fuckyouimjustacarrot-blog

[jieanette]

ik its platonic and more leaning to encouragement but pls let me have this delusion

[igotanidea]

I am Robin : Damian Wayne x reader (pt 1)

Summary: Damian x fem!s/o, who has no idea he's Robin. And who is scared of Robin. And who one day happens to meet Robin...

***

They weren’t living together, and definitely not in a leaving toothbrushes at each other’s place way. But their relationship wasn't casual either. After almost a year together, given Damian’s character traits, it could never be casual.

But Y/N wasn’t the type to rush him into anything and definitely not nagging to start sharing space. It was all right if he didn’t want to stay the night too. He was committed to his family and that was okay. Considering the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne himself, the Gotham’s persona, who tended to act a little eccentric, it was completely understandable that Damian wanted to check on him more often than not.

Who knew what kind of crazy idea could possibly enter the bored mind of a rich man.

It truly was no one’s wish to find some scandalous news from the first pages of the magazines.

So yes, she was full aboard on the idea of Damian’s checking on his father and his family.

Who seemed a little weird from the very beginning either way. The first time she met them all his siblings were nice, even awfully so, but she had this crazy feeling of being watched like a prey.

If only she knew why.

But yes, it was okay, because at least she wasn’t in a relationship with Mollycoddle, who demanded care and wanted to be treated with kids’ gloves.

But sometimes, only sometimes, she was wondering if it would be like that forever.

That she would have to sleep in the bed alone, wishing for him next to her.

That she would be forced to deal with her nightmares and loneliness and after work tiredness alone.

That almost every time she asked him to stay over he would prevaricate, giving more or less vague answers.

If only she knew why.

***

He was in the middle of patrolling with Batman and the rest of the family when Barbara’s voice came through the comms.

“Robin.”

“Yes? What is it, Oracle?”

“Y/N keeps blowing off your phone.”

Oh.

Obviously Damian did not take his device with him and definitely could not check whether his girlfriend was trying to contact him.

Barbara, on the other hand, was in charge of everyone’s notifications while they were busy during night hours, just to keep up the pretences of the batfam being completely normal citizens.

“Shall I respond?” Babs muttered to the comm, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact Damian was still keeping Y/N in the dark about his other identity. He was treating this girl seriously, it was obvious and even Batman would see reason in ensuring his blood son didn’t blow up a chance at happiness. Even with a civilian. And if not, Barbara would be more than happy to throw Bruce’s own mistakes in the area right at his face. And most likely the other batkids would gladly join her in this quest. Just for funsies. And for Damian obviously.

“Don’t you dare touching my phone, Oracle!” The last thing he needed was his more or less romantic and more or less spicy conversations with Y/N to come into the light!

“Do you want me to read the text to you?”

“Don’t you dare touching-“

“Robin, why can’t you just come forward and tell her?”

“Cause that would be putting a target on her back!”

“You are putting a target on her back by keeping her in the dark!”

“This is not—” Damian tried to argue, but never finished the sentence, realising, somewhere in the half of it, that Babs was actually true. “I don’t know what to do.” He finally settled on a deep sigh.

However, before Oracle could give him any relationship advice, Batman’s voice echoed from another line, calling his accomplices to order and stopping any personal discussions.

***

Meanwhile, Y/N was standing in front of the club, unsuccessfully attempting to reach Damian.

The party she was dragged to was a surprise to one of her work friends, who broke the news about getting married. Some of the girls decided it was a perfect opportunity for unofficial celebration and the party moved from club to club in the entire Gotham district.

It was impossible to not go. Y/N would be called antisocial, unfriendly and stiff the very same night.

But then it was late and cold and dark and she found herself far from her apartment, not sure how to proceed. Obviously, walking alone was a huge mistake, considering the location, but standing like a salt pillar was starting to turn even more stupid, as the lonely and bewildered woman unmoving on an empty street was the easy target for any thug.  

And Damian was not picking up his phone or responding to texts, that started to become more and more desperate as Y/n lowered herself to almost begging for help.

When nothing came in return, with a heavy and a little broken heart she decided to try and get home by herself.

It was better than being a sitting duck and freezing to death.

***

“Robin.” The voice came through the comms again

“What do you want, Nightwing?”

“I got eyes on Y/N.”

“And why do you bore me with such unimportant details?” Damian muttered, not really paying attention to what his brother was saying. The youngest Wayne was simply too focused on his target for the night.

“Um… Robin?”

“I am busy, Nightwing.”

“Damian-“ Dick dared to say Robin’s real name, getting  a bit desperate to get his attention.

“What now?!”

“I got eyes on Y/N!”

“Wh-what? What do you mean you got eyes on Y/N? She’s supposed to be home, safe and tucked under the cover, turning over on the other side while sleeping!”

“Well, she is not. She’s walking the street with someone on her tail, clearly chasing her.”

“What street?!”

“I’m going to take action now-“

“Don’t you dare, Nightwing.” Damian’s cold voice almost bore a hole in Dick’s head through the comms. “Oracle, give me Y/N location. I’ll be the only one taking the action when it comes to her.”

***

She knew she was being followed.

The man wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to it after all.

The heavy clatter of his boots echoed through the entire empty street, in perfect sync with the accelerated beat of her heart.

Headlines from the newspapers from the entire previous year flashed through her mind.

Rape.

Murder.

Assault.

Unexplained disappearance.

Y/n started to curse herself, instinctively reaching for the pepper spray, greedily clutching her fingers on the tiny, yet effective, bottle.

Though before she could actually use it, there was a loud thump behind her and she stopped with shaking hands and eyes closing, already saying goodbye to her life.

The man sure had a gun and that was the sound she heard. She was already dead. And no one will even know. She will bleed on the street, dying alone and in pain in the dark Gotham street, no news about her till the early morning and-

“Y/N.”

She spun around immediately. Whoever was talking, be it the man who was chasing her or someone else, he knew her name.

Robin. Batman’s sidekick.

The street light colours palette Robin.

Robin, the Gotham’s vigilante.

And one of her worst fears.

***

The thug was lying on the ground, blood was everywhere, including Robin’s uniform and she couldn’t make a single movement.

The most natural thing would be to thank him for the rescue and run away before he got too focused on her, reading right through her, seeing everything she did wrong in her entire life and bringing her to justice.

But she could hardly breathe let alone form one coherent sentence.

When he took a step towards her, she took a step back, almost tripping over her own feet, but miraculously finding balance.

He stopped, looking at her with a predatory smile, tilting head, waiting for a moment to strike.

His teeth shone in the dim light of a street lamp, growing, becoming sharper and she could almost imagine them tearing at her throat like a werewolf or some other supernatural creature, causing her pain for all the bad things she did and—

“You’re safe now.”

She blinked a few times, brought back to reality by his voice that was surprisingly soft. Calm, a little cold perhaps, but gentle regardless.

There was no blood, he was not a werewolf, and she was not in danger of being torn to pieces and having her insides dragged through the entire street.

But she was still scared, and not because of the thug, but because of the vigilante himself.

***

“You’re safe now.” Robin said calmly, keeping his distance. From Damian’s perspective under the mask, it was the worst thing he ever had to do in his life. Instead of rushing to her side, taking her in his arms, and giving her comfort and reassurance he had to keep hiding his face in the shadows. Unbeknown to him, Y/N was more than grateful about this fact.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered, making Damian want to hug her even more. She was so shaken after being chased like this. After being put in danger.

It didn’t cross his mind, that she could be scared of him.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” This was not really a question in his head, but it was important to slowly assure her she was now protected.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered again, with wide eyes and pale face, that Damian blamed on the aftermath of terrifying events.

“Okay.”

It was hard to not reach for her hand, envelop her in warmth and walk with her to her apartment. Making her her favourite tea and cuddling on the couch (a weakness he would never admit to his family). But he had to keep his mask, literally and figuratively. Therefore, having escorted her to her building and spinning on his heel, he left her alone.

Not for long though.

***

It took him fifteen minutes to change from Robin costume into regular, civilian clothes, almost searching for a phone booth like a freaking Superman, knowing that if Jon knew it, he would never let him live through it.

Meanwhile, he finally got hold of his phone and read through the desperate messages she’s been sending him for the last hour.

“Dami, please come pick me up. I’m at the XX”

“Dami, please…”

“I don’t know why you are not responding, but if I did something to make you mad, I am sorry…”

“Dami, I need you…”

“Please, it’s cold and I’m scared…”

“Dami… 🥺”

Oh no.

As if seeing her scared after dealing with the threat was not enough, now he also got the insight of what she was feeling and thinking while walking home alone.

That he left her.

That he didn’t care.

That she was alone.

And it made him speed the pace of the changing even more.

And causing Robin to make one, teeny-tiny mistake.

***

A knock on the door made her almost jump, settling on pretending she was not at her apartment. Or that she was sleeping – whichever seemed more plausible at 3 am.

“Y/n!”

The voice seemed familiar, but it could have been just the whispers of her stressed mind, combined with a desire for the presence of that one person she so desperately needed.

“Y/N! Open up, it’s me! Damian!”

She whimpered and moved deeper into the corner of the sofa, covering her ears.

He had to change tactics.

“I know where you keep the spare key. But if you don’t open in five, I’ll kick the door without the need to get it!”

An empty threat that could have only been made by him.

Four seconds later the bolt on the door rattled and Y/N stood face to face with Damian, who had absolutely no intention to put his words into action, just getting her to open.

“Y/N.” He sent her the most comforting and reassuring smile he could muster.

“Dami…” she sobbed, diving into his arms. “why weren’t you picking up your phone? I was scared and – and this guy-”

“Hush, dear.” His hands wrapped around her, taking a few steps forward so they were now inside her apartment and not in the hallway. “You’re safe now. I’m here and no one will hurt you.”

“But why weren’t you picking up?” she repeated nuzzling into him, the mix of emotions finally finding a way out in the form of uncontrolled sobs.

“My apologies, beloved. It was never my intention to make you feel abandoned. But I’m here now.”

“Mhm…”

“You’re okay. Shall I make you your tea? It will ease your nerves after being chased on the streets like that.”

“Yes, please…” she whispered and then a thought hit her. “Dami? I- I never told you I was being chased…”

“You know, it was quite evident. It’s Gotham. It’s late and your text was pretty clear-“ His green eyes met hers in a poor attempt to cover up for the obvious fail, trying to fill in the holes in the facts and silence her questions before they even arise.

But it was too late and she was too smart for being played like that.

There was no way Damian could have simply figured out what happened solely from her messages and ragged pieces of information.

His first question, right after comforting her, should have been what happened?

And how the hell did he get into her apartment almost right after she got in?

Right after Robin escorted her here?

“Dami--?” she stuttered with wide eyes, pulling slightly back, causing a little struggle when he tried to keep her in his arms.

Causing a little too much movement.

“Y/N, listen to me, I can—hey, are you all right?”

She was not.

She was not okay, seeing the familiar and well-known domino mask that fell from Damian’s pocket onto the floor in her apartment.

“You- you are—” her stuttering mixed with paleness and terror reflected in her eyes made him travel back to the conversation they had a few months earlier. 

Oh, no…

How could he forget…?

to be continued...

Part 2

[teapartyprincess4two]

nick x yapper!bsf!reader is a must

Talkative- N. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x BestFriend!Nick

classification: platonic SFW head cannons

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing (bitch is said too many times)

inspiration: request^^

summary: head cannons of Nick with a yapper bff!

Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)

Talkative- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)

—

☆SFW

Nick loves to talk, everyone knows this to be a true fact. No one has been able to keep up with his talkative persona, but when he met you, he met his match.

☆ You have a habit of barging into Nick’s room unannounced with your phone in hand, a bag of snacks in the other.

☆ “BITCH, YOU WON’T GUESS WHAT I JUST HEARD!” you announce, throwing yourself on the bed next to Nick.

☆ Nick rolls his eyes but despite your rude intrusion, he can’t even be mad. He’s desperate for the gossip, “I’m not guessing, just tell me.”

☆ “Actually… wait, let me guess.”

☆ You love teasing Nick about how handsome his brothers are. You don’t even have a real crush on either of them, it’s just fun to watch his reactions.

☆ A straw rests in your mouth, your eyes trained on the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen across the food court. You’re practically drooling.

☆ “Girl, what the fuck are you looking at?” Nick asks, following your gaze.

☆ “Oh just the sexiest man I’ve ever seen… well, after Matt of course,” you reply, a sly smirk on your face.

☆ Nick doesn’t respond, eyes squinting in annoyance.

☆ “Chris can get it too with that long, sexy hair. Oh, and Matt with his tattoos. I swear if they weren’t your broth—”

☆ Nick cuts you off before you can finish, “BITCH, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!” You burst out in laughter.

☆ You’re the only person, other than Matt and Chris, that can make Nick completely crack up with your witty jokes.

☆ “Holy shit, you’re actually insane,” Nick wheezes, wiping the tears.

☆ He’s clutching his sides, the laughter overtaking him completely.

☆ Your entire friendship is full of love, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not ready to playfully roast each other.

☆ When the roast is especially true, he shoots you a middle finger.

☆ “Fuck you,” he laughs, never taking anything you say too seriously.

☆ Sometimes you say things that Nick completely disagrees with, but he never shuts you down because he loves a good debate.

☆ “Nick, that’s literally wrong! How would the chicken come before the egg?!” you exclaim.

☆ “Where would the egg come from without the chicken?!” he’s getting excited, scooting closer as the debate progresses.

☆ “You’re so wrong, dude. Just admit it.”

☆ “IT’S LITERALLY THE EGG!”

☆ On the rare occasion that you two are fighting, he’s not in the mood to hear anything unless it’s an apology.

☆ His fingers are pinched together, the pinkie and pointer finger straight up in the air. “Quiet coyote, Y/n. Quiet coyote.”

☆ “Boy, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, shoving his hand away.

☆ He eventually gives in, rolling his eyes and preparing to listen to your rants.

☆ When you’re hanging out with a group of friends, it quickly turns into you and Nick talking over each other to tell a story.

☆ “Nick, shut up! Let Y/n speak!” Matt shouts, becoming tired of the constant interruptions.

☆ Nick pauses completely, side eyeing Matt in annoyance. You stop talking too because it’s not as fun without Nick’s energy to bounce off of.

☆ The two of you stay awake past midnight almost every night, your phones illuminating your faces as the FaceTime call enters the fourth hour.

☆ It’s just you two in your own rooms giggling and whispering through the phone.

☆ Eventually, when one of you gets tired, the other has to pull a conversation topic from the depths of your mind to keep the other awake.

☆ “You did not just say that,” you gasp, in shock at Nick’s statement.

☆ “Bruh, what you just said was worse,” he replies, a dumbfounded look on his face as he point to you with his hand.

☆ “Oh true.”

☆ You’re constantly interrupting him to take pictures for social media photo dumps. Whether it be off guards or full on photo shoots.

☆ “WAIT SHUSH! POSE FOR THE PICTURE!” you exclaim. Nick rolls his eyes, pausing mid yap sesh.

☆ Nevertheless, he puts on a smile and poses.

☆ “Let me see,” Nick yanks the phone, examining the pictures. If he doesn’t like it, he simply hands the phone back to you and poses again.

☆ Just like everyone else, the two of you have bad days sometimes.

☆ “Hey…” his voice is quiet, his head peering through your cracked bedroom door.

☆ You’re curled up under the covers, small sniffles escaping every so often.

☆ “How are you, bae?” Nick asks, throwing in a corny nickname to make you laugh.

☆ Your response is sarcastic, “Never been better.”

☆ “Bitch, fuck you,” he chuckles, but there’s no true anger in his voice. He kicks his shoes off and joins you under the covers, ready to listen to you recount your day and your troubles.

☆ Nick is ready to defend you no matter what.

☆ If he ever hears anyone talking badly about you, or even mention your name, he’s interjecting the conversation.

☆ Sometimes he doesn’t even know the previous context, but he’s ready to fight whoever is talking shit.

☆ Nick never turns down the chance to talk, even if he’s really busy.

☆ “I can call back if you’re busy.”

☆ “No, bitch! Tell me!”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: this is short, mostly bc it doesn’t have a NSFW section like my other head cannon posts (for obvious reasons). But I hope you still like it!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @hearts4chris @maryx2xx

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[hxney-lemcn]

Can I have Leona with a hurt/comfort arranged marriage trope with the prompt “You’ve been tossing and turning for forty minutes. What’s up?” for the 2k follower event pls???

a/n: arranged marriage with Leona is now served! hurt/comfort always has me writing too much lmao

tw: anxiety

wc: 0.5k

2k follower event | master list

This was wrong. It was all wrong. Your worst nightmare has just come true. You were married off to some wealthy family- No, not just any wealthy family, you were wed to Leona Kingscholar, the second prince of Sunset Savannah. Once again, you found yourself shifting in bed, trying to rid that uncomfortable pit in your stomach. 

You didn’t hate Leona. In fact, he seemed just as disinterested in the arrangement as you, something you found solace in. Both unwilling participants in your family's game to gain the most status and wealth. It didn’t scare you any less though, as you walked down the aisle with hundreds if not thousands of eyes on you, witnessing an exchange of meaningless vows as you tried your best to not vomit. The nervous energy hadn’t left you, causing your current distressed state as you turned again, trying your best to not awaken the lion next to you. He hadn’t seemed as bothered, falling asleep rather quickly while you were left staring at the ceiling tensely. 

