#yes it is entirely likely that I am reading far too into things. this is a casual mobile vn etc

[coastxlwaters]

Nexus analysis read now yell at me later:

started to really appreciate the Nexus arc the more that I think about it

Note, this is not a vent and instead me trying to explain my analysis of Nexus

Nexus is and was a character forced to act and resemble a different character, and no matter how hard he tried to shape himself to fit the cut out hole he was being forced to fill in he simply couldn’t

In many ways Nexus reminds me of myself

First, explanation for why Nexus reminds me of myself:

I had a person who i knew my entire life, and they would always force me to be something i wasn’t. I never argued and simply tried my best, but then i met another person. They would talk to me and not force me to be something. They would compliment me an dhelp me when i helped them. P1 may have did that, but it was only cause i was what they wanted. P2 saw me and knew me, knew what i liked and didnt, enjoyed hanging out with my and didn’t blame me for actions that happened when i snapped at the treatmeant P1 gave me.

Despite this, all of this, i cared for both. Sure, i might have been closer to P2 but i would still throw myself into oncoming traffic just to save P1.

P2 slowly, very slowly, became a ghost in my life though. I was left picking up pieces of relationships I wish I could continue. All while I did this P1 was hovering behind me and continuing to force me to something I wasn’t.

I tried my hardest to get the P2 I knew back, but everything I tried failed and I eventually snapped.

I took my anger out on P1, which made my relationship with P2 worse.

I lashed out at the world and treated it how it treated me, I snapped at a lot of things and my anger issues got worse. Neither of the 2 wanted to see me anymore. In fact, they hated me. The only island I had away from my anger and misery was another friend. They also had their own grudges against P1 and P2 we shared comfort in our misery and would constantly help each other.

P3 understood and accepted who i was, and they still do. They called me by my chosen name and helped me become myself. Sure, we both had really bad anger issues but we became even closer than any of us were with P1 and P2. We made shitty and bad decisions, hating on people for stupid things, refusing to admit when we do wrong. But we had each other to pull each other out of the pit

Yes, I became an awful person, I still am. I still have awful anger issues, I still want revenge, I still sometimes refuse to admit mistakes. I am bad and that won’t change, I hurt people, and in the process became the sole reason for my inevitable downfall.

I left them, I left P1 and P2, I left with P3. We realized our mistakes and tried to fix them but we were too far in and couldn’t go back.

We were still looked at with disgust and we grew frustrated again, only to throw us back into the cycle

Now, from all of this happening in my life I’m able to understand why and how Nexus snapped. It’s really easy to snap, and for care to turn into burning hatred. Very easy. Nexus hit his limit like I did and became his own person far too late. He wanted revenge for how the world treated him, and how they continued to treat him.

He still isn’t treated like his own person, much like I am

If he comes back, the cycle will repeat, like it did for me.

[thewhitehairedwitchgirl]

This spun off from a longer post, but like as someone who genuinely likes IkePrince and the characters, I cannot stop the cognitive dissonance I feel every time the game acknowledges that the royal class system is inherently dangerous only to turn around and insist that anyone who tries to change the system is either a treasonous bastard or hopelessly misguided.

It also adds an undercurrent of awkwardness since the game openly states that nobility throwing their weight around is bad, but only when strangers do it. When Jin and Nokto fuck around and make sexual passes at servants and commoners that's just them being quirky lol. It's only creepy when it's Faceless Noble No. 36 who doesn't get a sprite so we don't know how hot he is. Maybe he's a DILF. Would that make it better?

When Chevalier ignores people who want to talk to him but are nervous about it, that's them being cowardly. It has nothing to do with them not wanting to be skewered by a man who openly refers to himself as a violent Brutal Beast, outright says love and other soft emotions are a waste of time, and routinely walks around drenched in the blood of his recent kills. Nope, it's their fault for being scared.

There was a post that said Emma couldn't always say no to the princes because of the power difference, despite her being Belle. Fair enough, but there's also a power difference between Jin and all those market ladies he flirts with. Yes the game tells us that it's all consensual, Jin is just that good, but how realistic is that? Especially since the first thing Jin does to Emma is grab her, try to kiss her, and then when she slaps him Sariel basically threatens her because "you're just a commoner, he's a prince". Mf I will slap you too, if I'm dying lemme make it count

Idk, every time I think of the previous king and how literally no one in the game will hold him accountable for his atrocities, I get annoyed with the lack of consistency with regards to consent and the monarchy.

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[keeps-ache]

little soup cans are some of the neatest things we have, wish there were more soup-can-like things in this world

[bibiana112]

Girl are you okay? Cause you've been looking through the "My lesbian experience with loneliness" tag again

Well the short answer is no :D

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams �� when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. 1.5 | Spencer Reid x Reader

Okay so, WOW. I am completely blown away by the response to my first fic on here, 120 followers in 6 days are you guys okay? Because I am definitely not :,). While accidents pt. II isnt quite finished just yet (thank you so much for being so patient with me<3 uni is kicking my ass already rip), I thought I'd give you all a small sneak peek, aka the first 800-ish words of the second part. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so so much for the generous feedback so far!! <333 I'll go rewatch my genetics lecture now yippie :,,,,)

here you can read the entire first part, please head the warnings! Same ones apply here. also, if you wanna get tagged in pt. II, let me know in the comments!

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

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oh spencer, you weren't quite as subtle as you thought. rip my boy. also whooops another cliffhanger? haha my fingers must've slipped my bad

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[globalrebrand]

An Unexpected Evening

Warnings: Capitano x Reader, not sfw, mutual masturbation, slight coercion

A/N: A piece posted from my Ao3, a gift for @gojoidyll for their stubborn hearts series. Posted here after a request.

It had nearly been a month since your impromptu arranged marriage to Capitano. The first of the Lord Harbingers. He was a notoriously aloof and enigmatic figure, and thus far, married life had been far from standard. Not that it bothered you per se. You both agreed to have minimal expectations of one another. However, you weren’t entirely used to your independence being hampered by the proximity that marriage brought. You two now shared a home, a bed, and the occasional bath, and while you didn’t mind, sharing these important spaces made it difficult for you to have much-needed “me time,” especially in light of the fact you and your husband had yet to be intimate. 

It is late, and Capitano is in his office. You’d spent much of the afternoon helping to archive some older documents at his request, and while you were happy to help, you hadn’t been able to be very far from him since his return home last week. He’d often request your company for all manner of tasks and activities. It was evidence that your marriage was going far better than expected, considering it seemed that Capitano really enjoyed your presence or was putting in effort to acclimate to you, but all of this attention is also what has you feeling rather frustrated as of late. 

“Um, my lord. Is it alright if we sleep in separate quarters tonight?” It had taken you all night to gather the courage to make such a request, but you were pent up and desperate for release. 

“Why? Are you unwell?” Capitano's brows furrowed with concern as his hand came to his favorite perch on your chin, tilting your face this way and that as an impromptu medical examination. Gently, you gripped his wrist and pressed forward with your gambit. 

“No, I would. I just like a bit of alone time, just for this evening.”

Your husband's lips pursed. It was clear this was not an acceptable solution to him, so you offered a compromise.  

“I could even come back later in the night if that would be preferable.” 

Capitano's eyes narrowed, before a slight look of epiphany flashed across his features. “Wife, do you intend to touch yourself? 

“What! No, I-” You stuttered, embarrassed he would state things so plainly. Not that it was all too surprising based on what you knew of his character. 

“Do not lie to me. I am your husband, and you needn’t be coy with such matters.” He said sternly. Your eyes snapped to meet his gaze, knowing well that if you didn’t meet his eye, he would simply make you. 

“Yes.” You admitted, shoulders slumping with embarrassment but doing your best not to break eye contact. “I felt it would be rather inconsiderate to do so next to you while you slept.” That and you usually kept the light on to read whatever smut novel you liked from your collection. It was quite a challenge balancing a book, flipping pages while stimulating yourself, but you’d gotten the science down to an art. Capitano’s expression relaxes, and you feel a bit of hope that he’ll grant you what you desire. 

“Thank you for your consideration, wife.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back after-” You eagerly assure him, a light smile settling on your lips, but your excitement is interrupted, by your husband's thunderous voice. 

“You get ahead of yourself, wife.” He raises an eyebrow. “I will not permit you to sleep in the other chambers tonight.”

“Oh…alright.” You sigh. Perhaps he would at least allow you to bathe alone…balancing a book in the tub was tricky, but you’d managed before.

“But do not fret. You are permitted to masturbate in our shared quarters.” You cringe at his phrasing but continue on in desperate need of a bit of clarification on the logistics of exactly how you’ll get off…privately, of course. 

“…and where will you be, my lord?” You question.

“I shall be watching.” Capitano attempts to hide his grin as you gasp at his declaration, and the color drains from your face. 

“Oh no, that’s quite alright.” Touching your tender parts in front of your husband was out of the question. Besides a few kisses and bathing with each on the rare occasion he was home, you and Capitano were nowhere close to consummating your marriage as far as you were concerned, but even so, this ask to touch yourself, to bring yourself to completion in front of his steely eyes, felt like an even more intimate prospect than sex.

Capitano catches your flustered expression, eyes darting back and forth as his piercing stare silently demands your attention.

“While I am home, you will take your pleasure with me or not at all.” His countenance is stern. You instantly understand this is an important rule to follow if you want to stay in your husband's good graces. And to a certain point, you understand his perspective. He is seldom home, and to pleasure yourself without him would be cruel, but you had not yet broached actual intimacy…how would you manage such a task!?

“I promise it’s not an event that would be worth watching.” You try to insist. Eyes quietly pleading with him to just allow you to have your privacy. 

“I shall see for myself.” Capitano peered over your shoulder. “Are those your materials?’” He gestured to the book you had held behind you back. 

Your face threatened to burst into flames, but any further protest would likely only upset your husband, with your glance askance you quietly muttered “yes.”

“I can read it for you, so you may use both hands.”

“No, it’s ok!” You urge politely.

“Then you will read it aloud so I may hear what arouses you.” He suggests instead. 

Fuck. This was certainly not the anticipated or desired turn of events. 

The short novella you’d selected was an absolutely debauched tale about a menage-á-trois, where a married couple corrupts a young, innocent maiden who stays weekend at their country estate in Fontaine. Capitano would certainly think that you were a horribly lewd young woman if he heard this. 

“I’ll pick another selection-“ Capitano interrupts you by abruptly rising from his seat. 

“No, we’ve already wasted enough time on this matter tonight.” With that, Capitano grabbed your arm, his burly hand gently tugging you out of his office and up to your bedroom. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was rather eager to watch your toy with yourself—something you’d never done for an audience. 

Should you try to make it good for him? Being deliberately sexy was not something you were familiar with, any perceived sexiness in your past intimate encounters was just consequence of your desperate arousal. 

Ugh…you were regretting not just trying to figure out a workaround in the bath. Maybe if you’d perched your book on the end of the tub between the faucet and spout, you flip the pages with your toes? And just drape one foot over the side so your toes wouldn’t wet the pages? 

But then again, you’d ruled out that idea because Capitano’s tub was made for a man of his size and stature, the end of the tub was nearly a mile from the back rest-

“Wife. Make yourself comfortable.” Your husband drops your hand as he finished guiding you to your shared chambers. The opulent room is on the top floor of his manor, and while the wooden finishes are beautifully dark and glossed and the windows suitably grand and imposing, the furnishing in the room remained rather spare. 

Thanks to you there was now a plush rug, set of twin wardrobes and a perfectly situated  chaise, oriented to look across the dark forest to the nearby bay. Before the bedroom consisted of  just a bed, a rather cruel looking bearskin rug and one side table with every drawer neatly packed with a variety of state documents. But even with your additions in the dim candle light the room felt cavernous. It would take quite a bit more furniture to make things feel homey in your opinion. 

