#they are choosing to share their stories with you

[bluukive]

Psychic Lover

summary - Toji was already a difficult man to live with. Now you gotta deal with his thoughts as well as yours after a horror story gone wrong.

content - MDNI, explicit content, Toji x fem!reader, reader and Toji form a mind link (they share the same physical and emotional behaviours), impulsive behaviour, self-injury (to test out the mind-link theory), brief grinding, masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, Toji embracing that he likes butt stuff, amateurish writing

wc - 3.4k

an - my little fic I wrote for 4k followers !! I'm still not comfortable with writing penetration T_T buuut hopefully I compensated lolol. Anyway, tysm again to everyone who interacts with my blog, or even just lurks and reads silently. I appreciate every single one of you :>

“I’m serious, Toji! The landlord said that the previous owners died mid-doggy,” you whispered, eyes widening for dramatic effect, “this place is haunted by the couple who are most definitely bound for eternity. And we’re sitting right here, on their couch, living in their apartment…”

But Toji wasn’t having it. It was warm, humid, and you had stupidly shoved a blanket over both of your heads so that you could ‘set the mood’ for a good horror story. Tonight out of all nights as well, where the wind blew hot air right back onto your face and sweat settled comfortably into every pore.

Toji shifted on the couch where you were sitting cross-legged, a damp palm curling into the blanket so that he could rip the blanket off of both of your heads with a scowl. The couch creaked loudly when your housemate got up, a likely reminder that you needed to replace it. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous. I would have heard about it if it was true.”

“Well, maybe the landlord just wanted to make a quick buck!” you argued back, adjusting the strap of your black tank top which clung to you like a second skin. A large part of you ignored the way Toji’s eyes flickered down briefly, choosing instead to focus on how your body moved almost violently to the side once a pillow struck your temple. You groaned— hands scrambling to find a surface to steady yourself on. But alas, you fell onto the fuzzy rug with a muffled oof. 

You laid in a sad, sad pile on the floor, hips raised with your duck-printed pyjama shorts digging into the seam of your pert ass. It definitely wasn’t on purpose, note the sarcasm. You’ve been trying to get into this sleazy, hunk of a man's pants forever. But he just. Wouldn’t. Budge. 

“Get up and go to bed,” was all the older man said in a gruff manner before shuffling off to his bedroom. The tell-tale noise of the door clicking and a rather unflattering groan told you that the sound of his heinous snoring would soon disrupt the silence that had settled over your shared apartment. 

As the fan in the corner continued spinning uselessly, you rolled onto your back on the floor and grunted in fatigue. One hand dragged across your forehead in an attempt to wipe it, but somehow, your skin only got wetter. 

Fuck this heat, you mumbled, peeling yourself off of the rug. Fuck your stupid duck shorts too. Most importantly, fuck that thick-skinned jerk with no sense of humour. 

Your body appeared to move on autopilot, body hunched as you switched off the fan and dragged yourself to your own room. It was cooler there by only a fraction, but a fraction nonetheless. The heavy duvet was tossed onto the floor since there wasn’t any part of you wanting to spend a single moment under it.

You finally flopped onto the mattress, one arm settling behind your head and one leg bent at the knee. 

One of your hands slid down, settling on your hip. You didn’t do that intentionally— not at first. But your hand did shift to your lower belly, moving down until your fingers were able to slip under the waistband of your panties. Across the hallway, Toji had rolled over onto his stomach. His hips rolled down agonisingly slow. A low grunt rumbled in his chest. A weird rush of arousal hit you both. 

Neither of you knew why you were doing this. 

But both of you thought it was your own idea to do so.

═══════

A pained howl left your lips the following morning, right when you stubbed your big toe of your left foot against the doorframe. A loud clatter resonated throughout the kitchen when your phone landed on the titles. The screen was definitely cracked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you hopped around with a hiss. 

Throb after throb, Toji came out of his room with a pained expression marring his angular face. It was rather comical seeing the oversized man limping out of his room and down the corridor, where he was met with the sight of you curled up onto the cold tiles. You were clutching your foot, face scrunched up with a knee to your chest. 

“WHY are you always on the floor? Get up before I step on you,” Toji hissed, nudging your shin with his good foot, “then again, you’re probably into that.” Rude.

His eyes landed on your foot, toe clearly hurting. Toji flexed his own foot, brows furrowing. Weird. The pain was real, and apparently shared. 

Toji's brow furrowed deeply as he leaned down to examine the limb, his own toe throbbing in sync. "This is fuckin' weird," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Why the hell can I feel your pain too?" He looked up at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and exasperation. "Did you do something to me?"

He was right to suspect foul play on your end. After all, you’ve got a ouija board hiding under your bed— which he’s caught you using before to ask the supposed ghosts around you if you were destined to be single your entire life (the ghosts said yes. Rude). 

But this time? You weren’t entirely at fault. 

Only mostly.

How were you meant to know that making Toji aware of the fate of the previous owners— and their mid-doggy death— would actually tether you to him, dooming you to the same intimate bond that they shared?

…

That wasn’t in the rental agreement. 

“Woah, wait. I didn’t do anything actually— YEOWCH-” You screamed, abruptly sitting upright with a new searing pain across your tender palm. A noise of muted discomfort from behind you followed. 

You could always count on Toji to act without thinking, and what did he just do? He had turned on the cooker to test whether or not there was a supernatural force toying with you both. 

You whip around, cradling your trembling hand with a face full of barely-restrained fury. “Did you seriously just burn yourself to test out some shitty ghost theory?!” 

Your housemate simply shrugged in response, waving around his hand casually as if he wasn’t the cause of shared second-degree trauma. “Worked, no? I don’t see why you’re bitchin’ when we clearly have other shit to worry about.”

“Like what, exactly? I feel like my hand’s about to melt off, you prick.”

“The fact that, I don’t know, I’m tied to your annoying ass?” He leans against the counter, scorched palm against the cool marble. Toji stared you down as you winced at the phantom sensation, head cocked in amusement. He felt bad for you. Almost. But that didn’t stop him from straightening up and flexing his thick fingers. It stung, and you let out another pained hiss when the sensation bloomed across your entire palm like there was literal fire intertwined with your nerves. 

“I didn’t ask for this to happen, y’know,” you muttered, standing up and thanking the stars that your foot felt marginally better than before. 

A scornful glance was shot Toji’s way, prompting him to flare his nostrils and look to the side. “Don’t look at me like that. Not like I wanted this either.”

You both stood there in silence for a minute.

“...you think it works both ways?”

“I swear to God—”

And then you tugged at your own ear, one eye crinkling shut as the other watched Toji’s head swerve to the right. He tutted and flicked at his own forehead, making you gasp. 

A slap on the thigh.

A mean pull of the hair.

This prompted you to tweak your own nipple through your t-shirt. All you could do was watch in mild fascination when the man before you turned a deep shade of pink embarrassingly quick and covered his broad chest with a scowl. 

Well, this was interesting. “Guess you can feel everything, huh? Not just pain,” you mused out loud, tapping a finger on your lip. But then you froze, realisation dawning upon you both like a bucket of ice cold water.

“Is that why I felt like my ass was being fingered last night?”

“I felt like I had carpet burn on my pussy. What the hell were you doing?” You shot back, rubbing your face in your hands in utter shame. Had you known Toji could feel it all— the way you were pleasuring yourself last night— you wouldn’t have dared inch your hand that close to your cunt. 

“Let's agree not to touch ourselves for the time being. Please.”

“Deal.”

═══════

It was never as easy as you thought it would be.

The first week was simple enough— if you ignore how Toji overexerted himself during his workout sessions just to piss you off. You could only retaliate by eating the few extra scoops of ice cream or scoffing down an entire jar of peanut butter in one sitting, throwing off the man's diet plan completely. 

Toji was fed up. And so were you. 

Another problem slowly became more prevalent the longer time went by. The aches and pains were easy to ignore. The arousal wasn’t. Not being able to get yourselves off was starting to wear both of you down. Toji became more easily frustrated, getting hard whenever he could sense the slow, slick heat curling up in your gut. It became a common occurrence for you to lay in bed at night, attempting to alleviate some of the ache you felt in your pussy by clenching your thighs together. 

But every single time without fail, the same voice rang in your ears.

“Don’t.”

His voice came out from across the hallway, gravelly and thick with need.

You froze.

“I can feel it. I can feel you,” Toji warned. “And if you keep going… I swear to fuckin’ God, so will I.”

═══════

Week two must have been even worse. 

One night, you dreamt about your housemate. Toji was everywhere. His voice was rough as he brought his lips to your ear, hands settling on your waist from behind. 

“Been waitin’ for this cute cunt for ages,” Dream Toji seemed to whisper, thumbs rubbing treacherously over your perked nipples once he had firmly grasped both full breasts into his hefty palms. He squeezed once, twice, a jaded eye twinkling as he watched you shake your head bashfully. 

“You… uh, y-you knew, then? Been holding up on me, Toji.” Your words were punctuated with your rear bumping eagerly against Toji’s sizable erection, the length vividly throbbing against you. 

You were both so terribly breathless, unconscious and disorientated until you were both panting in sync.

Then you both woke up. 

Oh, you were so fucked. Truly fucked if you were dreaming about each other like this.

Your subconscious was betraying you that very moment, revealing all of your hidden desires. 

You sat up groggily, pushing the blanket that was sagged around your legs onto the wooden floorboards below your bed. Surely Toji was bluffing with his past comments about taking matters into his own hands if you got yourself off? Though, maybe you wanted him to…

You bit your lower lip, eyes lit up once the idea of testing his patience became more appealing. Your hand didn’t move— not right away, but the delicious ache down below pulsed hard and mean. 

Just a little touch. That’s all.

Your hips lifted up, allowing you to slip your pyjama shorts and panties off in one fell swoop. You melted with a purr once your hand met your soaked pussy, body slouching comfortably against the headboard of the bed with one tingling leg kicking out weakly. Two fingers skirted around your clit, the digits skimming over with a feather-light touch, all whilst your hole clenched and dripped dewy slick onto the mattress below your bare lower half. You couldn’t stop the soft gasps leaving your parted lips when you dipped the tips of two of your fingers just barely inside. 

And then—

SLAM. 

The wooden door of your bedroom flew open, practically splintering and creating a deep indent onto the side of your poorly painted wall. An unflattering yelp left your lips, heart lurching as you quickly grabbed your blanket so that you weren’t as exposed to your fiendish housemate. But the damage was already done.

A very shirtless Toji stood at the doorway, hair a sweaty mess and chest heaving. His eyes were wild, and his jaw was clenched tightly shut. As if he’d been holding himself back for far too long. 

“You think I’m playin’?” Toji’s voice was incredibly strained. Ragged. 

Unable to answer, you simply gawked at Toji, who was now stalking further into your bedroom. Ever so perceptive, you see the way he’s limping, the way his black boxers are tented in a manner so vulgar. But the limp was what had your attention. 

You had a hunch as to why that happened. One finger went back down, sinking deep into your pussy with a lewd squelch and curling juuuust right. With a full-body shudder, you fought the urge to shut your eyes, keeping them on the man in front of you as he flinched and reached around to grab his ass with both hands. His asshole clenched tight, as if he was the one to have a finger slide into the foreign orifice. 

Toji shouldn’t have wanted this. But every single time your pussy clenched, his entire body felt it.

Your housemate regained his wits, clearly unamused with the way he was staring you down. Intimidation didn’t work on you… most of the time. You sheepishly slipped out the drenched finger, noting how pitiful of a shield your blanket made. It shook in one of your fists when Toji came closer, towering over you as his boxers strained even further. The blanket was tossed to the side yet again. Perhaps there was no use in it. Not anymore. 

“You’re fixing this shit, by the way.” His voice dropped dangerously low as he held eye contact with you. A simple silver chain dangled in your face, the dim light of your lamp causing it to glint back at you. “You’re gonna let me fuck the ache out of us both, right?”

Toji’s callused palm slid up your thigh, hot and heavy. Your breath caught, and so did his. He can feel how sensitive you are down there, and his eyes darkened just a fraction. 

“Can you see that? How I can feel everything your slutty body is giving me?”

You nodded, swallowing as Toji lugged his hulking body onto your bed. It took him no effort to spread your legs wide with practised ease. His padded thumb reached low, brushing languidly across the slick seam of your folds. His own hips jerked in response.

“Hahhh, shiiit. This is going to be so, so messy. You filthy girl.”

Fucking finally, you thought, causing Toji to slap your thigh with a shake of his head. Oh, right. He could still sense the impatience radiating off of you. But it’s not like he’s any better. His fattened cock was pulsing eagerly in his boxers, the sensation only heightened when he stroked your quivering slit with two fingers. Your hips jerked involuntarily, causing the man to groan lowly. 

Toji was incredibly conflicted, and you could tell. On one hand, he was finally satiating that need for desire he had been feeling for weeks now. But on the other hand, he was venturing into uncharted territory. Every touch to your pussy led to his own hole winking open and shut repeatedly. It was completely humiliating, the sensation completely foreign to him. However, you could both sense the growing part of him that enjoyed whatever he was feeling down below. 

“Lose the grin,” Toji choked out once he dropped his body down low enough. He was eye to eye with your weeping cunt, eyes greedy as he inhaled the raw scent you were emitting. Your nose crinkled, hand shooting out to grab him by the scalp as you took in the pussydrunk expression on his flushed face. Toji hadn’t even done anything yet, and he was already this far gone. 

A hot, thick tongue drags slowly over your throbbing clit, the cluster of nerves vibrating once he moans into your pussy. The pleasure loops back onto Toji, causing a broken gasp to rip out of his throat— like he’s being touched too. “Sh-shit. Not a fuckin’ word about this, you hear me?”

