#the themes. i have connected the themes......

[snapscube]

I'd love to hear more about your thought process regarding the lyrics to your Deltarune song! Was it written with a specific POV in mind, or was it more so about the general theme/vibes of the newest chapters?

sure! i love talking about this stuff hehe. you could probably surmise from the font and left-aligned all-caps format of the lyrics that i was specifically trying to adapt the message from Gaster at the end of chapter 4 into lyrics while also mixing a bit of my general sentiment towards the overall story in there for flavor. so going line by line:

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE I SPENT ANTICIPATING THIS NEW CONNECTION

Very much the most "from Gaster POV" the song gets. literally just a direct adaption of Gaster messages like these

ALL OF US MARCHING ALONG YET STILL IN WAITING

I really wanted to include the recurring mention of how something or something within Deltarune as a whole has been "WAITING". We keep hearing this specific word and it really scratches my brain. DELTARUNE IS WAITING. It's so cool to me. Also the "marching along" being a reference to the beads at the hospital. Everyone walks along this path of prophecy and fate but in spite of the progress they make.... IT IS STILL WAITING.

YOUR OWN REFLECTION GAZES IN TURN AS YOU FACE THE LEGEND'S BENDING

The reflection line being meant to both capture the imagery of the reflection in the mirror in Kris's house AS WELL AS the running theory that the "Angel" from the prophecy is supposed to represent the player, which is why their image in the prophecy is blank. So as to reflect your own face onto the black screen in its place. Which I think is SUPER cool and compelling if true.

And then the line about the "legend's bending" being a reference to how in spite of everyone's appeal to prophecy... certain key factors of that prophecy seem to already be wildly out of line. It is bending, it's seemingly changing.

THE SHATTERED GLASS AND

"The shattered glass" once again being a reference to direct rejection of prophecy and what MUST be. The way that Susie punches through the glass of the final prophecy.

PARTS OF YOUR DREAMS THAT YOU WISH COULD BECOME ENDINGS

And my personal favorite line, the one literally being the reason I wrote and recorded this whole thing. I was humming to myself while listening to Neverending Night and the line "All of your dreams that you wish could become endings" entered my brain and became super sticky cause, to me, that's been the most compelling part of Deltarune to me for a long while. The idea that as far as we've heard Deltarune's ending is the driving force behind why it exists in the first place. The one that came from a fever dream so vivid that someone could dedicate their whole life to making it a reality. I love that kind of thing so much and it really strikes my heart.

ARE WITH YOU IN THE

Finishing the sentence about dreams with a reference to the recurring "with you in the dark" motif of Deltarune, butttttt cutting it off right at the final word to capture the nature of Deltarune currently being an incomplete story with room for our expectations and certainties to be challenged.

hope this was fun to read! :) it was fun to write. i'd love to do more if the inspiration strikes.

[frogsandfries]

I used to write a lot of stories about telepathic bonds, unbreakable, sometimes it would hurt physically to strain the bond by distance; sometimes the connection would just go silent over distance. Often the "protector" would have more control over the bond.

These days? Hmmmm I'm not sure. I want to explore what makes a fem/me break so hard, she/they either self-destruct or become a villain, but at the same time, I'm kind of too scared of what I might find if I look into that part of my imagination.

But I'm not sure, if there is commonality there, what it might be. I mean, besides myself. Maybe that's the only theme I'm interested in. We'll see.

think that everyone has their own personal theme in life

[vainvenus]

code red. | charles leclerc + alexandra saint mleux | pt.1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Synopsis: You and Charles meet up for lunch to get to know each other and shake off any awkwardness before the season starts.

Includings: Charles centered chapter, pretty fluffy, gentle teasing, subtle comforting + flirting, anxious behavior, themes of self doubt, charlie and alex being obsessed

An: Don't worry guys well get some Alex and reader love soon, trust

@samantha-chicago

Monaco was unusually calm for a weekend. The sun warm, breeze light, the quiet hum of city life drifting through the air like background music.

Charles sat at a corner table of a small, tucked-away café just above the harbor. The kind of place tourists rarely found. The kind of place with iron chairs that creaked a little and tomato plants growing in clay pots against the wall.

He had suggested, said that it wouldn't be too packed since it wasn't a local spot. He knew that you would like the sound of that.

He got there early. Water glass half-empty, thumb tapping nervously against the table.

And then you arrived.

Not loud. Not even dressed to impress. Just… there.

You were wearing a soft cream sweater tucked into dark jeans, your styled simply yet unintentionally graceful. You looked like you were trying not to draw attention, though Charles had a hard time looking away.

He stood as you approached, offering a small, warm smile.

“Hi." You said softly.

“Bonsoir. You found it okay?”

You nodded, fingers brushing against the sleeve of your sweater.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “I figured somewhere off-grid would be better than a packed touristy cafe.”

You sat carefully glancing away from him, as if you were afraid the chair might not be meant for you.

“Thank you. It’s…nice. Quiet.”

Charles smiled. “I thought that might be your style.”

You blinked at him. “You did?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “I may have…looked through your page a little. I'm also good at reading people.”

Your eyes dropped to the table. “My page PR stuff mostly.”

“It still tells you something." He said gently. “The photos you keep versus the ones you post. I wonder what photos you keep for just your eyes.”

"Maybe one day you'll see." You murmured and he smiled at that.

He let you study the menu without pushing. When the waiter came, you asked for a specific kind of pasta, asking for light cilantro. Your voice just above a whisper. Charles ordered for himself then folded his hands loosely on the table.

“How're you liking Monaco so far?” He asked, leaning in a little.

“Oh it's gorgeous. I haven't been back for a while but I'm here visiting a friend.” You replied. "Trying to decide if I should get a home here."

“You should." He said. "Most of the drivers live here and it'd make it easier for you to connect with them. Plus, no taxes." He joked with a small chuckle.

And although he mentioned you connecting with the other drivers he hated the thought of that. You didn't need to socialize with anyone else on the grid besides him.

“I just don’t want to be recorded all the time." You sighed. "I know Monaco has no paparazzi but...it's like a gold mine to find a driver.”

Charles tilted his head. “You should get used to it.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He backtracked, voice softening.

“I just mean…it’s not something you can stop now. You’re with Ferrari. That alone makes people watch, living in Monaco wouldn't change much."

You looked up at him slowly. “I didn’t expect them to pick me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not…loud or flashy like the other rookies this year. It kind of makes me feel like I'm falling behind or something." You sighed.

Charles leaned forward, his voice low. “You don’t have to be loud to be great. You're a F2 champion, that says enough."

You blinked at him. For a moment, you looked like you didn’t believe him. But your shoulders relaxed just a little.

When lunch arrived the conversation stayed light. He asked about your favorite circuits, your earliest memories of karting, what your helmet colors meant.

You didn’t offer stories unless asked, but when you did, they were quietly poetic. Little glimpses of long nights in cold paddocks. Mornings where your dad made you coffee before races. The moment you got the call from Ferrari and didn’t speak for ten seconds because you thought it was a mistake.

Charles listened like every word mattered. Because to him, it most certainly did.

At one point, you paused mid-bite, eyes flicking toward the sidewalk.

There were two people with phones out, casually pretending not to take pictures.

You shrank slightly into your chair, keeping your gaze down on your plate as you spun your fork around your food.

Charles noticed instantly.

“Hey.” He said softly. “You okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line before you glanced back over at the window.

He followed your gaze, then turned back to you.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said gently.

You were used to the fame from F2 from F1 was other worldly. The fans were so much more intense and unapologetically themselves in the worst ways sometimes. “The cameras. The looks. The attention. It’s annoying, but it’s part of it now.”

You looked down. “I don’t want people making things up. I've seen so many gossip pages and I don't want to cause a problem for my PR team already."

“They will anyway." He said with a shrug. Charles had had his fair share of tabloids that spewed rumors that were far from the truth. “Let them. You just stay exactly like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you." He said simply. “You don’t need to worry about rumors when you know the truth and when you know who you are."

You raised a brow. "Which is?"

He paused, giving you a once-over that lingered just a second too long before his eyes found yours again.

Warm, full of something soft and kind. Like he was looking at the girl who didn’t just hang the moon and stars, but made the whole sky spin just for him "Perfect. Ferrari wouldn't have signed you if they thought otherwise.”

You stared at him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

Then you smiled.

Small, real, and almost private.

“Thank you.”

The silence after was warm.

When the check came, Charles didn't even allow you to look at it before he snatched it up and pulled out one of his cards from his wallet. And when you tried to offer your card, Charles just shook his head with that teasing glint in his eye.

"Charles! I can pay for my own meal." You shook your head as he had a tight hold on the check, waving his hand as you tried to give him your card.

“I'm paying and that's final.” He said, leaning back. “You can pay me back by not outqualifying me at Australia.”

You laughed like really laughed. For the first time that day.

And Charles? He could've recorded it and listened to it every single day.

★

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before Alexandra called from the kitchen, “Well?”

Charles let out a soft laugh, tossing his keys into the dish by the entry. “You didn’t even give me time to take off my shoes.”

“Because I know you.” She said, poking her head around the corner, a grin already forming. “You’re smiling.”

“I always smile.”

“Not like that,” She teased, setting down her glass and leaning against the counter. “That’s a she’s so pretty and I’m a little obsessed smile.”

Charles didn’t deny it. He walked into the kitchen, still in his jacket, hair a little windblown. His face had that softness it always carried when something— or someone got under his skin in the best way.

“She’s…” He paused, looking for the right word. “Quiet. Really quiet. But in a way that makes you want to wait for what she’ll say next.”

Alex's brow lifted. “So a little mysterious?"

“She barely talked unless I asked, but when she did—” He shook his head with a smile, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “It’s like she’s scared to take up space. But she should.”

Alex’s grin grew. “You’re whipped.”

