#june is yellow again...

[skunkes]

the sun was in my eyes

[mothbaaalls]

cards calendar...? i haven't made july-december yet but i think these turned out cute :)

[greencheekconure27]

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Three: signatory response required

tw: none

Good morning, love. I’ll be over in an hour. 

You’re bent over your clawfooted bathtub when John’s text vibrates on the countertop, sending a shockwave through your morning like the way the earth ripples beneath tremors. The palm of your foot is pressed into the ledge, desperately clinging for support as you grip your razor with frustrated, twitching fingers, but you don’t have to wander far to read his message. Sighing, you set the razor down and swap it out for your phone, bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

The better half of your morning has been spent preparing for today—whatever today is supposed to be called. Fresh sheets lay spread across your bed with fluffed pillows and a scented candle burning to fill the room with what you’re hoping is a comforting aroma. Jasmine and vanilla—nature and homebaked goods coalescing into one. Everything is too tight within you to properly experience it. Muscles taut, brain pulsing with racing thoughts. 

Now, here you are, in the bathroom, preparing the most important part—you. Shaved legs, exfoliated skin, moisturizer glistening in the dim lighting; now, you’ve turned your attention to the mess between your legs. Wild and untamed hair. Coarse curls. You’ve spent so much time and energy fixing your home these last few months that you’ve rarely turned the same care and attention to yourself, and you’re not sure how a man like John Price would react to a full bush. 

Better to trim and whack it back. 

Morning! Drive safe!

Though you aren’t wholly satisfied with your appearance, you slap a band-aid over it in the form of a matching set of bra and panties and a creamy yellow sundress. Cotton, yet silky to the touch as it hugs your breasts and thighs. A cool breeze drifts through the kitchen windows, drifting up beneath your skirt as you slice up an array of finger foods—tomatoes, salami, cheese, and more. You’ve invited John to your house under the guise of having a simple lunch together, but you know very well where this rendezvous will end up. 

Sweat melting into your mattress, body heat drifting into the warm June air, womb stuffed full until you give the Laswells what they’re paying you for. 

Gravel crunches beneath fat tires just as you’ve finished preparing lunch. Rinsing your hands off in the sink, you quickly approach the door and peek through the window just in time to see him duck out of his car, shoulders rolling as he straightens himself out. You can’t help but think he looks perfectly in place here. Broad biceps flexing in the midst of the woods, coarse hair along his forearms blending in with the shade of the trees—all he’s missing is an axe. 

John greets you with a smile and saccharine words, leaving you no choice but to wipe the sweat on your palms off on the skirt of your dress. He smells nice—earthy. Something that blends in well with the foliage of the aspens and pines that line your property, like fresh grass between your toes, or algid stream water cupped in your hands. Once he’s crossed through the threshold, he’s rolling his shoulders back and inspecting every inch of your home with keen eyes. 

Suddenly, your spine tingles. It hardens—solidifies until you’re as stiff as a board while you watch his gaze trace the old moulding that connects the wall and ceiling, and the original hardwood floors at his feet. This house is far from perfect—having sat long abandoned and dormant, waiting to be loved again—but it’s yours, and therefore, an extension of you. For it to be found unsightly would shatter you, though you doubt John would ever have the heart to say so out loud. 

“Wow,” he breathes, neck craning back, throat on display, Adam’s apple protruding through the delicate skin. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle. It’s more gauche than you intend for it to be, and you quickly cover it with a cough. “It’s a little dated, but I’m still working on fixing it up.” 

“It’s amazing,” John insists, eyes flickering back to you. “You’ve kept most of the original housework. Don’t see that much in old cottages like these. Most people are much too happy to gut them and fill the damn thing back up with lifeless rubbish.” 

John’s ardor for your home has your stomach twisting in knots as your lips trip on the words thank you. You’re much too relieved when his attention shifts to the food you have laid out on the countertop. His fingers brush against the cutting board where juice from the strawberries soaks into the wood, and you find your hands intertwining with one another. Nails scraping against skin, body swaying as you rock onto your heels. 

You’re utterly stunned when John suggests eating outside. Azure eyes peering through your old window panes, yearning for the soft swathes of grass that swaddles your backyard. Knowing you can’t deny his arguably brilliant idea, you gather a blanket from the storage chest that sits at the foot of your bed—an old quilt your grandmother made you when you were a child. The royal purples and vibrant greens have faded into lilac and mint now, but you don’t complain when you seat yourself upon it next to John as the sun warms your skin. 

The talk is small between you and John. Quaint. Not at all something to be expected between people who are about to become indirect parents. A mother and a father. Creators of a child bearing both of your DNA. You speak of everything but. What you do for work and the office you just painted. The cheese you bought for this afternoon—smoked applewood cheddar, something that’s rustic, something that painfully reminds you of John. 

You can’t stop fiddling with the hem of your sundress when the conversation turns to the cottage and the work you’ve been doing. Small indigo dots now stain the cream—a blueberry custard of your own creation—as the lingering juice on your fingertips soaks into the cloth. You stiffly admit the disaster that was the broken pipes in your bathroom, and how the chimney has been clogged since you moved in. Old birds nests shoved between the brick had nearly suffocated you your first winter here, and now you make do with electric heaters that you pray won’t set the foot of your bed on fire. 

“You know, at first I thought it would be an easy feat to just… stick something up there. Figured I could knock it down and just sweep out the hearth when I was finished,” you explain as you roll a piece of bread between your forefinger and thumb. “I quit that as soon as I got dust and soot in my face. Oh, I was sneezing for hours.” 

John laughs at your story, though you’re not sure if it’s out of pity or not. He’s resting his elbow on his bent knee, head tilting to the side as he listens to you. The corners of his mouth crease as you speak, and it makes your tongue go dry. Arid. Nothing but sandpaper on the roof of your mouth. 

“Then I thought it would be a bright idea to climb up there myself. Learned very quickly why you usually pay chimney sweepers rather than do it yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “I hardly lasted a total of five seconds before I was climbing back down the ladder. I think I laid on solid ground for a good half hour before I could get myself back on my feet.” 

John’s gaze turns to the cottage where he sizes the height of the home for himself. Cogs and gears visibly turn in his head as he surveys the old shingles and what was probably once a thatched roof, eyes counting each layer of brick that spans the walls from top to bottom. 

“I could do it for you, if you’d like,” he suddenly offers. 

Stunned by his offer, you’re left floundering for words as his attention returns to you. His fingers are already twitching like his hands are anticipating the work. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’d feel terrible if you fell.” 

“Don’t worry about me, darling, I’ve taken worse falls than that.” 

His reassurance enervates your resolve—this carefully crafted facade of a confident woman who knows what she’s doing—and your only saving grace is the breeze that suddenly picks up. It pulls at the foliage overhead, casting dancing shadows along the quilt and the remnants of your lunch with John. Airy clouds move with the wind along a pale blue sky and you attempt to breathe in the loamy aroma. Let it fill your lungs until your anxiety is stunted. 

Afterall, John isn’t here to fix your chimney. 

Smoothing a hand over the skirt of your dress, you clear your throat. “Well, I suppose we ought to get this mess cleaned up so we can get to work.” You attempt a tone of humor, but it falls awkwardly from your tongue. Stiff like calcified bones that won’t unhinge. 

“Right,” John agrees. He’s pushing himself to his feet, taking care to avoid your grandmother’s handiwork. You pretend not to hear the creaking of his knees. “I’m guessing the ladder is in your shed?” 

“Ladder?” you repeat. You’re convinced John is pulling on your leg until you stare up at him and note the complete lack of mischief in his eyes. Sighing, you stand, anxious hands palming at your clothes. “No, I mean… well, you know. The job Kate and Lottie hired us for?” 

Everything sounds louder when John looks at you like this—whatever this is. An unnamable emotion that swells in his eyes, filling out his pupils until they spill into the blue of his iris. “Oh darling, I’m not here for that. Not today.” 

Once more, John Price has managed to confuse you—has tossed you into the deep end and is watching you flail your arms to keep yourself above water. You feel stupid. A school girl left alone with too many eyes focusing on you. Too many people to witness your failure. 

“I don’t understand,” you say with a tense laugh. 

Quelling the discontent brewing in your chest, John reaches for you. Gentle fingertips brush against your shoulder, then travel down, tracing along your arm until he’s holding your hand in his. He tilts his chin down, shoulders squaring back as if he’s making an oath—a promise. 

“I’m not here for a simple fuck,” he says bluntly, digging straight to the point and smothering any doubt that’s left in the folds of your brain. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it’s supposed to be, but I can’t in good conscience do that to you. Knock you up and leave you on your own like you’re some human incubator. I want to be with you through this. For the appointments, for all the changes, for anything you’ll struggle with, for the birth. All of it. If you’ll let me.” 

John’s request has knocked all the air from your lungs. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him—every inch of him. The freckles on his skin, the faint stress lines that wander along his forehead, every strand of hair in his beard and the quiet grey peeking through the black. You’d be lost in the sight of him forever if it isn’t for his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, tugging you back down to earth. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” you humor, breathless and grasping for straws. 

Chuckling, he steps forward, further closing the gap that rests between the two of you. His smile blooms like fine wine in a barrel—dark and plum against stained wood. “Let’s do dinner this weekend. My treat. Then… we can get to work.” 

Everything melts. All tension fades to black until there’s nothing but the chirping of the sparrows in the pine trees and the playful hum of bees feeding on a patch of clovers. The sky fades into John’s eyes, and the earth opens up at your feet, ensnaring you. Stuck, yet your beating heart yearns for no other place than here. No other comfort than him. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Where at?” 

John squeezes your hand before he pulls it toward him, slowly raising you to his lips where he kisses the delicate skin that lines your metacarpals. The buzz that it sends through your brain nearly drowns out his smirk. 

“I think you’ll forgive me if I let you leave a little to the imagination, hm?”

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[theereboseffect]

art vs artist 2024!

i used sooo much blue and yellow this year, maybe next year ill branch out to more colours but i cant help that blue and yellow are just the best colours for drawing.

here are my favourite works for each month of 2024!

january:

I used colour layer modes instead of colouring 'organically', but this was the first time I made a drawing in full colour and actually really liked it. this was before i started painting colours directly into my drawings but its a great effort and i learned a lot about colour layer modes here!

february:

didn't make much great art this month but this sketch scratches my brain correctly. the contrast the hatching the lighting!!!! this was where i started being obsessed with the different forms you can manage to portray with just a little rimlight

march:

possibly one of my favourites of the WHOLE YEAR. Inspired by Andrew Salgado's work, I'm a huge fan of his stuff. In this I learned that colours are literally stupid and if you don't care about logic, you can actually make something very distinctive and somewhat abstract work. Kick-started my whole journey to learning colours so this was probably one of my most important pieces i've ever made

April:

again, not much good art but this is nice I guess. drew this for the anniversary of senna's death, i like the polaroidy feel

may:

I LOVE my may era. Most of everything was done with this oil painter brush I found and it just went very painterly and kinda abstract with strokes and colours, was a month of experimentation for sure

june:

I didn't like this very much when I made it originally, but looking back I love the kinda creaminess of this piece. I haven't really been able to recreate that effect so far though, so this one stands out to me for sure

july:

Not a fantastic art month for me, but I was experimenting with textures in this piece and learned a lot of what I SHOULDN'T do. Very useful

August

I made this piece because I hadn't spotted any other lesteban enjoyers in the wild. Idk the colours in this just came out very easily which is always enjoyable

September:

GRAHHHB the colours in this have me in a CHOKEHOLD the DESATURATED BLUE SHADOWS and PINK CHEEKS!!! This definitely isn't my best of the month but it BRINGS ME A LOT OF JOY OKAY I suddenly turned into an Esteban superfan in theast fiveish months of the year. so dumb that like one of my favourite pieces ever was a shitpost

November:

the textures the eyelash shadow. PERIODD!! the first of my f1 x gladiator series, i just love this a lot even if it doesn't look like max

december:

one of the best of my whole year tbh. Like the final boss where you use all the stuff you learned throughout your journey. The jewellery okay divaaa

okay very long post but i hope you guys like it!! thank you everyone for the support i've received this year you guys are the best

[jaytimweek]

Announcing JayTim Week 2025!

Image by @krizariel

That's right folks, it's that time of year again! This year the mods have chosen to embrace the fact that JayTim Week is in June with JTW 2025: I Choose Hue. Each day will have a color assigned to it, with that color acting as that day's prompt. How you choose to incorporate that color into what you share is entirely up to you—it could be a palette-swap of Jason and Tim's costumes in piece of fanart for Orange; an all-angst, no-comfort fic for Blue; a Poison Ivy-sidekick AU for Green—there's a whole spectrum of opportunity to work with here!