You couldn’t reply. Not when your very manly housemate shucked off his dampened boxers and allowed his back to settle into a nasty arch. Honestly? It put yours to shame. 

A measured suck to your clit brought you out of your envious thoughts. Toji’s lips were sealed tightly around you, like he’s trying to get himself off through you. A squeal left you once the abundance of sensations hit you all at once, causing your legs to lock around his broad shoulders. A wickedly erotic thrill shot through you both when his hips grinded deeply into the mattress under you both— cock dripping helplessly with precum whilst his back remained arched.

“Fuck, fuck— she’s clenchin’ around me,” he pants out, nose pressed hard against your mound. And he was right— you were clenching down onto his face since his mouth refused to give you any mercy. Toji’s own rim twitches, causing him to fist the sheets into his hand as he uses his entire mouth to eat you out. The sensations ricochet between you both, and a heady taste fills your mouth. 

You cry out, hips fucking up onto your housemates face like you were in heat.

“Toji… Toji, I can— I can taste myself.” Your voice came out all high and garbled, saliva pooling in your mouth. You swallow greedily, the taboo nature of the act causing you to grow even wetter. You could positively feel how good he thought you tasted as well. 

“So, s-so sweet…!”

He spits onto your cunt, feral eyes watching the way it slid down to your own puckered hole. Before it could disappear, Toji glides his tongue from your asshole to your pussy, slurping up the mess before sucking your clit into his mouth once more. His cheeks hollow whilst you watch with increasingly bleary eyes, little oh’s of delight leaving you once he’s able to tongue-fuck you in slow, desperate strokes. You shuddered in harmony, climaxes inevitably drawing closer, like there was a taut rope connecting you both that was just ready to snap.

Your moans were downright pornographic now— raw, hungry, and increasing in pitch as the desperation grew to a point that neither of you had ever felt before. 

“No, w-wait—”

Your voice broke, cracked in a way that made you sound inhuman. Your entire body seized, and that was all it took for Toji to spurt thick ropes of warm cum from his cock. It was as if you had been electrocuted, the way your thighs had him in a tight chokehold whilst your cunt spasmed uncontrollably around his tongue. You orgasmed, your fluids gushing down Toji’s chin freely and soaking the sharp curve of your jaw. 

Toji’s back arched hard once the force of both of your orgasms hit you both. His cock convulsed, untouched and marred with full veins as you felt each twitch like it was yours too. You swore you blacked out, unsure as to where your orgasm ended and his began. Feverish moans blended into gruff grunts, two distinct voices melding into one singular sigh of ecstasy. 

Through it all, you both kept feeling each other. A set of comforting hands kneaded your hips as Toji reluctantly detached himself from your pussy. A low whine left you at the loss of contact, cool air mixing with the fluids etched into your skin. But the sight of how wrecked Toji looked made up for it.

His pointed chin was glazed with a sheen of slick, parted lips swollen and eyes unfocused. Droplets of sweat coated his body, plastering his jet-black hair onto his forehead. A wobbly hand of his laid flat on the heaving muscles of his chest, wiping the residual moisture away to no avail. You watched as he sat back on his heels, cock still jerking where it laid thick and leaking against the muscle of one of his bulky thighs. 

A half-laugh left you, a delirious look in your eyes as you nestled against the damp pillow behind you. Your entire body trembled as you shut your eyes, trying to stop your head from spinning too much.

“You think we should try actually fucking, ‘ji?”

“And feel my asshole get impaled? No thanks."

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚Pick A Card: Your love story with your future spouse 💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

🌸If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🌸

🥰Masterlist🥰🥰Masterlist 2🥰

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 1: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: 5 of Swords – The Tower – 2 of Cups – Knight of Wands – Justice – The Star.

Okay pile 1, you and your future spouse are starting off with a strange energy. There's some competition in the air. It's giving enemies to lovers, and Maxton Hall vibes (go watch it if you haven't ;)). There's strife, friction, a vibe of intellectual, professional, or ego rivalry. You may work together, have opposing opinions on everything, or you may simply not be able to stand each other because there's too much tension… emotional and other 👀. The Tower appears when something crucial happens between you. A heated argument, an unexpected confession, a situation that completely breaks the impression you had on eachother, etc. Whatever happens, it makes you see each other with new eyes. Something falls apart, and underneath there are feelings (even if you two dont want to admit it at first, i see you guys but it will be undeniable). There's vulnerability in this, like a "oh no… I like you" situation. This person will truly see you because you two are so much alike, you have the same fire as them. And then, without knowing how, you're sharing something real. Fights now end in laughter. Or kisses. Or both 👀. Justice shows me that you're learning to balance each other. That you're both intense, yes, but you're also learning to admire each other. To trust. To build. And the Star is pure healing. This bond transforms you. You don't just love each other: you polish each other, you elevate each other, you truly understand each other. You're going to have to swallow your pride. But it's completely worth it. It's giving rom-com, 10 Things I Hate About You, Bridgerton (season 2 specially).

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 2: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: 6 of Cups – 3 of Swords – The Lovers – Death – King of Cups – Temperance.

This story has HISTORY, I feel like this is some past energy. You and your future spouse have met before. Maybe it was young love, crushes that didn't quite work out, or someone with whom things just didn't align. There was a breakup. It hurt. Maybe you each went your separate ways, believing you'd get over it. Spoiler pile 2: you didn't get over it 🙃, and that's for the best. Maybe it was someone you met briefly and never forgot, or the other way around. Or even someone from another life. Something forced you to let go before your time. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't the ending you deserved. BUT. Fate didn't forget you. The Lovers mark the reappearance of this person. The reunion. Maybe years later. Maybe when you didn't even expect it. But love returns. And with the Death card, the energy changes radically, this time you are not the same. This time you choose each other with maturity. With awareness. And believe me, this reunion is no coincidence, it's karmic. You are not who you were. And that's good. Now you're ready. The King of Cups represents a wise, present, deep love. And Temperance is the calm after the storm. This relationship becomes a refuge. A safe space. A form of love that only exists when you've known pain and decided to heal with each other. Sometimes the timing isn't right… until it is. And then, everything falls into place as if it was always meant to be. Something that's coming to mind while i'm channeling is the movie Love Rosie, so I feel like that's the kind of story you two will have. Maybe this is a friend of yours as well, someone close.

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 3: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: The Fool – 4 of Wands – The World – Ace of Cups – Wheel of Fortune – Queen of Pentacles.

PILE 3 I'm really screaming, your romance that seems straight out of a book. This is the kind of story where you wake up one day, go about your routine like any other, and suddenly, you meet someone who completely changes the course of your life. It's that powerful energy. You're entering a new phase. Maybe you just moved, quit a job, decided to live for yourself. You're exploring, growing. And then, without even looking for it… they appear. A person who looks at you as if they've known you before. ITS GIVING SOULMATES SO HARD. You might meet at a wedding, a party, a ceremony… or even through someone else. Either way, there's an IMMEDIATE vibe of "why do I feel like I already know you?" This connection is cosmic. This person celebrates you. They're with you. They don't want to change you or rescue you: they want to see you shine. There are synchronicities everywhere, like repeated numbers, "chance" encounters, phrases that repeat themselves in your dreams. Maybe you already met them in dreams, or your higher selves have already met. With this person, you feel free, accepted, safe. The Wheel of Fortune screams to me: this is destiny. You didn't plan it. But you can't avoid it. And the Queen of Pentacles shows a stable love, the kind that is built day by day, with care, with mate in the morning and massages after a long day. With this person, you will build a beautiful life, with roots. There is emotional security, stability, and a love so real it brings peace. This is "I saw it and I knew it." It's your home in the form of a person pile 3.

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

Building a Support Network (when work gets messy)

Hello friends. Hello work week.

In the spirit of getting through, I wanted to start this Monday off by sharing a few quick thoughts about how to keep your head when something at work crosses a line (harassment, retaliation, just a gut-level this isn’t okay thing).

In my experience, it's easy to veer into full on self-protection mode. By either shutting down completely or oversharing too fast. That's normal, but trust me, it can backfire. One moment of panic or pressure can lock you into choices you didn’t actually want to make.

You need people who help you stay grounded and make decisions that are right for you, not reactive ones fuelled by fear or rage.

WARNING: I have a feeling this one might be a longer post than usual, but I think (I hope) it’s worth it!

Assess Your Workplace First: Before you confide in anyone or take action, pause. Does this place protect its people or protect itself? Have others been supported, or quietly pushed out? Taking the pulse will help you gauge how careful you need to be, and what kind of support makes sense.

Go slow with coworkers: Even the ones who seem safe and the ones who “get it” If you share too soon, you risk gossip, misinterpretation, or triggering a formal response before you’re ready. You deserve time to process and decide what you want to do.

Pay attention to who isn’t helpful: If someone dismisses it, changes the subject, or says “Are you sure it was that bad?” that may seem neutral, but I'd say it's a red flag. You’re not wrong to notice who makes you feel smaller.

Try trained support: Hotlines and harassment-specific services exist for moments like this, not just worst case scenarios. You don’t need a full story, just a place to think out loud with someone who won’t judge, push, or oversimplify.

Friends & family aren’t always it: Sometimes the people closest to you don’t know how to help. Start with someone who truly listens - who doesn’t immediately problem-solve, give ultimatums, or make it about themselves. Your needs have to come first here.

Look for survivor spaces: Online communities. like subreddits, Discords, private groups, can help you feel less alone. But a lot of advice is U.S.-based. If you’re in Canada, double-check legal guidance locally before taking steps at work.

Build a layered team: A steady friend, a trained listener, a survivor community. Each offers something different, and together they give you options and a feeling of control when things feel chaotic.

Rule of Thumb: Caution is wise and boundaries are healthy. Taking your time doesn’t make you weak. it makes you smart. And if you can find even one person who helps you feel clear, grounded, and believed, that’s a solid start. The rest? You get to choose.

TL;DR = Partly covered in this nice article.

And a really solid Canadian-based Reddit for support with workplace sexual harassment.

Take care & much love 🥰

[sparrows4bats]

So I think Lois Lane adores Damian Wayne.

Sure, she was unsure about Jons friendship with him at first. The stories she was told about him weren't the most flattering, and she would always worry about her bad, invulnerable, or not.

But when she meets Damian properly, gets to know him and his history?

She loves that kid.

Damian Wayne is a boy who was abused and turned into a weapon for the first ten years of his life and then was abandoned to the care of strangers and told everything he ever knew was wrong. When given the chance to choose and learn for the first time in his life, he became a hero, an artist, a vegetarian, and an animal lover.

Lois Lane, a reporter and a staunch humanitarian, looks at Damian Wayne and sees a child who had people he was meant to trust betray and abuse him for their own ends.

She sees a boy who would do anything to ensure Jon comes home to her.

She gets a true soft spot for the tiny ex assassin one night when, during a sleepover, she finds Damian Wayne sitting at her kitchen table at 3am.

"I know you're a bat, but I didn't think you were actually nocturnal. "

"I'm not, I assure you Mrs Lane."

"Jons snoring wake you?"

The boy smiles at her, "No, I got trained to sleep through anything, even the super chainsaw in there."

"So, why are you up so late?" Lois motions for the kid to sit with her.

"Sometimes it is hard to stay asleep." As he says this the kid looks haunted and Lois she gets it.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." Lois decides not to push him even if she is curious.

"Okay, so Jon tells me you rescued a cow recently?"

The boy lights up and shares tales of Batcow and the evils of industrial meat factories. They have a very nice conversation until Clark comes looking for her and shoos them both back to bed, but only after offeringhis own opinions on ethical agriculture.

She sees how smart Damian is, with connections and links to underground dealings that they use to get justice in Lois's way. Exposing trafficking rings and embezzlement while showing Damian that sometimes the system works.

Damian becomes her silent informant and researcher because he gets bored. They win Lois her third Pulitizer together.

Remember, Lois Lane has and will continue to jump out of windows to prove a point, and much to Jon and Clarks distress, Damian follows her example.

Jon is very glad his best friend calls for him when he needs help, but he really wishes Damian would stop putting himself in danger.

Clark has to save all three of them when Lois bring both boys to investigate a bad landlord that ended up being a front for a cartel.

When Damian decides he can do more for the world as a doctor, Lois becomes one of his biggest supporters.

She gets him placement tests and uses her connections to get Damian proof of his many qualifications. She even helps him practice for his college interviews.

Dr Damian Wayne helps her take down corrupt pharmaceutical and health insurance companies.

They meet at least once a week for coffee and to vent about their favourite kryptonitians.

Needless to say, when her son approaches her, panicking over the fact he is love with their favourite bat, Lois is very excited.

She knows the feeling is more than mutual and decided that Damian WILL be her son in law.

So she tells Jon exactly how she fell in love with his father. He is horrified at all the near death experiences, but overall, the two come up with a plan.

Clark tries to stop them but is ignored. He considers warning Bruce but decides that he can't risk Lois getting mad at him again.

Jon confesses his love to Damian over an erupting volcano while rescuing a team of geologists. His mom was right. It was very romantic.

He kisses Damian for the first time while riding a new dragon friend they found for Wiggles that Jon insists they call Mushu.

When Jon proposes, he and Lois design the ring together. Jon moulds it in the heat of a collapsing star and forms a diamond in his hands to set in the centre.

Damian says yes while performing emergency medicine on other heroes. The JL are extremely happy for them but confused about the timing.

Lois loves showing off how wonderful her new son in law is. Especially when she has grandchildren to spoil.

Jon will never regret bringing Damian into the family. He loves his husband, but he really wishes he and his mom would stop jumping out of windows.

Especially when the kids start to follow them, Thank Rao they can fly.