"How could I not be? She's...perfect."

Alexandra couldn't help the smile continued to grow on her lips. “What’d you talk about?”

“Karting. Her helmet design. Her reaction to being told the news. How she doesn’t like people looking at her.”

“Rotten luck.” Alex said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “She’s with Ferrari. They’re going to look.”

“I told her that." Charles said, smiling like he still hadn’t quite come down from it. “Told her she didn’t need to change. That she already belongs.”

There was a small beat of silence before Alex said, “You’re already so protective.”

He gave a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “She just makes you want to be.”

Alexandra huffed. “I want to meet her.”

Charles hummed. "You will, mon amour. You will."

There was a beat of silence before Alex spoke again.

“Do you think she knows how cute she is?”

Charles looked away with a soft chuckle, then back to Alex. “I don’t think she knows anything good about herself. From how talented she is to how cute she is."

And that sat between them for a moment. A quiet truth neither of them liked.

Alexandra slid off the counter and touched his arm. “Then lucky for her, she has us.”

"Lucky indeed."

[tarotwithcherwi]

July Channeled Message From Higher Self & Spirit Guides | pick-a-card 🌿🦋

Hello loves, welcome to your channeled message from your Higher Self and Spirit Guides—a gentle pick-a-card reading for the month of July

I’m wishing each of you a wonderful month ahead.

May these messages bring clarity, comfort, and connection exactly when you need it. 🤍

With care,

—cherwi

**Note: close your eyes, take a deep breath, & focus on the pile or two that you feel most drawn to. remember don’t over think & just use your intuition.

Pile I. > Pile II. > Pile III.

Pile I.

// pontia protodice & clear quartz //

Song(s): Say Yes To Heaven — Lana del Rey & Rather Be — Clean Bandit (ft. Jess Glynne)

⟡ Cards Pulled: Page of Pentacles, Six of Cups, Ten of Swords, Wheel of Fortune (rx), Nine of Wands (rx), Nine of Pentacles

✦ Themes this Month: cleansing, emotional healing & releasing, inner work, soft discipline, unfinished cycles, glow up

With clear quartz as your crystal messenger this month, you’re being guided to clear the noise and clear any clutter mentally or physically. This stone is about clarity and purification; it helps amplify truth and your own healing energy, and this July it's helping you see the past clearly for what is not what it felt like. It brings light into shadows and allows you to gain wisdom from clarity.  Hold onto clear quartz this month when you are ready to let go of something emotionally heavy, use it to journal your thoughts and emotions throughout the month, or use it to cleanse your space.

There is a glow up happening for my pile I’s. This is the month where you show up for yourself intentionally. Whether it’s waking up earlier, eating more balanced, working out more consistently or even clearing your space, you’re making room for the new. 

Whatever you are working towards, you are becoming more magnetic and confident. You might not feel like you are doing much, but your guides are saying this is transformation. Networking events, hangouts, job interviews, and other opportunities will flow to you easily. This is month where you are meant to be out and about.

You might feel there’s a return to the past— people, memories, or pieces of your inner child asking for your attention. Some of these moments will be pleasant, some will not. The Ten of Swords & Wheel of Fortune (rx) tells me this month you will recognize a cycle that you will have to choose to release, even if it means not getting the closure you thought you needed.

The lessons this month are to rebuild your self worth, nurture your inner child, and release any lingering past baggage without needing every answer. Closure might not have been straightforward, but the cycle has ended to start a new chapter.

ᯓ✦  Channeled Quotes/Messages(s):

you’re not going backward stop trying to rewrite the past  consistently is louder than doubt you don't have to carry the weight that isn’t yours  feel your feelings & release them  trust divine timing is your best ally you are never alone in your journey  don't underestimate small shifts; they add up keep going, don't look back

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: 111, 11:22, birds flying in pairs, “go with the flow”, clocks glitching, sudden mood swings out of nowhere, electronic glitches, 12:21, divine timing delays that are blessings, squirrels, 10:10, 999, 12:34, seeing butterflies with white or pale wings, baby photos, rewatching old shows, mirrors, broken glass or glass reflections, people from your past reaching out

“I grow even in stillness. I heal without needing the final word.”

Pile II.

// morpho & amethyst //

Song(s): Paradise — Coldplay & Titanium — David Guetta (ft. Sia)

⟡ Cards Pulled: The Moon, The Lovers, Knight of Wands (rx), King of Swords (rx), Ten of Cups

✦ Themes this Month: fog before clarity, surrender, divine alignment, shadow work, lack of movement

This month Amethyst is your crystal messenger, it carries the energy to help with intuition, emotional protection, and connect you to spirit—it whispers to your higher self through gut feelings, dreams, and signs when you least expect them. This stone helps walk you through the veil of fog and uncertainty. Sleep with amethyst near your bed or meditate with it when you're unsure. This will help you tune in instead of overthinking or spiraling. July is asking you to move intentionally and listen.

Uncertainty, delayed action, choices, and fog are in the soup for my pile II’s. Don’t be surprised if you feel sleepy, dreamy, indecisive, or closed off this month. A lack of motivation and inspiration could be holding you energetically hostage.

However, your spirit guides and higher self are guiding you to dig inward to make decisions that isn’t logical but felt. The Moon & Lovers shows a crossroad between dream and reality, choices and alignment. It’s a liminal space, where you are told to make an aligned choice. This is choice that is meant to serve you not others.

Ten of Cups shows that fulfillment and harmony are within reach this month. But, only when you stop trying to force your path to look like others and start building structure from within. You are being asked: What do you want? How are you going to make it happen? This isn’t a race, rather a realignment test. You’re told to drop the comparison olympics. Your journey is uniquely yours. Your spirit guides are protecting and guiding you even in moments of doubt.

ᯓ✦  Channeled Quotes/Message(s):

remember the universe is always working in your favor you were not supposed to stay the same you are spiritually protected  the art of surrendering is trusting the process the grass is greener wherever you are  seasons of rest are sacred as seasons of bloom stillness isn’t delay, its a doorway the answers will come you are worthy of love and happiness you won't miss what’s meant for you even if you hesitate 

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: “trust the process”, couples appearing around you, moon phases, stars, black cats, crane fly, “stagnation is movement”, 888, 11:22, 222, 717, 11:11, 828, hearing songs that feel like they’re “answering your question”, rings/circular objects, hazy/foggy weather, purple/pink flowers, soft floral scents, dreams about crossroads/trains/elevators, birds circling or staring at you

“Even in confusion, I trust the path is unfolding for me.”

Pile III.

// swallowtail & tigers eye //

Song(s): Headlock — Imogen Heap & Bulletproof — La Roux 

⟡ Cards Pulled: Ace of Wheels (rx), The High Priestess, Queen of Cups (rx), Three of Wands (rx), The Lovers (rx)

✦ Themes this Month: courage, self-trust, emotional blockage, progress, instability, rebuilding foundations, leaping into the unknown

With tiger's eye as your companion this month you’re being handed the strength to act even when scared or when the path looks unclear. This stone is fierce with clarity, risk taking, and courage. This stone will help you spot opportunities where you saw obstacles and help you move through fog.  Carry tiger's eye when you need courage to speak up, make a decision, or whenever you travel. It will be your spiritual “pep talk” reminding you courage isn’t without fear, but it's the decision to do it with fear.

Stepping into the fire is pile III’s theme this month. Emotional messiness, mixed signals, and a sense of chaos around finances, purpose, and close relations is all in a mixed bag. But, your guides are letting you know this is about preparation & initiation. You are being asked: How far are you willing to go? Can you leap before the safety net appears?

You are being called to act from intuition rather certainty. Because certainty is not guaranteed. You are meant to move even when fear and failure strike. The High Priestess is your own inner knowing peeking behind the veil. You know what you need to do, you're just afraid of it not working out and people’s opinions. (spoiler alert: it never mattered)

The Ace of Wheels (rx) and Lovers (rx) is about rebuilding your path and those you associate with. You might struggle with communicating your needs to others or even yourself. You might have arguments with those who don’t see your dreams. But, your guides want you to know, you do not need a solid foundation to begin. Start messy. Start with shaky hands. Start before anyone claps. And, just when you feel things aren’t moving—unexpected communication, wild dreams, surprising shifts will change stagnation to direction.

ᯓ✦ Channeled Quotes/Message(s);

free yourself from your past self, you deserve to vibrate higher ask for more, the universe always provides  it all works out you will know its right when it gives you energy fear is not a stop sign, it's proof you’re close to something real it’s okay if you don’t feel ready, perfection doesn’t = courage you radiate confidence, strength, and self respect take a leap regardless on whether you can see the whole staircase or not mastery takes failure you are not behind, you are becoming in your own time

⋆˚ʚɞ Messages & Signs: vivid dreams, dark red & gold colors, clouds, “balance”, bees, red cars, 222, 444, feathers, familiar scents, lavender scent, candles, “believe in your own power”, chills, sudden cramps/goosebumps, 333, 555, 144, tigers, hawks, dropped calls/miscommunication glitches, flickering lights, smelling something burnt or smoky, gold jewelry, ladders

“I act even when afraid. I trust the next step will reveal itself as I take it.”