You glanced at Capitano as he pulled his night clothes from his armoire, without missing a beat you moved to do the same, but you struggled with the the back of your corset. Normally a lady would help you undress for bed but Capitano had seemingly been so impatient for this evenings decided course of events that you were now stuck fumbling with the laces on your back. 

You let out of slight groan as your nail bent crudely as you picked at ribbons, but before you could even register his advance Capitano was at your back. His hands surprisingly deft and focused as he worked you out of the piece of supportive clothing.  

“Thank you. “ You spoke softly but gasped in shock when your husband immediately went to pull you out of your dress and underdress, pulling both layers in one go, leaving you only in your stockings and garters. 

You were too shocked to utter any rebuttal, and it seemed that Capitano interpreted this as consent to strip you entirely.

You felt his course hands glide down your thigh to begin undoing your garter and pulling the stockings down your legs, but his thumb grazed too close to your bare cunt, and you leapt away from the contact. Entirely unprepared for the feeling of his coarse hand against your silky flesh. 

“It’s ok husband I’ll do this part, thank you for your assistance.” With no more than a grunt of  approval Capitano retreated to the bed as you undid your stockings and put them away. You cast a glance over your shoulder only to see your husband reclined on his side of the bed and quickly scanning a fresh stack of documents as he waited for you. Turning back to your wardrobe, you reach for a nightgown, but you are interrupted by your husband’s booming voice.

“You won’t need that until later now come.” He patted your side of the bed.

You hesitated at his command, a bit petrified at the prospect of laying next to Capitano naked, especially when he had the privilege of being clad in silk pants and a matching buttoned top which laid open against the firm planes of his chest and torso, dimly illuminated by lamp light. 

“Okay.” You muttered softly, resigning your yourself to the surprising turn of tonight's events. 

As you climbed into bed, Capitano handed you your book. He must have grabbed it while you were busy undressing. It was already open to the flap with the plot summary. Ugh, archons save you.  You gingerly took the book from him and placed it on you pillow. The poor novella was so accustomed to being used for this nightly ritual that its spine gave absolutely no resistance and fell prone, pages splayed against downy sheets. 

Your nerves were through the roof, so to calm yourself, you decided it would be best just to pretend your husband wasn’t there and that you were alone in your old dark bedroom in the attic, reading by candlelight. 

Your favorite position was a bit unconventional. Turning over in the bed, you got on all fours before sinking to your forearms and leaning back on your heels. Capitano let out a light groan as he watched you prostrate yourself, his hand slowly stroking against his thigh.

“Begin.” He encourages gruffly. 

Like you’ve done hundreds of times in your dark bedroom, you slide your hand under your body and touch your pussy lightly, letting your fingers slide through your folds to gather slickness. To your absolute surprise. You're completely soaked. Usually, you need to read a bit of the story and thumb yourself over your panties before your fingers are damp enough to glide through your plump lips, but tonight, even the creases of your thighs are slick with the evidence of your arousal. 

With a shaky breath, you begin. You skip to the best bits of the story, hoping you can get yourself to come quickly. 

You finger yourself through the plot, reading aloud all the while. Describing in vivid detail, Monsieur Guillaume Berteau secretly fingers the protagonist, Vivienne, in the bathroom. At the same time, his wife entertains the rest of their party guests, then steals her sopping panties, forcing her to parade around sans culotte for the remainder of the evening. 

But you get really close when, later, the couple seduces Vivienne into the swimming pool, and she shares a kiss with both husband and wife as she relishes being the center of their attention. Then Carmen guides Vivienne to spread her legs and welcome her husband's cock with all the enthusiasm of a baker gleefully spooning a first bite of something sweet into a child’s mouth.

You spare a glance at your husband. Capitano has pushed down his pants, leaving his groin exposed as he strokes himself to your words. Something about his arousal spurs you on, making you feel even hotter, even closer to reaching your peak. The headiness of your husband stimulating himself only inches away while you did the same felt empowering. 

Your cunt aches deliciously as your stroke between your folds even faster. Your awareness of Capitano’s arousal is riling you even more than the contents of the story at this point. You turn to look at your husband, and with just a  few more tight circles on your clit, you feel your whole pussy begin to spasm. You accidentally push the novella onto the floor. It's work done as your hole clenches around nothing as you start to cum, your fingers pressing firmly against your nub, working you through what is likely your strongest orgasm in recent memory. 

Capitano catches your eyes as his hand slides fluidly over his shaft while his thumb occasionally teases the head. His cheeks are flushed with pleasure, but his eyes are so frighteningly intense that your natural instinct is to turn away from his predatory gaze. Faintly, you hear him scoff, but your mind and body are too far gone to register what that could even mean. 

You shudder as you come, hips dropping, twitching, and grinding against the quilt of your bed to elongate your pleasure. With a few heaving breaths, you struggle to collect yourself. Eventually, you turn back to face Capitano, only to find him scowling. 

And still hard. 

“Turn over.” He instructs, not quite waiting for you to move of your own accord and flipping your hips. 

You spook slightly as he positions you on your back and spreads your legs. 

Is he going to fuck you!? The thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should, but this definitely wouldn’t be an ideal scenario for you to finally make love to your husband. 

By way of protest, you offer, “Should I get the bo-”

“No.” He cuts you off immediately. 

Capitano hooks your legs over him as he kneels in front of you, his thick thighs keeping your legs parted. 

You tense as he takes his member in hand and begins to stroke himself again. His eyes first trained on your cunt. He groans at the sight, and his other hand steadies itself on your thigh. 

“May I touch you?” He asks, only slightly breathless. 

Silently, you nod, and Capitano takes the invitation to slide his hand higher. He pushes aside the curtains of your hair that have fallen over your breast and takes a soft mound in hand, grasping it with surprising tenderness and swiping his thumb firmly over your stiff nipple. You whimper at his ministrations, and his eyes snap your face. His hand quickly follows his stare as he brings his rough palm to your cheek, not waiting for permission, and presses his thumb between your plush lips. Capitano licks part his lips to offer a command, but you’re already sucking on his thick digit before he can instruct you. 

Your husband hisses and tosses his head back. You take the cue glance down to his member just in time to see the firm planes of his abdomen contract, and with a few more tugs of shaft thick white seed starts to spurt out. Then it is your turn to cry out at the contact of the hot liquid splashing onto your clit and dribbling down between your swollen folds. 

Capitano’s eyes return to your body, his steely orbs now pinned to where his spend clings to your cunt lips. Your frame is tense, but with a few strokes of his strong palm against your side, you begin to relax. 

“Good girl.” he praises as he begins to lower himself over your body. You reach a hand between the two of you and gather some of the semen coating your pussy on your fingers. 

Without thinking, you bring a hand to your mouth and tentatively suck his seed from your digits, tasting the viscous fluid like an adolescent sipping wine for the first time, which was essentially what you were. You didn't hate it as you thought you would, your eyebrows raise as if to say 'not bad.'

“Who taught you such a whorish trick?” He growls, grabbing your wrist. A slight look of awe mixed with a flare of righteous anger.

“I um, just wanted to taste you. I was curious.” You mumble shyly. Honestly. This was the most intimate contact you've had with a man and every physical sensation became new grounds for exploration.  

Capitano glares at you skeptically for a moment before pulling you up into a kiss, far deeper than any you’d shared up to that point. His tongue seeks yours eagerly, his lips surprisingly plush against yours. When you part, he gingerly lays you down and settles atop you, pressing you into the mattress. He lets out an aching sigh into the crux of your shoulder. 

“Beautiful.” He decides.

And your heart races.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3

[svt-luna]

PLS PLS PLS WRITE THE DANCE PRACTICE AFTERMATH I AM IN MY KNEES BEGGING 🙇🏻‍♀️

ʚིᵋ ⋆ MY ALCOHOL DIARY 2.0 ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── the aftermath.

sound_of_coups: 이게뭐야? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ @/lunabae @/youngji_02 (Translation: What is this? hahahahahaha)

synopsis: The dance practice aftermath after Luna’s appearance at Lee Youngji’s My Alcohol Diary.

due to popular demand, here is My Alcohol Diary 2.0 — The Aftermath. i highly recommend reading that first before reading this one!! this will be a short one, short but comedic!! happy reading, my loves 🤍

╰ ౨ৎ my alcohol diary

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ more interviews

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

Luna was gonna regret this tomorrow, she already knew that.

She could barely keep still the second she was guided into the van by her managers after her interview with Youngji.

The seatbelt clicked, but her body vibrated with the kind of energy one would expect from a child hyped on too much sugar.

She felt unstoppable as if she could run the entire way back to the HYBE building without even breaking a sweat.

Luna’s legs jittered, her fingers drummed on her lap, and her head buzzed with warmth. She’d had so much fun with Youngji; the adrenaline from their conversation and the alcohol still surged through her.

She couldn’t stop giggling.

The van started to move, but her thoughts were already racing ahead to practice.

I’m late… I should call Hannie!

Reaching for her phone with slightly unsteady hands, Luna quickly found Jeonghan’s contact, hitting the call button.

He picked up almost instantly as if he had been waiting for her.

“Nana-ya,” came his familiar voice, soft and calm, a smile in his tone. He knew exactly what state she’d be in. “You called just like I told you to.”

“Han!” Luna exclaimed, a little too loudly. Her giddiness was undeniable. “We’re practicing, right? Have you guys started already? Oh no, am I late? Are you practicing hard? Are you having fun without me?”

She threw the questions at him rapid-fire, her voice high and playful, so far from her usual composed demeanor that it made Jeonghan chuckle softly.

“Yes, we’ve started,” he answered, his voice warm and patient. “You are a little late but that’s okay. We are practicing hard. And no, we’re not having fun without you. We’re waiting for you, actually.”

Luna pouted, even though he couldn’t see her, and her voice dropped to a childish whine. “I wanna see…”

Jeonghan, ever indulgent, didn’t even hesitate. “Alright, hold on.”

A few moments later, the familiar ding of FaceTime echoed through her phone, and Luna eagerly answered.

The screen filled with Jeonghan’s face, leaning back casually on one of the sofas in the practice room. His soft, doting smile was the first thing she noticed. Behind him, faint voices of the other members could be heard, but Jeonghan’s attention was solely on her.

“Hi,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her.

Luna giggled, giddy. “Hi.” She paused for a second, her eyes roaming his face on the screen. “You’re so handsome.”

Jeonghan’s lazy grin grew wider, his voice dropping into that soft, sing-song tone he reserved just for her. “And you’re cute. Are you on your way here?”

“Yeah,” Luna sighed happily, leaning back into her seat, her eyes glued to his face. “But, Hannie, guess what! I saw the cutest dog outside just now! It was so fluffy! I wanted to take it with me.”

Jeonghan chuckled again, the sound low and affectionate. “You always want to take dogs with you.”

“I do! I can’t help it.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find another one, I might just bring it to the practice room.”

Jeonghan shook his head, his voice filled with fond amusement. “Maybe not today, hmm? Just come here in one piece.”

Luna giggled, her eyes lighting up when the van passed a billboard featuring SEVENTEEN. “Oh! Hannie! I see you! You’re on a billboard, looking all pretty and cool.”

He tilted his head playfully. “Am I? You know that’s just how I look when I’m thinking of you.”

She felt her face warm at the compliment, a shy blush creeping up her cheeks. “Stop it,” she muttered, but her grin was wide, her heart fluttering despite the alcohol fuzzing her mind.

Jeonghan, of course, didn’t stop. His voice stayed soft and teasing, a gentle hum in her ears. “Are you embarrassed? I can see your cheeks turning pink, Nana-ya.”

Her eyes flickered back to him on the screen, and despite herself, she laughed, covering her face with her hand. “I’m not! You’re just saying that to make me flustered.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he cooed, his gaze soft and admiring as he watched her. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Luna bit her lip, feeling a rush of affection and giddiness. “You say that like I’m not cute when I’m sober,” she teased back, her smile softening into something more tender as their playful banter continued.