[orellazalonia]

i love your blog and writing style so much! reading x reader fics is my only type of comfort (besides my cat) so you're making my days better and more bearable i'm really thankful for that! 😭🌷

soo i wanted to ask you to write a fic for me 🥺 i literally have NO ONE like no friends (i have 3 or 2 but not 'friends' friends you know?) and my family is messed up i feel like i have no one in my corner and i would love love love if you write something like reader is lonely and bucky goes in her life and etc etc i would be SO thankful if you choose to write this and if you don't, don't worry you're already making my days better while writing your fics 🤍🩶

Hello, dear! I’m glad you have enjoyed my work and that they’ve been of comfort to you! I appreciate the kind words. It was nice completing your request since I could relate to some of it and always enjoy writing some hurt/comfort. However, I do hope you find some good friends or people you can turn to someday! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Stayed Through it All

Summary: You’d spent most of your life convinced you were too quiet, too much, not enough for anyone to stay. But then Bucky Barnes started showing up in your life slowly and gradually became the first person who made you feel like you didn’t have to be anyone or anything else to be enough.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Main Masterlist

You didn’t mean to let it get this bad.

You didn’t even notice when the loneliness stopped feeling like something temporary and started becoming something permanent.

It was probably after your friend stopped texting back to hang out with their new friend. Maybe it was after your father stopped returning your calls, blaming you for being “too much” when all you’d done was cry quietly on the phone one night. Maybe it was the way your mother’s voice always sharpened when you dared to mention being tired. “You think you have it hard?”

Eventually, you stopped sharing at all. Even in the smallest ways. You nodded along to your coworkers' stories, laughed at the right times, learned to say “I’m good, you?” like a reflex.

But one day turned into a week, then a month of missed calls and unanswered messages. Not that there were many to begin with. Your friends, if you could still call them that, had slowly drifted, slipping into group chats you were no longer in. Family remained… complicated. Cold shoulders wrapped in guilt-trips and sharp words. You’d grown tired of pretending you didn’t notice when they began talking around you instead of to you, or when they only reached out to check boxes you didn’t fit in rather than check on you.

Work had been your only escape, but even that now felt fragile. Hours were cut, supervisors were vague or micro-managing, and you faced an endless stream of people who smiled right through you. It was like being invisible while still somehow feeling too much.

Too sensitive. Too strange. Too needy. You hated how easily you cried these days. How easily you cracked.

It got harder to go home after work with each passing day. The silence in your apartment was different now. It wasn’t peaceful anymore, it reminded you of every thought and thing wrong about yourself. How you must have done something wrong for people to not want you around. How you couldn’t host dinners or parties because there was no one to invite. How even living in this apartment was seen as another disappointment rather than an achievement by your family.

Maybe that’s why you started walking at night, even though you claimed it helped you sleep. Sometimes it did. Sometimes you wandered until your legs ached, until your phone’s battery blinked red. It wasn’t safe, but you didn’t care. You weren’t reckless, you just didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere long enough to be missed.

That night, you weren’t planning to go far. You’d just needed air. You hadn't even bothered with proper shoes, just slipped on your jacket and walked. The streetlamps buzzed overhead as a breeze tugged your hair across your face.

You focused on the ground as you rounded the corner of a quiet street, when you almost ran straight into him.

“Oh–sorry,” You said, stepping back instinctively, your hand pressed to your chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man raised his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. His eyes were sharper than the streetlamp above you, but not unkind. “You okay?”

You blinked. He was wearing a hoodie and gloves, but you’d seen enough photos on newsfeeds and headlines to know exactly who he was. “You’re… Bucky Barnes.”

He looked surprised for a split second, like he hadn’t expected to be recognized. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I am.”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. Not because it was funny, but because your nerves were starting to catch up. “Didn’t expect to bump into an Avenger tonight.”

“Didn’t expect to get bumped into,” He replied, something vaguely teasing in his tone. “But it’s alright.”

There was a pause. You shifted awkwardly, hugging your arms around yourself. “Sorry if I messed up some kind of mission or something.”

His brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Not exactly a mission, just walking the neighborhood. Making sure things are quiet.”

You nodded. “They usually are.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet way that made you feel like he was seeing too much. “You’re out here a lot.”

You hesitated. “That supposed to be a warning?”

His expression softened immediately. “No–no, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… noticed. That’s all.”

You gave a small shrug, trying not to look embarrassed. “It’s quieter out here than it is at home.”

Something in his eyes changed, recognition. “Yeah,” He said quietly. “I get that.”

You looked at him then. His hood couldn’t hold the weight behind his eyes nor could he hide the way exhaustion lived in his posture. You didn’t know all the details, but the world had made sure you knew enough.

“I’m fine,” You added, mostly out of habit.

“Are you?” He asked gently.

You swallowed, glancing away. “I don’t know.”

There was another moment of silence before he took a slow step back, giving you space. “Do you want company? Just to walk. I won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitated. Your gut said no. You didn’t let people in, couldn’t. Not anymore. But your heart, the part that had been bruised and stretched thin and aching for something steady whispered yes.

“…Sure,” You said. “Walking with someone sounds… nice.”

He nodded, falling into step beside you. “And what should I call you?”

You glanced at him and smiled softly, giving him your name. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like someone might care enough to remember it.

You never said it out loud, but you started looking for him.

Not in an obvious way. Not with expectation. But your heart would lift, just a little, whenever you turned the corner and saw him there. Hands in his pockets, hood pulled low, and watching the world like it might turn on him at any second until he saw you. Then he softened.

He never greeted you loudly. Just a simple, “Hey,” or a nod, like you’d both agreed long ago that this was normal.

And somehow, it became exactly that. Normal.

It wasn’t every night of course, but it was often enough that absence felt strange. A small ache in your chest when he wasn’t on the corner. You told yourself it was fine, that he had a life, a job, a past filled with shadows. You weren’t owed anything.

But you missed him anyway.

There were other nights where you spoke in fragments.

“What do you do when you can’t stop thinking?” You’d asked once, voice barely audible.

“Walk,” He’d said. “Or hit things.”

You’d laughed, and he’d smiled, just a little.

Other nights, it was quiet. Just walking. Just being near someone who didn’t expect anything from you. Someone who didn’t need you to perform happiness or push down your grief.

Bucky never asked about your family. He never pried. But you could tell he knew something wasn’t right. He noticed the tension in your shoulders. The way your voice got flat when you mentioned home. The way you avoided talking about weekends or holidays altogether.

But he didn’t force you to explain. He just stayed.

And on one Tuesday night, you realized something.

You’d left work exhausted, your brain buzzing from a manager’s sharp words and the hollow ache of pretending to be okay all day. You weren’t thinking about much when you turned the corner that night and there he was.

Same spot. Same faint, crooked smile when he saw you.

And it hit you: he was waiting.

Not just showing up. Not just passing by. He was waiting for you.

You swallowed thickly, not trusting yourself to say much.

“Hey,” You managed.

“Hey,” He said, falling into step beside you.

Like always. Like routine. Like something steady that just kept growing.

Because the next night, he was there again. This time, with two paper cups.

“Tea,” He said simply, holding one out to you. “Figured I’d guess this time.”

You took it, your hands feeling the warmth from the cup.

“…You always this nice?” You asked softly, only half teasing.

He glanced at you. “No.”

You smiled faintly. “So why with me?”

He looked away, the way he always did when he was thinking too much. “Because you remind me of me,” He said finally. “Back when I thought no one saw me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“…I see you,” You whispered.

He looked at you then, something softening in his expression. “I know.”

And that was the night you stopped pretending it didn’t mean anything. The night you realized you weren’t just walking anymore. You were building something. And Bucky Barnes was becoming part of it.

One afternoon, you didn’t expect to see him in the daytime.

Your connection lived in the quiet hours. After sunset, under flickering streetlamps, where shadows were long and words were soft. That was your world. The only time you felt allowed to exist without needing to explain yourself.

But then came Saturday and there he was.

You spotted him from across the street. His hands in the pockets of his jacket. He looked more like a guy running errands than a former assassin on patrol.

He saw you at the same time, gave a little lift of his chin and crossed the street with purpose. You froze halfway to the bus stop, unsure why your stomach flipped the way it did.

“Hey,” He said, a little breathless, like he’d hurried.

“Hi,” You replied, confused but smiling anyway. “Didn’t think I’d see you in daylight. Thought you were strictly nocturnal.”

Bucky actually chuckled, quiet and rare. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t sure if this would be weird.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was gonna grab lunch. There’s this spot a few blocks away. It’s tiny, but kind of quiet. I figured I’d ask if you wanted to come.”

You blinked. It took you a full second too long to register what he meant.

“Oh,” You said. “Like… lunch. Together?”

“Yeah,” He said, then quickly added, “Just food. I mean, not like–unless you–hell, I’m bad at this.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re fine. I just… didn’t expect that.”

“I figured,” He said, eyes scanning your face. “If you say no, it’s okay. We can just stick with nightly walks.”

That made your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

Because part of you wanted to say no. Not because you didn’t want to go. But because some part of you was convinced you’d ruin it. That he’d realize you weren’t enough.

That someone like him who was kind, observant, and careful, wasn’t meant to stick around people like you. People who carried too much in their chest and didn’t know how to set it down.

But then you looked at him. Bucky Barnes who had every reason to close himself off and still offered you tea when you were shaking, and quiet when you needed space.

And he was asking to spend time with you. Not out of pity. Not out of obligation. Just… asking.

You nodded. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

The place was small and tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, just calm. You sat across from each other at a little table by the window. And for the first time, you talked in full sentences. About music. Food. The ridiculous number of people who apparently still thought Bucky liked plums because of some file Steve mentioned once.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He smiled more than you’d ever seen.

You caught him watching you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe you were there. And every time, your heart did that quiet, painful twist that came with realizing someone actually wanted you around.

You didn’t talk about family. Or trauma. Or loneliness. But you didn’t need to. Not yet.

Because for now, you let yourself sit across from a man who kept showing up. And for once, you didn’t feel like a burden for accepting it.

When it ended, you both had exchanged numbers and you smiled the whole way home. Not a big, giddy grin. Not the kind that buzzed with new love or rose-colored excitement. Just a small, warm curl at the corner of your mouth that wouldn’t go away.

Because the lunch had been… easy. Natural.

You didn’t remember the last time you’d felt like that with someone. Just sitting across from them and not having to work so hard to be interesting, or likable, or fun. You hadn’t needed to fill the silence, because Bucky never made silence feel like failure.

And he’d even paid, grumbled a little about modern pricing, but still held the door open when you walked out.

You should’ve felt safe. Happy. But of course, that voice came back. The one that always did when something good happened.

He was just being polite. He probably felt bad for you. You talked too much. Or not enough. Or said something weird. He’s probably second-guessing it now.

You told yourself to stop, that none of it was true. But you’d lived most of your life watching people lose interest in you like clockwork. So instead of walking with that same lightness you felt at the table, you found yourself shrinking again.

Head down. Hands in your jacket pockets. Smile fading, bit by bit

And to your surprise, texted later that evening.

Just a simple:

Made it home okay?

You stared at it for a full minute.

Then typed:

Yeah, thanks. And… thanks again for lunch. I really appreciated it.

You added a second message, hesitating.

You didn’t have to do all that.

You almost deleted it. But your finger slipped, and it sent.

A minute later, he responded:

Didn’t do it because I had to.

Another pause and he sent another message.

I wanted to.

You stared at those three words for a long time.

The next night, you almost didn’t go on your walk. You weren’t sure if he’d be there. If it would be weird now. If the quiet thing you’d built would somehow be different just because you’d shared a meal like two normal people.

But you went anyway. And when you rounded that corner, heart in your throat, he was there. Same spot. Same faint smile when he saw you.

“You came,” He said.

You swallowed. “So did you.”

“Of course I did.”

And just like that, without needing to explain the ache in your chest or the thoughts still clawing at the back of your mind, he started walking beside you again. As if the doubt within you never stood a chance.

However, good things never last.

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You’d gotten good at holding things in. Good at keeping your voice even, your expression neutral, your heart locked up behind carefully stacked defenses. You knew how to keep walking. How to keep breathing through the ache.

But some days, some days it didn’t matter how strong you tried to be. And that night, everything hurt.

It wasn’t even about something new. Nothing fresh or sharp. It was the old stuff, the words that never really healed. The ones that resurfaced in this mornings phone call with your father, when he’d said it without hesitation. “You’re just too hard to love, you know that?”

It had gutted you then and it still did.

Because even if you didn’t show it, you’d started to believe it.

The way friends drifted away. The way family only called when they needed something or to criticize. The way people got tired of your quiet, your sadness, your needs. Even when you tried to shrink yourself, to not ask for anything… it was never enough.

You were always too much, and somehow not enough all at once.

So when you walked that night, when you saw Bucky waiting in his usual spot, you almost turned back.

But he saw you. And the moment he did, something in his expression shifted.

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked right up to him, stopped short, and stood there with your arms crossed tight over your chest, like if you let them drop, everything would spill out.

Bucky’s voice was soft. “You alright?”

You shook your head once, too quickly as your voice cracked when you whispered, “Why do you keep showing up?”

He blinked. “What?”

You looked at him then, eyes confused. “Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep… being nice to me?”

He took a step closer, cautious. “Because I like being around you.”

“You shouldn’t.” The words burst out before you could stop them. “I’m not…– people don’t stay. They get tired of me. They always do.”

“Who said that to you?” He asked quietly, his voice low, steady.

You laughed bitterly. “Does it matter… Friends. Family. Pretty much everyone I ever let get too close.”

You looked away, blinking hard.

“They all said the same thing… that I’m just too hard to love.”

It was out now. Ugly, raw, and terrifying. You waited for him to flinch. To pull away. To prove them right. But he didn’t.

He stepped closer, slow and sure. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, one hand hovering at your shoulder until you gave the tiniest nod.

Then his palm pressed gently against your arm.

“They were wrong,” He said.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” He said firmly. “Because I know me. And I don’t waste time on people I don’t care about.”