🔮 All readings and content © @tarotwithcherwi

Please don’t repost or copy without credit. Thank you!! 🙏

**pictures used belong to their rightful owners**

[amiya-shirou]

I genuinely believe Federico is like 90% of the reason why the central themes of emotion, humanity vs seaborn, and human connection actually work, because it would be so easy to completely ruin the message by making it a vehicle for typical "love is what makes us humans" "if you don't feel love and emotion exactly like everyone else does you're not an ACTUAL human with a SOUL!" nonsense, like to the point I'm also anxious I might end up sounding like that every time I try analyzing the seaborn conflict in any way, but thanks to Fede being written the way he is while having such a central role in Zwillingsturme and being so close with and important to Arturia we know that when she says "it has to include everyone" and when the game falls on praising human qualities and the power of human connection they don't mean "everyone who can feel normal human emotion :)" "everyone but they're gonna need to become human" but simply everyone, no one left behind, no one erased. The focus on destroying the barriers between people exists as an answer to oppression and discrimination, to bring humanity together so they can work as a whole to face adversity, not because not feeling empathy the same way Arturia does is "wrong". Even during the piano scene when Fede is shown as unable to understand why music, why art move people the way it does, despite it being a focal point of everything about Arturia and everything about the humans who stand against the Seaborn, it's never presented as a failing on his part, never presented as him being fundamentally incompatible with humanity - in fact that scene is where he learns how to approach emotion from his own angle in his own way as a form of data and it's when he grows as a person and becomes able to use it to better get Arturia despite his difficulty in conveying and "feeling" emotion. He doesn't get Sankta empathy, he values logical understanding over emotional connection, he's joked about from other characters as being more like a robot than a human, he's deliberately written as being an opposite to Arturia's unrestrained empathy, and yet he is the protagonist to Arturia's antagonist role, he is the one who understood her the most and who could support her in the finale, he's the one outsider who cared the most about fixing things in the Monastery while the "proper" Sankta were all busy dealing with their own problems or actively worsening things (hi Oren). His character arc doesn't have anything to do with him starting to "get" emotions like "real people" do but just about starting to ask questions, to find a way forward when his strict adherence to logical reasoning fails him, to interpret why he does what he does and feel the way he does, to understand why things happens and why people act certain ways, and in quite a few scenes that's precisely why he could reach a conclusion others couldn't.

His biggest scene in Hortus involves him refusing to accept Clement's position that just because the only flower left from his garden he had a deep emotional attachment to was a bit damaged and not perfect the way he grew all the others to be, the way he wanted it to be, then its survival is meaningless.

Just because Clement couldn't see the worth in the flower's existence it doesn't mean there was none for anyone.

Just like Federico was the one chosen by the Law amidst countless "perfect" Sankta well accustomed to their supernatural Empathy.

Everyone means everyone.

[tsukkomicoder]

Wait this is a REALLY good point... I was a figure skater and an ice dancer and I've done every single one of these exact poses in my dances before.

The first pose seems to be the entrance into a spin or jump or that one sideways spreadeagle thing that I forgot the name of... the second one seems to be a crossover, the third one is pulling in during a spin or jump, and the fourth is a crossover again.

I've already believed that Dess is the Roaring Knight and this makes me even more sure of it. Also as you said, it would fit with the whole winter theme of the Holiday family.

Also, the skates pictured seem to be freestyle or ice dance skates judging by the blade (most likely freestyle since they tend to have larger rockers). Hockey skates usually have a more even curve and are connected to the boot with plastic. Perhaps the other pair of skates in her room are hockey skates, which would explain the hockey stick in her closet.

I've been reading way too much into everything about the Knight and one thing that immediately caught my attention was the way it poses. I think everybody agrees that its weapon is either Dess' bat or Carol's katana but both of those are supposed to be used with both hands so the poses don't match the way either of them are used. People are joking about auramaxxing but genuinely, it seems almost like it's a dance. And then it hit me. We know that Dess plays like. every sport. She's particularly associated with baseball and hockey (thanks Kris for beating me up with a hockey stick) and we know for a fact she has at least two pairs of ice skates - one in her closet and one under her bed.

So what if the skates aren't just for hockey. What if she also does figure skating? Look at the Knight's poses next to figure skaters.

And obviously ice skating is a winter sport so it really matches the Holiday theme.

[fictionadventurer]

I say this as an Austen fan, but enough Austen adaptations. She's one of the only classic authors I can think of who regularly gets feature film adaptations of her works.

I get it. Her stories are funny, accessible, romantic. Her stories aren't about highly-specific issues of her times, but have more universal themes that are easy for people to relate to even 200 years later. A lot of other classic books have lots of subplots that make them better miniseries material, but Austen's books, with one central romance thread and a few connected subplots, are much easier to adapt to feature film length without sacrificing major swathes of the book. But there are other books out there! If nothing else, adapt L.M. Montgomery or Alcott books that aren't Anne of Green Gables or Little Women. At the very least, give us Northanger Abbey! The world is full of books that have never been adapted, so there's no reason to keep adapting the same ones.

[aventurineswife]

thank😭 god😭 your req is open😭

Anyway, can i request AE Sunday x Cheerful reader who showers him with a lot of affection? Like a lot of pda(holding hand, hugging him, complimenting him, etc) and um, perhaps the reader love language is gifting gift and physical touch too. I think i just love AE Sunday so much

Love your works! Have a great dayy <3

“To Be Held, and To Heal”

Summary: Onboard the Astral Express, you find yourself drawn to Sunday—a composed yet quietly conflicted figure with a celestial air. With your cheerful nature and love language rooted in physical touch and gift-giving, you shower him with affection, praise, and unexpected joy. As your warmth gently unravels his guarded exterior, Sunday grapples with his ideals, past traumas, and the unfamiliar feeling of being genuinely loved. Through every hug, compliment, and handmade token, you remind him that happiness isn’t just a dream—it can be real, and it can be his.

Tags: Sunday x Cheerful!Reader, Fluff, Comfort, PDA, Gift Giving, Physical Touch, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soft Sunday, Protective Sunday, Love Language, Reader-Initiated Romance, Dreamscape Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of past emotional trauma and guilt, Brief references to religious trauma and disillusionment, Soft emotional vulnerability.

A/N: Thank you and you too!! <333

Sunday wasn’t used to this.

To the warmth. The hands that reached for his without hesitation. The arms that looped around his waist while the stars outside the Astral Express whirled by like fireflies in a jar. The little gifts you left by his door—handmade, thoughtful, wrapped with crooked ribbons and hope.

You were sunlight through stained glass. Brilliant, blinding at times—but never painful.

He often wondered what it was about you that made his wings tremble when you smiled at him like that. Maybe it was the way you loved so openly, without shame or fear. A kiss on the cheek when passing in the hallway. Fingers intertwined as if it were natural to be connected, anchored. You never asked him to change. You simply... gave.

And Sunday, for all his lofty ideals and celestial poise, didn't know what to do with that kind of love.

You caught him reading again, curled up in the observation car with the dim planetary glow casting gentle shadows across his features. His halo hummed faintly, eye-symbols glowing like quiet sentinels.

“Sunday!” You plopped down beside him, startling a soft flutter from the wings behind his ears.

His gaze drifted up to meet yours, calm as a lake. “You always enter like joy itself.”

You grinned, unabashed. “And you always talk like you're narrating a dream.”

You scooted closer. His tailcoat brushed your side. Then, without pause, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands seeking his like magnets. He hesitated—but only for a breath—before lacing his fingers with yours.

“Did you like the little gift I left you?” you asked. “The carved dove?”

His eyes softened. “It reminded me of home. And of you. Which... I suppose is the same thing now.”

Your heart did a flip. He had no idea the way your name sounded from his lips—like a prayer finally spoken aloud.

He wasn't perfect with touch. Not at first. His responses were tentative, awkward even. A wing that twitched when you kissed his cheek. A slow, stunned pause when you gifted him a handmade charm stitched with tiny stars.

But over time, he began to respond.

A hand placed gently on your back during conversations. A thumb brushing your knuckles beneath the dining car table. His halo tilting ever so slightly toward you—something you learned was his version of leaning in.

One evening, you found him alone in the observatory room, standing near the glass wall where galaxies stretched endlessly across the dark canvas of space. The starlight caught the edge of his halo, illuminating the soft lines of his face.

He was gazing at nothing—and everything.

You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking about. You knew.

“I used to think... if I could give the world peace through dreams, that would be enough,” he said quietly, eyes following the trail of a comet as it arced through the void.

You stepped beside him, the reflection of your silhouette joining his in the glass, and gently wrapped your arms around his waist from behind.

“But you forgot that peace means nothing if you can’t feel it for yourself.”

His breath hitched—just a little. He closed his eyes and leaned back into you, your presence grounding him like gravity. Trusting. Soft.

“I still don’t know if I deserve this.”

You kissed the spot beneath his halo, right where his hair fell against his neck. “Then let me keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Sunday wasn't used to this. But he was learning.

To love in the light, not just the dream.

To hold your hand and not look away.

To return your smile with one of his own—quiet, reverent, full of wonder.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe...

that joy wasn't something to protect others from.

It was something to be held. Given. Shared.

Like a gift.

Like a touch.

Like you.

I actually liked the ending wtf...

[cloudinal]

Been rewatching Lain lately, had to get this out of my system

[julietcpulet]

what do you think would be the most satisfying ending for jinmao?

i'm so conflicted about them because while i do not want jinshi to ascend the throne, i have to admit a part of me thinks renouncing his true position would be a waste. i mean, he's a damn pretty good leader and sometimes i enjoy imagining him and maomao being a power couple together. but then i'm always like damn they both canonically wouldn't like that </3 (so, thank the lord for fanfics, right?)

anyway, an unhappy jinmao is hardly a satisfying ending. but then i also wouldn't want them to be commoners because, again, it'd be a waste. as for the "faking their death" ending, it sounds really romantic but i feel like it's too cowardly and ooc for them. they'd never back down from a challenge after all.

so yeah i don't know how natsu-hyuga will conclude their romance. maybe the ending will just be them finally getting together? like the ending of the kaguya-sama movie where the last shot focused on the two main leads' interlocking hands, and then boom, the end credits. that would be an open ending (and i think that's what natsu was intending from the start), but is that satisfying? i'm not sure. just wanted to know your thoughts!