Jeonghan’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper, meant just for her. “You’re always cute.”

Blushing harder, Luna glanced away from the screen briefly, her heart doing somersaults. She didn’t even care that her managers were in the front seat, listening in— they were used to this kind of exchange between the two of them by now.

It was nothing new, just Jeonghan being his sweet, doting self.

“I’ll be there soon,” she said, trying to rein in her giggles. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Jeonghan chuckled, his voice softening into a melodic hum. “I always miss you. See you soon, okay? Stay safe on your way.”

As Luna’s van continued to roll through the city, her heart was light, the buzz of alcohol making everything feel a little brighter, a little softer. And Jeonghan’s compliments in her head only made it all the sweeter.

Once they finally pulled up to the HYBE building, the reality of returning to practice in her current state made her giggle.

Luna wasn’t stumbling, not at all— she was far too energetic for that— but her managers still held her firmly, each with one hand clasped on her arms.

It wasn’t to support her; no, it was to contain the buzz of excitement that threatened to make her bolt through the building. She felt like she could run straight into the practice room, but she behaved, her steps quick but steady as her managers guided her toward the elevator.

She giggled again, shaking her head as if trying to clear the happy haze she was floating in. “I’m fine, really!” she insisted brightly to her managers, her voice echoing in the empty halls. But she kept walking, letting them hold on to her. She wouldn’t be reckless, not when she was so close to seeing her members again.

When they reached the elevator, her fingers danced across her phone, even though she wasn’t really texting anyone— just scrolling through the apps.

The metallic doors opened, and the three of them stepped inside, the managers still lightly gripping her arms as if any second she might try to run off. Luna rocked back on her heels, eyes sparkling as the familiar ding signaled their arrival on the practice floor. Her managers exchanged a glance as they led her out.

The second the doors opened, the hum of conversation from the practice room filled her ears. The sound of SEVENTEEN’s chatter was warm, and comforting, like stepping into a familiar, noisy home.

Luna’s grin widened, and she barely noticed when one of her managers softly called, “Delivery,” as they gently guided her into the room.

Inside, the members were scattered around the room. Some were seated on the ground, leaning against the sofa, while others stood in loose groups.

The moment they saw her, a ripple of recognition passed through the group. Her half-closed, droopy eyes, paired with the enormous smile on her face, were enough of a giveaway.

Luna didn’t even have to speak for them to know what had happened.

“Aigoo,” Seungkwan groaned with a chuckle, looking at her fondly. “She’s drunk.”

Hoshi, as always, was the first to react, popping up from his seat. He clapped enthusiastically, pointing at her with a dramatic gesture. “Good job! She’s back! Look at her! She’s so cute!”

Luna blinked slowly at the outpouring of attention, still smiling but now a little more bashful. She waved weakly, not moving from where her managers had let her go. “Hello,” she greeted them in perfect English, her accent bright and innocent.

The cheerfulness in her voice made them laugh, and a chorus of amused responses followed.

Mingyu and Dokyeom immediately joined in, chuckling as they cooed over her. “Aigoo, Lulu-ya, you’re so cute!” Mingyu teased, his tall figure looming over the others as he leaned in, his voice dripping with affection.

Dino, sitting cross-legged on the floor, clapped his hands together, grinning. “Noona did you have fun?” he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Joshua, Jun, Wonwoo, Woozi, Minghao, and Vernon stood in the background, their expressions neutral but clearly amused as they watched her. Joshua shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling up. Jun looked like he was holding back a laugh, while Woozi raised a brow, bemused.

Seungcheol, always the responsible leader, stood off to the side, watching the scene with a mixture of amusement and concern. His arms were crossed, his expression torn between being entertained and exasperated. “Should I be worried?” he asked no one in particular, his tone dry.

Jeonghan, however, hadn’t moved from his spot on the sofa. He was leaning back lazily, his eyes half-lidded with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He watched with quiet satisfaction as Luna was brought closer, her wide smile and droopy eyes making him chuckle under his breath.

Hoshi leaned in, mock-solemn as he nodded towards Seungkwan. “I think she had a good time,” he remarked, his tone light as he clapped again, proud of his assessment as if he was having deja vu.

“Did you drink water?” Dokyeom asked, his brow furrowed with concern, even as he struggled to contain his laughter.

Luna blinked, looking around at all the familiar faces. The warmth of their voices, and the playful teasing, made her feel at home. “I did,” she nodded earnestly, though there was a slight wobble in her voice. Her hand shot out in a grand gesture toward the room, her eyes landing on each member one by one. “And you guys! You guys are all so… so… amazing!”

Jeonghan chuckled, the sound soft and low as he sat up a little straighter. “Nana-ya,” he called out to her, his voice smooth, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down, huh?”

Luna blinked at him, her smile widening at the sight of him lounging back, looking completely at ease. “Okay!” she chirped, taking a few steps toward him before stopping to grin at everyone again.

The laughter and overlapping chatter followed her, the sound of a warm hug as they all tried to get her attention at once.

“Did you have fun?” Hoshi repeated, more insistently this time, beaming at her.

“Are you feeling okay?” Minghao asked, his voice quiet but laced with amusement.

“Sit down first,” Seungcheol finally interrupted, stepping forward to guide her towards the sofa.

Luna blinked up at him, her grin still bright, her energy bubbling over. “I’m okay, really,” she insisted again, though her steps were slightly wobbly as she finally reached the sofa, letting herself sink down next to Jeonghan.

“Hello!” she greeted once more, waving her hand in a little flourish before her head rested against the back of the sofa, a content sigh escaping her lips.

The members exchanged glances, their amused expressions softening into affection as they continued to watch her, the room filled with their overlapping voices of concern and playful teasing.

As the rest of the members began to disperse, some returning to their casual conversations, others stretching or preparing for practice, Luna and Jeonghan remained on the couch, enveloped in their own little world.

Jeonghan’s lazy smile softened as he looked at Luna, whose head had found a comfortable spot on his shoulder. She hummed softly, her voice muffled but content, as her fingers toyed with the hem of her top. Her cheek pressed against him, the warmth of his presence grounding her amidst the happy, drunken haze she floated in.

With a soft chuckle, Jeonghan reached up, his long fingers brushing away a few stray hairs that clung to her face. “You look like a mess,” he teased gently, his voice low and affectionate as he smoothed her hair down with slow, careful strokes. He tilted his head slightly, eyes tracing the soft lines of her face as he continued, “How much did you drink, huh?”

Luna giggled, her droopy eyes glancing up at him through half-closed lids. “I… don’t remember… not much… I think,” she mumbled, though her slurred words betrayed the truth. “I’m okay.”

Jeonghan smirked, clearly unconvinced, but his teasing remained light. “Right,” he replied, drawing out the word with playful skepticism. His fingers grazed the top of her head again, patting it softly as if to soothe her. “You’re definitely okay. Just the picture of sobriety.”

Luna pouted slightly but nuzzled her face closer into his shoulder, her body relaxing further against him. “I am,” she insisted, though the effort to sound serious only made her sound more adorable. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she added, “I missed you guys…”

Jeonghan’s smirk softened into something warmer, more tender. “We missed you too, Nana-ya,” he murmured, continuing to absentmindedly play with her hair. His voice dropped even lower, his tone filled with quiet affection as he leaned a little closer, “You should rest after this, though. Don’t push yourself too much okay?”

Before Luna could respond, Seungcheol’s firm voice cut through the conversation. He approached them, his expression still a mixture of concern and exasperation. “Jiyeon-ah, you should sit out for practice today,” he said, crossing his arms as he looked down at her.

At that, Luna lifted her head from Jeonghan’s shoulder, her eyes widening in dismay. She blinked up at Seungcheol with her heart in her eyes, lips forming a soft pout as she protested, “But I’m okay! I can practice…” Her voice had taken on a pleading tone, almost like a child trying to convince a parent to let her stay up past bedtime.

Jeonghan couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at her reaction. “Coups,” he drawled, tilting his head towards Seungcheol with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Come on, if she says she can do it, she can do it. She’s a pro.” His arm tightened around Luna, still gently playing with her hair as if to show solidarity.

Seungcheol shot Jeonghan an exasperated look, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t encourage her, Jeonghan,” he scolded lightly, his brows furrowing. But when he looked back at Luna, his expression softened despite himself.

Jeonghan’s smirk only grew wider as he leaned back against the sofa, his arm still around Luna. He nodded towards Seungcheol as if to say, Go ahead, try to argue with her. She’s not going to give up. Especially not drunk Luna…

Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at Luna, who was now looking at him with even bigger, more pleading eyes. “Luna,” he began gently, crouching down to her level. “You need to rest. You could hurt yourself if you try to practice like this.”

But Luna wasn’t ready to give up. She stood up— wobbly but determined— and made her way over to Seungcheol, wrapping her arms around his side as she pressed her cheek against his arm. Her brows furrowed, and her pout deepened as she looked up at him. “Do you not love me anymore?” she asked, her voice small and almost heartbroken.

That was the final straw for Jeonghan, who burst out laughing, throwing his head back as he watched the scene unfold. The room echoed with his amusement, drawing the attention of the other members again.

Seungcheol, for his part, softened immediately, his stern expression melting as he looked down at her. “Of course I love you,” he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I love you too much, which is exactly why I don’t want you to practice right now.”

Before Luna could reply, a loud voice from across the room interrupted them. “Let her dance!” Hoshi called out, raising his hand like a student making a bold suggestion in class. His grin was wide and mischievous, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

Several of the members burst out laughing at the memory, knowing exactly what Hoshi was referring to— his own infamous post-Youngji interview dance practice a few months ago, where he, too, had returned drunk, overly enthusiastic, and hard-headed.

Seungcheol groaned, shooting Hoshi a look. “You, out of all people, should not be giving Jiyeonie advice right now,” he retorted, his tone sharp but laced with amusement. “That’s two out of fourteen of us who have shown up drunk to practice.”

The room broke into laughter again, some members shaking their heads while others clapped Hoshi on the back in solidarity.

Luna, however, remained focused on Seungcheol, her eyes wide and earnest as she tightened her hug around his side. “I’m fine,” she repeated with determination, her voice slightly muffled against his arm. “Youngji made sure I was okay… She said she was scared of Hannie and you… mostly you.”

Seungcheol raised a brow at that, glancing over at Jeonghan, who simply hummed in agreement, his arm still loosely draped around the back of the sofa. Luna’s words brought a fresh wave of laughter from the members, their overlapping voices filling the room as they teased and bantered amongst themselves.

Luna’s arms stayed looped around Seungcheol’s side, her face still nestled into his arm, as she continued to pout slightly, holding onto him as if he were her last lifeline. Her brow furrowed deeper when one of her managers quietly entered the room, holding out a set of loose clothes— perfect for practice as opposed to the outfit Luna had worn for her interview with Youngji.

“Luna,” her manager called softly, trying not to interrupt the moment too abruptly. “Let’s get you changed into these. You’ll be more comfortable for practice.”

Luna blinked up, her eyes flickering between Seungcheol and the clothes her manager held. Her pout deepened, and she dramatically sighed, tightening her grip on Seungcheol. “What’s the point in changing?” she mumbled, half under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Cheollie doesn’t love me anymore, and he won’t even let me practice…”

The room erupted into laughter, the sound bouncing off the studio walls as the members chuckled at her exaggerated dramatics.

Jeonghan’s eyes were trained on her, his amusement clear in the soft, lazy smile playing on his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the way his gaze lingered on her, watching her every move, showed just how entertained he was.

Seungcheol threw his head back in disbelief, exasperation, and fondness battling in his expression as he let out a long sigh. “I—” he began, but his words were cut off by more laughter from the others, clearly finding Luna’s antics too endearing and hilarious to stop.

