#i for real had this written out in my drafts for months

[omenics]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 , overblot gang, kalim, malleus.

› ..what these bitches have as ur contact name… can be seen as platonic or romantic its up to u. gn reader. — i am unfunny

RIDDLE.

first name if ur lucky. if not this mf would have your government name and all 💀

LEONA.

honestly im seeing dumbass. thats it. i know it in my heart or just ur first name tbh

AZUL.

its so overused and i cant think of shit to angelfish bc hes a fish

KALIM.

i can see his name with a good old exclamation point and emoji 👍

JAMIL.

another nickname guy… or ur firstname.. or just fucking name/nickname LMFAO

VIL.

dear.. or maybe darling bro i dont know but i think it would be a cute little pet name yk

IDIA.

kitten 🥺 (i am an idia hater)

MALLEUS.

literally just ur first name 💀

i know it in my heart he would just name your first name and nothing else. maybe… MAYBE if youre lucky he would add an emoji but tbh he prob wouldnt know what it is smh poor guy hes like a grandpa

[sintreaties]

Writing the 1st draft: yayy :)) so nice so funny so coo—

Having to wait at least a few weeks before touching the last draft: I think I’m gonna kill myself, actually

[flanaganfilm]

Good day Mr Flanagan. please what does "the rest is confetti" mean to you and in the context it was used in hill house??

Okay, here we go. Buckle up for a long read.

To answer this, I've got to explain a little bit about what was happening and where I was when I sat down to write episode 10 of The Haunting of Hill House.

Hill House was not a fun shoot. The picture above is from very early in production, when I was still chubby and happy.

It was my first foray into television. I was absolutely terrified that I'd mess it up. So I'd opted to direct all of the episodes myself, figuring that - if nothing else - I'd have no one else to blame if it went south.

It was the most grueling professional experience of my career. The shoot was by no means a smooth one, every day was an uphill battle from a budgetary perspective, and between the three giant production entities involved with the production, I spent a lot of time fighting over the creative and logistical elements of the series.

I began losing weight. I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

By the end of the shoot, I had dropped almost 40 lbs.

I was very depressed. Every day was a battle, and for the first time in my career, I wasn't excited to go to work in the morning. We were fighting for basic resources, fighting for the show we wanted, and even fighting amongst ourselves by the end. It was grueling.

We hadn't written all of the scripts when we started production. I believe we had finished through episode 7, but the rest of the scripts had to be finished while we were already shooting.

We'd mapped everything out in the writers room, and I had great support on the other episodes, but I was writing the finale solo. I'd thought I'd be able to juggle it with everything else. I quickly fell behind.

I finally got to the script about halfway through production. I'd work on it between takes at the monitor, and then get home to our tiny rental house in Atlanta, where Kate was waiting with our baby son. (One of the rare bright spots of this shoot came when Kate found out she was pregnant about halfway through production. We even named our daughter Theodora, in honor of her origins.)

I'd typically fall down from exhaustion when I got home, but I had to push through it and work on the script. My weekends were spent shotlisting and prepping for upcoming episodes. We didn't have enough time to stay ahead of prep, so every available day was used for that... I went three months without a single day off at one point.

I'd sit up late staring at the script. I was in a dark, dark place. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling like I lived in an eternal present. Each day bled into the next and it didn't feel like there was an end in sight. That feeling of unreality was heightened because we kept returning to the same sets, same locations, and even the same scenes throughout the 100 shooting-day production. Stepping back into the exact room we had shot in days or weeks or even months ago made the whole thing feel absolutely surreal. Making movies is always an non-linear experience, but this one felt particularly so... it was like the days of our lives were happening to us all out of order.

I remember feeling something like despair creeping into my daily experience on the show. And I remember dwelling on that when I got into the scene work of episode 10.

As I worked through the draft, I recall that despair coloring a lot of what was on the page. My filter was breaking down. There's a monologue at the beginning of the episode where Steven's wife Leigh (played by my dear friend Samantha Sloyan) spews out a torrent of eviscerating insults about Steve's value as a writer. That is just me vomiting onto myself. She was voicing all of my deepest insecurities about myself at the time, and of what I was doing with this series.

She says "Is anything real before you write it, Steve? The things you write about, they're real. Those people are real, their feelings are real, their pain is real - but not to you, is it. Not until you chew it up, digest it, and shit it out onto a piece of paper and even then, it's a pale imitation at best."

This was the mindset I was in for a lot of the shoot. The writing became a reflection of a lot of that turmoil, and I knew who I was referring to in that monologue - I was talking about my family. I was talking about how much of their lives I'd used as building material for this show. I was talking about the fact that I'd lost two loved ones to suicide, and seen what it had done to my mother in particular. And I knew I was using - possibly even exploiting - those people for this series.

There's a lot of despair in this episode. The Red Room, as we conceived it, was a place that would feed upon those emotions. Grief, sadness, loss... those were the real ghosts of our series, and where our characters find themselves at the start of the finale. They're being slowly digested - eaten alive - by those feelings.

So finally, it came time to write Nell's final scene with her siblings. I knew from the outline we'd constructed in the writers room what this was supposed to accomplish - she was supposed to be their salvation. She was supposed to take all of these feelings that we'd been wrestling with and finally provide catharsis... finally say something that would free everyone.

I remember sitting with a blinking cursor for a long time. The Crain siblings had just turned and seen Nellie standing by the door, and suddenly were able to hear her speak. But what should she say? What would I say? What would I want someone to say to me?

What she ultimately says lays bare a lot of what I was thinking about when it comes to grief. It exists outside of linear time, much as I felt I existed at the time. That sense of eternal present, that sense of a nonlinear eternity of moments and memories - it all came out in her speech to her brothers and sisters.

I remember feeling, looking at my insane present and looking back at my past, how strangely overwhelmed I was by memories. That I wasn't experiencing time in a straight line, and hadn't been for a while - for the better part of a year, I'd felt more like I was standing in a whirlwind of moments. "Our moments fall around us like..." Nell said, and I recall sitting back and trying to find the words.

"Rain," for certain, but there was something too uniform about that. The moments of life as I experienced them weren't that orderly, they weren't that small. They didn't fall the same way. Some sailed by, fast and unremarkable, while others lingered in front of me, twisting and stretching. So it was a good word, but not the right word. I left it on the page though.

"Snow" was my next attempt. Better, in that I imagined the snow blowing in the wind, swirling and dancing and feeling more organic. More chaotic. More like life. But for some reason, the word that stuck with me, the word I felt Nell Crain would connect with was...

"Confetti."

And that was because I was thinking not of Victoria Pedretti at this point, but of Violet McGraw.

Violet played Young Nell, and I wondered what she might have said if she experienced time this way. As an adult, Nell was despairing. Nell was overwhelmed. But as a child... there was an innocence to the word. There was a joy to the word.

I imagined moments falling around her, this little girl with the big smile and the wide eyes. Her moments would be colorful. They would be of different shapes and sizes, some falling fast and some falling slow, flipping and turning and dancing in the air, independent of the others. Sparkling, whirling, doing lazy summersaults as they sauntered down to Earth.

I thought of myself, and of the members of my family. I thought of those we'd lost. I realized what I hoped for them, and for us all, in the end... was to look upon that mosaic of experience, that avalanche of days and minutes and moments... and to smile with some of the joy we had as children.

And this, I thought, was something that gave me hope. This gave me a glimpse of some kind of salvation for them. This was also how I hoped my life might seem if I was a ghost - a cascade of color and light and shape and movement, something I could dance in.

So Nell smiled and said... "or confetti."

It stuck with me. The rest of her monologue gets heavy again, and gets to the real point of the show - the point of the whole series, if I'm honest - and that's forgiveness.

I figured the only thing that would let the Crain children out of the Red Room was to be forgiven. I thought of the losses in my own family, and I thought of what I wished for my mother and for my aunts and uncles and cousins and I tried to pour that into her final words.

"I loved you completely, and you loved me the same," she said, "that's all." And this was the point I wanted the most to make. That at the end of our life, if we can say this about each other, the rest doesn't matter. The rest is that rainstorm, or that blizzard, that fell around this one central truth, and maybe built itself in piles around it, to the point we lost sight of it along the way.

And I thought again of that little girl, and almost as an afterthought, wrote "The rest is confetti."

I liked the way it sounded, but I was insecure about the line. I almost took it out, in fact. I remember asking Kate to read the scene and talking about that last line with her. "Is it too cute?" I wondered. She was on the fence. "Depends on how it's acted," she said, and I figured she was right. We could always take it out if it didn't work. The scene could end with "I loved you completely, and you loved me the same. That's all."

Why not shoot it and see what happened.

I turned in the script, we published it quickly so that we could start breaking it down and prepping it. And the next morning I was back on set. I'd deal with episode 10 when it came down the pipe again, sometime in the coming months. We had a lot of shooting to get through before I had to worry about it.

I recall Netflix asking me to cut a lot of that monologue, and I remember them also having questions about the "confetti" line. I pointed out that it didn't cost us any extra to shoot it all, it was only words, and fought to keep the script intact.

Ultimately, they insisted I make a series of cuts on the page. I begrudgingly agreed, but left Nell's speech alone. I made superficial cuts around it, throughout the draft, and even considered changing the font size to fool them into thinking it had gotten shorter (I ultimately was told I wouldn't fool anyone and not to risk starting a war). But Nellie's final goodbye stayed intact.

It must be said - Victoria Pedretti SLAUGHTERED this scene.

By the time we got around to filming it, things had never been worse for the production. There was almost nothing left for a lot of us. Tensions were sky-high, resources had been exhausted completely, and we were all ready to give up.

Filming in the mold-ridden Red Room was depressing, morose, and led to a lot of arguments and unpleasantness. The room itself just felt gross, always, and we were in there for days at a time. The last thing we had to shoot in there was Nellie's goodbye.

Victoria came to set having to push through pages of monologue, and she did so with captivating bravado. I recall being teary-eyed at the monitor watching her work. And when we finally made it to the last line, I watched her deliver it with... a smile. A sincere, innocent, longing, joyful smile. A smile informed by the sadness, grief, and loss of her own situation, of her own life... but a smile that finds forgiveness and grace after all. Pedretti knew how to say the line, and how that word would work.

And as she said it, I knew it would stay in the show.

Over the years, that sentence has become something of a tagline for The Haunting of Hill House. I'm always a bit mystified and touched when I see people approach me with the line on T-shirts, or even tattooed on their bodies.

I started signing it with autographs back in 2020 after enough fans asked me to. Now it's my go-to when I sign anything related to Hill House.

The line, for me, represents a lot of things.

It's about the insane, chaotic, non-linear experience of making that show. It's about trying to find and hold onto joy, even in the grips of despair.

It's about the way the moments of our lives aren't linear, not really, and how we may be unable to understand them as we exist in their flurry. It's about finding hope, innocence and forgiveness in the final reckoning.

And it's about how, outside of our love for each other, the rest is just... well, it's fleeting. It's colorful. It's overwhelming. It's blinding. It's dancing. And, if we look at it right, it's beautiful. But it's also light. It's tinsel. It flits and dances and falls and fades, it's as light as air.

The rest is the stuff that falls around us, and flits away into nothing.

It's the love that stays.

[hyperfixat]

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! here’s the first chapter to a new multi part series i’m working on! it’s an isekai of honkai star rail. (sahsrau, sort of…?) ANYWAY!! enjoy,,, updates will be. idk maybe once a month so i don’t get stressed about pumping out chapters… this baby has been baking for a few months in the drafts already LMAO. likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3 and my reqs are perpetually open! 4.1K words.

next >

** Written PRE 1.4 – Any mentions of new characters is pure speculation and or headcannons.

Your dailys are finished and there’s no new content, so you decide to look for some hidden quests throughout the map. You’re sure you’ve collected all the chests on the Herta Space Station, but you use a teleport waypoint there anyway. Caelus (although that is not what you have named them,) sprints under your control, running against the invisible wall separating available land from unavailable land.

You click aimlessly, your character summoning their weapon of choice, a bat in this case, and attacking the blank divider. They hit it a few times, the animation sparking as they attacked the blank. It’s not like you’re expecting something to happen, although a person can hope, but then something does happen.

The office around you, where you’re playing on your PC blurs. You attempt to clear your vision with a few harsh blinks, but your vision only gets worse. It’s golden tunnel vision to your computer screen, the Trailblazer isn’t there, oddly enough, but that doesn’t quite matter at the moment, as you feel the world around you warp. Your body and soul, something you weren't even aware of, are pulled, nay sucked, into your screen. The screen, something that should be impermeable, gives way like nothing, like air.

Something as large as the human body should not be able to fit through your screen, but you do. Somehow you do.

It’s warm and hot and cold and freeing as it is oppressive.

You’re disoriented and confused, and for some reason you know you’re no longer alone and in your office.

Tentatively you allow yourself to move and lift your head. Instead of being seated on your desk chair, you’ve fallen into a heap in… is this one of the rooms in the Supply Zone? That.. that cannot be right. That’s in a video game and this is real life.

…Right?

What are you thinking about?! Of course this is real life, just a dream, yes, a dream. What are they called, lucid dreams? That makes sense, you’re lucid dreaming, even if you’ve never had one before, you’re lucid dreaming.

Well if you’re lucid dreaming, maybe you can have some fun? What do you do?

Fuck, you aren’t prepared for this.

Before you can think of something good someone moseys into the modern-style storage room you're in. Oh, hey, it’s the main character of Honkai: Star Rail, the game you were playing before falling into this lucid state. You want to greet them; you should greet them.

Wait, do you call them Caelus or the name you put into the game? Ah, wait, can you pause this?

“Huh? What are you doing in here?” Their voice sounds… well just like it does in game.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer because you don’t know what you’re doing here. They wait for a reply, head tilting cutely as you think of a comprehensible answer.

“I’m… not sure.” You draw out the sentence as if by prolonging the words a better answer would appear.

Caelus walks closer to you, moving from the doorway to stand only a foot away holding out their hand to help you up.

“Are you lost? What part of the base are you stationed at? I know this place really well, I can help you find where you belong.” The confidence in their voice wanes, “Well, by your clothes…” their brow creases “are you from here?”

“Uh, I don’t, I don't know.”

They purse their lips, head tilting as they think. “Well, I don’t know who I should bring you to. You’re not a threat, at least not yet. Herta would be my first guess, but I don’t like her, and she might not even care or respond.” Another moment as they ponder, “let’s go find Mr Yang. He might be able to help jog your memory, or find out where you’re supposed to be.”

“Okay.” The walk through the station feels like a fever dream, though this is a dream, so that makes sense.

Caelus pulls open the heavy metal door to the Astral Express and holds out a hand to help you climb up inside. They don’t let go of your hand as you enter the passenger cabin.

“Mr Yang?” They call out, fingers readjusting over your own. Their hand is cool and comforting, realistic for a dream.

Welt Yang, sitting on the red curving couch looks up, setting down his book. His eyebrows raise when he sees that Caelus is not alone and is towing along a strange person dressed in even stranger clothes.

“Yes, Caelus? What do you need?” His eyes flicker between your faces before settling on Caelus’.

“This person, ah what’s your name?” They flush a pretty pink and turn to you, fingers flexing nervously around yours. When you give it to them, they repeat it aloud to Welt. “Is lost. How do we help them?”

Welt Yang frowns, a crease denting his forehead and he adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he gives a low, thoughtful hum.

“What did Madam Herta say? You found them on her vessel.” Caleus rubs the back of their neck, a pink falling over his cheeks and tinting his ears.

“Well, I was hoping to avoid taking them to her…”

Welt doesn’t react, as if already knowing the answer. “Well,” his amber eyes meet yours. “What do you say to staying on the Astral Express for the time being? Of course, we’ll have to check with the conductor to make sure that’s okay.”

Caelus nods, their eyes narrowing as they think. “Do you think Ms Himeko might have an idea of how to jog their memory?” Their body shifts towards you as do their eyes, “in any case, we should find Pompom first, that’s the conductor.”

You want to say you know exactly who Pompom is, but that would sound odd from what should be a stranger, wouldn’t it?

Speak of the devil, Pompom comes waddling their body over to your gaggle. They aren’t as small as the game made them seem, maybe four feet of smooth fluff, and a content face.

“Hi Trailblazer, hi Welt, hi… Hi.” They pause and look up into your face, their features contorting, before they accuse you. “You aren’t a passenger!”

“Oh.” You don’t really know how to respond to that. Aside from acknowledging the obvious, they haven’t given you anything worthwhile to say. Before the silence can become too suffocating Caelus comes to the rescue, saving you from the critical look of the conductor.