Love this question! And so sweet of you to be interested in my input 💕. Here's a breakdown of my thoughts on each possible ending and my personal speculation on an ending I like. Of course I have no idea what Hyuuga is really planning but just going on general direction and how things could play out if these were the proposed endings. (Spoilers below)

Emperor and Empress ending - I agree that this isn't the ideal nor the likely ending. To me, although there are factions pushing for Jinshi to be Emperor, it all feels like a mis-direct to the final outcome. Both Jinshi and Maomao are opposed to him becoming Emperor and he knows she would be miserable as a woman at the head of the nation, holding scorn from the other women.

Jinshi felt it was something close to a miracle that he had met a woman like Maomao. That was why he didn’t want to let her go. He’d gone so far as to press a brand into his own side, all to keep her.

He has struggled a lot to make it clear Maomao is the only woman he wants, he doesn't want to be the Emperor and also just is not the right person for the job. I don't believe these plot points are in vain only to be reversed later by a realization of avoidance and Jinshi wanting to accept his position out of familial obligation or maturity, nor do I think the plot is moving the characters in that direction. If anything it's continually showing that Maomao and Jinshi have to be willing to assert their own wishes against that of others despite what may be expected of them. And while Jinshi does have excellent leadership qualities, as Maomao easily points out, his kindness often brings him to overwork himself and struggle with dealing out harsh punishments or having necessary and uncomfortable entanglements an Emperor would have to have.

Jinshi was watching the pitiful family closely. He didn't seem to be thinking of how to punish them, but rather how to connect this to whatever came next. As he watched the family, Maomao silently watched him.

Romeo and Juliet ending - This was a favorite of mine previously and I still think there's the smallest possibility for it to happen but it's unlikely. I liked it simply because it brings back the resurrection drug which was a recurring theme for so long with Maomao wanting to obtain it and also the potential for a callback to the beginning of the novels with Shisui somehow making an appearance since she is the only character to disappear successfully and not be found. The downfall of considering this ending is two-fold. One is that Maomao and Jinshi do have some connections with people they may miss if they faked their deaths and disappeared. Her father Luomen might be able to come but Basen, Mrs. Chue, Lihaku and anyone else would never be able to see them again. Secondly, Maomao herself has said she sees death as a cop-out for escaping the fallout to problems you have caused.

"I hate it when people think everything's over just because they're dead!" It was as good as refusing to face the consequences of whatever you had done.

This to me is the biggest indicator this likely won't be the ending. It's interesting to consider and could bring back some fun appearances from early novel plots but I agree that given Maomao and Jinshi's character they're not much for disappearing and leaving others to handle the mess.

Grand Commandant and Court Physician ending - This is personally the most satisfying end for Jinmao I can imagine right now. Basically if Jinshi renounces his title as Moon Prince and Maomao accepts her role in the La Clan then they go on to get married with Jinshi being brought into the family, he could take on her clan name. From there, Lakan could step down as Grand Commandant and have Jinshi take the role. This would be optimal for both as Lakan appears to enjoy the strategy involved in military affairs but often delegates the rest of his work to his aids. He has found Jinshi interesting and should like to have a son-in-law who will take his position so he can retire to play Go games which is what I imagine.

To his surprise the eccentric strategist was there, lying on a couch and drinking from a gourd. To all appearances he was quite at his ease, but a secretary placed some paperwork sheet by sheet on a table and gave Lakan a stamp to press on them.

Being Grand Commandant would also give Jinshi the ability to back up the Emperor's son with Gyokuyou while not being his enemy. Jinshi has had a clear interest in the military from having the training, to when he stormed the Shi clan stronghold himself and then has wanted to boost the ranks of the military but been denied given that his current position is mostly in name and he has to go through others to do the things he wishes in the government. It also removes Lakan as such the fearsome threat against the Emperor and puts his son in the position whom he trusts.

When the younger brother had at last appeared, though, it turned out that he was as beautiful and as gossamer as a celestial nymph-and that he was also a hale young man as skilled in the military arts as the administrative.

As for Maomao, her accepting her place in the La Clan is integral to both her and Jinshi potentially being free from the grip of Imperial politics. Ironically this whole time Jinshi has been taking the burden on himself to find ways of removing the obstacles for both of them by getting himself taken out of the line of succession. It would prove to me to be funny if it turns out that Maomao accepting a noble position is the key to both of them finding actual freedom.

From my perspective if she becomes the La Princess not just in others recognizing she is outwardly but taking on the Clan name and what comes with it, I think it could open other possibilities for her and Jinshi. Like I said above she and he could get married if he was no longer royalty and he could take on her clan name, as we've seen that men can be welcomed into a wife's family and become the head of that family.

The position itself would bring her a noble status, which she could then use to work in the circles Jinshi would be in as Grand Commandant. For instance, if he is no longer considered a threat to the Emperor, he could also put forward more initiatives like he used to in the rear palace like helping the women read but along the lines of potentially having female physicians. I think the Emperor would accept without a problem, he merely needed someone who was respected with in the Imperial Court and who could make a reasoned argument for it to present the idea.

If Maomao then becomes a Court Physician in her own right she can still see Empress Gyokuyou and treat her as a doctor without having to be her lady-in-waiting or her servant and not being able to have a connection to Jinshi. She could be friends with the Empress again because she has her own established position which finally removes her biggest fear that has driven so much of Jinshi's efforts to remove himself as a potential successor.

Finally, I find this possible ending to be the most satisfying because what Maomao and Jinshi want most is to help people. And a place they can be where they have the best ability to help people is where they would thrive the best.

"You're only human, Master Jinshi. You're not some mythical immortal who can save everyone." She held his face in her hands, the fingers of her left hand brushing his scar. "You can be wounded, scarred, brought low. Only human."

Being Emperor and Empress would only stifle them because as we see with the current sovereigns there is a lot they cannot do and their hands are tied by relations with foreign nations and keeping friendly terms in the palace itself. Being commoners wouldn't work either because as we have seen with Maomao, having to constantly work and scrape for very little causes a defeatism of feeling like you're not able to do much for others or improve life for yourself.

Sadly but truthfully, Luomen won't be around forever and to me Maomao will find happiness taking over for him as Court Physician and working with the Quack in the Medical Office where she's comfortable and able to help the ladies and others, plus she'll always have access to the best medicines and can visit her Verdigris House family at any time. This ending also brings back the feeling of the early novels where Jinshi can peek in on her in the medical office after he's finished his paperwork as Commandant but this time they're able to go get chicken skewers together and have the freedom as husband and wife.

He wished he could have gotten her tucked into bed sooner, with a nice, soft blanket around her. She hadn’t been able to resist her first sleep in days, and she looked as comfortable as if she were in a pleasant bath.

Here they're both able to work, doing something they enjoy but freed from troublesome entanglements, all the while finding new ways to improve the lives of others. That's a happy ending to me.

Lastly, I don't see it having them be together and fade-to-black, I think we'll know some of what their future holds. To me the idea of being open-ended is more, the possibility for further adventures to be had. So we can see them get married, have jobs and be happy but that doesn't mean there couldn't be more, there just wouldn't be at the time we leave them because they've achieved a certain peace for the moment.

That was longer than I intended it to be 😂 but fun to write and explore the different endings. Thanks so much for the question!

[saphir3333]

Kpop Demon hunters is such an amazing movie. I mean I’m not a huge fan of Kpop but this movie just became one of my favourites. (Spoilers down below)

Thanks to it’s themes and characters almost anyone can connect to this movie. Every character is so well written.

Rumi with her self esteem issues and her shame of her demonic heritage. Zoey feeling like she doesnt belong anywhere, certainly a response to trauma of being torn between 2 cultures, 2 countries and parents. And Mira who was the black sheep of her family because she doesnt go along with the expectations that were put on her as the daughter of her family.

With Huntrix they finally have found a family, stability. People on who they can rely on.

But even with this new found family the girls still have insecurities to be left alone because of who they are. Rumi is affraid to be rejected because she represent everything that the hunters fight and resent. Zoey is scared to be rejected because she is feels like she is too much and too little at the same time. And Mira is scared she will be rejected because of her personality and her attitude. This shows in the last songs where they finally aknowledge their fears to each others and decide to embrace it as apart of themselves.

The same goes with Jinu he is being devoured by the shame of his past actions. He has been selfish and is unable to move on. His marks are a constant reminder that he sold his soul for a comfortable life for himself, leaving his family behind. Rumi made him accept his mistake and help him free himself (for a short time at least) from the influence of Kwi-ma.

[kathryn-writes]

Fanfiction is the reason I'm not as worried about AI (as a writer)

If you've been reading the internet at all in the last few years, you know, according to the CEOs with a vested interest in this being true, that the next Tolstoy is lying in wait in a server farm currently guzzling up so much power it's changing the climate somewhere in Nebraska. AI is going to write books so well that there won't be any need for authors anymore! People will be able to just put in prompts and magically vomit out the stories they have always wanted to their personal standards!

There are not-so-outrageous claims that publishers are flirting with AI-genned and possibly people-guided stories already. And several publishing houses popping up to publish all those amazing AI-generated stories! And I'm not going to pretend that the writer in me didn't feel a twinge of worry.

Are they coming for my stories? Are these server farms going to replace the hours and days and weeks that I put into having an idea, constructing a plot, filling in ALL the words that connect the plot, editing to make the work cohesive all while paying attention to characterization, prose, voice, pacing, world building, realistic dialogue, humor, continuity, theme, and all the infinite little flourishes and details that go into creating a story? Apparently, so say the AI company CEOs who are totally not trying to sell you snake oil!

These insta-stories that people seem to think are a huge market have a really interesting testing ground: fanfiction. Because if there's any place where there is an instant audience voracious for reading stories that often repeat the same themes and tropes and characters, it's here. Look up the two cakes meme if you don't believe me. It's the perfect market for AI slop, providing an endless stream of soulmates fics featuring our favorite blorbos.