Her manager, who had clearly dealt with Luna’s stubbornness before, just smiled gently and approached her again. “You still need to change, Luna, regardless of what Seungcheol says,” they insisted softly but firmly, holding out the clothes to her.

Luna tilted her head up at Seungcheol again, mustering every ounce of puppy-dog eyes she could, her lips parting in a hopeful pout as if this was her final attempt at breaking his resolve.

Seungcheol, sensing the trap, quickly averted his eyes, refusing to look at her, clearly trying to maintain his stance. But the soft, playful sigh that escaped Luna’s lips made him falter.

“He really doesn’t love me anymore,” she said loudly to herself, her voice full of exaggerated melancholy as she turned her head away, her hold on him loosening slightly.

Her words were followed by a pointed silence from the room, only broken by Jeonghan’s quiet, low laughter from where he sat, watching in pure amusement.

Seungcheol groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. He glanced down at her, finally giving in, the resistance in his expression melting away. “Alright, alright,” he caved, his voice softer now, filled with the affection he couldn’t hide. “You can practice… but if you start feeling tired or sick, you stop immediately. No arguing, okay?”

Luna’s eyes lit up instantly, a gleeful squeal escaping her lips. “Thank you, Cheollie!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she hugged him even tighter, burying her face into his chest. In one swift motion, she leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before letting go, practically bouncing on her feet with renewed energy.

Seungcheol chuckled, rubbing his cheek where she’d kissed him, a slightly flustered look crossing his features. He didn’t have much time to react before Luna dashed off toward her manager to grab the practice clothes.

“Be careful!” Seungcheol’s voice echoed in the room.

“Stop running!” Jeonghan called out right after, his voice lilting with amusement as both men watched her disappear toward the bathroom to change.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Jeonghan turned toward Seungcheol, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other in his usual laid-back posture, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Folded,” was all he said, the single word dripping with teasing satisfaction as if he was proud of his girlfriend for getting her way.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose before turning to glare half-heartedly at Jeonghan. With a playful scowl, he grabbed his cap and tossed it lightly at him. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed the fact that he wasn’t really upset.

Jeonghan chuckled lazily, catching the cap mid-air with ease before placing it back on his lap. “You know I’m right,” he said, still smirking as he leaned further back, clearly enjoying himself.

Seungcheol just shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him as he resigned himself to the fact that when it came to Luna— especially drunk Luna— no one could resist her.

Luna emerged from the bathroom, her usual polished interview look swapped for something far more relaxed: a loose red basketball jersey paired with white joggers that bunched slightly at her ankles. Her hair, now loosely behind her bounced as she made her way back into the practice room, looking noticeably more comfortable.

The slight sway in her steps hinted that the alcohol was still very much in her system, but her eyes were sharp with determination, ready to dive into practice.

The music started, filling the room with the bass-heavy beat of their latest choreography. Immediately, Luna fell into formation, her movements precise, sharp, and perfectly timed with the rest of the group. Her body moved effortlessly through the routine, hitting each step with an intensity and focus that surprised even the members watching her.

It was as if she wasn’t even drunk, her dance sharp and fluid, almost second nature to her.

“Wow,” Joshua muttered under his breath, glancing at Jeonghan who was leaning casually against the mirrored wall. “She’s still killing it.”

Jeonghan smirked, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her. “That’s Jiyeonie for you,” he said, pride evident in his voice. Despite her condition, she was a professional through and through.

Typically, Luna was one of the quieter members of the group during practice or in general. She would keep her head down, laser-focused on perfecting her moves.

She only spoke when necessary, giving or receiving feedback, and often took her breaks in silence, either hydrating or resting beside Jeonghan on the sidelines. Together, they would sit in a comfortable quiet, the kind of wordless communication they’d developed over years of being together.

But today was different.

Though Luna still moved with that same focus during the routine, the clear sign that she wasn’t completely sober became apparent during their breaks.

Instead of quietly retreating to Jeonghan’s side, she would giggle every now and then— small bursts of laughter that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds, surprising the others as much as it endeared them.

During the small moments when the music stopped, she became clingy, her usual quiet demeanor replaced with a playful, affectionate energy.

At one point, she draped her arms over Vernon’s shoulders from behind as he took a sip of water. He barely flinched, as if this was normal, simply adjusting so she could rest her chin comfortably on his shoulder. “You good?” he asked, his voice gentle, not wanting to push her.

“Mhm,” Luna hummed, her face close to his cheek. “Just resting.”

A few minutes later, when the group started stretching for the next set, Luna slid down next to Dino, her fingers quickly lacing through his hand without a word. He looked down at their interlocked fingers, his lips twitching into a small smile, but didn’t comment on it, allowing her to hold his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

When it was Hoshi’s turn to stand and clarify a particularly tricky part of the choreography, Luna bounded up and jumped on his back with a giggle. “Piggyback?” she asked, her voice playful. He let out an exaggerated sigh, but smiled nonetheless, supporting her weight with ease as he carried her across the room.

“Alright, alright, off you go,” Hoshi said after a minute, gently setting her back down. He gave her an affectionate pat on the head as she settled back onto the floor, her laughter filling the room.

The break stretched on longer than expected as the members settled into their own rhythms, some lying down on the couches, others chatting, and a few playing random music over the speakers.

It started slow— light background music while they all took a breather—but as the tempo picked up, Luna, who had been lounging comfortably in a chair moments before, suddenly got up.

A familiar song filled the room, and without hesitation, she grabbed the sparkly pink mic from a nearby stand. Her voice, light and playful, danced through the notes as she sang along. She wasn’t performing, not in the way she normally would on stage, but there was a relaxed confidence in the way she moved. Her body swayed to the rhythm, hips shifting with the beat, her feet barely leaving the ground as she danced in place.

From the couch, Jeonghan watched her with an unmistakable fondness, his head tilted to the side, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest. Beside him, Seungcheol had his phone out, already filming her from a low angle, capturing Luna’s spontaneous moment of joy.

“Look at this. What is happening?,” Seungcheol muttered, eyes still trained on his phone screen as he continued recording. “Youngji-ssi, what is this? She’s like an animal in the wild.” His voice was deadpan, the tone as serious as if he were narrating a wildlife documentary. He zoomed in slightly, the camera catching Luna mid-twirl as she continued to sing into the mic. “She’s unaware of the predators, blissfully ignorant of her surroundings. Perhaps she’s intoxicated from her previous meal.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly beside him, leaning back against the couch as if settling in for a show. “You’re gonna get us all killed, you know that, right?” he murmured, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Luna, still twirling and dancing along, caught something in her peripheral vision— Seungcheol’s phone, pointed directly at her.

A mischievous smile spread across her lips as she turned to fully face the camera, suddenly amping up her movements, adding an exaggerated shimmy and a playful spin to Seungcheol’s video. She pointed the mic toward the camera like a pop star acknowledging her audience, winking as she finished the verse she was singing.

The room filled with laughter, Seungcheol shaking his head as he lowered his phone slightly. “And here we have the moment the subject becomes aware of the camera,” he continued, still keeping up the faux-safari narration. “This behavior is rare and should be documented carefully.”

Jeonghan could barely contain his laughter now, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he watched Seungcheol dramatically stop the recording. “I’m so posting this,” Seungcheol announced, his face as neutral as ever, but the corner of his lips twitching in amusement.

“You’re gonna regret that tomorrow,” Jeonghan said, still smiling, his eyes flicking between Seungcheol and Luna, who was now dancing in place with even more enthusiasm.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Seungcheol replied, his fingers already moving across his phone screen as he opened Instagram and uploaded the video to his story, captioning it:

이게뭐야? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ @/lunabae @/youngji_02

(Translation: What is this? hahahahahaha)

Within seconds, the notification popped up for their fans, and it wouldn’t be long before the comments and reactions flooded in.

Luna, blissfully unaware of her sudden social media fame, continued to sing into her sparkly mic, completely in her element.

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan watched her, now sharing a silent understanding as they waited for the inevitable storm of fan reactions that would surely follow.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Jeonghan teased quietly, his gaze still locked on Luna as she danced across the room. Seungcheol smirked but didn’t reply.

Both of them knew, though— that tomorrow, Luna is gonna be pissed over that video.

Throughout it the rest of the day, the members made sure to keep an eye on her.

Whenever they paused, someone— usually Jeonghan— would hand her a bottle of water, making sure she stayed hydrated.

He teased her relentlessly, his voice filled with fondness, but there was an underlying care in every action he made toward her. Despite his laid-back demeanor, he never missed a beat in checking on her, sliding water into her hands and watching closely for any sign of exhaustion.

“Drink,” Jeonghan said, pushing the bottle toward her after one particularly intense set.

Luna pouted but took it, gulping down the water obediently. Jeonghan patted her head lightly, smoothing down some of the stray hairs that had stuck on her face during the dance. “Good job,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the music.

Her eyes sparkled up at him, and for a moment, it was just the two of them in their own little bubble.

But then, as soon as the break ended, Luna was up again, this time clinging onto Mingyu’s arm as they walked back to the center of the room. Mingyu playfully pouted, but let her hang onto him as they prepared for the next run-through.

She was their Luna, after all, and no one could resist her, especially not like this.

Every now and then, Jeonghan would check in, calling out small reminders to her, making sure she didn’t push herself too hard despite how well she was performing. But even he had to admit, as he exchanged a glance with Seungcheol across the room, there was something about a tipsy Luna that brought out the softest side of everyone around her.

Luna was rarely the one to seek out affection, at least not openly. She was independent, strong, and often kept to herself especially during practice sessions, relying on her own grit to push through the fatigue.

The only exception, of course, was Jeonghan.

With him, Luna would let down her guard, and let herself be cared for in those quiet moments, but it was a side of her few others saw.

But tonight, that wall was down, and not just with Jeonghan.

The usual reserved Luna had melted into this softer, more open version of herself, allowing the other members to fuss over her, to baby her in a way that she never let them do.

It was rare, and that rarity seemed to pull a tender response from everyone in the room. There was something so disarming about seeing her like this— giggling, playfully clinging to the others, seeking out their affection without reservation.

Jeonghan watched from the sidelines, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he observed her moving between the members, hanging onto Seungkwan, then Dokyeom, then Woozi.

They each handled her in their own way— some with teasing, some with gentle pats or words of reassurance— but all of them were softened by her presence, their protectiveness surfacing in small, quiet gestures.

Luna’s independent streak was something they all admired— her resilience, her focus, and the way she never asked for help unless it was absolutely necessary.

But seeing her like this, in such a vulnerable and open state, brought out something in them all. It was as if they felt the need to protect her even more, to make sure she was okay, not just as a teammate, but as a sister, a friend.

As the practice continued, the members would sneak glances her way, checking on her without making it too obvious. They made sure she had water, and that she wasn’t pushing herself too hard, even though she was moving through the choreography flawlessly, almost as if she wasn’t tipsy at all.

But in between the intense sets, during those moments of rest, they took turns being there for her, offering small comforts she normally wouldn’t accept.

At one point, Dino, the youngest of the group, found himself with Luna’s arms wrapped around his waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Noona, are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Luna nodded, humming in response, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Mhm… just a little tired.”

Dino patted her hand, his smile growing. “You’re doing great. But don’t push too hard, okay?”

She nodded again, and the group continued with their practice, but the energy in the room had shifted. There was a warmth, a quiet protectiveness that filled the space as they worked. Despite the teasing, the laughter, and the playful banter, they were all attuned to her, making sure she was okay, even if she wouldn’t admit that she needed them.

And Jeonghan, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Luna, his Luna, was letting them in.

Even if it was just for tonight, it was a moment they all cherished, a rare glimpse of the girl who, for so long, had carried herself with such strength, now letting herself be cared for by the people who loved her most.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

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[huggywuggysuppy]

Has Pearl Really Betrayed Gem?

Inspired by (this) recent transcript of Pearl talking about siding with Scar in SL and not believing she betrayed Gem at all.

