures that prioritize mental health over performative hustle.

Intellectual Safety: Spaces where questioning norms is encouraged, not punished.

This isn’t utopian—it’s pragmatic. Complacency persists because we’ve been convinced alternatives are unrealistic. But every workers’ rights law, environmental regulation, and social safety net began as a “radical” idea.

2. Consumerism and Distraction: The Double-Edged Comfort

Let’s be honest: We’ve all soothed ourselves with the dopamine hit of an online purchase or lost hours to the algorithmic abyss of TikTok. Consumerism isn’t some moral failing; it’s a rational response to alienation. Under late-stage capitalism, where work is precarious, communities are fractured, and futures feel foreclosed, consumption becomes a perverse form of therapy. That new pair of shoes isn’t just a product—it’s a fleeting antidote to existential dread. The problem isn’t that we crave comfort; it’s that the system offers no other language for healing.

Capitalism manufactures scarcity—not just of resources, but of meaning. It tells us we’re incomplete without the latest gadget, that self-worth is tied to productivity, and that connection can be bottled and sold as a “wellness retreat.” Consider:

Fast Fashion: We buy cheap clothes to fill voids, knowing they’re stitched by underpaid workers in sweatshops. The cycle isn’t ignorance; it’s despair dressed as distraction.

Planned Obsolescence: Phones die after two years, appliances break just past warranty—a deliberate design to keep us chasing replacements. We’re not consumers; we’re hostages.

Digital Escapism: Social media algorithms feed us rage and envy because conflict drives clicks. We doomscroll not because we’re addicted, but because the “real world” offers little refuge.

This isn’t a coincidence—it’s by design. Late-stage capitalism thrives on perpetual dissatisfaction. It can’t survive if we’re content, connected, or politically engaged. So it commodifies our loneliness, monetizes our anger, and sells us bandaids for bullet wounds.

Blaming individuals for overconsumption is like blaming a fish for drowning. The real issue isn’t personal excess; it’s a system that requires excess to function. Capitalism’s growth imperative demands we extract, produce, and discard at accelerating rates—even if it means burning the planet. Consider:

Advertising’s Psychological Warfare: Corporations spend billions to manipulate our insecurities, convincing us happiness is a product. Socialism asks: What if we redirected those resources to universal mental healthcare instead?

The Time Poverty Trap: Overworked, underpaid people have little energy to cook, create, or connect. No wonder we UberEats dinner and binge Netflix—we’re exhausted. Socialism argues for shorter workweeks and living wages so we can reclaim time for what matters.

The Myth of “Ethical Consumption”: Boycotts and reusable straws are Band-Aids on a hemorrhage. You can’t “vote with your dollar” when billionaires own the ballot box. Socialism rejects market-based solutions and demands systemic change: Why not dismantle the structures forcing us to choose between survival and ethics?

Consumerism isn’t just about stuff—it’s about stifling dissent. The more time we spend curating online personas or hunting discounts, the less we have to organize, dream, or demand better. Late capitalism turns us into micro-managers of our own oppression, too busy comparing Spotify Wrapped stats to notice our pensions evaporating.

But distraction also serves a darker purpose: It atomizes us. Social media replaces solidarity with individualism (“Here’s 10 self-care tips for surviving burnout!”), while gig apps pit workers against each other for scraps. The result? A fractured populace, too isolated to challenge the oligarchs hoarding wealth.

Socialism, in contrast, centers collective power. It asks: What if we redirected the energy spent on Black Friday stampedes toward housing cooperatives? What if viral trends promoted mutual aid instead of hyper-consumption? Movements like tenant unions, community land trusts, and worker-owned businesses offer blueprints—not just for surviving capitalism, but dismantling it.

Dismantling consumerism isn’t about austerity; it’s about abundance. Imagine:

Universal Basic Services: Free healthcare, education, transit, and housing. When survival isn’t tied to wages, consumption loses its coercive power.

Democratic Workplaces: Worker cooperatives where employees own profits and set hours. Imagine producing goods for utility, not shareholder profit—no planned obsolescence, no exploitative ads.

Cultural Shift: Public spaces that prioritize community over commerce—libraries, parks, free theaters. Art funded for expression, not clicks.

This isn’t a utopia. Spain’s Mondragon Corporation, a federation of worker co-ops, employs 80,000 people with equitable wages. Finland’s housing-first policy slashed homelessness by treating shelter as a right, not a commodity. These models prove that when people control resources, they prioritize sustainability over growth for growth’s sake.

The socialist project isn’t about depriving joy—it’s about redefining it. Late capitalism reduces human complexity to “consumer” or “laborer.” Socialism asks: What if we valued people as creators, caregivers, and collaborators?

This means:

Dismantling the Attention Economy: Tax predatory algorithms. Fund public media free from ads. Let creativity flourish without surveillance.

Embracing Degrowth: Prioritizing well-being over GDP. A four-day workweek isn’t radical—it’s a return to pre-industrial rhythms where life wasn’t monetized.

Cultivating Collective Joy: Block parties over shopping sprees. Skill-sharing networks over Amazon. Grief circles over retail therapy.

Consumerism is a symptom of a deeper sickness: a world that treats humans as inputs and outputs. Socialism, at its core, is about healing that rupture—not through moralizing, but through solidarity.

Yes, we’ll still crave comfort. But what if comfort looked like a community garden instead of a McMansion? Like guaranteed healthcare instead of a “retail therapy” splurge? Like knowing your labor benefits neighbors, not CEOs?

The path forward isn’t shame. It’s building systems where our needs are met, our time is our own, and our worth is untethered from what we buy. Dismantling capitalism isn’t about losing luxuries—it’s about gaining freedom.

After all, the most radical act of defiance isn’t burning a mall. It’s imagining a world where we no longer need one.

3. Social and Political Awareness: The Weight of Witnessing

To bear witness to history is to carry its ghosts. It demands we confront not only the brutality of oppression but also the fragility of progress. From the civil rights movement to LGBTQ+ liberation, every stride toward justice has been met with backlash, erasure, and revisionism. Yet within this tension lies a truth: Awareness is not passive—it is a battleground

Programs designed to teach racial history—like Holocaust education, slavery museums, or Indigenous truth commissions—are often hailed as societal reckonings. But too often, they sanitize the past to soothe the present. For example:

The U.S. Civil Rights Movement: School curricula reduce Dr. King to a pacifist caricature, scrubbing his critiques of capitalism and militarism. Meanwhile, figures like Malcolm X or the Black Panthers are framed as “radicals,” their demands for systemic change diluted into soundbites.

South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission: While it exposed apartheid’s horrors, it prioritized forgiveness over reparations, leaving economic apartheid intact.

These programs risk becoming performative pedagogy, offering catharsis without accountability. True historical awareness isn’t about guilt—it’s about tracing the fingerprints of oppression to their source: Who still holds power? Who profits from forgetting?

The LGBTQ+ rights movement has always been rooted in trans and queer resistance—but you wouldn’t know it from mainstream narratives. Consider:

Stonewall (1969): Marsha P. Johnson, a Black trans woman, and Sylvia Rivera, a Latina trans activist, were instrumental in the riots. Yet for decades, cisgender gay white men were centered in commemorations. Even today, states like Florida ban discussions of gender identity in schools, erasing trans contributions to history.

The AIDS Crisis: Trans activists like Miss Major Griffin-Gracy and organizations like ACT UP fought for healthcare and dignity while governments ignored the deaths of thousands. Their legacy is often reduced to a red ribbon, stripped of its radical fury.

Modern Backlash: Anti-trans laws weaponize historical amnesia, framing trans existence as a “new trend.” But trans people have always existed—from Indigenous Two-Spirit communities to 19th-century queer liberationists like Karl Heinrich Ulrichs.