But what have we seen in practice? At least in the fandom I'm involved in, the few folks who have tried to make AI slop happen have... had trouble. Not only do the stories get flagged by members of the fandom as being suspicious, but they get very little to no engagement. People aren't interested in these stories. They avoid them. I want to remind everyone that fanfic is free. It's a click and sometime scrolling AO3. The prompts one would need to feed into ChatGPT are really narrow, since you probably already have the tropes you want in mind and the names of the characters. It's exactly where one would expect AI slop to have an audience, and it just doesn't.

If these models have already used the entire internet to train (which they have, even when people have told them to STOP using their content), and the only people who seem to be claiming we're within arm's reach of artificial general intelligence are the CEOs who are trying to keep the venture capital money flowing, then... do I fear that they are going to be able to compete with human creativity? I don't.

Because it can't even get people who've trawled the depths of AO3, of FFN, and even of Media Miner in a desperate search for a bazillion Destiel soulmate ABO fics to turn to the slop that ChatGPT makes.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Heyyyyyy it's shawtyyyy (again)

So I have a question 👉🏾👈🏾

I just read your namgyu x big boobs!reader and it made me wonder...

If you'd do a reader with a big butt

Like a whole bakery behind her back

I feel like namgyu (or Thanos you can do either) would go crazyyyyyy just smacking readers ass all the time LMAO

Would you do that? Pretty please? *bats eyelashes* 🥹👉🏾👈🏾

SHAWTYYY!!!! MY LOVE!!!! ABSOLUTELY I WILL DO THAT!! 😩😋 this was already in the works after the big boobs!Reader because I couldn’t get the thought of riding him reverse cowgirl and making him see stars because he can’t handle all that ass

I hope you like this one!!!!! I’m prayin I did it justice

Warnings: nsfw themes , smut (18+)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

LMAO!! I said this in the last one I’ll say it again, idc- uses your ass as a pillow

Mf will make you get up from where ever you’re laying, flip on your stomach, and he will lay down. Head on your ass, cheek nuzzling into the jiggling flesh, arms wrapped around your waist and connected under you

Resting on your ass is also one of his favorite way to smoke

Sprawled out on the bed, you’re on your stomach. Red eyes watching some video and he’s laying on his back horizontal to you, head leaned up against your ass as he hits the blunt

He’s also such a fucking dweeb and gives you fake back shots everytime you bend over

Having just taken the laundry out of the dryer, you’re realizing you haven seen your phone in a long minute.

“Hey baby, have you seen my- oh fuck.” You groan, dropping one of the shirts you were carrying from the laundry room to the bedroom. You drop the rest of the pile you were holding to better scoop up the warm clothes.

You’re not even sure how he did it- how he got up that fast and knew you were bending over- he was in the living room and you were in a hallway! He couldn’t have seen you! But, Nam-Gyu is practically bounding down the hallway and coming up behind you.

One hand crossing over your lower back to hold your hip and the other presses down on your back, putting you into the pretty little arch he loves so much.

“Fuck, there you go.” He hisses out, pressing his pelvis flush against your ass. He’s pulling you back against him, drawing his hips back then thrusting forward.

Nam-Gyu is quite simply addicted to the image of your ass rippling against him, the way anytime he drives his hips forward his cock is completely surrounded by your ass- yeah, he’s in heaven.

“Fucking hell!” You giggle out surprised, placing your palms on the floor to steady yourself, “How’d you even move so fast?!” You say, simply taking each faux thrust he gives.

“I know when my baby’s bending over, it’s like a radar.” He says, laughing along with you.

When you play is game along with him, putting more weight on your hands and shaking your ass back against him??? Immediately to the bedroom with you!!!

Hand on your ass 100% of the time

Walking with you and you’re wearing jeans? Hand in your back pocket cupping your ass

No pockets? Fuck it, hand down the waist band of your pants. He really doesn’t care

Slapping your ass anytime he gets, much like you said

Walking by him while he’s playing some video game, he’s risking his character dying to reach out and slap your ass as you walk by

Pouts if the slap wasn’t good enough and makes you walk by again so he can try to slap your ass again

The sound of the slap echos out through the room, its dull, and really hits the side of your thigh more than anything. You don’t think anything about it, it’s happened more times than you can count- you were expecting it!

“That wasn’t a good one”

“Get the fuck back here, I need to try again.”

You two speak at the same time, laughter ringing out through the room as he realizes you really got him down to the littlest thing he does. Hell, you seemed to have some grasp on his ass slapping rating scale to realize that wasn’t going to cut it.

“Fuuuuck, you’re not real.” Nam-Gyu says with a groan, “You know me so well.” motioning you to walk backwards and pass by him again, he’s grinning and shamelessly looking at your ass when you step backwards.

You repeat what you just did, walking by him to your original destination. This time his palm is connecting with your ass in a perfectly time slap. It’s sharp, your ass recoiling with the impact- you can even feel the throbbing sting of where his palm landed seconds after it happened.

His eyes are locked onto your ass like a predator about to bite into a chunk of raw meat, “Ughhh, so much better, that one had some good fuckin’ recoil.”

And then he’s sending you on your way!

Also has definitely hit you with a “You need help holding that? Looks heavy.” And then grabs you ass

Yeah he loves lil’ short skirts or short shorts that ride up so high they’re not even shorts anymore- he adores them

But what really gets him going?!? You wearing his boxers or tight jeans

There’s something about the way you fill out his boxers- damn near busting at the seams becuase men’s boxers in his size aren’t sewn for that much curve.

And jeans?! Fuck, he could cum in his pants watching you walk away from him in jeans. Theoretically, the fabric should be constricting, should limit the amount of movement…but nope! It’s still moving

Especially loves the little jump you do when you put them on to get them over your ass

100% has went out and bought you a pair of jeans with his own money just to recreate a porn video he saw where the crotch of the pants was ripped and the girl was getting fucked from the back through the opening

ALSO THOSE NIGHTGOWNS!! Yk the ones that have that thin soft fabric that is baggy as hell but the second you’re walking the outline and jiggle of your ass and waist is so visible?

Yeah he’s like on his knees barking like a dog. You put that on he’s taking it as a sign he’s bout to have a fantastic fucking night even if all it amounts to is him getting to just look at you in it.

He’s the type of guy to literally not give a fuck what you wear outside. He’s confident you’re his and if you want to show off what you got?! By all means!!

He gets a sick ego boost when you’re out at the club he slides up to your side, arm pulling you into his side and watching every man who was staring at have a look of defeat when they realize you’re taken

More than a little tipsy and definitely stoned beyond belief- you’re having the time of your life at Club Pentagon. Having a boyfriend as a club promotor has its perks!!

The music is thrumming and you’re on the dance floor with a group of girls you randomly met. Dancing and hyping each other up like you’ve been friends for years. They’re so welcoming that you feel like you can dance more without having to worry about someone coming up to you.

So of course you have the time of your life!! You’re swaying your hips to the song, the fabric of the lil red dress you have on flowing with every little movement you make. And as the music picks up and the lovely group of girls around you dance with you- of course you’re throwing some ass!!

Nam-Gyu likes when you do this- a personal show just for him to watch while he works the floor of the club. It’s entrancing really, you know you look good, you know you have a lot of ass, and you know how to move- you’re a fucking masterpiece to him.

Standing against the bar, having just finished talking to some random VIP who was far too drunk to even realize the promotions Nam-Gyu was trying to sell, he’s now watching you dance.

You can feel his eyes on you, drinking you in like you’re the finest wine this bar as to offer (and a bottle is like 3k at the club). He’s licking his lips and doing his best to discretely adjust his pants as he watches- studies- you, ass and thighs jiggling with every shake you intentionally do.

He doesn’t move when he watches you throw your hips back on some girl who giggles and playfully smacks you ass- nah, you’re simply having fun- if anything he’s glad you found a little group to hang out with.

He does move when he sees a man somehow pushing his way through the group of girls surrounding you and try’s to talk to you. He can see how you freeze what you were doing, looking at the man with an irritated look. He can see how the man tries to reach out and touch your waist, attempting to talk to you.

You jump a little when you’re pulled into his side, you didn’t even see Nam-Gyu walk up! Nam-Gyu steps so he swats the man’s hand away from you, his own arm wrapping around your waist.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Nam-Gyu says, his voice low and stoic, hand squeezing you to him even more, “She’s not for you to touch though.”

“You just gonna let your girl whore out on the dance floor like that?” The guy scoffs, immediately switching his mood now that he knows he doesn’t have a chance to take you home

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu says shrugging, “Why not, I’m the one taking her home and imprinting my hand on the ass she was just shaking.”

Your face is flushed and your body heated from your boyfriend’s words but Nam-Gyu just smirks lazily and waves the man off.

When he hugs you he’s putting both hands on your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer to him and squish you against his chest

Sit on him

On his lap on his face…literally anywhere he wants it

Says that no chair is good enough to handle all of your ass so he’s the only option….again he’s a fucking dweeb

Facesitting 1000%

Facesitting, but!!! He’s making you twerk on his face. He’s so fucking nasty.

Also more often than not- he’s eating it from the back

Hands spreading your ass, fingers pressing into the flesh and shaking your ass on his face, going to town- like dudes obsessed

Of course he’s a doggy style fiend but I raise you…..

Prone bone!!!

His favorite position hands down.

“Just put it in~” you’re whining, trying your best to wiggle your hips back onto him. It’s hard the way you’re literally pinned to the mattress. He’s straddling your thighs- pelvis pressed against your ass as he just inspects you.

He can’t get over the way his dick looks pressed into the valley off your ass. He’s rocking himself back and forth just dragging the weight of his cock through your thick ass.