“About that!” They give the creature a charming smile, putting their body between yours and theirs. “I was hoping my new friend could stay on the express until they can remember where their home is.”

So that’s why you’re staying, well staying til you wake, maybe wake. Fuck, you need a minute, well maybe once it settles in and you realize that you can’t escape, and don’t know how or why you’re here. Oh, you hope this is just a sleep deprived, very immersive deep sleep.

“Hmm,” Pompom shoves past Caelus’ legs to size you up. Their large, animal eyes make you melt, and you offer them a shy, nervous smile. “We’re out of rooms, but,” they turn back to Caelus, “if you or another passenger are willing to share, Pompom guesses they can stay.”

“Thank you, Pompom,” your smile widens a bit more. “But, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to say that. I don’t know if anyone would want to share a room with me.” A breathy, panicky laugh leaves you, “I am a stranger here, after all.”

Pompom gives you one last, long look before shuffling away back to their rounds of the train.

“Hm, well, I understand where you’re coming from. But,” Caelus frowns and their eyes darken, going downcast, nervously. “I feel oddly connected to you. There’s more than one reason I didn’t take you to Madam Herta. I was hoping you might be able to stay on the Express, at least for a bit. So I could get to know you, a bit.” As your expression remains impassive, they’re quick to continue, taking hold of both of your hands. Their hands are large and warm, engulfing yours earnestly. “Please don’t get the wrong idea. I am trying to help you, however I can. Which is why I want to extend an invitation for you to stay with me, in my room.”

“Thank you, Caelus.” Warmth fills both your heart and face, both from the words and their touch alike. “I know you’re trying to help me, I truly appreciate it.”

They’re being so genuine, it makes you want to cry. How can you tell them this is all a dream, your dream at that. They aren’t even real, for crying out loud! The way they treat you makes you never want to wake up, stay so they can care for you, spend time with you. Would it be selfish to want to stay, to never leave, what would happen to your life if you never woke up, never left this dream (game, whatever it is now)?

You have the sudden urge to harm yourself, just for the sake of proving if this reality is just a dream or if some spatial temporal nonsense happened for you to get sucked into your PC’s game, turned real world.

The time you spend worrying cuts short when March 7th’s cheerful voice calls into the express. You hadn’t even noticed the metal screaming of the door as it was pried open.

“Caelus~ Help me convince Dan Heng to let us go back to the Xianzhou Luofu for some Berrypheasant Skewers and Immortal’s Delight- oh!” She’s spotted you. Her face lights up, an odd reaction, you think, upon seeing a stranger in what is essentially her home. “Hi there!”

“Hi,” you greet meekly, not used to being around someone so high energy. Not that you don’t like it, on the contrary she’s a very gregarious person, and the energy she brings makes you feel content.

“Caelus didn’t tell me they brought a guest!” March giggles. “It’s nice to see you, have we met before? I’d hate to think I’d forgotten your face.”

“No, you haven’t met me before.” It’s not a lie, you craft your words carefully. You know her though, very well, at that.

“Oh, well you can call me March 7th! What’s your name?” She fully enters the compartment now, the heavy train door slamming loudly behind her. She’s really pretty and cute in person, you wish that your mind could come up with any better words to describe her, but your mouth feels more than a little dry as she gets closer to you. You tell her, words sounding like mush, but she smiles and repeats it back to you, giving it a compliment.

She makes your heart stutter, and you smile at her, a little dumbly. Luckily Caelus seems sympathetic to your plight (going dumb at the sight of a pretty girl) and takes over explaining why you’re here.

“Memory loss, huh?” March pulls a sympathetic face. “I can relate. Well, you seem like a lovely person, and a friend of Caelus is a friend of mine, so my door is always open if you need to talk.”

Your deceit feels harsh, because you don’t have memory loss. Now March might try to bond over this perceived shared trauma, one that you don’t have…

March pats your shoulder in an attempt to soothe, a rush of her scent (solidifying this is more than a dream) fills your nose, fresh, clean, and sweet.

“Thank you, March, I appreciate it.”

“Anything for a friend!” March turns to Caelus, who lets your hands go as March engages them in a conversation. “Now, Caelus, help me convince Dan Heng to vote for Xianzhou Luofu on this week’s stop! I really want some of the local food.” She exaggerates the ‘really’ dramatically, making her eyes wider; the epitome of puppy dog style begging.

“Ah,” Caelus turns their head away, squeezing their eyes shut. “I already was planning on voting for Jarilo VI, and I’m pretty sure Dan Heng is dead set on his vote for another week at the space station.”

March sighs in disappointment, eyeing Welt as her next target before, “Wait! You’re officially a passenger now!” She is talking to you, “won’t you please vote for the Xianzhou Luofu as this week’s destination?”

The Xianzhou Luofu, you think about it. They don’t know that you know the place like the back of your hand, but it’s not like you have anything against the place. In fact, you’d rather not face the harsh cold of Jarilo VI so new to this world.

Oh, you shouldn’t have thought about that right now, the fact you’re stuck here for who knows how long, and you’re passively deceiving everyone you meet. Your knees feel a bit weak, but you manage to force an agreeable response to March.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, Caelus,” you grab their forearm to steady, “could I have a moment to lay down?”

“Oh shit,” they steady you, leading you to the couch, and helping you lay diagonally. Your eyes slip closed. Not caring about what you make yourself look like, you turn your face into the back cushion, tightening the harshness of how tight your eyes are closed.

Are you really stuck here? Is this more than a dream? Without fully realizing it, you drag your blunt nails over the length of your forearm. A soft, trembling gasp disguises the hiss of pain you make. Not a dream.

Fuck, not a dream.

You push your face deeper into the cushion, inhaling the scent of dust and fabric. The sensory input makes you even more certain this isn’t a dream. How do you go back to your world? Are you a missing person yet? What harm will come if you stay here, both to this world and your world? Do you tell them the truth?

How earth-shattering would it be to find out that your whole life is nothing but code? You are but a character built to entertain millions, any sense of individuality and personhood would surely fade. You can’t do that to them, can you?

But maybe it would help you get back to where you belong…

It hits you then, Welt Yang. Well, he doesn’t hit you. He’s still reading his book on the couch opposite to you. You’re no lore expert on any Honkai game except Star Rail, but he’s from like, another world as well, or something like that, right? Sure that world is another video game, probably, but alternate dimensions are alternate dimensions, right?

How would that conversation start? Hey Mr Yang, you’re a video game character and I’m from a different world, teehee can you help me figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now? Would he even believe you? Would you even believe you?

A warm hand rubs over your upper back, along your shoulder blades and vertebrae. Caelus, your heart stutters, a funny thing, at how you already know how much you’ll miss them.

“Do you want to use one of my Life Transmitters or a Healing Spray?” They offer their voice, kind and calm. “Or would something like Comfort Food be more to your taste right now?”

You move your face out of the cushion, “thank you, Caelus, you’re too kind. I’ll be okay, just… thinking.” Thinking of how this shouldn’t be real, how you’re too good to be real.

“Of course, let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, no matter how small.”

Caelus eventually left with March to pester Dan Heng, leaving you to revel in your confusing thoughts. After a few more minutes of lying on the couch, you steel yourself to face Welt Yang.

Thinking of his face is enough to make your hands clam up. Will he send you away and dismiss it as insane ramblings of nervous breakdown from one of Miss Herta’s overworked employees? He’ll believe you, won’t he? Surely a man of his caliber and experience can spot when someone is telling the truth, no matter how fantastical?

Pushing yourself up, you fight the tired and nerves that cling to you, and stand on unsteady legs. Welt looks up as you approach, folding the ear of the page he’s on and snapping the book shut.

“Uhm, Mr Yang, could we maybe talk in private?” Your voice sounds warbled, but if it’s more than a trick of your ears Mr Yang doesn’t let you know, instead offering you a reassuring smile and nodding.

“I will lead you to my room. No one will disrupt us there.” You’re glad he hasn’t questioned your intentions. Does he suspect you already and was unwilling to call you out openly?

Welt leads you down the sleeping cart aisle, maintaining a respectful distance from you the whole while.

He uses the handle of his cane to tap on his door handle, a jolt of pink-red magic and a click of the door’s locking mechanism and you are presented with your chance to talk to Welt Yang privately.

Welt’s eyes meet yours expectantly. You gulp.

“So. On a scale of one to one hundred how well would you react to me telling you this is a video game?” Yeah, and if this goes poorly you can pretend this was all a joke–!

Welt's previously curious harden into something more serious. “What?”

Ah fuck, nope, nevermind. “Hahaha.” It’s fake and painfully obvious to you both. “Sorry to bother you Mr Yang, I will see myself out.”

“No.” Welt positions himself between you and the exit. “Tell me.”

It’s hard not to spill the beans when those dark amber eyes bore into your very soul. And, you do.

You tell him how you got sucked through your PC and woke up in what should be simply pixels on your monitor. You tell him how you don’t know what to do and how he’s one of the only characters, well, you correct yourself, people, you thought might know how to help you.

Welt’s face is stoic and you purse your lips as your nerve filled ramble comes to an end. “How… odd.”

You’re sure it must be. Especially for him, learning he’s a game franchise’s tool, everything he’s done was all written out and predetermined by forces he has no hope to control.

Welt sits on the edge of his bed, cane used to steady himself. “I need a moment, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m the interloper here.” You kneel in front of him, trying to comfort the man in any way you can. After a brief hesitation you cover his hand with your own. Perhaps physical contact will bring some sense of consolation.

His brows are furrowed, but your touch lesses it minutely.

“Do you… want to go back?”

It’s a fair question, but you aren’t sure of the answer yourself. Because on one hand, being in this fantasy world with characters you like that treat you nicely is quite literally a dream come true, but on the other hand you have a life. Not anything important, you’re just a person. A person with friends and family and a job that all needs you.

You cannot be sure of how much time will pass before you can leave this world, universe, whatever. Is this even your real body? Is there an empty vessel sitting in your desk chair that will wither and decay while you explore the wide world of Honkai Star Rail? You are led to believe this is your real body due to the sensations that an artificial vessel wouldn’t feel.

But.

There are your favorite characters and they’re so so nice. So far.

Your inner turmoil must be showing on your face because Welt squeezes your hand, running his thumb over the back of your palm.

“I suppose a better question might be: are you comfortable staying in this world for a prolonged period of time?”

This time the answer comes easier, “yes.”

“That certainly makes things easier,” Welt relents.

“Do we tell anyone?” The question brings on another bout of quiet. You wet your lips, nerves still simmering from the confession you made.

“I think it would be best to keep it among the, how shall I phrase it, main characters?” Welt winces. “Who would they be? Me, if you know enough to confide in me, and who else?”

“Well, I don’t think you, the Express, like all the main characters, but,” you sigh, beginning to count off who you can think of. “Caelus, March, Dan Heng, you, Himeko, Sampo, Gepard, Serval, Bronya, Seele, Natasha, Luka, Blade, Kafka, Silver Wolf, Herta; maybe, Asta, Arlan, Jing Yuan, Yanqing, Jinglui, Loucha… There might be more, but they seem to be the most lore relevant and repetitive so far.”

“Yes, I imagine some conflict might crop up with that roster…” Welt thinks. The way his brow furrows and his legs spread (manspreading… drool) is subtly attractive.

Ah, the Stellaron Hunters. You can and will admit you want to see Blade and Kafka badly, but if it could result in… tension, would it be worth it in the long run? Just to satiate your thirst? They’re so imposing in the best way possible.

“Hm. Do you want to tell them?” Welt interrupts your little Kafka slash Blade slash you fantasy.

After a moment of mentally debating, you decide that, “yes, I do. All of them.”

“Very well.” Welt gives a reassuring smile, “I will support you in any path you may choose to take.” And if that didn’t make butterflies flutter all the way from the pit of your tummy up to your throat.

“If they were to ask; how am I going to prove myself? Is there something that can show I’m not from this world?” Sudden anxiety seizes you, will your favorite characters mock you? You’d die.

“There’s nothing to say they won’t believe you. You’ve convinced me after all.” It helps you stay calm, and you nod seriously. There’s another gap where neither of you speak.

“Who will we see first, do you know?”

“How about the whole Express has a meeting and we can decide from there, sound good?” Ah, that smile. A shot to the heart it is.

“Yes, thank you, Mr Yang.” Your face is hot when you say it, suddenly desperate to leave the room and cool yourself.

Oblivious to your sudden burst of attraction, Welt continues on. “Of course, always feel free to stop by my room. I’d like to extend an invitation as the others have, if you want to rest in my room, you’re welcome to.”

Rounding up the entire Astral Express doesn’t take as long as you expected it to. Himeko was in her room; and March, Caelus, and Dan Heng weren’t far from the loading deck; and Pompom is always on the Express.

“So.” You start, folding your hands together and looking at everyone around the table. They’re all watching you, and it’s really sort of scary, but you need to be brave. “I’m not from… here.”

Honestly they take the news well. Sure there were some questions, some you knew the answer to, others you are unsure of yourself.

“Is that why,” Caelus cuts themself off. “I feel drawn to you.”

“Drawn to me?” Your head tilts curiously, “could you expand on that?”

“I feel it too,” Dan Heng murmurs, eyeing Caelus. At this you lean back, furrowing your brows in thought.

“Oh?” March leans into Dan Heng’s seat. “I think I know what they’re talking about.”

“Something, emotionally, maybe, makes me want to be close with you,” Himeko speaks to you directly for the first time. “It’s like a tugging in my chest telling me to care about you.”

Ignoring the blatant rush of heat to your cheeks, Caelus expands on Himeko’s words. “Exactly. I can’t explain how or why, but I feel that you’re important, at least to me.”

Fuck, they’re going to make leaving so hard, won’t they? They can’t just say things like that.

“Oh.” Processing those words is hard.

Noting the way you’ve halted and your body language, March hovers a hand over your forearm, debating whether to touch you.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” She asks, already sounding let down.

“No! No, not at all. It’s just.” You laugh, not out of humor or joy, but something nervous. “If you guys say things like that I’m not going to want to leave.”

“What if we don’t want you to leave?”

“I think that’s a conversation for another day, Caelus.” Welt steers the conversation back on track; what you really came to ask: “Where are we stopping first?”

next >

[chimielie]

i swear that i will hate you 'till forever

summary: Yaku x F!Reader. sometimes divorce is what you really need to strengthen a marriage

word count: 1.2k

cw: angst, alcohol, pr marriage gone extremely wrong, yaku is older by six years, reader is a socialite with no life skills or healthy coping mechanisms, yaku also has no healthy coping mechanisms, no one in this story is doing well, The Judgment of God Himself, also blasphemy

a/n: heeey long time no see. i actually genuinely don't know when i wrote this, i'm just emptying my drafts of all the half-written fics i have locked in jail. i do still like this concept a lot so shoot me an ask if you want to know more about what i had planned for the full thing :)

Morisuke hates weddings.

He stares up at God, who is trapped in a little circle in a bigger circle, surrounded by gorgeous, centuries-old paintings of angels and saints and little red devils. Everything is gold, the flickering light of hanging chandeliers shining down to gild a rapt audience, even as the real people seem to pale in comparison to their artistically rendered counterparts. Standing here, surrounded by ornate displays of divinity, Morisuke has never felt so wealthy in spirit and physicality. He wasn’t raised in this religion, nor was he ever baptized into it as an adult, but he doesn’t find a seed of objection in himself he’d though he would. The icon he thinks is God looks both mournful and benevolent. All the shining things make Morisuke feel as though he’s looking into a mirror.

The people rustle, whispering among themselves. A stray string instrument sounds, alone and twanging into a silence far greater than itself, and Morisuke almost misses it when the orchestra starts up moments later. He has a headache, the kind that gets worse because he’s so irritated that he has one at all.

He looks down and away from God, straight into the blinding flash of a camera. His only reaction is a slight narrowing of the eyes, the closest he’s come to flinching in years. When the spots clear from his vision, you’re there, an angel from the fresco come to life, a goddess in the church.

Morisuke folds his hands. It feels only right to pray, the way he’s seen it on television, the way some of his teammates do before matches. You stare at him as you walk down the aisle, light playing over your dress in shining bursts that make his head throb harder. He can’t find any bridal tears in your eyes.