The event this year will run from June 22nd through June 28th (Sunday through Saturday), with a free day falling on Wednesday. And since red is so important to both Jason and Tim, the colors/prompts will be going in reverse, culminating in Red:

Day 1 (Sunday, 6/22): Purple

Day 2 (Monday, 6/23): Blue

Day 3 (Tuesday, 6/24): Green

Day 4 (Wednesday, 6/25): FREE DAY

Day 5 (Thursday, 6/26): Yellow

Day 6 (Friday, 6/27): Orange

Day 7 (Saturday, 6/28): Red

The sidebar of the event blog has been updated and includes the above prompts for easy reference as well as a list of frequently asked questions. If you have questions, please check that page first! If you can't find your answer, please don't hesitate to reach out to us via our Ask Box!

[kathlare]

Hii I love your stories!! could we please get a chapter with Lando and Amelie back on stream since Lando streamed last night? Pleasee with a lot of fluff and cute moments

Thank you so much for your request and all the love!! 💖 Here it is — a new chapter with Lando and Amelie back on stream together, full of fluff and cute little moments just like you asked 🫶 I really hope you like it!! And as always, if you have any other requests or ideas you’d like to see, feel free to send them my way anytime! 💌

close to you

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A lively evening unfolds as Lando hosts a high-energy game stream with his friends, filled with teasing and laughter. Amidst the chaos, a calm, tender moment breaks through when a special guest quietly joins him, shifting the night’s mood to warmth and closeness.

Wordcount: 5.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

June 4th, 2025 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by stelladayman, georgerussell63, and others

ameliedayman: 🍎

View all 195,009 comments

stelladayman: me n my fav tomato 🍅 → ameliedayman: @stelladayman never letting you leave my suitcase again

stelladayman: red set supremacy 🔥 → chilliwilli19: @stelladayman you were SERVING in that pic too ok don’t be shy → sunnyamelie: @stelladayman stella’s back in her wag era and i’m here for it

landonorris: the red set should be illegal → maxfewtrell: @landonorris bro be real she had you tripping in sector 3 after that mirror selfie → landonorris: @maxfewtrell i’m in my lover boy era let me live

elysiadayman: that white dress pic is HELD ON MY FRIDGE → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman that’s because you’re obsessed with me

lanmeliesupremacy: literally she could post crumbs and i’d still eat them up → f1girlmads: @lanmeliesupremacy we’re all just peasants in the dayman monarchy → lanmeliesupremacy: @f1girlmads she’s queen of my serotonin

chaoticwags: this is a “my bf just won monaco and i’m glowing in spain” soft flex → noricharm: @chaoticwags her WAG aura is unbeatable rn

carlosisfast: ok but did she even go to watch the RACE or just do an editorial → sunnygridgirl: @carlosisfast she did both. some of us multitask ✨

floralsinsector1: the fruit stand pic feels like an indie film still

gridbabieee: RHODE PRODUCTS, RED HANDBAG, WHITE DRESS = she’s a color-coded queen → pitlaneprincessa: @gridbabieee i see the vision and the vision is glossier meets ferrari

oscarpiastri: i was there and i didn’t even get a jamón plate invite → ameliedayman: @oscarpiastri bc i like you but not that much

hatepage323: she’s only relevant bc of lando lol → lanmeliearmy: @hatepage323 say that louder so we can all block you faster 💅 → sunshineandsector2: @hatepage323 babe she literally has more range than your wifi

alex_albon: tapas were mid → ameliedayman: @alex_albon alex you ate like 4 plates

georgerussell63: where’s my invite to the fruit stand → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 earn it 🫶

ninalando44: her taking script notes on the floor in her little yellow dress?? WIFE → downshiftangel: @ninalando44 she’s multitasking like she’s not breaking the grid with her outfits too

lando4evaaa: she’s not a wag she’s the whole grid → pitlaneeditor: @lando4evaaa wags wish. amelie runs the paddock rn → amelieislife: @pitlaneeditor respectfully? they all just guests in her spanish era

monacowasbetter: this is why no one took her seriously before lando → softamelia: @monacowasbetter and now? she’s getting paid to do what you tweet from your mom’s couch about xoxo

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

The sun was warm in that perfect early-June way, kissing the cobblestone streets of Barcelona with golden light as Amelie walked beside Sav, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose and a cold bottle of water in hand. Her hair, freshly dyed back to that bright, signature blonde, caught the sun with every step, bouncing as she laughed at something Sav had said.

Two security guards trailed discreetly behind them, letting the women wander freely down Passeig de Gràcia, popping in and out of boutiques, while the city buzzed quietly around them.

Savannah—Lando’s sister-in-law, unofficial big sister #3 in Amelie’s growing collection—linked her arm with hers as they stepped out of a shop, a little Zara Home bag swinging from her fingers.

—Okay, but hear me out,— Sav started, giving her a pointed look, —you need that linen set from Mango. It’s giving "I live in Monaco and make fresh orange juice for my hot boyfriend while he sleeps off a Grand Prix win."—

—Okay but I do live in Monaco with my hot boyfriend now,— Amelie grinned, eyes sparkling as they crossed the street, the warm breeze ruffling the hem of her sundress. —I just don’t make him orange juice. Yet.—

—Yet,— Sav echoed dramatically. —Look at you, all domestic and shit. You know I was actually surprised it didn’t happen sooner.—

Amelie flushed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. —I think I was scared. Not of living together, just… how real it makes everything, you know?—

Sav gave her a knowing look. —Ames. You’ve been in love with that man since, what, 2020?—

—Don’t,— Amelie laughed, shoving her gently. —He was just a really cute friend who made me laugh and looked good in a headset.—

—Babe. You used to smile so stupidly at your phone when he texted that even Checo noticed. That man misses nothing.—

Amelie groaned, hiding her face behind her water bottle. —This is bullying. Public bullying.—

—It’s sisterhood.—

They passed a flower stall, the scent of peonies and sun-warmed roses drifting around them. Amelie slowed, eyes catching on a bouquet of wildflowers that reminded her of the little ones growing on the edge of the cliffs in Monaco. Her new home. Their home.

—But I’m really excited,— she said after a moment, voice softer now. —Like, waking up next to him every day? Coming home and finding his shoes in the middle of the hallway even though I told him not to leave them there? I want all of it.—

Sav smiled, a little misty-eyed. —You deserve it. Both of you. I watched Lando go through some very dumb years, but he’s never been more himself than he is with you. And I’m not just saying that because my kids are literally obsessed with you.—

—They’re my girls,— Amelie grinned, eyes lighting up instantly. —Mila asked me last week if I could be her "real tia" now. I almost cried in the middle of FaceTime.—

—Athena said she wants to live with you when she grows up. Sorry to break it to Lando, but you’ve officially replaced us.—

Amelie laughed, biting her lip. —They’re so… pure. Being around them makes everything quieter. Like the noise in my head slows down.—

Sav’s smile faded just slightly, warmth still in her voice as she asked, —Is that why you’re doing better? With the food?—

Amelie blinked, surprised, then nodded. —Yeah. That and… Lan. He’s really patient. Like, annoyingly so sometimes. He knows when to say something and when not to. I feel safe with him. In ways I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.—

—You’re glowing,— Sav said softly. —Not just the hair, although that blonde is back, bitch.—

Amelie laughed again. —Thanks. Primavera’s this weekend, so you know I had to go full power-blonde.—

—Iconic behavior. You know Mila’s going to try to sneak into the festival, right? She said she wants to “be backstage and wear sparkles like Ames.”—

—She can. I’ll smuggle her in my dressing room.—

—You’re gonna be such a good mum one day,— Sav said suddenly, surprising her.

Amelie’s breath caught.

—I want to be,— she said, almost shy. —Not now, but… yeah. I do. Especially if they look like Lando did when he was little. That baby picture of him in his gokart? My weakness. He had these big cheeks and that serious face like he was already plotting world domination.—

Sav laughed. —He really was a grumpy little old man in a toddler’s body. No wonder you’re obsessed.—

—It’s kind of embarrassing. I’ll just scroll through baby photos of him sometimes when I can’t sleep. And then I think, “Okay, but imagine that but like… ours.”—

—Stop, I’m gonna cry in the middle of Barcelona.—

Amelie smiled at her, then looked down at her own fingers, toying with the edge of the paper bag in her hand.

—I know it’s not time yet. We still have dreams, y’know? He wants that championship. I have tours, movies, music. We’ve only just started figuring out how to be together after all these years of missed chances. But the idea’s there. The maybe. And that’s enough right now.—

Sav looped her arm tighter through Amelie's and gave it a little squeeze, her smile fond and proud all at once.

—That’s the best kind of maybe,— she said gently. —The kind that doesn’t rush you but still makes your heart race when you think about it. And you’re right, you guys have so much life to live just the two of you first. But I’m not gonna lie, Amelie… I can already see him holding your hand in a delivery room with tears in his eyes and you threatening to break his fingers.—

Amelie let out a loud laugh, drawing the brief attention of a couple passing by. —God, that is so us. I'd be like, “Lando, if you say one more word I will murder you right here in front of the nurse.”—

Sav was laughing too, almost doubled over. —Exactly! And then three hours later you’d both be crying and swaddling a baby girl who looks just like you but has his pouty little mouth and dramatic eyebrows.—

Amelie made a face. —Don’t say that. I can feel my ovaries plotting a coup.—

—Join the club. I got pregnant with Mila just because Oli looked at me like he wanted a dog and then said, “Or we could try for a baby?” Men are too powerful when they know we’re in love with them.—

They stepped into a little artisan jewelry shop, the air inside cooler and smelling faintly of wood and lavender. Amelie drifted toward a display of delicate gold rings, turning one over between her fingers.

—You think we’re moving too fast?— she asked suddenly, her voice soft, not really looking up.

Sav shook her head. —No. You’ve been circling each other for years, Ames. I think this is exactly the pace you need. Not a sprint, not a crawl, just… finally walking together in the same direction.—

Amelie’s heart swelled with that. She slipped the ring onto her finger, testing the fit absently. It sparkled a little too perfectly under the light.

—He keeps calling the new place ours. Not “my place” or even “the apartment.” It’s always ours. I didn’t think that would matter so much but… it does.—

Sav smiled. —He’s never shared anything like this before. That boy lives out of suitcases and hotel rooms, and suddenly he’s hanging up art and asking if the kitchen needs new pans. He’s not just making room for you, he’s making a home with you. There’s a difference.—

Amelie swallowed, emotions catching in her throat unexpectedly.

—And I know you’re scared,— Sav added, reading her without even looking. —Because it’s big. And when you’ve been through the kind of pain you have, letting someone all the way in feels like handing them a loaded gun and saying “please don’t shoot.” But he won’t. He won’t, Ames. You’re safe with him.—

Amelie nodded, blinking quickly. —I know. It’s just… sometimes I catch him looking at me like I’m made of glass and I want to shake him and tell him I’m not going to break.—

Sav’s smile softened. —That’s not fear. That’s reverence. You’re the girl he dreamed about long before you ever called him Lan.—

They paid for the ring—Sav insisting on gifting it to her with a wink and a “pre-engagement present, don’t tell him”—and stepped back out into the sunlit street, bags swinging on their arms, the sounds of Barcelona rising around them.

They turned into a little café with white awnings and a scattering of tables under lemon trees. Their guards took positions nearby, giving them space. Amelie sank into her seat, resting her sunglasses on top of her head, eyes glinting in the afternoon light.

—You know, I used to think I wasn’t cut out for forever with someone,— she said suddenly, looking at the little lemon slices floating in her water. —Like I was too complicated or too much or not enough. But with Lan… I don’t know. He makes forever feel simple.—

Sav reached across the table, linking their pinkies for a moment. —That’s how you know it’s real. Not when it’s easy, but when it’s clear. And you two? You’ve been endgame since 2020. You just took the scenic route.—

Amelie smiled, radiant and content. She could already imagine herself curled up on their sofa in Monaco, Lando half-asleep beside her, Benny climbing over his lap while Björn knocked something off the kitchen counter in protest.

The maybe would wait. For now, this was everything.

And honestly?

She wouldn’t change a thing.

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

liked by mclarenmama, wagscentral, and others

ln4champion: LANDO IS LIVE ON TWITCH. OH MY GOD.