“You have no fucking patience.” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth- he’s trying not to blow his load all over your ass then and there.

You whine, “youve been doing this for hours…”, hips arching off the bed, when two large hands switch their grip and grab a handful of each ass cheek. He’s spreading you apart, watching how your own wetness strings between the fat of your ass in shiny webs.

The smartass he is, is pausing all movement to turn his head to look at the digital clock under the TV, “it’s been 15 minutes..” he scoffs, shifting back to prod his fat tip against your dripping pussy.

It doesn’t take much, the second you feel the tip of his cock draaag nice n’ slow through your folds, you’re moaning out his name.

“This fat fuckin’ ass…” he’s growling more to himself than you, one of his hands that grips your ass, shaking it and watching the flesh recoil against his pelvis and dick, “so good…just letting me play with you…you can wait a lil’ longer, yeah?”

Sobbing into the pillow you’re trying your best to press back against him and slip his cock into your cunt yourself! But Nam-Gyu was never one to rush things.

With a sharp slap! His hand is connecting with your ass. You’re moaning out in response, hands gripping at the pillows to try and ground yourself in anyway possible. When he witnesses the recoil and the blossoming red imprint of his hand, he’s moaning with you.

“Yeaahhh,” Nam-Gyu’s drawling out, “you can wait a lil’ longer.” He’s answering for you. He needs to make it even and do the other side of course!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be on my taglist for everytime I post <3))

[2000sangel]

What about tenna losing power during a thunderstorm? Or maybe being in pain from a severe power surge? I mean, it’s not like he has the modern conveniences built in of surge protectors, and it’s probably pretty scary to suddenly turn off/“faint” with no warning! Even if nothing happens, I imagine this would make tenna pretty scared of storms… a little comfort would go a long way I’m sure 💖💖💖💖

-✨

Hellow!! This was a very fun idea that I decided to make HCs for: I slightly tweaked the prompt though, and made it into general thunderstorm comfort HCs...power surges usually impact electronics quite badly and I have another request for something similar to the other idea you provided, sooo...winks, keep your eyes on my blog for updates °_^

And enjoy!! <3

P.S. - does anyone recognize this image that I used...? Eheh...

Tenna x Reader - Thunderstorm Comfort Headcanons

>It takes you a little by surprise when one stormy day, upon deciding to visit the Dark World, you find Tenna more nervous than usual; at the beginning he simply tries to brush it off, but as the storm picks up he becomes visibly more and more agitated until you finally connect the dots: Tenna is…afraid of thunderstorms, and not for stupid reasons! His Light World counterpart could very easily get damaged during one, and you actually recall it happening and having to call an electronics technician for repairs.

>You suggest willingly putting things on hold whenever a very heavy storm happens, it’s not like you really mind if he takes some time off, and he actually thanks you for this and ends up accepting your idea later down the line.

>This however doesn’t completely solve the issue; his shows might be under control, but he isn’t. He’s on edge the entire time, you can see it even though he tries to act like his usual eccentric self. So you bring up the idea of activities that only require a low amount of energy and to do them together, for example thinking up TV Time themes or playing board games.

>Tenna sounds immediately more excited upon hearing your ideas, and is glad that you’d be interested in helping with his show and just spending some chill time together; he’s a little flustered, even, that you’d consider doing all of this just to calm him down.

>Your visits end up becoming a must whenever the weather is even slightly bad, and over time Tenna becomes a little less jumpy whenever it happens. He stops worrying about what might happen so much and starts looking forward to the comfort of your presence instead; he even prepares everything himself when he notices the weather getting bad, hoping you show up every time. 

>When it eventually does happen that you don’t show up, an uneasy feeling settles in his chest until you can finally visit him and explain your reasoning: maybe you were outside, or maybe you got caught up in something or even in the storm itself, which is very understandable however it takes him a little while to shake the thoughts that you did it on purpose from his wicked head. 

>As he gets used to getting reassurance whenever you can’t physically be there for him, he eventually realizes that you’re not just going to up and leave, especially if something like a storm is going on. Storms actually kind of…help him in a sense: they help him build trust in your relationship, they help him take a much needed break once in a while…they help him connect better with you and with his subordinates, who secretly understand where his fear comes from and are willing to play those board games with him -he would never admit to the reason why he always suggests playing those during a storm, but it still makes for a fun time once in a while!-.

>You also change your habits a little back in the Light World, just for Tenna: whenever the forecast gives a storm warning, you hurry to shut off all of the lights and electronics in your house. More power and lives saved, you often joke with your friends when they ask you why you do it…! You also install surge protectors, as you guess that if something like that ever happened it’d be painful for Tenna. And then, if you don’t have anywhere extremely important to be, you warn everyone that you’ll be unavailable until the sky is clear again and run to your partner. 

[suku-enthusiasts]

chapter four || blow ups - c. kamo

❛ ❜ Choso Kamo x f!reader (on going)

❝ Kamo “Choso,” a guarded boxer, meets a soft-spoken baker when he starts daily visits after training. Their connection grows slowly—social media follow, sweet diner dates, shared springtime moments—but love comes through quiet acts: tending wounds, pearl necklaces, building a home together. Challenges follow—a big match, media attention, and legal fights,—yet their bond deepens through intimacy, honest conversations under starry nights, and passionate reunions after weeks apart. As they balance family, business, and future plans, Choso sheds his tough exterior and the baker learns to trust in love worth fighting for.❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety.

Uploads every Tuesday

main masterlist | series masterlist | previous

Dinner was easy in a way that surprised him. It shouldn’t have been. Choso wasn’t used to easy. He was used to long silences that felt sharp instead of comfortable, to conversations where people waited for him to say the wrong thing, to the quiet judgment that came with the scars on his knuckles and the bruises that never really healed. But here — in your small, warm apartment with the smell of garlic and tomatoes lingering in the air, with the soft light of the old lamp casting a glow over your hair — it felt different.

He ate slowly, more for the company than the food, watching the way you talked with your hands, the way your laugh curled at the edges when you told stories about bakery disasters — dough that didn’t rise, burnt croissants, the one time you locked yourself in the walk-in freezer for an hour before your brother found you. Choso didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. You filled the space without crowding it, and every so often, when you laughed a little too hard or smiled a little too big, he caught himself smiling too.

After dinner, you carried the plates to the sink, and Choso followed you, leaning his hip against the counter as you rinsed them, the water running quietly between you. "You know," you said, glancing up at him with a small smile, "you're allowed to relax." He snorted softly. "Don't know how." You bumped his arm with your shoulder, teasing but gentle. "You're learning." He watched you for a moment longer, heart heavy in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the way you looked at him — like you saw him. Like you weren't trying to fix him or change him or run from the sharp edges. You just saw him, and somehow, you still stayed.

He opened his mouth to say something — he wasn’t even sure what — when his phone buzzed on the counter. Choso frowned, leaning over to check the screen. His manager’s name flashed across the display: Kenji. He let it buzz once. Twice. You glanced at him, a question in your eyes, but didn’t push. With a grunt, Choso picked it up and answered, pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah.”

Your back was to him now as you wiped down the counter, pretending not to listen, but he could feel the way the air shifted around you — quieter, more alert. Choso’s face hardened as he listened, jaw tightening. “No,” he said sharply. “I already told you — not interested.” There was a pause — Kenji’s voice, fast and insistent, bleeding through the small apartment. Choso’s fingers drummed against the counter, the tight, agitated rhythm giving away more than his voice did.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, turning away from you, pacing a few steps toward the window like he could outwalk the conversation. Kenji kept talking — louder, more aggressive — and Choso’s shoulders tensed, the muscles under his hoodie bunching tight. “What the fuck does Gucci need me for?” he snapped, his voice rising, sharp in the quiet of the apartment. “I’m not a model. I’m not some pretty face they can slap on a billboard.” You stopped wiping the counter, watching him now, still and careful. Another pause. Another insistent argument through the phone.

Choso raked a hand through his hair, the tie snapping loose, strands falling around his face in a messy halo.

“They don’t give a shit about me,” he said, voice rough. “They don’t care who I am. They just want a look. A story.”

He paced, breathing harder now, phone still pressed tight to his ear. “I said no. What part of no—”

He broke off, jaw tight, listening to whatever Kenji was saying on the other end. His hand dropped to his side, clenching into a fist, the other scrubbing hard over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, but no less bitter. “It’s in the contract,” he muttered. “Of course it is.”

He hung up then, without a word, the phone hitting the counter with a dull, angry thud. He stood there, breathing hard, back tense, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. His fists were clenched at his sides, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. You could feel the anger radiating off him — not the reckless, dangerous kind. The kind that came from helplessness. From being trapped, and even though your chest tightened, even though every instinct told you to tread carefully, you didn’t flinch.

You crossed the room quietly, your socks silent on the wood floor, and stopped just behind him. You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask. You just wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek lightly to his back, and held him.

Choso stood there, breathing slow and ragged, your arms wrapped tight around his waist, your body pressed gently to his back. The fight had drained out of him — not all at once, not dramatically — but in pieces. The sharp edges dulled, the anger softened, the weight of everything he carried shifting just enough that he could feel the warmth of you behind him. He didn’t move for a long time, his hands resting heavy over yours, his fingers brushing absently across your knuckles like he didn’t know what else to do with them, like he was afraid to break the moment by holding on too tight.

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of his breathing, yours quieter still, the slow thud of your hearts filling up the small space. Outside, the city moved on — cars in the distance, the occasional echo of voices on the street — but up here, it was just you and him, suspended in something that felt fragile but real. You didn’t speak, didn’t press him to turn around, to look at you. You just stayed, steady and sure, your arms tightening slightly around him every time his breathing hitched, every time his muscles tensed like he might pull away. You wanted him to know he didn’t have to. That he could stay. That it was safe here.