It's interesting how Pearl always saw Murder Camel as a fun but temporary thing -- it was never a real alliance to her -- while EVERYONE ELSE clearly thought it meant something more. We're talking the Mounders discussing moving in with Gem & the Scotts level serious. Gem /definitely/ thought it was something more. Even in WL Scott was like "and you were like three steps away from betraying us and being your own thing with Pearl" (also him stressing that "no matter your other alliances, THIS is the top one" in SL). There's definitely something unequal here. And why is that?

Gem murdered Pearl. Like, twice. The second time while Pearl was actively BEGGING her to stop. For that red task to hit until she blocked with a shield.

So of course Pearl didn't see it as a real alliance. Both times she joined Gem were after Gem killed her! And to the other players who are veterans and used to self-sacrifice and murder, it's not that big a deal. But Pearl very rarely sacrifices herself -- off the top of my head she's only given lives to BigB back in Limited, which was much lower-stakes -- and definitely not by force. Pearl never really chose to ally with her. Working with Gem in the final session was almost entirely tactical: it was just a bonus that they got along.

And Gem? Gem doesn't notice. As far as she knows, sacrifice is not only normal but expected of a strong alliance. Thanks to Scott's immense self-sacrifice issues and Impulse's "yes and" tactical mind, she's literally responsible for two deaths apiece on her allies. Why wouldn't she lump Pearl in with that, who she's also taken two lives from? (Whew, does Gem murder a lot of people. love her). When she'd turned Pearl red, Pearl was angry and hurt, but Gem apologized. "I can't believe you still wanna be friends with me after this." Gem had said, and Pearl replied, "I can't believe it either. But I guess here we are."

That's why it's such a betrayal at the end. Gem thought they were okay. Scar's been public enemy #1 for so long, Pearl literally chose him as her target when she turned zombie. Meanwhile, Gem and Pearl have been working together for the past 2-3 sessions (plus or minus a couple times Gem murdered her). Pearl should've turned on Scar.

And that leads us to now. Gem, who was betrayed because she thought she was safe and Pearl was cool with it and was her ally. When the server thought they were so close they would team up together. When really, Pearl had never thought the same, because why should she? Gem had only ever hurt her and her allies. No, Pearl's only crime was not communicating clearly enough and denouncing Gem entirely. But against the whole server, the fandom's gaze too, all insisting Gem and her were in Life, for Life?

5 AM Pearl has a lot to work with.

Thank you so much for reading! I, too, fell into the trap and accused them both of betrayal. But I was blinded by wanting Shinyduo to stay together! I should never doubt you, Pearlescentmoon. Never let us sway you from your path.

[icallhimjoey]

Not sure if you've done this but it fits the general mood of the fandom lately: I want grovel-y Joe. Knows he really fucked up but he's a guy so he doesn't know how to fix it so he just throws anything at the wall to see what sticks. And honestly we're not sure if we'll forgive him but we're definitely sticking around to see how far he's willing to go.

(yes I am in therapy 🤣)

okay im using this request to fix whatever that bullshit was that i wrote before this - hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 3.8K

---

I'll Let The Sun Decide

Joe realises it in the morning. Feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

Correction: the biggest fucking idiot on the moon.

He watches you walk out of his bedroom after leaving a perfect cup of coffee, exactly how he likes it, on his bedside table and everything about that makes his heart ache.

After the way he behaved last night, he knows he doesn't deserve a sweet gesture from the girl who looks like she only managed to sleep for about two hours.

You look exhausted.

He only catches a glimpse of you, and a few seconds later he can hear the coffee machine go again. You're making a coffee for yourself after making him one, and Joe can't help but groan his face into his pillow.

Fuck.

He didn't reach out for you in the night.

Your one fucking rule.

He vaguely remembers going, "Hmm?" after he raised his head off his pillow in a jolt.

"Just me." You'd whispered, nothing malicious hidden in your voice, because it was after midnight and it wasn't the time to continue whatever you'd started earlier that evening.

He should've reached over then.

He hadn't. Not even a knee to your thigh, or a toe to your foot.

Nothing.

He should've been happy you'd come back to his flat instead of going to your own. You could've so easily decided to avoid him for a bit, but you didn't. You said you'd come back, and then you did, and, fuck.

He hadn't reached out.

He hadn't even read the texts you'd sent. Left you with a bunch of grey ticks.

Well.

He had read them, but only in the notification bar.

He'd seen the messages about you making it to the office safely. Of how Charlotte was there too - you'd do the work together and you'd be done much faster that way. A little later of how you'd just be another hour, and of how you'd let him know when you'd leave.

He wanted you to feel bad about choosing your work over him, so he withheld the coloured ticks and had felt real fucking smug over it. It was sickening how right he'd felt about his actions in the moment. Every petty little thing justified, just because you'd hurt his feelings.

You'd climbed into bed after he had already fallen asleep, and the feeling of movement next to him pulled him from his slumber. And then, instead of reaching over like he should have done, he had sighed all heavily, like he was really fucking annoyed that you'd woken him up as you got comfortable under his covers. He'd rolled over and ignored you. Turned his back and festered in his own anger like a moody teenager because he truly believed you deserved it.

What a fucking loser.

Didn't touch you all night.

The realisation slaps him in the face unexpectedly, and your early-morning kind gesture is what flips the entire script. What a fucking loser of a boyfriend.

You've made the deadline.

Joe sees it when he opens his messages after taking a perfect sip of hot coffee, and it's weird how he feels awful about himself and proud of you at the same time.

He didn't need to let the world burn over such a tiny inconvenience.

Joe hates the moon.

Longs for the sun.

The moon is cold and dark and he's all alone up there, only warmed by the light the sun will bring him.

The sun. Or, the messy-haired girl with tired eyes in soft clothes too big for her body who brought him a hot cup of coffee before she even made one for herself. Either or. Same thing.

Joe stares at your messages in silence, gives you the coloured ticks he should've given you last night, and feels heavy guilt find home in the pit of his stomach.

You finished all the work in time. Probably have done a real good job at it too. Did it at the office, away from Joe's bad temper, and managed to actually focus and forget about how he told you to fuck off when you were already on your way out anyway.

What a dick-move.

Fragile ego syndrome, you'd guessed then.

That dick-move is what had you second-guessing going back over to Joe's for a while. Maybe going back to your own flat was the smarter idea. Avoid the confrontation and just text him the next day, after he'd cooled off a bit.

Maybe he'd actually read those then.

Another dick-move.

Joe could be so annoying sometimes, but it was easy to read him and you knew that just a little consideration of your time would fix whatever this silly issue was. With that in mind, you'd made your way back over to his.

You knew his dick-moves only meant he was going to feel bad about himself come tomorrow morning.

And you were right.

Besides an annoyed sigh and a soft grumble, you didn't get much else from him when you got into bed.

That was fine.

Again, you didn't think it was the right time to continue a fight anyway.

But the morning brought something new.

You woke up before Joe did and it took a few seconds for you to remember. To realise your prediction was right. Joe hasn't reached out in the night. No silent I still love you touch under the covers for you.

And it stings.

Could make you cry if you thought about it long enough.

Joe's stayed on his side of the bed, facing away from you, and you tell yourself that at least you've come back to his flat like you said you would. You finished the work you had to finish, and did the right thing by returning.

But then, you concluded, you also haven't reached out to him at all, and immediately felt bad.

Joe can be so annoying sometimes, but you do still love him, and a warm palm to a shoulder blade could've at least let him know.

It would've made you the bigger person.

Which, you still were. You came back, didn't you? But Joe was being an absolute child and you didn't want to sink down to his level.

You should've reached over. Should've touched him. You have no good excuse for not following the one rule you came up with after your first real argument, and now you feel bad.

Shit.

The coffee is to make up for it. At least a little. To say, I'm sorry I didn't reach out, here's me doing that now.

"Morning," you whispered when you saw him stir and open a squinty, confused eye.

You didn't wait for a reply. Just left the coffee there and walked back to go and make yourself one too.

Joe watched you leave and the moon came crashing down.

He knows what the coffee means.

He's read your messages, can hear you make breakfast in his kitchen and decides he needs to reach out too. With his coffee in hand, he gets up and makes his way over to his living area where he finds you rubbing your fist into an eye through a yawn, with a carton of eggs in the other hand.

"Morning," he croaks, and sees how it's only just starting to get light outside, it's so early still.

It feels a little weird and embarrassing to speak to you right now. To remember how you'd been in this same room just a few hours ago, and he'd told you to fuck off.

Fuck off, he'd said. To his girlfriend. Had meant it with his whole chest too. What a fucking idiot.

You turn your head to give him a small smile that doesn't reach your eyes, and ask, "Do you want some eggs?"

The moon can die.

He doesn't want the moon.

The moon is too far from the sun. He wants you closer and happy and well-rested and for your smile to overtake your whole lovely beautiful face when you see him and he hasn't got the faintest clue where to even start to fix it.

He doesn't know how to turn all the feelings in his chest into words to convey how sorry he feels. Has no idea what to say. Has no idea how you'll react to a verbal apology either.

But you look so soft, shoulders slouched, the scrunched up bit of fabric that held your hair up and out of your face as you slept about to slip out. And, even though he can tell it's not a real smile, you're still giving him a kind face. You're being civil.

You've made him a coffee how he likes it and just offered to make him some eggs and, Jesus, he's just the most awful person ever, isn't he?

The overwhelming need to wrap himself around all of you takes over.

Joe leaves his coffee on the side and steps closer to attach himself to your back. You accept it, and he can feel how you let your head rest against the side of his as he hugs you, arms tight around your waist.

He's glad that you let him.

But he also feels the defeat there.

The, Joe what the fuck, that's waiting to slip out of your mouth. Maybe it's why you're keeping things surface level. No time or energy to get into an actual conversation right now. Just breakfast eggs and perfect coffee.

That's okay.

Joe doesn't know what to say anyway, and he'd love some eggs, actually.

"I'd love some, but," Joe kisses the side of your face, does it quick so he doesn't have to feel you pull away from it, and then gently moves you aside. "Let me."

A first attempt at fixing it.

Joe finishes breakfast whilst you go for the quickest shower of your life. When you turn the water off he asks what time you need to leave from the kitchen. His eyes find your coffee that's going cold, and he thinks it's so stupid that you have to be back at work so soon.

This time he doesn't feel sorry for himself, though. This time he feels sorry for you.

It's a big difference.

You've only just left the office, Joe thinks. And sure, sometimes he makes long hours and feels like he lives on set, but you're in an office.

He knows that's different.

Worse.

You've got to go and present all the things you've finished and he knows you like it just as much as he does. That being: not at all. There's no use in getting angry at you.

He sees that now.

You're just as much at fault for not being able to go out with him last night as he is. That being: not at all.

Joe watches you take a few hurried mouthfuls of egg on toast, and he wants to tell you sorry before you leave.

He doesn't.

Isn't sure how, and feels like a literal child because, Jesus Christ, they're just words.

But you smile at him, even though it's only small. And you let him kiss your cheek on your way out. And when you've left, it's not even eight o'clock, which is too fucking early, and he decides he needs to give you more quiet I love yous that he didn't give you under the covers in the night the way he should've done.

You get flowers delivered to the office that afternoon.

It's a large bunch, beautiful colours, and you can't lie; it absolutely makes you smile. You can tell it's expensive, and you know he's paid extra for the same day delivery, but... he didn't reach for you last night, and you didn't reach for him either, and whenever you think of Joe, that's all that comes to mind.

You'd seen him turn to stone.

So cold and careless.

Had seen in his face how he didn't give a single shit about how inconsiderate he was being.

A bunch of flowers isn't going to magically make that visual go away, but it's nice that he' tried's trying, and you try to hold onto that.