View all 89,108 comments

landofthelanmelie: he streamed once and immediately mentioned “my girlfriend” like boy we KNOW 😭 → ameliespinkbag: @landofthelanmelie he missed us but missed her more be fr 😭🫶

chaoticwags: him giggling at his phone every 5 mins like we don’t know it’s Amelie texting → norismilf: @chaoticwags the way he lights up is so unserious 😭 let them be obsessed

wagscentral: lanmelie coded twitch streams are my love language

quadrantcrush: WHO LET HIM BE THIS CUTE AGAIN → lanmeliesupportgroup: @quadrantcrush amelie. amelie let him.

daymaniac: twitch chat if amelie joins: 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ → stellaapproved: @daymaniac Lando will log off so fast lmao

fruitplatefan: if he says “babe” out loud i’m throwing my laptop → wagsarewinning: @fruitplatefan same girl i got my funeral playlist ready 💀

softforlan: remember when he pretended he was too busy to stream? it was always her. it was always amelie

chaoticwags: if she walks in on stream wearing his hoodie i’m gonna bark → norisimp: @chaoticwags the lanmelie jump scare we’ve been WAITING for

quadrantdoll: he said “hi guys” and my depression cleared for 0.2 seconds → notmclarenadmin: @quadrantdoll same but then the mic glitched and it came back

lanmeliearchives: someone in chat just asked if Amelie’s there and he BLUSHED i’m gonna throw up → camupdates: @lanmeliearchives he was like “maybe 😳” BOY BE SERIOUS

mclarenmama: how is he still a gamer when he has a whole literal goddess girlfriend?? → crashqueen: @mclarenmama dual wielding mouse + gf hand 😭

norrispilled: he really chose us over date night with Amelie… we won → mclanmelie: @norrispilled no bc he’s lowkey scared of her and still said “just for a bit guys 🧍‍��️” 💀

chaoticwags: he just said “she’s at dinner” bro you miss her say it with your chest 😭

wifey4lando: he keeps checking his phone mid-stream he’s def texting her → formulapookie: @wifey4lando the “yes i ate” text is being sent in real time

amebbyfanclub: lando without amelie on stream feels like when your friend’s gf can’t make it to the group hang → pitwallpsycho: @amebbyfanclub like yeah it’s fun but… where’s the sparkle

n4rryfan: no Amelie, no hoodie, no vibes 😔

amesinparis: he said “she’s busy” like he’s not down bad and missing her every 3 seconds 😭 → lanfan888: @amesinparis he was THIS close to playing her music on stream don’t lie

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

The stream had been live for barely twenty minutes, but the chat was already unhinged.

landonorris: 🟢 LIVE - im gamin Viewer count: 132k

Lando was sat in a black hoodie, hair a little messy and headset slightly crooked, with Connor next to him, both hunched over their screens, Escape from Tarkov in full chaotic swing.

—He's behind the box! He’s behind the f... CONNOR, YOU’RE BLIND,— Lando yelled, slamming a fist on his desk as shots exploded through their headphones.

—I’M NOT BLIND YOU DIDN’T CALL IT— —YOU WERE LOOKING AT HIM— —HE WAS CROUCHED LIKE A LITTLE GOBLIN—

Max’s voice crackled through Discord, dry and amused from wherever the hell in the world he was playing. —You two sound like a married couple. I'm gonna mute you both.—

Lando was mid-eye-roll when the suite’s door opened.

His head whipped around.

The chat caught it immediately.

DID YALL SEE HIS HEAD SNAP 🚨GUEST ALERT🚨 oh he heard THE voice AMELIE??????

—What the fuck was that reaction— Connor started, already turning in his seat to look toward the door too.

But it wasn’t Amelie.

It was Oliver first, Lando’s older brother, stepping inside with a bottle of sparkling water and a half-eaten bag of popcorn. Niccolò followed close behind, tossing his keys into the bowl near the entrance like he lived there. Which, to be fair, he kind of did whenever Amelie and Lando were in town.

—Oi, you’re streaming?— Oliver asked, already grinning as he stepped into frame, catching the webcam’s angle.

—Mate, warn me next time. I’m not dressed for 130k people,— Nic muttered, though he looked perfectly fine in his linen shirt and that Italian nonchalance he wore like cologne.

Lando shook his head, smiling even as he flicked a glance at the screen. —Say hi to the internet, lads.—

—Sup, internet,— Oliver said, giving the camera a little salute. —Connor still blind?—

—Absolutely,— Max deadpanned from Discord.

Connor threw both hands up. —I literally saved your ass last round, don’t even start.—

Before the argument could continue, the door creaked open again and Sav entered, pulling off her earrings as she kicked her shoes off by the door.

—Hellooo boys,— she said with a lazy wave, walking in behind the others. —God, I forgot how loud you lot are when you’re trying to kill pretend people.—

Lando laughed. —You survived dinner, then? Where’s Ames?—

And that was it.

All three of them—Oliver, Niccolò, and Sav—exchanged glances, immediately smirking.

Sav leaned against the back of his chair, eyebrow raised. —Of course that’s the first thing you ask.—

—Didn’t even say hi to me,— Oliver added with a mock pout.

—She went to the bathroom, loverboy,— Nic supplied, plopping down on the edge of the bed. —Relax. You’ll see her in like two minutes. Or are you gonna combust before then?—

The chat was having an absolute meltdown.

WHERE IS SHE HE’S SO GONE FOR HER I REPEAT, HE SAID ‘WHERE’S AMES’ BEFORE ‘HI SAV’

Lando flipped them all off—both in the room and on stream—without looking away from his monitor.

—I literally just wanted to make sure she didn’t fall into the hotel pool or something. Chill.—

Sav snorted. —You mean the same pool that’s twenty stories below us and locked behind two gates? Right.—

They were still teasing when Connor got gunned down in-game with a scream.

—DUDE! NO! I was organizing my inventory!— Connor groaned, throwing his head back dramatically.

Lando barely survived five seconds longer before a grenade exploded nearby and took him out too. —Fuck’s sake. Max, you better clutch or I’m banning you from the group.—

—You die every time and still act like this is my fault,— Max replied dryly.

Now dead, Lando and Connor spun their chairs toward the others as they waited for Max to either finish the round or die.

Oliver tossed a pillow at Lando. —So. Dinner was chaos. Amelie couldn’t take two steps without someone asking for a picture.—

—Not kidding,— Nic added. —Even the chef came out and asked for a selfie. Then the manager brought her a plate to sign. A fucking plate.—

—She signed it like a rockstar,— Sav grinned proudly. —Gold Sharpie and everything. I think they’re gonna frame it in the kitchen.—

Lando chuckled, but his eyes flicked toward the hallway as footsteps padded closer.

And then, finally, the door opened again.

The chat exploded.

BLONDEEEEEE SHE’S BACKKKK MOTHER IS MOTHERING LANDO IS SILENT. SILENCED. GONE. look at his FACE bro

Amelie walked in, glowing from the day—blonde hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders, skin sunkissed from the Barcelona sun. She was still wearing the outfit from dinner: a silky champagne-toned mini dress with a low back, hugging her just enough to make Connor whisper “oh my god” under his breath before Sav smacked his arm.

—Hi,— she said casually, like she wasn’t derailing the entire stream with her presence. She made her way to the dresser, grabbing the hoodie she’d left earlier and shrugging it on over her dress.

Lando swiveled in his chair, staring like a man in a trance. —You look…—

—Hot, yeah, we know,— Amelie grinned as she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, her hand brushing his jaw. —Hi, baby.—

He blinked, visibly flustered. —Hi.—

—Hi chat,— she added, peeking at the camera over his shoulder and giving a small wave. —Please be nice to him. He’s sensitive.—

The comments were flying.

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII HE’S SENSITIVE 😭😭😭😭 she kissed him I’m gonna die actually what do we call this look? devour era? AND SHE’S BLONDE AGAIN WE WON

—Just grabbing clothes. You boys keep yelling at each other, I’ll be back in a sec,— she said, already halfway to the ensuite.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Lando exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

Connor laughed. —Jesus Christ, dude. You need a glass of water? Or a minute alone?—

—Shut up,— Lando muttered, cheeks tinged red.

—Can’t wait for your sim card to fry when she walks back in wearing your hoodie and nothing else,— Max deadpanned from the headphones.

The boys howled with laughter.

Lando just grinned, the kind of smile that said yeah, he’d gladly combust for her.

And judging by the chat, the entire internet would go with him.

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

liked by gridgirliee, hazefangirl, and others

lanmelieupdates: SHE’S HEREEE 😭😭 Amelie just popped up in Lando’s stream, gave him a kiss and dipped like nothing happened 😭 the way he blushed??? we're not okay. LANMELIE LIVES FOR REAL 💻💋🍓

View all 103,175 comments

streamsimp_: that little kiss? i’m throwing myself into the ocean → softforlanmelie: @streamsimp_ she owns that man AND his twitch stream

gridgirliee: why does lando look like a golden retriever in love i’m— → lanmeliefluff: @gridgirliee bc he IS a golden retriever in love 🥹

quadqueen: Lando forgot what game he was playing after that kiss i fear → chaoslane: @quadqueen he was buffering IRL 💀

tifosiwitch: it’s giving wife behavior → zaddiesunite: @tifosiwitch it’s giving husband reaction too 😭

mcluvmelie: their domestic era is so soft i’m crying in the club

blondeamelie: SHE KISSED HIM ON CAM AND HE SHORT-CIRCUITED 😭

softlaunchqueen: she said “hi baby” and lando’s soul left his body 😭 → gamerwifey: @softlaunchqueen he’s not coming back. rip.

chaoticwags: if MY gf looked like that i’d never stream again → norifangirl88: @chaoticwags he was fighting for his LIFE to stay focused bro 💀

wheelsonfire: the way he looked at her??? that’s “she holds my soul in her tiny little hands” energy

blessedbybjorn: did anyone else feel single watching that or was it just me → hazefangirl: @blessedbybjorn it was a personal attack actually

streamsniffer: connor, sav, oliver, and nic witnessing a romcom unfold live is the energy I crave → cringecorequeen: @streamsniffer AND THEY ALL JUST LET IT HAPPEN LMFAOOO

lanmeliesupremacy: she wore THAT dress, kissed her man, bullied the chat, then vanished. queen behavior.

blessedbybjorn: did anyone else feel single watching that or was it just me → hazefangirl: @blessedbybjorn it was a personal attack actually

streamsniffer: connor, sav, oliver, and nic witnessing a romcom unfold live is the energy I crave → cringecorequeen: @streamsniffer AND THEY ALL JUST LET IT HAPPEN LMFAOOO

lanmeliesupremacy: she wore THAT dress, kissed her man, bullied the chat, then vanished. queen behavior.

streamsnaccs: the way the boys just accepted their third wheel status instantly → thirdwheellando: @streamsnaccs even max muted himself outta respect 💀

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

Hours had passed.

They were deep into their fourth or fifth round of Tarkov, the suite dark except for the harsh glow of their monitors and the occasional flash of muzzle fire. Lando was still locked in, headset on, Connor next to him arguing over loot, Max crackling through Discord.

The viewer count hadn’t dropped below six digits all night.

Lando’s hoodie sleeves were pushed to his elbows now, hair a mess from running his hands through it every time he died. His voice was a little hoarse from shouting, but he was still going strong, leaning into the chaos like it was fuel.

Connor was mid-rant about dying to a camper when the door opened again.

No one looked at first—too focused, too loud—until Max said, slightly amused —Uh. You might wanna check six, Lando.—

Lando glanced over his shoulder.

And didn’t even flinch.

He just… smiled.

The stream caught it. The little upward curl of his lips, the way his eyes softened like muscle memory, like they were programmed to respond to her.

Amelie stepped inside, barefoot and sleep-tousled, wearing one of his oversized Quadrant shirts and a pair of old McLaren shorts that had definitely been stolen from his closet. Her hair was a little messy, her face bare, cheeks flushed from sleep.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Lando didn’t break focus on the game. He just leaned back slightly in his chair and nudged it out from the desk, making space.

She padded over, climbed into his lap like she’d done it a thousand times before—which, to be fair, she had—and curled into his chest, arms around his torso and face tucked into the crook of his neck.

Lando’s arms wrapped around her automatically, controller still in hand, continuing to play over her back.

—Were we too loud, baby?— he mumbled, one hand brushing lightly over her hip.

She hummed something that sounded like mmhmm and nuzzled deeper into him.

The chat went feral.

DID SHE JUST— OH MY GOD SHE’S IN HIS LAP. HIS LITERAL LAP. this is the softest stream in history “were we too loud baby” IM UNWELL the way he made room for her 😭😭😭 WHO LET HIM BE THIS BOYFRIEND

Connor didn’t even flinch anymore.