It took a while — longer than you thought it might — but slowly, slowly, Choso shifted. He lifted one of your hands from his stomach, his fingers lacing through yours with a care so unfamiliar, so clumsy and deliberate, it made your chest ache. He turned, slow and heavy, and you let your arms fall back, giving him space. When he faced you, he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell the clean soap clinging to his hoodie, the faint coppery scent of the gym still lingering underneath. His hair was messy, falling loose around his face, strands brushing his cheekbones. His dark eyes — so often hooded and guarded — were open now, raw and vulnerable in a way that made your breath catch.

Choso didn’t speak. He just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real. His gaze dropped, slowly, dragging over your face — the curve of your mouth, the soft flush still high on your cheeks, the loose, messy fall of your hair. His jaw worked, a muscle ticking, like there were words caught somewhere between his ribs that he didn’t know how to free. You didn’t rush him.

You stood there, open and waiting, your hands loosely folded in front of you, giving him the choice to reach, to stay, to leave — whatever he needed, and maybe it was that — the not asking, the not pushing — that finally broke through.

Choso stepped closer, slow and heavy, the toes of his boots brushing yours. His hand lifted, hesitant, pausing halfway like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. You met him halfway, tilting your chin up, letting your gaze hold his, steady and soft. He touched your cheek, finally, the backs of his fingers rough against your skin. Not a caress — just a touch, like he needed to make sure you were real, that you weren’t going to dissolve if he pressed too hard. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, feather-light, and you leaned into it, just slightly, a soft breath escaping you.

“You’re not scared of me,” he said, voice low and rough, the words heavy with disbelief and something that sounded almost like awe. You shook your head slowly, the movement brushing your cheek against his hand. “No.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow, in awe. “I should scare you,” he said, even softer, like he hated admitting it.

“You don’t,” you whispered, and you saw the way his throat worked, the way his hand trembled just slightly against your skin. Choso lowered his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and you felt the breath he exhaled — shaky, uneven — fan across your lips. He didn’t kiss you right away. He just breathed you in, his forehead pressing lightly to yours, his hand moving to cup your jaw fully now, rough palm cradling you like you were something breakable. His other hand hovered at your waist, fingers twitching like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t dare. You could have closed the distance. Could have leaned up on your toes and pressed your mouth to his, simple and easy.

But you waited.

You let him choose.

And he did.

Slow, careful, like he was afraid he’d ruin it if he moved too fast, Choso closed the last inch between you, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that was more breath than contact at first. A hesitation. A question. You answered by tilting your chin up, pressing just a little closer, your fingers finding the hem of his hoodie, clutching lightly. The kiss deepened slowly — not frantic, not demanding — but steady, building in quiet layers. His lips were soft, warm, a little chapped, moving against yours like he was learning you in pieces, savoring the way you fit against him. When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, his forehead still resting against yours. “You’re too good for me,” he murmured, the words so raw they almost didn’t sound like him. You smiled, small and sure, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re wrong,” you whispered. He exhaled shakily, his thumb stroking slow circles against your jaw. For a moment, neither of you moved, and even though there was still a heaviness in his shoulders, still a sadness in the way he held you — it wasn’t hopeless.

It was something quieter. Something that felt a lot like hope. You stood there together in the quiet, in the soft lamplight, in the stillness of a world you’d made just for each other — a world that, for once, he didn’t feel the need to fight against. For the first time in a long, long time, Choso thought maybe he didn’t have to be afraid of being seen.

Not when it was you doing the looking.

The night of the fight, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You stood in the line winding around the side of the old arena, the low buzz of voices, the smell of cheap food and sweat filling the air. The crowd was restless — buzzing with anticipation, thick with the kind of energy that made your skin crawl. Men in leather jackets and steel-toed boots, women with loud laughs and sharper smiles. It wasn’t your world. Not even close.

But you were here anyway. For him.

Inside, the arena was even worse — too loud, too bright, the sharp metallic tang of blood and old adrenaline saturating the air. You found your seat toward the front — not too close, but close enough that you could see the cage, the gleaming metal bars catching the harsh overhead lights. You sat, hands tight in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. Choso was already in the ring. He stood in one corner, shoulders loose, head down, hoodie half-zipped, hands taped tight. His team fussed around him — shouting last-minute instructions, slapping his back — but he barely reacted. He stood still, heavy and coiled like a spring, his dark hair tied back, face blank. Not the Choso you knew.

No — this was someone else. Someone harder. Sharper.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers, the crowd roaring in response, but it all blurred together for you.

When Choso stepped forward, shrugging out of his hoodie, the tattoos on his arms gleamed under the lights, black and brutal. His body was a map of old scars and new bruises, and even from where you sat, you could see how tight his jaw was, how hard his eyes had gone. You barely breathed as the fight started.

It was fast — brutal — a blur of fists and elbows, bodies colliding against the cage. Choso was a machine, all sharp edges and ruthless precision. He moved like he was built for this — like violence lived under his skin, coiled tight and waiting. You flinched every time his fist connected — sharp, wet impacts that echoed across the arena. His opponent was fast, good, but Choso was better — relentless, grinding him down with every blow, every ruthless advance. There was no mercy in it. No hesitation. Just Choso, cold and brutal, doing what he had to do.

It didn’t take long. The final blow was vicious — a sharp left hook that sent the other man crumpling to the mat, blood splattering across the canvas. The crowd roared. You stayed frozen, breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat. Choso stood over his opponent for a beat longer, chest heaving, face still blank. Then he stepped back, lifting his bruised fists mechanically when the ref grabbed his arm and declared him the winner. The announcer shouted, the crowd screamed, but Choso barely reacted. No smile. No raised fists. No celebration. Just that same blank stare.

You saw it then — clearer than you ever had before. He hated this. Even with the win, even with the cheers, Choso stood there like he couldn’t feel a thing. Like he was just a body in a cage, doing what he had to do to survive. Obligation. Not passion.

You sat frozen as he left the ring, his team swarming him — pats on the back, towels thrown over his shoulders. He moved through them like a ghost, not really seeing any of it. When his dark eyes found yours in the crowd, the smallest crack broke across his face — something soft and fleeting — and then it was gone.

You didn’t say much when you met him outside the arena. He was quiet, hoodie pulled low over his face, duffel slung over one shoulder. His hands were taped still, knuckles split and raw, dried blood crusted at the edges. He didn’t speak, and neither did you — just slid into the passenger seat of your car, slumping low. You drove back to the apartment in silence. When you got home, you unlocked the door, flipping on the lamp, letting the soft, warm light spill across the space. Choso stood in the doorway for a second, heavy and still, then toed off his boots and stepped inside.

“Go shower,” you said, voice soft but certain. He hesitated, jaw ticking — like he didn’t know how to accept something so small — and then nodded, disappearing down the hall to the bathroom. You moved around the apartment quietly while he was gone — fetching the small first aid kit from under the sink, filling a glass of water, pulling a clean towel from the closet. When Choso came back, hair damp and curling at the ends, fresh hoodie pulled over his broad shoulders, he looked... smaller, somehow. Calmer. But still distant, still too quiet. You sat on the couch, patting the spot next to you.

“Come here.” He hesitated again, then crossed the room slowly, sitting down with a grunt. His legs spread wide, shoulders hunched slightly, like he was trying to make himself smaller and failing. You reached for his hands, gently pulling one into your lap. His knuckles were bruised and raw, the skin split in places, crusted blood staining the tape. He watched you quietly as you peeled it away, careful not to pull too hard. You worked slowly, dabbing antiseptic against the cuts, smoothing bandages over the worst of them. Choso didn’t flinch. Didn’t even breathe hard. Just sat there, letting you take care of him like he didn’t know what to do with it. When you finished, you set the first aid kit aside and curled your fingers lightly around his wrist, thumb brushing over the thick pulse there.

He was still watching you — quiet, unreadable.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and spoke — soft, but sure. “I hated watching that,” you admitted, voice low. “Not because you’re bad at it. You’re good — too good.” Choso’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. “I hated it because I could see it in your face. You don’t love it.” You swallowed, thumb stroking slow, soothing circles against his skin. “You do it because you have to.” His jaw tightened, throat working around words he couldn’t seem to say.

“You fight because you feel like you don’t have a choice,” you said, softer now. “Because it’s the only thing the world’s ever let you be good at.” You shifted closer, your knee brushing his. “But that’s not all you are, Choso.”

His hand flexed under yours, rough fingers twitching like he wanted to grab you but wasn’t sure how. “You’re more than fists and fights and bruises. You’re more than what they want to make you into.” You let the words settle between you, your heart hammering in your chest. When he still didn’t speak, you moved carefully, sliding your hand up from his wrist, along the rough line of his forearm, until you reached his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, a soft breath leaving him. “I have feelings for you,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper now. “I don’t care about the fights. I don’t care about the noise. I just... I care about you.”

His eyes opened, dark and shining, the weight of them settling heavy on you. Slowly, carefully, he turned his face into your palm, pressing a rough kiss to the center of it. You felt it like a brand — warm, aching, real. When he looked at you again, the hardness in his face had cracked wide open, and what you saw there made your chest ache — a softness he tried so hard to hide, a hunger for something he didn’t know how to ask for.

Choso didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand curling around the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, and you stayed like that — quiet, steady, together — as the world outside spun on without you.

The park was warm with the promise of spring. The grass was a deep, lush green, thick and soft underfoot, dotted with little patches of wildflowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The air smelled clean — fresh-cut grass, distant lilacs, the faintest trace of earth still damp from the morning dew. The sun hung high in a clear blue sky, casting long, lazy shadows that danced over the paths and picnic blankets scattered across the open lawns.