There is no LGBTQ+ without the T and Q. To exclude trans and queer stories is to amputate the movement’s heart

History’s greatest leaps forward were born not from polite debate but from collective rage. Examples abound:

Stonewall Riots (1969): Sparked modern LGBTQ+ activism. The first Pride was a riot, not a parade.

Compton’s Cafeteria Riot (1966): Led by trans women and drag queens in San Francisco, predating Stonewall.

Black Lives Matter (2013–present): Global protests after George Floyd’s murder forced reckonings on policing, with Minneapolis pledging to dismantle its police department (though progress remains contested).

The Arab Spring (2010–2012): Toppled dictators but also revealed the cost of revolution—hope tempered by backlash.

Farmers’ Protests in India (2020–2021): Millions forced the repeal of corporate farming laws, proving people power can outmuscle neoliberalism.

ACT UP’s “Die-Ins” (1980s–90s): AIDS activists stormed the NIH and St. Patrick’s Cathedral, shaming institutions into action.

These movements weren’t “peaceful”—nor should they have been. Justice is rarely granted; it’s seized.

South Africa’s Anti-Apartheid Movement: International boycotts and domestic uprisings dismantled legal segregation—but economic apartheid persists.

Ireland’s Marriage Equality Referendum (2015): Grassroots campaigns, led by groups like Yes Equality, made Ireland the first country to legalize same-sex marriage by popular vote.

Argentina’s Gender Identity Law (2012): Trans activists won the world’s most progressive gender self-determination policy, including free healthcare.

Sudan’s 2019 Revolution: Women and queer youth frontlined protests that ousted dictator Omar al-Bashir, despite ongoing violence.

These movements share a thread: Those most marginalized—trans people, Black women, poor farmers—often lead the charge, only to be sidelined when victories are claimed.

The Fight Against Erasure: How to Honor (and Continue) the Work

Teach Intersectional History: Highlight figures like Bayard Rustin (a gay civil rights organizer) or Stormé DeLarverie (a Black lesbian who sparked Stonewall).

Fund Grassroots Archives: Support projects like the Transgender Archives at the University of Victoria or the African American History Museum.

Amplify Living Histories: Listen to movements like Stop Cop City (Atlanta) or Youth v. Apocalypse (climate justice).

Reject Respectability Politics: Celebrate the “unruly” — the rioters, the occupiers, the ones who refuse to be palatable.

Awareness is not a museum exhibit—it’s a call to action. Every right we have—from marriage equality to voting access—was wrested from the jaws of power by those deemed “too loud,” “too angry,” or “too radical.” The backlash we see today—anti-trans laws, voter suppression, historical bans—is not a sign of defeat. It’s proof the powerful fear our memory.

So remember: When they erase trans pioneers from textbooks, teach them. When they whitewash slavery, revolt. When they criminalize protest, organize. The weight of witnessing is heavy, but it is also a weapon. Wield it.

4. Breaking Free: The Messy Work of Awakening

Awakening is not a sudden epiphany but a slow, grinding unfurling—a reckoning with the layers of denial, distraction, and dissonance that shroud our lives. It begins in the quiet moments when the scripts we’ve been handed—work, consume, repeat—start to fray at the edges, revealing the hollow core beneath. The weight of complacency, once a familiar burden, becomes intolerable. The distractions that once numbed us—the endless scroll, the curated personas, the ritualized consumption—now feel like ill-fitting costumes. This is the ache of awakening: the visceral understanding that the safety we’ve clung to is a mirage, and the world we’ve accepted is a gilded cage.

The journey is fraught with psychological landmines. Cognitive dissonance erupts as we confront the chasm between our values and our actions. We’ve been conditioned to equate conformity with survival, to mistake busyness for purpose, and to rationalize injustice as inevitability. To question these narratives is to invite a storm of existential anxiety—What if I’m wrong? What if I lose everything? The fear is primal. Our brains, wired for pattern recognition and predictability, revolt against the uncertainty of change. We cling to the devil we know, even when it devours us. This is the paradox of awakening: To break free, we must first sit in the discomfort of knowing we’ve been complicit, that our silence funded systems we despise, that our distractions were collaborators in our own erasure.

Yet this pain is not punishment—it’s alchemy. It’s the friction required to transmute guilt into accountability, passivity into action. Consider the suffocating grip of consumerism, where every purchase is a tiny rebellion against emptiness. We’ve been taught to medicate loneliness with products, to substitute material accumulation for meaning. But awakening demands we ask: What am I truly hungry for? The answer is rarely a thing. It’s connection—to ourselves, to others, to a world beyond the transactional. It’s the longing to create rather than consume, to belong rather than perform. This shift is seismic. It requires rewiring neural pathways forged by decades of capitalist conditioning, where self-worth is tied to productivity and joy is commodified.

The process mirrors the collective struggles etched into history. The civil rights activists who faced fire hoses and jail cells, the LGBTQ+ pioneers who rioted at Stonewall, the Black Lives Matter protestors who turned grief into global mobilization—they too grappled with the terror of rupture. Their awakenings were not pristine moments of clarity but messy, iterative acts of courage. They carried the weight of knowing their fight might outlive them, that progress could be reversed, that erasure was a constant threat. Yet they chose to disrupt the trance, to risk their safety for a future they might never see. Their legacy is a testament to the unbearable cost of staying asleep—and the transformative power of refusing to look away.

Awakening, then, is both personal and collective. It’s the recognition that our individual liberation is bound to the liberation of others. The systems that profit from our complacency—the same ones that erase trans voices, exploit workers, and plunder the planet—rely on our isolation. They thrive when we internalize shame, when we believe our smallness is inevitable. But solidarity cracks this illusion. When we join movements like the Fight for $15 or the resistance against anti-trans legislation, we tap into a lineage of defiance that stretches from the suffragettes to Standing Rock. We realize our power is not in perfection but in persistence—in showing up, flawed and furious, to chip away at the edifice of oppression.

The path is neither linear nor guaranteed. There will be days when the pull of the old life is seductive, when the news cycle’s horrors tempt us to retreat into numbness. Awakening is not purity; it’s resilience. It’s the queer teen who survives conversion therapy and becomes an advocate, the burned-out worker who organizes a union despite retaliation, the privileged ally who confronts their own complicity and redistributes resources. It’s the understanding that every small act of resistance—a difficult conversation, a boycott, a vote—is a thread in the tapestry of change.

And here, in the marrow of the struggle, lies the redemption: Awakening gifts us our humanity. The numbness that once shielded us from pain also barred us from joy. The distractions that anesthetized us stifled our creativity. The conformity that promised safety suffocated our authenticity. To break free is to reclaim the full spectrum of being—to feel rage and hope, grief and solidarity, not as weaknesses, but as proof of aliveness. It’s to trade the shallow comfort of the status quo for the messy, magnificent work of building something new.

The road is long, and the dawn may seem distant. But history whispers to us: Every riot, every strike, every act of defiance mattered. They shifted the axis of the possible. Your awakening, however stumbling, is part of that lineage. It’s worth the fight—not because victory is guaranteed, but because the alternative is a life half-lived. The cage door was never locked. It only felt that way. Step out. Breathe. Join the chorus of those who refuse to let the world sleepwalk into ruin. The cost is everything. The reward is a world remade.

5. A Path Forward: Gentleness as Rebellion — And the Question That Haunts Us All

In a world that equates strength with domination and progress with relentless grind, gentleness is an act of defiance. It’s a refusal to replicate the cruelty of systems that demand we harden ourselves to survive. Gentleness is not passivity; it’s the quiet, radical work of tending to the fractures—in ourselves, in each other, in the brittle scaffolding of a society teetering on collapse. It’s the factory worker who carves out time to mentor a younger colleague despite the assembly line’s unrelenting pace. It’s the student drowning in debt who still shows up to a climate strike. It’s the exhausted parent who, instead of scrolling, asks their child, “What hurts?” and truly listens. These acts seem small against the roar of injustice, but they are the antidote to the poison of isolation that late-stage capitalism brews.