He just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, —Here we go again.— Then louder, to no one in particular —At this point she should just have her own gaming chair.—

Lando smirked, barely glancing up as his thumb moved over the controller. —She does. It’s just... my lap.—

—Disgusting,— Max chimed in through Discord, though he sounded more amused than annoyed. —Can you two wait until I’m not bleeding out in a stairwell to be gross? Cheers.—

Lando chuckled, low and breathy, barely audible under Amelie’s sleepy murmur of —You’re warm...—

The chat went insane.

THE MULTITASKING IS CRAZY he’s cuddling and shooting people i’m crying this is what peak male performance looks like I THOUGHT THIS WAS A VIOLENT GAME WHY AM I CRYING protect her at all costs. and him. and their cats.

Amelie shifted a little, her legs draping over one of Lando’s and her hand slipping beneath his hoodie like she was trying to crawl inside his skin. Lando didn’t even blink—just adjusted slightly so she could be more comfortable, controller still perfectly in place, fingers moving with practiced precision.

—You want water or anything, Ames?— he murmured, dipping his head toward her ear.

She mumbled something again, a little incoherent, before managing: —’m good. Just needed you.—

He smiled, like that was the easiest thing in the world. —I’m right here, angel.—

Connor groaned. —Okay. Yeah. No. I’m leaving. I’m done. I’m taking fall damage just from the secondhand affection.—

—You were already trash this round anyway,— Lando said, grinning.

—You’re trash. Your KD is trash. Your girlfriend is the only good thing about this stream,— Connor snapped, gesturing toward Amelie’s very unconscious form in his lap.

Lando didn't even argue.

—True.—

The chat lost its mind again.

he didn’t even deny it 😭😭😭😭 “true.” THE CONFIDENCE she’s literally SLEEPING ON HIM mid-stream he’s GONE connor: ur trash | lando: yeah but look at my life rn 🫶 and THAT’S how you win at life

Max, ever the deadpan voice of reason, chimed in from wherever he was in the world. —I swear if she starts snoring, I’m clipping it and sending it to her label.—

—Do it and I’ll leak your DMs with that Twitch mod from two years ago,— Lando shot back without missing a beat.

Connor choked on a laugh. —OH MY GOD—

Amelie barely stirred, her fingers flexing lightly against his stomach like she was dreaming, and Lando’s entire focus momentarily flickered away from the screen and down to her.

The smile he gave her then—quiet, reverent, gentle—was caught by the webcam.

And every single person watching knew:

This wasn’t a bit. This wasn’t for show. This was real.

Lando Norris was utterly, hopelessly, stupidly in love.

And she was asleep in his lap, safe and wrapped around him like she belonged there.

i’m not crying you are love is real actually. i believe again someone check on the fan accounts they’re probably flatlined how do I uninstall feelings. this is too much. what’s the ship name again? lanmelie? it’s giving endgame.

The stream continued.

But the tone had shifted—still chaotic, still full of grenades and shouting—but somehow softer, warmer, like everyone was playing under a blanket now.

Connor sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. —Okay, whatever. I’ll third wheel. Again. As usual. Can we please raid the resort this time without Lando getting distracted by his literal sleepover girlfriend? Thanks.—

Lando just smiled, adjusting his grip on the controller and settling into his chair a little deeper—one arm still around the girl he loved.

—Let’s do it.—

The hours stretched on, the night deepening outside the suite’s windows, but inside the world was just theirs — pixels, laughter, and the quiet rhythm of Amelie breathing against Lando’s chest.

Connor, still trying to keep up, was muttering complaints but mostly just smiling at the scene, now thoroughly resigned to being the third wheel. Max’s voice cut through the tension from Discord one last time.

—Alright, man, I’m calling it. I can’t concentrate with your personal cuddle puddle hogging the best spot on your lap. Someone’s gotta go to bed eventually.—

Lando’s grin was lazy, warm, the kind that made the screen glow softer. He glanced down at Amelie, still nestled against him in one of his old McLaren shirts and those impossibly short shorts that gave no hints of modesty.

—Yeah, yeah. We’re done here.— He hit the ‘end stream’ button, the viewer count freezing before dropping as the broadcast went offline.

Turning to Connor, he laughed. —You’re a trooper for staying this long. But yeah, time to call it. I’ll carry Ames back to bed.—

Connor raised an eyebrow, half teasing, half impressed. —Carrying her like a princess or like she’s a sack of potatoes?—

Lando smirked, scooping Amelie carefully into his arms. She stirred a little, mumbling something indecipherable but snuggling closer.

—Like she’s the most precious thing in the world.—

Connor shook his head with a grin. —Alright, I’ll let you two be mushy. Catch you tomorrow, yeah?—

—Definitely. Good night, Connor.— Lando waved him off as the door clicked shut behind the retreating gamer.

Lando’s voice softened, eyes warm as he looked down at Amelie’s peaceful face.

—Let’s go to sleep, love. Big day tomorrow.—

She smiled sleepily against his chest, the kind of smile that said everything was exactly where she wanted to be.

He carried her down the hall, the quiet hum of the city far away, their own little world sealed tight behind the door.

And finally, the only sounds were the soft steps and the promise of rest.

[crazziforazzi]

can you write a oneshot about that munch - wordle interview answer?

Love that idea! It's not a long one shot, but I hope you like it:

MUNCH

The door clicked shut behind her with a dull thud, and Paige didn’t even bother locking it right away. She kicked off her sneakers in two lazy thumps, one bouncing off the wall, the other landing god knows where. Her t-shirt was already halfway off as she made her way toward the couch, peeled the rest off with a lazy tug, and let it land somewhere behind her. She really didn’t care where. She flopped face-first onto the cushions in nothing but her shorts and sports bra, the sticky late-June Dallas heat making everything feel like it took ten times more effort than it should have.

She groaned dramatically, then fished her phone out from under her and immediately pulled up Azzi’s contact.

Paige: Facetime dinner in 1 hour ?

She wanted to play it cool, play it casual, but the truth was, Paige needed her tonight. Nothing dramatic had happened. Training was fine. But the whole day felt heavy in that quiet, annoying way where everything just felt off. She had been dragging herself through it, but deep down, she knew the only thing that might refill her tank was seeing Azzi’s face while they both shoveled reheated leftovers into their mouths in front of their camera.

The reply came just a couple minutes later. Azzi: I’m home in 30, call you right away?

Paige exhaled, long and soft. Azzi got it.

Paige: Please.

There was a beat. Then:

Azzi: Are you ok?

Paige: Just tired and want to see my girl.

Azzi: I’ll try to hurry, okay babe? In the meantime, play Wordle. It’ll cheer you up. No cheating!

That made Paige squint at the screen. Wordle?

She rolled onto her back with a low groan, forehead scrunched. Why the hell was Azzi sending her to play Wordle right now? Sure, they used to get a kick out of solving them together back when it was viral, but that had been years ago. Paige hadn’t even thought about it since. 

Still… she reached blindly for the iPad wedged somewhere between the couch cushions. Grumbling under her breath, she pulled up Safari and typed in "wordle." The site loaded with its usual grey-white grid.

With zero energy and even less brain power left after that intense training, Paige decided to go the basketball route. Azzi must’ve suggested Wordle for a reason. There had to be a connection. She was too tired to overthink it, so she just trusted the process and started typing.

First guess: SCORE.

Seemed right and on-brand. Only one yellow: C.

Paige frowned slightly. That wasn’t nothing, but it also wasn’t helpful.

Second guess: COACH.

Another basketball word. Subconscious doing all the work now. This time, second C went green, and H did too.

She blinked. Okay, okay. That was something. But… still felt like guessing in the dark. She tapped the back of the iPad rhythmically with her knuckles. She was hungry. Which, somehow, led her to…

Third guess: LUNCH.

Immediately, U, N, C, and H all turned green. Only the L was wrong.

Paige stared at the screen. She tilted her head, letting her tired brain catch up. Four letters in place. Just one left. She could feel it, the answer was right there. And then it hit her. 

Azzi told me to play this.

And if it wasn’t basketball-related, then it had to be the other thing Azzi always swore could "relax her." Her eyes widened. She blinked once.

"Oh my god," she muttered, already typing.

Fourth guess: MUNCH.

The green squares lit up in a row, and Paige grinned for the first time since she walked in the door. Of course that was the word. She shook her head, biting her lip as her smile widened.

"You’re such a dumbass," she mumbled to herself, the grin never disappearing. She snapped a pic of the finished Wordle and sent it off with a message:

Paige: You tryna tell me something or…?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Azzi: Just making sure you are warmed up for dinner 😏

Paige groaned again, but this time it was way more flustered than fatigued. Her eyes fluttered shut as she dropped her head back into the couch, laughing softly to herself.

Already, she felt better. She was still tired, but the good kind now. The kind that settled in her chest instead of dragging her down. The kind that felt like being home.

And somehow, impossibly, Azzi had found a way to give her that from miles away.

[cinnamonlouu]

“Sweet Like Magnolia”

The Delta air always felt heavier in June, hot and humming, like it had secrets deep in its soil. Secrets like twin brothers who vanished seven years back without so much as a goodbye. And secrets like the girl they left behind, now a woman with hands that healed and a mouth that didn’t forget.

Antoinette stood in the doorway of her flower shop, Petal & vine, watering her row of white magnolias when the bell above the door jingled behind her. She paused, heart clenching like it recognized a sound her ears hadn’t heard in too long. The breeze blew, bringing with it the scent of pipe tobacco.

“Damn,” a low voice drawled behind her, smooth and teasing like honey with a sting. “Still got that walk that make everyone jealous.”

She turned slow. “Stack.”

Elias, better known as Stack, grinned, gold tooth glintin’ behind his lip. He leaned on the doorway like he never left, like time hadn’t turned his name bitter in her mouth.

Behind him stood Elijah—Smoke—quiet as ever. Tall, broad, and watchful, The stoic twin. The one who never smiled easy. But his eyes, deep-set and knowing, flicked over her like he was counting every change on her.

“I’ll be damned,” she murmured, voice soft but laced with something sharper.

“We back, ‘Nette,” Stack said, stepping forward. “You still mad at us?”

She tilted her chin up, stubborn as ever. “Takes more’n a smile an’ a sorry to undo seven years.”

Stack scratched his jaw. “Didn’t say we was sorry yet.”

“Well, then we already off to a bad start,” she replied, setting her watering can down with a thunk.

Smoke stepped forward then, voice like low. “We ain’t expect forgiveness today. Just came to see you. Make sure you alright .”

She crossed her arms over her soft yellow dress, the hem stained with soil and crushed petals. “Y’all got some nerve.”

Stack grinned wider. “You always was stubborn, where all that love go?”

A flash of that old fire lit in her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I loved y’all because you was mine. And then you left.”

“We ain’t leave you,” Smoke said low.

“You did, Elijah. Both of you. not enough heart to say goodbye.”

That silenced them for a second. The cicadas buzzed in the heat, and the magnolias leaned into the sun.

Stack broke it with a chuckle, no less reckless than it was back then. “You know we had business to handle.”

“What a girl like me was supposed to do with that information? I’m grown now stack.”

Smoke stepped closer now, eyes gentle but voice firm. “We see that. You a whole woman now. We ain’t blind.”

Her eyes glossed, but she blinked it away. “Y’all watched over me Then dipped in the middle of the night as yall pleased.”

Stack looked at her like he wanted to say something wild and sweet and reckless but Smoke beat him to it.

“You still ours.”

Antoinette’s breath hitched. “Y’all don’t get to say that.”

“We didn’t stop wantin’ you,” Stack added, softer this time. “Didn’t stop protectin’ you, neither. Even from far.”

“I don’t need protection,” she said, eyes blazing. “I work hoodoo same as my mama and her mama. How you know I wasn’t the one protecting you.”

“We knew,” Smoke said, stepping so close she could smell the musk on his skin. “We just wanna be near you again. If you’ll let us.”

Stack leaned in from the side, brushing a knuckle along her jaw. “You gon let us come back home, sugar?”

She looked between the two same faces different personalities but they still was hers.

She swallowed. “You stay for supper. One night. I don’t promise nothin’ more than that.”

Stack smiled gold tooth glinting

Smoke kissed her cheek.

She turned to go back inside. “Y’all best not be picky. I ain’t cookin’ separate plates.”

Smoke chuckled under his breath. Stack winked at her back.

And as the screen door slammed behind her, both men followed—stepping into the scent of jasmine, old magic, and the second chance they never stopped wanting.