The ring on his…no, your nightstand glistened mockingly in the moonlight. It taunted you, reminding you of your current position. Your mind kept spirling, did your parents really hate you so much? You had told them of your discomfort with the situation, but they merely waved your concerns off. Had you done something in a past life that you were currently being punished for? Why couldn’t you have chosen who you wanted to marry instead of being forced? Why couldn’t you take your time in falling for someone like in one of those cheesy romance novels? This wasn’t fair.

“Would you stop that?” Leona grumbled after you moved again. You froze like a rabbit who had just been spotted, turning to face your…husband…

“You’ve been tossing and turning for forty minutes,” He mumbled, green eyes striking you in place. “What’s wrong?” 

“S-sorry,” You tripped over your words. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Leona huffed, watching you intently despite looking sleepy, waiting for you to clarify.

“I…I just can’t believe it’s already over,” You muttered, not able to meet his eyes. “That I was actually just tossed away like some trophy, wed out of obligation instead of love…”

Despite his tough guy persona, Leona felt himself feel a sense of sympathy. He never wanted this either, but it was clearly affecting you worse than him. His eyes softened as he took in your curled up form.

“You’re right, this is shitty,” He agreed. “But it's happened. If you wish, you can have your own palace, your own servants, and meet other people. You never have to see me if you don’t wanna. I don’t care, you’re your own person, you do what you want.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant,” You argued. “I don’t hate or resent you! I’m…just wallowing in self pity I guess. I wish I got to know you properly beforehand, at least be on friendly terms before vowing to be with you in health and sickness.”

“Hmm,” Leona hummed, eyes shutting closed from exhaustion. “Then what’s stopping you from befriending me tomorrow?”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. He made it clear that he wasn’t expecting anything from you…perhaps with all this misfortune, you had managed to snag a bit of luck. Out of everyone, you were glad it was Leona that you were stuck with, and that thought helped ease your nerves.

[somethingpersonarelated]

On simplifying Akechi

My brain was ridden with these ideas people have about Akechi that piss me off a little. Mostly ones that say he is "just crazy" or "just hates Joker." There's countless metaposts countering these arguments (and they are absolutely wonderful) but I often wonder WHY simplifying Akechi down is so appealing, even to people who are fans of his character. I can't say I've never been immune to simplifications of his character either, and I feel like that's important to admit. I don't even think it's necessarily a bad thing, but I was wondering about that why question.

TW: Discussions of mental health and child abuse

Source: A high schooler's holiday from the P5 Comic Anthology (read it here!)

I do think it's hard for all of the little things Akechi's character builds upon to be conveyed through a single playthrough. If you go in blind or don't finish his confidant, you may only get that surface level exploration of his character. Base Akechi is flashy and still gets the point across that it needs to: he's a foil to Joker and the PTs. However, by missing out on his social links and special events, you miss cultural, relationship, and personal context.

Many words have been said about the translation, particularly in the engine room, being faulty in areas. But some people still don't understand that Akechi's plan isn't to kill Shido, even when the text makes that clear. There's also this scene with Shido, which reads more as an exposition dump in a long section of the game most players will either tune out or skip. Not everything you see will always stick in your head, and Persona is a LONG game. I feel like it's easy to forget people just... forget canon sometimes. It's easier to put these details aside and say Akechi isn't affected by the system he's raised in. But the reality is, you miss what Lavenza says about Akechi's role, you miss that one exposition scene, and you miss the confidant: you believe Akechi had much more autonomy than was actually true. In conversations I've had with people IRL about Persona, 2/3 either skipped or did not finish Akechi's confidant. It isn't improbable, playtimes can range from 100-300 hours, most playthroughs take weeks. People will forget things. It isn't a maybe, it WILL happen.

When the game feeds you so much information, it's also easier to take what the characters say at face value. Doing this with Akechi will bite your ass. Those words in Rank 8 are directly expanded upon in No More What Ifs, the engine room, and 2/2. Maruki and Morgana confirm Akechi doesn't hate Joker, but you never hear Akechi say it himself. To me the game beats you over the head with this information (as the game has a tendency to do for certain situations), but I've also been in the rabbit hole for over a year now.

There's also this idea that recognizing that Akechi was set up by Yaldabaoth, his upbringing, and Shido means that all the venom is taken away from his actions. That isn't true, and Akechi holds to that in third semester. He doesn't give himself any grace for the situation he landed in, wanting to take accountability for it when it is undone without his consent. Akechi is by no means a perfect victim, and he doesn't believe that either. Recognizing that he had no choice, it was either homelessness and neglect or the plan he conjured himself only brings to light the tragedy of his situation, not whether his actions were morally incorrect. He wanted his father to be in his life, and he wanted his father to suffer. He wanted to have someone like Ren in his life, and he couldn't have someone like Ren because his plan would be jeopardized. It's a series of choices, some of which are forced upon him, some of which he chooses himself. That is an important distinction to make.

There's also this idea that Akechi is 'just crazy,' or never suffered from abuse or events that affected him long term. That he doesn't suffer from unspecified mental health conditions or trauma, and chose everything with a clear mind. When someone brings up this argument, it's usually in response to people talking about his life experiences. That somehow, the existence of trauma or a condition is an excuse for whatever he did. There's a double standard here: Akechi is someone who suffers from a condition that makes him 'plain crazy', simplifying his entire motivation and role in the story, while also removing him from the context of his mother, Shido, and his experience with the foster system. Actually interacting with these facets of his character brings to light the challenging things the story asks you to think about when it comes to Akechi: Is he a victim? Is he like the Phantom Thieves? What about his situation informed his choices? Interacting with this requires effort and an actual acknowledgement about what it means to be someone that suffers from trauma. Calling him 'plain crazy' not only is in disservice of textual analysis, but more importantly incorrect (and frankly, it falls straight into ableist tropes about mental health).

Sometimes internet debates/discourse lead to simplification, even just random headcanons may lead to simplification. That isn't always bad. There are many ways to say what I said here in fewer words. I, unfortunately, am not skilled enough to do that. But some of these simplifications lead to entirely incorrect judgements about a character, or even about mental health issues. When that happens, I wish people would learn to reflect about what that means when they interact with a piece of media. Or even with other people.

tldr: people should learn to say they just don't like things instead of coming up with excuses that make no sense. basically

[resart]

The Inconspicuous Writing Gem: Daeran’s Look-alike Contest Breakdown

The Dance of Masks brought the long-anticipated last hurrah to the Knight Commander’s story. Although it was announced that the DLC would focus on the companions, I wasn’t holding my breath for substantial content that would actually enrich the characters’ plots. The game is already massive and has a ton of variables, so expecting the writers to continue storylines that can have multiple outcomes would be unreasonable. But one scene far exceeded my expectations and set the bar high for the rest of the expansion, rendering me more critical about some of its elements than I would normally be. The event in question may not appear as much, but the true artistry in writing stories driven by the player’s choice fully reveals itself in what we don’t see on the surface. Daeran’s look-alike contest varies greatly, depending on how his personal quest was resolved, and, therefore, serves as a semi-epilogue to his arc. I wanted to post an analysis of his character’s progression for quite some time, and this send-off is a fitting opportunity to delve into this matter. I’ll break down the differences in the new scene as well as in a few others and share my overall thoughts on what this addition brings to the table. Brace yourself because it’s going to be long.

I'll start with a quick reminder of what Daeran’s questline outcomes are, because I'm going to reference them a lot:

Good, in which he’s openly grateful to the Knight Commander despite having to face the tribunal, and Liotr, noticing their bond, intervenes so the Inquisition doesn't lock him up;

Lobotomy, in which Daeran reluctantly accepts his predicament of having to face the trial, Liotr doesn't support him and after the crusade, the Count is sent to the asylum and lobotomized;

HappyEvil, in which the Commander kills Liotr to secure Daeran’s freedom;

ArchEvil, in which Daeran doesn't have any trust in the Commander, feels deserted and murders Liotr to avoid the trial.

At first glance, there's nothing profound about Daeran’s festival quest — it fits his image to indulge in the vain act of self-celebration by choosing the most accurate imitation of himself. However, this simple setup proves itself clever when we realize that, by observing the contestants, he sees himself in a distorting mirror. Coincidentally, each participant appears to represent a different facet of the Count’s character. Therefore, his reactions to them speak volumes of the self-image and mindset he developed during the crusade in each scenario.

Among the doubles, we have an aasimar who mimics Daeran's arrogance and cruelty, and constantly interrupts other participants' speeches with mocking remarks.

A woman who recreates Daeran's sophisticated bon vivant persona.

A drunkard who paints Daeran as a worthless and utterly unapologetic rake.

And finally, an innocent boy who keeps staring at Daeran with admiration and portrays him as a virtuous hero of the crusade.

After the presentation of the contestants is over, Daeran asks the Commander’s opinion. Again, his responses to their verdict vary in each case (unless they choose the cat), but the difference in how he reacts to being compared to the little boy is the most telling.

No matter what the protagonist suggests, the winner of the contest is fixed for each of the outcomes. If the Commander failed to earn Daeran's trust and he murdered Liotr himself, the conceited aasimar is declared the winner.

If the Commander killed Liotr, the Count awards the lady.

If the quest was resolved peacefully (either Good or Lobotomy), Daeran chooses the boy and has a heartwarming exchange with him.

This variety of possible scenarios and the way they are handled encapsulate why I consider Daeran's story so intricately woven and enjoyable to analyze. He's an incredibly flexible and dynamic character whose potential endings range from becoming a saint to a homicidal maniac. But what makes this duality and everything that comes in between so engaging is that all these vastly contradictory conclusions are equally organic and convincing, given his rich characterization and the player’s choices. The subtle yet significant divergences in the narrative paths maintain the integrity of his personality and prevent his evolution from seeming far-fetched while efficiently showcasing his growth or regression.

Regretfully, this attention to detail is missing from the other new scenes, which don't convey a similar sense of progression and can come off as somewhat disconnected from the rest of the playthrough. The rendezvous, for example, avoids references to how the player concluded Daeran's romance and quest. Given these plotlines' non-linearity, it's an understandable approach, but it prevents the scene from exploring deeper themes and hitting more emotional notes. What's particularly detrimental to the its overall intensity is the absence of exclusive dialogue for the True Love outcome. Ironically, it's the two worst endings that get unique and surprisingly heartfelt lines.

The difference is insignificant, however, because the conversation always plays out the same. All in all, the segment is nice and leaves a lot to the imagination, but only partially exploits its potential. Meanwhile, the festival mini-quest embraces the aforementioned strengths of the storyline's writing, giving every iteration of Daeran distinct dialogues that clearly demonstrate the impact the crusade and acquaintance with the Commander had on him.

I won't examine every dialogue branch in detail but will mainly focus on the Good scenario. As someone who likes this ending the best and even advocates the controversial writing in the final confrontation with Liotr, I always thought the narrative failed to properly sell its implied benefits. Apart from the closing conversation in the quest itself, late-game provides little reactivity to differentiate the outcomes, making it hard for the players to fully grasp the internal shift that Daeran undergoes. Comparison of said dialogue in various scenarios reveals his perspective in Good route as the least egocentric and overall most mature. Unfortunately, in an individual playthrough, these qualities can get overshadowed by the Count's dissatisfaction with the inconveniences he will eventually have to endure.

Aside from that, the effects of each resolution manifest only in Daeran's responses to one question in the romantic route and how he expressed his feelings regarding Galfrey’s death.

Even though they show evident contrast and serve as a much-needed emotional pay-off for the moral dilemma the player faced in the storyline finale, both are relatively minor, with the Queen one completely missable in most playthroughs. When combined with the similar omission of negative repercussions for Daeran’s moral condition and emotional maturity in other outcomes, it's not surprising many players believe he doesn’t ever change or that becoming better fundamentally clashes with his nature.

The discussed competition scene remedies the narrative’s deficiencies, ultimately proving this statement untrue. In the Good outcome, Daeran presents a reasonable dose of self-distance. When confronted with the drunk’s insults, he replies with humor and courtesy, which is a stark contrast to his reactions in the Evil outcomes and his past responses to criticism. Despite being hurt by the harsh judgment, he understands such a low opinion of himself is somewhat justified. The Count's mild response and his sensitivity to the suggestion that he's nothing more than an unfeeling scoundrel may even indicate that he has developed some remorse for his past actions. He also dismisses unwarranted flattery and distances himself from the brash egotism. All without falling into a spiral of gloom and self-deprecation that occurs in the Lobotomy scenario. Introspectiveness and vulnerability showcased here are a seamless continuation of the self-evaluation Daeran does in the High Trust version of his quest upon being supposedly betrayed by the Commander.

It's all the more unfortunate that the other interactions in the DLC don’t acknowledge these differences and instead return to the common denominator of all endings. As a result, the player will go from Daeran, who self-reflects and claims the aasimar presents an unfunny caricature of him, to Daeran in the tavern, who puffs himself up exactly like the guy (using even the same words) and seeks more sycophantic praise. While it's expected for him to put on an airy act and tease others, the absolute lack of self-awareness he previously exhibits in the Good route is quite jarring. Considering the complexity of the storyline as well as all sorts of limitations, such inconsistencies are inevitable (the base game already has a fair share of them) and in the end, one can easily reconcile them through their own interpretations. However, after being spoiled by a reactivity treat like the festival mini-quest, it's disappointing that the remaining dialogues lack similar nuance.

In the Good scenario, Daeran's behavior reinforces what we learn in the epilogue — that in this version, he has the most difficulty navigating through his newfound freedom and redefining himself in it. Choosing the winner of a silly contest shouldn't be hard for him, and it isn't in the Evil outcomes. There, the self-satisfied Count (who in both cases already has the blood of at least one innocent man on his hands) picks what he perceives as an idealized version of himself — be it the aestheticized depiction of his self-centredness or the unbridled and unyielding haughtiness. Noteworthily, in the Happy variant, Daeran openly flirts with the lady and, in both Evil paths, if not romanced, attempts to seduce his favored contestant. It’s peak narcissism, given the implications of the scene. In the peaceful outcomes, especially the Good one, the ordeal is a series of unpleasant self-reflections that even causes him to become overwhelmed by sorrow at one point. In the end, Daeran’s choice stems not from an ulterior motive or a desire to boost his ego but from genuine fondness for the boy. The youngster's belief in the Count’s kindness and heroism reminds him of his own innocence that was prematurely and brutally snatched from him. At his core, Daeran is not a self-sufficient master of his own fate but a helpless child thrown by unfortunate circumstances into otherworldly oppression and a vicious cycle of selfishness. In the Evil routes, he successfully deludes himself into believing he’s the former, but here, he realizes he’s the latter.

We're used to seeing Daeran scoffing at saccharine narratives and lofty ideals, and in the Evil versions, he's indeed annoyed with the boy’s portrayal of him. In one of them, he even anticipates him to be disenchanted, finding the prospect amusing. In the campaign's early stages, the Count voices his dissatisfaction with being enrolled in the crusade and laments the tarnishing of his ill reputation. Any suggestions that he may be secretly vulnerable are met with biting retorts. But now, Daeran doesn't disabuse the child and isn’t even bothered by being seen as a heroic figure. There also isn’t any objection when the Commander points out the similarity between him and the boy. He’s shocked they can see through him but decides to be honest and agrees with their assessment. Daeran’s sensitivity and his tendency to be more emotionally transparent with the protagonist is, at this point, a recurring theme in the peaceful outcomes, so it’s a shame that when they later choose to compliment his vulnerable soul, he's always equally dismissive.

Daeran is perfectly aware of how damaging cruel disillusionment can be to one’s psyche. As a child, he witnessed firsthand the powerlessness of good in the face of evil, the suffering adhering to moral principles can bring, and how those who claim to be righteous can turn out to be as callous and uncaring as hardened villains. These experiences left the young Count with a pessimistic view of the world and human nature, making him adopt coping mechanisms that only deepened his melancholy and loneliness. Knowing this, he wishes to spare the boy a similar fate and plays along to preserve his innocence.

In the non-peaceful outcomes, Daeran gives the signet away as if it was an insignificant bauble. But even though we barely ever see this side of him, some dialogues indicate he’s proud of his heritage and his ancestors' role in Mendev’s history. They were valiant defenders of the kingdom, who, for generations, protected its borders from any threat. This is who the Count, as a scion of the Arendae house, was originally destined to be and who, it so happens, the boy sees in him. Perhaps his take on him makes Daeran reflect on how differently things could have turned out had it not been for his family's demise and the Other’s interference. It undoubtedly revokes memories of his roots and deceased kin, since he not only rewards the child with the ring but also educates him on its meaning and sentimental value, expressing unexpected sincerity and kindness. In the Lobotomy scenario, this gesture is particularly bittersweet — with his impeding childless death, Daeran’s lineage is going to expire, making the memento the only way to keep its memory alive.

Finally, the Good version of the scene carries a deep symbolic significance. Daeran rewards one person who doesn't focus on his superficial traits or recreates the mask he hides behind. The image the boy paints of him may not be accurate, but while the other portrayals embody what the Count turned into under the Other's influence, this one shows what he could have been if he hadn’t lost the childish naivety he now longs for. And who he, despite his own skepticism, still can or perhaps even already started to become, thanks to the good protagonist's compassion and support. Just like the Commander, the boy views him as someone better than what his predicament forced him to be. And Daeran, confronted with sincere faith in him, cannot help but answer the call.

[ashipiko]

WHATS THIS? ASHI HAS APPEARED W A NEW TWST OC? CRAZY!!!!! <3 introducing niko cimarron!!!