When you leave the office that day, you text Joe that you're headed to your own flat because there's food in your fridge that needs eating before it goes off, and your dishwasher is half filled with dirty dishes that have been in there for about a week already, so you kind of need to go turn it on, and there's probably also a load of laundry you could do, plus a quick pass of your floors with a vacuum, maybe.

Joe doesn't get to read it for a few hours. Busy day on set. When he eventually does, sort of annoyed that you had to wait for his coloured ticks again, he texts back, "Yours?"

And you text back so quickly, it makes his guilt grow.

"don't forget your key, im gonna lie down "

Perfect, Joe thinks. He'll sneak in and maybe get some of your shit sorted whilst you kip on your sofa.

But when he walks in, you're not on the sofa. You're already in bed, and that's sort of heartbreaking, because it's so early, and Joe finds the food that's about to go off uneaten in your fridge still. Finds the dishwasher still half filled, smelling rank, dirty dishes growing mould in there. He also sees the full hamper that needs sorting and washing, and, how had he even had the gall to assume that you could just make time for him at a moment's notice when you hadn't even been able to take care of any of this?

Joe starts the dishwasher.

Sorts your dirty laundry and starts a dark wash.

Cooks the food that's about to go off and places it in plastic tubs to have at another time.

Notices you've not taken the flowers that he had express delivered home and tries not let that affect him, but fails.

You're not sure what it is that wakes you. The beeping of the dishwasher, or the clanging of plates as Joe places the clean ones back into their cupboards. When Joe comes to find you, you're on your side, facing away from the door, but Joe can see you're awake by the light from your phone that silhouettes you.

"You're awake," Joe says, voice surprised, and it makes you turn to look over your shoulder.

"Hey," you say softly, and Joe's eyebrows knit together automatically at how sad you sound.

"Thanks for the flowers," you turn in bed to let Joe kiss you as he bends over to place a small one to your forehead. "They got delivered during my presentation."

"Was it embarrassing?" Joe asks, sitting down next to you, one arm either side of you as he leans over. Kisses you again, but on your mouth this time.

"Very. Vanessa just barged in with them."

"Did you like them?"

"Hmm," you nod and give a little smile. Joe's glad for it, but he feels there's a distance there still. You're keeping your hands to yourself, even though his bare arms are right there.

"I um," Joe starts, and wants to start listing all the things he's done. Wants to tell you how he's been sweet, and kind, like you were with him this morning, and he wants those things to be the silent I love yous he should've given you last night.

But then he changes his mind and says, "Did the, um... did the presentation go okay?"

You nod, because it did go really well, actually. Thank fuck. But Joe doesn't ask any more questions about it, and he seems to hesitate to even speak at all. Seems to want to say something that he's clearly not saying. Afraid to say the wrong thing, maybe. You wonder if there's a sincere I'm sorry hiding in there somewhere.

"You seem tired..." he skirts around the issue, and it's disappointing, but not surprising.

"I am tired."

Then Joe looks at the empty space in your bed for a moment and gets up. Starts undressing. Leaves his clothes in a neat pile on your dresser and goes to brush his teeth.

When Joe looks at himself in the mirror, he frowns.

Fucking idiot.

Look at that coward.

He rests both hands on the sink, hangs into his shoulders, breathes through flared nostrils, and feels like a failure. You must think he is one too.

He didn't reach over last night.

With his toothbrush still in his mouth, he steps back into your bedroom and inhales a deep breath through his nose before he mumbles a barely audible and a very foamy, "I shouldn't have..."

He hears himself, grumbles low in this throat and turns on his heel, spits the toothpaste out and comes back.

Starts again.

"I shouldn't have said those things. Last night. I was being a dick, I shouldn't have done– well, anything, really. I was being mean just to be mean, I'm–"

"Joe," you interrupt, your voice soft.

You didn't reach out either.

"No," Joe argues, moves to sit back down next to you, arms back either side of you, hands pressing into the mattress. "You have nothing to be sorry for, I just," Joe sighs. Frowns. Doesn't know what to say.

What can he say to make you run a hand up one of his forearms?

"I didn't..." he tries once more, but falters again. Drops his head and knows he can't cry because he is not the person he's hurt.

He didn't reach over last night.

"Hey. I didn't either."

You read between the lines, even though your vision goes blurry with tears. You can hear the words Joe isn't saying and can read the thoughts he's not communicating. Joe's face always tells you a million things. You wonder if he's aware how easy he is to read.

You also wonder if he's aware that it's not going to be enough.

Joe swipes a thumb across your temple, close to your eye, and catches a tear that was about to slide into your hair.

He swallows thickly. Tries to swallow down whatever's hurting his throat.

"I don't want to live on the moon..." he then mutters, regretting how he set the world on fire. He wants to live on planet earth, even though it's all grey and black ashes now. He'll plant flowers there. Will feed them water, and will politely ask the sun let them grow.

Will ask you.

You're the sun.

You get to decide.

You don't fully understand what Joe means, because it sounds ridiculous, actors and their theatrics, but you tell him you don't want to live on the moon either and he huffs a laugh at how absurd that sounds coming from your straight face that's pretending it's not actively crying.

You're the sun.

Of course you don't want to live on the moon, silly.

"Your priority–" you start, breath hitching, but Joe is quick to interrupt.

"You. You. Us. I'm... it's us. I promise, it's us..." Joe sighs again, seemingly upset at remembering his own behaviour.

"Saying that is easy, though," you start, finally letting your fingers slowly wrap around one of his arms.

A touch.

It's enough to make Joe's whole face crumble.

He ducks down. Lets his arms find your shoulders to pull you up a little so he can hug you properly, both arms wrapped tightly around your frame, his face hidden into your neck, and you know Joe's only crying because of your fingertips touching his wrist. The smallest things can get him sometimes – so dramatic.

But you continue, "I believe that you believe that your priority is us, but when you're stomping around your kitchen, blaming me for shit I have no controll over, telling me that it's my fault that I–"

"No," Joe mumbles into your skin, and pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours. "No."

And you give his forehead a slight push with yours and you want to say, yes.

Yes that's what you were doing.

Yes that's what happened.

Yes you got caught up in all of your own feelings and forgot that I have a whole set of my own.

But then Joe whispers, "I'm sorry." and you can't help but go absolutely lax in his hold.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I love you, I'm sorry." he whispers his apologies against your mouth through heavy breaths because he's doing his best to not cry, but he's failing, because then he feels you shake with a sob, and, fuck that, he'll banish himself to the moon, actually.

He'll live up there no matter how miserable it is, and he'll take whatever sunlight he can get, and he'll be thankful for the rays you'll allow to even reach him at all.

"You didn't t-touch–" you stutter, and immediately feel Joe squeeze you tighter.

"I'm sorry, I love you. I'm so sorry." Joe whispers right into your ear. Keeps repeating it, over and over and over.

Your one rule.

He should've never broken it.

It's good to hear the words, the I'm sorrys tumbling over his lips, and you'll accept them for now. But actions speak louder than words, and you know that there will probably be a time where the way the world treats Joe will make his head grow to twice its size again. He'll do and say similar shit. Won't want to meet you halfway, but will demand that you make the trek all the way over to him, won't care what the ground will look like, and won't care if you're wearing shoes for it or not.

Joe doesn't know it right now, but you can see into the future and know it will happen again.

And when it does, you'll grow a little colder.

Let some of your rays die out.

"Here. Lay back." Joe says after holding you for a while, and when your head finds your pillow again, Joe curls around and uses every body part of his to touch yours under the covers.

Every inch of skin touching yours is a big fat quiet I love you that he'll repeatedly tell you all night. He's not gonna let go.

He knows he's on the moon still. Up there, all alone. Cold. In the dark.

He said he's sorry, but knows it's not enough.

Wants off, but is smart enough to not set foot somewhere he's not allowed yet.

He has said that he's sorry, and now he needs to wait for the sun.

Wait for you.

And he'll touch you under the covers until you're ready.

Whispers the promises into your hair as you fall asleep.

You get to decide.

He'll let the sun decide.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

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add yourself

[lucysarah-c]

Euphemisms

Summary: Levi may not have attended school, but he knows a thing or two about pregnancy… and also periods. (Levi takes care of you during your period) Author's Note: I wrote this story a while ago for my main fic. Then, I wrote a different version for the final cut of the fic, so I decided to re-arrange this one so it could be a one-shot. Warning: Suggesting themes, mentions of pregnacy. The reader is a virgin. Word Count: 3.5k

The calendar that was peacefully and innocently lying on top of Erwin’s desk. ‘March…’ her mind read, ‘It’s March already, the 7th to be precise.’ Her mind tried to count days, desperately trying to find missing days that could make the counting lower. Biting her nails with worry, this was a new topic for her to be stressed about.

Levi had joined the military only a year ago, right? He hadn’t been promoted yet, but the gossip in the halls said it was imminent. Perhaps because in the few months he had been part of the Scouts, he had already killed more titans than anyone before. Maybe it was because he worked directly for Erwin, who kept ordering her to write letters to the military board requesting the special promotion of Captain for those who were impressive additions to the military but hadn’t gone through the regular training.

The yet-to-be Captain and she had locked eyes in the past, or… done more than just locking eyes. That was the issue now. Every single time Levi was dragged into Erwin’s office because he had replied with his colorful vocabulary to a higher-up or fought another cadet, she was there. One thing led to another, and during common chores or after training, they had gotten more “familiar” with each other.

Y/N wouldn’t even dare to complain. The thug that Erwin had decided to bring to the surface kicking and shouting was many things. Rushed wasn’t one of them. She had clarified to him that she had never had a boyfriend before, or anything to be more precise, and he had reassured her that she could set the tempo. They would do anything that she felt comfortable with.

“Lev- Ah-“ she whimpered as he kissed her neck enthusiastically and his fingers played thoughtful circles over her clit.

“You like that, hm?” Levi replied almost as joke, it was obvious that she did by the way she rocked her hips against his hand.

“I-?!”

“Shhh,” he hushed her, half as mockery, half because they were breaking curfew “Don’t worry, I won’t go too far… two fingers are all I need,”

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she tried to concentrate on work, pen marking the time as it repeatedly hit the paper she was supposed to be reading while her mind recalled the exact scenes that, she believed, had dragged her into this situation.

The little knowledge that had been shared with her was more lies and tales than realistic information. The sudden crucifixion of her actions a couple of months ago passed in her mind as a picture book, one after the other, as her less pure side made an emphasis on bringing back the mental sequence of him taking off his shirt while smirking and then going down to kiss her, or better say devour her, taking her breath as if he needed the oxygen from her lungs for himself. Perhaps, the rocking of his bare hips against hers, with his manhood in full display for her to see as it pressed against her lower stomach.

‘Maybe it takes longer to show… no no, maybe I’m not. But what if I am?’ ‘Who do I tell? Who do I ask? What do I do?’

“Oi, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you or not?” Levi asked, pissed off already after an entire day of him asking, “You alright?” and her answering with a face that seemed far from okay, saying “Yes.” He was resting his body on the railing of the watch post, with a hot cup of tea between his hands.

“Nothing,” her voice came out whispery and sad, and he sighed loudly and groaned in pain.

“Just say it. Don’t be like ‘nothing,’” he emphasized the last word with sarcasm and disdain and kept going, “with the most fucked up face. It’s obvious that something is going on. Don’t be a pain in the ass and say it. Cut the show.”

A part of her wanted to be mad at him for saying that she wasn’t making a show or a scene. “It’s nothing that concerns you,” her response came dubitable, which made Levi keep up the demanding attitude, as if this time he wasn’t taking that as an answer. “It doesn’t concern you… you as a man.”

There was a brief silence before he sighed loudly. “You’re on the rags, that’s it?” She raised an eyebrow at the euphemism that was a bit more “street-like” than what she was used to. “You’re on your period, you’re bleeding. That’s what I meant.”