⸻

⸻

The plates were scraped clean—okra fried to a crisp, cornbread honeyed and soft in the middle, catfish seasoned and fried just how they liked. Stack was leaned back in his chair, belly full, watching Antoinette move around in the kitchen. Smoke sat quiet but content, sipping sweet tea slow.

Antoinette moved through the kitchen like she hadn’t missed a beat in seven years, She could feel both their eyes on her, the way they always used to watch her like she was something sacred and secret. But back then, they had her. Now? wasn’t so sure.

“You boys gon’ sit there starin?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Hard not to,” Stack murmured, voice thick. “You lookin’ too good, ‘Nette.”

“You lookin’ tired,” she shot back, though a smirk tugged at her mouth.

Smoke’s voice came low behind her. “You always did glow more at night.”

She turned, startled by how close he was. He hadn’t made a sound, but he stood near now, gaze heavy and unreadable.

“You still do that,” she whispered.

“Do what?” His tone was rough velvet.

“Move like that.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened. “You still smell like magnolia and rosewater.”

Stack appeared on her other side, voice warmer, rougher. “I used to dream ‘bout that smell. ‘Bout you.”

“Dreams ain’t real,” she said, voice trembling now. “Dreams don’t up and leave you lonely at dawn.”

“We regret it,” Smoke said, and he meant it. She could feel it in her chest, deep in her soul.

Stack’s voice dropped, playful but cracked at the edges. “Every damn day.”

She looked between them. Her arms fell to her sides. “I needed y’all. I loved y’all.”

“We loved you too,” Smoke said simply. “Still do.”

They were both closer now. Too close. The heat between them simmered. She should’ve told them to leave, should’ve held her ground.

But she didn’t.

Stack was the first to touch her—a hand to her waist, thumb brushing where fabric met skin. Smoke’s hand followed, cupping her jaw so gently it made her chest ache.

“You ever hate us?” Stack asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, lips trembling. “I tried to.”

Smoke leaned in, forehead touching hers. “We’ll earn you again, Antoinette. However long it take.”

She turned her face and let herself rest against Stack’s chest for just a breath, feeling how solid he still was. How familiar. Then she looked up into Smoke’s eyes and saw everything he wasn’t saying. Everything he’d always left unsaid.

“I ain’t no girl anymore,” she murmured. “Y’all don’t get to touch me like that unless you mean it.”

Stack’s voice was low and wrecked. “You know we don’t do nothin’ halfway.”

Smoke’s hand slid along her jaw to the nape of her neck, grounding her. “We mean it. Every word. Every touch.”

And when they kissed her,first Stack, bold and sweet and tasting like spice and memory, then Smoke, slow and deep,it wasn’t like before. It was different now. Grown. Heavy with what they’d lost, what they still could have.

They led her slow to the back room where her altar watched quiet from the corner. Where the light was soft and gold from the old lamps, and the air smelled like wax and lavender.

Clothes came off in pieces. Reverent. Careful. Her skin remembered them. Their hands remembered her.

Stack’s hands roamed, playful and eager, drawing sighs from her lips while Smoke steadied her with those firm hands and anchored eyes. The way they touched her—it wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t greedy.

It was homecoming.

And when the night stretched long, and her breath hitched in the dark while their hands tangled in her hair and their names slipped from her lips like prayer—they didn’t say “sorry” anymore.

They said, we’re here.

And this time, they meant to stay.

[zaahvi]

the next two of my evanuris designs: june and sylaise! their outfits are so much more colourful than the twins' it's actually hilarious to me. again additional design notes are below the cut :)

my other designs: dirthamen & falon'din • andruil & ghilan'nain • falon'din ii • geldauran

so, as with the twins, i realised june and sylaise are like two sides of the same coin, and to show that i wanted their overall themes to be similar but to take each of their designs in two different ways. june, having being credited with making eluvians, seems more of the artificer/tinkerer type, and therefore more chaotic and experimental; while sylaise, the architect credited with building elvhenan's cities, is orderly and more of a perfectionist.

first off, june. when i say he's chaotic i mean it like... he seems chaotic to everyone else but to himself he's just doing things in a particular way that works for him. picture someone who wears odd socks everyday just because they pick the first two from the top of the drawer and didn't even notice they're not matching - that's him. are you staring in horror at one of his feet having the toes out while the other is fully armoured? well, he doesn't care and probably hasn't even noticed, sorry. honestly the only reason that his outfit even has some semblance of style is because sylaise wouldn't let him in public otherwise.

anyway, soo for each evanuris i try to think of a trait that'll make them look unique, because even though they're "just" elves, i want them to look special because they are proclaiming themselves to be gods after all. i didn't think june would alter his appearance to simply look cooler, BUT he would make enhancements to help with his work, hence the arcane prosthetic (it was originally supposed to be mechanical when i first drew the busts 2 weeks ago but this idea made more sense tbh). his face was also looking a little bare though, so i gave him the lyrium affected eye (ik his body is made of it, so i figured he wouldn't get poisoning, but it would still affect him physically). the lens he is holding is a lyrium lens that he can put on his other eye to even his vision, and he has another orange-tinted lens for his affected eye.

okay, onto sylaise, who was a little easier to figure out! i always had this image of sylaise in my head of someone who just is so stunning and stylish that she completely steals the show everytime she's in the room (see the "song for sylaise" and her mask codex). she's also an architect - an artist, a designer, who built elvhenan's cities which were gorgeous as hell, so she definitely has high standards - and being a conceptualiser, she doesn't do much practical work so a long gown fit her perfectly. i chose a palette of red/orange/yellow (because fire) which worked nicely with the browns and golds. it's a smoother colour palette that contrasts june's. her gown also uses more rounder shapes and floral motifs, while june's robe has sharper edges and the motifs are instead embroidered on.

also yes i believe in short king june <3. well... actually i wrote him down as 6'3'' which is tall to most of us lmao but to the evanuris he's the shortest. sylaise here is 6'8'', the third tallest of the whole bunch (only elgar'nan and andruil are taller than her) :)

[stariikis]

trust myself

desc ; sitting in with riki as he films his en-note and accompanying him through the multitude of emotions that follow.

pairing ; idol!nishimura riki x gf!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 1228 notes ; understand that i love riki because i see a version of myself in him...

When your boyfriend sits down at the hotel table, a singular lamp illuminating his screen with a yellow warmth, your heart aches at just the thought of what he might say next. Though Riki’s always been very skilled at switching between seriously honest and teasingly goofy, he becomes a completely different person when he’s filming en-notes. 

He becomes so vulnerable to the invisible crowd that it hurts you more than it irks you. And sometimes, when confesses struggles even you have never heard from his mouth before, you wonder if you’re not enough for him. Not good enough a listener. Not trustworthy enough for him to confide in. 

How come he only opens up under the pressure of the camera lens?

“Don’t stress out,” you mumble quickly before he presses the red record button on his phone screen. Three simple words and yet they have Riki pausing for a long moment, digesting your words. 

After a while, he nods curtly. “I won’t.” He’s lying through his teeth. But he beckons you closer and as you lean in, he kisses your eyelid. Pulling away, he seems to smile slightly in an effort to coax you into relaxing. As if he wants you to give it up. 

Though the tender action does send a wave of serenity through you, you can’t help but to feel a lingering sense of dread, with questions unanswered running through your mind. When will I get to find out something about him that the fans won’t? Or does he think he should just be honest with everyone at the same time? Is he not conscious of the world being familiar with the very depths of his soul?

Or are you just envious that somebody who isn’t exclusive to him is able to understand him like you do? 

“27 June 2024.” Before you can get lost in your thoughts, Riki starts speaking. You hate with all your heart and soul the exhausted, subdued shadow over his features. He starts talking about their recent concert in Hiroshima — how they hold their Japanese single, ‘Blossom’, close to their hearts; how he’s proud of Jay for pressing through their performance even with an injured knee. 

Then he gets to the hard stuff. 

It’s like he already has one foot out the door when you send him a glare and he ignores it out the corner of his eye. As soon as he opens his mouth again, gaze trailing off to the bottom of the screen, you know it’s coming. The same phrase he likes to repeat over and over again, and then cover up with a ‘but you know, I just love performing in front of you guys.’ 

“I do have some regrets.” 

You hope your glare is like a slap in the face to him. If it’s not, you don’t know what you’re going to do with him. All his following words just seep down the drain. Why does it pain you more than it pains him, to hear the words, ‘I need to work harder’ come out his mouth? Like he genuinely doesn’t see that he’s pushing himself to the limit already? This is exactly why you despise concert season. Coupled with jetlag, the mental form of fatigue seems to strike around these times as does physical, and it’s never good for Riki. 

His words fall on deaf ears. You’re boiling with an inexplicable rage, but it’s the most tame version of the concept of anger.

You just don’t understand, as he stops the recording and turns back to you. You can’t tell if he plain doesn’t get the weight of the situation, or is trying to avoid your gaze solely due to that reason. 

So before he returns to his usual playful self – you can see the light slowly returning to his eyes; he’s about to shove you to the other side of the bed with a snide quip – you grab his wrist and look at him scrutinisingly. 

“Do you mean all those things you said?” You stare at him imploringly in the dim lighting. “Every single one of them?” 

“Do you wish you could say more?” You say breathlessly, desperately looking from eye to eye like they’ll provide all the answers. 

Clearly taken aback, your boyfriend gently pulls his hand from your vice grip. “I mean it,” he murmurs sincerely. “I mean it all. How could I not?” 

Your gaze travels down his neck to the safety-pin necklace he refuses to take off. The meaning behind it is special to him, and likewise, he can’t be seen a day without it. His dedication and sincerity will never be deniable. So why do you feel as if there’s something he’s holding back, not telling you… a truth that he’s altered? 

“There’s nothing more to say?” You press, slightly disappointed because there’s two explanations for this. One, he’s really got nothing left in him to spill, especially not to you. Or two, he just doesn’t want you to know what more he has to say. You can’t decide which’d be worse. 

“...” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He reaches up to fiddle with his necklace as he climbs into bed beside you. “I know. You’re concerned because I hardly open up to you one-on-one. Rather, you have to hear it second-hand when I have ‘conversation’ with the fans.” 

Right. He’s extremely insightful too. How did I forget that about him? 

You just nod, taking care not to look too upset by the situation. 

“Would it be a lame excuse to say that it’s because I don’t trust myself enough?” He whispers as he unzips his patchy blue jacket and unclips his earrings. “To come clean to you, that is.” 

“Yes,” you say instantly, lightheartedly. ‘Okay but seriously, why don’t you trust yourself? Is that the truth, or do you not trust me enough? They’re different, you know.” 

“I know…” he scoots closer to you and lies down on his side, facing you. “To put it simply, I’m scared that what comes out is a sugarcoated version of the truth. When I face you, I don’t want to worry you with… everything. When I face the camera… it’s different. Because what are they going to do about it? There’s nothing they can do to help.” 

You make eye contact with him, and finally a sliver of anxiety crosses his orbs right before your eyes. 

“I don’t like it when you put up a front with me though,” you say. “It worries me even more than you think.” 

“Well, I know now,” he scoffs, moving the hair out your face and looking at you with such a tender look of love that the surroundings all fade away to dust. “I’m sorry. I’ll confide in you better next time… wow that sounds so…” 

He cringes and buries his head into the pillows cutely. A mixture of affection and relief floods over you at this, and you touch his hands in silence. 

When he lifts his face from the pillow, he pouts endearingly and intertwines your fingers together. “Seriously, there’s nobody I trust more than you, okay? Sorry if it didn’t feel that way.” 

So, even though he’s supposed to be getting rest for their upcoming activities, he spends the rest of the night telling you the full, honest truth — and of course he pairs this with a bunch of kisses, teasing remarks and cuddles.

more of my works >

[greencheekconure27]

[dakusan]

📁 A S K D U M P 𓆩 🩸 𓆪 25 JUNE 2025

🩸 TODAY’S ASK DUMP: come one, come all —

the doll brats, the sundress wives, the mythology girlies, the ancient soulmate-flushed messes. you sent blood-slick questions and chaos-coded curiosities, and as always: i answered with fangs bared and hands full of ruined lace.

this one’s for the ones who threaten to break sacred contracts, the ones who blush all the way to their collarbones, and the ones who said “i want to fight him and kiss him while sobbing about ancient greek love.”

respect. now sit down. enjoy the wreckage.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍄 ANON LOGGED: “What if I’m just bratty with no redeeming qualities?”