He shifts in his dress shoes, fights not to run his hands through his carefully-styled hair. The air-conditioning is too strong, meant to keep a thousand pressed-together people from overheating, or perhaps it’s the winter air leaking in through the great doors. You reach the stairs to the altar, wobbling a little on your first step up, though the movement is so minuscule anyone but him wouldn’t have noticed. Without thinking, Morisuke reaches a hand out to steady you. Your fingers press hard into the flesh of his palm, gripping him bruisingly tight. He can barely pull his hand away fast enough. The music stops, and Morisuke takes in a deep breath, while your chest doesn’t move to inhale or exhale. This is the last moment before you are knotted together irrevocably for life. A groom who hates weddings for a bride who doesn’t cry.

one year, eight months later

If you tilt your head up and almost close your eyes so that you’re looking through your lashes, you can pretend that you’re floating among the stars. You do so, walking backwards, tipping champagne down your throat as you go, trying to envision yourself as a constellation. You’re pretty sure you are one—Morisuke’s gift to you on your birthday, the first one after you’d married. The tabloids had eaten it up. You, watching him board a plane through the social media stories of your so-called friends, hadn’t felt quite as romanced as your picture in the news claimed.

You had forgotten about the constellation. Perhaps it had stuck in your subconscious, though; it was awfully romantic. Perhaps that’s why you had chosen the planetarium as a venue for tonight, though in the light of day it had been the midnight blue velvet and shadowy, domed ceilings that had cinched it for you. But you throw a lot of parties, and you don’t need any more sentiment in your life than what you’re currently suffocating under. You’ll come back on your own, you decide, finishing off your glass and plucking another from the nearest hand to you. You like being lost amongst your guests, freewheeling in space even without oxygen to breathe.

You stumble as you continue your backwards, meandering path through the party. You kick off your shoes, lab-grown crystals chipping off as they bounce. You don’t notice. You’ll buy more. You could buy the whole stupid world, with your husband’s money that he throws at you so he doesn’t have to come home and face you. Your husband who leaves you alone to do whatever you please. Alone, dancing among the stars.

Morisuke was twenty-eight when he proposed to you; you had just turned twenty-two when you said yes. You had been officially seeing each other for three months and acquaintances for nearly a year prior.

The story of your first meeting the interviewers knew was one you and your husband had told many times. A mutual friend had introduced you at a high-profile event and said, blatantly, that the two of you should “make babies.” Morisuke was smooth; you were flirtatious. The story played out like a romantic comedy, ending in a fairytale wedding.

You and he had kept the real story for yourselves, to take out and admire in times of trouble, to tuck away in your pocket like a note between secret lovers.

You were running through a rose-garden maze, eyes over your shoulder, hands fisted in your skirts. He had been walking a perpendicular path to yours (looking for someone else, another lover, you’d later learn) when you had tripped right over him, tumbling head over heels through the flora and into a new sector. Your breath knocked out of you, it was all you could do to stare up at the sky and try to laugh.

“Miss?” He’d called, ducking through the opening, pushing stray rose canes away. “Miss! Are you alright?”

He sounded so formal. You accepted his hand up, but only pulled yourself into a sitting position, trying desperately to catch your breath. He was so handsome, it was making things much harder. Inconsiderate of him, you thought

“I’m fine,” you managed, eventually. “Are you?”

“No more bruised than usual,” he’d returned, teasing. You cocked a brow. “I’m an athlete. I dive face-first onto hardwood floors all day."

For reasons you couldn’t recognize, you’d taken his hand, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt. His forearm toward the elbow had a nasty bruise, as he had said. You ran a careful finger over the discoloration, and he hissed.

“How was my form?”

“Awful,” he said frankly. “But—“ He’d seemed to get lost there, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the clouds and played across your features. With all the raw honesty of someone saying something they hadn’t even known they were thinking, he opened his mouth and said: “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

On a slight breeze, the petals you’d knocked off drifted around the two of you, catching on his shirt, in your hair. They pooled between you, and when you ducked your head down they were all you could see.

You fell in love during that first meeting.

He never fell in love with you at all.

[pablitosgf]

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 ! — jb05

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — jude bellingham x fem!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ! — in which you surprise jude with a special vacation.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! — nothing!!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! — this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS! even before i posted on this blog. so i hope y'all love it. btw i wrote this before he turned to the big 20 thats why it says 19. <3

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ! — writing

As you sat in your office chair, you couldn't help but smile as you thought about your anniversary with Jude. You had met him back in grade 11, and now he was a professional football player while you were studying to become a pediatrician one day. You had always wanted to have children, but of course, not at the moment. You and Jude were only 19 and had graduated high school a year ago. However, you had it all planned out – from engagement to marriage, pregnancy, and kids – for the future.

But for now, you needed to focus on finding the perfect anniversary gift for your beloved boyfriend of four years. You didn't want to give him something too basic, but you knew that he had always wanted to visit the Bahamas. Unfortunately, with his hectic schedule, there had never been a good time to make the trip. As you brainstormed ideas, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the time you had spent with Jude so far and excited for all the adventures that lay ahead for the two of you.

"That's it!" you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll surprise him with plane tickets for a week in the Bahamas. He has the whole next week off, so it's perfect timing." You couldn't wait to see the look on Jude's face when you told him.

With the apartment to yourself for a few hours due to his training, you quickly went to your laptop and booked a flight from Dortmund to the Bahamas. As you clicked "confirm" on the booking page, your heart raced with excitement. You knew that this trip would be a lifetime experience for the both of you, and you couldn't wait to share it with Jude.

After printing out the tickets, you headed to the store to pick up a fancy box and some accessories to go with it. As you were putting the finishing touches on your surprise, you heard the doorbell ring. Your heart racing with excitement, you ran to the door to greet Jude.

"Baby, you're finally here!" you exclaimed, barely containing your excitement. "I know we were supposed to exchange presents after our date, but I just can't wait any longer."

Jude raised his eyebrows, intrigued by your eagerness. "I can't wait to see what you've got for me," he said, leaning in to give you a light kiss.

You took his hand and led him to the box you had prepared, a huge grin on your face. Jude looked at you with a mix of confusion and anticipation as you urged him to open it. "Just open it," you said, barely able to contain your excitement.

Jude eagerly unlatched the box to reveal the tickets inside. At first, he looked confused, but as he examined them more closely, his eyes widened in disbelief. "What is this?" he asked, his voice filled with astonishment.

"You're joking, right?" he exclaimed, unable to believe his luck. But as he looked at you and saw the excitement written all over your face, he knew that this was real.

“You've always talked about how much you wanted to go," you said, smiling at him. "So I thought, why not make it happen?"

Jude's response was immediate - he wrapped his arms around you and began showering you with kisses all over your face, murmuring countless "thank yous" in your ear.

“You're welcome, my love," you said, feeling your heart swell with happiness.

You woke up to an enthusiastic and energetic Jude. "Come on, babe, get up!" Jude exclaimed, pulling your arm. You groaned and tried to resist, but Jude's excitement was contagious.

"Ugh, I'm too tired. Let me sleep," you complained, sinking back into the bed.

"No way! We have to get ready," Jude insisted.

"I just wanna sleep…" you muttered groggily.

"What did you say?" Jude asked, looking confused.

"Nothing," you replied, shaking your head and trying to shake off your sleepiness.

You posted a story on your Instagram and now you were sitting at the gate, waiting for the plane. You let out a sigh of boredom, and Jude noticed. "Hey, do you want to play chopsticks?" he asked.

You looked at him quizzically, "What's chopsticks?"

Jude was taken aback, "What?! How do you not know what chopsticks is?"

You just shrugged, which earned a loud puff from Jude.

"Fine, I'll teach you," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He explained the rules and how to play, but you made snarky remarks here and there, calling it "boring" and "not fun." Jude being Jude, responded with a sassy retort.

As Jude turned his head to you, he exclaimed, "We're actually here!" His lips barely missed yours as he spoke, and you couldn't help but smile at his excitement.

"Of course, my love," you replied, returning the almost-kiss with a soft one of your own. "I'm so happy we're finally here in the Bahamas together." You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his hand as you headed towards the exit, eager to start your week-long adventure in paradise.

[auspicious-manner]

welcome back! just some simple domestic fluff with mike faist and famous reader! get to this whenever you feel like it! lots of love<3

thank you for the kindness! <3

i’ve missed writing for mike! also have you guys seen the new challengers trailer AHHHHH IM SO EXCITED IT LOOKS SO GOOD!!! i have a few challengers themed mike stories in my inbox/drafts, so expect those somewhat soon ;)

also it’s been a long time since i’ve written a fluff fic, so sorry if this sucks lol

fem reader x mike faist

warnings: anxiety and mentions of depression

Worthy

•

you loved nearly everything about your life. being an actress, singer, and now a writer has given you more confidence than anything else.

you started as an actress. ever since you were little, you would put on shows for your entire family with costumes and scripts. they weren’t simple either; you would perform full dramatic monologues, emotional scenes, and romantic moments with your stuffed animals. your mom didn’t have to hesitate putting you into acting classes.

into your teen years, you booked commercials and small roles in children’s shows. then, right when you turned eighteen, you got your big break when you gained a major role in a movie alongside some of hollywood’s biggest stars, directed by none other than steven spielberg.

from there, business offers and acting gigs flew in. everything seemed to be happening all at once. it was all so overwhelming. but fame is what you wanted, right?

that’s what you thought, at least. as a child, you glamorized the picturesque hollywood starlight life. you wanted everything from the glitz to the glam. you didn’t realize that being famous came with this sense of dread that one wrong move could end your entire career. you felt unworthy of being in the spotlight all the time. so, in order to keep those intrusive thoughts from rearing their ugly heads, you kept so busy that not even a single thought could even cross your mind.

you knew you could sing, and you began writing songs and releasing music. you even went on a north american tour. then, when the tour slowed down, you wrote a novel. you kept so busy that you lost track of who you really were. what you felt you were meant to do.

sure, you had success and had more connections and fans than anyone could dream of. but what did it matter when you felt so alone?

you began closing yourself off. the limelight was making you anxious, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be seen in public in the state you were in. it all felt so hopeless. you considered living of the grid and going incognito in order to escape the expectations placed on you. for months, you stayed as hidden as possible, and it only made things worse.

being a long time friend of steven spielberg at this point, he sent you a personal invite to the premiere his new film west side story. you almost threw the invite in the trash. the thought of going out on a red carpet again and seeing all of these faces with bright, flashing cameras was out of the equation for you. yet, you missed the feeling of being dolled up. you missed feeling pretty.

when the big night came, seeing yourself in the dress that you had picked out didn’t feel real. you felt like you and not you all at the same time. your mind was conflicted; you knew the glam of hollywood was what made you happy, but since it had been so long since you have felt that way, you felt oddly out of body.

it was a long, off white dress with a leg slit and a completely open back. the dress had sleeves that stopped just below your shoulders, and it hugged your body tightly but not uncomfortably. your wavy hair fell onto your shoulders neatly in a half up half down, your curtain bangs framing your face. for the makeup, you tried to keep it relatively natural, and you didn’t want to draw too many eyes. you paired the look with some heels and a purse.

looking in the mirror, you tried your hardest to feel positive. you looked beautiful, you felt beautiful, yet something still felt wrong. maybe it was because you had no one by your side if you got anxious. as far as you knew, you would know one person there.

the car sent to pick you up took you on a ride through new york as your heart rate quickened. when you arrived at the scene, the bright lights and red carpet gave you chills.

after walking into the crowd, it didn’t take long to find steven. he pulled you aside into a fatherly hug. it felt good to be near someone as familiar as him.

“Y/N, long time no see!” he said excitedly as you hugged him.

“it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” you replied, pulling away.

“what have you been up to? knowing you, i’m sure it’s something great!”

you smiled, trying to create a facade. “oh, you know, a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” you said while nervously laughing. you couldn’t tell steven spielberg that you’ve been in a slump and that the most productive part of your day is waking up and making something to eat.

“i’m excited to see whatever you have up your sleeve,” he said, going to your side and taking your arm. “now, there’s someone i’d like you to meet.”

he guided you through the crowds, and you kept close to him. everything was becoming overwhelming.

you approached a man with his back turned to you. “Y/N, meet mike faist. you two could have a lot to talk about.”

the man turned around, and the first thing you noticed about him was that his eyes seemed to be glowing. they were brighter and bluer than anything you’d ever seen. they were absolutely stunning. upon further inspection, you realized that you recognized him from the posters for the movie, and knew he was playing riff.

he smiled at you, almost as enthralled with you as you were with him. he held out a hand, and you took it gently to shake it. you hoped he didn’t feel the sweat building on your palms. “Y/N L/N, it’s lovely to meet you.”

you grew flustered. “how’d you know my last name?”

mike looked taken aback. “doesn’t everyone?” your smile fell slightly, and mike noticed. “i’m a big fan of your work. your songs, your movies, and i recently started reading your book too. you’re amazing at everything you do.”

steven patted your shoulder before walking away, leaving you with mike. mike had a presence about him that made you feel welcomed and seen. it’s been a while since you felt that way.

“so, mike, what else have you been in?” you asked, wanting to know more about his work. he knew so much about yours, and you felt a little embarrassed that you didn’t know more about him.

he smiled and looked down. “i was a newsie in newsies on broadway, and i covered jack kelly. i played connor murphy in dear evan hansen on broadway, i was in a tv show called panic, and a lot of other stage and film work.”

you nodded, squinting your eyes slightly. “you know, i’ve seen both of those shows on broadway, and i didn’t realize until just now that that was you.”

he laughed. “am i not memorable?”

you giggled in return. “i don’t think it’s that. i just think i’m missing a little part of my brain.”

you and mike continued to talk about your respective careers. you noticed that he was so easy to talk to, and that he listened to and hung onto every word that you would say. it gave you butterflies, and you wondered what was wrong with you.

sadly, you remembered you’re at mike’s movie premiere and he had to do interviews and talk to other people besides you. you could tell he wanted to stay with you, but knew he had other obligations. before he left, he said, “we’ll see each other again before the night is through.”

you’ve had plenty of men try and charm you, with the efforts always falling flat. you’re no stranger to keeping your feelings under control and learning to not date in hollywood. it was too easy to be played by the wrong guys. but, your heart was telling you something different about mike. he made you more nervous and giddy than anyone else ever had and you barely knew him. you started to forget about the fact that you’ve been a hermit battling with your mental health for the last few months.

you caught up with a few old friends from the industry that you had recognized in the crows before it was time to go to a private screening of the film.

you watched as everyone funneled into seats in the theater next to their plus ones and friends. you stood back, scoping the area for empty seats. you felt frozen as all the seats seemed to fill.

“follow me,” a voice said close to your ear before taking your hand and walking with you down the rows of seats. you noticed it was mike and you smiled to yourself.

he took you close to the screen, but not too close, and sat down with you. you sighed. “thanks for saving me back there, i was getting stressed.”

mike tilted his head. “you’re from around here. you’re used to red carpets and screenings, aren’t you? i didn’t think this would stress out someone as experienced as you.”

he was right, it shouldn’t have stressed you out. you were so used to hiding away for so long that this all felt new to you again like it did when you were eighteen.

mike noticed your expression change, and he turned to you. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said anything. but you’re worrying me a bit, is everything okay?”

you tried to brush it off. “i’m fine now, really. crowds just get me anxious-”

“i’m not just talking about tonight,” mike said, leaning in towards you. “the world has caught onto your unprecedented disappearance from the public eye. that can never mean anything good. are you sure you’re okay?”

you bit your lip, holding back tears. it was one thing to keep everything to yourself and pack it away and never confront what you’re actually going through, but to hear someone else say it put it into perspective for you. you had completely lost track of your vision and goal in life. you had lost track of you.

mike put his hand on your leg comfortingly, taking the silence and the glossy tears hidden in your eyes as a sign that you weren’t okay. the silent support he sent was exactly what you needed in that moment. a stranger was the person you least expected to comfort you.

before you could both think to say anything else, steven appeared at the front of the crowd and gave a speech, followed by the showing of the movie. every time mike appeared on the screen, you got chills. he was amazing. his performance made you hate riff yet feel some kind of empathy for him. that was due to mike’s spellbinding performance.

occasionally, you would feel mike’s eyes glance at you when important scenes came up. it’s almost as if he wanted to see your reaction. he wanted your approval.

then, after two and a half short hours, the movie ended, and the theater erupted in applause. everyone stood on their feet and you did the same, small tears running down your cheeks. you looked at mike, and his smile dropped when he saw you.

“why are you crying?” he asked.

you sniffled. “it was so amazing. you were so amazing.”

mike turned red, and he reached down to envelope you in probably the best hug you’ve ever had. he had the widest grin, and it wasn’t just from the movie.

you and mike traded numbers, and from that night on, you became inseparable.