Leaving aside that it wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last that despite both of them talking the same language as every human inside of the walls, Underground slang was so distant from what she was used to that sometimes that they got lost in translation. When she got what he meant, she blushed intensely, ashamed. “No, and God, you could be a bit more delicate about it.”

Possibly, she wasn’t used to bringing the topic around the other gender. She had been told (since it happened for the first time) the bearable minimum amount of information: “You’re a woman now, it will happen every month, men must not know.” Telling Levi was breaking one of the three rules set in stone for her. The second rule was also broken, so she felt like stepping on completely foreign land.

The permanent wrinkled frown in Levi’s complexion was slightly changed with the addition of a raised, thin eyebrow. “If you’re not, then what’s the problem?”

She joined in the frowning and avoided his glance with questionable security and a mortified appearance. “More like… the lack of it?”

“Why are you worried about it?” Levi’s straightforward nature was testing her limits of politeness.

“Well, you know!” she cussed at him. “That I may be expecting,” she whispered the last part, terrified that someone might even hear her, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. As if those words could travel through walls and arrive at someone.

This was the time for him to be shocked and surprised. His eyebrows raised, and his eyes opened. Suddenly, even without him wanting, a pang of hurt appeared in his face. Levi was quick to question, “Are you fuckin’ someone?”

Perhaps the details or the official title of what they were sharing hadn’t been discussed yet, but Levi somehow thought it was rather clear that they were exclusive. However, since she seemed genuinely worried, Levi considered that perhaps he was the only one taking this more seriously. The idea of him misreading the relationship was like a bucket of cold water mixed with the raging fire of jealousy. He took a sip of his tea, mostly to disguise the disappointment mingled with hurt.

Her coldness was lost, and she pressed her lips together while raising both eyebrows, irritated. “You!”

The former thug, not following her train of thought, admired her in confusion before saying, “How could I get you knotted up?”

Levi’s usual frowning expression changed slightly as he was certainly not getting the point of the conversation. “Are you fuckin’ someone else?”

Gasping in disbelief, “Are you already questioning my loyalty to you?” She felt dreadfully offended. She turned around and gave him her back. “My grandmother was right. Men back up so easily. They leave you as soon as they find out.”

He shook his head slightly while wrinkling the nose, as he tried to process everything. He was completely confused but at the same time he got a rush of relief at her words. “You… you think you could be knock up?”

“Couldn’t you be softer about it? You say it so harshly,” she complained about his sharp tongue. As a silent reply, the hand that wasn’t holding the cup left his trousers’ pocket and raised as he also cocked an eyebrow, completely misunderstanding what was wrong with his choice of words. “I don’t know, maybe a bun in the oven or with child.”

She was freaking out inside and out, and Levi dedicated his best disinterested look to her after her correction of words. “What am I going to do?” she questioned to no one in particular as she felt the fear kicking in.

Levi’s expression remained the same as he gave it a thought, and then said almost as if he was confused of his own actions too. “I … I haven’t put it in yet,”

She seemed to have completely ignored him. Once he had finally concluded there was actually no real problem he sighed and then said, “Then you’re not pregnant, chill. Calm down.” As soon as those words left his lips and she turned around with a dead gaze, his free hand raised again but this time as some sort of white flag. “Fine, fucking terrible choice of words.” Aware that not a single person in human history had calmed down after being told so.

“You don’t know that,” she murmured as a reply to his first statement.

“I think I kinda do.” The calmness in his tone and the disinterest in his face made her even more infuriated.

“People in my life, especially my family, had made it clear before. Messing around with a man could lead to pregnancy. We were both naked and your… your thing was touching me and close by. I don’t know! Maybe it worked somehow,” she desperately tried to express her fears until she heard him chuckle. It was starting to be tiring to dedicated him dead glances.

“Sorry,” he apologized, probably realizing that laughing in her face wasn’t helping. “I may not be the most educated moron around here, but that simply is not how it works. I didn’t put my dick in, not even close, so you’re safe.”

“Are you implying that you know more than everybody around me?”

“More about sex than you? Apparently, yes, I’m sure of that.” As he arrived at the end of his reply, he couldn’t stop a side smirk from appearing on his features, and then he took a sip from his tea. "If getting knotted up was that easy, girly, there would be more kids than fucking grass.”

Her stubbornness didn’t allow her to believe him. She walked around the watch post worrying, “What if I need to carry it on? Will I lose my job? Erwin will be so disappointed in me! I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to be a mother either.”

Levi rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know, there’s no fucking schools down there but I’m sure about this.” He commented, thinking to himself so stupidly prudish surface people were compared to the underground. “You’re not knock up. I’ve to put it in and shoot my load for that to happen”

When he noticed she wasn’t really paying attention, Levi took a cup and filled it up with tea. He placed it in her hands and grabbed her face. His rough, calloused hand applied pressure on her cheeks and raised it slowly, to look up at him even when they were more or less the same height. “Calm the fuck down. Why would I lie to you? If it was possible, don’t you think I would freak out? Drink the tea and relax for goodness’ sake. We are one week away from an expedition, and you’re stressed as a fucking cornered rat. Of course, your period is not coming down.”

“Alright,” she stuttered. “But what if I am? You’re not leaving me to deal with this alone, right?” She gave him her best doe eyes.

“Of course,” he replied, mostly to not argue with her but the thought that she was still considering it made him roll his eyes.

Stress is never an excellent ally. He was right in everything. They came back from the expedition; she relaxed for a few days, and it came right in. If there’s something worse than a period, it's a late one. Her hormones were messed up, and everything hurt twice as much.

"Trying" was a generous word for her attempts at pretending she wasn’t in so much pain that she wished she'd never left her bed. It was a mix of the constant discomfort from the unrelenting waves of pain and a boiling sensation in her lower belly. Not to mention the random rushes of intense pain in her butt that made her feel as if time froze until the sensation slowly passed. She felt moody, mostly because the uniform felt like it was pressing in all the wrong places. It was too tight, complicated, impractical, itchy, and either too cold or too warm. She wanted to put on a long shirt and lay in bed for a week.

Her fork moved the food from one side of the plate to the other. She was hungry, but not for breakfast. The usual meal felt like an insult to her state. ‘I want comfort food, not healthy stuff for training,’ she thought.

“Why the shitty face? Are you constipated?” Levi asked bluntly. Her initial thought was, ‘Yes, try going to the bathroom normally when you feel like dying.’

“I have a headache,” she replied miserably.

Levi hummed a positive reply, “Ah,” looking her from the other side of the table and simply stated, “Your blood finally came,”

She choked on the glass of water she was drinking, coughing loudly. When she finally recovered, her embarrassed expression made it clear how she felt. “Don’t say that! Or at least not like that. Haven’t you imagined that a headache is a social clue since you’re a man and I don’t want you to know?”

Levi, who once again didn’t understand her reactions, kept his uninterested facade and raised the teacup to his lips. “I don’t get your fucking embarrassment. Men know about it. It’s not a secret.”

“It’s girls’ stuff,” she tried desperately to keep the traditions she was told, while Levi was obstinate about going against them.

“It’s normal. Why are people here on the surface so fucking obsessed about hiding normal shit?” Levi, still getting used to another society, snarled.

The need to argue left her body as she writhed in pain from another cramp. She tried to hide it as best as she could, even though Levi already knew; she felt like expressing her pain was something he didn’t want to hear.

“If you feel that bad, go to bed and rest.” His voice was calm and monotone as always, but there were hints of compassion escaping his stoic expression.

“I can’t tell the superiors,” she used as an excuse.

Levi clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Who cares? What’s the point of you training while feeling like this? Go, rest, and I will tell Erwin.”

“Erwin shouldn’t know,” she cried out loud, as if that was the worst fate.

“Don’t be an idiot. Erwin has hair on his balls. He knows how it works.” Levi felt as if she was talking nonsense but when he saw her conflicted face, he added, “I will tell him you caught a cold, whatever, so rest. I’ll do your chores.”

“You sure?”

“Just go.”

She did exactly that. At first, she felt she shouldn’t because she could bare it, but as soon as she arrived at her shared bedroom, changed her clothes, and laid quietly on the bed, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She fell asleep; it was still early anyway, so it was more like resuming the rest of the night than an actual nap.

Later, a few hours before dinner, she was feeling quite bad but wasn’t tired enough to take another nap. Laying on her side, curled up as she read a book slowly because it was hard to read from that position, she heard a knock on the door. It was unusual because her friends would have just rushed in.

“Come in!” she said, slowly and lazily sitting up.

Levi's figure appeared, and she felt the urgent need to smooth out her hair, which was heavily tangled from lying in bed all day. “What are you doing here?” she questioned quickly, running her hands through her hair. “Men are not allowed in the female barracks.”

Levi left a tray with tea and some buns with jelly, probably leftover from breakfast, on her nightstand as he moved next to her between the two bunk beds. “Who is gonna keep me out?” he replied monotonously, as if they both knew nobody was going to pick a fight with him or get on his bad side by snitching to a higher-up.

Before she could thank him, he asked, “You have a hot water bottle?”

“Yeah, but it’s cold already,” she replied, still confused. He extended a hand as a silent gesture for her to give it to him.

Once she handed it to him, he declared, “I’ll come back later. Drink the tea before it gets cold. Bread with jelly was the closest thing to something your bratty sweet tooth would like.”

She accepted the warm cup he handed her with a tender smile. “Thank you so much, you shouldn’t have.”

“How are you feeling?” Levi asked, keeping his eyes on her while she tasted the tea. ‘Chamomile,’ she noted.

“Could be worse, I’ll survive,” she replied, still embarrassed that he was around. “Did you warn the higher-ups?”

Levi nodded. “Told them you had a headache. Erwin said to take it easy today and let him know how you feel tomorrow. He mentioned something about administrative activities or some bullshit like that if you’re still not feeling well enough for training.”

She accepted the white lie without question. While resting warmly in bed, she thought, ‘If it’s only him knowing, I could get used to this kind of pampering.’

The white lie was necessary because when Levi walked to Erwin, who was leading his squad’s early morning training, he stood in front of him and said, “Y/N isn’t training today, she’s bleeding.”

The blunt words made the blond, who was casually writing on a spreadsheet, snap quickly in shock and then chuckle slightly out of nervousness. “Oh, alright, I’ll write her down as indisposed.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking ashamed, too?” Levi rested his hands on his hips, looking deeply at his squad leader.

Erwin, probably smiling at the unexpected situation, said, “Well no, but usually people are a bit more discreet… especially the girls.” Levi clicked his tongue, annoyed, before Erwin added, “I highly doubt Y/N told you to tell me that.”

“She told me to say she had a headache.”

“Of course,” Erwin chuckled, knowing those were not her words. “Try to be softer next time, especially if you ever have girls under your command. They get really embarrassed, especially when they are young.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Got it. I’ll add it to my long list of stuff that you fuckers from the surface get scared about.”

He was ready to go back to training while Erwin let the swears slip by as if he was tired of calling Levi’s attention to those. Then the shorter man asked, “Do you have chamomile tea?”

Erwin raised his attention from the spreadsheet to look at Levi and simply replied, “No. I have black tea.”

He clicked his tongue, “it’s for the brat,” Levi clarified, as if that would make a difference.

“I imagined, but no. I can give you black tea if you want.” Erwin insisted, confused about the specificity.

Levi frowned. “That doesn’t work, moron. Caffeine makes cramps worse. Chamomile works better. Don’t you know that?”

The blond shook his head, not ashamed of admitting his lack of knowledge. “Usually, female cadets don’t talk to us about that.”

“About their bleeding? Don’t you have a little sister?” Levi questioned back, as if that was reason enough.

“Step-sister, and she was born after I joined the military. We never shared a household,” Erwin explained as he went back to his work, disinterested. “And we prefer to call it indisposed,” he added, instructing him again.

“Tch, got it. I’ll add it to the other list of stuff I should say instead,” Levi said, ending the conversation as he turned around and walked away.