🍄 welcome to the roster, mushroom anon — your emoji has been marked in blood and added to the walls. always glad to have new souls in the empire.

that said, for the record: that kind of bratty, tongue-out, tantrum-throwing behavior? it’s not bold. it’s not interesting. it’s childish. and personally — i find it annoying.

if a reader behaved like that in this world, they wouldn’t last a scene. they’re not a blood doll. they’re not a chosen. they’re not even in the room. vampire!skz don’t waste power on noise. they crave intent. submission with spine. rebellion with ritual. not chaos for the sake of attention.

vampire!skz aren’t chew toys. they don’t flinch when you stick your tongue out and throw a fit like a sugar-drunk toddler.

chan doesn’t chase chaos — he crushes it in his fist. minho doesn’t correct you — he buries you under silence so loud it makes you beg for punishment. changbin snaps your leash and dares you to bark again. hyunjin will smear your theatrics across canvas and call it art—then burn the whole gallery. jisung plays games, sure—but only with monsters worth unleashing. felix? he’ll watch you unravel, then walk away. too pure to waste wrath on dust. seungmin keeps ledgers. and he just closed yours. jeongin is evolving. you are not his final test.

still, thank you for the ask 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦔ANON LOGGED: “She’s barefoot, in a sundress, cooking his favourite meal. What now?”

🦔 anon you have entered dangerous territory because this ask??? this is every man in SKZ’s softdom core.

like yes. she’s at home. she’s cooking. cleaning. folding laundry while humming. her hair’s tied up and she’s barefoot in a tiny little sundress — all sweet and soft and claiming space like it’s hers.

and the boys? they lose their minds.

⸺⟡⸺

Chan walks in from the studio and sees you stirring pasta in a little yellow dress and his first thought is: mine. wife. fuck. He’s behind you in seconds — big hands on your waist, lips on your neck, whispering: “You keep looking like this and I’m gonna marry you twice.”

And then he bends you over the counter.

Minho? Domestic obsession. He loves watching you move around his kitchen like it’s yours. Folding his shirts. Wiping the mirror. Wearing that damn dress like you want him to take it off. He corners you while you're dusting a shelf, cups your face and says: “My perfect little housewife. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

Spoiler: you’re on your knees two minutes later.

Changbin short-circuits. He gets home and smells food, hears you singing, sees the dress — and it’s game over. He grips the doorway like he’s gonna break it.

“You made dinner? Wore this? Baby, you’re tryna get ruined.” Then he picks you up princess-style and ruins you exactly like he promised.

Hyunjin watches you dance around the living room in that sundress and bare feet and he swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. But also? He needs you over his lap in five seconds.

“My muse. My dream. My filthy little wife.”

Yes he says it while spanking you.

Jisung sits at the kitchen table, jaw slack. He can’t stop staring. The dress. The scent of food. You wiping your hands on a towel. It’s all too much.

“Wife. WIFE. You’re my WIFE. This is illegal.”

Then he drags you to the bedroom while rambling horny nonsense the entire way.

Felix gets overwhelmed. You’re in his apartment, you made cookies, you’re in a sundress, and you smile at him like he’s your entire world.

“You made me feel like I came home to forever.”

Then he softly, sweetly, absolutely destroys you on the couch.

Seungmin walks in, smells fresh sheets and chicken stew, sees the little sundress and your messy bun, and just… stares.

“Is this your way of asking me to fuck you like I own the house too?” Cue kitchen counter chaos.

Jeongin pretends he’s chill about it. He���s not. He stares at your legs, your apron, the food you made — and suddenly he’s whispering:

“You’re mine, right? My pretty housewife?”

One minute later he’s pulling the straps of your sundress off and telling you to call him husband.

⸺⟡⸺

Housewife kink? All 8 of them are down BAD.

Keep the apron on. Keep the sundress short. And maybe don’t bother setting the table—you won’t make it that far. Come again baby 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🧛‍♂️ ANON LOGGED: “If I bite back during sex, do I become a vampire?”

Hi anon, welcome to the dark side we have cookies!

To answer your question, yes, you're right — Jisung was turned because he bit back and ingested blood. The bite alone isn’t enough — you must drink vampire blood to trigger the transformation.

So if the reader accidentally bites vampire!SKZ during sex (or a feeding), she wouldn’t turn unless she also ingests his blood.

And even then?

🩸 You’d need to die first. 🩸 Then his blood reboots your body with magic and pain. 🩸 Now you’re immortal, unhinged, and chemically bonded to the one who made you cum mid-bite. ✨ Congratulations. You're sired.

But if you don’t drink? You’re just a very overstimulated human, full of fang venom, dopamine, and probably a little addicted.

Be careful where you put your mouth 😌💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐈 ANON LOGGED: “What if we fought? What if we made up… with teeth?”

Ohhh 🐈 anon. You dropped a little “what if we fought” and now you want to know how vampire!SKZ makes it up to you?

You trusted me. So let's explore!

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan

He blames himself even if it wasn’t his fault. He won’t sleep. Won’t feed. He circles the house like a wounded beast until you let him touch you. And when you do?

He drops to his knees. Literally. Hands on your thighs, forehead against your stomach. He whispers, “I should’ve never raised my voice. You’re everything.” Then he makes you cum again. And again. Until your legs shake and your breath stutters and your rage dissolves in his mouth.

Lee Minho

At first? He matches your pettiness. He slams a glass down harder. He leaves the room colder. But when he sees the sadness flicker in your eyes?

His rage collapses. His silence turns intimate. He pins you to the wall, voice low: “I can’t lose you. I won’t.” And then he takes you apart piece by piece—slow, intentional, precise. Like your body is a poem he’s memorizing to say sorry.

Seo Changbin

Buys you everything. Food, gifts, bath salts, lingerie. Leaves it on the bed with a handwritten note:

“Sorry for being a dumbass. I love you. Please sit on my face.” You find him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, baking your favourite snack. And when you show up wearing nothing but one of the gifts? He folds instantly. Lifts you onto the counter and fucks the forgiveness into you until all you can say is “more.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Writes you a letter. Or a song. Maybe both. He disappears for hours, and when he returns he’s soaked in rain and poetry.

“You’re my light. My sin. My reason.” You mock him. You say “was it that deep?” He growls. Pushes you against the nearest surface and proves yes—yes it was. He apologizes through kisses. Through hands. Through praise between thrusts. “I’ll paint your forgiveness onto my fucking spine if I have to.”

Han Jisung

He hates fighting with you. Feels physically ill. Paces. Rants. Talks to himself until he’s knocking at your door, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

“Baby… please. Let me make it up to you. Let me feel you.” He goes down on you like it’s medicine. Like your moans are the only cure for the ache in his chest. You forgive him somewhere between orgasm two and three. He still begs until five.

Lee Felix

He shuts down after a fight. Soaks in guilt like it’s holy water. Then he melts. Cries against your skin while holding you too tight.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re my home.” He doesn’t just say sorry—he shows it with soft sex, full eye contact, gentle worship. Every kiss is an apology. Every stroke is a vow.

Kim Seungmin

He’s cold. Distant. Until you pull away—then he snaps. Cornered. Desperate.

“Don’t you dare leave me like that. Not without hearing this.” And when the words don’t work? He switches to touch. Slow fingers. Harsh grip. “You want payback? Take it. Use me. Hurt me.” You ride him until you both collapse, spent and shaken. Then he cradles you in silence, finally soft, finally yours again.

Yang Jeongin

He doesn't know how to handle your anger. Tries to act tough but his voice cracks.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m just—scared of losing you.” You say “then don’t be stupid next time.” He nods. Bites his lip. And makes it up to you by eating you out with a voice full of sorrys. “Please forgive me… please keep me.”

⸺⟡⸺

🐈 anon? They might fight with you. But they’ll never let you go without proving that you’re everything they ache for—in guilt, in devotion, and in ruinous pleasure.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

💚 ANON LOGGED: “Some of y’all can’t wait three hours—Penelope waited twenty years!!”

Ohhh 💚 anon, you just gave me everything I love: mythology obsession, dramatic reader energy, and vampire boyfriends who don’t know whether to kiss you or pin you to the bookshelf for being so chronically feral about ancient romance.

Let’s break it down: you’re a blood doll with a Greek myth obsession—tragic, dramatic, painfully loyal love stories that echo through your bones. You’re sobbing over Patroclus again. And vampire!SKZ? Yeah. They react. Violently. Emotionally. Often both.

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan

You’re crying over Penelope waiting twenty years, yelling “SOME OF YOU CAN’T EVEN WAIT TWO TEXTS.” Chan just sits there, stunned, like:

“...Wait, so you’re saying I’m Odysseus?” You look at him with red-rimmed eyes and go, “I wish you were, because then at least I’d know you’d come back.” He immediately pulls you onto his lap and goes full blood-husband mode. “I would cross oceans of fire and claw through the underworld just to smell you again.” Later, he reads the Iliad just to understand what broke you. Cries once. Denies it forever.

Lee Minho

You’re mid-rant about how tragic Hyacinthus was and how Apollo mourned forever, and Minho just side-eyes you like:

“That’s what you want? Me grieving you until I rot?” You: “No, I want you to never leave so I don’t have to die in the first place.” His jaw tics. He walks away. Then comes back with a first-edition myth anthology, slams it on your desk, and says: “Highlight every couple you like. I want to know what kind of death you think is romantic.” He’s dead serious. Two nights later, he braids your hair while reading you tragic endings like lullabies. You cry. He wipes your tears like a curse.

Seo Changbin

You’re curled on the couch sobbing over Achilles dragging Hector’s body and Changbin’s just standing there holding a smoothie like

“What the fuck are you reading.” You tell him about Patroclus dying first and he straight-up slams the smoothie down. “He just—he left him? NO. Baby, no.” He ends up holding you in silence, muttering “I’d kill gods for you” under his breath and honestly? He means it. Later: “You’re not allowed to read mythology alone. That’s now a rule.”

Hwang Hyunjin

The minute you bring up Orpheus and Eurydice he shudders. Full hand-over-heart.

“He looked back because he loved her too much. That was the problem. It’s always love that kills.” Now he’s writing poems with titles like Eurydice’s Throat and Apollo Was Never Soft Enough for Me. He comes into your room dramatically and says: “If I had to watch you die, I would destroy time with my hands.” You’re like “Hyunjin we were talking about dinner.” He’s unbothered. He feeds you grapes and reads you Ovid in a sheer robe.

Han Jisung

You: “Apollo and Hyacinthus is so underrated, it’s actually such a pure tragedy—” Him: “NO BECAUSE HERMES AND PERSEUS WERE SO GAY.” You end up spiraling together at 2 a.m. about which gods were toxic and which would send you late-night drunk texts. Later, he corners you, kisses your throat, and says:

“If you ever die on me, I’m pulling an Achilles and turning unhinged.” Then he reads the whole Iliad to you out loud. With voices. And live reactions.

Lee Felix

You’re in a sundress, curled up with The Song of Achilles, and softly sobbing. He panics.

“Baby? Who do I kill?” You: “No, it’s okay, he just—he loved him so much it broke him—” Felix: “Okay but what if I love you so much that I build you a shrine and tattoo your name on my wrist in Ancient Greek?” Now he’s learning Greek. Just to whisper ancient poetry into your skin.

Kim Seungmin

You: “Penelope waited twenty years.” Him: “Cool. I waited thirty minutes for you to answer my text.” But when he finds your annotated copy of The Odyssey with notes like “love is loyalty in suffering”, he gets quiet. Later, he kisses your shoulder and murmurs:

“I wouldn’t leave you to begin with.” Doesn’t say anything else. But the next day, you find your bookshelf alphabetized… and a new gold bookmark tucked inside Homer. It says: Always find your way home to me.

Yang Jeongin

You’re sobbing into your pillow at 1 a.m. and he thinks someone died. Turns out it’s about Odysseus.

“He survived a sea of monsters to come back to her—why do men today flinch at two months of long distance!” Jeongin, blinking: “I would fight Poseidon for you.” You blink. “You’d what?” He nods, dead serious: “I’ll learn how to kill a god. Just tell me which one.” Then he brings you a plushie, a snack, and sits down to watch Troy with you just to “learn the lore.”

⸺⟡⸺

💚Anon, thank you for this ask. because these boys? they would kill GODS AND GODDESSES for you. what's your favourite greek mythology? or greek god/goddess? tell me 💋🦇

(skz!greek gods series?!)

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍀 ANON LOGGED: “It’s not just rosy cheeks. I’m glowing. Ears red. Chest hot.”

🍀 anon my beloved… you just made me blush down to my chest with that message. Thank you for your love, your gorgeous mind, and your dedication to both blood and bloom. And now, allow me to sink my fangs into your ask.

You want vampire!SKZ reacting to a blood doll/soulmate who blushes intensely? Not just “cute blush,” but full body flush — ears red, chest glowing, neck flushed like a living, breathing feeding mark?