You tugged the edges of your light, flowing maxi dress as you walked beside Choso, the hem brushing against your ankles, catching on the occasional blade of grass. It was the kind of dress that felt like spring itself — soft fabric in muted florals, fitted at the waist and loose around your hips, swishing with every step. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, catching the light, and your cheeks were already pink from the sun.

Choso walked next to you, quiet as usual, but different now. Softer. Calmer. He wore a plain white t-shirt that clung slightly to the strong lines of his chest and arms, the sleeves tight around his biceps, a pair of worn black jeans that sat low on his hips. His boots were scuffed, and his hair was loose today, falling in soft, messy strands around his face, brushing his jaw whenever the breeze picked up. You found a spot under a pecan tree — a little quieter, a little more private — and Choso dropped down onto the grass without hesitation, leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. You sank down beside him, tucking your legs under you, smoothing your dress as you sat.

For a while, you didn’t talk. You didn’t need to. You just sat there, letting the warmth of the afternoon settle into your bones, letting the soft sounds of the park — the distant laughter of kids, the occasional bark of a dog, the low hum of conversation — fill the space between you. Choso shifted slightly, one arm brushing against yours, and you turned to look at him. He was already watching you — not in the heavy, guarded way he had when you first met, but in that slow, steady way he did now, like he was memorizing the way the light played on your hair, the way your cheeks flushed pink, the way your dress pooled around you like you belonged there.

“Got something for you,” he said, voice low. You blinked, surprised, as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small box — not flashy, not fancy, just simple black velvet. He turned it over in his palm once, like he was second-guessing himself, then held it out to you. You took it carefully, heart already racing. Inside, nestled against the dark velvet, was a delicate necklace — a single, small pearl on a fine gold chain, simple and elegant.

You stared at it, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. “It’s not much,” Choso said, voice rougher now, like he was fighting the urge to pull back, to take it away before you could say anything. “But... made me think of you.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, fingers brushing lightly over the pearl. Choso shifted, sitting up straighter, his knees brushing yours. He looked nervous — that quiet kind of nervous he always got when he was about to say something real. He reached out, took the necklace from the box, the chain glinting in the sunlight as he let it drape across his knuckles. “Turn around,” he said, voice quieter now.

You obeyed, lifting your hair away from your neck as he moved behind you. His fingers were warm and careful as he clasped the chain, letting the pearl rest just at the hollow of your throat. When you turned back to face him, his hand lingered for a moment, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He sat back, hands resting on his thighs, and stared at you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. You smiled — wide and real, cheeks burning — and tucked the pearl lightly between your fingers, feeling the weight of it, small and perfect. Choso shifted again, like he was gathering himself, and then — finally — he spoke. “I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, voice low but steady now. “About you. About us.” You blinked, heart pounding, but stayed quiet. “I don’t do this kinda thing,” he continued, frowning slightly, like he hated how clumsy the words felt in his mouth. “Never really saw the point before.” He looked at you then, and there was something in his eyes — something soft, something steady — that made your chest ache.

“But I don’t wanna keep actin’ like you’re just... someone I see sometimes. You’re more than that.” Your breath caught.

He shifted closer, his hand brushing lightly against your knee. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said, voice low but firm. “If you’ll have me.” You stared at him, heart thudding so hard you thought he might hear it. For a moment, you couldn’t speak — couldn’t even breathe, and then you smiled — big and blushing, eyes bright — and nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’d love to.”

Something in Choso’s face cracked wide open at your words — a slow, soft smile breaking across his mouth, small but real, the kind of smile you’d only ever seen on him when he was truly at peace. You pulled your phone out, grinning as you leaned into him, lifting it up for a selfie. Choso shifted closer without hesitation, one arm slinging loosely around your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip. You snapped the photo — you with your wide, bright smile, cheeks flushed pink, hair tumbling over your shoulders, the delicate pearl at your throat catching the light — and Choso beside you, leaning in close, a soft, rare smile on his face, his dark eyes warm.

You stared at the photo for a moment after, heart full. It wasn’t perfect — the light was a little too harsh, the breeze caught a few strands of your hair across your face — but it didn’t matter. It was real. You turned to him, sliding your phone into your lap, and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. Choso turned his head slightly, catching your eyes, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You didn’t have to. The world kept spinning, the sun kept shining, but for you — for him — it was enough just to be. Here. Together.

After a while, the buzz of the park faded into the background — the laughter of children chasing soccer balls, the distant bark of a dog, the quiet hum of conversations drifting on the breeze. You shifted, tugging gently on Choso’s hand, and he followed you down without protest, both of you sprawling back onto the grass. The sun was warm overhead, filtering through the leaves above, casting dappled shadows across your skin and the light fabric of your dress. Choso lied beside you, one hand tucked under his head, the other tangled loosely with yours, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your palm. His white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, the cotton thin enough that you could see the faint outlines of old scars and muscle underneath. He looked more at ease here than he ever did anywhere else — the tension gone from his shoulders, the sharp lines of his face softened by the way he watched the sky. You turned your head to look at him, chin tilted slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, voice low, carrying easily in the quiet. Choso huffed a breath — not a laugh, but close — and turned his head to meet your gaze. “You,” he said simply. You smiled, shy but sure, the kind of smile you didn’t have to hide with him anymore. He stared at you for a moment longer, dark eyes steady, and then his thumb brushed higher, skimming the delicate chain of the necklace he’d given you, the pearl catching the sunlight.

“You’re good for me,” he said, voice rough, almost like it hurt him to admit it. You squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the back of his knuckles where the bruises were already beginning to darken. “You’re good for me too,” you murmured. You lied there a while longer, hands tangled, the quiet wrapping around you like something sacred, something real.

It was perfect.

Until your phone buzzed.

You startled slightly, blinking as you fished it out of the folds of your dress. Choso watched you, curious but unconcerned, as you squinted at the screen.

Dad.

Your heart skipped — not in fear, but that strange, familiar flutter of oh no, what does he know?. You bit your lip, glancing at Choso, and sat up, brushing grass from your dress as you answered. “Hey, Dad.” Choso stayed lying back in the grass, one hand behind his head, but his eyes flicked to you, sharp and attentive now. “Hey, sweetheart,” your father’s voice came through, warm but firm. “What are you up to?” You smiled, glancing down at Choso. “I’m at the park.” There was a pause — not long, but long enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Your brothers came by the house yesterday,” your dad said, voice casual in a way that wasn’t really casual at all. “Told your mother and me a little about this guy you’ve been spending time with.” You winced, heart dropping slightly.

“They’re just worried,” you said quickly, picking at the hem of your dress. “But it’s not what they think. He’s... he’s really good to me.” There was another pause. You could picture your dad sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed, frowning thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, slower now. “If you’re serious about him, I think it’s about time your mother and I meet him.” You swallowed, glancing nervously at Choso. He was still watching you — not tense, not worried, just waiting.

“I think that’s fair,” you said carefully. “I can talk to him.”

“Good,” your dad said, voice softening a little. “We just want to know the man our daughter’s spending so much time with. You know how we are.” You smiled, feeling the tightness in your chest ease a little. “Yeah. I know.”

“Alright. You set it up. Let me know when.”

“I will.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

You hung up, setting the phone carefully in your lap, exhaling slowly. Choso sat up then, brushing grass from his jeans, brows lifted in silent question. You smiled, soft but a little nervous. “So,” you said, voice light. “That was my dad.” Choso smirked faintly, nudging your knee with his. “Yeah? What’s he want?” You bit your lip, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He wants to meet you.” Choso blinked, the smirk dropping from his face. You rushed to fill the space, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly over his hand.

“You don’t have to say yes right now. I can talk to them, set something up later. They’re just... protective.” Choso stared at you for a moment, expression unreadable, and you felt your stomach twist, afraid maybe it was too much too soon. But then he sighed, slow and deep, and turned his hand over, linking his fingers with yours again. “They should know who’s takin’ care of their daughter,” he said, voice low but sure. You smiled, heart tight and full all at once. Choso squeezed your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Set it up,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

And just like that — in the warm spring afternoon, with the grass cool beneath you and the sky wide and endless overhead — you realized you weren’t scared anymore. Not of the future. Not with him. Not together.

[lifeseriesbasepolls]

Best Life Series Base Round 2

Please note all bases came from nominations. The idea of the poll is that builds are ranked on both beauty and function for defense and offense. Iconic-ness, story, and emotion weight are not factors. It’s more fun for everyone if this is actually a poll for best base and not a popularity contest.

Also a note for this poll: I know originally it was going to be the Mounders' Base pre-tower, but while making this I realized they built the tower in the same session that Pearl finished her original mound and that they built the wall so the base didn't really exist without the tower for more than maybe an hour, so I'm just making it the complete base. Also, Joel's is being included because they had a path to it and it was within very similar walls so it was clearly connected.

Coral Isle:

(Note: This is a base recreation by LifeSMPRebuilt on X because I couldn't find any actual screencaps that included the hourglass)

Propaganda:

"Very fun and tropical."

"It looked incredible, was incredibly efficient and practical, had good theming (a plus for any good base), and the two inhabitants of the base even leaned into the themeinf with matching skins."

"It’s gorgeous, practical, defendable, and served its purpose well."

"Water is nature's best defense. And offense, because Scott managed to kill Pearl when she ended up in the water around the base because she wasn't fast enough.

Mounder's Base:

Propaganda:

"Pearls mound pre-tower. It was super cute!"

"Mumbos sideways house will always have a special place in my heart, it’s so cute for a simple and silly build."

"I truly don't think Pearl's mound tower was actually that bad. I loved the globe, I think it's a pretty good globe for minecraft. I loved the sideways house and the way Mumbo landscaped. Also, they had a wall that genuinely stopped people a couple of times"

"Joel's helter skelter wasn't the safest thing (At least for Lizzie) but it was a unique build for the Life Series and the ferris wheel looked really cool"