Gentleness threads through every struggle we’ve named: It’s the complacent worker who risks vulnerability to unionize, knowing retaliation looms. It’s the consumer who opts out of Black Friday to repair a frayed friendship. It’s the activist who trades performative outrage for patient community-building. It’s the awakened soul who forgives their own complicity long enough to keep fighting. This is how we dismantle the myth that change requires heroes. It doesn’t. It requires humans—messy, tender, persistent—who refuse to let the world’s callousness become their own.

History’s loudest revolutions were born from gentleness disguised as ferocity. The Black Lives Matter marchers who handed out water and masks amid tear gas. The AIDS caregivers who held the dying when governments looked away. The LGBTQ+ elders who offered spare couches to queer kids cast out by families. These were not just acts of resistance; they were acts of love, a word too often sanitized into meaninglessness. Real love is inconvenient. It demands we redistribute resources, dismantle hierarchies, and prioritize care over growth. It means seeing the migrant detained at the border, the trans teen disowned by relatives, the overworked single parent, and whispering: “Your struggle is mine.”

But love alone is not enough. Gentleness must be coupled with the unflinching question that Martin Niemöller etched into history’s conscience:

First they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Communist... Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak out.

Today, the “they” is not a faceless regime but the logic of disposability that lurks in all of us. It’s the algorithms that dehumanize Palestinians as collateral, the lawmakers who erase trans lives from textbooks, the corporations that sacrifice Indigenous land for lithium mines. Every time we look away—because the news is too heavy, the guilt too sharp, the risk too great—we rehearse Niemöller’s lament.

So I leave you with this: When the algorithms scrub marginalized voices from platforms, when the laws criminalize protest, when the climate crisis swallows the Global South first—who will you fight for? And when the gears of greed and bigotry finally grind toward your door, who will be left to fight for you?

The answer lies in the gentleness we cultivate now. In the connections we nurture, the stories we preserve, the solidarity we practice before the storm arrives. Revolutions are not won in the streets alone. They’re won in the moments we choose tenderness over apathy, courage over comfort, and collective survival over solitary survival.

When they come for you—and they will—who will speak? Will it be anyone at all?

[princessjojo-x]

Taurus Venus ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

💝 he refuses to waste energy on what doesn’t matter & he lives by the motto ‘energy is currency’. he won’t talk just for the sake of it & he feels overcrowded by chatter from outsiders. he doesn’t expend much energy towards strangers & others are aware his energy is valuable. people are keen to prove they’re worthy of his time & affection but he’s selective abt who he allows in his inner circle. his refinement adds a sense of exclusivity & prestige to his aura, further enhancing his unspoken allure & attractiveness.

💝 his mysterious & reserved nature causes him to approach love with quiet intensity. he reveals little abt his romantic inclinations & his emotions remain well-guarded. women may find it difficult to distinguish whether he likes them bc he doesn’t act on his romantic desires immediately. his love, though powerful, is hidden beneath layers of cautious & self-control. he observes, contemplates & waits for the right moment (if it ever comes). he could be stuck on a woman forever, but nobody including her, would ever know.

💝 he doesn’t like others knowing much abt him & he keep certain aspects of his life guarded. he wants to control his narrative & share info on his own terms. since he’s cautious & deliberate in his actions, he doesn’t share his thoughts & feelings, unless it’s beneficial or necessary. you disclosing his private matters is a major breach of trust, which is not taken lightly or easily forgiven. at best, he’ll punish you by withdrawing from you temporarily or permanently. at worst, he’ll be relentlessly stubborn in his pursuit of revenge. his patient & methodical approach ensures a carefully planned retaliation. but it does takes a lot for him to reach this point due to his tolerant & patient nature

💝 he doesn’t like being perceived as the delicate type (even though he very much is). taurus is represented by the bull, which embodies stoicism & strength. he takes pride in his emotional stability & he equates openesss with potential risk. he avoids sharing vulnerabilities, including struggles & weaknesses. he relies on his inner resilience rather than seeking external support. however, in the presence of comfortable & safe atmospheres, he may slowly peel back his layers, revealing the depths of his mind & heart. this is a significant act of trust, one that does not come easily. if he’s ever willing to do so & you turn out to betray him, it’ll hold a lot of weight & he’ll struggle to recover..

💝 since he’s self-contained, his red flags & true character wont show up until months into the rxship, causing his partner to wonder if she really even knew him at all.

💝 he excels at creating an environment of security, whether that be emotionally or physically. his comforting & predictable presence makes others feel at ease & safe. the laidback temperament he projects is what attracts others to him

💝 amongst all the venus signs he’s the least likely to experience love at first sight bc he takes awhile to warm up to new people. he takes his sweet time when forming bonds & he prefers to build rxships steadily. he prefers steady & organic connections over fleeting infatuations. he’s most definitely a slow burner & he wont change his pace for anybody. he’s slow-moving & hesitant in the process of love due to the intensity of his love & level of devotion he has to offer. it’s so hard for him to let go of those whom he lets in. therefore, he needs to be completely certain & guaranteed before letting his guard down.

💝 amongst all the venus signs he has the easiest love life bc he possesses an innate wisdom in regards to rxships (even if he’s never been in one before). he doesn’t mind waiting for a good & dependable partner to enter his life bc he’s very patient. he wont date a woman unless she ticks his boxes & treats him properly. he may like or lust for multiple women throughout his life but he’s likely to only fall in love once.

💝 however, he thrives when in a devoted partnership & he can become love sick without a significant connection. he can feel empty & purposeless without the emotional security & physical affection needed to make him feel whole.

💝 once he’s eventually grew fond of you, you’ll see a completely different side to him. he’s undoubtedly an honourable lover & friend. he thrives on enduring you’re taken care of emotionally & physically. for instance, carrying you over a puddle or holding your umbrella. the compassion & care he surrounds you with makes you feel seen & appreciated. he’ll even refrain from arguing with you bc he wont want to spoil the atmosphere. he wants to see you indulge in sensual pleasures & will happily chip in there too (good food, nice clothes, etc). he’s willing to spend a lot of money on himself & on his partner. ensure to show your gratitude & he’ll be loyal to the end.

💝 he views his partner as a prized object (trophy wife). he values her highly & proudly claims her. he views her as an extension of himself & wants her to reflect his personal brand. a great example of this is kanye west with & bianca censori - he literally moulded her appearance & persona to align with his vision. but his love may blur the lines between admiration & control sometimes.

💝 he wants his partner to come under his wing where it’s safe. but this can lead to possessive, intruding & overbearing behaviour.

💝 during matters of love, his partner will need to give in to him at times bc he won’t readily give in to her. after all, he is a bull, meaning he’s stubborn asf, to the point of being unmovable.

💝 he has strong morals & traditional expectations. however, some may view these traits as boring & outdated. he’ll set strict values & rules for himself; for example, not allowing himself to make prolonged eye contact with other women or not contacting other women without informing his partner.

💝 he seeks security, comfort, familiarity & predictability. this causes him to stay in expired rxships & be reluctant to start over. he settles for those he has deep attachment with, even if he knows that better options are available elsewhere. these meaningful connections are intertwined with his life’s foundation & his purpose of living. he refuses to release people even when they’ve left bc attachment generates an adrenaline within him. he’s extraordinarily loyal & dedicated to his loved ones. he views his investment & resilience as a testimony to his character. in this sense he’s similar to scorpio (his sister sign). but scorpio holds on tight to control & possess, whereas taurus holds on tight to hoard & collect.