*

mike awoke something in you that hadn’t been seen in a long time. he made you feel inspired at motivated and comfortable. you hid yourself away from the world in fear that the public would turn on you, twist your words into something far from the truth. mike dispelled those feelings for you; you felt like yourself again around him.

after the night at the premiere, mike made the first move in wanting to talk to you. you face timed each other for hours each night, staying awake into the early hours of the morning just talking about anything and everything.

you went out for a coffee date a week after the premiere, and it seemed clear to both of you that there was more to be discovered than just a friendship.

as you were walking through central park with mike, keeping your head slightly down as to not attract any unwanted eyes, you boldly brushed your hand against his, letting it linger for a moment. his hand moved away, but creeped back into place when he realized what you were doing. he slowly grazed his finger tips against yours as he walked, and he reached his fingers out and your hand fit neatly into his. you continued to hold hands for the rest of your walk.

when you arrived back at your apartment, you both sat down on the couch, your bodies turned inwards to face each other.

“i feel like i’ve know you my whole life, but its only been a week,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes.

mike smiled lightly. “i’ve never clicked this fast with anyone.”

you both paused, and mike hesitated before he spoke again. “can i ask you a question?”

you nodded, and he went on.

“there’s always been so much speculation about your love life in the media, and dating rumors and whatnot. i don’t like believing anything the media says, but i want to hear it straight from you.”

you smiled to yourself. the media liked to pull things that weren’t actually there and make up stories for fun. you’ve never actually had a real date since you’ve been in the business, let alone a relationship.

“i haven’t found anyone worthy yet.”

mike nodded, scooting closer to you. you could tell he was aiming to put his arm around you, but hesitated to see your reaction. you leaned in, telling him without words that it was okay, and he rested his arm around your shoulder as you laid close to each other. you immediately felt comfortable under his arm.

“i admire you, Y/N. i always have. i like that you know what you want, and that you know yourself. that’s a really great quality to have.”

you blushed, but your happiness faltered. you leaned your head back on his arm. “yeah, i guess. too bad i haven’t felt that way recently.”

mike looked at you, frowning. “why? if you don’t mind me asking.”

you weren’t typically the one to open up quickly to strangers. but mike felt different. he wasn’t going to judge, or make you feel bad about yourself. he was comforting.

“i’ve hid myself away from the world because i’m scared. i’m so insanely scared of messing up and having the whole world turn on me. so, i did the only thing i could think to do. i locked myself away in hopes that it would help,” you giggled nervously. “it didn’t do shit.”

you were smiling at your own misfortune, but mike stayed somber. “i’m sorry, Y/N, that’s awful.”

you shrugged. “yeah, but i did it to myself.”

mike sat up, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. you froze under his touch. “the world needs your brilliance. don’t be afraid, there’s so many people ready to guide you and protect you from anyone trying to take you down. i’m here for you, i promise.”

you bit your lip, unable to say words. mike was so incredibly kind. all you could do was whisper a thank you.

mike put his arm back around you, and you leaned into the couch together. “if there’s anything i can do to help, let me know,” he said quietly.

you leaned your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. “you already have.”

mike smiled, turning red. “you’re cute.”

you felt complete. you hadn’t known mike for that long, but he filled a part of your soul that had been gone for a while. he made you feel liked again when you couldn’t like yourself.

you sat up and looked at him. your faces were only a few inches apart. at the same time, you leaned in, and your lips grazed each other before interlocking. it felt euphoric.

you pulled away, remaining close, and you smiled at each other. “you’re the most talented person i’ve ever met,” you whispered to him.

mike lightly placed his hand under your chin. “that means a lot coming from you. i love everything you do.”

you leaned in again, feeling your old self coming back again. you felt renewed. mike made you feel like the star you are again.

you rested your forehead on his. “thank you.”

mike tilted his head slightly. “for what?”

“for making me feel worthy again.”

mike smiled lightly, then gave you a short but sweet kiss. “never forget that you’re beautiful and wanted.”

a small tear escaped your eye. mike was everything you needed. you almost felt in denial that someone like him could be making you feel this way because you were so used to men not valuing you. you were moving fast with mike, but it felt right. you were never one to believe in love at first sight, but this was pretty damn close.

you leaned into his side again, and his hand rested on the back of your head. you could get used to this.

[somekindofpoet]

Like A Movie

Summary: Reader is a struggling screenwriter but things start looking up when they get a surprise visitor who wants to buy their movie.

Jenna Ortega X Fem! Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: This takes place 10 years in the future. I’m suffering some serious writers block on my other fic and hopefully this helps. It feels weird to write about a real person, but it came so easily I couldn't waste it. 

Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

You’re an up and coming screenwriter. You just retired after twenty years in the military, and now you’re living in a tiny apartment in LA. You figure you spent your youth doing a job you hated, sacrificing everything and for what? Now you’re going to live out your dream.

The truth is, you’d written page after page and screenplay on screenplay on screenplay and you had nothing to show for it. You sent them all out, hoping and praying for a bite. But now it’s been a year, you’re 38 and the only thing you have to show for your efforts is an apartment full of stacks of haphazardly bound paper and a serious caffeine and nicotine addiction.

Until now. You had written a full feature film, probably the 100th one you’d finished. You stuck it in a drawer months ago, but decided to pull it out and rewrite. You wrote until your fingers ached and your eyes burned. You edited until you felt as if you cut actual pieces of your soul out and threw them away. And finally, you had your final draft. When you printed and bound it, you didn’t think twice about it. You’d figured it would probably end up in the pile of your other stories, gathering dust and resentment. 

Your sister came down from Northern California to visit you, and one day while you were out she’d picked up the script and read the entire 120 pages. She was beside herself. She hounded you until you gave in. The compromise was you’d only send it to A24, not even gathering the hope that anyone would read it. And you thought it had been dumped in the trash, until you got a phone call.

You were standing in your kitchen watching your espresso machine spit its sweet lifeblood into your oversized mug when your phone rang. You considered not answering. You hated talking on the phone, and it was an unknown number. But this is Hollywood, so you know you’re obligated to pick up in case it’s an agent.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this the author of Secessus?” A man’s voice comes through the phone.

“Uh, yes?”

“Are you currently at your apartment?”

You look around, confused. You walk to your kitchen window and look outside, but all you see is the bag lady rummaging through the dumpster.

“Yeah. This is creepy, I’m hanging up.”

Your last sentence fell on a dead line. The person on the other end had already hung up after you had confirmed you were home. You shake your head and pick up your mug, taking one last glance outside.

“Weird.” You say as you shuffle back to your desk. Your computer is open to a new script you’re working on, this one is a spec for tv. You figured you’d try your hand at a multi-episode plot and hope to get picked up for a writers room on another show. If you weren’t going to write something original, at least you’d still get to write something. 

You’re about to start tapping away at your keyboard when there’s a soft knocking at your door. You glance at it, then at your phone. None of your friends ever came over unannounced. They knew you hated that. So who the fuck was this?

You get up, and tiptoe to the door. At least if you’re quiet you can look through the peephole and see who it is without alerting them to your presence. This way if it’s someone you don’t want to interact with, you can go back to your desk and pretend you aren’t home. You stand on your tiptoes and close one eye, pressing the other to the small glass window in the door.

All you can make out is a small figure, like really small. They’re wearing a bucket hat but you can see brown hair falling over their shoulders. The person is clearly nervous, and you can see them spinning the rings on their fingers. It’s a girl. 

You lower yourself back down, frowning. It was a rare occasion you turned a girl away from your door, but you had no clue who this was. You get back on your tip toes again to get another look. She’s looking right at the peephole, and even waves at it. You can’t tell who it is because she’s wearing massive pittvipers under her hat, effectively covering her face. 

You lower yourself again, more confused. You shrug to yourself and figure ‘what’s the worst that could happen? She tries to sell me a bible and I tell her I’m a big fat lesbian. Byeee.’ Before opening the door you look down at yourself. You’re bra-less and wearing a white ribbed tank top (formerly know as a wife beater but now affectionately dubbed a wife pleaser) and gray sweats. You are perfectly aware that you look like shit, but you don’t care. Maybe it’ll scare the girl away.

Another knock raps against your door, this time louder and more frantic.

“Hello? I know you’re in there can you please open up? I really need to talk to you.” The girl says from the other side.

She has a sweet voice, high in pitch but not piercingly so. You sigh in resignation and grab the doorknob. The damn thing wasn’t even locked. You swing the door open and blink at the sudden blast of sunlight in your face. 

The girl is there, bouncing on her toes with anxiety. She looks up at you, and you think she looks shockingly familiar. You can’t quite place it though, not with the hat and the sunglasses. She’s wearing a baggy white shirt with a green hem and denim jeans. She’s casual but you can tell that it’s calculated. She’s trying to blend in.

“Uhm, can I help you?”

“Are you y/n?” She asks.

“Yes? Is this a joke? Did you have someone call me?” You’re slightly worried now, and still half blind from the sun shining in your eyes. 

“Can I come inside?” She asks, glancing behind her nervously.

“Are you in trouble or something? Am I being roped into like some action movie scenario?”

She laughs, and you can’t help yourself but think it’s a pleasant sound. She still seems so familiar. Maybe if your damned eyes would adjust you could figure out who this woman is. 

“I’m not in trouble, I just want to talk to you about your script. And I’m pretty sure there’s a paparazzi in your neighbors trash can.” She says, glancing across the parking lot.

You smile, “Oh no, that’s just Janice. She’s the bag lady.”

The girl looks at you like you’re crazy. At least you think she does, because you can’t see much of her face behind the giant reflective glasses she’s wearing. You find yourself feeling slightly indignant. Who is this girl to look at you crazy when she’s the stranger knocking on your door and asking to come inside?

“So?” She says, still looking up at you.

“Oh, uhm…” you hesitate. Your apartment is a disaster. There were scripts and coffee cups everywhere, and likely a pair of socks or two. “This is about Secessus?”

She nods, raising her eyebrows above her glasses. Is she getting impatient? The stones on this girl. You sigh and relent, stepping to the side and waving your hand inside to usher her in. She hurriedly slides past you, her converse squeaking on your wood floors. You shut the door and turn to her. She’s staring at your living room. 

You grimace, “Oof, I wasn’t expecting company so…it’s a mess.”

She approaches a stack of scripts and runs her fingers along the cover page. When she speaks her voice is quiet, almost reverent. Like she’s speaking in a church.

“Are these all screenplays?”

“Yeah- wait, you haven’t even told me your name dude, and you’re in my house. How do you know about Secessus?”

She doesn’t turn around, instead thumbing through the script you know is called Green Ties. You wrote it two months ago and have yet to revise it. 

“Because I read it.”

Realization dawns on you, “Oh you’re from A24?”

She hums, “You could say that. Sometimes.”

She takes her glasses off but she’s still turned away from you. 

“Sometimes? Are you like an agent or something?” You ask as you move around her into your living room. 

She looks up at you and you immediately know who she is. How it took you so long is still a mystery, but now that you can see her of course you know her. Brown eyes, a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the most perfect cupids bow lip.

Jenna motherfucking Ortega. 

“That’s me. Except it’s Marie, not motherfucking. Although that would be a pretty dope middle name.” She replies with a shrug. 

You hadn’t even realized you said it out loud. Your mouth is hanging open and you’re eternally grateful you set your coffee down or it would be on the floor. Along with your pride. You glance down at yourself now painfully aware that you look like a bum who hadn’t showered in a week.

“Jenna Ortega. In my apartment. Read my script.” You think you may be going into shock. She does too.

“Do you want to sit down?” She’s worried, you can see it on her face.

You nod and gesture toward your dining room table. It’s the only surface that isn’t covered in your manuscripts. You grab your coffee from your desk and sit with it at the table, your hands shaking as Jenna sits down across from you. You set the cup down, mentally kicking yourself

“Would you uh-do you want an espresso?” You’re scrambling now, desperately trying to make this scenario less fucking weird. 

She smiles at you and pulls the hat off her head, shaking her hair free. “I’d love one.”

You get up, far too quickly to be considered normal but you figure that ship has sailed now, and make her a cup. As you’re waiting for the machine you begin to gather your senses, willing yourself to be a normal human being for once in your life.

“So, uhm, I just want to apologize. If I had known,” you pause and lean into the counter, looking back at her. “I would have been more…presentable.”

She leans her elbow on your table and rests her head in her hand, still smiling at you. Why is she smiling at you?

“I prefer it this way. It feels more real.”

“Well it feels pretty fuckin unreal to me right now.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. You grimace at your words but she laughs again. Before you can say anything else the espresso machine chimes telling you Jenna’s coffee is ready. You turn and grab it, quickly setting it down in front of her.

You sit back in your chair, then stand back up when you realize, “Oh shoot do you want anything with it? I have sugar cubes and oat milk, if you’re into that.”

She shakes her head no and blows over the top of the mug, “This is great, thank you.”

You sit back down. You know you’re being a fool. You just can’t get your feet under you. She’s still smiling at you, her eyes shining. She looks exactly like her pictures, maybe even better in person. Her 20s have treated her well and she wears 30 like a goddess. You close your eyes in frustration, seriously what is wrong with you?! Get it together y/n. You take a deep breath and open your eyes again. She’s watching you closely, half hidden amusement on her face. 

“So. You’re here about my movie?”

She nods, her face lighting up like she’s just remembered why she’s here too. “Yeah! A24 gave me the script last week and once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down. I’ve read it at least ten times now. I’ve even found myself rehearsing all the lines for all the characters, I’m obsessed.”

You’re dumbfounded. Jenna Ortega is sitting at your kitchen table and she’s obsessed with your script. You briefly wonder if you’ve ascended into an alternate universe. 

She takes your silence as an invitation to go on. “So I wanted to come here and meet the person who wrote it. I want to make this movie. If you’ll let me.”

“You. You want to make my movie?”

She nods, sipping her coffee. “I’d like to be in it too, obviously. But A24 would produce it. It’d be my directorial debut. But like, if you’re not cool with that we can hire someone too.”

This whole morning must be a dream. You’re dreaming, you decide. And if this is a dream it doesn’t matter what you say. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me right now.”

She laughs again, you feel proud. That’s three times in the span of ten minutes you’ve made Jenna Ortega laugh. But of course this is a dream. So you’re great. 

“I’m not shitting you. What do you think?”

“I think I’m dreaming.” You say. 

She laughs again. You’re crushing it.

“You’re not dreaming.” She reaches across the table and grabs your hand. You KNOW you’re dreaming now because Jenna Ortega is holding your hand. “See, I’m real. You’re real. And we’re going to make your movie.”

“Holy shit.”

“You haven’t said yes yet.”

You nearly fall out of your chair. “Yes! Yes a million times yes! You can act all the parts, direct it, produce it, burn it to the ground for all I care, are you kidding me?”

Her laughter is quickly becoming the soundtrack to your morning. “I don’t think I can act all the parts, and A24 is on board so we just need to cast the rest.”

You feel like a fish, your mouth is moving but absolutely nothing is coming out. She pulls her hand back and takes another drink of her coffee.

“I’m sure this is sort of overwhelming. But I want you on set with me. And I want you to help me with the cast. If you agree, the studio already has your contract drawn up. They’ll pay you for the script and we’ll start in two months.”

You take a sip of your coffee, then look deep into the cup. Did your sister slip shrooms in the espresso again? You look back to Jenna, she’s patiently waiting for you to answer her. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m trying to get it together right now. But yes. To all of it. Yes.” You run your hands through your hair, a nervous habit.

Jenna grins at you over her mug. She has her fingers interlaced around it and she’s clinking one of her rings against the porcelain. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she was excited. Thrilled even. 

“Great!” She says, “I’ll let them know.”

You nod. Thanking the universe she’s already read the script because she would probably think you were an idiot if she didn’t know that you could write. You could not pull it together. This morning was just so WEIRD.

“Do you usually make house calls to writers?” You ask her, attempting to compose yourself.

“No. This one is special. And now that I’ve met you, I know I made the right decision.” She downs the last of her coffee and stands.

You stand with her, and move around the table as she makes her way toward your door. You lean around her when she’s in the entry and open it, letting her out. As she’s about to step outside she turns to you.

“That coffee is incredible by the way. How do you feel about this time tomorrow?”

“How do I feel?”

She nods, pulling her hat and sunglasses back on. “Yeah. Do you mind if I come back by to go over the details? I’d stay longer today but I have to go to a casting call.”

“Uh, of course. I’ll have a cup waiting for you.”

You mentally pat yourself on the back. Good job y/n, so smooth, much rizz. 

She grins even wider and turns on her heel, heading down the stairs, leaving you standing in the doorway, awestruck. You watch her as she gets into a town car waiting in the parking lot, and wait till it drives away before you close your door. 

“What the fuck.” You say quietly, “wait what the fuck?!” You yell this time. 