Your throat tightened.

He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t telling you to be positive or that it would pass. He wasn’t saying it didn’t matter.

He was just there. With you.

“You’re not hard to love,” He spoke softer now. “You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how.”

And that broke something loose.

The first tear slid down your cheek. Then another. You tried to speak, to apologize, but your voice disappeared behind a sob that ripped straight out of your chest.

You folded into yourself, ashamed, but Bucky caught you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms. Not tight. Not smothering. Just enough.

Enough to say I’m here. Enough to say You’re not too much for me. Enough to say I’m not going anywhere.

And in his arms, safe for once, you let yourself cry.

Really cry.

For the first time in a long, long time.

When the tears had finally stopped, you felt worn out like a storm fading to drizzle. You’d stood in the dark with Bucky for longer than you realized, his arms wrapped gently around you. He never rushed you. Never asked you to talk more or explain.

And when you finally stepped back, breath unsteady but lighter somehow, he didn’t say a word about the crying. Just looked at you like you were whole.

“…I’m okay now,” You’d whispered, not sure if you believed it yet.

His head tilted slightly. “You want to walk?”

You nodded.

And you walked until you were both sitting on a cracked bench outside a 24-hour café near a closed bookstore. He’d offered to buy you something, no pressure, just a question, and you said yes without thinking.

It felt… nice. Like last time. Letting someone do something for you without guilt clinging to it.

You had a small paper cup between your hands of warm chai, still steaming. He had black coffee, of course. Of course he drank it black.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was gentle. Companionable. Like your sadness didn’t scare him. He wasn’t expecting you to bounce back or smile to make him feel better.

He was just there.

You took a small sip, then glanced over at him. He was watching the empty street like he was half on patrol, half at peace.

“Thanks for the tea,” You murmured.

He looked at you then, eyes soft. “Thanks for trusting me.”

You looked down at your drink. “I didn’t mean to cry like that.”

“I know,” He said. “It’s okay.”

You hesitated, then asked softly, “But why didn’t you walk away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back on the bench, hands wrapped around his cup like it grounded him.

“Because I know what it’s like,” He said finally. “To think you’re too broken or too much. To think you’ve ruined the moment just by being yourself.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the honesty.

He kept his gaze forward. “I’ve been there. I still go there. But… I also know how much it means when someone stays anyway.”

Your heart ached in a different way now. Not from pain. From being understood.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“Anytime.”

You sat in silence again, drinking your tea slowly, letting the warmth from the cup seep into your fingers.

The city was so quiet this late. No shouting. Barely any cars. Just wind and dim streetlights.

Eventually, you looked over and gave him a small smile. “You think next time we could get donuts or something instead?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, his version of a grin. “You saying I’m not a good coffee date?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. “You’re passable.”

He let out a soft huff of amusement. “Alright, donuts next time. But only if they have the jelly-filled ones.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “You got a deal.”

And just like that, something fragile began to stitch itself back together inside you.

It may not have been fixed or finished. But it was held together by his love and care.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[ao3commentoftheday]

i'm sort of struggling dealing with jealousy in my fandom.

there is a character i'm very fond of in the source material. we don't know a lot about them, they never directly appear in the story and we only have a handful of information that we know is canon for sure. so that means a lot about this character is left up to audience interpretation, down to something as surface-level as their physical appearance. it's already a very niche fandom, and i write and draw for this character.

for about three years, i have been subject to vagueposting by some big name fans who are very invested in discussing canon lore. they have never mentioned me by name, and in their vagueposts they act as though there are multiple artists or authors who portray this version of the character the way i do... when i know it's just me. i have never spoken to them directly. i wish them no ill will. but they have said some truly hurtful, nasty things about my version of this character behind my back without mentioning me by name.

this is where the jealousy comes in. i never got a huge amount of attention when i started writing and drawing art for this fandom, but i suspect that because in these bnfs' vagueposting people know they're talking about me specifically, they stay away from my work because these bnfs talk about how my interpretation is bad. this is, to be fair, kind of far-fetched.

really, what makes me upset is that i was never an artist or writer who got a lot of attention in the first place when these bnfs have been into this source material for a few years more than i have, and have a significantly larger following and circle of friends than i do. yet they choose to go after me and say some truly rude things about my characterization work behind my back when they're also making things up... just that their work is more popular.

i have blocked and muted these people, and continue to do so when i run into others who speak rudely of me behind my back. when i write fic, i link to my social medias (not ko-fi. i understand ao3's policies about that) to my social media page - call it shallow, but i really do want to spend more time with other people and chat with other fans about my interpretation. but i'm not sure what more i can do to healthily manage my jealousy and upset at these people for saying rude things behind my back. part of me wants to confront them about it, but i'm a very short-tempered person and i don't want to end up making things worse.

I'm so sorry anon *hugs* This situation sucks, and I wish you weren't in it.

From everything you've written here, it doesn't sound like you're experiencing jealousy? Like, everything you're describing is hurt feelings due to people maligning your work and your character.

The part that you might be interpreting as jealousy, I'm reading as loneliness or feelings of isolation in your fandom. You want to have people to talk to and share ideas with. That's totally understandable, and it's actually something that most of us want too.

I'm glad that you've already blocked and muted those folks. That was 100% a smart move to make. Keep that kind of negative energy as far away as possible, and you're much more likely to find peace.

When it comes to finding people to talk with, you might have to take a more active role. Sharing your social media is one step, but it relies on the other person reaching out in order for that to be successful. You might have better luck if you're the one who sends the first message.

I know that can feel intimidating, especially in a space where you know people are talking shit about you. Try starting with just one person. If someone leaves a like on your artwork or a kudos/comment on your fic, try sending them an ask or replying to their comment with a question for them to respond to. By starting with someone who has already given you a positive response, you might have less to worry about?

There isn't really anything you can do to stop mean people from being mean to you. Keep doing what you're doing on that front, and focus your energy on finding people who are actually nice. I hope you find them ❤️

[shelovesosa]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

PAIRING: Nepobaby!Kento X Meangirl!reader CW: enemies to lovers, fake dating,tension, cheating (not from kento or y/n)

SUMMARY!! Y/N is a spoiled, sharp-tongued nepo baby who thrives in the spotlight. Kento Nanami wants nothing to do with wealth or her — until a fake relationship becomes their only way out. But somewhere between staged kisses and stolen glances, the line between performance and something real begins to blur.

(Mean girls masterlist here!)

You weren’t thinking about forever. You weren’t the type of girl who needed it. You just wanted something that felt golden while it lasted—effortless, fast, and camera-ready.

And that’s exactly what Riku Sakamoto gave you.

He wasn’t your first kiss or your first heartbreak, but he was the first one who fit—who walked beside you like he was built to, already trained for the spotlight. Tokyo’s rising actor with a face that made brands clamor, a laugh made for interviews, and the kind of gentleness that melted under your tongue at night.

Everyone said you two were a power couple. A perfect storm. But you didn’t care about their opinions. Not really. Because when the world dimmed, when it was just you in bed with him, his breath on your collarbone, his fingers lazily brushing your hip—you believed him. That he liked you for more than the name, more than the dresses, more than the legacy you never got to choose.

And you… loved him. That was the dangerous part. You actually did.

Tonight, he was late—but that wasn’t unusual. He’d been filming all week, shooting some late-night crime drama in Yokohama. You knew the schedule. You knew the stress. You told yourself not to get upset.

Still, the candles had burned too far down.

You sat alone at the rooftop table he promised to meet you at—just the two of you, no cameras, no stylists, no press. Just his hoodie draped over your chair and a view of the cityscape stretching into silence.

Your phone buzzed.

Riku: On my way. Sorry, babe. Five more min.

You bit your lip. Forgave him like you always did.

Slipped on his hoodie and leaned back against the chair like it was an embrace.

He’d show. He always did. Fifteen minutes later, you heard the door behind you click open, and you didn’t even look before you smiled.

“I was starting to think you ghosted me.”

A kiss pressed into your hair. “Never.”

You turned, and there he was—your Riku—still in half-makeup, traces of red lipstick from a scene, and a silk scarf you didn’t recognize tied around his wrist.

But he looked beautiful. He always did.

“I brought matcha cake,” he said, holding up a bag from that little café in Daikanyama you used to sneak off to after shoots.

You took it with a laugh. “You’re forgiven. Slightly.”

He smiled and tugged your hand into his lap. “How long do I have to keep earning it?”

You didn’t answer. You just leaned your head against his shoulder and let the city hum around you. Your heart beat fast in the quiet, like it was still trying to catch up to him.

Maybe it always was.

“I think I love you,” you said, softly, like it was just a thing to share between two people suspended in the glow of Tokyo Tower’s distant lights.

Riku froze for half a second. Just long enough.

Then he looked at you and said, “I know.”

He didn’t say it back. But he kissed you slow and deep, like that counted for something. And you let it count.

The next morning, he was gone before you woke up.

There was a note on your vanity mirror: Call you later. Big script meeting. You were amazing last night, as always.

You stood there in your silk robe, holding the note like it meant something permanent. Like it was proof he hadn’t disappeared entirely. Like it made you worth waiting for.

But beneath that quiet thrill of still being wanted... was a chill you couldn’t name.

You shook it off. You had a photoshoot. You had a name to wear. You had stories to post. You couldn’t afford to feel uncertain.

Not when the world only loved you when you were sure of yourself.

The invitations were white-gold lacquer, sealed with wax and flown in from Paris.Your mother liked to say it wasn’t a real party unless the budget could pay off someone’s student loans.

This one? It could fund a university. The annual L/N Foundation Gala wasn’t just a fundraiser — it was a declaration. The social event of spring. The glittering peak of old money and new influence converging in a single glass tower overlooking Minato.

And you had to look perfect. Not for the press. Not even for your mother. But for Riku.

You let the stylist curl your hair into soft, vintage waves. Let them zip up the open-back gown in shimmering champagne silk. You didn't flinch as the earrings tugged your ears or the heels pinched slightly. It was all part of the illusion.

You didn’t let yourself question why he hadn’t answered your call that morning.Didn’t ask why he stopped sharing his location.Didn’t demand to know whose lipstick that had been two nights ago. It was fine. Everything was fine.

By the time the car pulled up to the red carpet, you were every bit the girl the world wanted to see. Glittering. Laughing. Wrist looped through Riku’s as cameras flashed like lightning on every side.

He looked stunning, of course. Charcoal tux. That practiced smile that made even photographers go breathless.

And you, standing next to him, felt like a prop with a pulse.

Still, you smiled. You posed. You played your part. Because what were you, if not beautiful together?

Inside the ballroom, light reflected off crystal chandeliers and mirrored walls, making it hard to tell where the world ended and your image began. You floated from guest to guest, champagne in hand, painting kisses on cheeks and laughing at conversations you weren’t really in.

Riku had already wandered off. Talking to a director. Shaking hands with a pop star. Whispering to someone with too much lip gloss and not enough clothing. You pretended not to care.

Until you turned — and saw him.

Kento Nanami. Standing by the bar in a clean black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he had somewhere else better to be.

His posture was perfect. His expression unreadable. But his eyes were already on you. And they stayed there. Your stomach flipped.

Not because he was handsome. He always had been. Not because of the years of tension. That never left.But because Kento didn’t look at you like the others did.

He wasn’t impressed. Or envious. Or curious. He looked like he knew something. Like he saw through something. You broke eye contact. Fast.

“Don’t,” you murmured to yourself. “Not tonight.”

You tried to lose yourself in conversation, but the room had changed.Or maybe you had.

You saw things now. How Riku lingered a little too close to a girl in red satin.How his phone lit up every ten minutes, face-down.How he didn’t reach for your hand, even when the cameras weren’t watching.

It felt like something inside you was turning hollow. You caught yourself in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t believe your own reflection.

Later, when the music softened and the crowd thinned into clusters, you stepped out onto the rooftop balcony for air. The wind caught your hair. You held onto the railing like it could keep you upright.

“You always hated these things.”

The voice came low and dry from behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know.

“Kento,” you said, keeping your voice even.

“Y/N.” His footsteps stopped beside you. “Still playing the perfect girl?”

You stiffened. “Still pretending you don’t enjoy the view?”

He didn’t smile. He never did.

But his gaze slid to you, heavy and sharp. “You look tired.”

“I’m glowing, actually,” you said, brushing a hand over your cheekbone. “This dress is worth more than your car.”

“I walked.”

“Of course you did.”

A pause. Not cold. Just quiet.

Then:

“Is it true?” he asked, softly.

You turned. “Is what true?”

“That he’s cheating on you.”

Your mouth went dry. The words hit harder than you expected. Like they’d been sitting in the air between you all night, waiting for someone to say them out loud.

You swallowed.

“He’s not,” you lied.

Kento didn’t flinch. “You think saying it makes it less real?”

“I think it’s none of your business.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s not.”

“But you brought it up anyway.”

“Because I’ve seen this before.”

Your nails dug into the railing. “You don’t know anything about me, Kento.”

“I know enough,” he said. “You’re not the kind of girl who can fake being fine forever.”

You bit back a laugh. “And what would you know about faking anything? You’ve been brooding in the shadows since prep school.”

“I know what it looks like when someone’s trying not to fall apart.”

That silenced you. And in that silence, for just one second, you let your shoulders drop. Let the mask slip. Not enough for the cameras. But enough for him.

“I loved him,” you whispered.

Kento didn’t respond with pity.

He just said, “I know.”

The wind moved through your hair again. The city blinked below like it didn’t care.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. And for the first time that night, you weren’t pretending.

The morning it hit, you were still half-asleep in your penthouse suite, draped in sheets and luxury. Your coffee had barely cooled when your phone began vibrating off the marble nightstand.

Five missed calls. Fourteen messages.Every one of them some version of:

“Are you okay?”“Don’t look online.”“Delete the comments.”