💝 he experiences heartbreak deeply & profoundly. it takes him along time to heal & restore himself. but once he’s eventually moved on, he’ll never revisit the past. he refuses to reopen wounds he worked so hard to close.

💝 physical touch speaks to him louder than words ever could. when his lover rubs or runs her hands across his body, it sends waves of warmth & pleasure through him.

💝 unfortunately, all venus signs hold the potential to cheat but it’s definitely unlikely for taurus venus. he won’t risk losing a secure rxship for a fleeting affair. however, if he perceives emotional unavailability from his partner, for instance a lack of commitment & intimacy, he’ll feel insecure & neglected. he’d never cheat out of boredom or for fun, he’d only cheat to regain the warmth he feels is missing. also, if he has other placements in air or fire elements, it will add a great deal of restlessness, despite the intent of earthy taurus to stay loyal.

💝 he’s extremely appreciative of art in any form & he’s infatuated with beautiful things (women, food, clothing, nature, etc). he loves to comment on it, experience it & live in it for as long as he can until he finds the next aroma to romanticise.

💝 he’s likely a homebody who sleeps & eats a lot. he perceives lounging as a rejuvenating sensory experience (comfy clothes, soft bed, calming candles, tasty snacks). however, his need for safety & comfort leads to overindulgence & laziness.

💝 his self esteem is generally steady & he doesn’t depend on external validation. he has a realistic opinion of his worth & has a solid grasp on what makes him valuable. however, he may compare himself to mental aesthetics or others looks.

Turn On’s & Off’s:

💝 he gravitates towards people who are self-contained bc that’s what he strives to be himself. he prefers calm demeanours instead of aggressive & in-your-face personalities. he has a strong desire to protect himself from emotional upheaval, preferring comfort & predictably. his ideal partner is able to keep her life grounded & stable. she has a solid plan for her life, no matter if it's big or small. she talks to him abt her financial goals & includes him in her plan for the future. she knows the power of planning ahead & taking well calculated actions. she has a soft but stubborn side to her so she can take control when needed. she is consistent, predictable, patient, respectful & well-mannered.

💝 he’s threatened by fast-paced & high-energy situations in the context of love. he definitely doesn’t want a partner who’s bored by calm rxships & doesn’t find intimate time to be meaningful.

💝 taurus placements have neophobia (irrational fear for anything unfamiliar). they like things staying the same bc it provides a sense of peace & stability. he will run away from anyone who challenges this perspective. he likes staying in his own bubble so don’t try to burst it. he dislikes people attempting to rush or pressure him into any form of sudden change. i can’t stress how important it is to ease him into new things.

💝 he’ll be eager to cut you off if you bring too much drama & clutter into his life; for example if he notices you purposely trying to make him jealous or uncomfortable, if you show him excess displays of negative emotions like anger or pity, if you’re an unpredictable & overly-aggressive person, if you talk abt or stay in contact with an ex, if you live a very chaotic & unstable life.

💝 he places tangible affection above emotional intimacy bc he has a profound need for material security. he adores being pampered & spoiled by a generous partner. he likes receiving high quality gifts, which you can’t just buy anywhere & have been brought with a lot of thought. he may dislike receiving cheap & tacky products, unless it has sentimental value attached to it.

💝 despite being excited by gifts & luxury, he is overjoyed by ensured tranquility & constant sensuality. since taurus governs the senses, he’s a very sensual being with a constant need of pleasing his senses. to impress him: consider lighting, music, candles, perfume, aromatherapy, lingerie, etc. ensure to be sensual, warm, easy-going & down to earth. you can dazzle him by simply promising him a cozy & comfy time. someone else making him feel more comfortable will be the main culprit to why he’d ever leave you. he loves holding & cuddling one another, just sharing personal space together, heart-to-heart conversations, having aligned views abt things. his perfect date night would be: cooking meals together, going out to dinner, having a “night in”, cinema, painting.

💝 he prefers to be pursued instead of persuing others. he wants to feel completely adored & desired by his partner everyday. ensure to emphasise your loyalty to him & remind him of his worth. once you’ve achieved that you’ll likely have his heart forever.

💝 he is a venusian so he always shows his awe for everything beautiful around him. he’ll tempt his partner to join in the appreciation with him. consequently, he’s turned off by someone ungrateful, wasteful, foul & disrespectful.

💝 he wants someone with similar values, music taste, fashion sense, hobbies & interests to himself.

💝 to impress him, look expensive & dress comfortable. dress in earth tones (beige & khaki). wear minimal makeup as he prefers natural beauty. bushy brows, classic hollywood, lace, nude lipsticks.

💝 if you reject his cuddles & kisses bc you’re not in the mood for touch he will definitely take it personally & he will feel hurt.

💝 he’s instantly turned off if he feels a lack of effort or trust from his partner.

💝 he’s turned off if his partner treats his family poorly or her family treats him poorly.

[nightwriter357]

Are you just playing with me? - Day 6

It's time for day 6 of this Damien x reader series, where things are heating up just in time for Ian's surprise party! This chapter marks the second-to-last installment of this steamy series. As you probably know by now, this content is 18+ and contains explicit smut. Thank you so much for your support, you have made this journey unforgettable—let's make Day 6 one to remember!

Morning

The day buzzed with activity as the group converged on the venue to prepare for Ian's surprise party. The space ready for its transformation into a festive wonderland. Damien and you arrived alongside the housemates, toting boxes brimming with decorations and supplies.

"Alright, team," Courtney rallied, taking charge. "We've got plenty to do and not much time. Let's dive in!"

Everyone swiftly dove into their assigned tasks. Amanda and Spencer began hanging streamers and balloons, while Shayne and Courtney meticulously arranged food and drink stations. Angela and Chanse tackled the sound system, ensuring the playlist would keep spirits high.

Damien and you found yourselves amid the centerpieces and table decorations, working side by side. The air crackled with anticipation as you both transformed the venue into Ian's dream party. Damien's presence beside you was magnetic, each touch and glance imbued with unspoken desire and shared mischief.

As you adjusted a floral arrangement, your eyes caught sight of the surprise banner you had brought in—the very same one that had witnessed your passionate moment with Damien in the kitchen the other day. You picked it up, feeling a mischievous grin spread across your face.

Glancing over at Damien, you held up the banner with a suggestive smile. "You surprised me that morning, you know," you teased, your voice laced with playful intrigue.

His gaze flickered to the banner, then back to you with a knowing smirk. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet,"

"I didn't know you had that in you." You said, your eyes fixated on his crotch.

Damien replied, his tone low and confident. "Oh honey, you're the one who had that in you"

You walked closer to him, the banner still in your hands. "I look forward to having it in me again" you murmured, your voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "Maybe we should find a quieter spot later. You know, to reminisce about old times."

Damien’s expression softened, his eyes locking with yours in silent agreement. "That sounds like a perfect plan," he whispered back, his voice tinged with anticipation.

The intimate tension between you two simmered beneath the surface, electrifying the air as you worked amidst the bustling room. Every stolen touch and shared moment carried a promise of something deeper, not touching him was torture but you couldn't when everybody else was here.

You continued your task, adorning the tables with exquisite floral arrangements and personalized name cards. Stealing fleeting moments, Damien's hand subtly found the small of your back, or your fingers would brush against his arm.

“Remember when Spencer caught us in the bedroom?” Damien chuckled, hanging the banner with you.

You giggled softly. “Yeah, and now we owe him a favor. Wonder what he'll ask of us.”

“Maybe he’ll demand we dress as clowns and perform at a kid’s birthday party,” Damien joked, earning a laugh from you.