Oh baby. That’s not just cute. That’s blood foreplay.

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan

He sees that bloom of red from your neck to your collarbones and his breath catches. You look away, flustered, hand at your throat.

“Don’t hide it,” he says, voice wrecked with hunger. “That color… that’s mine.” He touches you like your blush is sacred. A sign from your body that he owns it already. And when he leans in? He doesn’t go straight for the vein. He kisses every flushed patch of skin. One by one. Slow. Careful. Obsessive. “Your blood calls to me when you blush.”

Lee Minho

He sees your neck flush bright and his smirk goes razor sharp.

“You do realize what that does to me, don’t you?” He corners you, tilts your chin, studies the blush blooming across your chest like spilled wine. “You get pink and soft and breathless… and I get hard and possessive.” He brushes his thumb over your throat and murmurs: “If I bite you right now, will the red spread to your thighs too?”

Seo Changbin

You blush because he called you “good girl” in public. You try to hide it. Mistake. He sees the red crawling up your throat and jaw, and suddenly he’s feral.

“Baby, you’re blushing so bad, I can smell it.” He’ll pin you to the wall, nose dragging along your throat. “You gonna cry if I touch where it’s warm?” And then he does. With his tongue. While you sob.

Hwang Hyunjin

He paints with his eyes, and your skin is his canvas. The second he sees that wild flush crawl down your neck and across your chest? He’s transfixed.

“You look like Aphrodite bathed in blood.” He’ll touch every inch of your glowing skin, whispering soft, praise-laced nonsense: “So beautiful. So tender. So mine.” He won’t bite. Not yet. He’ll paint you first — in his mouth.

Han Jisung

You blush down to your chest and he’s done. Gone. Absolutely feral.

“Nope. We’re not doing this. You can’t look at me with red ears and not expect consequences.” He’s on his knees. Dragging your clothes down just to watch the blush spread. “You’re so fucking warm. Bet your blood tastes sweeter when you’re flustered.” He bites you mid-orgasm because he can’t help himself. You melt. He cries. Repeat.

Lee Felix

Your ears are red. Your chest is flushed. You’re flinching from praise and smiling like a soft beam of moonlight.

“Oh… baby.” He cups your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You’re blushing so much. Is it for me?” When you nod, he whimpers. Then he kisses your shoulder. Then your chest. Then your inner thighs. “You glow. You’re glowing. Let me worship you until you come back down.”

Kim Seungmin

You’re trying to answer a simple question and your whole body is betraying you. Your neck is hot. Your chest is blooming with blood. He stares.

“You fluster so easily. You want everyone to know I own you?” He says it with a cold voice and a burning gaze. Then he wraps a hand around your throat, just to feel the heat pulsing there. “If you blush this pretty from a compliment, what happens when I fuck you full and praise you while I do it?” (You’ll find out. Immediately.)

Yang Jeongin

He sees the red climbing up your neck and ears and just short-circuits.

“You’re so… oh my god. You’re so cute.” His face goes red too. He tries to stay composed but ends up pinning you to the bed, mumbling, “I didn’t mean to get this hard, I just—your skin, your warmth—fuck, I love you.” He feeds with gentle hands and too many kisses.

⸺⟡⸺

🍀 anon, your blood is poetry. You’re a painting in bloom, a pulse they can see. And for a vampire? That’s not just attraction. That’s devotion 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

👻 ANON LOGGED: “I’d rather suffer mind-melting sickness than stay yours.”

hello my ghost friend 👻💖 first of all — thank you. you see this lore and i fucking love you for that. 🕯️

but here's where we pause: a blood doll doesn’t throw attitude like a jilted girlfriend. she’s chosen. Marked. bound by contract, blood, and something older than language.

for a doll to threaten to leave? that’s not sass. that’s collapse.

maybe she’s been:

Deeply traumatized, reaching a breaking point after neglect or disregard of her well-being,

Corrupted/manipulated by outside forces, someone feeding her doubt — another vampire, human, or an exiled doll whispering rebellion in her ear,

Or worst of all: starting to rot from the inside out because her bond isn’t being reciprocated or protected the way it was promised.

but it wouldn’t be eye-rolls and door slams. it’d be gutted silence. it’d be “if I stay, I’ll lose myself — if I leave, I’ll die anyway.”

so yes — it can go two ways:

gut-wrenching, feral grief (think Chan or Felix, who would beg and bleed)

or cold, disbelieving rage (Minho or Seungmin — who would punish the idea of her leaving before she even finishes the sentence).

but either way, the trigger has to be real. stakes. corruption. betrayal. fear. otherwise it’s just noise.

thank you for your ask my ghostling 👻💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🤰 channiesbighugs LOGGED: “How do the boys react when you tell them you’re pregnant?”

hihi angel!! 🫶 thank you so much, i’m so glad you loved it!!

and YES — you’ll definitely be seeing more pregnancy-themed chaos, softness, and group reactions soon 😌 i’m planning a lil mini fic pregnancy series 🥹

so keep an eye out — the reactions are coming, and they’re everything. love you more!! 💖🩷🍼

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦭 ANON LOGGED: “What if someone from Han’s past shows up—and he wants her?”

🦭 anon you nailed this vibe — and I love that you were secretly reading at work because yes, vampire!Han is a problem that does not clock out 🕯️🩸

And the concept??

✨ Friend!Reader. Didn’t notice. Reaches out. Misses him. And he realizes he wants to drink you down like a memory he can’t let go of.

YEAH. That’s so getting used.

You’ve just gifted me the foundation for Han’s first fic in the vamp!SKZ series — something quiet, aching, devastatingly tense. The kind of fic where:

You’re the only piece of his human past left untouched.

He hasn’t seen you since the turning.

He thoughtt distance would protect you — but now you’re in front of him, warm, alive, smelling so good it makes him dizzy.

And he doesn’t know if he wants to kiss you or bleed you (Probably both).

Thank you again for this stunning ask. You’ve absolutely just helped birth a fic 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐧lonelydarknessblog LOGGED: “What happens when vampire Seungmin meets werewolf Seungmin?”

STAR. OH YOU DID THIS. You summoned the paradox. The mirror split. The war of silence and snarl. So now let me give you:

⸺⟡⸺

🐺🩸 Multiverse Collision: Seungmin vs Seungmin

Vampire Seungmin is sharper than silence. Unflinching. Blood-coded control in a pressed collar and dark eyes. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. He calculates.

He tilts his head, voice calm.

“So… this is what I’d look like if I let the animal win.”

They’re the same shade of cruel. But opposite temperatures.

Vampire!Seungmin weaponizes silence like a scalpel.

Werewolf!Seungmin is silence before the pounce.

They circle. Not in a fight. Not yet. Just curious. Hunting for weakness in a version of themselves that should not exist.

And it’s almost… insulting.

“You live off blood,” wolf!Seungmin says, low and dry. “You tear things apart for fun,” vampire!Seungmin replies, still expressionless. “I sleep under stars.” “I own the night.” “I run.” “I rule.”

They don’t fight. Not yet.

But they both walk away knowing they hate each other. Because they understand too well. And neither one ever wanted to be seen like that. And yet, they both know that if they meet again, it'll be because something needs to die.

⸺⟡⸺

Star, you absolute menace of brilliance — thank you for this ask. You’ve given me Seungmin vs Seungmin brainworms and now none of us are safe.

Sending you a Chan hug laced with bad decisions and feral timeline echoes 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌙ANON LOGGED: “Who lost it? Who bled the world dry before pulling themselves back?”

🌙 anon my beloved, thank you for this deliciously dark ask! You're right to imagine feral rebellion, and I love that your brain went straight to the “TVD humanity-off rampage” concept — but in this universe, things work a little differently 👇

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 NO "SWITCH," BUT YES TO RAMPAGE-LIKE STATES

There’s no “humanity switch” in this universe — no magic toggle that turns vampires into empty monsters. Why? Because the horror here isn’t that they forget who they are. It’s that they remember everything… and choose the chaos anyway.

Rampages come from three sources:

Bloodlust Overload – First feedings gone wrong. Newborns whose senses short-circuit.

Emotional Collapse – Grief. Rejection. Abandonment. Rage.

Sirebond Recoil or Mate Damage – If the bond frays, snaps, or if a soulmate rejects them… they unravel.

They don’t turn it off. They give in.

⸺⟡⸺

🌙 anon, thank you for this stunningly sharp ask. always feel free to bring more chaos. i’ll be waiting, fangs bared 🦇💋

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to every anon who bled a little question into my inbox — thank you for your offerings. you are seen and you are bitten. if your soul's still twitching, come back. bring more thoughts next time.

and while you're here… if you haven’t already let R-1 rip you apart (and put you back together worse), this is your sign.

🔊 stream R-1 whenever you pretend you're fine.

and remember: no one leaves clean.

love you 🦇💋

[omaano]

SW Hades AU March-April Update

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - January - February - everything else in this AU

I'm here with another two-month joint update because at the end of April I can hardly call it a March update, and truth be told I don't think I did much for this AU in the first month of spring anyway.

I started playing Hades 2 again, and made some progress with the Omega and Boba redraw of the Warsong update wallpaper :3 The more time that passes between posting and writing this the happier I am with this piece. Who could find all the gear that Omega wears from the Batch? 👀

Which cannot exactly be said about Sabine and Ezra as well, but I finally have something to show for them!!

Next up is Satine (now that I can show a small illustration in my skethcbook for her, it should go easy - I hope), and maybe Fennec or the Armorer. And lining Axe and laying down flat colors for him and Koska as well. I'm trying to get a drawing for all the missing characters and get them to the part where only detailed shading is missing. If my hand doesn't hurt too much at least ^^;

I'm also gearing up to drawing a new Ares!Boba too, but I'm still in denial about that ^^;

I did not have a particulrly good time with these drawings, I will be very honest upfront. I had to redraw Omega two times because I tried to line that piece in CSP and for some reason faces are just not happening for me there; It hadn't go well with Echo either months ago. I don't know what's up. The tilt of my tablet or that I don't have o zoom un until all I can see are pixels?? OTL

...and then the colours fought me something awful too. Between Boba and Omega they had red, yellow, green and blue covered, and all that with Boba's white flightsuit was not fun ^^; I don't know, I just cannot deal with that many colours - so figuring out what and how I should desaturate was quite an experiment in patience for me until they looked somewhat cohesive. Thankfully the added moonlight turned out to be distracting enough that I'm pretty much warming up to it all now.

I'm afraid I will have to use actual Multiply layers for the full shading.

And Sabine. Oh Sabine.

I've struggled here, big time, and I'm still deeply unhappy with her. I experimeted a lot in my sketchbook with her pose, but any time I thought I was finally on to something as soon as I went in to fix some minor anatomy issues digitally and add some details things just fell apart.

It was the tooka that messed everything up, I'm sure of it D: ^^; I wanted something to visually tie Sabine and Ezra together, and my decision fell on the little white tooka that was in Sabine's mural too at the end of Rebels. But now Sabine's shoulder had to stand in a way that the little critter can perch on and judge from...

Honest to god I almost cried with relief when I came across Eurydice in Asphodel when I switched back to playing Hades for a bit, and realized that she has the lean and attitude in her pose that I was looking for with Sabine. So it was either the coward's way out, or to throw the entire project out the window and become a hermit in the mountains or something.

You can see which option I picked XD

I am deeply, deeply fond of Ezra however Q^Q He was so cooperative after a few initial testing sketches, his hair is perfect, I didn't forget his scars, and I will find it in me to forgive his weird not-really-chainmail shirt, because that one I did to myself XD

I also finally got around to drawing a quick sketch for Fennec - for a hot minute I was very very tempted to pick for her a pose that's a lot closer to Widowmaker from Overwatch, but the vibes just didn't quite match. That was a very sad realization :'(

(Yes, I took the picture after Satine bled through the page in all her alcohol marker glory, yes, I regret it, and no, I cannot relably draw faces on paper. It is a real tragey. I'm in mourning.)