You didn’t panic. You were raised in a glass cage — panic was for the unprepared. You tapped open the link. And there it was.

“Golden Boy Riku Sakamoto Spotted with Co-Star — Late-Night Rendezvous Sparks Cheating Rumors”

Photos. Blurry but damning. His hand on her waist. Her lips too close to his jaw. Their cars pulling into the same hotel.

You stared at it blankly. Read the paragraph twice. Took a bite of your croissant like it was any other Tuesday.

Then, you threw the plate across the kitchen.

“You don’t want to be here right now,” you hissed into the phone at your assistant. “Reschedule my shoot, cancel my Pilates, and if my mother calls, tell her I’m on the floor crying or something. That’s what she wants to hear.”

“...Are you okay?”

You snapped your sunglasses off your head. “Do I sound like I need therapy or do I sound like I’m about to become the most talked about girl in Tokyo?”

Silence.

“Exactly. Have my driver ready in twenty. I’m going to his agency myself.”

You stormed the marble lobby like a girl born on scandal. You didn't need clearance. The receptionist knew not to speak when your heels echoed like war drums down the corridor. The interns stepped aside like they’d been trained for it.

You were wearing black sunglasses the size of your ego, a vintage Vivienne coat, and a temper that could curdle cream.

The receptionist stammered, “Riku-san is in a meeting—”

You cut her off. “He’s about to be in one with me.”

You pushed open the door to the conference room like it owed you money.

There he was. Riku. Cool as ice, shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by his PR team. And suddenly, the room shrank. You didn’t say hello. You didn’t cry.

You said, loud and slow:

“Did you forget who made you famous, or are you just that good at pretending to be loyal?”

He stood up fast. “Y/N—”

“Save it. You got caught. Again. Sloppy.”

“Let’s talk somewhere—”

“Oh no, we’re doing this here. You cheated. You let her wear your hoodie. The one from my closet, by the way.”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Do you know how many men say that? Do you know how basic that line makes you?”

His manager cleared his throat nervously. “Maybe we can all—”

“Don’t speak unless your next sentence is: ‘Riku’s career is over unless he begs for mercy.’”

No one moved.

Riku tried to reach for your hand. “Y/N, please. I didn’t want it to happen like this—”

You recoiled. “Of course you didn’t. You thought I’d find out in six months, cry in Chanel, and post a breakup note in cursive.”

He winced.

You leaned in close. “You forget. I don’t fall apart. I rearrange the narrative.”

An hour later, the headlines had changed.

“Y/N L/N ‘Blindsided’ by Cheating Allegations — Sources Say She Plans to Focus on Herself”

“Heartbroken Heiress Still Classy in Wake of Scandal”

“Y/N Seen Leaving Riku’s Agency — Stunning in Black, Ice-Cold Glamour”

You weren’t heartbroken. You were furious. But fury, when funneled correctly, looks a lot like grace.

The real twist came two days later.

At a gallery opening in Ginza, draped in pearl silk and diamond tears, you spotted him again: Kento. Standing near a minimalist sculpture like he belonged to a different world entirely.

This time, you didn’t avoid him. You walked straight up to him, smirking.

“Looking for the exit again, Nanami?”

He took one look at you and said, flatly, “You’re trending again.”

You sipped your wine. “Of course I am.”

“You always are when you get hurt.”

“Correction. I’m trending because I handle getting hurt better than anyone alive.”

He tilted his head. “So what’s the next move?”

You smiled like you were born on a chessboard.

“I fake a new relationship. Maybe with someone who doesn’t bore me to death. Someone rich, photogenic, and a little morally gray.”

He stared at you.

Then, dry as ever: “You mean someone like me.”

Your lashes lowered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not.”

You stepped closer. “If I asked you to play the game, you’d fold in five minutes.”

“Try me.”

And just like that — the next story was already being written.

The first time the press caught you and Kento together, it wasn’t an accident.

It was the Met Aoyama. A fashion gala so exclusive even the guest list had an NDA. You arrived late. Deliberately.

In a black Versace gown with a slit that dared the city to blink.Your arm was hooked through Kento’s like it had always belonged there.He wore a deep navy suit with no tie and an expression that said: kill me now.

The cameras exploded. You smiled like sin on heels. Inside, the crowd parted for you. You knew how to work a room — glitter in your laugh, a trail of perfume and perfectly timed glances.

Kento, on the other hand? He looked like a hostage. He didn’t fake his smiles. Didn’t flatter people. Didn’t thank the waiters for canapés he didn’t touch.

And yet — they ate him up. The press labeled him “mysterious.” “A classic gentleman.”You choked on your champagne.

“If they only knew,” you muttered.

He leaned in, voice low. “What exactly do they think we are?”

“Revenge. Rebound. Tabloid gold.” You clinked your glass to his. “Pick your poison.”

He didn’t drink. Just stared at you like you were a puzzle he’d thrown away years ago but was now being forced to finish blindfolded.

“Why me?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head, lips glossy and cruel. “Because you hate this world just enough to make it interesting.”

Four Hours Earlier

Kento stood in front of the mirror in his apartment, adjusting a jacket that cost more than his monthly rent. One of Y/N’s stylists had sent it over in a white garment bag, along with a handwritten note:

“Make sure he brushes his hair.”

He hated this. Not just the suit. Not just the performance. Her.

Y/N L/N — the spoiled brat who used to push him into fountains at prep school. Who once told an entire auditorium he cried during The Little Prince.She’d ruined his rep, out-shined his every quiet win, and now?

Now she wanted him to play her lover? The only reason he said yes — the only reason — was because of a deal.

His mother, the queen of passive-aggressive disappointment, had promised:

“If you’re dating someone, even her, I’ll stop setting you up with heiresses and diplomats. I’ll leave you alone.”

It was an out. And Y/N? She was a deal with lipstick. He could handle a month. Maybe two. Just until the photos faded and the story dried up.

Back at the Gala

“Smile,” you whispered, teeth white as diamonds as a reporter with a mic approached. “We’re happy, remember?”

Kento didn’t smile. But he slipped an arm around your waist like muscle memory. The press leaned in.

“Y/N-chan! Kento-san! How long have you two been together?”

You purred. “We like to keep things private.”

“You make a stunning couple! What brought you together?”

Kento, dry as dust: “Poor judgment.”

You laughed, loud and bright. “Isn’t he charming?”

More flashes. More fake questions. More glittering lies.

But somewhere in the chaos, you noticed something: the way Kento’s fingers had stayed on your back longer than necessary. The way his eyes kept finding yours when he thought no one was looking.

He hated this world. Hated you. But he didn’t pull away. Not once.

Later, the afterparty was a blur of clinking glasses and silk against silk. You leaned against the marble bar, Kento beside you, both of you watching a parade of rich kids pretend they had problems.

“Tell me,” you asked, voice softer now, “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“This life. You used to belong to it.”

He glanced at you. “No. I survived it.”

You traced a circle on the rim of your glass. “Then why did you come back?”

He looked straight ahead. “Because you asked.”

You froze. Just briefly. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did.

Back at your place, the night cooled. You kicked off your heels. He loosened his collar. And for the first time, the silence didn’t feel like armor.

“You think I’m awful,” you said, staring at the Tokyo skyline.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “I think you’re exactly what they made you.”

That hurt more than you expected.

You scoffed. “And what are you, Saint Kento of Disdain?”

He shrugged. “Someone who knows that being rich doesn’t mean you have to be cruel.”

You turned to face him. Eyes locked. Tension alive between you — resentment wrapped in silk, old wounds held together by expensive threads.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“Why do you still hate me?”

His voice came low. “Because I remember you before the world taught you to be heartless.”

You laughed bitterly. “Then you should’ve hated the world. Not me.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. He just looked at you — really looked at you — and for one terrifying second, you wanted him to keep looking.

Before she became the Y/N L/N, she was just the girl in the front row who always wore ballet flats that cost more than the lunch budget for the entire school.

Your name was whispered with equal parts fear and awe, even back then. You had the bag. The last name. And the mouth.

St. Valencia Academy for the Gifted & Golden.Where the uniforms were Dior and the detention slips were printed on linen cardstock.

You ruled it like Versailles with Wi-Fi. Kento hated it. And he hated you.

You first met in Year Seven — when you insulted his shoes before learning his name.

“What are those?”“Loafers.”“My father owns that brand. Those are from last season.”“Didn’t realize rich girls had expiration dates.”

You blinked. Then smirked. You didn’t know it yet, but that was your first real match.

By Year Eight, you had weaponized charm like a born politician.

The girls followed you in swarms. The boys tried too hard. Teachers praised you for effort you never gave.

And Kento? He refused to play the game.

You called him “Nanami” like it was an insult. He called you “Princess” like it was a warning.

At a winter dance, you asked him to be your escort in front of the whole cafeteria. Not because you wanted him. Because you knew he’d say no.

“Come on, Nanami. Be my date. You’ll look good standing still.”

He blinked once. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Shy?”

He leaned in close. “Bored.”

And you? You were furious. Not because he rejected you. But because he meant it.

It only got worse.

You switched seats just to be closer to him in class. You flirted to annoy him. You turned the entire Latin Club against him for a week just because he beat your score.

He didn’t fight back. He didn’t care. Except for once.

The day it cracked was the infamous Goldleaf Gala — a fundraiser hosted by your family.

You’d been given a speech to read. You hated speeches. But you loved being seen.

You wore pearls too heavy for your neck and heels too high for your age. Your mother stood in the front row, nodding politely, waiting for perfection.

Your hand shook. You missed a word. Then two. The room blurred. You wanted to cry. You wanted to run. And then—

Kento, from the corner of the crowd, barely mouthed a line from the speech.

The next. Then the next. You followed his lips. Spoke the words. Saved your legacy. No one else noticed. But you did. You never told anyone.

And the next week? You tripped him in the hallway and smirked as he fell.

Because if he was going to be better than you — smarter, quieter, good — then you’d be worse. You’d be unforgettable.

Now, years later, that same boy stands in your penthouse kitchen holding your almond milk and judgment in equal parts.

Kento places the milk down. “You ever think about St. Valencia?”

You scoff. “What part? The pool you pushed me into or the time I made your girlfriend cry in Year Ten?”

“I didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, right. Then who was that girl crying into her escargot at the spring formal?”

He smirks. Just barely. “You remember everything.”

You swirl your glass. “So do you.”

Silence.

Then, quiet and dry: “You’re not who you were back then.”

You arch a brow. “Worse or better?”

Kento looks at you for a moment longer than necessary.

“Both.”

They say Milan is the city of style, scandal, and silk sheets that don’t ask questions.

You arrive draped in ivory Jacquemus and attitude, sunglasses the size of your spite. Cameras swarm the airport like vultures circling art.

Kento trails behind, suitcase in one hand, emotional detachment in the other.

“Smile,” you hiss as the flashes pop.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Pretending to like me wouldn’t kill you.”

He leans closer, low enough for only you to hear.“Don’t tempt me.”

Click. Click. Click.Just like that, you look like a couple.In the photos, at least.

The Suite was bigger than most apartments in Tokyo.

Polished marble floors, gold accents, an entire wall of glass looking out over the Duomo. One bed. You both stop.

You turn to the concierge with a voice dipped in sweet venom. “This is supposed to be the executive couple’s suite. Why is there one bed?”

The concierge smiles. “Because most couples share.”

You laugh. Kento sighs. The room is silent after they leave.

You kick off your heels and collapse into the armchair. “We’ll switch. You take the bed tonight. I’ll take it tomorrow.”

Kento’s already moving toward the couch. “It’s fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Brooding keeps you awake?”

“Loud girls do.”

You toss a pillow at him. He catches it without flinching.

Dinner is at a rooftop event hosted by Vogue Italia. You’re seated next to someone’s heiress daughter. Kento’s on your left, stiff in a black suit and no tie, pretending to be amused.

You’re the main show. As always. You tell jokes. You name-drop with elegance. You laugh with your mouth closed. And Kento? He watches you.

Watches how effortlessly you weave through the crowd, as if your ego was stitched into your spine. He watches the way you flirt with power and wield your smile like a threat. He hates it.

He also doesn’t look away.

Back at the suite, you peel off your heels and collapse into the bed with a groan.

Kento's still standing, trying to undo his cufflinks. He’s tense. Quiet. Still wearing the evening like armor.

“You know,” you say, sprawled across the mattress, “You don’t have to act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like being near me is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

He looks at you. Slowly. Then:

“It’s not.”

You blink.

He undoes the last cuff. Rolls up his sleeves. “But it’s definitely top five.”

You laugh. It's real. Ugly. A little too loud. He doesn’t smile. But he looks... less like he wants to escape. You both end up on opposite ends of the bed. Pillows between you. Tension everywhere else.

The lights are off. Still, you speak.

“You ever think we would’ve been different if I wasn’t like... this?”

He’s quiet.

Then:“You mean spoiled, rude, insufferable?”

You smirk in the dark. “Exactly.”

“You’re asking if I would’ve liked you.”

“Would you have?”

He doesn’t answer. But you hear him shift. And you feel it — the line between hate and something heavier — stretch so tight it could snap.

In the morning, someone leaks photos from last night. You two — standing close.Him — hand on your back.You — laughing up at him like he’s your favorite sin.

Headlines explode:

“New Power Couple: Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami Take Milan by Storm”“Not Just a Rebound — Y/N’s Unexpected Romance Continues Abroad”

Your publicist texts: Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. They love you two.

You turn to Kento, who’s still shirtless, reading the headline with mild disgust.

“Guess we’re convincing.”

He doesn’t look up. “Or people are stupid.”

You grin. “They’re stupid and obsessed with us. The perfect combo.”

You stretch across the bed, unbothered, beautiful, and a little too comfortable with the way he hasn’t moved away from you since waking.