Excitement pumps through your veins and you can’t help yourself but to dance a little jig around the stacks in your living room. Your script is bought! You’re making a movie! Jenna Ortega is coming back to your apartment tomorrow!

You stop dancing, the realization spreading over you. Jenna is coming back over tomorrow. You look around. You have some work to do before she comes back. You pick up your phone and call your best friend, you’re going to need his help if you’re going to get this place cleaned up.

He picks up after two rings.

“Nando. You are not gonna believe the fucking morning I’ve had. How soon can you get here?”

[earthry]

Hello love I know your requests are closed, but i have to get it out of my system and tell to you about it (please just ignore me) I can't stop thinking about the idea of papas breaking up with reader to protect them and even telling them 'I never loved you' because this way it will be a faster way for reader to move on and stop asking question to their papa, BUT i think the even more angstiest plot twist would be if it was the exactly same day when reader was ready to tell her papa she's pregnant. A few months/weeks after this whole breaking out thing he could by accident find out about 'the news' (im sorry for taking your time, but this thing is on my mind literally on a loop for days and i think you're angst enjoyer just like me ALSO i hope you have an amazing weekend)

~🐍

Aksjshsh ANON it’s funny cause I literally had something almost exactly like that in my discarded drafts snsbsbsb I don’t really plan on finishing it or writing a full HC for it, but here's a little treat just for you. You can imagine any Papa here <3

tw: pregnancy, slut-shaming, self deprecation, hurt/comfort, angst, breaking up, happy ending! please keep in mind this is mostly unedited and just randomly written out spur of the moment.

After the breakup, everything he does reminds him of you. 

It was a mistake— thinking that breaking up with you would set you on the right path, a better one. You had a whole life ahead of you, he didn’t want you wasting it by waiting for him every time he left for tour or had to cancel plans to attend to his papal duties.

He can see the toll it takes on you, the crestfallen expression you think you hide so well when he has to leave a date night early or when he has to call a rain check. The anxiety vibrating off you when you text him after a new concert video is released of him flirting with the audience, asking if it's okay to get reassurance that it’s just an act.

He needed to let you go.

It broke his heart to, but he in his eyes it was setting you free for your own good. You would never let him go if you knew his reasoning— he knew this so he had to make it seem like he didn’t want you anymore.

You didn’t believe him at first, begging him to open up to you and to stop joking around. You were convinced something or someone must have said something; the Papa you knew loved you, he wouldn’t suddenly fall out of love so quickly or be so cruel. 

So he aims for the heart. He tells you it wasn’t really real, that it was all a game to him to play house for a while because he was curious. Now that his curiosity has been sated and he is bored, he sees no reason to keep you around.

It hurts him to say so, and he will never forgive himself for it, but he tells you that he never loved you in the first place, that you were just another body. That you were so easy to bed, it only took a few sweet words and you had already fallen so hard. He calls you laughable. Pathetic. A whore. He laughs as tears begin to gather, taunting you when you run out crying.

You avoid him after that— and he has his Ghouls deliver anything that you’d left in his room to your old room. 

You toss the positive pregnancy test that you were waiting for the perfect moment to show him— it seems like there would be no perfect moment, there would be no moment at all.

He may not have loved you, but you did. Despite the pain, you can’t imagine a universe that you wouldn’t keep his baby. 

You just don’t know how he’ll react. Once upon a time you had thought he would never ask you to get rid of the baby, that he would ask you what you wanted first and respect that decision. But you had also thought he loved you just as much and you were so very wrong.

You try hiding it as long as you can but eventually your belly gets too round to conceal. 

You can see the realization cross his face in real time and when he tries approaching, you can’t help but look at him with hurt, fearful eyes. All it takes is for you to rest a protective hand on your stomach to tell him what he wanted to know. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I’m sorry, please don’t make me—“ you swallow back a soft sob, unable to even finish the sentence.

Of all the things he’s ever done, leading a satanic church, promoting sin and pleasure and corruption, this will forever be what he feels guiltiest for.

He doesn’t even think before reaching for you, trying to pull you into his arms to comfort. Can't think of anything else except that right now he needs to soothe you, needs to fix this.

Before, you would have melted into his embrace straight away. Now, however, you struggle and push him back.

He lets you, not wanting to force anything, not wanting to distress you. It’s bad for you— and the baby.

"Tesoro," He tries, gentling his tone as much as he can, holding his hands out with his palms up in an attempt to show that he means no harm, "Shh, shh— I won't make you, I'm not mad. I promise."

You don't believe him and he can tell from the way you are holding yourself— like a house of cards one blow from caving in. You don't know if you can do this again.

He had made promises before, too. Promises you had foolishly believed with naivety. How could you be so stupid, so gullible? To believe that out of all the people in the ministry, in the world, he would choose you? That Papa Emeritus himself could love you.

You should have seen it from the start but you had been too in love with him, too busy making sure you could be enough for him, only to realize that you never would be. There's a sinking realization that you were never enough in the first place.

You never meant anything, after all. He said it himself.

You wonder how it must have felt for him, to have to deal with your inadequacy and even your desire to learn how to make things feel good for him because you had little experience. He must have found it laughable, he certainly told you so.

You were laughable. Pathetic. Whore.

To want to be good at the one only thing you were good for... you wonder how he was able to stand you that long.

You put distance between you and him, arms wrapped protectively around your waist. He looks pained and you're having trouble figuring out what.

Was it because it would ruin his reputation? To have knocked up someone like you?

"I won't say anything," you rush out, "No one will know it's yours, please. Please let me keep it. Please."

"Amore mio—"

"I'm not your 'amore'. I never was, never will be. It's okay I understand that now. Please let me k-keep it."

"I..." He wants to say more, he wants to comfort you and hold you. But he doesn't really have a right to anymore and he can tell how upset you are, he doesn't want to aggravate you any further. "Yes, yes you can keep it. I won't interfere, you have my word."

You still look doubtful and he adds, "I swear to Lucifer himself."

There's a little more reassurance in that. You know him enough to know he wouldn't say those words lightly, even if he had lied to you and toyed with you the way he did. There's a relief that passes over you and you thank him as quickly as you can before dashing off. You hear him shout your name but you don't stop and he doesn't follow.

---

INSERT PAPA DOING HIS BEST TO MAKE UP AND DO EVERYTHING HE CAN TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. LOTS OF SELF LOATHING FOR PAPA BECAUSE HE DID A FUCKYWUCKY.

Eventually there's a moment where you ask why he's being nice, why he's doing this and he tells you he loves you and you call him a liar. He then admits his mistake and apologizes. He says he'll never do it again and will wait until the end of time for your forgiveness if necessary. Or if you never give it, he will wait forever even after the end of time. He is at your mercy.

You eventually warm up to him with hesitation, but you're cautious and always bracing yourself for the catch, for the bad things to happen again.

Papa continues doing his best to support you and be there for you and when he shows his dedication by being there for the birth of his baby and being there for you the entire time, you finally let him back in and offer him the first olive branch by asking him if he would like to hold his child for the first time.

[mondsphere]

Luo Binghe: Original Drafts Edition! Who and why?

“[…] in fact, in his original outline, Bing-gē hadn’t even had a romance plotline; he had been doomed to fade away, alone and unaging forever.” — The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Vol. 4 (Mo Xiang Tong Xiu)

The drafts version of Binghe! Not Bing-gē, nor Bing-mei, but a secret, third thing! (I’m partial to Bing-xióng (兄) myself, just for thematic cohesion. Bing-mei remains as he is: Shizun’s special glass-heart maiden.)

So! Who is this elusive, mythical Binghe we never got the chance to meet? What is he? How do I get to pick this one’s brains?

Why is he haunting me! What does he want! So much to think about.

Listen: I love my trash sons, both the racoon and wet dog variations, but I am curious about this handsome demon lord who did not bed thousands, and did not steal his shizun to lovingly coax him into a loving and respectful marriage. Alas, Airplane-bro, as is custom, has left me hanging.

The solitary quote above has been floating around my brainspace for months. Intermittently, I would look up at the sky and sigh a big sad dog sigh, and think of this lonely demon-man emperor who seems to be both perfectly representative of No-Shizunitis Suffering Binghe, and on the exact opposite end of the line. I have spent many a night trying to rearrange the blocks of both SVSSS and PIDW like a sad toddler with no plan but plenty of amorphous longing.

Thus, Bing-xióng. My beloved new toy.

We know he is left alone and unaging. This means that:

He does not marry even once. (Sorry, Other Bing Variants. This one came broken.)

He is not defeated, killed, or left to suffer his not-father’s fate of sulking under a mountain.

From 1) we can assume two more things! Xin Mo either gets fixed/doesn’t influence this Binghe the same way, or: Xin Mo is completely written off à la Airplane Retconning, making Binghe potentially even more individually powerful than his younger counterparts.

(Or he just. Takes people’s cultivation ad-infinitum. Interesting thought, but too straight-forward for my tastes. Airplane’s thoughts? Unknowable.)

From 2) we can also assume Binghe cannot die, is under the influence of the Protagonist Halo unto infinity, and will only be put out of his misery once the heat death of the universe deems it a worthwhile endeavour. Either that or the story ends, but. It tickles a miserable part of my brain pink to think Binghe will not be let off even then.

Anyway. Bing-xióng, of course, has the same source material to work off of. Up until the Abyss, and including it, the plotline should be if not the same, adjacent enough to be indistinguishable.

However. This means:

Bing-xióng never got coerced into sex by Qin Wanyue, thus not starting him on the path of sex-dependency/addiction, avoiding Bing-gē’s fate by virtue of the Butterfly Effect. (Read this post because it explains Bing-gē's whole thing better than a lot of things I've seen.)

Again, Xin Mo implications.

Alternate Universe Shenanigans make an appearance. (Shen Jiu’s fever and death was actually meant to happen, Bing-gē just got very, very unlucky and his Universe’s Yue Qingyuan very, very lucky. For a few years. Either that or there is a Shen Yuan for every Binghe! Again: sorry, Bing-gē. You need to find your own. Middle child issues…)

Once the drafts/original outline got lost, all bets are off and now the characters become real people, without narrative influence. This also has the very fucked up implication that Bing-gē is actually a result of exclusively external forces and would have never gone down that path if not forced onto it by Airplane’s unwitting hands. I do and do not love this version. Very Mo Ran-esque, if looked at from afar and squinting.

Other options I’m either too not-high to think, or too high to put together. (Cold medicine is insane?)

I am fascinated by this… Schrödinger’s Binghe. A jaded, lonely emperor left in the ashes of his world, gazing upon his own history and finding fucking nothing and no one. Metaphorically and, like, practically, if I’m understanding Airplane’s musings correctly. Isolated, cursed by his own blood in a completely new and fucked up way!

I need Airplane to speak with me for like, half an hour. This is paramount to my mental health, I’m losing my braincells by the hour.

What happened to this impervious, cocky, badass demon bastard lord to become so alone? How did it happen? Why did it not happen to the other two, or at least Bing-gē, who has had every horrible and shitty thing possible and impossible piled onto his head? What the fuck is up with Xin Mo? Why isn’t it eating away at Big Bro Luo? Or, worse: why is it eating away at him in such a way that instead of turning into a violent yet charismatic, horror-creature of a man, it turns him into the existential terror-fate I’ve contemplated and abhorred since I was seven?

Tianlang-jun as the final boss. Discovering Huan Hua Palace Master’s crimes, deceit and… stuff. Perhaps even uncovering Shen Jiu’s backstory.

Ooh! Worse! Or better? What if he finds out everything, after having followed Bing-gē’s path, and simply… gives up? A grown up Bing-gē, minus the marriage and surrogate-lover part(s).

(More unlikely than other options, but still there, I guess.)

Fucking insane of MXTX to do this to me, personally and specifically.

I can only speculate forever, I guess! Left… alone and pondering forever.

So. Not a Bing-gē, and not a Bing-mei. A Bing-xióng, if you will.

[rottenroyalebooks]

My Girlfriend is a Witch

 Pairing: Corpse Husband x Witch!Reader

Warnings: None! Maybe a sware or two.

Genre: Real Person Fic, Fluff

A/N: This has been in my drafts for quite some time so here is a quick little Corpse Husband Fic. I havent written on here in so long due to my life crumbling under my feet. I have done a lot of research for this but I am NOT 100% sure of everything just yet. I’m not apart of Paganism myself, but I respect everyone that is!

***

“Y/N, you did not just walk into this apartment with another Crystal.” The tone of her boyfriend made her freeze as she walked into the apartment, an all too familiar plastic bag hanging from from her elbow and her face morphed into an innocent smile.

“No... not another Crystal.” She shuffled into the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter top so she could remove the items from her bag and place the plastic bag in the bag full of bags that the two keep under the sink.

“Let me guess, herbs?” Corpse asked, approaching his girlfriend with a small smirk on his face.

She shook her head, “Nope.”

“Candles?”

“Negative, ghost rider.”

“Please tell me it’s not incents again, last time you cleansed the apartment I sneezed like crazy for a week.” His pleading eyes made Y/N laugh in delight.

The pair have been dating for two years and have lived together for five months. The transition of living on his own to living full time with his spiritual witchy girlfriend had been kind of difficult. He wasn’t aware about how serious she was about her craft, so when he opened one of her boxes and found some kind of rodent bones in a small clear container, saying he was surprised would have been an understatement

Though as they started to get used to the new arrangement, he was able to learn a thing or two about what she does and how she lived. Kind of like how she just loved bringing home a new Crystal almost every time she stepped out the apartment. It was getting overwhelming at this point.

Y/N smiled up at him and pulled a small black velvet pouch out of the bag, “Okay, I lied, it is a crystal but it’s not what you think! I had something made for you!”

He rose an eyebrow and he smirked, “Oh yeah?” He held out the palm of his hand and smiled as she placed the pouch down gently.

He opened the pouch and carefully removed a black sleek ring from the pouch and his eyes lit up, “A ring? This is a crystal?” He asked and she nodded, excitement in her eyes.

“I know playing with your rings helps with your anxiety and Hematite, this ring, is supposed to help deflect negative energies in stressful situations.” She explained and put her hand into her pocket, pulling out one of his other rings that he thought he had misplaced a few weeks prior.

“I didn’t know your ring size and if I asked it would have ruined the surprise so I took one of yours to bring to Maggie.”

He chuckled, sliding the ring on his left ring finger, “I love it, thank you.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest.

“Aren’t you playing Among Us with your friends today?” She asked as she took a glimpse at the time.

He looked at the clock on the oven as well, sighing as he placed his chin on the top of Y/N’s head, “I do. Are you going back out?” He asked letting her go and watching as she went back to the bag.

“Nope! I got a new Tarot deck while I was there because my old deck vanished. I need to break it in and cleanse the cards. I might try to communicate with Aphrodite or Hades, but they really liked my old deck so I am not sure if they’ll react well to this new one.” She rambled as she crumbled up the empty bag and placed it under the sink. 

“Be careful.” He said as he turned around and made his way to his recording room.

***

As the third game came to an end, a few of his friends were taking the time to talk with their streams, Corpse wasn’t streaming he was just there for his friends. He was talking with Sean, who was also not streaming at the time.

“Oh! Corpse! I found your girlfriend’s Instagram account! I didn’t know she was into Witchcraft.” Rae’s voice piped up as her little astronaut came running over to the two.

Corpse smiled at his computer monitor, even though they couldn’t see him, “Yeah she’s Pagan, I believe.” He said glancing over at the girl in question who had wandered into his streaming room, noise cancelling headphones on and Tarot Deck in hand. Her tounge was poking out from in between her lips as she concentrated on her reading.

“Her profile is so aesthetically pleasing! Can I follow her?”

He let out a small chuckle, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, just be wary if you ask her for a tarot reading; the cards can be quite cutthroat. She’s still doing research as to who her spirit guide could be, but whoever they are, absolutely brutal.” He shivered at the memory of when Y/N gave him a reading around when they first started dating, let’s just say it didn’t go too well.

“You seem to know a lot about this stuff.” Sykunno said and the others agreed.

“I just listen when she talks about it, because she enjoys it and it makes her happy.” He glanced over at the girl one more time as her phone lit up next to her.

“I followed her.”

“Me too!” Sean said and he laughed, “She bought you a ring? Dude she is so adorable.”

“Rae what’s her username?” Sykunno asked.

“I’ll text it to you.” Corpse said, grabbing his phone from the desk and glancing over at her once again; her eyes were still glued to the cards almost frozen in place.

"What else does she like to do?" Lily's voice popped up, he hummed lightly.