And just so that I cannot really sigh in relief, Leia is my next struggle. I still don't know how to make her work, and it's been months. Terrible. Horrible. Really really bad. Why am I even trying...TT^TT

So that's it for this month. It's both less and more than how it feels, and I'm also kinda losing a bit of steam - my mind is at re-drawing the entire background section for the House of Hades, so on the backburner i'm trying to cook up various background elements to fill the halls up with. Hades is such a beautifully designed game with such amazing shapes and colours, and Star Wars is such a different style especially when it comes to decorations... So there is a lot of cooking that will have to happen here. But I spent a not insignificant part of my last week (I'd been sick, I could get away with it) watching Drawfee speedpaints (they are so fun and so educational sometimes) and Jacob really popped off in one video creating a pixel art game of some sort? And ever since all I could think about is how and IF I could make my pocket Din move through my version of the Hades AU. Just a section of it. I'm itching to draw the backgrounds, but goddamn I am tired, so I just keep distracting myself from the important character art stuff with these daydreams X"D

I also very badly and incredibly distractingly want to re-draw Boba - I've drawn him so long ago, and it feels deeply unfair that I tried to puzzle out the style on him - and while Din got his upgrades bit by bit Boba just didn't. Also. Ares. Ares looks so good in his character art just sitting around like that - all casual-like - and Boba also has his trademark sprawl and... Look. I'm back to Boba being my most favourite clone, okay? I miss him. I miss drawing him. There.

Okay, rant over. Maybe this way I will be able to concentrate again XD Here's to hoping 🤞 I hope you guys are doing better with your creative projects! ❤️ See you all in May! Hopefully with something a bit more substantive and some proper links, not just wips like these ^^;

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint @hastalavistabyebye

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"Whose flag? Our flag!"

June 14, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

On June 14, 2025, we must reclaim the American flag as a symbol of democracy. Anti-democratic forces have hijacked the flag, converting it into a symbol of exclusion, oppression, and hate—the antithesis of its true meaning. The American flag was purchased with the blood and sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of Americans who believed in a “government of the people, by the people, for the people.”

The US flag does not belong to the military, the Army, the Navy, the Marines, or the National Guard. It does not belong to Republicans, MAGA extremists, or white supremacists. It does not represent America’s mythological past that is the object of the hate-fueled motto, “Make America Great Again.”

Rather, it belongs to all Americans, a symbol of their collective struggle for the future of America, in which we move ever closer to a more perfect union that realizes the promises of the Constitution.

Reclaiming our flag as a symbol of democracy aligns perfectly with our goal of reclaiming democracy itself. Our task is becoming more urgent every day. The good news is that the American people are rising to the challenge. The organization Waging Nonviolence documented the increase in protests against Trump's agenda in its post, American Spring? How nonviolent protest in the US is accelerating.

The Waging Nonviolence post included a graph prepared by the Crowd Counting Consortium, which illustrates the greater frequency and larger scale of protests against Trump in 2025 compared to 2021. See below:

The dramatic increase in protests is being under-reported by the media. That is why it is critically important for Americans to show up on No Kings Day, Saturday, June 14, 2025. Sign up here: NoKings.org.

The protests are becoming more urgent each day because Trump, Hegseth, and military commanders are engaged in “mission creep,” which is expanding an initially limited (albeit illegal) defensive deployment of the US military into an affirmative policing operation directed at protesters.

On Friday, Reuters reported that US Marines had detained a Black veteran (of Angolan and Portuguese descent) as he attempted to keep an appointment at a Veterans Administration facility in West Los Angeles. See Reuters, Exclusive: US Marines carry out first known detention of civilian in Los Angeles, video shows.

Per Reuters, the person detained by the Marines was

an Army veteran on his way to an office of the Department of Veterans Affairs when he crossed a yellow tape boundary and was asked to stop.

The detention of a civilian by a US Marine is illegal, prohibited by the Posse Comitatus Act. Despite the illegality of the detention, a spokesperson for the US Northern Command falsely claimed that active duty forces "may temporarily detain an individual in specific circumstances."

The detention of civilians by the US military is a five-alarm fire that should be the leading story in every media outlet on Friday. Instead, leading sources like the NYTimes treated the story as an afterthought. See NYTimes Marines, in a Rare Move, Briefly Detain Man in Los Angeles.

The journalists who wrote the Times’ story parroted the statements of a military commander who claimed that “Title 10” of the US Code provides authority for troops to temporarily detain civilians. That lie went unchallenged by the Times’ reporters. It is telling that the military commander did not cite a specific section of Title 10 that authorizes the military to detain civilians, because no such authorization is included in Title 10 (in the absence of invocation of the Insurrection Act, which does not apply in these circumstances).

Trump has co-opted or cowed military commanders into endorsing his illegal expansion of the US military’s use of force against Americans. Stepping over the red line of detaining US civilians is one indication of the failure of US military leadership.

Another indication of the failure of military commanders is the geographic expansion of the military’s presence in LA. The federal building in West Los Angeles mentioned above is 15 miles from downtown Los Angeles, which is the only area where there has been any violence (scattered and limited).

Ken Klippenstein, an independent journalist, reported on Bluesky on Friday evening that the “U.S. military is planning for a sustained deployment of 500-1,000 troops at MacArthur Park in Los Angeles.” (I could not find a second source for Klippenstein’s report.)

If true, the placement of troops in MacArthur Park can only be seen as a provocation. The park and the surrounding neighborhood have been peaceful. But MacArthur Park is one of the centers of the Latino community in Los Angeles. Placing troops at a city park miles from downtown LA has no relationship to the sham reasons for sending troops to LA—”protecting federal property.”

Block by block, mile by mile, Trump is expanding the presence of the military in Los Angeles—a threat against every city in the US. Earlier this week, Trump said that Los Angeles was “the first, perhaps, of many” cities to be occupied by the US military. See Time, National Guard Could Be Sent to Other Cities, Trump Says.

I recite these facts not to frighten or discourage anyone. Instead, I am pleading with everyone who reads these words to attend a No Kings rally on Saturday, June 14. If you can’t participate in a rally, consider driving by and honking your horn in support. If you can’t leave home, display a flag or poster signaling your support for the No Kings movement.

Concluding Thoughts.

A few days ago, a reader wrote in the Comment section, “After No Kings Day, then what?” While the presumptive defeatism of the comment was off-putting, the implication of the question is important and deserves an answer.

Question: What do we do after No Kings Day?

Answer: Repeat as often as necessary until we achieve victory.

Assuming No Kings Day is wildly successful as measured by turnout, it is merely one step on a journey to reclaim democracy. It is not the end but the beginning of the next round of protests, political action, boycotts, and strikes.

Let’s march into No Kings Day filled with confidence, hope, and joy. We are winning. Let’s keep up the momentum!

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[22ayla21]

A Year On

Exactly one year has passed since her mother died.

Author's Note: This fanfiction is based on my personal experience from the past year, with the difference being that I didn't have anyone by my side to support me. My dad might understand what I'm going through, but even I feel like it's not real support.

She hadn't slept for several days. Each time she closed her eyes, the same image appeared before her: her mother's pale face, emaciated hands, the white sheets of the intensive care unit. And that cursed life support machine, beeping monotonously, counting down the last seconds.

Today wasn't just any day; it was the anniversary. Exactly one year ago, on June 6th, at 8:20 AM, at the Oncology Hospital, her mother passed away. Adrenal cancer, which was just a backdrop, because in reality, she was killed by a blood infection contracted from a negligent doctor at another hospital during surgery. This knowledge gnawed at her from within. Injustice, helplessness, anger—all of it mixed into a single, unbearable knot.

The pain hadn't gone away; it had only dulled, becoming a constant, background noise in her existence. Relatives? They disappeared the moment her mother was gone. Or rather, they didn't disappear; they dumped all their problems, expectations, and difficulties on her. She felt like a puppet, pulled by strings in different directions, draining her last bit of strength. Burnout had become her constant companion, and life seemed to be hurtling into an abyss, with no chance of stopping.

The only anchor she clung to in this whirlwind of despair was Leona. He was always there, by her side. He didn't try to "save" her, didn't force comfort upon her; he simply was. His presence was a quiet harbor in the raging ocean of her suffering.

She lay staring at the ceiling. Gray rays of dawn pierced through the curtains, painting the room in bleak tones. Every nerve in her body screamed with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn't come. Suddenly, the door quietly opened, and Leona entered the room. He was as always: relaxed, with his emerald eyes slightly narrowed and a slight, self-satisfied smirk that, at that moment, seemed the most beautiful thing in the world to her. Thick dark brown hair fell over his eyes, two braided strands, tied with yellow elastic bands, swayed gently. Lion ears on top of his head, a long tail with a tuft of fur at the end—all of it was so familiar and dear.

He didn't say a word, just walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She felt his warmth, his strong yet gentle scent. He carefully took her hand, his tanned fingers wrapping around her pale palm. She squeezed his hand back, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Not sleeping?" His voice was low, slightly hoarse, as always.

"No," she whispered. She felt tears welling up again.

Leona didn't ask unnecessary questions. He knew. Knew what day it was, knew she was having a hard time. He simply ran his thumb over her wrist, as if trying to soothe the pulsating pain.

"Do you want anything?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just be here."

Leona nodded. He pulled her closer, and she buried her face in his shoulder. His broad, muscular back was so dependable. She heard his heartbeat—steady, calm. There was something soothing in that beat, something that helped her not to lose her mind.

She felt his hand glide through her hair, burying itself in it, then descend to her back, stroking with calming movements. His touches were strong yet surprisingly soft. He always knew how to touch her to make her feel better. This was one of his unusual qualities—behind a mask of laziness and arrogance lay surprising sensitivity and perceptiveness.

"You know," she began, her voice muffled by tears, "I feel so... empty. As if there's nothing inside me."

Leona didn't answer immediately. He just held her tighter. Then he said, "Emptiness fills. With time." His words were simple, but they held a kind of ancient wisdom, as if he had seen such emptiness many times before.

"But when?" She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen.

A familiar, slightly arrogant smirk flickered across his face. "When you decide it's time." He stroked the scar above his left eye, as if in thought. "You can't be a victim forever. It's boring."

His words, seemingly arrogant, she knew concealed something else. It was his way of making her move forward, not drown in self-pity. He understood her yearning for justice, for he himself was its prisoner.

"I feel like I can't do this anymore. Relatives, their problems, studies... I just can't cope."

Leona pulled away to look into her eyes. His emerald eyes were so perceptive. "Then don't cope."

She flinched. "What?"

"Stop trying to cope with everything at once. You don't have to be all-powerful. If they're dragging you down, let go."

"But how...?"

"Easily. Put yourself first. Why should you carry other people's problems if they don't want to solve them themselves? You don't need to prove anything to anyone." He looked at her with such intensity that she felt exposed. "You don't have to be a queen. You have to be yourself."

His words hit home. All her life, she had been taught to be strong, to cope, to carry everything. And Leona, this lazy and arrogant prince, seemed to see right through her. He understood her inner conflict, her deeply rooted desire for recognition and justice, because he was just like her.

"I'm so tired of all this," she buried her face in his shoulder again.

"I know," his voice softened. "But you're not alone."

That was what she needed to hear. Not empty reassurances, not lectures, but a simple confirmation of his presence.

"I wish her death hadn't been so... meaningless," she mumbled. "She went through so much, and then that doctor..."

Leona squeezed her hand. "Sometimes life is unfair. That doesn't mean you have to break." His gaze was firm. "It means you have to become stronger. For yourself."

He stood up, pulling her with him. "Come on. You need to eat."

She resisted. "I don't want to."

"But I said you need to," a hint of the domineering tone she knew so well from him entered his voice. And that was exactly what she needed—someone to take control when she had no strength herself.

She let him lead her. He prepared something simple but nutritious for her. It was hard for her to swallow, but she ate, knowing Leona wouldn't back down. He sat opposite her, silently watching her, his lion ears twitching slightly from time to time.

After breakfast, he suggested they go for a walk. "You need to clear your head. Lying around is useless."

She reluctantly agreed. They walked slowly through the park, under the warm June sun. Leona walked slightly ahead, his long tail swaying from side to side. He was so graceful, so strong. Next to him, she felt safe.

"I feel like I'll never get over this," she said softly.

Leona turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. "Get over it—no. Accept it—yes. The pain won't leave, but it will change. It will become a part of you. And you will learn to live with it."

He spoke of pain with surprising calm, as if it were something he knew well. Perhaps his own experiences of rejection and injustice gave him this understanding.

They reached the lake. Leona sat on the grass, leaning against the trunk of an old oak. She sat down beside him. He didn't try to entertain her or talk about trivialities. He just was. His presence was tangible, firm, like a rock.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air. Next to Leona, even on this day of mourning and sorrow, she felt less alone. He was her anchor, her support, that rare person who saw the real her, with all her wounds and weaknesses, and still remained by her side. And at that moment, in the silence of the park, protected by his strong shoulder, she felt a tiny, barely perceptible sprout of hope breaking through the thick despair. Perhaps life was indeed hurtling into an abyss, but as long as she had Leona, she wouldn't let herself fall completely. He was the thread she clung to to survive.