“Ready for round two, lover boy?”

Kento closes his phone. And this time, he doesn’t say no.

Milan Fashion Week was a monster that fed on lust and linen.

Every party bled into another. Every room echoed with names that weighed gold and scandal. You and Kento had become unofficial mascots — the pair everyone whispered about.

The spoiled heiress with teeth like diamonds.The reluctant heir with hands that stayed in his pockets — unless they were on your waist.

Together, you looked untouchable. But inside? You were cracking.

Tonight was the Fendi afterparty. Too many balconies. Too much champagne.

You wore red. Kento hated when you wore red.

“It’s a little loud,” he’d once said.

“Perfect,” you’d replied.

Halfway through the night, a London DJ’s voice slurred into the mic. “And look who just walked in — the It couple of Milan!”

Every head turned. You and Kento stood under the lights, picture-perfect. And then— Someone touched your arm. Him.

Dante. Half-French model, full-time provocateur. He’d been orbiting your world for years — never quite in, never quite out. But he knew what you liked.

He was tall. Tan. Barely buttoned.

“Still with the grumpy one?” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled. “He’s growing on me.”

Dante laughed. “You’ve gone soft.”

You turned. “Have I?”

He leaned closer. “Bet he doesn’t even touch you like I would.”

You laughed, sharp and glittering.

But when you glanced over —Kento was staring. Expression blank. Jaw tight. Drink untouched. Your stomach twisted — not in guilt. In power.

An hour later, you found him on the balcony, sleeves rolled, eyes on the city.

He didn’t look at you as you lit your cigarette.

“So what was that?” he asked flatly.

You blew out smoke. “Define ‘that.’”

“You flirting with Paris Hilton’s body double.”

You smirked. “Jealous?”

“Embarrassed.”

You turned to him, eyes burning. “Then maybe don’t look like you’d rather be anywhere else when I’m on your arm.”

He turned too, calm but clipped. “I’m doing this for you.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You’re doing this for yourself. So your perfect family stops parading you around like a prized dog. Don’t twist it.”

“You think you’re the only one sacrificing something?” he said, voice low.

“I’m not pretending to love someone I can barely tolerate.”

“Then stop pretending.”

You stared at each other, breathing hard. Too close. Too real. Too much. He leaned in, voice quiet.

“You like making me mad, don’t you?”

You blinked. “You make it so easy.”

But neither of you stepped back.

The hotel suite was dim. Too quiet. The city below buzzed with a thousand lives you didn’t have to live.

You sat on the bed in an oversized shirt, feet bare, makeup smeared. A glass of wine in one hand. Kento sat across the room, staring at nothing.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first. Then:

“You never asked me how I got out.”

You looked up. “Out of what?”

He turned. “My family.”

You waited.

“I started refusing things. Little ones at first. No to a trust fund. No to internships with fake titles. I lived in a studio the size of your closet and worked in finance like a peasant.”

You scoffed. “Sounds awful.”

“It was,” he said. “But at least it was mine.”

You stared at him.

This boy — the one who hated your world so deeply — had walked away from everything you spent your whole life mastering.

“You don’t get it,” you said finally. “You chose to leave. I never got to choose. I was born wearing diamonds and expected to smile through the choke.”

He looked at you. Really looked. And for once — didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room. Sat beside you. You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You both just sat — in the quiet, in the truth, in the moment where hate stopped being armor and started being… something else.

“If you weren’t who you are,” he asked, “would you still be this cruel?”

“If you weren’t who you are,” you whispered, “would you still hate me?”

He didn’t answer. And you didn’t need him to. Because when he finally reached over, took the glass from your hand and set it aside—

And when his fingers brushed your jaw— And when you didn’t stop him— The game, for one second, was gone.

You sat on the edge of the bed, heels off, hands tangled in the soft fabric of your dress. Kento leaned against the window frame, eyes tracing the city below like searching for answers he didn’t have.

Neither of you spoke. Not yet. After what felt like forever, you finally broke the silence.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re fooling anyone?”

He turned slowly, eyes catching yours in the dim light. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter.”

You laughed softly, the sound barely more than a breath. “It should matter.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be fake.”

He took a step closer, voice low. “Neither do I.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. The space between you shrank. But neither moved forward.

Just two people standing at the edge of something unspoken, something fragile.

You whispered, “Why do I feel like I’m waiting for you to decide if I’m worth it?”

He looked away, fingers curling into his pocket. “Because maybe I’m still figuring that out.”

Your breath caught. It was the closest thing to honesty you’d had in weeks.

The night crept in, and the city lights flickered like distant stars.

You and Kento remained there — close but not touching — two worlds colliding, slowly breaking down the walls that kept you apart.

The longer Milan stretched, the easier the lie became. You weren’t pretending anymore.Not exactly.

You still posed for the paparazzi. Still kissed his cheek at rooftop events and clung to his arm during dinners.But something had shifted.

You’d catch him looking at you when he thought you weren’t watching. And you’d find yourself laughing — really laughing — at something he said, even if it was barely a joke.

It was dangerous, how natural it was becoming.

The suite was quiet, filled with morning light and the smell of espresso from the machine he’d somehow figured out how to use better than the staff.

You walked out in a silk robe, hair still messy, eyes bleary.

“Are you... humming?” you mumbled.

Kento glanced up from the coffee machine. “Was I?”

“Yes,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Which is illegal before noon.”

He handed you the mug. “Arrest me.”

You blinked at him, confused. He smiled. Small. Subtle. Not fake. Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

Later, at a Designer Launch Party. You wore navy satin. He wore black. Together, you looked like every tabloid’s fever dream. As you walked into the room, your hand slipped into his out of habit.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go. Even when the cameras stopped flashing. Even when the press wasn’t looking. He kept holding it.

A woman approached him later, tall, stunning, overly interested.

“You’re Kento Nanami, right? I remember you from Zurich. I think we were seated together at the Max Mara dinner. You had less hair back then.”

You smiled politely. Didn’t speak. She laughed too loud. Leaned in too close.

Kento, ever polite, nodded. “You might be right.”

Then — with no announcement, no drama — he slid his arm around your waist. Pulled you closer.

“This is my girlfriend,” he said. “Y/N.”

The woman blinked. A flicker of surprise, maybe jealousy. Then she smiled thinly and walked away. You looked up at him. His arm still around you.

“Convincing,” you said.

He didn’t move. “It didn’t feel like pretending.”

2 days after Milan,

You both lay on the bed, back to back, but not asleep. The space between you felt charged. Fragile. Like something important was about to happen but neither of you could admit it.

You whispered into the dark:

“If this wasn’t fake…”

He didn’t speak right away. You waited. Then:

“Would it be different?”

You held your breath.

“No,” he said, quietly. “I think it’d be exactly like this.”

Kento’s house was cold. Still. Designed like someone who didn’t want to be remembered. You stood in the center of the living room, heels off, hair undone, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

No staff. No cameras. No champagne. Just you. And him. And the weight of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

You didn’t even know why you were mad.He hadn’t done anything. That was the problem.

He hadn’t touched you since Milan. Not since that night at the suite. Not since the mornings filled with coffee and silk, or the nights where he fell asleep inches from you but never close enough.

You kicked off your shoes with a little too much force.

“You’re impossible,” you said, pacing.

Kento didn’t look up from where he stood by the kitchen counter.

“Because I’m not kissing you in my foyer?”

You whirled around. “Because you act like none of this matters!”

He stared at you, jaw tight. “You wanted a deal. This is the deal.”

“You kissed me in Milan.”

He blinked once. “It was public.”

“Your hand stayed on my waist after,” you hissed.

He didn’t answer. You stepped closer, blood buzzing.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured wildly. “Looking at me like I’m something you want and then pretending like I’m poison.”

Still, he said nothing. You were spiraling now, fingers shaking as you spoke.

“I don’t know what we are—what we’re doing—but if you don’t feel anything, then you’re a better actor than I thought—”

“Stop talking.”

His voice wasn’t raised. But it was sharp. Final. You froze. Then slowly, he crossed the room. Stood right in front of you. His voice low, barely a whisper:

“You have no idea how badly I want to stop pretending.”

Then he kissed you. No warning. No breath. Just heat. Just hands, suddenly in your hair, on your back, gripping you like he’d finally given up resisting.

Your whimper slipped out — small, broken — and it only made him pull you closer.

You kissed him back like it was survival. Like you were angry at yourself for wanting it this badly. Like you were furious it felt this right.

His mouth was hungry. Unapologetic. Yours matched him — fire to fire. You pushed him back against the wall. He let you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt. He ripped open the top buttons himself.

“You’re so goddamn spoiled,” he muttered against your lips.

“And you’re still pretending you don’t like it.”

You gasped as he kissed down your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. His hands never stopped moving, desperate and careful at once.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was two years of hate, months of tension, and one final unraveling.

And then—when it slowed—when his hands cupped your face and your forehead rested against his and your breathing matched—

The silence said more than either of you could.

No lines. No games. Just you. And him. And everything finally, finally real.

The photo leaked three days after you returned from Milan.

Not from a press release.Not from a friend. From a former assistant — someone who’d overheard just enough and sold it for a story.

The image was blurry, but damning.

You and Kento on the hotel balcony. No event. No red carpet.Just him behind you, arms around your waist. You laughing — head tipped back into his shoulder. No cameras in sight.

The caption:

“Inside the PR Romance: Source Claims Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami Faked It All for Family Freedom”

You stared at your phone in his kitchen, screen glowing like a grenade. He was behind you, towel over his shoulder, just out of the shower.

“It’s out,” you said flatly.

He froze. “What?”

You turned the phone to show him. The air left the room. By noon, the story had made headlines.

Your name trending. His name trending.

#KentoLies#YNExposed#PRLove

Your publicist called four times.His mother once. Your inbox filled with interview requests. Your father sent one line: Fix it now.

You didn’t cry.

Not until the second night, when the house was too quiet and you heard him pacing in the hallway like a caged animal.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered into your glass.

Kento stopped. Turned slowly.

“We can still get ahead of it,” he said. “We could… say we ended things. That it was complicated. That we—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, standing. “Don’t pretend again. Not after what we—”

His face tightened. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection,” you said, voice cracking. “I wanted to keep you.”

Silence. Then:

“Then let me stay.”

Your lip trembled.

“But now it’s real, isn’t it?” you asked. “So what happens when they know it didn’t start that way?”

He stepped toward you.

“I don’t care how it started,” he said softly. “I just care that I’m not faking it now.”

You looked up at him — messy, afraid, undone — not the girl the world knew, just the one who wanted him to stay.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t out of heat. It was out of hope.

It was raining in Tokyo.

Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind. Just a slow, steady drizzle that tapped against the windows of Kento’s apartment and made everything feel like it was supposed to be still.

You were curled up on the floor with a bowl of soup and a cashmere blanket over your legs. No makeup. No earrings. Just you.

Kento was across from you, in sweats, scrolling mindlessly through some article on his phone.

The headline read:

“Love or Lie? The Couple Who Played the World.”

You threw a crumpled napkin at him. “Don’t read that garbage.”

He caught it easily. “I like to keep up with what my girlfriend is allegedly plotting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. If I were plotting, I’d be running the agency by now.”

“You already do.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

There was a long pause. The kind that used to be tense. Now? Just full of something softer.

He put the phone down and leaned his head back against the couch. “You know, I hated you.”

“I know,” you said. “You were very dramatic about it.”

“You were impossible.”

You shrugged. “I am impossible.”

Then: “But you still kissed me.”

He looked over at you, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. That was stupid.”

You scooted over until your knees touched his. “Was it?”

He took your wrist gently, fingers sliding into yours.

“No,” he murmured. “It was the smartest thing I ever did.”

Outside, the rain picked up. Inside, you leaned your head on his shoulder. And for once, there was nothing to prove. No one to impress. No lie to maintain.

Just you. Just him. And the truth.

The morning after, the world didn’t end. There were no reporters banging on the door. No family emergencies. No grand gestures.

Just the soft rustle of cotton sheets. And Kento standing at the stove in his t-shirt and your silence.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn up, watching him quietly like if you spoke too loud, it would all disappear.

He turned around with two mugs. Offered you coffee.

You took it with a murmured, “Thanks.”

For a while, that was it. Later, when you were folding the blanket you didn’t end up needing, you asked:

“What do we tell them?”

He looked up from where he was cleaning up two abandoned wine glasses. His expression didn’t change. But his voice did.

“We tell them the truth.”

You blinked. “That we faked it?”

He walked toward you, stopping just close enough that your heart started stammering again.

“No,” he said. “That somewhere in between all the pretending… we didn’t anymore.”

You looked at him for a long time. And then you smiled. For real.

The first time he introduced you as his girlfriend, it wasn’t at a gala or a launch party.

It was at a quiet bookstore in Tokyo, when the owner said, “Back with your cousin?” and Kento rolled his eyes and said, “Not my cousin. My girlfriend.”

You’d almost choked laughing.

The headlines came later. Photos of him holding your hand at a ramen shop. You smiling into his neck while he tried to pay without being noticed.

“Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami: Real or Still PR?”“From Enemies to Italy to This?”

You didn’t bother answering. Eventually, the press moved on. The cameras got bored.

But Kento didn’t stop reaching for your hand. Even when no one was watching. Especially then. You used to be the girl who needed the world to look.

Now? You just needed him to. And he always did.

Taglist: @wonubby @asteriaskingdom @insideoutjulie @kkataleena @endedlove @nanam1nz @recispeices @unadulteratedtranquility @eolivy @wyshaij @exitingmusic

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have a dumb question: What does "main story campaign" mean ?

I understand that on 27/6 books 1-7 will get overblot animation but will there also the first part of book 7.5 ?

[Referencing this JP news!]