FEEL FREE TO COME INTO MY INBOX AND TALK ABOUT HIM BTW IT WOULD SOOO HELP ME DEVELOP HIM 🫶

“What’s it now, Carrots? Got yourself in another mess?”

INFO UNDER CUT!

• HE KINDA??? IS MAGICLESS? while in NRC. THE MAGIC SCHOOL.

• 😭😭 you may be wondering how exactly. he doesn’t know either. I FEEL LIKE MIRACULOUSLY HE DID IT AS A JOKE AND SOMEHOW GOT INTO NRC????? as for the entrance ceremony IM STILL WORKING ON IT but magicless fox boy. OK

• <3 scarabia 2nd year!! he vibe checked himself and was like “yk what this one is convincing enough” and here we are

• he doesn’t necessarily LIE despite people sayin that he does all the time ��🤔 more so that he’s really good w his words and he just kinda dodges questions in a creative way 🫶 does this sound familiar

• rumor has it he’s made out w azul once and no one knows if it’s actually true or not </3

• everytime he sells his little “pawpsicles” outside of montro lounge (like RIGHT outside) and Azul tries to kick him out he pulls the “oh I GET IT you’re just salty I’ve moved on aren’t you” and suddenly it’s like no one believes Azul 😭😭 ITS KINDA FUNNY

• the tweels LOVE him because of how entertaining he is espec w azul!!! THEY SUPPORT NIKO WRONGS!!!!

• best friend is crowley FR I feel like azul’s TRIED to talk to him about niko but he’s just “a student trying to make a profit. much like you, ashengrotto!” so it doesn’t work. AZUL OUT HERE STRUGGLING

• as for relations w the prefect I FEEL LIKE THEYD BE A LOT LIKE NICK AND JUDY. considering the fact that’s he’s also a magicless student in a magic school I can see a small scene where it’s like “you’re not alone, all right? hey— that doesn’t mean you can run off telling everyone, carrots.” BUUUT. he kinda has issues

• trying to keep up the act of him seemingly having magic because he doesn’t want to be exposed as a phony at NRC……. he doesn’t wanna give into that fox/playboy stereotype and now he’s kinda in this big mess of a lie that he can’t get himself outta 😔 so I imagine telling the prefect is a whole big thing with vulnerability

• he doesn’t care too much about the other guys at nrc but w the prefect who’s given him a chance to be smth more than just a flirt or playboy or scammer he’s kinda scared to tell them he’s been lying to their face this whole time. YK? HES JJST A LITTLE GUY!!!! 🫶 he’s attached to the prefect whether he’d admit it or not <3

• DID I MENTION HE KINDA HAS A PLAYBOY PERSONA?

• ALSO W CALLING THE PREFECT “CARROTS” I can imagine a scene at lunch where he meets the prefect and he’s like “oh you must really like carrots, huh? there’s a bunch on your plate” and yuu gets the decision of either “no, I hate carrots” or “yes, I love carrots!” and either way he goes “huh. well, carrots is your name now~”

[sungbeam]

nonidol!eric sohn x f!reader

you won't think golf is a boring sport after he's done with you! (but it's not about golf, and it's not about swings. just a young heir with money, love, and a thing for you.)

▷ genre, warnings. technically s2l, country club au, summer break au, starts with him already into you, slight pining? idk, fluff, humor, rich people™, golf lol, swearing, drinking, kissing, it gets like actually romantic, Eric Sohn bc he's so attractive someone help me.

▷ word count. 11.4k

▷ inspired by swing my way (cha cha malone & phe r.e.d.s)

a/n: my submission for the deoboyznet summer on you event! and @mosviqu who implanted the idea of country club rich boy eric into my brain @@

It wasn't like Eric Sohn, heir to his parents' multi-million dollar investment firm, prized shortstop of the UCLA baseball team, planned to spend his entire summer charming his parents' clients and partners. A summer spent at the Beverly Hills Country Club wasn't something new for the young heir either. The rolling, emerald green hills for golf; the clean cement tennis courts; the dim and classy bars were all ingrained in him since childhood. They were environments Eric had learned to thrive in, and when one had the advantage, one was always taught to wield it like a blade.

At least, that was what he was taught. Over the years, he'd also learned that his extroverted personality and charming smile were disarming—and his pretty boy appearance often resulted in others underestimating him. That was their mistake.

"...that trip to Taiwan will be such a great opportunity to explore the relationship between our companies."

Eric clasped Mr. Thomas Tsaur's hand in a firm shake as the two men stood at the final hole of the golf course. Eric beamed. "Yes, of course! I know my mom would love to see the night markets around Taipei; my parents have been looking forward to the trip all year," he said, as easy as breathing air. Of course, he didn't really know if his parents were looking forward to it. If he was the one on his way to Taiwan instead, he knew that he himself would be ecstatic.

During business meetings—and meetings that weren't officially classified as business, but were definitely about business—Eric tried to stay as true to himself as possible. Once in a while, some of the persona he'd built up slipped through the cracks, but there was a reason he liked baseball more than business.

Mr. Tsaur made a pleasant reply back about promising a fun-filled tour of the city with his wife, and the two of them were splitting up. There were offhanded comments about seeing each other for dinner when Eric's parents finally arrived, but that was all that was left of the interaction.

Eric jogged down the hill toward the conventional path where a white-topped golf cart sat waiting for him. His driver and caddy companion for the day was Jacob Bae, a regular worker here at the country club whom Eric had known for at least a couple years now.

But instead of just Jacob and the cart, Eric found that someone else had joined the group.

You sat in the second row of the golf cart with a circular serving tray pressed over your lap. Like some of the other staff members at the club, you wore the standard black, collared shirt and black skort. He'd seen you around this place plenty of times this summer and even greeted you once or twice, but he knew you were new.

Oh, trust that he knew a new face when he saw one, especially when said face was as pretty as yours. The only shame was that you were often assigned to areas where Eric didn't exactly frequent, but he never took himself as the type to give up easily.

You and Jacob were sharing a laugh as Eric approached the golf cart with his golf putter in hand. "Hey guys," Eric chirped.

All the attention flickered over to Eric, but he couldn't stop staring at the way the slight breeze this afternoon was making your hair fall in your face all pretty. Even in a braid, the little strands fell out to frame your face.

"Oh, hi Eric! How was the last round?" Jacob asked as he twisted around in his driver's seat to watch Eric round the back to put his putter away. You had shifted in your seat slightly to follow him with your eyes, as well.

Eric slid the stick into his bag and caught your eyes. His smile widened. "It went well. Same old, same old," he chuckled, bracing a gloves hand on the roof of the cart. "When'd you get here, Yn?" He asked you with a nod of his chin.

You perked up at the sound of your name. Cute. "Ah, just a few minutes ago," you said. You sheepishly gestured to your empty tray. "Haknyeon dropped me off a few holes over to deliver drinks, and then I saw Jacob over here and walked over to catch a ride back to the clubhouse."

"I can't believe he just ditched you," Jacob chortled.

Eric circled around the cart to take the seat in the front beside Jacob. "He ditched you?" He frowned, leaning his arm over the back of the seat to look at you.

As the cart began making its smooth return down the path and over a small bridge, you smoothed your braid over your shoulder. "No, no! He didn't ditch me; we were just headed in the same direction until we… weren't," you mused. "I mean, if Cobie wasn't here, a walk back wouldn't have been the worst thing anyways."

"I guess," Eric agreed, biting his lip. "So, uh… ever played golf before?"

"Golf? It's been a while, but yeah, I've driven the occasional golf ball across a green."

From the driver's seat, Jacob slapped his right hand down on Eric's shoulder. "Yn-ie! This guy's one of the best casual golf players you'll probably ever meet. His swing? So clean."

Eric chuckled, clasping a hand on the back of his neck, when he felt your attention flicker back to him again. "I'm no pro…"

"I'll have to see that for myself then," you said with a smile.

The golf cart slowed to a stop in front of the doors into the main kitchens of the clubhouse proper. Because this main kitchen was so large, they were given their own set of doors directly to the outdoor courts and beyond for easy access. While Jacob would drop you off here, he would have to continue onward for Eric's proper spot.

You clambered out of the golf cart, poking Jacob in the shoulder as you went. "Bye, guys! Thanks for the ride, Cobie."

"Bye, Yn!" Both boys chimed together. When you disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors, Jacob pulled the cart back onto the main road to carry onward.

Eric settled into his seat to face forward once again. He lifted the cap off his head and carded a hand through his hair to let the strands, dampened with sweat, dry a bit. "I didn't know Yn was allowed to work the golf range," he commented as innocently as possible.

Jacob made a small humming noise. "Yeah, we're short a couple people out here because of the Ferndale event going on down by the gazebo."

"She wasn't sent there?"

"Did you want her to be sent there?" Jacob grinned slyly at the young heir, who turned his gaze elsewhere.

Eric coughed. "I didn't say that."

His companion still would not wipe that knowing smile off his face, even as he slowed the golf cart to a stop and Eric hopped out to collect his equipment from the back. "I didn't say you did," he snickered as Eric walked away.

He didn't give Jacob the satisfaction of an answer, instead, saying a "thank you" for driving him over his shoulder, before ducking inside the clubhouse locker room.

Jacob shook his head in amusement and began making his way further down the path to return the cart. Silly, silly kids.

You didn't realize country clubs were real until you were sitting in the office of the Beverly Hills Country Club's hiring manager and being hired. That was about a month ago, and no, you still didn't believe it was real. The entire training experience, in fact, had swept through like a fever dream.

The summer season had just begun, though, and they had taken you on in a rush of desperation. You hadn't failed to notice how relieved the hiring manager looked when you told him you'd worked as a waitress at an upscale wedding venue before you moved cross-country, and knew how to carry a drink platter and dirty dishes. That was part of the reason you'd been hired on the spot. You'd also mentioned your extensive knowledge of how to fold cloth napkins into swans, and you liked to think that was your true selling point. (Don't ask, the last part was because you had been very bored while waiting in the backroom during a wedding.)

And while you cared little about cleaning pools or catering to rich prick egos, you did care about the crisp green bills that graced your eyes with more frequency than a Superman actor on Hollywood Boulevard. There was also the possibility to gain some more experience in the dining and catering world; if you were lucky, you could butter up your manager to let you help out in the kitchen some.

After all, that was why you were here so far from home.

"Yn, you've got company at table five," Haknyeon said as he passed by you on his way into the kitchen.

You gave a nod out of instinct. You brushed your hands against your black waist apron, absentmindedly reaching up to also smooth out the black vest on your upper half. Usually when you worked at the club's restaurants and bars as wait staff, your uniform consisted of a white button down under a black vest, followed by a black skirt and apron. It was classy and chic, and definitely added to the expensive atmosphere.

You could see table five in your section up ahead. It was a little early into dinner service, but there were still people who came in. To your surprise, the company at table five was none other than Eric Sohn himself, along with two others you recognized as his parents. They were dressed casually—meaning semiformal. It was something out of a dinner cruise, with Eric's dark brunette waves styled effortlessly messy and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal the slightly bronzed, toned skin beneath—

You cleared your throat, plastering a smile on your face as you approached the table. "Evening, everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Sohn," you gave a small greeting bow to his parents, then swiftly doled out little napkins for their drinks. "It's nice to see you on the grounds again today."

"Oh, Yn! It's very nice to see you this evening," said Mrs. Sohn with a delicate flourish of her wrist.

"Yes!" Mr. Sohn chimed in, "What have you been up to? Eric says he saw you on the golf range today."

Your eyes darted to Eric's, then went back to his parents when you realized his eyes were on you. You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and bracing the end of your serving tray against your waist. "Oh, uhm, yeah! I was just summoned down there to get some drinks to the Santos family—you know them, right?"

Recognition lit up in Eric's mother's eyes. "Yes, yes! Marina and her kids! Ah, well that sounds nice; I'll have to see if I can bump into her at the spa or something. Eric gave you a ride back in his cart, didn't he? The walk back is awfully far."

You nodded. "Yeah, of course. He was with Jacob, so I just hopped in the back and rode back with them here."

"I still owe you that golf date," Eric cut in smoothly, the hand with his Rolex draped over the back of his chair. His smile was casual, innocent, the kind that so easily could make anyone do his bidding.

"Golf date?" His parents glanced curiously between the two of you, and you felt heat rush up to your cheeks.

"It was just an offhand comment," you said sheepishly. "Jacob was telling me about how great of a golfer Eric is and I said I wanted to see his swing some time." Before anything else could be said on the matter, you tucked your tray under your arm and replaced it with your notepad and pen. "Can I get you anything to drink? An appetizer to start?"

That drew away the conversation promptly. It wasn't like you were uncomfortable with the idea of going on a date with Eric Sohn, it just wasn't that simple. Though the club officially encouraged good relationships between staff and club members, they didn't exactly encourage the romantic kind of relationship. Obviously, it would be impossible to enforce a no-entanglement policy completely, but you wanted to stay on your manager's good side.

You nearly folded in half over the counter of the tiki bar at the pool. Sweat streamed down the side of your face, and you were pretty sure your baby hairs looked akin to a lion's mane under your white baseball cap. Thank god the club didn't force you to wear a black colored hat instead; the black polo and skort were death enough.

Jacob chuckled as he passed you a clean, damp towel that had been soaking in ice water. "Before you get heat stroke," he said, then returned to preparing a tray of drinks someone had ordered at the hot tub.

You thanked him profusely, dabbing your face and neck with the cool blessing. "Sheesh," you groaned. "I think I need to reapply my sunscreen soon. How are you out here all the time, Cobie?"

He grinned with a half-hearted shrug. "Well, I work with cold drinks and I'm under the shade. And—" he tapped the handy little fan clipped to one of the structure poles of the tiki bar, "—this beautiful work of engineering."

"I need one of those umbrella hats and squirt bottles kids bring to Disneyland," you grumbled and plucked yourself up from the bar. You returned the towel to Jacob so he could toss it into the soiled towel bin on the other side of him. You watched as he finished up filling the tray and whistled at the pool waiter who had ordered it for the group at the hot tub.

As the waiter walked away with the drinks, you thought aloud, "How could they stand to be in the hot tub in this heat?" From here, you could see the group of girls gathered in the bubbling jets of the hot tub at the far end of the pool in their bikini tops and Gucci shades.

"They're not standing—they're sitting."

You sent Jacob an unimpressed look, to which he simply smiled wider.

"Hey guys!" Ji Changmin huffed and puffed as he collapsed onto the barstool next to you. He had a towel hanging around his shoulders and a white sweatband holding up his dark bangs dripping with sweat. "Can I get an ice water, hyung?"

"Yeah, man," Jacob said, already dumping a scoop of ice in a cup.

"You alright there, Changmin?" You glanced over at the club's dance instructor with barely concealed amusement.

Changmin took the corner of his towel to dry the dribble of sweat making its way down his forehead. "Whoever thought it was a good idea to do hot Zumba in the height of summer needs a reality check. I think I'm dying."

As one of the country club's primary dance instructors, not only did Changmin lead all of the dance activities on the grounds, he was also supposed to take over any dance aerobics classes like said hot Zumba. You knew it wasn't his favorite, but it was still funny to make faces at him through the window as he did can-can kicks in leg warmers with all of the rich moms.

You leaned down to check if he had the leg warmers on. He did not. At least he finally had the good sense to break uniform.

Jacob slid over an ice-cold glass of water, and Changmin drained it like a man who trekked through the desert for seven days. You glanced at Jacob's digital clock on the counter behind him—he kept it so he could be on time for all of his breaks.

"Oh shit," you said, quickly fixing your cap and adjusting your hair, "time for me to get back to work."

Changmin straightened. "Where are you stationed today, Yn-ie? Chanhee and I wanted to come pick you up later for dinner before we have to come back."

"That's right!" Jacob slapped his palm to his forehead. "We have to all be back here for the banquet. I almost forgot, damn it."

You cocked a brow at him. "Wow, you, Jacob Bae, almost forgot about the major event all of our jobs are riding on that's taking place tonight?"

A smile curled onto your face when Jacob narrowed his eyes at you. "Don't you have work to do?"

You let out a laugh and began backing away from the tiki bar and your friends. "Kim has me at the ice cream bar until the end of my shift, Changmin. I'll catch you boys later!"

Jacob and Changmin raised their hands in twin waves to you as you walked away. If you remembered the time on Jacob's clock correctly, you had about fifteen minutes to get up to the indoor ice cream bar for your shift.

Tonight, the country club was hosting a banquet for one of the business men here. It was supposedly one of the most important events for the club's reputation, so it was all hands on deck. Everyone from Chanhee at the spa to Haknyeon in the kitchen were called upon to clock into work once again tonight to help out. You were glad you weren't a part of the set-up and takedown committees, but you were expected to wait on the banquet. Jacob was supposed to be bartending tonight, as usual, and your other friends and coworkers would be waiting alongside you.

You glanced up on your walk out of the pool area and nearly tripped over the soles of your sneakers.

Coming in hot (literally) were none other than Eric Sohn, Lee Hyunjae, and Lee Juyeon—all of whom were very much shirtless. Swim trunks hung low on their waists, their stomachs carved like triplet Michaelangelos. Seeing shirtless guys at the pool wasn't new for you, but these guys were actually around your age.

Eric saw you first and waved. "Yn, hey!"

"Hi guys," you greeted back with a shallow nod of your head. "Nice day out for a swim."

"I know, right?" Hyunjae raised a hand to shield his eyes from the unforgiving summer sun. "You must be baking in that uniform, Yn." He raised his chin to gesture at the all black attire.