“Or perhaps we’ll be his personal chefs for a week,” you added with a grin.

You went into a closet looking for more supplies, continuing your guesses.

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder the idea. "Imagine us trying to cook anything other than instant noodles."

He laughed softly. "Disaster in the kitchen, guaranteed."

You gave him a knowing look, "maybe he’ll have us serve him breakfast in bed every day for a year," you quipped, smirking.

Damien’s eyes twinkled mischievously. "Or maybe he’s plotting to make us re-clean the kitchen," he added, his voice low and teasing.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Knowing Spencer, he’s probably got something wilder up his sleeve."

Damien leaned in closer, his gaze lingering on yours with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Maybe he's gonna ask us to do this," he murmured, closing the distance between you and pressing his lips against yours in a brief, tantalizing kiss.

Just as the moment between you two deepened, Spencer’s voice cut through the air with theatrical timing. "Ahem! I hate to interrupt the lovebirds, again, but we have work to do!"

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't suppress your smile. “Sure thing, Spencer!”

You and Damien pulled apart with sheepish grins, stealing one last glance at each other before heading back out.

As the day progressed, the cast and crew members who weren't staying at the house arrived in a lively group. They entered with laughter and enthusiasm.

“Hey, everyone!” Olivia greeted everyone cheerfully. “Ready to kick off this party?” she blew a whistle she had around her neck

“You better believe we are!” Tommy chimed in eagerly. “We brought reinforcements and supplies.”

Amanda nudged Shayne, "are they already drunk?"

Arasha came in, clearly carrying the heaviest decorations, "Yes".

“Perfect timing,” Courtney remarked, directing them to various tasks. “We can use all the help we can get.”

Amidst Angela and Chanse's playful banter over the sound system, Chance berated her and they made funny faces at each other, drawing laughter from the group.

“Shayne, set up the photo booth,” Courtney reminded him. “Ian’s going to be so horny for it”

“You're something else” Shayne answered, while giving a thumbs-up.

As preparations continued, Damien and you seized every opportunity to remain close. While hanging the fairy lights, Damien positioned right behind you, his chest subtly brushing against your back, sending a tingling warmth through you. Leaning back, you savored the fleeting intimacy, relishing the closeness between you.

"Need any help?" Damien murmured softly, his breath teasing your neck, his voice laced with a hint of playfulness and desire.

"I might," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness as you turned slightly to face him. " Don't wander off too far."

He chuckled, a low, seductive sound that resonated deep within you. "Wouldn't dream of it," he whispered, his hand lightly grazing your waist before settling there, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. Your heart raced as Damien's fingers traced a gentle path along your back, igniting a familiar desire within you. The air around you seemed permanently charged with unspoken longing, the anticipation between you palpable and undeniable. Lost in the moment, you turned around and leaned closer to him, the magnetic pull between you drawing you in.

Just as Damien's lips were about to brush against yours again, a sudden voice shattered the intimate bubble. "Hey, guys!" Shayne's cheerful voice interrupted, causing both of you to startle and pull apart abruptly.

You and Damien exchanged quick, guilty glances, trying to gather your composure. "Oh, hey Shayne," you said, your voice a touch too high-pitched, betraying your attempt at nonchalance.

Shayne arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he glanced between you and Damien. "Am I interrupting something, again?" he asked, his tone teasing.

Damien quickly jumped in, flashing Shayne a charming grin. "Nah, just discussing... uh... the best way to arrange these lights," he improvised, gesturing awkwardly to the fairy lights in your hands.

"Yeah, exactly," you chimed in quickly, trying to cover up your flushed cheeks with a casual smile. "We were just figuring out the placement.. it's very important."

Shayne chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered response. "Right, sure," he replied, his tone light-hearted. "Well, carry on then. Don't let me disturb your... lighting strategy."

You and Damien exchanged a relieved glance as Shayne walked away, his laughter fading in the background. Once he was out of earshot, you both let out a nervous laugh, the tension from the close call dissipating.

"That was close," Damien remarked, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," you agreed, feeling a rush of adrenaline mixed with lingering desire. "We'll have to be more careful."

Damien grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Or less careful," he suggested, his voice low and suggestive.

The venue neared completion, with final touches in place, anticipation buzzed through the air. Courtney gathered all the house mates for a final briefing. "Great job this today guys. Tonight is all about Ian of course but also, remember, this is the last night of the emotion game. Don't hold back with your assigned feelings and people, really try to play it up tonight. Tomorrow we'll reveal everything, so let's make tonight count!"

Shayne chimed in with a smirk, "Some of us have been overdoing it since day one," he teased, glancing pointedly at you and Damien. The room erupted in laughter, and you felt your cheeks flush.

You found yourself standing beside Damien once more. He gently took your hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Excited for tonight?” Damien asked softly.

“Absolutely,” you replied, returning the squeeze. “Let’s make it unforgettable.”

The day had flown by in a whirlwind of activity. With everything set, you were eager to surprise Ian and even more eager for what might happen between you and Damien tonight.

Evening

The evening sky was painted in hues of orange and pink as the Smosh cast and crew gathered at the venue, eagerly awaiting Ian's arrival. The decorations were perfect, with fairy lights casting a warm glow, streamers and balloons adding a festive touch, and of course a large "surprise" banner taking center stage.

Excitement buzzed through the air as the moment grew closer. The cast and crew positioned themselves strategically around the room, ready to spring the surprise. You could hear Anthony leading Ian toward the entrance, his voice carrying easily through the door. "I promise, Ian, this dinner will be worth our time." Ian, sounded skeptical but still followed Anthony inside. As soon as he stepped through the door, the room erupted.

"Surprise!" the room exploded with cheers and laughter. Confetti cannons burst, showering Ian in a colorful flurry.

Ian's face lit up with a broad smile. "Oh my god, you guys! This is amazing!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with delight.

"Happy birthday, Ian!" Amanda shouted, waving enthusiastically.

"You're not getting older, just more awesome!" Shayne added, his voice carrying above the din.

"Speech! Speech!" Angela and Chanse chanted in unison, prompting everyone else to join in.

Ian, clearly overwhelmed, raised his hands to quiet everyone down. "Thank you so much, everyone. This is incredible. I have the best freaking team in the world."

As the applause and cheers died down, the party truly began. Music played, people danced, and the room buzzed with conversations and laughter. Amidst the festivities, Spencer made his way over to you and Damien, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, you two," he called, pulling you aside.

"What’s up, Spencer?" Damien asked, curiosity piqued.

Spencer grinned. "Remember that favor you owe me?" He was once again using his detective voice.

You exchanged a quick glance with Damien, both of you nodding. "Yeah, we remember," you replied.

"Well, I’m cashing it in now. I want you two to figure out everyone’s assigned names and emotions from the emotion game. Think of it as a little undercover mission," Spencer said, clearly relishing the challenge he was setting.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what you want us to do?"

Spencer nodded, his grin widening. "Yep. You've got the rest of the night to gather intel, consider it tonight's game. Good luck."

With a sigh and a shared smile, you and Damien accepted the challenge. "Alright, let’s do this, I guess," you said, determination sparking in your eyes.

You both mingled with the crowd, keeping your ears open and eyes sharp. The first stop was Angela and Chanse, who were by the DJ booth, arguing playfully over the next song.

"You two seem to be having fun," Damien remarked, slipping into the conversation.

Chanse laughed. "Just trying to keep the vibe going. But this girl keeps asking for some shitty ass songs."

Angela rolled her eyes. "He thinks he's a music guru.

Chase sighed at Angela " I AM a music guru" you could sense him almost breaking, "and I've always said that"

Angela acted shocked, "Anyway, how’s the night treating you two?"