“Main Story Campaign” refers to a period of time where Twst runs a bunch of small things to promote reading the main story. The main attraction is a series of in-game rewards you can collect for each book of the main story you’ve completed on your Twst account. There will also be various boosts (such as to player EXP and madol/thaumarks gained from Lessons), as well as new temporary material packs in the Mystery Shop (which you can choose to purchase with real money). This is to incentivize players to catch up to the point where the main story has left off in preparation for book 7.5!

Please note that this is NOT the first Main Story Campaign Twst has had; if you have already collected the book completion rewards from previous campaigns, you are NOT eligible for a second round of rewards. There will, however, be a new reward added for completing book 7 (since it has now finished), which everyone should be eligible for.

To clarify on the timing of the events mentioned in the previous news post:

Again, the OB boys (🌹, 🦁, 🐙, 🐍, 👑, 💀, 🐉) will each be getting a solo character song 🎵. These will be released on the Aniplex Youtube channel over the course of July. We do NOT know the posting schedule yet.

There will be 🖊️ new overblot transformation scenes ✨(done by Cloverworks) added to the game on the 27th (June, this month).

No additional information for the 🍔♦️ diner Cater + Chip and Dale 🥤🐿️ event. We will most likely get more details on when this event will run on the last weekday of June (which is when Twst releases the schedule for the next month).

🔥💀 SSR Guardian of the Underworld (aka Overblot) Idia banner will go live on the 27th (June). Please keep in mind that 🎂☀️ Kalim’s birthday banners will still be active until the 30th, so there will be roughly 3 days of overlap between his banners and OB Idia’s.

No news on when the first installment of 📖 book 7.5 will drop. We may hear about it in the July news or we might not, seeing as the Main Story Campaign lasts until early August. Speaking of…

The 📚 Main Story Campaign will last from June 27th to August 1st.

Regarding the new overblot transformation scenes: there is a note from the devs in an in-game news announcement asking fans to ❌ NOT share images or videos of these transformations to social media/publicly for the duration of the Main Story Campaign ❌!! We can still talk about them, but refrain from sharing images or videos until AFTER August 1st. Let’s please respect the devs’ wishes!

If you see someone has posted images/videos of the transformations publicly, you may kindly inform them of the devs’ request and ask them to take down their post 👍

💎 Blazing Jewel merch preorders are open from now until July 6th (11:59 pm, JST).

[theskywithin]

New Moon in Cancer – 25 June 2025 (ALL SIGNS)

This Moon is a tide that turns inward, a hush before the first note. Cancer’s waters do not wash things away, they soften them until the hidden shape appears. From 25 June onward a new story germinates in the dark, written in the language of need, safety, and belonging. Listen: the tide is drawing its breath, preparing to climb the sand in a shape you’ve never seen. Meet it barefoot, and it will remember your name.

🛑 just a note: if you see my writing reposted on other platforms without credit, especially Twitter, please feel free to tell me. my work is deeply personal, and every metaphor carries something I lived through. Thank you for protecting my voice when I’m not in the room. also, if you want to know more about your birth chart my book link is at the bottom of the page :)

Aries Sun & Rising

There’s a hush moving through the halls of your inner home. Not the house you rent or paint but the one with ceilings made of memory and wallpaper stitched from the sound of your own heartbeat. This New Moon touches the origin point, the root cellar of your life. And it asks: What does safety mean to you now? You’re learning that the version of home you deserve is not a performance, it’s the place where you can stop bracing. Where the armor unclenches. And this new beginning may come in unexpected forms: a decision to move, a conversation that reshapes the past, a promise to mother yourself better. Let it be quiet. Let it be real.

Watch for: → Strong cravings for stillness or solitude → Family dynamics shifting, or news that invites emotional clarity → An urge to cook, nest, clean, or finally hang something on the wall

Ritual: boil cinnamon sticks in water until the steam curls toward you like a memory. Inhale deeply. Whisper: I am allowed to stay.

Taurus Sun & Rising

The voice inside your head has changed dialects lately, less polished, more personal. This New Moon enters the space between your thoughts and your truths, asking: What if you only said what you meant? There is a soft but seismic shift happening in how you speak, write, listen, and share. You’re no longer interested in filling the silence with empty syllables. You want your words to mean something. And that’s where the healing begins. In the story you choose to tell next. You may reconnect with a sibling, rediscover your love of writing, or finally put into words something you’ve carried for years. Let it come through you like ink made of saltwater.

Watch for: → A conversation that brings release → A message that feels like a tiny key → Urges to take a short trip, buy new books, or unfollow what numbs you

Ritual: write one sentence you wish someone had said to you when you were younger. Carry it in your wallet until it feels like yours.

Gemini Sun & Rising

The soil of your worth is shifting because something deeper is ready to bloom. This Moon does not care about your title, your salary, your metrics. It wants to know: what makes you feel safe in your skin? It’s time to reroute your relationship with receiving, with ownership, with enough. You may be called to begin a new financial chapter, set boundaries around what you give away for free, or rediscover pleasure without guilt. This isn’t about luxury. It’s about belonging to yourself so fully that even the way you spend money becomes a love language.

Watch for: → New income possibilities or money conversations that hold emotional weight → A craving for slower beauty: cooking, tending, touch → Letting go of old self-worth stories inherited from family or survival

Ritual: place a small coin under a glass of water overnight. In the morning, pour the water into the soil and keep the coin in your palm. Feel the exchange.

Cancer Sun & Rising

You are being rewritten by water. This New Moon isn’t outside of you. It is you. It rises through your chest like a tide that refuses to recede until you finally let it say: I am ready to begin again. You’re no longer obligated to the versions of yourself that others have memorized. There is permission here to soften where you were once sharp, to step forward without apologizing, to walk into the world as someone who knows they deserve to take up space. This isn’t reinvention. It’s reclamation. The Moon is pouring its ink into your outline and saying: draw again.

Watch for: → The desire to change your look, your name, your tone → New beginnings that are deeply personal but hard to explain → People reacting to your shift, let them. You’re not performing this time.

Ritual: stand before a mirror in the dark. Say your name out loud, then whisper a new word that belongs to this version of yo, like free, beloved, sovereign. Let the mirror listen.

Leo Sun & Rising

There’s a part of you that’s always had to shine. To hold it together. To stay composed, perform, radiate. But under this Moon, something ancient inside you wants rest, not as escape, but as medicine. This is the Moon of hidden rooms and sealed envelopes. Of memories that knock at the back door. It asks: What have you not let yourself feel because it made you less impressive? You are being invited to release, deeply and without drama. The kind of shedding that no one sees, but that changes everything. This is the beginning of a private revolution. One no one has to applaud.

Watch for: → Unexpected dreams or memories resurfacing from nowhere → Emotional exhaustion that isn’t laziness but truth → The desire to disconnect not from people, but from performance

Ritual: take a long bath or shower in the dark. Light one candle and speak to your reflection when your face re-emerges in the steam. Say: You can stop holding it all.

Virgo Sun & Rising

You are not meant to carry every soul you’ve ever loved. This Moon asks you to set down the ghosts of obligation, and look toward what’s calling you now, the future-friends, the co-dreamers, the ones who speak to your hope rather than your wounds. This is a new chapter in how you commune, not just with people but with vision. What kind of life do you believe in enough to begin building? You may be reshaping your circles, realizing you’ve outgrown some communities, or finally saying yes to a vision that used to feel too far away. You don’t have to lead the world, just find the ones whose dreams make you remember your own.

Watch for: → Sudden dissolving of old friend dynamics → New invitations to collaborate, organize, or co-dream something → Realizing that fitting in has cost you more than standing out ever could

Ritual: write down a vision you have for the world, not for yourself. Light a small flame and speak it into the fire. Let the smoke carry it into the hands of those who share it with you.

Libra Sun & Rising

You’ve been working hard to keep the surface calm but this Moon goes for the root. It slips behind the mask, into the part of you that wonders, What is all this effort for? It’s not an ending, it’s a recalibration of direction. Not just what you do, but who you are when you do it. This is the kind of new beginning that may arrive as a pang of doubt, then evolve into a wave of self-reclamation. You’re allowed to redefine what success means. You’re allowed to want more, or less, as long as it’s true. The crown doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit your head anymore.

Watch for: → Shifts in professional reputation, goals, or power dynamics → Unexpected praise or pressure that makes you question your path → The urge to create something that aligns more with your emotional truth

Ritual: write a resignation letter to a version of success you no longer serve. Burn it. Then write a vow to the vision you want to work for now.

Scorpio Sun & Rising

You’ve been climbing a mountain. But this Moon doesn’t ask you to summit, it asks you to expand your horizon. Not with ambition, but with reverence. What if your life is not a ladder, but a landscape? This New Moon calls your attention to the philosophies, places, mentors, and stories that can stretch your worldview. You may be pulled toward something foreign, unfamiliar, a risk of hope you haven’t dared to follow before. But this is not about escape. It’s about trusting your curiosity enough to let it become a compass.

Watch for: → Travel, teaching, publishing, or spiritual questions appearing → A desire to study something obscure or meaningful → Feeling emotionally tethered to a truth you can’t yet explain

Ritual: look up at the sky and name something you believe that no one taught you. That’s your North Star. Let it guide you now.

Sagittarius Sun & Rising

You’re not scared of endings but you are scared of losing control. And this Moon? She asks you to surrender control gently, not with panic, but with trust. She wraps her hands around the part of you that bargains, holds back, or calculates your vulnerability, and she says: What if intimacy wasn’t dangerous? This is a new beginning in the realm of shared energy, deep love, invisible exchanges. You may find yourself confronting a debt, merging lives or bank accounts, grieving what cannot be saved, or diving into something that demands all of you. It’s not about danger. It’s about depth. This is the kind of transformation that leaves you more alive, not less.

Watch for: → Honest conversations about sex, trust, power, or debt → Emotional clarity in long-term entanglements → The end of something that makes space for a more real version of love

Ritual: pour water into two glasses. Label one mine, the other ours. Pour them into a third and ask: What am I choosing to share, and why?

Capricorn Sun & Rising

You’ve been building alone for so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be held. This Moon comes bearing partnership, not just in love, but in presence. It reminds you that intimacy is not weakness. That collaboration does not cost you your autonomy. You are being invited to re-pattern how you relate. Not by effort, but by listening. Not by sacrifice, but by self-trust. This is the beginning of a new way of being chosen, one where you don’t have to abandon yourself to belong. You can be fully met only when you fully arrive.

Watch for: → A new relationship, contract, or relational dynamic forming → Clarity about what you will and won’t compromise anymore → Encounters that mirror the version of you you’re becoming

Ritual: sit with someone who sees you clearly. Without fixing, ask: How do you experience me when I’m being real? Then say thank you and believe them.

Aquarius Sun & Rising

The body has been whispering. This Moon turns up the volume to remind you that healing isn’t an idea, it’s a rhythm. A practice. A return. This is a new beginning in how you honor the vessel that carries you. How you work, how you rest, how you recover. You may notice shifts in health, routine, daily energy. But deeper than that, you may realize how much you've been holding in your muscles, your breath, your jaw. You don't need a better system. You need a softer one.

Watch for: → Health-related revelations, subtle or physical → A calling to be more present in your daily rituals → The urge to build a life that feels livable, not just impressive

Ritual: stretch for five minutes, not to become more flexible, but to meet yourself. Then ask your body what it wants from you this month.

Pisces Sun & Rising

The dream doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be yours. This New Moon kisses the corners of your creative life, your joy life, your romantic life, the parts of you that have longed to feel alive, not just useful. It’s a return to desire. Not lust but aliveness. This could be the beginning of a new romance, a new project, a new permission. You may suddenly remember how you used to express yourself before the world told you to be quiet. Don’t just follow the muse, become her.

Watch for: → Creative impulses or fertile, sensual energy blooming → The reemergence of childlike wonder or a literal child → Romance that doesn’t fix you, just mirrors you

Ritual: create something small and imperfect tonight: a song, a scribble, a spell. Let the mess be a message: joy lives here.

my book here :)

© original writing by @theskywithin — reposting or translating without credit is copyright infringement.

[toaarcan]

Thinking about Transformers: Decepticons (2007) again.

It's a more obscure bit of TF fiction, but basically it was a game released for the DS as a tie-in for the 07 movie. That sounds like a recipe for disaster, but the game is actually really fucking good.

The game and its Autobot counterpart, released concurrently, both play well and have some excellent voice acting (Cullen and Welker are there, of course, but so are Steve Blum, Keith David, Daniel Ross, etc), but I don't want to talk about that, I want to talk about the Decepticon version's story.

The game puts you in control of a rookie Decepticon soldier, armed with the unique ability to store multiple vehicle forms and switch between them almost on the fly. Initially, he serves as Starscream's protege, deployed to Earth to assist in the hunt for the Allspark, and also to ensure Megatron never awakens from his icy imprisonment.

Over the course of the game, the protagonist is gradually recruited into Megatron's cult of personality, primarily by Barricade, and slowly turns on Starscream until he finally decides to help revive Megatron instead. Megatron makes his triumphant return, swears vengeance on the Autobots, humanity, and Starscream... and then everyone dies.

Yeah, in the console version of the game, the Decepticon campaign is a pretty generic villain campaign ending. The Autobots all die, Megatron wins and claims the Allspark, and the Decepticons take over Earth.

The Decepticon story on DS is a grim deconstruction of the faction that shows their ideology to be a farce, frames their loyalty to their leader as the source of their downfall, and ends with only Megatron still alive.

At the start of the game, the board is set up so that Starscream is the leader of the Decepticons, Megatron disappeared into space in search of the Allspark thousands of years ago, and ended up frozen beneath the Hoover Dam, and Barricade, Brawl, and Blackout are desperately trying to find him. Also, this is early, early Bayverse lore, so Megatron is literally a spark-eating cannibal. That will be important later.