"I don't suppose you'd be able to join us?" Juyeon smiled. He knew you probably couldn't join them because you were clocked in, but he had always been pretty nice nonetheless. He and Hyunjae were cousins, and the Lee family was well-known around here for being big names in the legal sphere, as well as being one of the larger families. There was another cousin of theirs around their age running around here somewhere, too.

You gave a helpless shrug. "Duty calls, unfortunately."

"Yn, hey wait—" Eric caught your attention as you were about to continue walking up toward the main clubhouse. He flashed you that smile again, the one that made your stomach do flips and would convince you to do flips for him if only he asked. "You won't happen to be working at the banquet tonight, are you?"

"How'd you guess?" You replied good-naturedly. "Why do you ask?"

He began walking backwards toward the direction his friends had drifted off to, his smile tilting up slightly. "So I know which cologne I should wear."

And it definitely wasn't a trick of the summer sun that made you see him wink at you.

"He's into you."

"He is not—" you wrestled your sleeve up your forearm and made a frustrated noise when the button would not go through, "—into me."

Chanhee gave you a nice, slow eye roll just so you would see it, and he yanked the sleeve away from you so he could roll it up himself. "A lot of men around here like smelling nice, but no one pulls out the Acqua Di Gio just for the service girl or a business banquet," he hissed as a fellow waiter rushed past you two in the narrow corridor. "Jesus, why is this button such a bitch?"

"That's what I'm saying," you hissed back at him as the two of you both struggled to fix your sleeve. "Not the cologne thingy—I hate how you're able to just take a whiff and name the cologne. What kind of demon nose do you have?"

Chanhee sighed and collapsed against the wall opposite to you when he finally managed to get the sleeve right. The two of you were currently on break, not hiding, in this corridor. In T-minus two minutes, you would both have to be back out in the hustle and bustle of cleanup or after-party drinks in the lounge. Because the main course had finally been served, a lot of the waiters were allowed to go on break. The banquet thus far had gone relatively smoothly, other than the fact that when you had served Eric all of his courses, he'd made sure you practically melted on the smell of his cologne.

It wasn't your fault you had to bend down close to him to not spill the hot food. And it wasn't your fault that he chose to put his mouth right to your ear when he told you a joke, masking it as asking for more water.

You couldn't decide if you were going to giggle or let your knees buckle at that moment. Thank god you managed to laugh behind your hand and hustle away before anyone noticed.

But that was besides the point. The point was that Chanhee had also passed by Eric, caught the faint trail of Aqua De Whatever, and connected some dots.

"If you want a demon, you talk to Changmin," he said. "I just know my shit. And I also know that you only break out the Acqua Di Gio when you want to attract someone, and based on the fact he's currently seated around about fifty other businesspeople…" Chanhee made a wild, desperate gesture with his hands, eyes widened. Are you getting this? He seemed to ask. Because I will smack you if you aren't.

You fanned yourself, justifying it by thinking about how hot the back hallway was and this outfit was, rather than admitting that it was because Eric was hot. "Okay, okay. Come on, we have to get back out there," you said, already turning your heel toward the door.

"I'm just saying that clearly he's been trying to tell you something," Chanhee added as you both broke out of the hallway and into the kitchen. He grabbed a circular serving tray from a stack on the counter next to him to hand over to you.

"Well, what do you suppose I should do with that?"

He pressed his lips into a thin smile, taking hold of a small, empty cart and pushing it ahead of him. "Just keep an open mind, darling."

You and Chanhee separated at the kitchen doors out into the banquet hall. While he would be a part of cleaning up, you needed to head over to the next-door parlor where the party had moved post-dinner. Business would continue as usual, just with a few more drinks and pool involved.

The parlor room was arguably one of your favorite rooms in the club with its cozier atmosphere created by the evergreen walls, tiffany-shaded lamps, and dark oak furnishings. It was also outfitted with a hearth (unused during the summer and spring) and a billiards table. Most of those who had chosen to stay had migrated with a certain crowd of people they planned to continue chatting with. Your job, as well as the few others recruited to the parlor, was to be a fly on the wall until somebody needed something. If tips were passed around, you were free to pocket them.

You were probably standing and waiting for only five minutes before you saw Eric stand up from where he was on the far side of the room. He shouldered his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of his armchair, exposing the white dress shirt and black vest beneath. Whew, he was wearing a full suit to this event? You wondered how he even survived, but all conscious thought flew out the window when he caught you staring and started smirking to himself. The smug, little expression stayed etched into the sharp planes of his face even as he strolled over to the pool table and lined up his shot.

You wondered—and it was just a thought—what it'd be like (possibly) for him to lean over you—

"Excuse me, miss?" You shook out of your daze and remembered why you were here. Unfortunately, it was not to admire the young heir watching you from the other side of the room, but to serve guests.

For the next couple of hours, your job was exactly what you did. You had been so focused on running back and forth from the bar in the other room and back that you always seemed to have missed Eric trying to catch your eye again. If he wanted drinks, he had to suck it up and ask someone else who just happened to be near him instead.

As the evening dwindled into a sweet, humid night, the amount of guests also began to trickle down. You had grabbed a rag on your way back to the parlor room and said goodbye to your coworkers on their way out. Some still lingered for last minute clean up, and though you were technically done for the night, you wanted to wipe down anything you had missed. It was something simple that you could do to help out a colleague, and it wasn't like you were in a rush to go home.

When you walked back into the parlor room, however, you blinked—surprised—at the sight of an individual left. He leaned against the billiards table, one hand holding the edge of the suit jacket draped over his shoulder and the other scrolling through his phone.

Eric glanced up from his device and pocketed it at the sight of you. "Hey."

"Hi," you said back. "Uhm, can I get you anything—"

"Oh, no no. I'm good." He shook his head, pushing off from the table. He shot you that signature boyish smile of his and your heart began doing cartwheels. "I just wanted to ask if I could give you a lift home."

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Truthfully, you were caught off guard, stunned. This wasn't what you were expecting from him.

He saw your hesitation and let out a sheepish laugh, cupping the back of his head. "Sorry, this is so out of the blue. I… it's a little late out right now, and I didn't know if you had a ride or not. I know you're not usually scheduled to work so late."

"You know my schedule?" You blurted. Though, the thought did warm you and amuse you.

His eyes widened. "I mean, uhm, definitely not in the creepy, stalkerish sort of way! I uh, I like to think I pay a lot more attention when it comes to you." His admission didn't do much to slow the racing organ in your chest cavity. You always saw Eric Sohn as one of those smooth and collected young men who were born to charm. But seeing him flustered and tripping over his words because of you?

You ducked your head slightly, flattered and most definitely charmed still. "I'd really appreciate a lift home, Eric."

You both shared a smile in the slightly dimmed, slightly warmed lights of the parlor room.

Once you had finished glossing over the surfaces of the parlor room with your rag to catch any rings made by perspiring liquids, your manager dismissed you for the night. Eric told you he would meet you out front where he would bring his car around for you. You found yourself standing at the edge of the curb with a gentle, yet rare summer breeze wafting through your hair. You had your bag slung over your shoulder, and you grasped the strap and fidgeted with the material.

A car pulled up to the circular driveway—it was a sports car. The Corvette, sleek and aerodynamic, was doused in a shiny orange coat of paint that glimmered even in the night. The passenger side window rolled down so you could see Eric leaning over the center console and waving to you.

"Hey, hop in!" He said to you with a grin, lowering the music he was playing.

Gingerly, you walked up to the car and managed to maneuver yourself inside. The passenger seat was lined in soft black leather, and the inside of the car made it all the more easy to suffocate on that delicious cologne of his.

Eric had ditched his suit jacket and vest in the backseat of the car, leaving him in just his white dress shirt and slacks.

"Nice car," you whistled lowly as you buckled yourself in.

His mouth tilted upward. "Thanks," he said. He fussed around with his phone for a second before passing the device to you. "If you wouldn't mind putting your number and address in."

"Oh." It was a brand new contact page. You didn't question it, swiftly inputting all of the necessary information before returning his phone to him.

Eric took a peek at the address, then pulled out of the country club's driveway. You didn't live too far away from the club, luckily. It was only a few minute's drive, but the walk sometimes felt a bit longer. California didn't exactly have the most convenient public transportation system, and in an area like Beverly Hills, it was near impossible to find a reliable bus or train service.

"Any music preferences?" He asked you quietly.

You shook your head. "I'm not super picky. What you have on is all good with me."

"I have to confess, Yn," he said with a half smile, eyes darting toward you, "that I was trying to steal your attention all night."

Your stomach flipped and you suppressed the smile that threatened to crawl onto your mouth. "Really?"

He laughed. "Yeah, but obviously, your work ethic beat me out, as well as my own luck."

"Any reason for seeking me out?" He'd technically had your attention all throughout the banquet, but he had also needed to entertain and chat with the other people around him. While the after party was sometimes used for business discussion, too, the banquet dinner itself was the main event.

"I mean, besides wanting to talk to the cute girl eating up all my thoughts?"

He was turning onto your apartment complex's street all too soon. The car slid into a parking spot along the curb, and he twisted in his seat to face you. "I really want to take you out, show you a good time. It doesn't have to be something fancy if that's not your vibe; we can always start with golf."

You let the smile bloom on your face at the reference to the "golf date" you both had yet to schedule. You still wanted to see his swing, after all. "Then it's a date," you said, "I should have a free day two days from now, if that works for you."

Eric bit his lip. "I'm all yours, hon."

Before you could start doing somersaults from excitement, you resolved yourself to getting into your apartment first. "Well, thank you again for the lift, Eric. You have my number?"

He nodded. "Never losing it."

You grinned something fond. He grinned right back at you. "Get home safe."

"I will. Good night, cutie."

You slammed the car door shut and left Eric to his lonesome. Through the passenger side window, Eric watched as you disappeared into your apartment complex, safe and sound. He had almost given into the urge to ask if he could walk you up, but it was a miracle you had even taken him up on his offer to drive you home.

He pulled up your contact and sent you a text so you could have his number, too, as soon as possible. He deposited his phone into the cup holder, then punched the roof of his car with a shit-eating grin on his face. He'd scored your number and a date in one night—damn right, he did.

You had reasoned with yourself that this was okay based on the fact that you weren't on company time.

"Shoooooot," you whistled with a slight arch in your brows and applause. You tracked the distance Eric's driving shot sent the golf ball flying, and in the early morning sunlight, the white sphere disappeared over the crest of green hill.

You figured being courted by a club member during your own free time was a loophole you could live with. Especially when such a loophole looked so good swinging a golf club.

His follow through was just as beautiful as he was, his arms lifting the golf club over behind him from the arc. When he lowered the club to turn back to you, he was beaming. "What's the verdict?"

Your golf club was currently acting as your arm rest as you staked the head against the grass. "I don't know, Eric," you sucked in a breath, teasingly. "I think you could've gone pro."

He laughed then, eyes narrowed into glorious upturned crescent moons. "Thanks, cutie." He made a gesture to the tee. "All yours."

"Let me preface this by saying that it's been awhile," you were quick to say as the nerves suddenly bubbled up into your chest and made you wanna do a jittery shuffle. You should not have let Eric go first.

"No worries," he chirped. "Why don't we practice first?"

Yes, practice. Thank god he knew where your head was at.

You eagerly agreed, and set your golf ball up on the tee. Nervously, you smoothed your gloves down the front of your pleated golf skirt. You lined up the face of the golf club with the ball and pulled it back a millimeter—

Then chickened out.

"Performance anxiety," you grimaced to your date.

"Oh, well, that's okay!" Eric set his golf club down on the field and made his way over to you. "Can I help?"

Yes. "Please do," you chuckled, leaving room for him to take your club.

But instead, he shook his head. "No, no. You won't learn anything from just watching, silly goose."

He grabbed the golf club over your hands and lined both of your bodies up correctly. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his front pressed against your back. His mouth was so close to your ear again, and there was that damned cologne making you see hearts.

"Sorry, is this okay?" He asked softly.

You gulped, nodding. "Yeah. Perfectly okay." You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat quicken like a drum crescendoing. If he wasn't careful, your heart might just fall out and run to his arms.

From this position, Eric smoothly guided you through the steps of a perfect swing. The pullback was cranked over your shoulder, then the club would swing straight through, followed by the arc back over your other shoulder and the appropriate turn of your body. As he had explained to you, getting the perfect swing or shot in sports mostly came down to the follow through. If one could not back up their initial movement, then why make the shot?

"—and you turn your body—yeah, just like that," he praised as you automatically rotated yourself from the side to the front, the toe of your foot digging into the ground and turning with you. "That's beautiful."

He backed up from you then, giving you some space. It suddenly felt like you were missing something with him gone. "You should try it now!"

You took a deep breath in as you lined your golf club up with the ball again. Cranking the club back over your shoulder, you swung it down and back up again. When the face of the club met the ball, it did so with a resounding PING!, and the ball went sailing.

(That sound… mwah. The sweet, sweet sound of triumph.)

"You did it!"

"I did it!"

It hadn't gone as far as Eric's had, but it had definitely traveled farther than it would have without his help. You whirled to him, clasping his hand with yours as you both shared equally radiant smiles. A giddiness flooded into you, and no doubt into the glow of your face.

"See? Not too bad," he said, squeezing your hand.

"All thanks to you," you pointed out.

He shook his head, using your linked hands to lead you back to where your golf bags were waiting a little ways back by the cart. "Nah, you had it in you, Yn. It was just performance anxiety, as you said."

The two of you each grabbed your own bags and hiked them over your shoulder to head down the hill and find your respective golf balls. From this view, you could see that the other patrons of the club were slowly trickling out onto the acres surrounding. It felt strange to be here as not a staff member, but as a guest instead.

Eric piped up, "Is it weird that I was hoping you would ask for my help?"

"Not really," you mused, then meekly added, "'cause I was kind of hoping you would offer your help."

He looked about as happy as you felt, and he swung your hands together between you.

It hit you, then, that you were still holding hands. But you didn't let go, and Eric didn't say anything. He just helped you find your golf ball, line up another shot, and hugged you from behind like it was nothing.

From across the pond, Jacob, Changmin, Chanhee, and Haknyeon pulled up over the bridge. The four of them were all piled into a golf cart, and Jacob stopped it just over the crest. They all knew about where you were today and why you were dressed in proper golf attire rather than the country club uniform. They watched with wide eyes (and maybe a camera or two) as you and Eric had a good time.

"Young love," Jacob sighed fondly from his spot in the driver's seat.

"I think it's gross," Changmin giggled. He yelped, furiously rubbing the place on his shoulder that Chanhee had whacked. "Hey! I was kidding!"

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "Let them have their moment. I'm glad Yn-ie let herself have fun with him."

"They look like they're having quite the time," Haknyeon said. "They're cute."

Changmin poked his head in between Jacob and Haknyeon from the backseat. "Just a thought, but what if we turned on the sprinklers like in High School Musical 2?"

An exchange of looks, a deep consideration… "No," they all chorused. They would get their asses kicked for that.

You were on lunch break when Changmin practically crashed onto the bench next to you with a crazed look in his eyes. "You. Me. Spa. Now."

You couldn't even say goodbye to the sandwich you were eating before Changmin grabbed your arm and dragged you across the club.

"Changmin! What the hell—"

"I'll explain in a second!" He hissed back at you while ducking into the service entrance of the spa.

The backdoor led to a staff break room, where Chanhee was currently (coincidentally) seated on a stool eating a box of Pepero while watching a cartoon on his phone. The man glanced up from his phone at the loud commotion, one cheek full of his snack, and he blinked. "You're lucky I'm not with a client right now."

"Yeah, yeah," Changmin said, dragging you and a stool over to Chanhee at the same time. He pushed your shoulders so you would take a seat. Changmin placed his hands on his hips as he stood before the two of you. "You're never gonna guess what I just overheard."

"What?" You and Chanhee asked at the same time.

"Well, you know Clara?"

Chanhee jumped right in. "The one fooling around with that Brian Yang guy. He's the heir to that one corporation monopolizing SIM cards or some shit."

How the hell…?

Changmin's head bobbed vigorously. "Yes, yes! That's the one. Anyways—I was walking past the manager's office and they were talking loud enough to hear with headphones on. Apparently, Clara and Brian had a nasty, nasty split, and Brian got her fired."

Silence.

Chanhee's eyebrows flew up. "Like… fired-fired?"

A grave nod. "Fired-fired."

You held your head in your hands. "Just because of a break up?" You asked. "Clara is such a nice girl."

Your friend's lips were pressed into a line. "Doesn't mean he's a nice guy. I dunno—" he threw his hands in the air and let them flop back against his legs, "—it's fucked, man. He said it was, like, too awkward to be around her all the time since he was here all the time. And because his father is one of the stockholders of the country club, Manager Kim could do little but do his bidding."

Your heart had fallen into the pit of your stomach. Drama like this didn't really happen often here, but there was always something going on.

You always thought there were assholes here, but sometimes they just kept on reminding you of it.

"And now I'm fooling around with one of the club members," you thought aloud. The realization hit you, a golf ball to the face. "Oh my god."

Chanhee's hand came up to your shoulder and gave you a soothing, warm squeeze. "Eric seems like a good guy, Yn-ie. You never know."

"But you really never know," you murmured. There was a reason why the club discouraged romantic relations between club members and staff. Perhaps this time, it wasn't about work productivity, but about keeping your damn jobs. You needed this job. You needed it so desperately because of the money, the opportunities, the connections. Not to mention all of the people you'd befriended here… it didn't seem right that you were scared of what Eric could do to you, but reality was settling in fast.