"Great so far," you replied, subtly observing their interactions. Chance’s annoyance seemed a bit more theatrical than sincere as Angela persisted in her, his brows furrowing every time she adjusted the playlist. You were shore this display was Chanse's way to show "anger" towards Angela. You filed the thought away for later.

Next, you and Damien found yourselves at the snack table with Shayne and Amanda. They were engaged in a spirited debate over the best type of chips.

"Salt and vinegar all the way," Shayne declared, popping a chip into his mouth.

Amanda shook her head vehemently. "No way, sour cream and onion is superior."

Shayne looked up with tears in his eyes, "why would you even say that?".

Damien chuckled. "You guys take your snacks seriously."

Amanda grinned. "You bet we do. Gotta have strong opinions on the important stuff."

Shayne pleased his head in his hand av yelping sound came out of his mouth. You exchanged a glance with Damien. So Shayne has sad and Amanda

Moving on, you and Damien encountered Amanda again, this time chatting with Spencer. You watched as Amanda gently brushed her hand against Spencer's arm, her gaze lingering on him a moment too long.

"You know, Spencer," Amanda said with a soft smile, "you did an amazing job organizing all this. Ian's so so happy and it's all because of you."

Spencer looked slightly taken aback by her tenderness, "thanks Amanda, but you know Courtney planned this right?"

Damien leaned in close to you, whispering, "Looks like Amanda's been given 'love' towards Spencer." You nodded in agreement, watching their interaction closely.

The night continued with more dancing, games, and heartfelt toasts to Ian. You and Damien subtly gathered clues, piecing together the puzzle of the emotion game. Each interaction brought you closer to deciphering who had which emotions and whom they were assigned to.

"Alright," you whispered to Damien during a quiet moment, "let’s see if we can piece some of this together."

Damien nodded, glancing around. "Okay, so Chanse was definitely angry towards Angela. That one's clear."

"And Shayne's sadness around Amanda was pretty obvious," you added, feeling more confident. "And Amanda was definitely showing love towards Spencer."

Damien grinned. "Do you know what Courtney has tho, cause I have no clue?"

You laughed softly. "Yeah, She has angry at Chance"

Damien tilted his head, "how can you be so sure?"

You tilted your head to match his "Well, she kind of told me when we traded notes"

He gasped, " You traded notes, why?"

"Well" you pulled him into a corner to get out of everybodys line of sight. " I didn't think I could be 'angry at Damien for a week" your finger dragged over his chest " so I traded it fo-, you know what I traded it for" you looked up at him, smiling devilishly.

He swallowed, " So you cheated, huh?" He pulled you closer. " You just wanted to act out your true feelings in the open?"

"Oh shut up and fuck me"

He led you into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. He pushed you up the wall, his breath hot against your neck, " I can't take my time with you this time, pretty girl" He pushed a finger into you and you screamed out. "Ssh" he placed a finger over your mouth. " You need to be much quieter than that baby" he started pumping his finger inside of you, "can't have you act this way of one finger"

You licked his finger, "I'm sorry Damien, I won't make another sound, you smiled at him, knowing you were lying.

He bent you over the sink and pulled your hair to tilt your head up. "That's it baby", you were facing the mirror, "show me that pretty face". You watched yourself in the mirror as he pushed all of himself into you, "oh my god Damien, yes, fucking please" your mouth widened and you eyes fluttered.

"What did I tell you?", He asked, making eye contact with you in the mirror" He hadn't moved yet, your pussy was clenching around his length, but he didn't move.

"Damien, please fuck me, please" you started fucking yourself on him letting out small moans.

" You really think your gonna be able to cum like that, honey?" His eyes still on yours ", What did I tell you?"

"Be quiet" you answered, still moving yourself forward and back on his cock, " but I can't"

"Why?"

You composed yourself "Because I can't cum without saying your name, I've done it every time I've touched myself, in my room with just a wall separating us, In the bathroom at work when you've made me extra frustrated and at home when I wake up from dreams about you"

His eyes darkened again and you knew you were going to get everything you wanted. He cover your mouth hard pressing your head back against his body, his other hand finding its way to your clit, massaging it. Your hand slipped on the sink and you had to hold on for dear life as he finally started trusting into you.

" oh fuck y/n, you know just the right this to say to make me go fucking crazy"

His thrusts became hungrier and deeper as he could feel you moaning, screaming against his hand. His cock hit a spot in you that made you growl in pain, but he couldn't hear it. You looked at him in the mirror and the sight of him almost made you cum right there. His silver hair slicked against his forehead, His hands and arms wrapped around your body now only half covered by your sliding dress. His eyes took in every part of you, your exposed breast bouncing with every thrust, your face, half of it covered by his big hands. He could see it in your eyes though, you were close.

Your screams became louder, he removed his hand to let you speak. "L-let me suck your fingers while you cum in me. Fill my pussy up and let me walk around tonight with it seeping out of me".

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. "Are you sure?"

"Yes Damien, it's safe I promise, let me have it please"

He stuck his fingers into your mouth as he started pumping hard into your pussy again. His fingers matching each thrust. You let your tongue play with his fingers, imagining you had his cock in both you mouth and cunt at the same time. You struggled to gold yourself up on your trembling legs and hands that couldn't find a solid place to hold on to. With one final thrust his load spilled out inside of you. "Stay" you said, making sure he filled you all the way before pulling out.

You breathed heavily together, him still inside of you, you let out a final moan as he exited you. He turned you around, kissing you on your forehead, "you are making me crazy, you know that right?", he brushed your hair away from your face. You smirked up at him ", you're one to talk".

You glanced around the room ", my panties?"

"Which ones" he smirked back at you before bending over to pick them up from the floor.

As he handed them to you, you put them on, " I can't just drip all over the floor you know?"

Before you went back out you had to feel the warmth of his skin, he has stayed fully dressed after all. You let your hands slip in under his shirt as you hugged him, stroking him across his back. You could feel the scratches on his back that you left there yesterday morning. Before heading out you adjusted yourself In front of the mirror, your makeup was running and your hair was a mess, but it could all be from partying you told yourself. You kissed him again before sneaking out of the bathroom.

You and Damien spotted Angela fussing over Courtney near the photo booth. Angela's attentiveness was overly affectionate, adjusting Courtney’s hair with exaggerated care.

“You look perfect already, Courtney,” Angela cooed, eyes twinkling. “But maybe just a bit more volume here…” she smällt her hair.

Courtney laughed, trying to bat Angela’s hands away. “Angela, it’s fine. We’re just taking photos.”

“But you deserve to look like a star,” Angela insisted, her expression dreamy.

You stifled a laugh, nudging Damien. “I think we figured Angelas notes out”

Angela admired Courtney from head to toe with an exaggerated sigh. “Courtney, you have such a natural glow. It’s like you’re always walking in sunlight.”

You had to turn away to hide your laughter. Damien chuckled, shaking his head. “Angela’s really going all out with this.”

Angela grabbed Courtney’s hand. “We should get a photo together. It’ll be a memory I can treasure forever.”

Courtney, clearly unsure how to respond, nodded hesitantly. “Sure, Angela. Let’s take a picture.”

As they posed, Angela wrapped an arm around Courtney’s waist, gazing at her with unabashed admiration.

You and Damien exchanged knowing looks, struggling to keep straight faces.

“Yep, definitely in love,” Damien whispered.

Finally, Courtney gently extricated herself. “Thanks for the photo, Angela. It was fun.”

Angela sighed dreamily. “Anytime, Courtney. Anytime.”

You and Damien stepped away, both of you chuckling. “Well, that was something,” you said, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Damien agreed. “Angela’s really committed to her role.”