Or so he thought, because Erwin spoke up again. His attention was still on his paperwork while he switched the weight from one leg to the other, making the little rocks of the training ground move and crack. “Euphemisms.”

The former thug looked back over his shoulder, frowning, and asked, “What?” from a slightly bigger distance now.

“Euphemisms,” Erwin repeated as if the question was because the cadet didn’t hear it. But as soon as the blond didn’t get an answer, he proceeded to explain, “A euphemism is a word or phrase used to avoid saying an unpleasant or offensive word.”

Erwin had no intention of displaying his education to the former thug, more of a plain explanation. The blond even raised his eyes and did a slight smile as a “white flag,” not trying to sound superior in his explanation.

Levi replied with his best deadpan expression, “You surface assholes know that but not about chamomile tea? You should check your priorities.”

This time, the black-haired cadet truly walked away, hearing his superior chuckle a bit. “Check with Hange. They may have the tea,” Erwin called after him.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee Wanna join my tag list? Here!

Ps: If you ask me... Erwin know they are fucking lol

[topazadine]

Things that immediately turn me off a fiction book

I'm pretty picky with what I read, because the time I spend reading is time that I could spend writing. I generally know if I will like a book within the first chapter, and I feel no shame in giving up if I'm not vibing with it.

And no, I don't believe in the "oooh read further it warms up" because does it? Does it really? Do I want to waste time finding out?

Frankly, at this point in life, I read more nonfiction than fiction because there's just so. many. bad. books. that are getting published. Worse than fanfictions.

Anyway, here are the things that make me give up. Maybe hearing this will help you as you write your own masterpiece.

Too Many Proper Nouns

Three characters maximum in the first chapter or two. Do not throw dozens of people at me. I will get confused and give up. Let me get to know the main character, by themself or with a few of their closest companions, before you make me remember everyone else. And go deep with those characters! I want someone to stick with!

You can reference other characters, to create a sense of a deeper world, but do not go all-in on them. Make it clear that they are just there to provide a bit of context, and we don't have to remember them yet. We should only be meeting three characters maximum.

Throwing Us Immediately Into a Dramatic Action Point

This is controversial I know, but I hate when something immediately starts with a battle. I don't care if any of these people live or die. I don't know them. I haven't grown attached to any of them.

Even just a page or two to get to know them first will help. You can have them gearing up for a battle, thinking about what's going to happen, maybe talking to their friends, maybe checking their armor, whatever feels natural for them. But do not just start with stabbing people! I don't care about them yet!

Too Many Details

Many this is just me, but I simply do not care about every piece of armor your character is wearing. I don't need to hear a play-by-play of every single color of every single thing because I don't care. Pick out a few specific things for me to focus on and that's it. Stop overloading me with colors and patterns and armor styles.

Yes, yes, you've done your research on historically accurate gear. That's great. It would be good for a movie. But if I have to look up different armor pieces every five seconds, I am glossing over it and moving on. I don't care. I'm here for the story. If I wanted an infodump about medieval armor, I would simply pick up a nonfiction book (and maybe I will).

White Space Syndrome

Tell me what the overall scene looks like instead of all these hyperspecific details of certain objects, like carts or emblems or whatever. I want to know where I am!!

Don't just say "a forest." Tell me what kind of forest. Tell me if it's a young forest or an old snarly forest or a swampy forest or a cold alpine forest.

Don't just say "a castle." Tell me if it's a bustling castle or a gloomy castle or a rundown castle.

Don't just say "on the sea." Cold sea? Tropical sea? Far far away from land or is land in sight? These are the things I want!

Too Much Backstory

For the love of god do not explain the entire history of this culture in the first chapter. The first chapter is for getting to know the characters we're going to be following. You can introduce those things slowly and carefully as the story unfolds.

I get that fiction writers are delighted by all the worldbuilding (or research, in historical fiction) they have done. But the reader does not care right away. They need to get invested before all those little specifics matter at all. My eyes glaze over and I give up because I don't want to have to remember all of that all at once. It's like you just threw a college textbook at my face.

Plus, if you're doing third-person limited, you have to remember that the character is not going to be thinking all of that! They won't say all of that either! Because they know all of that!

Even a general on the brink of a major battle is not going to go "yes, this all dates back to when we took Iuanfutila back in 181, when the brave Iuanfutilans protested the rule of our Yawwbaawnwhryr leaders ...." They are focused on the present moment, and they may discuss the backstory later. Tell us what we need to know now because that is what the character would be thinking too.

"Oh, but Topazadine, how will the readers understand the context if I don't tell them??"

There's a battle. Two groups are at war. Or something was stolen. Or two people are fighting. Whatever. We understand those things. We can get the basic gist of how things are going to play out by just showing us these things happening. Then, as we have gotten a feel for the characters, you can tell us more about the context.

If you walk into a store that's being held up by an armed robber, do you give a shit about his backstory, or do you only care once that person has been arrested and you have to testify? I think we know the answer. You're not going "ohhh why is he doing this??" at first. You're going "HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GUN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW???" and then you'll care about the other stuff later.

Too Much Play-by-Play

I also do not need a play by play of a fight scene. I need to know the general movements, and then the overall atmosphere. I want to feel what the character feels rather than feel like I'm watching a football game.

Your reader will fill in the gaps if you give them enough information, but when you overload them with every single action, they're now trying to keep track of what went where instead of how this moment is supposed to feel. And now the action and drama has gone out of the writing because it's become a manual of fighting techniques.

Pointless Dumb Conversations

"Oh, could you turn around for me? I want privacy."

"Sure, of course, I'm a respectable man." Manfred knew that a lady-in-waiting would be unsettled by the presence of a strange man, so he wanted to be respectful.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Oh my god no one cares!!! No one!! We don't need this exchange. Cut it. This is stupid. Unless something is actually happening or something is meaningful about them saying this, shut up.

How to Not Write a Horrible First Chapter That Makes People Ragequit

Can you tell I'm mad today? I started and stopped three different books because they were all so bad.

Three characters max in the first chapter, with deep discussion of each. (One or two is better.) General appearance, demeanor, profession, whatever.

Restrain the urge to infodump! Dribble it out over the chapter!

Give the setting more attention than random little details that ultimately do not matter. I don't need to know the pattern of the curtains on the horsecart that's about to be burnt. Don't care.

Do not give a play by play of every single action that a character takes because it's boring and no one cares.

In media res is great but do NOT start with a big climactic intense battle or fight or whatever because we don't know these characters and don't know who to root for (or why we should care).

Your character is not going to give us a history lesson in why this conflict is happening. Do not do it yourself either. Give us just enough to get intrigued and no more. Think how your characters would think and what they would prioritize in discussions.

If a conversation is just pleasantries and has no purpose, drop it, we don't care.

[tink27]

Steddie ficlet (might do a follow up to show Eddie's reaction)

"He likes a boy"

after years of friendship, and being joined at the proverbial hip, Robin liked to think she could read Steve pretty well, however, his love of being just vague enough to confuse her made this difficult.

"who likes a what now?" still trying to get a read on Steve's feelings, but as of right now he just seemed, disconnected. Since showing up unexpectedly at her house, he had maintained that far-away sort of look that showed that even Steve didn't know what he was feeling.

"Eddie... he... we were hanging out and he" finally he fully met Robin's gaze, and the heartbroken edge to his vacant stare became evident "he was implying, heavily, that he likes me"

"... likes likes you?"

Steve's expression briefly switched to mocking disbelief at her childish choice of words, but he didn't have the energy for any kind of clever retort

"Yes Robin! like likes me!" throwing up his hands before allowing them to smack down against their Jeans ("their" because they fit them both and had been making the rotation between both Steve and Robin's wardrobe for months, she wasn't entirely sure who they belonged to to begin with, not that it mattered)

"And you're... upset?" This was baffling because in the months since Eddie returned for the upside-down, the two had never been closer. Far too many shifts consisted of Steve waxing poetic about Eddie while Robin vaguely tried to relate and be supportive. Although why Steve seemed so utterly smitten as he talked about Eddie's hair or musical elitism would never really make sense to Robin. But still, she saw how they were together.

Steve had a bad track record for love, pouring every part of himself into another person in a way that was truly heartbreaking to watch. However, it became significantly less heartbreaking when it was accompanied by Eddie's eyes following Steve around every room, and always looking to him in conversations no matter who was there because it was Steve's opinion and thoughts that mattered to him most. They truly were obsessed with each other, and honestly, Robin had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So Steve's stricken expression made no sense, nor did his frustration that Robin - despite being his platonic soulmate - didn't magically understand the issue he was having.

"I dont know Robs, its just he likes... Steve Harrington" his voice was defeated as he said it, but it still explained nothing

"....you're Steve Harrington" The confusion in her voice was evident "Am I missing something here, this isn't a 'King Steve' thing is it, because Eddie has made it pretty clear that he thought you were a jerk back then"

the noise of frustration from Steve showed she clearly had missed the point and never had she wished so badly to read her best friend's mind as when the tears began to well up in his eyes. She wanted to hug him, but knew from experience that Steve needed to get the thoughts out first.

There was a minute of silence that Robin had to try desperately to not break, every instinct wanting to spit out an awkward and unhelpful comment to lighten the mood, but she knew she just had to wait.

"I'm not..." the words seemed to get lodged in his throat, even those two words came out scratchy and uncomfortable

He squeezed his eyes shut "I'm not a boy"

Steve opened their eyes, with a desperate expression "I'm not a boy"

It was a statement but also a plea. Begging for Robin to know exactly what to say. She didnt.

"you're not a boy." Robin made sure to sound confident, at least she could pretend to know what she was doing. It seemed okay because they gave an awkward nod, head moving slightly too much for it to seem natural

"you're.... a girl?"

the tears seemed to spill the second she said it, and a choked noise lodged itself in their (her?) throat, but after a moment of panicked pause their eyes screwed shut and they nodded but also shrugged. Clearly just as confused by their discomfort as Robin is.

"Okay, thats okay Ste-" shit, stupid "that's okay babe, you're still you, and hey I might be... severely romantically challenged but even I know Eddie is obsessed with you"

there's a brief watery smile before the corners of her lips are pulled down "He likes Steve, he wouldn't like me"

"Horse shit" Robin wasn't as confident as she was trying to sound, but she knew that her best friend was still her best friend and that anyone who didn't adore her was an idiot (as all best friends know)

she moved to sit next to her friend who had ended up on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, and once again the silence was allowed to stretch out before them, only broken up by heartbroken sniffles and shakey breaths

"so..." Robin wished more than any other moment that she wasn't so awkward "Not Steve?"

"I-" the thought gets broken off " It doesn't feel right, doesn't feel like it's me"

"whats you?" two words encapsulating a question that was near impossible to answer, but it still felt right to ask, to show that Robin wanted to know the answer.

the expression on her face showed that her friend also thought the question unanswerable, and a frustrated shrug fell from her

Robin hated that defeated expression, so she tried "Michelle?"

Clearly, the scrunched-up expression implied it wasn't a fit

"Hannah?" no not that

"Sarah?" seemed less disgusted but still no

"Becky?" okay back to disgust, moving on

"OH! Punch me if this sucks, but... Stevie?" Robin felt the need to justify her choice, showing that she wasn't just trying to make her keep her old name "Like Stevie Nicks! I could see that, dye your hair blonde, get some bangs"

the comment about changing her hair was obviously met with a scowl, but after a soft smile found its way onto her face "Stevie feels better"

Robin had never felt so smart, she was a fucking genius "Stevie is it babe"

Stevie spent moments looking at her, seemingly deep in thought before softly speaking "Thank you Robin"

it seemed too formal for them, to say it so directly with her name like that, but she could tell that Stevie was really grateful so Robin held back the tears (one of them had to be the butch one in this relationship)

"no problem babe" it was spoken just as softly as the thanks, and for now it seemed enough

"Now, tell me what happened with Eddie"