The Sohns were a major shareholder in the club, which meant they could pull strings like tying a shoelace.

But Eric is good. He's been good, you reasoned.

Changmin crossed his arms as he leaned back against the wall behind him. "You should talk to him. At the very least, you only went on one date, so it's not like you're completely involved yet."

That was a good point. You were going to run with it.

When Eric invited you over to his house, you should have known you were about to drive your beat up sedan into the driveway of a palace, not a house. A house was for normal people, not whoever the Sohns were, you knew that much. To say you were intimidated by the massive front lawn, iron gates, and limestone arches and columns would be an understatement. Maybe you should have worn something nicer.

You pulled up to the curb of the roundabout—he'd mentioned to you that you could just park there. Apparently the garage was a little inconvenient for guests, but you weren't complaining. The front of the house was a marvel to look at, and wherever that garage was would have left you unable to fully soak in this modern wonder. Plus, you had some time to pull yourself together before seeing Eric.

The plan was… no plan, really. He wanted to hang out with you, and you'd mentioned your love for cooking. Thus, he proposed a miniature cooking class in his kitchen, along with dinner on the patio. It sounded nice. It also sounded great when you remembered what you needed to talk to him about. (Yay.)

It's not a big deal. Eric's cool.

You finally managed to trek your way up to the front door and you booped the doorbell. It was one of those loud bells that must have echoed throughout the house, because you could clearly hear it from the outside.

A couple minutes later, you heard the locking mechanism come undone. The door opened after; you swore that every time you saw this guy, you became speechless.

You had seen him in a dress shirt before, but this tank top and over-shirt thing was new. It was casual and comfortable, yet chic. His hair was styled in the same manner his clothing was—simple and so attractive. A silver chain and matching silver rings added the subtle touch of elegance to pull everything together.

"Hi," he grinned—he was always smiling, you realized. It was such a pretty smile. He stepped aside and gave you room in the doorway. "Come on in, cutie."

"Thanks for having me over," you said pleasantly, trying not to openly gawk at the front foyer with the sky-high ceiling, chandelier dripping with crystals, and grand staircase wrapping around the walls up to the indoor balcony.

He closed the door behind you as you deposited your shoes by the small rack. Eric wrapped a loose arm around your shoulder to guide you through the foyer. "Of course! I'm so excited you're here; I went out—actually no, I…" he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "ordered it off that grocery app. I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for."

"Grocery app?" You laughed. "Are you talking about the stuff for dinner?"

"Yeah!"

The two of you entered the kitchen. It was a wide, open space that flowed straight into the living room. The cabinets were smooth and snow white, accented with countertops marbled with black and hints of gold. Though clean, it was a space well-loved with a recipe book left open to a lobster risotto; little candies left in a jar on the island labeled with chalk; barstools that weren't quite aligned, like they'd actually been sat on. The living room, too, was beautiful. Massive, but beautiful, with a wraparound couch sectional and a flat screen with family photos hung above it. It was framed by shelves filled to the brim with CD and DVD cases, more family photos, books, and little baubles.

And the lighting. Oh man, the natural lighting from the windows making up the entire back wall… it led out onto the acres of land his family owned, as well as a patio that overlooked the valley.

Eric had mentioned dinner on the patio. If your math was right, that meant you would probably be dining at sunset, all while overlooking a splendid view—how romantic. God, you hated how giddy you were starting to get. Those butterflies in your stomach would not cease.

"You have a really, really beautiful home," you murmured, letting him take your bag from you to place on one of the barstools.

You had always thought that big houses like this would be so difficult to fill. What was one supposed to do with so much space anyway? From the pictures on the wall, you could see Eric's parents, himself, as well as a sister who must have been out making her own mark on the world in that special Sohn kind of way. Even with just four people in this place… they still managed to make it feel like a home and not a house. It was like your own house back in your hometown, across the country. It was lived-in and warm and yours, and that was the beauty of it. And you were certain by just looking at this place that the Sohns were a family who loved each other.

How could you not believe in Eric? Not with all of this to vouch for him? He had grown up loved.

"Thank you," he said. "It's one of my favorite places to be. That's why I still haunt it like a ghost," he joked. He placed a warm hand on the small of your back and led you over to the fridge where he had put all of the grocery delivery bags in. Even the fridge was relatively stocked. "Not sure if everything I got was right, but hopefully it'll all turn out delicious anyway."

You helped him unload the bags onto the kitchen island, raising a brow at the labels on the groceries. They were on the higher end of price and quality, which definitely wasn't a problem, but holding a hundred dollar bottle of red wine just for sauce was making your anxiety levels spike. "Oh, no. It all looks great, Eric. Thanks for getting these, by the way. I would have gone out and brought them here, but—"

He waved away your worries. "You're busy and you're working. Plus, it lets me technically pay for dinner," he said with a cheeky look on his face and gesturing with a finger gun. It was cute. He was cute.

"Smooth, Sohn. I see you."

"That's what they called me in high school," he played along, dancing on his toes behind you to fiddle with his phone and turn on a speaker somewhere (you didn't know where). "Smooth Sohn."

You snorted, slapping a hand over your mouth. Eric's eyes glittered with a mutual mirth. "Whatever you say, honey."

He waltzed back over to you, tongue in cheek. "I like that better though—honey." He leaned back against the counter next to you and watched as you sorted out the ingredients in different piles depending on how they should be prepped. "So what's the plan, chef? You're the boss."

"I'd love to know where your knives and cutting boards are," you said.

He leapt into action. "Say no more!"

In reality, you did have to say more. It wasn't that Eric didn't know where everything was in the kitchen, he just wasn't as well versed in using the kitchen. He'd told you while teaching him how to hold a knife properly that he really only came in here for ramen. Good news was he could crack an egg with one hand; bad news was that was about all he could do. It was still charming, nonetheless. And the cute cooking lesson gave him plenty of opportunity to get close to you.

He had even insisted on you teaching him how to chop carrots like how he had taught you how to swing a golf club—over and around him—with your hands over his and your body wrapped around his, your chin on his shoulder.

But with dinner well past done, the two of you made your way out onto the patio just as the sun was sinking into the embrace of the valley below. It melted into the sky like a broken yolk, saturated and golden. He let you have the seat staring out into the valley. The way he looked at you though, made you feel like you were his million dollar valley view.

The table was set with twin glasses of red wine (amazing what a good wine paired with beef stew could do for the soul), plates separated by a hot stew pot, and a couple of candles for ambiance.

"Wow," he moaned as the beef melted on his tongue. "This is so good. And you're telling me you're pretty, smart, and can cook?"

You held back a giggle so you could swallow your bite. "And I'm single," you jested.

"And you're single!" He leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Thank god for that."

Eric leaned his cheek on his fist, his head cocked slightly and his eyes on you with a swoon-worthy admiration. "Thanks for coming out tonight and hanging out with me."

You could kiss him. "Please, I should be the one thanking you. It's been really fun hanging out with you." It was surreal, actually. The fact that this young heir had deemed you "worthy" or whatever to court and entertain—it wasn't like you defined your self worth by his attention and affection, but this felt nice. Your conversation with Changmin and Chanhee the other day came to the forefront of your mind.

"I, uhm, think this is a good time to ask if you wanted to do this more often? Hanging out with me, I mean."

You weren't sure if this was what you thought he was asking you. He reached for his wine glass, and in the fading sunlight and the candlelight illuminating the bashful expression on his face, your heart pounded.

"What I mean to say," he tried again after a small sip of wine, "is would you be my—"

"I think we should talk!" You cut in before you heard anymore. You were getting jittery, unable to figure out when was the right time to bring up the thing, but also, you wanted him to say his thing, and it was just a mess. But when you saw Eric's wide eyes, mouth zipped up, you repeated in a much calmer tone, "I think we should talk about something. It's not… it's not super serious or anything. I could just be overthinking."

Oh, you felt bad. He looked like a kicked puppy, but you saw him pull himself together for you. "It's—you're probably not overthinking, Yn. What's on your mind?"

The wine glass was put down. He even put his fork down.

Were you making a big deal out of this? Probably not, right? This was important, you reminded yourself. You pursed your lips. "So one of my coworkers—former coworkers," you amended, "Clara. Her name's Clara. She and this guy you might know, Brian Yang…"

He nodded. "Yeah, I know of him."

"Well, they kind of had this thing going on between them. And the other day, she was fired because they broke up and he thought it was too weird that she was working where he was hanging out all the time," you rambled on. "And I uhm, I just wanted to make sure from the get-go that… you know… it's stupid, I don't know. But it's my job, y'know? And—and I need this job, but I like you a lot, Eric. Am I making any sense?"

Neither of you were eating anymore.

You looked at him, hopelessly, searching for signs of understanding.

He leaned in slightly and reached for your hands over the table. "Yn, sweetheart," he said, lacing his fingers with yours over the pot of beef stew, "that is a valid point to bring up, and I can understand what you're probably thinking. That—that news must have been scary, or at least nerve-racking, and Brian's a dick for that—"

You nodded, swallowing.

"—and I don't want you to risk your job because of me," he said earnestly. "But I really want to see where this goes, you know? If anything happens and you don't feel the same way, then no harm, no foul. I'm not gonna take my emotions out on you like that asshole; that's not right."

The breath you had been holding in fell from your mouth, a wave of relief. A sappy, grateful sort of smile worked its way onto your mouth and you met Eric's own kind expression. "You are actually perfect," you let out a breathy laugh. "Where have you been all my life?"

He grinned. "Funny, that's what I've been thinking about you." Eric set your laced hands on the side of the table as he raised his glass to you. "So what do you say? Can we try this?"

You lifted your glass to gently clink it with his. "Let's do it."

"So he's perfect, but he hasn't kissed you yet?" Chanhee's gasp of incredulity hit you in a gust of air. His lips pursed like a penguin's beak. "Figures."

You sent him a look. "Oh, please. Figures what? He's just being… I dunno, chivalrous!"

"Chivalry is dead," Haknyeon snickered as he waltzed by you with fresh towels to lay out by the pool. "You should make the move, Yn."

"So you two are, like, dating now?" Asked Changmin as he hopped onto the tiki bar stool next to you and Chanhee. He kept on glancing down at his watch; he must have only a small break in between his dance classes today.

"They're 'seeing where things go,'" mocked Jacob with a shake of his head. He swirled a rag around the innards of a glass to dry it.

You sent them all dirty looks now. "Cobie, out of all the times you choose to be an imp—"

"An imp," Chanhee muttered, glancing away as he took a sip of his piña colada, "I'm dead."

"If it makes you feel better, Yn, I'm supervising a tennis match with him and the Lee cousins later today. I can get a feel of where his mind's at," Jacob offered.

You drummed your fingers against the bar. The offer was tempting… "It's fine," you insisted. "We don't have to rush things. We go to the same university and we live in the same city now. It's not like we don't have time… right?"

"Riiiight," Changmin drawled with an over exaggerated wink. He frowned at his watch, hopping off his stool. "Damn it, salsa class time. Catch you losers later!"

As he darted off into the distance, Chanhee sniffed. "Says the loser." He plucked the pink umbrella out of his drink and set the decoration down on his napkin. "You're not wrong, Yn-ie. Taking it slow isn't a bad thing. From what you told us, it seems like you're both on the same page now anyway."

"Thank you," you said.

"Maybe he's trying to plan a romantic moment." Haknyeon rejoined the conversation now that he had done his towel delivery.

Jacob nodded with an approving turn of his lips. "You might be onto something. He seems the type."

Your heart was fluttering as if it sprouted butterfly wings. Oh, the thought of kissing Eric Sohn in romantic lighting…

"I think you should take her back to her job before she drifts fully into La La Land." When you snapped back to reality, Jacob's eyes were twinkling, eyebrows wagging.

Haknyeon nudged you with the back of his hand and nodded up to the clubhouse. "C'mon, Yn-ie. I think Manager Kim wants to brief us on dinner service anyway."

Hours later, Jacob found himself on the tennis courts, overseeing a match between the three Lee cousins—Sangyeon, Hyunjae, and Juyeon—and Eric. He often thought it was luck that got him to land this job where all he did to pass the day was make drinks, drive golf carts, and occasionally play doubles with club members. For all that it was, he considered himself very content.

"—that was a foul," Jacob declared, jogging to go catch the tennis ball before it bounded into the bushes.

Hyunjae let out a groan. "Nooo! It hit the line. Jacob, please, I thought we were cool!"

Sangyeon shook his head, smiling as he caught the tennis ball from Jacob with his free hand. "Hyunjae, we all know your eyesight is shit."

Hyunjae wrinkled his nose. "Hey! No one asked."

"Can we take a break?" Juyeon asked, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I think I need some water."

The boys all murmured their agreement, and Jacob reached down into the mini cooler he'd lugged out to toss them ice cold bottles of water. It was just one of the few perks that came with the club membership.

While Sangyeon and Hyunjae were bickering about eyesight and foul lines, Juyeon settled into a seat by them to referee. Eric sidled up next to Jacob as they both absentmindedly watched the chaos unfold from afar.

Jacob whistled. "So… Yn said she had a really good time with you the other night."

Eric perked up at the sound of your name. "She did? Well that's a relief to hear."

"It wasn't clear?" Jacob asked, face tilted in question. "I mean, not to completely expose her or anything, but she's been gushing about you all day, man."

A giddy smile took over the youngest Sohn's face. "She was?" He licked his lips, drawing the pad of his thumb over the corner of his mouth to catch the water that had dribbled from the bottle. "She's—she's so cute, hyung. Like, I don't know if this is weird for you because you're friends—"

Jacob coughed in amusement. "It's fine. Think of me as your guardian angel."

"Right," Eric piped up. "I think… I think we really hit it off, y'know? And I mean, she probably told you we just kind of had dinner and she had to leave, but she'd come after work, so she was probably tired and—"

Ohhh. Jacob understood exactly what was going on now. His heart warmed at the thought that Eric was being so considerate and not forcing you to stay. He was thinking about your long day, and didn't wish to prolong it anymore. Little did he know, you probably wouldn't have minded hanging around a tad longer.

"—I wanted to kiss her—"

Wait huh. Jacob tuned back in. "When?"

Eric blinked. "Uhm, at dinner. Or at least, when I was walking her out to her car." He glanced away and his smile softened at the thought. "I wish I had, actually. The moment was right there, and the lighting was perfect, and her smile—oh my god, her smile."

Jacob's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. So this was where Eric's mind was at; good to know. "Then do it—kiss her."

"Right now?"

"No! Not right now—"

"Hey, you guys ready to play again?" Juyeon called. The three Lees had already maneuvered themselves back to court.

Eric and Jacob exchanged glances. This conversation wasn't over, Jacob's look seemed to say.

They nodded to their companions, though. "Yeah, we're ready."

It did not come as a surprise to you when you found out Eric had a home theater in his basement. It was something like you'd pictured from the movies, the ones with the rows of dark leather armchairs, deep cup holders, and a giant screen and surround sound system. The foot of the theater room even had a little snack station to make popcorn, and a mini fridge stocked with drinks.

You and Eric shared the couch on the bottom floor that was big enough for the two of you. It was a random Tuesday, and you didn't have work today, so he'd suggested swinging by and hanging out with him for the day. You couldn't possibly refuse.

Eric scrolled through the movie options on the screen with the remote. "Are you sure you don't want any popcorn?" He asked you.

You shook your head. "I'm good, really. But it sounds like you want popcorn, Eric."

He caught his tongue in his smile. "Maybe."

If you weren't supposed to be watching a movie, you would have gladly curled up on that couch and stared at him for the rest of time. His jawline was enough to make a girl go mad, and the fact that he was just so sweet, too—

"How about this one?"

You snapped out of it, barely flicking your gaze back over to the screen in time to avoid him finding out that you were just blatantly staring. "Uhh, sure. I haven't seen this one, actually."

"Really? Oh my god, we have to watch it then." And so you did.

It was about halfway into the movie that you realized there was a draft coming down on you—the air conditioning in this room was awfully high, but you didn't want to say anything. You hiked your legs up onto the couch and hugged your arms, leaning back slightly against the quilt draped over the back of the couch. (How conveniently placed…)

Eric saw your movement from the corner of his eye. "You cold? We can share the blanket."

"My hero," you joked as he removed the quilt from behind your heads and draped it over your laps.

Because the article wasn't exactly miles long, you and Eric had to shift over closer to each other. Not that you were complaining. The arm and leg pressed against yours were warm, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to raise his arm and place it over the back of the couch behind you.

As you both watched the rest of the movie, you gradually let yourself lean into him, and his arm eventually fell to rest directly around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

"I always liked the ending of this movie," Eric murmured softly to you as the credits rolled. He brushed his fingers along your arm in a warm, soothing manner. "What'd you think?"

You stayed with your head tucked onto his shoulder. "Hmm, not bad. I think they could have cut the romance though."

"Ah, I see your point," he said. "Sometimes directors just like to force it for the sake of a subplot."

"Wholeheartedly agree."

His fingers danced up to your shoulder and began playing with your hair. He pursed his lips. "Are you a fan of romance movies? That's kind of a random question, I guess."

"Not really—a random question, I mean," you said, and pulled your head off of his shoulder to face him. The thought occurred to you of how close your bodies and your faces were, sharing warmth and skin. You saw his eyes dart down away from yours for a split second. "I like romance movies. I think they restore my faith in humanity," you mused. "You?"