"Well she loves crystals and has been looking into palm reading, there's a shop nearby that she's been visiting recently and now my apartment is being taken over by crystals and incense." Everyone laughed at that.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

[fandxmslxt69]

Cute Library Boys

Steven Grant x f!Reader

Warnings: Steven being too goddamn cute and fluff!! Some swearing, absolutely tooth rotting dorky-ness.

A/N: Oh my god this has been sitting in drafts for so long but I finally finished editing ahahah. Idk how I feel about it ngl, its cute and has me giggling but !!!! idk. Anyway this IS inspired by a prompt: "Going for the same book at the library" taken from @creativepromptsforwriting (Mona sent me a prompt list literally like 2 months ago thank you @whatthefishh you are too cute for this world.) ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY this is a peace offering before I pour my heart out into the most gut wrenching angst and coochie killing smut <3

-Clem

Synopsis: All you wanted was to have a quiet day browsing books in the library. Who knew you'd manage to find the cutest man to spend your day with right there in the history aisle?

Word count: 3541 (omg.)

Walking through the library, you gently ran your finger over the spines of the book, feeling worn out paper and leather on your fingertips. It was always relaxing, being surrounded by so many stories, real or not, lives and adventures. You skimmed through a history section, looking for a book that might be of interest, and your eyes landed on one just up ahead, with a pretty spine and a title written in gold. Your fingers jumped to it, but bumped with another hand outstretched to grab it.  “Oh sorry, love! Didn’t see you there,”  “Oh no it’s alright!” You grinned up to the cute man with the cute British accent. “You can have the book, I don’t mind,” “Oh no,” He shook his head.  “Really, you can take it,”  “No it’s fine, really, I can just order another from the system,” He grabbed the book off the shelf, handing it to you. “Love, please. I’ve already read it anyway. It’s all yours,” He smiled, a bright breathtaking smile that lit up his whole face.  You hesitated but took the book from his hand, adding it to the (very heavy) bag you carried. “Memorised and all?” He chuckled. “I wish,”  You grinned at him, and an awkward silence fell as you scanned the rest of the shelf. “Uh,” You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Thank you, a lot, for-” “The book,” He finished. “Yes! The book. Thank you,”  He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing.  “Alright well uh…I’ll, go, thank you, again,” You rushed to say before quickly dashing off, trying not to think about how pretty he was, or how soft his eyes looked, or his beautiful curls, his soft yet clear features…

No. 

You weren’t sure what the hell urged you to turn right back around and down the aisle again, but your feet carried you there anyway, and you found yourself standing right in front of the gorgeous stranger again. “Um. Hi.” You mumbled. Maybe he didn’t hear, maybe you could run be- “Hi! You’re back,” He grinned and you could feel the sunshine radiating off of him.  “Yeah. Um..I don’t know I just…yknow…You seem to know your books,” You gestured to the growing pile by his feet. “So I was just..wondering if you had any recommendations? I’m in a bit of a slump, so I wanted to try something new. I mean only if you’re cool with it, if I’m bothering you I’ll just go-”  He laughed, a quiet small chuckle that put a huge ass sappy smile on your face. It was contagious, his bubbly energy and cute laughs and smiles. “No it’s alright love, I’d be more than happy to give you a few suggestions, though it might just turn out to be a big ramble,” You shrugged. “Nothing beats a good book ramble,” “Wholeheartedly agree. Now,” He turned to the shelves, his soft eyes scanning the spines of the dozens of books, and he just started rambling- exactly like he said he would. On and on and on, grabbing a few books at a time and talking about them all at once, he looked over the moon to share all this knowledge with someone, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you could barely keep up with him. You just stood there watching him, probably grinning like an idiot, adding every book he put down to the growing pile in your bag. Whether the book was actually interesting or not, you didn’t care. When a cute man excitedly tells you about his favourite books in an aisle in the library, you grab every damn one of those books and you take them home. 

By the time he finished going through at least a dozen books, he paused, biting his lower lip to hide a shy smile. “Sorry. Got carried away there,” 

Ah shit.

“No no! It’s okay, no apology needed at all. You- it’s cute. You’re cute. When…you do the ramble thing. Cute. Yeah.” You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up.  There was a beat of silence, before he blurted out, “Steven.” “Sorry?”  “Steven…my name. Is Steven. Grant. Steven Grant. It kind of just hit me that I didn’t introduce myself,”  “Oh. Oh! Oh right. Oh my god.” You fumbled with your bag, trying to get yourself back in control. “This is embarrassing. I’m so sorry. I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you Steven,” He laughed again. “It’s very nice to meet you too,”  You nodded. How many times are you going to nod. Quit it.  “So…um,” you cleared your throat, wondering if it was too late to ask for a hole to open up and swallow you whole. “Yknow..there’s um…this cafe, right down the street, and it’s really nice and they’ve got pretty decent coffee and food. I was wondering if…you know, if you’re free anyway, and not too busy or if you have something better to do I totally get it-” “I’d very much like to go to the cafe down the street with you,” Steven interrupted, and you stared at him, jaw hanging open slightly as you took in his shy smile and the light rose of his cheeks.  “I mean, if that’s what you’re asking-” He rambled quickly to add. “Yes! Ah, uh, yes, that is what I’m asking,” You grinned widely, cheeks starting to hurt from how damn much you were smiling at this cute stranger in the history aisle of your local library.  “Great! Wonderful, amazing. I- uh…I’ll…go check out my books? Get settled while you do yours and…” “...we can meet by the front doors?” You finished for him. He nodded quickly, his hair bouncing with each bob of his head. You nodded too, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Okay. Okay cool. I’ll…go do my thing. And I’ll see you soon?” “Yes, absolutely, 100% yeah,”  You chuckled, a few butterflies taking flight through your stomach with all his nervous blabbering.

He’s cute. Real cute, with the nicest warm eyes and a precious crooked smile, and the cutest mop of curls on his head that you desperately wanted to play with. Not to mention his adorable outfit..the cute earth brown pants and the soft sweater that definitely hugged his body in a comfy yet pleasing way. 

Screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed. 

After awkwardly staring (analysing) him for a solid minute as he grabbed the rest of his books, you turned and dashed to the check out desks, fumbling and mumbling about stupid cute library boys the entire way through the checkout process. 

*                                           *                                          *

As you both left the library, a light silence falling between you, he couldn’t help but take a few glances at you, his heart picking up pace, a giddy laugh building up in his throat- this was new. All of it was so new yet welcomed. He’d be damned if he let it go to waste, whether it be a chance to make a friend, or maybe a little more. 

By the time you had reached the shop, his shoulder ached from carrying his bag of books, and you looked ready to drop dead on your feet. 

“I can carry your bag if it’s getting you tired,” Steven suggested softly as you entered the cafe. You frowned, hugging your bag tightly to you. “What, no. It’s okay, I like carrying my bag. Makes me feel close to my books,” You pointed to a table by the window. “Here?” He laughed, then nodded. “Yeah this works,” He took a seat, lifting his bag off of him and placing down beside him. “What do you like to read anyway?” “Oooh,” You slid into the seat, you could feel the ache in your lower back start to build. Who even had back problems at this age. “I like a good fantasy novel, and I am guilty of reading way too much romance. I also like poetry. Not a very big person in non fiction though.” “Romance huh?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “Scandalous romance?” You laughed, shrugging. “What, a woman has her needs, and those needs happen to be pretty men with cute accents,”  “Ah right,” He nodded again, then paused. “Wait. I have an accent,” You chuckled, smiling widely. “Yes you do. A cute one too. And you’re cute. Pretty, dare I say,” His eyes widened, a blush creeping up his neck and his ears started turning red too as he looked away, averting his eyes and biting at his lower lip. Your heart did a little flip at how cute he looked when he was flustered.  “What kinda books do you like, Mr. Grant?”  “Hmm,” He flipped aimlessly through the menu, his eyes scanning the millions of different ways they make frappuccinos and espressos. He didn’t even drink coffee that much, he was more of a tea guy. “I like history, big fan of mythologies and stuff,”  You sat up, grinning widely. “I love mythology. I was a huge sucker for them in middle school. Still kinda am, honestly,” His heart did a little thing. “Really? What kind of mythology?” You shrugged. “I was really into the Greeks, they were pretty fun and it was a good time. I like the Romans a bit too, but they’re a little boring, yknow? The Norse are wack too, which makes it funny,” You grinned. “I was just a bit obsessed. I had an Egypt phase too for quite a bit,”  You could see the way his face lit up, how his eyes widened and a big smile started spreading across his face. “Egypt huh? That’s cool.” He nodded, deciding not to make a further comment lest it come off as too strong. You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Oh come on, you totally had an Egypt phase,” “Did not!” “You so did. C’mon, tell me. I promise I won’t judge! I never could, I had attachments to those guys. You definitely know a thing or two,” He waved you off. “No..I mean, a little maybe. I’ve studied their mythologies and tales, aspects of culture and society, that’s sorta stuff, it’s not interesting really,” “Not interesting?” You scoffed. “Well I find them interesting. C’monnnn,” You nudged his leg under the table. “Who’s your favourite god?” He shook his head, a playful smile on his face. “I’m fond of Taweret. Hippo goddess, resides in the underworld and stuff. She’s nice,”  “Yeah? Know her personally?” “Oh yeah, obviously. We have chat over tea all the time,”  No way he was this funny. “Really? Wait, hang on,” You leaned in, “if she resides in the underworld, does that mean you’ve died before, Steven Grant?”

He liked it, he decided. The way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue and out of your mouth so easily, and not the sarcastic way everyone else said it. Heaven, at least you remembered his name, not when half the staff at the old museum couldn’t even get Steven right.  He scrunched up his face, thinking deeply. “Hmm. Let’s see. I think I might have, yeah. A few times now actually,” There it was again, the laugh that filled the entire cafe, as your shoulders shook and you threw your head back in joy. “No way, you did not,” You finally said.  “I absolutely did! It’s not a good experience obviously, but yknow, an adventure,”  “So you’ve like- met Osiris and stuff?” He shrugged. “Maybe,” “Oh come on. Tell me! I’ve always liked him. Given, I always like every death god, so it’s no different,” “He’s alright. Very stiff though, no personality at all, he’s all business serious,” “Well duh, he’s a king,” Steven rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean he’s got to be so boring,”  You chuckled again, shaking your head in disbelief as you went back to the menu. “Any other gods you’ve met?” “Hmm.” He tapped his chin a few times, and brushed a curl of hair out of his eye. “I’ve met some night gods. They look like big ugly birds, with a big temper and zero compassion or kindness. Dress in old rags and stuff,”  “You’re lying, I swear you’re lying,” “I am not! It’s true. I see one quite often actually, he’s a pain in the ass, right psycho.”  “Yeah? He your best friend?” He snorted. “Absolutely not.”  You tsked. “Aw, that’s so sad,” “No it’s not. I told you, he’s not right in his mind,”  “Yeah but isn’t that all gods?” Steven sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, you make an excellent point, but I’m telling you, this one is bloody psycho. Murderous and whatnot.” He smiled, a big goofy smile that showed his cute dimples.  You shook your head again, trying to fight back a stupid sappy grin. “You’re too funny,” “Too funny? Is that bad?” He frowned. “No! No, absolutely not. It’s nice, your jokes are actual..well, yknow, jokes. And it’s kind of nerdy.” “Oi!” He leaned in, pointing a finger at you with an air of amusement. “You just said nerdy was cute,” “It is!! It’s very cute!”  “Bloody right. ‘Cause if you came for sports jokes, I’m not your guy,” You laughed. “Nope, no sports jokes for me. I just like an extra side of nerdiness,”  He narrowed his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You are horrible,”  “Horribly cute, yeah, definitely,” He exploded with laughter, his face all happy smile lines and precious dimples. You smiled widely, your heart doing a little skip with how gorgeous he looks, so full of laughter. 

Thankfully though, before he caught you grinning like an idiot at him and trying to memorise his face, a waiter came to your table, and you managed to order your drinks without acting crazy or too dorky. 

*                                                         *                                                                *

“What about Bastet? You know her?” 

Okay so maybe you were still a little dorky. 

“The cat lady? I mean you see her everywhere don’t you? In all the nice cat ladies by your flat or in the market!” “Okay fine Mr. Poetic, I’m asking about the goddess,” 

He grinned, fiddling with the strap of his bag as you both made your way to a bus stop. “I haven’t met her, no. But I know of her,” 

“Right, of course,” You weren’t sure why you humoured this idea; the possibility of divinity walking amongst man. But the ease of pretending, of imagining with him, with Steven, was something you came to realise you enjoyed too much to give up.  “What about Zeus?” He frowned. “Wrong civilization,”  “Oh come on, so you’re telling me you can believe the idea of gods with bird heads from the times of pyramids, but you can’t humour me with the idea of wackoo’s living on top of a mountain?”  “I just don’t like them. Too chaotic,”  “That’s exactly why everyone likes them,”  “Okay fine, I just stay in my territory,” You shook your head, shrugging your bag back into place on your shoulder. “Okay, that’s fair, they probably don’t like each other anyway,”  “Nope, definitely don’t,” 

You both fell into a silence after, continuing your walk to the bus stop. “You don’t have to go all the way with me to the bus stop yknow-” You started but he just shook his head.  “I don’t mind, love. Really, it’s a nice day out for a walk,”  You nodded. “Okay.”

Silence fell again, and you couldn’t help but look up a little to look at him. Him with his pretty eyes and flushed cheeks. Him with his easy going smile on those nice lips. Him with the nice jawline and cheekbones that are just the right amount of sharp you just want to run your finger over it. 

By the time the both of you had made it to the bus station, you had made up your mind; You were going to ask him for his number. 

Only problem is…how do you ask a cute guy for his number?

You could feel the nerves start to set in as the minutes tick by, and more people pile around the bus stop. It was going to be here soon, and you’ll hop on, and probably never get his number and-

Okay calm down. You fiddled with your bag as the minutes passed, occasional small glances and nervous chuckles with Steven as he waited too, and it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders just to ask for a series of stupid numerals.  When you glanced back up at Steven for what had to be the millionth time so far, you noticed in the far distance that the bus was heading this way. Steven turns the other way then too, noticing you staring and he sighed softly. “Ah, there’s your bus,”  “Yup,” He looked back at you, a soft smile on his lips. He picked at his nails, a feeling of anxiety bubbling inside of him. “So…” “So…” You continued for him, and you both laughed awkwardly.  “Can I-” “Can-” You stopped, chuckling awkwardly as Steven shook his head.  “Sorry love- didn’t mean to speak over you-” “No no it’s okay! My bad,” You reassured him. “Go ahead,”  “No really-” He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. “You start,” “Steven-” You started to protest (why were you even doing that) but he set you with a firm look and you sighed. “Okay. I was…yknow…going to ask. If-” You trailed off. “Yknow…” “If…? Unfortunately love, I’m very bad at guessing games. You’ll have to specify,” You sighed, rubbing a hand down my face. You took a deep breath and right as the bus stopped at your station, you blurted quickly, “Can I have your number?!” It came out in one breath, a quick sentence and Steven’s browns furrowed. You panicked, thinking maybe you had read this wrong? What if he doesn’t want to give you his number? 

But then his face exploded in a wide smile, and his eyes lit up adorably and his cheeks filled with a soft blush. “Oh. My number!” He laughed, soft and clearly full of anxiety. “Yes- right yes, of course you can. Sorry it took a minute there-” He muttered, quickly digging through his bag and pulling out his phone. “Right then, quick quick before you miss your bus-” 

“It’s okay,” You mumbled quickly, steering him away from the growing bus line so you could plug in his number. You did it painfully slowly, double checking each number and going over the series at least 5 times. By the time you finished exaggerating and actually putting the number into your contacts, Steven was tapping his foot anxiously on the ground as he watched the last person board the bus.  “You have to hurry it’s going to close, love,” You looked up and glanced at the bus. “Oh crap-” You quickly fumbled to put your phone away and return his, but by the time you took a step towards the bus, it dinged and the door closed as it slowly started back up to drive away.  "Shit,” Steven tugged at his curls. “Oh god love, I’m really sorry- maybe if we run we could catch its next stop?” Didn’t people always say make the best out of a bad situation? The bus is gone, another won’t be coming for probably another half hour, and you were not running. 

But maybe…maybe this was a good thing? 