“Almost feel bad for Courtney,” you replied, laughing. “Almost.”

With Angela’s comical display of affection towards Courtney, another piece of the emotion game puzzle fell into place. As you and Damien shared a quiet laugh, Spencer approached with a knowing grin. “Alright, lovebirds, time to check in. What have you figured out?”

You glanced at Damien, then back at Spencer. “Well, we’ve got Shayne dad to Amanda.

Spencer nodded. “Pegged you say? makes sense. What else?”

“We’ve seen Amanda showing love towards you,” Damien added. “She’s been extra sweet, making sure you’re taken care of.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Spencer replied, smirking.

You continued, " Lets see, Chanse has angry at Angela, Courtney has angry at Chanse and Angela of course has in-love with Courtney, it’s pretty obvious from how she’s been acting."

Spencer gave you a nod of approval, “and just to be clear, you both have horny and each other’s names, right?”

Damien chuckled, shaking his head. “Actually, no. I have ‘in love.’”

You felt a sudden pang of doubt, your heart sinking. “Wait... Are you just playing with me?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Damien turned to you, his expression earnest. “No, I’m not. My person is Shayne.” He looked back at Spencer. “I feel like I made it very clear, no?”

Spencers eyes widened in surprise, then he laughed. “Yeah you really did. You were awfully attentive.”

You exhaled, relief washing over you. “So, you weren’t pretending with me?”

Damien took your hand, squeezing it gently. “Not for a second.”

Spencer grinned, clapping his hands. “Great work, agents. Your secret is safe with me.. for now.

The evening was in full swing, with the room filled with laughter, music, and the buzz of excited conversations. Everyone was having a great time, enjoying the ambiance created by the decorations and the surprise element of Ian's party.

Anthony stood up, a glass in hand, signaling for attention. The chatter died down as everyone turned to listen. "Everyone, can I have your attention, please?" Anthony began, a wide grin on his face. "First of all, thank you all for coming together to make this happen. It's been a blast working with you all to surprise Ian. And to Ian," he turned to his friend, "it's great to be back and see how everything's grown. I must admit, I missed you, and you're even more submissive and breedable than I remembered"

The room erupted in laughter and cheers, Ian chuckling good-naturedly as he raised his glass in acknowledgment.

"As we all know, Ian has a way of making us laugh and keeping us on our toes," Anthony continued. "Whether it's through his antics or his ideas, he's always been the heartbeat of this channel. So here's to many more adventures, and hopefully, a little less disappearing on my part."

A chorus of "hear, hear!" and applause followed Anthony's speech, and Ian got up to hug his friend. "Thanks, Anthony. And thanks to everyone here. You all mean the world to me."

As the group settled back into the festivities, you felt Damien's cum leaking from you, a constant reminder of your earlier intimacy. It was both thrilling and distracting. You caught Damien's eye, and he gave you a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

Damien's face flushed, his eyes darkening with desire and shock. You gave him a sly smile, enjoying the power you had over him in that moment.

Taking advantage of a moment when everyone was focused on the speeches and laughter, you subtly slipped a hand under your dress. You could feel the dampness on your panties, and a wicked idea formed in your mind. You dragged a finger along the fabric, collecting some of the cum. Damien's eyes widened, watching you intently as you brought your finger to your lips and licked it clean, a slow, deliberate action that made his breath hitch. The intensity of your silent exchange was broken by the laughter and chatter of the rest of the cast.

Anthony and Ian were discussing the bizarre behavior of their friends. "Is it just me, or is everyone acting a bit... off?" Anthony remarked, eyebrow raised.

Ian chuckled. "Yeah, it's like they're all in some weird improv exercise."

Just then, Trevor, looking bewildered, joined the conversation. "Are all Smosh parties like this? This feels like some next-level chaos."

Courtney, overhearing, laughed and replied, "Oh, trust me, Trevor, there's definitely something different about this one."

In the midst of this, Amanda was overdramatically consoling Shayne, who was feigning exaggerated sadness. "Amanda, I just feel so... blue," he said, mock tears streaming down his face.

Angela was fluttering around Courtney, making heart eyes and constantly offering to help with anything, her actions overly sweet and clingy. "Courtney, do you need anything? Water? A snack? A massage?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Chanse, meanwhile, was engaged in a comically heated argument with Angela over the placement of a snack tray, his face contorted in mock anger. "I swear, Angela, if you move those chips one more time, I'll lose it!"

Spencer, who had been observing everyone with a smirk, turned to you and Damien. "I see you two are still glued together," he teased. The rest of the group looked over to you questioning.

You grinned, taking the opportunity to make Damien squirm a little. "Well, we've had so much fun, I can practically feel the fun seeping out of me."

Damien's eyes widened, his face flushing as he understood the deeper meaning behind your words.

"So have you guys been decorating all day" in asked adjusting the birthday hah on his head.

"Oh yeah, Damien has been assisting me but I've been carrying his load," you added, shooting a mischievous glance at Damien.

Damien coughed, trying to cover his surprise. "Yeah, I've been a big help," he said, voice strained as he forced a smile.

Anthony, catching the tail end of your exchange, shook his head with a chuckle. "You guys are something else."

Ian laughed. "Whatever's going on, it's definitely keeping things interesting."

Trevor, looked around the room, still looking puzzled, asked, " what the hell is going on?"

Courtney, with a sly smile, responded, "Let's just say this week has had its... unique challenges."

As the evening wore on, the party continued in its peculiar, chaotic fashion. Amid the laughter and the outlandish displays of emotion, you and Damien shared private, heated glances, the secret of your earlier encounter adding a thrilling undercurrent to the festivities. Ian stood up, clinking his glass for attention. "Hey, everyone, thanks for coming tonight. It's been a blast. And remember, what happens at Smosh parties stays at Smosh parties... mostly.

"Laughter erupted, with Arasha adding, "okay, dad".

You smiled at Damien hoping that everything that went down tonight, and this week, wouldn't just stay here.

[drainslo]

Lovers to Enemies-- Chishiya x Reader (Pt 2)

Read Part 1

Read Part 3

Read Part 4

===============================================

The card. He took the card and left and so I was left with nothing.

To say everything seemed grim would be an understatement.

I walked outside the flaming interior of the Beach to find Arisu commemorating the dead. Noble for someone who was condemned by the very people he now tried to honor.

"Hey," I said walking over to Arisu and Usagi.

"You're alive," Usagi smiled and gave me a side-hug. In her eyes there was an unspoken sense of trauma from what we both had gone through.

"What do you think comes next?" Arisu asked, staring absentmindedly at the roaring flames which consumed the Beach.

The flames licked upward, destroying what had been our former utopia. The air was filled with a light smoke that reminded me of cigarettes every time I inhaled. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it felt like an appropriate reminder of the ones who had fallen.

"It could be more games." A familiar voice joined our conversation and we all turned to find An standing behind us, limping with Kuina at her side.

"God, I hope not," Kuina said.

"Are you okay?" Usagi exclaimed and chattered with the others over Kuina's injuries. Apparently she had gotten involved with Last Boss in a Karate fight to protect An. I never knew Kuina had done the sport.

The only thing I had known about Kuina was that she was close with Chishiya. I frequently saw him whispering to her during the Beach. She stayed away from me mostly. I never played games with her either.

"You're not-- with him right?" Arisu said slowly, breaking the flow of the conversation. For a second I paused, racking my thoughts to find who he was talking about until I realized who the "him" was.

"Chishiya? Hell no. I'm so sorry to you both for what he did to you. I wish it could've worked out another way," her voice trailed off as the others began to comfort her. But she never denied having any involvement in the plan.

She always knew, then.