"I like 'em, too." He released a small exhale, an almost-shy smile etching itself onto his face. "Most of them are just… feel-good movies. They're really sweet, and I've always kind of wanted something like that."

"High standards," you whispered, though playfully. "Wouldn't we all like something from the movies?" To you, this was what the movies were like—"handsome guy sweeps girl off her feet, and he's perfect and she's happy." You were already living out your too-good-to-be-true dreams.

He laughed. "True. I think it's just a matter of waiting for the right person to come along, maybe. And following through."

You bit the bait. "Following through?"

"Backing up your initial swing," he clarified. "Something to drive the ball home and make sure you mean it. I feel like maybe that's what people forget about romance—that there's still an after, beyond happily ever after."

Wow. "Your brain," you praised. "That was actual poetry, I think. Is this how you get girls?"

He bit his lip through a smile, leaning closer. "Only one girl. I hope it's working."

"I think it's working a little too well," you admitted, voice barely audible now.

You could feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips as he came closer, about ninety-percent of the way; the other ten percent was left for you to either push forward or pull back. He was giving you the decision on a gold platter.

And who could deny something served so beautifully?

You closed the gap between you and pressed your lips against his. It was soft, at first, as the nerves in your brain and your vital organs threatened to go haywire. You breathed him in, your noses slotting against each other. He cupped the back of your head with his free hand, the other curling around your waist.

When you broke apart, it was for a split second, until he was kissing you again. You were half in his lap at this point, your legs draped over his, your side pressed to his chest.

Foreheads pressed together, you shared a breath of air with him. He nuzzled his nose against you as if unable to be so far from you. "Be mine," he said, simple at first. Then, "Please."

You smiled against him and felt his mouth do the same. "Only if you'll be mine, too."

"As if I would say no," he laughed, leaning in again, and crushing his mouth to yours. The theater room filled with both of your giggles as you fell backward.

If this was the happily ever after, then you would gladly follow through.

a/n: to anyone who read flight risk, i just redeemed myself from valentine's day

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @kflixnet

[a-blog-for-kat]

DRDT CAST ALPHABETICAL ASSOCIATION NUMBERS AND THEIR MEANINGS

IE; Ace (1), Arei (2), Arturo (3), ect.

DRDT SPOILERS AND KAT RAMBLING ABOUT NUMBERS BELOW!! BEWARE!!

1 - Ace is the first name alphabetically in the DRDT cast first name wise because "Ace" means number one, or to be the best at something. Ace is also the first “normal” person on the cast list website, as Teruko is first (protagonist) Xander is second (Support) Charles is third (Antagonist) but Ace is fourth without being extremely tied into the story at this point. It also can signify confidence, something Ace shows in chapter one a little but eventually it got overtaken by just anger and fear.

2 - Arei is number two in the cast, she's the ch2 victim, second person to have her sobbing session before dying (Xander didn’t cry a shocker), or maybe she'll always be second place compared to her sisters, which she has two of? If my memory serves me right (Future Kat here, it does), she’s also the second shortest of the cast after Eden, according to the new biometrics.

3 - In more religious settings, the number three can represent perfection and completeness, which for Arturo is ironic since he doesn’t even have a complete design shown, as we haven’t seen the whole him, only most of him physically (in the sense of we don’t know what his whole face looks like, only the upper part.) Three also represents problem solvers and people who are optimistic in nature and can also be childish. Not like Arturo, but maybe Felicity as she’s three to four years younger than Arturo?

4 - Funnily the first thing that popped up was “earth, wind, water, and fire” so CHARLES IS AN ELEMENT BENDER /j. On a serious note the number four can signify stability and strong foundations. Knowing a little bit into Charles’ backstory (his family spoiled him, he was quite sheltered, he doesn’t remember anything about his brother) he probably had a “stable” homelife until Elliot died, ruining that stability and basically crumbling his foundations, even leading him to gain hemophobia (the fear of blood) and necrophobia (the fear of dead bodies/corpses).

4 cont. - Another meaning to the number four is hard work, which Charles is constantly shown doing. He doesn���t half-ass anything, hell he works as hard as he can to reach his goals. He is the reason the students haven’t absolutely gotten their asses killed yet this trial since he called out Teruko’s wrong.

4 cont part 2. The number four is also a bad omen in East Asia, commonly associated with death. Now, Charles might be Latino, but someone else he's heavily associated with, Whit, is Chinese. Even in the LGI MV, Whit has tetraphobia as a word assigned to him, which is the fear of the number four, possibly hinting to either Charles' or Whits death in the near future.

5 - The number five can symbolize freedom, curiosity, and change. Let's start in order with these three examples, David doesn’t have freedom over his branding and basically his entire public persona. It’s been crafted by his manager to show to the world, the only reason he even was able to escape it was because his secret of being a “manipulator” got revealed and he just had to drop it. There's no point in keeping it up, after all. Curiosity is a bit tricky, but it could mean that he’s curious as to why people do the things they do? Why don't all of them don’t even try to understand Xander’s true intentions with why he stabbed Teruko. Change, well, his entire ideology is “people can’t change.” He believes you’re born either a good person or bad person, and that’s how you’ll stay. If you “changed” you were always a good or bad person to begin with.

5 cont. - One more thing, David’s association with stars, which have 5 points. But all stars burn out eventually, so maybe this symbolizes how David was so burnt out from keeping his public persona that it “died” and the real him is out.

6 - The number six can represent trustworthiness, lovingness, and sympathy. Eden is very trusting, that's actually her entire theme, being very trusting towards others and trying to show Teruko that trust is good. Eden is a very loving person in general, she loves others quite a lot and her secret revolves around kissing a girl, most likely with feelings involved in that. And sympathy. She's a sympathetic person in general. She's basically the glue that holds the cast together.

7 - The number seven usually signifies luck in many modern cultures. It can also signify indecisiveness, which is shown when Hu defends Nico in the class trial but is extremely condescending towards Arturo, even though they have extremely similar situations. (I am not defending either Arturo or Nico, they were both in the wrong for their situations.) It can also be associated with moodiness, which is very much shown in the last two episodes with Hu snapping multiple times.

8 - The number eight can signify being straight-talking and blunt, which we see in J quite a lot. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll state it. When Arturo’s being a creep towards him, he’s justifiably mad and has said multiple times that he wants to be left alone. When he tried to use the remote on MonoTV in episode 4 of Chapter One, he stated that, at the very least, he wanted it to die. He’s also pretty confident, I mean, look at the remote scene. He’s very clearly confident in what he can do.

9 - The number nine can signify humanitarianism and compassion, both things Levi can lack. He’s, at the end of episode 12, revealed to be a remorseless murderer who holds no guilt for his past actions. He is also shown to not know how to feel emotions like grief in situations and even consults Eden about it.

10 - The number ten can mean someone who’s ready to take a new phase in life, this could mean Min was ready to die for Teruko to take a new phase in her life, aka becoming much more untrusting and throwing her into that negative arc. It can also signify order and law, something Min might’ve studied. Also the number ten is a Pythagorean symbol, perfection. Something Min aims to become. Perfect.

11 - The number eleven can symbolize spiritual journeys which….. Unless Nico is going to have some form of spiritual journey, I don’t think this could pertain to them. But it could also be just a journey revolving around their character, becoming someone who’s not afraid to speak their word.

12 - The number twelve is associated with the heavens but can also be cosmic order and perfection, something you strive for as an artist. Being perfect. Which is also a good representative of Rose’s memory, it’s perfect, she won’t forget a detail. But that’s also her downfall, if she sees something awful it won’t leave her memory.

13 - (Has spoken about 13 in the past. Read here.)

14 - The number fourteen can signify new beginnings, a fresh start, and harmony. The last one being ironic as she usually only brings chaos and destruction. New beginnings could mean her using her talent as a new beginning or new outlet instead of hurting herself (if that really is her secret) and a fresh start could mean her starting anew in this killing game? Or even her getting a character arc in the future, though I doubt it.

15 - The number fifteen tends to be associated very sensitive and caring individuals who prioritize the well-being of others over their own. Which can be applied to Whit in a sense, he puts others feelings over others in situations, like trying to make Teruko smile by sacrificing Charles’ dignity. He’s also just a very caring person in general, as it’s shown how he comforted Charles in Chapter One (Sibling Core) or Eden in Chapter Two. Another thing could be how all luxury is in life, Whit seemed to live a relatively normal life before his mother passed, but still tries to make the best of life and make it a luxury.

16 - The number sixteen is a number associated with karma, what goes around comes around. Xander, stabbing Teruko, has done a bad thing, therefore paying with his life. It could also signify pushing others to their life purposes, Xander, after stabbing Teruko, pushed her to her “purpose” of being a cold protagonist. It can also mean a smart mind but Xander isn’t that smart to be honest-

TYSM FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLING <3

[writingseaslugs]

Octavinelle: Is Eel/Octopus on the Menu?

This was a stupid idea bobbing around in my head for like a solid month, so here we go. A reader going to Mostro Lounge and asking if Eel/Octopus is on the menu, but in a flirting kinda way. This is also pre-relationship with them since I thought it would be far more hilarious if they weren’t going out yet.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series is aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please do a quick read of THIS post. Content Warning: Suggestive Themes, Floyd Leech

Is Eel/Octopus on the Menu?

You knew it was going to be the dumbest thing to possibly ask, but you were also aware that your mental and verbal filter had all but disappeared after your first few months at Night Raven College. So when you entered the Lounge and got your premium seating, courtesy of Octrio who loved to be able to bug you while you were there. You smiled, taking your seat and looking over the drink and food menu, just waiting. 

You knew he’d come over in a moment. He always did. There was only one person allowed to take your order in this entire establishment, and you knew it was because he told everyone else not to talk to you when you were there. You smiled as the familiar footsteps approached your table and you looked up, only to see him. The object of your affections, and the person you hoped to either fluster or get a good laugh out of.

Azul Ashengrotto

“Good evening, Prefect, we weren’t expecting you tonight,” Azul said with a calm smile. It was true, normally when you were heading over, you shot him a message earlier in the day to let him know. Still, you wanted to be spontaneous, so throwing off the carefully put routine you had was part of that. You chuckled, putting the menu down and looking at him.

“Did you not want to see me tonight?” You asked with a fake pout on your lips. Azul was able to see through this little play of yours as he shot you a sly smile.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you with us,” he said before clearing his throat and grabbing his pad of paper. It wasn’t often Azul ever had to take orders, but when it came to you, he wouldn’t allow anyone else. Half the time, if he didn’t have a meeting, he’d join you for your meal as well. It was one of the few times you two could just sit and chat for an hour or two without worry about anything else. “What would you like tonight? The usual, or would you like to try the special of the day?”

“That depends, is octopus on the menu for tonight?” You asked, staring at him with a smirk. Azul was about to inform you that Takoyaki was only available on Friday evenings and that it was a Sunday afternoon, when your words were processed. 

Azul had a slight dusting of red on his cheeks as he cleared his throat, putting on his business persona before it could be lost. He shot you a small grin. “You must think you’re very clever,” he commented and you chuckled.

“I think I am very clever, yes. So…is that on the menu?” You asked, staring him up and down. He shifted a bit in his spot, looking around to make sure nobody heard what you were saying. He was used to your occasional flirtatious remarks, but this was a bit different than the norm. He let out a sigh, looking over at you with a now disapproving look.

“Truly, you’re horrible, prefect.” He commented before clearing his throat once more, “If you’d like though, we can get it arranged…but it won’t be until later tonight. Shall I grab you something else in the meantime.” Now it was your turn to get a bit flustered. You didn’t think that would actually work, but you weren’t going to complain.

“I’ll just take the usual for now then…” You said and Azul couldn’t help but relish in your sudden awkwardness. He wrote down your normal order before turning around. He then stopped to look over at you, loving how your face seemed a bit warmer than when you walked in, a stark contrast to the cool air of the Lounge.

“I’ll have my business finished around nine tonight.” He said before disappearing to the kitchen. You looked at the clock, and how it read six. Just three more hours…you could last until then, right?

Jade Leech

Jade approached your table with his normal calm smile on his face, looking you over. You smiled happily, seeing your favorite eel. “Good evening, prefect, how are you doing this evening?” He started out, always one for casual conversation when you arrived. He probably already had his tables covered by someone else so he could focus on you. It was something you picked up after your fifth time visiting the Lounge. Normally it was Floyd who was running his tables, or some poor freshman who picked up the slack.

“I’m doing well, how about yourself?” You said looking around the Lounge. It was pretty quiet, judging by how it was the middle of the week, and you knew there was an exam in Trein’s class tomorrow. Most students were probably studying for it, or off doing who knows what else. Drinking in the Lounge was never a good idea the day before an exam, so only a few students participated.

“It’s been a rather calm evening.” He said before grabbing his pad of paper, “You know, tonight we have a mushroom risotto on the menu, I grew them myself so it has a rather pleasant taste compared to other places.” You smiled. You could feel the nerves building up, but you couldn’t let an opportunity like this be wasted. A calm day? At the Lounge? It rarely happened, and there were no students or staff anywhere near your table.

“That sounds good…but I was wondering…” You trailed off, as if in deep thought about something. Jade looked you over, curious as to what you were about to request, “Could I have a side of eel with that?” You finally said, feeling how your cheeks got a bit warmer at the blatant flirting. You couldn’t even look at Jade when you said it, so when you turned back you could see the normal polite smile on his face turned into a smirk.

“That’s a rather bold thing for you to ask, prefect.” Jade teased, making you shift a bit in your spot.

“Is that a yes, or a no?” You managed to murmur, the confidence you had minutes ago slowly fading away. Jade tapped on his chin and tilted his head, debating if he wanted to entertain this idea of yours.

“I’m sure I can get that arranged for you,” he said, making you perk up. 

Did it work? Did your horrible pick-up line actually somehow work with him? You looked up at him with hopeful eyes and he oh-so-loved that expression you gave him. It was almost innocent, if not for the question you had asked moments ago. “In fact, my shift ends in about an hour…” he finished up.

“I guess it’ll be my dessert then.” You tried to play it off with a smile, but he could almost see the steam coming off your face.

“I guess it’ll have to be. Now let me get your order to the kitchen. I won’t keep you waiting.” With that, he turned around and left you to your own thoughts.

Floyd Leech

“Shrimpy~!” Floyd called out, sliding into the booth right next to you. His arm came around to give you a half squeeze while he nuzzled his face into your neck. You chuckled at his display of affection, loving how cute he could be at times. He always got like this around you, like a cuddly little cat. Sure, he sometimes decided to bite, but it was all worth it. You ran your hands through his hair, loving how soft and fluffy it was.

“Hey Floyd, it’s good to see you as well.” You chuckled, not bothering to take your hand away from his hair. He chuckled a bit more before sitting straight up and looking you over.

“Whatcha getting? Oh, should I surprise you for your meal?” Floyd suggested, “I can make it myself!” Oh how adorable this boy was. If only he weren’t so evil at times, you’d think he was just an overly attached puppy. Still, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest by his small displays of affection, as well as what you were planning on asking for.

“Actually, I had something in mind I’ve been wanting to try.” You said, “Of course, that’s if you guys carry it.” Floyd pouted at the thought of not being able to surprise you. Last time you had agreed with that, you got some very dubious looking food. It tasted amazing, sure, but you also had no idea what you were eating that night. Floyd had assured you that it wasn’t human though, which had made you choke on that meal and debate if you were going to finish it.

“Awe, fine. What did you want?” Floyd said, crossing his legs on the booth table as he waited for you.

“I was actually wondering…is eel on the menu tonight?” You finally manage to get out. Floyd froze as your words, seeing how your cheeks seemed to be burning. There was no mistaking that you weren’t asking him for actual eel. Then he grinned, and it sent a shiver right through your spine as he got closer to you. You were thankful that everyone in the restaurant had the knowledge to steer clear of your table whenever you and Floyd were there, unless they wanted to get dragged into something.

“So cute, but I don’t think we have that tonight.” He chuckled, making you frown, “But we do have a special going on tonight…” He trailed off, waiting for you to ask him what it was. You cleared your throat before asking just that.

“What’s the special?” You managed to get out.

“Glazed shrimp.” Now you were definitely overheating; Floyd laughed before grabbing your hand. You tried to ask what was going on, but you soon could see the hallway of Octavinelle, and just knew he was dragging you to his room. You were both happy that your flirt managed to work, but at the same time your heart was five seconds from giving out on you. Oh, how your night was taking an unexpected turn…which honestly was exactly what you’d expect with Floyd.

Beta Fishies:  @epiphyllous

Are you a fan of Diasomnia like me? I bet you are if you read my content (we love the boys in this household). Want to support a visual novel that will feature Diasomnia dorm, has multiple routes and endings, as well as some spicy visual scenes? Check out @twstfournights and if you want info, check out their announcement post!