You shrugged, trying to sound as upset as you could possibly gather, but even to your own ears it sounded fake. “Oh no….the bus is gone. This is horrible. What do I do now?”  Steven started to say something, but then stopped, frowning a little, before his eyes widened and a smile grew across his face. “Hang on-” He stepped closer to you, his eyes glittered with humour. “You planned that, didn't you?” You gasped. “What? Me? Why would I ever want to miss my bus?”  “Hmm….” He tapped a finger to his chin, thinking loudly. He leaned down then his face barely inches away from your face. “Maybe because you wanted to spend more time with me?” He has no right being cute and nervous one second and then sexy  and all mischief the next.  Your eyes widened, you felt your skin heat and your cheeks flush pink with how close he was. His eyes looked even prettier up close, and his lips looked so kissable.  “Really?” You managed to breathe out. “You think I’m that captivated by you?” He shrugged. “Maybe.” He paused, biting his lower lip. 

Fuck. 

“Are you? Captivated by me?” He asked.  “Hmm. Let’s see…I think your nerdiness and awkward attitude and shy personality has definitely captivated me, Mr. Grant,”  His face explodes into a bright and beautiful smile. “Really? So if I asked to go on a walk right now, you’d say yes?” I hum, pretending to think it over. “I think…yes, I would absolutely say yes,” The look on his face made it seem as if he just experienced heaven. Your heart fluttered, and you knew then that you’d never ever get tired of seeing him this happy. “Brilliant. Great, alright then um..” He stood up straight again, looking around. “Let’s go?” 

You smiled, gesturing to the roads bustling with people. “Lead the way,” 

[uchihaharlot]

Hey there! Love your work and if you're still doing requests, I've got one for ya: a hot, sexy threesome between a female reader, Itachi (loooove him) and Shisui. I'm imagining a competition angle where they've both been pining after the same girl for a while and she likes them both too, but can't choose (and I mean, who could, right? Lol). Eventually, someone (probably Shisui based on my own interpretations of his personality) decides that choosing sucks and sharing is caring, leading to super hot sex 🔥

Ooooo deary,

You speak right to my soul. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized being the center of an Uchiha pissing contest. I’ve always felt that love is kind; love is free and love is patient.I’m hikjackjng your request a bit, I’ve had a draft for several months. There is no real competition here, but extremely hot solicited sex and yes. You are correct, Shisui is one hundred percent the purveyor of pleasure.

It will be soo worth it though; there is a second part to this — written by @shisuis-left-nipple, my draft is also beta’d by her as well — thank you my little Shisui harlot. I dream nothing more of being an Uchiha sandwich on a daily basis.

I’ll forefront this by saying there is mentioning of Shiita. Nothing overtly intimate between the two, but it’s undeniably there and at the back burner. Though you are the main focus of this event, I do apologize to the people who haven’t eaten the forbidden fruit.

NSFW; all out Uchiha fuckfest; overstimulation; multiple climaxes; fucked stupid; mild Shiita.

Yea I thought about this for a while. How did you even get in this situation? Probably met at the spring festival and all.

Since, in my au head canon, they foiled the coup. Shisui lives, Itachi rules the coop. Feel free to ask me about exactly what happened — there is so, so much in my one brain cell.

Itachi is now clan leader these days. Shisui is his right-hand man. They've grown out of that phase of just the two of them. I know it's not everyone's cup, but they definitely fucked and now that they're adults and have clan responsibilities, growing out of that phase.… though sometimes they share a girl here or there.

So, here you are at the festival. Looking so gorgeous it's damn near criminal. The spring festival is held in the Uchiha district this year — Shisui called it reclamation day. As part of the planning committee sent by the Godaime, you get to enjoy all the hard work you put into decorating their little corner of the world and Shisui is grateful.

I mean really grateful, his cock thanks you too. Your guys’ budding romance starts out slow.… lol, ya whatever that means in Shisui’s head.

Shisui is the extrovert while Itachi is still a bit shy and reserved. (This might get confusing because Izumi obviously hadn't died, but let's just say well.... I think most of the Uchiha believe in free love. At least the younger progressive ones. It keeps the curse of hatred at bay and sex is free. Love is kind).

Who in their right mind wasn't fucking one another in that gorgeous clan of men?

Everyone was.

This event really turned out, ‘the Uchiha are eternally indebted to you for your hard work' says Shisui. He's the charmer — the concierge of bedroom antics. The proprietor for drawing the women into the sheets.

It doesn't take Shisui long to make fucking shit out of you a habit, upheaving your feels and all. Just casually, no big deal. Starts asking questions after a hot session, of course he came to you during lunch. When he has a craving, the man is insatiable. You mention a few taboo things, maybe binding, nothing too extravagant or out of the ordinary. But he is calculating — ever the entrepreneur, ‘how can I give this girl the most beautiful experience of her life?’ He thinks.

Shisui drops the threesome paper bomb in your lap and you’re like — ‘uhhh….yea, sure. Why not but, with…who?’

‘Well Itachi, of course.’ Just so damn casual like it was a regular Tuesday and he hadn’t spent the last half hour rearranging your guts.

Cue blank screen syndrome, ‘what?’ As if waiting for the room to read itself, ‘is this….something you guys do….regularly?’

‘Yea, sometimes. Just so happened to tell him about this woman who has me in a chokehold. Stealing my soul and that her beauty makes the sun ashamed to shine.’ That sort of Casanova type shit, sick as cancer. Shisui was undoubtedly winning this match.

It serves your desire on a silver kunai. The wet mixture the two of you had created rehydrates and Shisui takes the opportunity to fuck you again, slower — deeper. Asking if you’re interested mid stroke, whispering filth in your ear as you start to come undone. Sexual coercion at its finest. You’re so aroused at the thought of this situation you come hard when he mentions some quip about being a double stuffed bento box.

The good, good Itachi is so prim and proper. He hosts a mini dinner, and you’re sort of sweating, uncertainty beckons you. What the hell is going on here…..it’s mildly unsettling at first, but Itachi refuses to fuck a woman he doesn’t know a little bit about. You all three enjoy Itachi’s over the top meal and the conversation flows. The awkwardness melts away and it isn’t long before Shisui takes off leaving you two alone.

Itachi takes you out to sit on the enagwa for tea. He is such a gentleman to consider you this way. While Shisui preps their sanctum, Itachi’s lips make his first impression, and boy it's hot. Not that Shisui wasn’t the connoisseur of making out himself, but Itachi’s kiss is gentle — light. Soft as petals that feather and cradle yours, making you embarrassingly breathless almost immediately. He wants to make sure you're comfortable with this whole situation and Shisui always finds his chivalry adorable, but you can't talk Itachi out of it. He has to do this. It sets the mood and also lowers any preemptive warnings that you might have, since this is already a new thing for you, there won't be any silly toys. Just pure unadulterated pleasure and free love. Once you spend about a half hour lip locked with Itachi, he's going to lead you around the house. Takes you to a room on the back side that’s dimly lit. Starts kissing you in the room behind closed doors when a small gust of wind comes at your back — Shisui. Always one to make an appearance.

Another set of strong hands are at your back. While one wraps around you from the front, the other from the back. Your senses are already in overdrive, Shisui is the impatient one while Itachi likes to draw things out. Shisui hungrily kisses down your neck and Itachi is just swallowing every soft sigh from your lips. Shisui's hands lift at your shirt, and you thought this through. Some cute lacy see through bra that catches Itachi off guard. Has his sights zeroing in, seemingly devouring you through the material.

Shisui wants the bra off, but Itachi has to remind him who the boss is — using that big ‘fuck you’ energy out of nowhere. Shisui just rolls his eyes, a small glint of the sharingan in an exaggerated attempt to look annoyed but not really — fine, so be it. Itachi can have his portion of you but, either way, a candle can burn from both ends if it's double wicked and there is so much of you to explore, top to bottom.

Shisui kisses down your back as it arches, his hands resting on either hip when he crouches. Itachi is nipping and rolling your nipples through the lacy bra. He absolutely loves the temptation of it and maybe even stole a glance through red spun pearls for later review — yep just know that they are going to be recording this for their own personal collection. (Let's touch on the sharingan for a second, I truly believe that it's emotionally charged. If something feels good, it's out in the open. Big bad and red, like an eye erection or some shit lol. Spinning wildly absorbing collective imagery to database — consider it similar to how pupils dilate when it sees something it likes).

Shisui's already got your pants down. He's so hard, Itachi's exceedingly hard too but he takes forever, so Shisui just starts undressing him too because what are friends for? Everyone needs a little help from their friends. You couldn't be really sure, but you’re positive that Shisui may or may not have kissed the tip of Itachi's cock and licked the excitement off, but all you really could hear was his laugh.

Your pants are shucked and tossed aside, Shisui's got you lifting each leg over his shoulder, he's buzzing and wants to start making you moan. Itachi is just following along for now as long as Shisui doesn’t touch his portion of you. Suddenly, you’re slightly lifted up. Looking down you see Shisui sitting on the ground, his arms holding you up. That shit eating grin filling his face as he peers up at you. Then Shisui’s face at your sex inhaling and exhaling hot and breathy, you sit on his shoulders while he holds you at your lower back. Itachi laughs at the audacity of that man, but he knows how insatiable Shisui is. He wants you dripping down his face, chest and eventually his cock.

Itachi finally removes your bra. The sensations are tantalizing — you got one that's slow and sweet and the other that's too fast for his own good. Shunshin no Shisui never could live life in the slow lane. So just like his namesake you're already one and now a second orgasm deep on his mouth. Your hands, well you didn't know what to do with them. ltachi guided one to his shoulder and the other to rake in Shisui's hair, which instantaneously made Shisui groan on your sopping mound, his nose rubbing in the cleft of your heat and his tongue rolling over that deliriously sensitive patch of nerve within your sweet seam. Prodding you, drinking you in and leaving you full-mouthed whimpering.

Once you've been properly worked in, Shisui stands, leaving you at his mercy high in the air. You yelp and cling to him, so this was the actual strength of a renowned shinobi. He lays you so gentle and sweet like on the bed. And yes this time, you saw what you saw, Itachi languidly strokes Shisui's cock before your eyes and you're like what in tarnation — but it was hot because Shisui bit his lip and looked at you like James Dean with big puppy dog reds. They would tease one another here and there and it would absolutely fan the flame between your legs.

Shisui goes over the many ways this could go down and you're like...

‘I'm just here for the ride. Two against one, does it really matter what I want?’ And they both laugh; how adorable because yea, you're right. They're doing it the way they want and Shisui grabs a few things. Lube, leg spacers etc. but you're like ‘uuhhh leg spacers??’ That's when you end up on top of him turned around, your back to his chest and your legs hung over his knees.

All for your consideration and comfort, he's not one to take liberties, not yet. You’re spread open like the world's finest charcuterie board. Itachi's eyes populate and spin red. 'Gorgeous.’ Cause you are, not a damn thing wrong with you, especially from this perspective.

Shisui's hot breath is at your neck, kissing you all over. Not an inch of skin that his lips could reach is untouched. Neck, ears, shoulders — nipping the space between your shoulder blades. Really a pleasure king for you.

Itachi, this man, may not look like much to the naked eye, but he's that and more. So much more, kneels between your legs and just devours you. Like a fucking goddamn goddess, his lips make praise to your sopping cunt. That damned nose, rubbing it all up in your clit while his tongue is gently teasing your slick. You've never had someone be so attentive to you, and while you're distracted in pre orgasm build up, Shisui is administering a severe amount of lube to Itachi's hand. A grand distraction to addle your mind a bit more.

You've already left your consciousness in the sixth dimension and your soul in the 9th circle to hell. What's something a little deeper? As you climax for maybe the sixth time now this evening, Itachi's slim fingers prod at your uncharted asshole. Oh dear. You've not ever experienced ass play. This is unfortunate but also exciting. You moan treasonously and can *feel* Shisui smirking as he kisses and nips at your back. One of his hands splayed across your stomach. Pressing as you climax hard. Itachi wasn't rough, but he wasn't sincere about knocking on the back door.

‘My apologies' Itachi says when you chirp a little bit over it. Gentlemanly as he is, he's ravenous now. And you can't really be sure, but there is more squelches and a brief motion outside your visual perception.

Shisui says some shit like, ‘breathe for me baby’ through bated breath and next thing you know. Itachi's lubed up Shisui's lovely fat cock and is attempting to breach your second entrance. Oh, mama Kaguya! You were a bit selfish when it came to relinquishing control and Shisui offers you some advice, 'look at me gorgeous.'

It’s in this moment you fully understood what Shisui meant about being a double stuffed bento box, he's only sunk about four inches of his cock in your ass and it's not entirely unpleasant, but new. Your neck is craned in a searing kiss with Shisui, him rocking his hips gently until you're comfortable. Itachi toying with your clit to acquiesce the intrusion. Only when Itachi’s mouth sucks on your bud does it then feel really good.

The intake of air to your lungs as an entirely different type of roaring climax, in a whole new group of muscles, doesn't seem to fill you with enough air to accommodate the salacious inconsolable loud moan that escapes your lips. Shisui gently pioneering slow purposed full-length thrusts into a hole that was once too tight for two fingers.

After that, all he has to do is sit pretty. Itachi takes over after you have a few more orgasms, like what, 9 or 10 now total? If you tried to count, just give up. You're done physically, mentally and emotionally at this point. You've left your soul in their vision for it to never be returned. Completely dominated and owned.

But they're Uchiha. They know the effect they have on people. Itachi puts his hair up a little tighter in a bun. Such a cutie, he slowly strokes himself watching as Shisui has his round. Then the room goes still, all you can hear is Shisui's heavy breathing in your ear, as he’s had to hold back quite a bit. You're so taut around him, he almost busted a nut and unfortunately for him, the second Itachi stretches your weeping and already swelling cunt, Shisui does cum — poor bastard. But his best friend makes sure to angle his slow strokes downwards so that way he gets a little bit of friction and as a double whammy the mere feeling of Shisui pulsating and coming inside of you is like an intermittent vibrator, so you climax, full force. Resting your head on Shisui’s shoulder, he kisses your cheek as your eyes roll shut, and you babble like a cute idiot.

So here you are, hot sweaty and now gagged on Shisui’s fingers as he shoves them in your mouth. Shisui didn't necessarily go soft, the overstimulation of you pulsing and continually on edge keeps a lovely semi at his disposal. Itachi's got your arms wrapped up and set behind Shisui's head, his lips tease at your nipples. He is the slow and steady sensual man. You moan, Shisui moans. Everyone is moaning, it's a cacophony of gasps and sighs. Itachi's is just enjoying being the one in charge of you both, then Shisui starts hitting you with some katon heated dirty talk.

'Such a good girl.’

‘You're choking my cock so well.’

'Another one already?'

Just hot talk and even a bit of teasing. Since he's like buckled down for the ride now, he just gets to experience all the pleasure without much work, but he does make sure to suck at your neck, leaving a few marks on your back too. He's considering that maybe you're the girl for him. With his best friend's approval of course, this is just like a clan initiation at this point. Itachi would let you marry Shisui if he really hard pressed him enough, but Shisui feels deeply, this type of connection only comes once in a life and out of the myriad of females they've shared (which isn't many to be honest) you're this Pandora's box that has so many different things about you he already loves.

Someone is falling hard.

Itachi is of course enthralled with your breasts, they're perky, beautiful and each nipple is gently switched between his lips, pert and sensitive. Though he would turn up the heat and use a little bit of that Uchiha fire to warm them up, only to change the sensation and make you writhe. Slowly pumping himself into you, calls you ‘princess,’ of all things. So old school, Itachi started out quiet but when Shisui is kissing one side of your neck, Itachi is sucking and nipping at the other. All timed of course; right as you orgasm again. Always some sort of over stimulation going on and — hey wait a minute! When did Shisui start playing with your clit? You don't know and don't care because this next orgasm was the most intense yet.

And you squirted all over Itachi's cock, raining down on Shisui's, he couldn't help but start to move his hips a little. The contrasting thrusts sending you even further spiraling.

'Are you ok y/n?' A playful jab at your wavering consciousness by Shisui in a deep raspy whisper. You're catatonic.

An Uchiha flesh-light now. Thank the gods you're on the pill. Just the smell of their musk, power of the gods and that smokey katon heat would one hundred percent have you ending up pregnant and Itachi has big people issues right now, he can't have a kid just yet. You might even just become the wife to both of them. Though Shisui is greedy, possessive with what's his. Itachi has Izumi, but that doesn't mean you couldn’t take part in their secret swingers group.

Here you lie between them, filled up tight to the brim. Shisui has definitely cum at minimum three times, his seed seeping out your little bottom hole. Itachi isn't really that much into multiple, he enjoys perpetually edging the hell out of himself and right when he is about to cum, he slips out. Let's Shisui pound you a few good times and thank gods you have a clean booty hole. Itachi slips him out of his new claimed territory and by gods, there is that lovely Shisui cock filling your warm worn-out cunt. So thick and creamy with his seed, just slips into your tight seam. Slowly thrusting into you, he peppers kisses down your left cheek as Itachi takes a breather. Whispering how much you mean to him, so precious and his. Somewhere down the blurred vision to keep your eyes focused, Shisui is comfortably situated back as your butt plug. Time has escaped you, it all just cascades quickly.