I drifted off to the sound of soft whispers between the survivors of the Beach. Before I fully fell asleep, I could've sworn I saw the ghost of a white hoodie on the outskirts of the makeshift campground that vanished.

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

An's prediction echoed in my ears as the collar clicked around my neck. The robotic voice of a woman who I now had known to be Mira announced my registration. It of course had to be more games.

After almost dying from the King of Spades, I chose the Jack of Hearts as my venue of poison. I always did fairly well in hearts games at the Beach, and after being separated from the others I wouldn't have to betray anyone I knew. It was my specialty after all.

There was no guarantee I could find good teammates at clubs venues, and forget Spades or Diamonds. Those would have me killed faster than Chishiya tried to.

The dimly lit jail was a dismal site for a game; the walls and floors had traces of mold covering them. The players around me eyed each other with suspicion. A few chatted.

The sound of moans coming from a cell nearby made my face flush as I awkwardly craned my head to see the source of where it was coming from.

Big mistake.

A man with broad shoulders was ramming his girlfriend against the wall quite passionately. I didn't look away for a second, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when a silky voice spoke almost directly into my ear.

"Like what you see? My my, I didn't know you were into... things like that. But I guess we never tried anything like it."

Unknowingly, I instinctually backed towards the entrance of a cell that was away from the couple. I turned to find Chishiya who followed my steps until we were both in a cell.

"What--" I trailed off as he closed the door behind him with a faint click. He looked at me hungrily, the way he looked at me after he was the only survivor in a game.

I felt the cold wall touch my back as I pressed against it. Chishiya stood mere inches away from my face, threatening my very existence.

He traced my jawline with one of his hands, and with the other braced himself against the wall. I could hear the sound of his breathing amidst the faint background noise of everything else.

"I knew I'd find you here," Chishiya smiled quietly, almost to himself. "You would choose a hearts game, and the lowest one to maximize your chances of survival." He answered the question I had before I ever asked it.

He was impossibly close, and yet impossibly far away at the same time. I could've sworn he leaned in slightly, until the sound of the game starting chimed.

Without saying another word, he vanished into the main area the others were congregating. It was like he was never there, never with me.

Just as it always had been.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Alfons vs Roger event (Part 1)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Crown’s relationship is perfectly balanced.

Though they couldn’t be considered friends or family, there’s an unspoken connection and trust.

—Well, except for a certain “pair”.

Alfons and Roger: Unbelievable.

Kate: Did something happen? You two said that together the minute you came back from the mission.

Today, Alfons and Roger were supposed to be chasing after a serial killer who had caused quite a stir.

Roger: Al, if you’d drawn him over, I could’ve sent him to the after life in a heartbeat.

Alfons: Wow, you’re putting the blame on another? Had I not chased after you, you would have dropped dead.

Roger: I’m gonna wrap those words with a ribbon and give them back to you.

Alfons: Then I’ll wrap that ribbon around your neck.

Kate: Um, so what happened to the criminal in the end?

Alfons and Roger: William happened.

Meaning William, who seemed to have gone ahead, took care of the criminal instead of these two who couldn’t work together at all.

Kate: Regardless, I’m glad the criminal was caught.

Alfons and Roger: I’m not.

Kate: Huh?

Alfons: Every time I go on a mission with Roger, my delicate heart gets another scratch. Ahhh, woe is me!

Roger: What delicate heart. A delicate guy wouldn’t come at you himself. (•̀ ⌓ •́)

(This sort of sight isn’t surprising anymore)

Alfons and Roger have known each other since they were kids.

Had they been old friends, they would’ve gotten along exceptionally well. However, it;s the complete opposite for the two of them.

(I have a feeling that these two have the worst relationship in Crown…)

Roger: Geez, I can’t deal with this anymore.

Alfons: Oh, then be my guest. Please leave Crown and live as you like.

(A Crown resignation emergency?!)

I look around, but unfortunately, I seem to be the only one around to intervene.

(What do I do, what do I do? Ah, I got it!)

Kate: You two! I won’t give you any chocolates if you keep fighting!

Alfons and Roger: Chocolate?

Roger: Oh yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day today, isn’t it? No wonder the city was bustling.

Alfons: I heard you were making “sweetheart chocolates” last night, Miss Kate.

Kate: How did you know?

Alfons: I’m the well-informed Mr.  Sylvatica.

Last night I was baking sweets with the maids when they encouraged me to make some “sweetheart chocolates”.

(I was planning on eating them all myself…)

Roger: Sounds good. I was gettin' tired of fighting. Let’s have a contest, Al. The winner gets Kate’s chocolates and serves the loser. How’s that sound?

Alfons: It’s the best of the worst of preferences. Yes, I like that.

Kate: Hold on, what is this?!

Alfons: So, what sort of contest are we doing? Anything beside a fistfight is fine. Ah, how about this. We have two shots of vodka, one of which is poisoned. A game with no hard feelings that can be won immediately.

Roger: If one of us kicks the bucket, then there’s no point in the servant rule. Then-

The games the two kept suggesting were so outrageous that it made me dizzy.

(At this rate, a city or two is going to get blown up. What the heck do I do?)

Victor: O~kay my cute cursed ones! This nonsense stops here.

Kate: Victor!

Victor: You two fight the moment I take my eyes off of you. Bad, I say. Bad!

Alfons/Roger: It’s Roger’s fault./It’s Al’s fault.

Victor: I’m not blaming anyone. I don’t mind the contest, okay? However, I don’t like negative games where the other dies from poison and things like that. I can’t afford to lose either of you. That’s not cute at all.

Kate: ……Not cute?

Victor: So here’s my proposal. Remember my friend, Viscount Morris?

Alfons: He’s the rich eccentric who owns a luxury cruise ship.

Victor: Yes, yes. The viscount’s beloved niece’s birthday is today. A birthday party will be hosted in one of his estates. The girl in honor has fled. I believe she went out of the country on vacation. 

Alfons: She’s a runaway horse, isn’t she? Perhaps a consequence of being raised like a princess. A pity.

Victor: The viscount came to me in tears, so I considered going as her double…

Roger: If the lady suddenly became huge and burly, that’d make a failure of a party.

Victor: Therefore, Kate. I want you to pretend to be the lady.

Kate: I knew this was where the story was going.

Victor: Haha, you’re becoming more like Crown! So, Alfons, Roger, I want you two to serve as Kate’s caretakers so that she doesn’t get exposed.

Roger: But what’s that gotta do with our contest?

Victor: Hm, that’s actually a good question! How about you compete for “friendship points” while acting as caretakers?

Kate:  What are “friendship points”?

Victor: Simple. You get a point if you’re friendly to the other. Oh, and the judge is Kate of course.

Roger: So the winner’s the one with the most points and gets Kate’s chocolates.

The proposal was completely unexpected, but it sounds like a good way for the two to get along.

Kate: I think it’s a good idea. I’ll also help the viscount.

Roger: If the little lady’s fine with it, then I’m game. Besides, it sounds like we’re gonna get kicked because of this pointless fight.

Alfons: I feel as if I’m being forced into something troublesome, but I’m fine with it. I’d also like to put an end to this pointless fight. Well… She and the chocolate will ultimately be mine.

Roger: You sure? I take what I want. You ready for that?

Alfons and Roger looked at me, and I blink in return.

Alfons, in an overly gentlemanly manner, shook Roger’s hand.

Alfons: Let’s have a fair, “friendly” match, Roger.

Kate: Ah. That’s one friendship point for you, Alfons!

Roger: What? Damn it, that was dirty.

Alfons wipes his hand, which had touched Roger’s, with a handkerchief.

Alfons: There’s nothing clean or dirty in this contest, is there Miss Kate?

Victor: Mhmm, it’s charming how they’re becoming fast friends. Fabulous!