[relatableblorbopoll]

Round 1 of preliminaries, group 11

The first two places get a place on the bracket

Little reminder: there will be 2 more rounds of preliminaries, the losing blorbos of this poll still have 2 chances of getting in the official bracket

Propaganda under the cut

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

"Spoilers! She's a college dropout in her early twenties, who suffers from untreated mental illness and dissociation and had a complete breakdown at college, causing her to come home. Now she's living with her parents again, but life in her dingy little hometown went on without her. Her friends are adults now - in a relationship and planning on moving to the big city, or having to waste away in a dead end job instead of following their dreams. Mae is the only one without a new adult role in life. She's not great with people either - she's blunt and often doesn't think things through, and in many ways just doesn't get the world of adults. She's also prone to petty crimes and general anarchy. She's kind of lost and purposeless, and trying to find meaning in life by desperately clinging to the past. Her decision to drop out of college probably saved her life, but it's also put her family in a tough financial situation and is viewed by most people as her just thoughtlessly doing whatever she wants. She's also kind of shamed a lot about not having a job or other productive role in life, despite the fact that her untreated mental issues are actually disabling for her. She also plays the bass real bad. Anyway, i love Mae a lot. Playing this game as a college dropout in my early twenties, sitting in my childhood bedroom in my mom's attic, back in my dingy little hometown, desperately missing my old friends who have all moved on to better, resposible things in life... yeah, it felt like the game was pointing dead at me. Given tumblr's general demographic, i figure i must not be completely alone in this"

Shigeo Kageyama / Mob (Mob Psycho 100)

"autistic. likes milk. if we reach a certain level of emotion we turn into a psychic bomb. cool brothers :)"

Barry the Quokka (The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

"Their only skill is working the microwave, they're non-binary, when seeing a trash bin their first instinct is to look through it, they're always the most normal person in the room, they can beatbox, and they were only hired due to being the only one who applied."

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

"In a fantasy world, be a guy with a regular profession losing his goddamn mind. Poor guy has a guilt complex, (so true) and a lot of deep embarrassment regarding his life.(ehe) He just wants to do what he's passionate about but capitalism is evil and also he keeps getting scammed. Claims to not want anyone to know Things, goes into depth about these Things anyway. Is probably most definitely gay. Can be found face down on a table lamenting his fate. Terrible sleep schedule. (HA) He is such a guy. Wants to believe the world is a good place and people are inherently good. And wants to help people and do good himself. It's just hard. [And he has a roommate. Oh my god he has a roommate]"

"He was, and still is, regarded a genius. He aced his Akademiya days, he has the admiration and appreciation of so many people because he is oh-so remarkable. But what for, when reality is that he sits at home depressed and with guilt consuming him, faking the image people have of him, not only broke as fuck but actually in debt, drowning his sorrows in wine."

Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5)

"highschooler who wants to spend the rest of his life doing what he loves. is obsessed with art and beauty and it's on his mind 24/7 received help from his now friendgroup to break from his abusive foster father who he still have complicated feelings with had to move into school dorms and am struggling to live independantly since he'd rather spend money and time on his art but he's still surviving and enjoying the good times id say also ends up saying whatever is on his mind and is pretty eccentric. very passionate about what he loves. doesn't want to do anything else."

Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

"Ex-salaryman, now jujutsu sorcerer. During one life-and-death fight, kept talking about how it was almost six pm with is when he is getting off work at 6pm no matter what because he hates overtime. While his opponent repeatedly almost kills him. Normalest adult in this shonen anime. Teen MC: "Let's go all out!" Nanami: "No. Where moderate effort will suffice, use moderate effort." Some of his quotes from the anime: "I studied at Jujutsu Tech and one thing I learned is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit! Then I worked at your typical company and one thing I learned is that work is shit! If both are equally shit I'll take the one I'm more suited to." "You've faced several life-or-death situations, but that does not make you an adult. Finding more fallen-out hairs on your pillow, watching your favourite stuffed bread disappear from the convenience store... The accunulation of these little despairs is what makes a person an adult." "I don't praise or disparage anyone. I adhere to facts and judge on that basis. That's who I am. There was a time when I mistakenly believed society operated the same way." "

[grifonecoronato]

Hot Take: Oshamir is One-Sided

[Spoilers for The Acolyte]

Star Wars fans know that Osha and Qimir’s relationship is doomed to end tragically. The Sith is a culture that eats itself: the apprentice either kills the master and takes their place, or is killed by the master in the attempt. So even if Qimir kills Darth Plagueis (and we know this won’t happen), he’s just going to have to deal with Osha attempting to kill him one day.

(Side note: I have a sneaking suspicion that Qimir is not actually Sith, since he never calls himself one, he just says "a Jedi like you would call me, Sith." But that's a topic for another day...)

Given what I know about The Acolyte fandom, a doomed romance is hardly something we'll shy away from; we’ll revel in the tragedy of it all, and the sadder it is and the harder we hurt, the more we'll love it!

No, I want to discuss something else; something I don't think many Acolyte fans really want to acknowledge... that the “romance” as shown at the end of series is one-sided: Qimir's side. The last shot of the series implies that Qimir and Osha are ready to face the galaxy together, hand-in-hand, but...

Qimir cares for Osha; Osha does not care for Qimir.

Hey! HEY!

Put your pitchforks down and just hear me out, please!

What Qimir Desires and Fears

Qimir -- his arms muddy, his dark hair slick against his sweaty brow, holding Mae hostage with his lightsaber threatening to ignite through her skull at any moment -- explains his motivation to Sol:

"[I want] freedom: the freedom to wield my power the way I like, without having to answer to Jedi like you. I want a pupil. An acolyte."

Qimir wants acceptance and connection, to be seen and appreciated by someone else. But he mentions several times that he wants a pupil, which by definition would put him in a position of power and authority over someone else, even if it's to help build them up.

This presents an underlying contradiction in what Qimir says he wants, versus what he really wants:

Does he want an equal who sees and cares for him?

Or does he want a pupil that he can teach from a position of power?

The show leaves the answer ambiguous, but nestled in this contradiction lies Qimir's biggest fear.

Qimir fears opening up and being seen. He wears a mask to conceal his identity, but he also hides his character behind his personas: the buffoon, the nervous helper, the murderer, the teacher, the seducer...

From Qimir's point-of-view, he's been betrayed before, and that betrayal left scars...

"I was [a Jedi]. A long time ago... [...] It was a really long time ago."

...so he needs to protect himself from getting so close to someone that they harm him again.

Betrayal and Murder on Khofar

So, on Khofar, when Mae reveals that she was only ever using "The Stranger" for her own revenge, Qimir chooses to kill her.

He could have chosen to run back to his ship and let Mae rot in Jedi jail (or wherever they take murderous Force-users...), rather than risk discovery. Attacking Mae and the Jedi was not a smart move if he feared being seen. But that doesn't matter: he's Sith, and he finds strength in his emotions, including his own fear.

So, he resolved to commit murder against Kelnacca, then slay the whole Jedi posse hunting Mae, and then deal with Mae.

But here's the thing: Qimir likes to frame his actions as self-defence...

"I killed Jedi. I killed those who threaten my existence."

..but this isn't actually true, is it? He didn't need to kill Kelnacca in his home -- Kelnacca, who knew nothing about Qimir, or Indara's death, or Torbin's death, or any recent event really, and who was absolutely no threat to him -- nor didn't need to face off against the entire Jedi posse.

He chose to commit murder and engage in combat because he couldn't stand the fact that Mae used and betrayed him.

Osha Sees Through Qimir

The conversation between Qimir and Osha seems to be him slowly convincing her that the Jedi are terrible, and that she should find her own path to power.

And, of course, that he can be her guide.

After all, he answers nearly every one of her questions with a question of his own, in a kind of socratic method designed to make her question her own judgment.

All the while, Qimir uses a gentle voice and gentle touch to signal that he yearns for her, that he craves her acceptance, that he can help her if she just accept it, that she can trust him.

To make her feel safe, he even lets her hold his lightsaber...! (😏 ...ladies...!)

This seems to work since Osha is engaging him in conversation. But Osha has seen Qimir in action, and knows that there is no possible way for her to defeat him directly.

Osha has the lightsaber, but Qimir holds all the power here.

Despite that, Osha calls him out many times on his choices.

"You killed Jecki."

"You killed Yord."

"I'm not my sister. I'm not so easily corrupted."

Osha never takes her eyes off her objective: to escape Qimir, get back to Sol, and confront her sister for her crimes.

Osha's Fatal Flaw

Mae and Osha are binary opposites in their personalities and motivations. Where Mae is community-minded, Osha is independent. Where Mae values tradition, Osha values freedom. And where Mae tries to repair frayed relationships, Osha does not forgive those who cross her.

It is this last trait that proves to be the fatal flaw that leads her down the Dark Side.

Osha. Does. Not. Forgive.

When Osha first saw Mae as an adult, she shot her!

She didn't try to reason with her. She didn't try to help her escape. She didn't say "how did you survive?" or "I missed you."

She just fired.

But you know what? Maybe emotions were running high, right? The moment was very heated, so spontaneous violence like that could just be a one-off thing, surely?

Except that the second time they meet, Osha tries to arrest Mae without listening to her story.

And the third time they meet, Osha is downright raging and trying to kill Mae...

... which is a little confusing to Mae because she's trying to help Osha!

And it is Osha's inability to forgive which leads her to committing her first murder, when she finally learns that Sol had lied to her for years.

Osha falls to the Dark Side all by herself, of her own volition.

Doomed Romance

After she kills Sol, Qimir continues to use gentle touch with Osha, pursuing his seduction of her.

But when Mae asked Osha "what do you want, Osha?", she didn't reply with "I want to be with Qimir."

She said:

"Let [Mae] go, and I will train with you."

It was a bargain, for which she offered Qimir what he wanted most: a pupil who accepts him.

Osha is signalling that she cares for him. But she doesn't.

Osha cares for her sister. And Osha does not forgive.

She remembers that Jecki and Yord were her friends, and they had nothing to do with Sol's crimes. They were innocent, and he killed them when he went out of his way to engage the Jedi in combat.

Osha is playing Qimir, just as Mae did. She will learn from him to use the Force, and then take those teachings to fulfil her own goal of rescuing Mae and restoring her memories.

Qimir will learn the truth of their relationship one day, and on that day, like all Sith masters and apprentices, he will kill her, or she will kill him.

(because that is not the face of a happy couple)

[total-drama-brainrot]

Thinking about the fake dating AU again. 🤯

What if, during his segment on the Aftermath, Noah plays off his 'cheating' as something so emotionally detached it makes him look almost psychopathic, in an attempt to make himself as unlikable as possible?

The 'cheating' was simply strategic, is all. It wasn't his fault the two of them had to go and catch real feelings; Noah was just playing the game. Nothing more.

What? You thought he had feelings for them? Don't be ridiculous, Noah felt nothing for either of them- they were just there to carry him through the competition.

(He doesn't anticipate the ache that twists through his chest after that statement. It isn't true in the slightest, yet even just pretending to not care about his partners is physically painful.)

At first, both Geoff and Blaineley commend him for enacting some long overdue karma/vengeance on the antagonistic duo, but the more Noah intentionally digs himself into a hole- the more hateable he makes himself- the more people actually begin to pity both Heather and Alejandro. Which was the plan from the beginning, so Noah fully commits to it, playing off every interaction as just another cog in his manipulation machine; he's the 'High IQ', after all, of course he planned it all.

And he hides the nausea writhing in his gut from the blatant lies he's sprouting under a carefully blank, uncaring mask of indifference. Every claim he makes is said in the most casual tone- as if he's commenting on the weather instead of admitting to masterminding the heartbreak of two strong competitors- and that's somehow worse than if he would at least seem smug about his achievement. Because at least then he'd (appear to) care.

So, when the Aftermath finally ends, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to even look at him- who knew the little snark could be so ruthless? So uncaring?

And Noah, knowing that he can't confide in Owen (who can't keep a secret to save his life) or Izzy (who's too unpredictable to trust- and who also 'leaked' fake information about him to Sierra during her time on Celebrity Manhunt, so who knows what else she's leak?) turns to his friend Eva, who promptly decks him in the face.

"I'm not friends with cheaters."

And when he tries to explain himself, clutching at his quickly bruising face and hoping that she'll see reason or at the very least afford him some decency, she throws his actions back in his face (actions have always spoken louder than words with Eva). Claiming that, if he's willing to lead on two people romantically, who's to say he isn't also faking their friendship? How can she trust anything that comes out of his slimy mouth?

It hurts. Every accusation is like a wave of searing heat against his already blistered heart, and yet Eva's eyes are so cold as she looks at Noah like he's the scum beneath her shoes.

So he flees to his hotel room.

And, for the first time in years, he weeps.

.

Given the informative finale of World Tour, the Aftermath crew were given the go-ahead to host one last hurrah, to properly question their finalists about their scheme, and to clear Noah's name.

Their audience was practically frothing at the mouth for an update.

During their interview segment, Blaineley (in an attempt to stir up some drama- she's always endeavouring to stay on brand after all) plays clips of Noah's callous 'confessions' on his Aftermath segment post-elimination, hoping to cause some trouble in paradise for the lovely throuple by sewing the seeds of doubt in their minds.

To her surprise, both Heather and Alejandro start laughing at the clips as if they're the funniest thing they've ever seen, huddling closer to Noah as they poke and tease him. Noah, in turn, sinks in unto himself, red-faced and mortified.

"What? How can you be alright with him saying that?" Cries Blaineley, scandalised that her attempt at brewing tension somehow didn't work.

"Because he does not mean it." Alejandro explains. To his side, Heather nods in agreement.

"How can you be so sure?"

Heather points to the screen, where past Noah is lying his ass off for the world to see, stoic save for the barely noticable twitching of his fingers and the occasional jump of his leg.

"He's lying through his teeth! It's so obvious- you weren't even trying to hide your tells, and after all the practice we did!"

"I didn't need to. Neither of you were there to call me out on the bluff."

[marinettesaltprompts]

True Holder Turnabout

I'm imagining a new variation of the "True Holder" scenario. Sure, as *always* Adrien isn't Plagg's "True Holder" and gets to suffer realizing he was just a patsy this whole time. But this time, *Marinette* gets to get some of the same medicine.

Because *she's* Plagg's True Holder. *Not Tikki's*.

*

In hindsight it should have been obvious. Her plans were almost always massively destructive, often needlessly so. And she handled Plagg's power almost as well as Chat Noir did despite having it for mere minutes to his months.

But she’d *always* struggled with her Lucky Charm. From the beginning she'd *never* been able to create what she wanted, but just got seemingly random objects that she had to desperately guess how to make do with. Sure, her problem solving skills were *creative*, but her actual use of the power never really improved- even after Fu trained her as a holder.

Meanwhile *everyone else* who handled Tikki's power or a copy of it did either as well as her, or usually *far better*. All those Akumas who copied her power- they could summon whatever they wanted on command. *Even Chat Noir* had gotten exactly what he wanted on his first try, something she'd not been able to do... *ever*.

The only thing she’d been able to do that they couldn’t was make Magical Charms, and Shadowmoth had broken through those within a *month*.

But while Marinette comes to terms with her new reality, Chat Noir has his own harsh truths to face. Alas for Chat Noir, his relationships with Ladybug and Plagg were built on lies and he no one's True Holder- or least he’s not willing to stay and find out if he is. The revelations of how he's been manipulated apparently so utterly disillusioned him that he doesn't even bother showing up in person to give up the ring. And with their friendship having long since been overshadowed by Ladybug’s authority, there’s nothing stopping him from vanishing from her life without a word- quite certain that she wouldn’t actually care.

So Marinette has to accept the abrupt final loss of her one-time partner even as she comes to terms with Tikki not really having been her Kwami. At the same time…

She has to accept working under a new Ladybug. A new girl from across the sea, found and trained by The Order to truly be a great Ladybug.

And it truly is "working under". Because Marinette may have gotten away with commanding her team before, but as the Black Cat? Well she has to follow whatever plan the new Ladybug comes up with in the battlefield and with Su-han now actually exerting his authority as the Celestial Guardian she's no longer really the boss of the Box behind the scenes either.

It's a reset of sorts. Back to the pre-Miracle Queen status quo, even if Marinett keeps the box in her room now.

Except now *she's* the put upon Black Cat.

At first, it's kind of liberating. She doesn't have to plan things out anymore, she just follows orders and has a bit of fun with her Miraculous. But what shine there is wears off fast.

The New Ladybug is far, far more effective with Tikki's powers and her tactics than Marinette ever was, and it hurts to see how easily Paris moves on from her old persona. To be so easily replaced and outclassed by some new girl who actually got to be trained by The Order instead of Fu, who was just an initiate. Her charms are exactly what she wants, her plans are simple, creative and rarely risk collateral damage.

*Her* Magical Charms aren’t broken by Shadowmoth, so the Villain can’t reuse victims. Instead he has to spin the wheel with new ones whose powers were far from consistently dangerous, and less potent than a trained and refined powerhouse like Stormy Weather or even Mr Pigeon with his steadily increasing skill with his abilities.

Alya isn’t Rena anymore, but that’s nothing exceptional for the old team. Marinette friends and temp-heroes were unceremoniously benched when the New Ladybug took contro and any chance that they’d be allowed a Miraculous again went up in smoke the second The New Ladybug learnt that most of their identities were known to Shadowmoth.

Instead, the New Ladybug has her own team. One that seems to be made up of adults or teenagers who Marinette doesn’t know, because why share that information?

It's hard having to constantly obey plans she isn't privy to the full details of, to have to sacrifice her body and mind whenever the New Ladybug is in danger.

(Marinette never realized how hard it was to lose her mind. To *die* and act like its nothing. Chat Noir had never complained, but it was anything but easy.)

Information is on a strictly need to know basis, and Lady Noire doesn’t *need* to know, so it’s not offered. The New Ladybug also has firm professional boundaries, and really- she doesn't seem to exactly hold her predecessor in high esteem.