Itachi lifts both your legs under Shisui’s *arms*, oof. Spreading you further, nearly to your ears. Folded like a lawn chair, a personal favorite to both. Shisui locks his hands over your sternum and holy hell this man is strong. You moan when Itachi slips back into your tired cunt. You're still so snug and wet though, the two of them each swing their hips in tandem; you weren't expecting this. All that heavy breathing, encouragement from Shisui and maybe a few a 'good girl’ from Itachi here or there. You're stretched to the limit. Can feel their cocks rubbing against one another through that thin layer of skin that separates your two channels.

Shisui's the first one to bust… again, lucky guy. He's had about five maybe? And Itachi reams his slender hand around your neck. You're so far spent; incapable of an orgasm, beyond belief overstimulated to the point that you're not sure if it's pleasant or not anymore. But it's hot, Shisui biting your shoulder, Itachi's grip tightens a little. He's a bit perturbed you've reached your limit before he could cum, so yea.

Tsukuyomi induced orgasm for you, honey.

Red spun pearls lull and bend your subconscious, all he says in the echo chamber is 'cum.’ Much to your surprise, you do, several times more. All over him as he deposits the hottest load of baby gravy into your cunt, making sure to fuck it in you. Tapping it against your cervix like it was some sort of keg tap. Just knock knock knock genetic coding at your womb. But he apologizes for getting so aggressive once he drops that mild soporific genjutsu and Shisui is trying to not snicker at your disheveled face.

Now honey, you've had a rough night. Let's talk some after care. Lots more kissing, worshipping your amazing body for all the shit it's just been through. Wrapped up like a cocoon and carried off into the main portion of the house.

What do you want? Tea? A movie? A bath?

You can bathe with both of them. Or alone. Whoever you choose. They are definitely going to make sure you are treated with the utmost care and adoration the Uchiha have to offer.

Do you need your leg muscles rubbed? They did go numb at some point. So, you have your bath, Shisui is there while Itachi makes tea. Shisui is such a gentleman though, washing your back. Asking if you want to wash your special areas yourself, he feels like maybe they just violated you, but you laugh out loud at and kiss him softly. 'I got exactly what I asked for.’

And he smiles the full length of his mouth. Such a handsome guy, the bath is rather quick. Itachi's readied the tea, and you can have your own room for the night, but like... ‘what if we all just cuddled and slept in the same bed.' You speak.

‘Hot damn, yes that too,’ Shisui quips. You're like a loaded canon and he is absolutely pulling the trigger finger on that.

Itachi nods and smiles, ‘ok.’

So, you have your tea, maybe even watch a movie but girl you are dead on your ass. You pass out within the first twenty minutes, Shisui finishes your tea and carries you to bed. Gently stationed between them, you just sleep so peacefully and serene.

Yep, and then when the morning comes, it's breakfast time.

[eumppattv]

HEESEUNG IDEA

so i have had this in my drafts for a couple months now. i might turn this into a short written series, so pls let me know if you’re interested 👀

I quietly made my way through the door, careful to not wake anyone up. I was exhausted, the airport sucking out all my energy. Still, it was worth, as I get to pull off the best surprise in history. I had barely finished my second year at university, before my parents had started planning my return home for the summer. They had rejoiced at the thought of both their kids returning home, as last year Jake had spent his second year summer on a “boys trip”.

This year I had copied my brother, with my friends and I planning our “girls trip”. I spent months searching up the best hotels, restaurants, and activities in the area. I was more than excited, though it seems I was alone in my feelings. Instead of planning alongside me, my friends decided to plan their weddings instead, with all but me ending our second year in relationships. Suddenly, our girls trip was no more- so here I was, back home without anyone’s knowledge.

I had kept my plans private, opting to not tell my family the real reason I was back home. I would take it to the grave, and instead tell them I “missed them and cancelled my plans”. Half true. I closed the door, dragging my small suitcase through the hall. I stopped dead in my tracks, seeing a light shine around the corner. I mentally cursed, not expecting anyone to be awake at this time.

I left my suitcase in our hallway closet, before tiptoeing my way to the kitchen. I turned the corner, a little excited to surprise whoever was awake at 2am. I turned the corner, only to come face to face with some random guy, standing in my kitchen, eating Nutella. I screamed, heart dropping at the sight. He did the same, dropping his spoon in the process.

“Who the fuck are you?!” His eyes grew wide, like a dear in headlights- frozen in place. Before he could speak, Jake came running down the stairs, stopping in between me and the stranger. He ignored my existence, instead turning to the guy. “Is that my Nutella?” he asked, walking towards him. “No it’s mine! I bought it yesterday, when I went shopping with your mom” the boy replied.

He went shopping with my mom? I coughed, gaining their attention as Jake finally turned to face me. “Y/n!” he exclaimed, excited to see me. He went in for a hug, lifting me up in the air and then placing me back down. I laughed, excited to see my brother, before I remembered… the stranger. I glanced behind Jake, seeing the guy standing awkwardly to the side. Jake noticed my focus had shifted, and he followed my eyes before realizing he forgot to introduce us.

“Oh Y/n, this is Heeseung, my friend from college. He’s staying here for the summer.” you nodded, glad that he wasn’t an intruder. “Sorry for scaring you. I didn’t know Jake had a sister” he said, offering up a sweet smile. “It’s okay” I said, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. Jake laughed along with us, before excusing himself to continue his “beauty sleep”.

Feeling the effects of the airport, I decided to follow, grabbing my suitcase from the closet and dragging it up the stairs. “Let me help you” said Heeseung, running up and grabbing the suitcase from my hands. I let him take it, too tired to argue against his politeness. “So you went shopping with my mom?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He chuckled, setting my suitcase in front of my door. “Yeah, Jake and your dad were out so I didn’t want her to go alone”. I didn’t expect him to be so sweet.

“We’ll thank you, I’m sure she enjoyed your company” I said, opening my door to head in and crash on my bed. “Goodnight” he said, that sweet smile still plastered on his face.

My morning routine was soon shared with Heeseung. The guest bedroom was across from mine, with our separate bathrooms placed next to each room. Yet here I was every morning with the boy by my side. It started two weeks ago, when he had stopped by to ask if I had any extra toothpaste. We had started small talk, which soon turned to a full on conversation in between brushing our teeth. The next day I had gone up to him, to ask whatever stupid question was on my mind. Soon we just found each other as soon as we woke up, enjoying each others company.

I would be lying if I said something hadn’t shifted between us in these weeks. We went from strangers, to close friends, to something else. We were now comfortable with one another, teasing each other and sharing our deep thoughts. But I felt that shift this morning.

“Heeseung stop, I need to get ready!” I exclaimed while the boy pushed his way in to get in the view of the mirror. “I need to get ready too” he said, fixing his hair. I sighed, rummaging through my makeup bag. Heeseung looked down, eyebrows knitted and in deep thought. “Why are you getting all dressed up?” he asked. “I’m meeting up with my friend Sunoo” I responded, pushing him slightly so I could do my eyeliner in the mirror.

He hummed in response, moving out of the way and sitting on the stool I kept in the bathroom. He positioned it right next to me, staring me down. I felt it, the intensity of his gaze on me, and suddenly I was feeling self conscious. “Why do you have to get all dressed up for a guy?” he asked a little too aggressively. I ignored his tone, eyes never leaving the mirror. “Because I want to feel good” I responded, now turning to look at him. “Are you jealous or something?” I joked, not expecting answer.

“You’re too pretty. What if he falls in love with you?”

Nothing was the same from then on.

[compacflt]

If you want, and only if you want to, could you explain about making Logistics a big part of Ice's career path? Not only did fit so well with your Ice's characterization, it was just so neat I've made it my HC for Ice's career path.

yes!

I got REALLy deep into the defense policy weeds in this post so I’m putting a cut to save people’s dashboards

1. when i was rewriting chapters 8 &9 last winter i did literally the bare minimum of research about the current set of high-level officers. the commander of the pacific fleet at the time had previously been the director of pacific fleet logistics ordnance & supply. So that was easy to yoink. a proven chain of succession.

2. but also: it fit ice’s (or his alter ego admiral Kazansky’s) neat, orderly, effective, collected, strategic characterization. And as professional tactics go, there would be no better promotion for a high-level officer looking to take over the fleet than DFLOS. understand the fleet by the numbers, you comprehensively understand the fleet.

3. In terms of secret-keeping logistics, ice is supposed to be kind of the best. like, because of his logistical thinking, he & maverick get away with it. Or that’s how I would’ve written it if I were a little smarter. Obviously in practice a bunch of people find out so it’s not great. but the navy AS A WHOLE doesn’t find out.

4. The field of military logistics is rigorously bureaucratic, boring, soulsucking, selfdefeating, notoriously corrupt, and yet entirely necessary for the military to succeed at any level (in the very first draft of WWGATTAI i included a famous US marine corps maxim that most people have heard at some point: “amateurs talk tactics. professionals talk logistics.” but that was literally the only good thing about the original chapter 6 which got entirely rewritten a month after i published it). So logistics as a field of specialization fit in perfectly with my secondary character thesis that rising through the boring bureaucratic ranks of the Navy sucked all the humanity & will to live out of ice one day at a time.

a couple related interesting things that I’ve never talked about on this blog & might never get the chance to again:

a) ice canonically joins the navy as a fighter pilot & ends his career as a glorified bureaucrat. that sucks. obviously the struggle to rise in the ranks is a notoriously cutthroat, political, sleazy business (you do not get to the top of the United States Navy by being nice to people), but i would also not be the first person to say that—for exemplary officers—leadership is an EXPECTATION that can counterbalance someone’s natural drive to excel, if that makes sense. You get promoted because you’re good at something (flying), but you get promoted away from the thing you were good at. There is an extent to which you have to fight for a promotion—but there is also an extent to which commanders above you pick you for the job, suck you up along the pipeline. Loss of agency—a major major component of joining the military—does still apply to upper-level officers.

B) to that end, i am reminded of one quote from Todd Schmidt’s 2023 book “Silent Coup of the Guardians: US Military Elite Influence on National Security.” This is an Army training & doctrine commander speaking: “the military has a lot of two- and three-star senior leaders that were confident, charismatic commanders at the O-6 level. But that’s the end of the story. One in fifty, maybe one in a hundred, truly have what it takes to operate successfully at the strategic level and make a real difference for their service. The problem is that they all tend to think that, since they have stars on their shoulders, they’re the one.” —I’ve been writing ice as “The Chosen One,” the officer unicorn, for two reasons: one, it provides him cover for his illegal relationship (and also asks an interesting chicken-egg question: does he get away with his rlnship because he’s so good, or is he so good JUST to get away with his relationship?); and two, he’s “the chosen one” in canon, i.e. he already has four stars in canon: canonically he is not a mediocre officer. But most officers (cough cough maverick) are not cut out for high-level leadership.

C.) in Thomas E. Ricks’ book “The Generals,” Ricks argues that (at least in the Army) mediocrity in the general/flag officer ranks is unfortunately by design. In WWII, if you were a mediocre officer, you got relieved! You got fired! It’s part of why we won: merciless culling of the general officer ranks! But between WWII and Korea, officer relief began to be associated with shame & wasted resources. Mediocre officers got promoted anyways. The military elite pipeline sucks mediocrity up the chain of command. Ricks blames this issue for (at least the Army’s) shit leadership in every post-WWII war, including but most especially Iraq and Afghanistan. There’s no penalty for mediocrity. That in turn reflects on military strategy (mediocre strategists at the helm) & the outcome of every military foray (mediocre outcomes).

D) additionally. There’s a whole neverending debate in the field of civil-military relations (an extremely interesting field of study btw) about the corporatization of the military—lots of high-level talk over the years of “running the military like a business.” If you get kinda into defense policy like me (am i still antimilitary? Idk! but i CAN easily tell you i am against the navy’s littoral combat ship program! It sucks!) then you will know that the navy is struggling right now on a lot of different fronts (procurement [shipbuilding esp. is a disaster—ford-class carriers are under budget though 👍🏽], recruitment, theatre prioritization, general preparedness, readiness against major adversaries [China in particular]). Simply, the navy is pretty mediocre at the minute. I talk a big game about ice being COMPACFLT & SECNAV, but if those are true, & if he “exists” in our current timeline, or even canon timeline (COMPACFLT in 2020), then he’s complicit in a lot of why the navy is sucking ass right now. He didn’t do his job very well. LOL. So, because I love (especially my version of) ice too much to see his legacy suffer, I am stating for the record that my timeline is a different timeline where ice saves the navy from itself and fixes all its issues & solves all its problems & makes it the pride of the armed forces & the tip of the spear of American defense :) because I said so

E.) unrelated but important. It sounds obvious but it must be said. Ice dies on the job in TGM canon. To the extent that in earlier drafts of the script, not-his-sister-Sarah even points out to maverick that ice is still active duty, in the same breath as she tells him ice is sick again. (A wise move to remove that line.) ice does not resign his commission. Ice does not retire to spend time with his family at the end of his life. Ice dies as commander of the pacific fleet. He dies on the job; he dies FOR the job, bureaucratic as it is. If you were wondering why I wrote ice so dormantly suicidal, it’s because canon (i argue) has made it clear that—since the second ice signed up to be a fighter pilot during the Cold War to the second he died active duty—ice has ALWAYS been ready and willing to die for his honorable Navy career.

[kanmom51]

Letter - the lyrics that didn't make it

The draft lyrics that didn't make the final cut.

Who hugged me tightly

Only you who Protected me

Who only protected me

Who held my hand

Who held my hand tightly

You who reached out me

who held out your hand to me

Who held out his hand

To you who looked at me greatly

Funny thing.

I had this one open on my laptop, I was sure I posted this, but hadn't (?), and good thing I hadn't yet.

Because since I put this together I came by @minggukieology 's post. I think that she explains just how important the wording here is and just how intimate JM's words in this draft were.

This part especially hits hard:

As we've all seen today once more (with the Face playlist) JM is very very calculated in the sense that he puts thought into everything he expresses artistically. Like Philip Johnson's piece was not there by mistake or randomly placed, so was his use of that word in that context.

The one and only...

Kind of hard for me to get that one out of my head.

But he didn't use those words in the final lyrics because of just how obvious it would be.

K-JKKs are not conflicted here. They don't see this as a letter to army at all.

Knowing language and cultural context is super important. It's also important to understand said context and not utilize it half way to suit a certain theory or narrative you want to put in place.

The name of the song is Letter, not Letters.

Addressed to either Army or JK, can't have it both ways. Either or.

And if we are listening to Karmy, why listen half way? Listen to them all the way.

They know who this letter is addressed to.

They said it perfectly:

It's a letter for JK (a hidden song for a hidden couple), hence JK joining JM in the song too, but it's disguised as a song for Army.

Plausible deniability.

Or has it been such a long time since we've had JM and JK in one frame that we forgot about that one. You know, even when stretching the boundaries doing it in a way that can always allow falling back on a more or less plausible explanation or excuse.

JM is the mastermind in knowing just how far to stretch the boundaries. And with Face and Letter he's stretched them real real far, like rubber band can snap in a second far. Funny how still such a big part of the fandom are unwilling to see his message, his queer coding. At this point I think that even if that rubber band tears/breaks I-army will be standing there holding on to both ends to make sure it doesn't fall apart.

JM and JK are lovers.

JM and JK are intimate.

JM and JK are and have been in a long term love/romantic relationship for years now. In my books, for over 7 years now.

I kind of don't understand those that are unwilling to accept that. Take that extra step from "great friends" to life partners, at this stage.

"Great friends", as close as they may be, don't suck on each other's ears, don't give each other hickey's, don't tattoo the other's name on their hand (if a friend does that, well they need to look real deep inside themselves and understand that it's way more than friendship they are feeling). There are so many other behaviours we see with these two, towards each other and towards others that are clear proof they are not just "great friends". Why is it so hard for some to take that leap? Is it the fear of labeling? These two can't say it out loud. They just can't. Closeted queer couple in SK. Two mega stars months away from enlisting into military service. But with that they have sent us every single possible clue telling us they are queer and a couple. They want those that will accept and support them to see THEM.

Guys, what was TTU Seoul 2019 all about if not their defiance and telling us they are together and want us to love them, accept them?

I digress, I know.

Point being, they are together, a couple, for years, and Letter, it's JM's song for JK, you know, the one he told us in 2016 that he would write to the person he loved. His forever person.