There's plans to find Shadowmoth happening behind the scenes, Marinette's sure of it. The New Ladybug and Su-Han appear now and then to take or return a Miraculous from the box- but they don't tell her anything. And Marinette learns not to ask when The New Ladybug bluntly asks her why *she* never tried to find Shadowmoth with The Miraculous herself.

And when she brings up the fact that *she's* the Guardian of the Mother Box as a point of contention? Because the Miraculous and Kwamis that are being taken and lent out are *her* responsibility;

The New Ladybug looks her in eye and demands to know *how* Marinette gained that *responsibility* of the Mother Box. Because the story she knows is one about a girl who *failed upwards* after leading her worst enemy to her master.

Marinette has to learn how to live as The Black Cat. To be "another cheese on the board", to be left out, to be used and only included at The Ladybug's leisure.

She has to learn to accept being replaced as Tikki's holder by a "better girl" who was "always meant to be The Ladybug".

She has to accept that this is her life now. And as she has to accept that her bond with Tikki was never what she thought it was, as she gets used as a pawn on the board again and again, left out of plans and vital information that effects her and *dammit she deserves to know*;

She comes to understand why Chat Noir (whatever his real name is) didn't want to stay on as a holder.

Even if it meant losing access to the Miraculous forever.

[sailorstarr-chan4]

Sugar and Spice - an InuKag coffee shop AU

What's this? An InuKag oneshot that is NOT porn? It's been ages! This fic has been 4+ years in the making (aka, collecting dust until I finally finished it today), and now, at last, I'm sharing it. In honor of 6 years since I shared the coffee shop AU headcanon list, here at last is my first "true" coffee shop AU for this fandom.

This is also officially my 100th Inuyasha ficlet that goes into my oneshot collections! I hope y'all enjoy some silly fluff! ❤

Posted under my "Tied Together" collection: ff.net & AO3

Words: 2,662

Setting: coffee shop AU

Rated: K+

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I've worked in food service and customer service and am fully aware that all I wrote below is bullshit. Fiction is fiction lol ^^"

~*~*~*~

“Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” 

That stupid nursery rhyme, thought Kagome furiously as she jabbed at the coffee machine, was the biggest load of bull! 

At the moment, this “little girl” was made of molten lava, bubbling under the surface of the falsely tranquil mountain of her Customer Service Persona, and any second now, she was going to blow her top. 

All because of him! 

The Asshole, with short silver hair, golden eyes, perpetual frown, and absurdly adorable dog ears, came into Kagome’s workplace every Friday morning. For the past four months. And not a single occasion had passed where he remotely acted like a decent person! 

He seemed to use Coffee for the Soul (the cafe where Kagome normally adored working) as an outlet for all his personal problems. Yeah, one of those customers. 

Kagome actually considered herself somewhat an expert of dealing with those sorts; she had an uncanny talent of letting their snippiness and rude manners roll off her back like water on a duck, and smiling so sweetly and behaving with such politeness that eventually even the angriest customer either slipped away shamefaced or let their anger temporarily melt away. 

But not with him. She had no patience with The Asshole. It was simply impossible! 

Still, Kagome had a rep at Coffee for the Soul for being “the sweet barista,” so every Friday was a test of her fortitude. At first, she took it head-on, with all the enthusiasm of any wide-eyed bushy-tailed newcomer, despite already being employed there for two years. 

But then, he had snatched the cup from the counter, glared at her, and spat out, “You smell funny.” And promptly left the premises! 

Fuming, Kagome had spent the rest of her shift off-kilter, with sharp movements and incoherent mutterings under her breath, causing her coworkers’ heads to turn in surprise. From then on, Fridays became a tense battlefield of wits: the Asshole Customer vs the Slowly-Losing-Her-Cool Barista. 

“Kagome, I can take over, if you want–” her coworker and friend Sango tried offering once, but Kagome refused point blank. 

“This. Is. War!” she had snarled, pushing the buttons and slamming down utensils with such ferocity that no one dared tried to argue. 

So, every week Kagome and The Asshole had their “face-off,” with tension one could cut with a knife until he left the premises. The only blessing of that infamous customer’s regularity was that his order was forever the same: black coffee, with a shot of espresso. 

After a month of his weekly visits, it was suggested that maybe, perhaps, the baristas could already prepare his drink ahead of time. Best case scenario, he leaves Coffee for the Soul all the earlier (and lessen the damaged mood of a certain stubborn employee). Worst case scenario, he changes his order and they cut their losses. 

Kagome shot down the suggestion with a righteous fury. 

“He can wait for his stupid order just like everyone else!” she hissed at Sango. “And he can go through my suggestions and sales-pitches, too!” 

(Sango chose not to say that Kagome normally avoided the sales pitch with other customers, preferring to take the “personable” approach that generally opened them up to trying new things without her input. It was a brilliant, psychological tactic that worked most of the time, so she really did not, in fact, have to do the Sales Pitch Spiel with The Asshole.) 

And thus, Fridays always ended up the same way: 

The Asshole enters the cafe. 

Kagome greets him with a beaming smile that fools absolutely no one. 

The Asshole begins to tell his usual order.

Kagome cuts him off with a long, cheerful spiel on all the various types of drinks, additives, and specials. 

The Asshole scowls. Mutters something along the lines of “you talk too much.” 

Kagome beams with the radiance of a thousand suns. 

The Asshole mutters, “Just black coffee, with a shot of espresso.” 

Kagome: “Would you also like that with a shot of caramel, vanilla, hazelnut, nutella, chocolate, mint, or strawberry?” 

The Asshole: “Plain. Nothing else.” 

Kagome, her smile almost unnaturally wide: “Very good, sir. And would you like whipped cream, soy or whole milk?” 

The Asshole, growling slightly: “No. Just black. And espresso. Like I said a million times already.” 

Kagome, positively overflowing with the Joy of Providing Good Customer Service: “Excellent choice, sir.” Gives the same exact total amount that The Asshole pays every week. Meticulously counts back his change, all the while smiling uncannily. 

The Asshole pockets his change. Sits down. Glares at Kagome’s back (according to witnesses) as she cheerfully, painstakingly, slowly prepares his coffee before personally coming around the bar and placing it on his table with a chirpy, “Here’s one black coffee, with espresso, and no additional flavors, cream, or any interesting whatsoever! Enjoy your drink, sir!” 

The Asshole furrows his brow, downs his coffee in one gulp while glaring into Kagome’s equally fiery eyes behind her fake smile, tosses the cup, and stomps outside without a word of gratitude, the door bell jingling in his wake. 

This exchange became famous. There were variations, of course, oftentimes on The Asshole’s end, where he’d cut Kagome off faster than usual and bark at her to “stop stalling and give me my fucking coffee already.” At which point, a venomously smiling Kagome would politely tell the customer that rude language was not appropriate at this establishment and if he did not comply, she would suggest he find business elsewhere. 

(He never did. Kagome seethed about it constantly.) 

At first, Kagome’s coworkers were scared she would get a “talk” from her higher-ups, but to everyone’s astonishment, no reprimand or discipline was issued. The supposed reason? “As inappropriate as we would generally find that behavior, the customer has never filed a complaint and continues to give us business. So, we’ll let it slide this time, but expect exemplary service with the rest of our patrons.” 

(That was the spoken reason, but Sango, Miroku, and Shippo, all eyeing their normally bubbly and genuine coworker turn into a terrifying fake, condescending queen when face-to-face with the source of her wrath, suspected that the managers found it, well, entertaining.) 

Miroku was the first one to make that observation after two months of “the war.” He noted that even the other customers were positively gleeful, watching Kagome and The Asshole rather like watching boxers in a ring. Newcomers would be quickly and quietly filled in on the scoop and they’d find themselves invested in the tense face-off as well. 

“I would not be surprised if our bosses have a betting ring going around or something,” Miroku confided in Sango and Shippo while Kagome was on break. 

“That’s so unprofessional!” Sango gasped. 

“Can you imagine how bored you’d have to be with your life,” Shippo piped up thoughtfully, “to be that invested in the love lives of total strangers? Talk about pathetic.” 

(Sango and Miroku were not fooled. Shippo eagerly watched “the show” every week just like everyone else.) 

Because regardless of the rage behind Kagome’s eyes, despite the rants and ravings she subjected her coworkers to about how abominable The Asshole was, there was no denying how she was obviously, hopelessly attracted to him. 

No one told Kagome this, of course. No one dared incur her wrath any further than necessary. But her cheeks always reddened when the telltale bell rang at 9 am and he entered the cafe. She always smirked when making his drink, and always watched him leave afterwards. 

The love-hate-tension between Barista and Customer was the greatest source of entertainment anyone could ask for. 

Until one day, when a change of the routine nearly threw everything into unmitigated chaos. 

The Asshole came inside, looking uncharacteristically nervous and twitchy. Kagome primed herself for another battle, barely registering the way his usual scowl was missing and in its place was a rather pleading, puppy-eyed look. 

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please,” he said in one go before Kagome opened her mouth. 

The morning buzz around them fell deafeningly silent. Sango froze in place of handing a customer their drink, Miroku’s hand nearly burned on the oven, and Shippo all but literally choked on his drink of water. Every single person, customer and barista, were staring at the nameless customer and a rigid Kagome. 

Kagome opened her mouth a few times like a dying fish, shook herself, and croaked out, “Repeat that one more time, please?” There was no sign of her over-the-top Customer Service persona. 

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please and thank you,” The Asshole repeated, blushing furiously, but his tone was sincere. 

Kagome blinked. There was a ringing in her ears. He never said “please” or “thank you.” And he certainly never ordered a second drink, let alone pumpkin spice! 

Come to think of it, he was also dressed nicely. Instead of his usual red leather jacket and dirty jeans, he cleaned up rather well, with a button-up shirt and slacks, and dress shoes. Dress shoes?! Kagome’s head swam. Was he on a date? Oh gods, he was definitely on a date! 

The silence in the cafe renewed its buzz, but this time with an uptick in excitement. Everyone was wondering the same as her, gossiping delightedly over who his date was going to be, and how their beloved barista was going to “take the heartbreak.” 

Well, they had no reason to fret or fuss. Because Kagome had nothing whatsoever to care about! The Asshole may be a thorn in her side, but plenty of women had bad taste and went for those types. So what if he had a date? So what if he cleaned up way too nicely and looked devastatingly handsome, but also adorable in how nervous and shy he clearly was? So what?! 

“Your, uh, your usual is different today, hehe,” Kagome awkwardly laughed, hating herself for losing the battle. “You on a — a date or something? Haha, just kidding, I—” 

“Yeah, um,” the Asshole ran his hand through his hair, grinning bashfully, “I’m hoping she’ll…. like the gesture.” 

And then, the volcano finally erupted. 

Without a shred of fake niceness in her voice, Kagome coldly gave the total amount to her regular customer and all but threw the change into his hand without counting. She stomped over to the latte machine and started to prepping the order, her vision going red. 

Who was she?! Who was the one who took her asshole away?! 

Wait…. What? 

“Kagome…” a concerned voice broke into her reverie. “Your hand’s shaking.” 

Sango gently but firmly removed the partially-made drink from Kagome and quietly suggested that she sit in the back to “take a moment.” 

Angry tears pricking her eyes, Kagome furiously splashed cold water on her face from the sanctity of the bathroom, before gazing at her reflection. What was the deal? Why did this bother her so much? She hated The Asshole! She dubbed him “The Asshole” for good reason! He insulted her! He was always such a jerk! 

But then again, how much of that was just a bad first impression?, whispered a treacherous voice in her mind. Has he ever actually been a jerk since that first day? 

And loath she was to admit it, Kagome could not think of a singular incident. Grumpy, to be sure, blunt and ungracious, certainly, but not really an outward “asshole.” If anything, her petty behavior over the past few months outweighed his terrible first impression. 

Shame washed over Kagome. Shame, jealousy, and sadness. Such a waste…. All this time, she could have employed her actual customer service skills and had gotten to know him. Instead, she lost her chance and now he was chatting away with some pretty young thing and would probably never order his usual black coffee with espresso ever again— 

“Hey, Kagome?” Sango’s tentative voice called out, knocking on the door. “You mind coming out?” 

“Just a second,” Kagome called out, rubbing her face clean. She stepped out into the kitchen, and was promptly seized by a pair of hands. 

Before she could ask what was needed, Sango had already untied Kagome’s apron. “Sango, wha–?” 

“No time! Here, take my hairbrush and tease your hair a bit — oh never mind, I’ll do it!” 

“Sango! Pft!” Kagome blew her hair out of her face, fumbling as Sango frantically worked around her. “What are you—ouch! That’s my hair tie! What’s going—” 

“It’s a shame you’re not wearing something cuter, but it can’t be helped. After all, if he was won over by that gross cold attitude you’ve been dishing out, I’m pretty sure he’d want you even in a potato sack…” 

“Who would want me? Sango, what are you talking about?!” 

Sango paused in her hairbrushing, and stared, stunned, at the bewildered Kagome. “You really don’t know? Oh, this is even better—!” 

“Better? Know what???” 

“Just head out and see!” 

“See? What are you—- ah!” 

And with that, Kagome was tossed unceremoniously from the back, and out onto the “floor,” or customer area of the cafe. Spluttering, she flipped her hair out of her face and looked around. The Asshole was standing nervously at his usual table, clutching his two drinks. Upon noticing her arrival, he walked over, looking for all the world like a lovestruck schoolboy about to ask out his crush. 

Kagome blinked, realizing he was not looking over her shoulder, but rather squarely at her, into her eyes. Heat rose on her face. “Wh-what…. Do you have something to say?” Or are you just going to be rude again and break my heart? The voice said, unbidden, in her mind. 

The Asshole reached out and offered one of his drinks. It was a pumpkin spice latte. 

“Let’s start over. My name is Inuyasha, I’ve liked you for months, and thought we’d have a chat over some coffee.” His face was burning red, and his ears lowered low on his head, but his eyes remained resolutely fixed on hers. 

Sharp inhales scattered around them. The entire cafe seemed to have collectively held their breath. 

Kagome stared blankly. Then blinked. “Come again?” 

Inuyasha took a shaky breath and began: “My name is Inuyasha—” 

“No, no, I heard you. I just…. I don’t believe it.” 

“Why doncha sit down and then maybe you'll listen to me instead of just assuming?” 

There it was. That was her beloved Asshole. Suddenly, Kagome grinned happily and took the proffered drink. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Inuyasha. My name is Kagome, and, um,” she blushed so hard she was fairly certain steam was coming off the top of her head, “I’ve… liked you for months, too.” 

“I FUCKING KNEW IT! Cough up, Shippo! You owe me $20!” 

Inuyasha and Kagome both jumped a foot in the air and spun around. Half of the cafe was applauding, the other half harassing each other for exchanges of —- 

“You placed bets on us?!” Kagome lamented to an excitable Sango who was counting her winnings to Miroku, while Shippo sulked. 

“Well, I thought it was awful at first,” Sango said nonchalantly, “but I confess, I couldn’t resist after today!” 

Kagome turned and looked Inuyasha in the eye. They both started laughing and sat down, trying to ignore the chaos around them. 

“Oh by the way,” Kagome said, taking a sip of her latte, “how did you know to order pumpkin spice?” 

“I can smell it on you. The day we met, you….. smelled so much like pumpkin and vanilla, it was overwhelming. I, er, thought you smelled rather nice.” 

“That’s not remotely what that sounded like,” Kagome said, raising an eyebrow. 

Inuyasha grinned, looking slightly abashed. “I have a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth. And I can be awfully stubborn. Betcha you know what that’s like.” 

Kagome’s face burned even hotter and she sipped her drink. “Well, girls are made of sugar and spice, you know,” she said cheekily. 

[moossings]

kiss your smile

just a tiny thing because i needed fluff. thank you so much @f1amboyantand & @curiousthyme for bearing with it ❤️

carlos scrunches his nose and turns his face away.

“ma basta, charles.”

but he is trying to hold in his laughter, so the monegasque stays relentless in his actions. carlos was the one to break charles out of his shell, the real charles that is all giggles and dimples.

the chariot pulling the sun across the sky.

and like the sun, charles is the one to make through the dark clouds of carlos’ mind, the storm always brewing behind those deep dark eyes.

“mi dispiace, i can’t stop.” he says between giggles against carlos’ skin, nose rubbing along his pulse point. the day has been too long, and the race too disappointing, so they seek refuge in carlos' their hotel room, laying in bed to finally put the night day behind them. “you look so cute when you are pouting.”

the undignified sound carlos lets out is definitely only for their ears, and betrays how young the spaniard actually is despise having turned 30 recently. “i’m definitely not pouting! how can you say that? i don’t pout!”

“because it’s true!” charles props up, hands on either side of carlos’ head, who can’t help but lock eyes with him. his voice comes out softer. “because it’s one of the many things i love about you.”

the silence after is not uncomfortable, but it makes carlos shyer, less of the ‘matador’ persona and more of carlitos. lately, it’s been harder and harder to let that side of himself get out, hurt after hurt scaring him away.

“i look dumb when i pout.” he whispers, eyes away turning from his boyfriend. he knows charles doesn’t like it when he talks that way. carlitos doesn’t either.

“dumb? oh, mom amour.” charles melts, rests on his elbows now to be closer, foreheads touching, noses together. 

“i want to bite every pout so your lips turn even more red.” the words are whispered against said lips, that part unconsciously at the feeling. “and i want to kiss every smile that always comes after.”

they kiss, and neither knows who pulled who closer. it doesn’t matter, it’s like this. a hand to his hair, an arm around his neck. their hearts beating in sync against the other.

living their little dream. 

but dreaming is free, no?