Midway through the second act, the protagonist asks Barricade why the other Decepticons view Megatron as so much better than Starscream. Barricade replies that it's because they know where they stand with Megatron. Starscream is, well, Starscream. A cowardly weasel who would kill you in your sleep. Megatron would still kill you, but he'd have the spine to do it to your face. Which is... better, somehow?

The thing is, while this explanation works on the protagonist, Barricade will later be proven almost entirely wrong.

Later, when the Decepticons head to the dam to free Megatron, Starscream finally arrives in person and orders the protagonist to kill Megatron before he can thaw out, to prevent him from ever being revived. This all but confirms Barricade's assessment of Starscream in the protagonist's eyes, and he chooses to side with his new comrades over his former mentor, helping them to release Megatron.

And it's then that we get our first look at this version of Megatron. Upon his revival, he discovers that his weapon chip has been removed, and he is unable to fire his guns this way, and so he sits back and waits for Blackout to bring it to him.

Now, that might seem normal, but not if you play both versions of the game.

A bunch of missions are either shared between both games, or really similar to each other. And this mission has a counterpart in the Autobot version where, upon escaping from Sector 7's captivity, Bumblebee finds that he has also lost his weapon chip.

Bumblebee promptly goes to reclaim it himself, and fights through the military vehicles trying to stop him with his bare hands.

Now, Bumblebee is the weakest character in both games. Megatron is the strongest. And yet it's Bumblebee who is willing to throw down unarmed while Megatron waits for his giant, fully-armed attack dog to get his guns back for him.

Megatron then hangs back after sending his troops out to hunt down the Allspark and Starscream, and he's almost immediately punished for it. As he finally decides to leave, he's shot down by Jazz, who has set up a battery of anti-aircraft turrets that will shoot Megatron out of the sky if he tries to leave.

Megatron proceeds to kill Jazz pretty swiftly, and eats him, marking the second death of the game (Ratchet presumably dies fighting the protagonist in the Qatar section), but this is just the first step.

Back in the city, Brawl and Ironhide kill each other. Brawl isn't shown dying on-screen, but given later dialogue, it's implied that he didn't make it. And it's then that Starscream makes his move and it all comes crashing down.

Starscream chases Bumblebee, who has the Allspark, across the city, eventually cornering him in a car park. He then proceeds to beat Bumblebee to death with ease. It's not a remotely hard fight. You're the second-best character in the game, he's the weakest.

With Bumblebee dead, Starscream claims the Allspark for himself. Blackout arrives to try and take it from him in the name of Megatron, and Starscream immediately kills him with a single shot, just as Barricade catches up.

Barricade suggests that Screamer come quietly, but Starscream points out that he has been leading the Decepticon Empire for countless millennia, and, unlike Megatron, successfully claimed the Allspark. But Barricade is blinded by his own fanaticism, and decides to try and bring Starscream in for treason. This goes poorly for him.

Starscream could have killed Barricade just as quickly as he already did to Blackout... but he doesn't. Instead, he takes the time to demonstrate why he was the second-in-command before Megatron's absence, and why he's held onto the leadership for all these years despite his low approval among other Decepticons, and he takes Barricade apart, leaving him dying on the floor as the protagonist arrives.

And to me, this is the first real hint that Barricade is wrong. Because while Starscream did in fact command his lieutenant to kill Megatron in his sleep... Starscream isn't actually wrong about anything he's said. He has been running the empire, and arguably built it himself, considering that the Cybertronians hadn't left their homeworld when Megatron vanished. He did achieve the long-term goal of the Decepticon faction, and contrary to the way he's characterised by Barricade, he did it by slaughtering an Autobot and two Decepticons face-to-face.

Barricade, with his dying words, tells the protagonist "Now you see what it is to be a Decepticon." He'll turn out to be wrong about that too.

The protagonist chases after Starscream, and accuses him of stealing power from the mighty, but at this point he's fully drinking the Megatron Kool-Aid.

And where is Megatron while his most loyal soldiers are dying for him, and trying to reclaim the Allspark for him? He's ignoring the whole thing to go and fight Optimus Prime.

Prime has a pretty minimal role in the game, ironically, with the lion's share of the focus being on the Decepticons destroying themselves, but he gets Megatron dead-to-rights with one of his lines during the fight: "All you know is destruction, you will never build an empire."

Megatron kills Prime, only to be blasted off his feet by Starscream, who challenges him to meet him in battle. Megatron recovers, and with the help of the protagonist, goes to meet that challenge.

Sure is strange, then, that the protagonist arrives first.

I pointed out before that Megatron hangs back a lot in this game. He sits around when his weapon chip is taken, despite a much weaker bot getting his own chip back himself. He hangs back when the other Decepticons depart from Hoover Dam, enabling Jazz to get the drop on him. He gets distracted by Optimus while the rest of his troops are actually fighting to reclaim the cube. And now, despite leaving at the same time and almost certainly having the faster vehicle mode (the protagonist is usually a helicopter at this point), Megatron is nowhere to be seen when the protagonist reaches Starscream.

This Megatron consistent leads from the rear. He hangs back, sends his soldiers in first, and then arrives to finish off the enemy after the fact. He's a long way from the bold, straightforward 'bot that Barricade describes.

The protagonist manages to wrest the Allspark away from Starscream, and slams it into his chest, but unlike in the movie, it actually only injures the protagonist, while Starscream only seems to get more powerful. Megatron finally shows up, and eventually manages to deal a fatal blow to Starscream. But Starscream remains defiant to the end, there's no grovelling or pleading for mercy, he just spits that there will always be someone to challenge his rule. Megatron dismisses that threat, and consumes Starscream's spark too, killing him, but destroying the Allspark in the process.

Megatron returns to the injured protagonist, who expresses relief at their victory, but mourns over the loss of Barricade, Blackout, and Brawl (his line "Barricade and the others..." is what leads me to assume that Brawl is also dead), only for Megatron to dismiss them, saying that if they were truly Decepticons, they would've survived, equating them to "a rust that must be stripped away," before including the protagonist in that number. The protagonist says he could be repaired, but Megatron refuses, calling it a waste of resources, and proceeds to tear apart and devour his last living soldier.

Barricade never knew where he truly stood with Megatron. None of them did. He believed that, in dying for Megatron, in valuing his loyalty to his leader over his own life, that he was a true Decepticon, only for Megatron himself to equate him and his fellow loyalists to basically a robot skin rash, and say they were never really Decepticons because they died. The protagonist is instrumental in Megatron's revival and his victory, he could very easily have followed Starscream's instruction and killed Megatron in his sleep, but that show of loyalty isn't enough. Surviving the backlash of the Allspark's destruction isn't enough. He's "weak," so he's disposable.

Barricade, Blackout, and Brawl are fanatically loyal to a violent monster that sees them as expendable tools at best, and have convinced themselves in their heads that he's this great, honourable warrior who speaks to them honestly, but he's just as much of a dirty fighter as Starscream, if not more so, and he doesn't care about any of them. And they pull the protagonist into their way of thinking, tell him that their way is the true way, and it's all wrong. If the protagonist had stuck by Starscream, they would've won and reclaimed the Allspark. Megatron, Barricade, Blackout and Brawl would die, but the faction as a whole would win.

The overall goal of reclaiming the Allspark is rendered impossible, basically because Megatron and co. didn't like the guy that achieved it, and so they die like bugs hitting a windscreen until Megatron kills him and destroys the Allspark forever. The Decepticon empire that Starscream has held together for thousands of years is doomed to crumble as its leader is killed and replaced by a rabid animal with cannibalistic tendencies.

Megatron wins the final battle, and claims victory. But his plans are ruined, his soldiers are dead, at least one of them by his own hand, and the Allspark is forever gone from his reach. He is a king of nothing, and it's blind devotion to him, and inability to accept a better alternative on the part of his followers that results in the ending being what it is.

[noor-shine]

An advice from the 🌑New Moon♋ of June~

The New Moon in Cancer on June 25th marks a quiet and intimate return to what truly matters. Together with Jupiter (in this sign from 9 June 2025 until 30 June 2026) gently invites us to accept ourselves for who we are.

So many events have taken place in these days! On June 21st, we celebrated Litha, and the night between June 23rd and 24th was the Saint John's Eve. Where I live, this is a night full of mystery and magic. Legend says that herbs gathered on this night possess healing and magical powers, because they are "bathed" in the dew of Saint John.

On this night, witches (viewed negatively through the Christianity) are unable to touch the ground. That’s why dew, herbs, and flowers gathered during this night become amulets that protect those who collect them.

Of course, these are beliefs that have blended with other traditions over the centuries, and it’s not a coincidence that the birth of Saint John the Baptist is placed on June 24th, exactly six months before the birth of Jesus Christ. Both are close to a Solstice, a key turning point in the Sun’s journey. (Just to be clear, this little story of mine is not meant to be against any religion! I simply wanted to share a local belief from my country that I find fascinating, a blend of stories, religions, anthropology, and myth.)

To celebrate these magical days, here again a little tarot game! Take a breath and choose a pile, may today’s New Moon speaks to you and reveal something important for your journey! 🧿

Noor~🪻

💌 Likes, comments and reblogs are always apreciated! 💌

🌑 Pile 1 The Empress reverse + Acceptance

You are going through a time when your inner energy is weak. You’re neglecting yourself, and this is leading to blockages in your projects or tensions in your relationships. It’s an invitation to pause, regain your inner strength, and reestablish a genuine balance between what you give and what you receive. Accept that you cannot control every aspect of your life, set aside your judgement of yourself and other. The goat in this card is depicted as a peaceful animal, but is capable of gracefully adapting to the harshest environments, embodying a balance between inner strength and natural harmony. You have so much to give yourself and to recognize. Love yourself as you are.

A self-care activity for you: Make a gratitude jar where you will write every day one thing that you're grateful for. The next New Moon read all of them!

🌑 Pile 2 The Star reverse + Forgive

This New Moon finds you with a lack of trust in the future, a sense of discouragement that leads to disconnection from your path and your values. There’s a strong self-judgment that borders on self-sabotage, pulling you into a feeling of hopelessness. Forgive yourself, let disperse the poison you carry, and reclaim your path. The snake and the symbol of the Triple Moon bring the message of embracing your shadow to be reborn stronger and more authentic.

A self-care activity for you: Write a diary or practice journaling to reconsider your goals and focus on what is important to you!

🌑 Pile 3 The Temperance reverse + Tribe

This past moon cycle has left you with an imbalance caused by excesses, stress, and confusion. Slow down and refocus on your needs, restoring harmony in your routine and relationships. The maiden in the Temperance is surrounded by the young women of the Tribe card: you aren’t alone on this path, friendly forces are on your side and can manifest in the material or spiritual world with synchronicities and lucid dreams. Listen these signs, and with patience and awareness, transform this phase into an opportunity for growth.

A self-care activity for you: Disconnect from social media for a few hours and meet a friend (or more!), confide your struggles and have a fun day together!

🔖Booking a tarot reading ~

🔖​My ko-fi ~

▫ The cute pearl divider is by @bronzewasp ▫ The Major Arcana and Oracle deck are by Loputyn

[stormyagetranslations]

Yasushi Nirasawa & Takaaki Utsunomiya Interview Translation

From the Undead: Green Blood art book.

The task of designing the Undead was carried out in a back-and-forth between Mr. Nirasawa and Producer Utsunomiya. We asked the two of them to share some stories from that time. The unused designs mentioned in this interview have been published in the following pages, starting on page 105.

First, please tell us about how you became involved with Kamen Rider Blade.

Nirasawa: I’d known (Tamotsu) Shinohara, who designed the Orphnocs for Kamen Rider 555, for some time. One day, he asked me if I’d like to work on next year’s Rider. That was a dream job for me, so I was delighted to accept it. The first time I met Utsunomiya was for our briefing session at a coffee shop in Ginza.

Utsunomiya: That’s right. Actually, Nirasawa had been recommended before. But to us, he’s a master, so we wondered if he would be able to take on the role. Then, he told me, “I want to do it,” so I thought, “Wow, score! I absolutely can’t let him go.” (laughs)

If Nirasawa hadn’t requested the job, you were considering trying to offer it to him.

Utsunomiya: I thought I would at least try asking. But Yasushi Nirasawa is a big name, so I wondered if he would accept…

Nirasawa: It’s not big.

Utsunomiya: Because of that, I was nervous to meet him for the first time…

Nirasawa: Likewise, I was nervous too.

Utsunomiya: At that first briefing session, Nirasawa brought two designs.

Nirasawa: Shinohara told me that if I had my own proof of concept I should bring it, so I drew Chameleon (pg. 116) and Octopus (pg. 115) and brought them. Then, he smoothly said, “Okay, let’s go along these lines.”

The concept was roughly established from the beginning.

Nirasawa: I wanted to use black as the base color and put studs on them. It was an impression of the original Shocker belt.

You said that since the Orphnocs used white and grey as base colors, this time you wanted to try using black.

Nirasawa: Since the Orphnocs were like stone statues, for the Undead I was going for “Hellraiser” or “Mad Max.”

Utsunomiya: In the case of the Undead, the designs were brilliant, but I actually think there was a great advancement in modeling techniques.

Nirasawa: I thought they’d make the black parts out of urethane foam or something, but I was glad they actually used leather. Even the studs weren’t polyurethane.

Utsunomiya: At Rainbow (model planning company), there were a lot of fans of Nirasawa, so I think they tried their best to faithfully recreate his ideas. Also, since it was shot on videotape, there would have been problems with the look of the texture if they’d used polyurethane.

Also, I imagine there would be limitations if it had to be worn during action scenes.

Utsunomiya: I prepared for things like that with action director (Takeshi) Miyazaki in the early stages.

Nirasawa: After all, the movement aspect is what matters. But when I told Shinohara about this, he said, “You shouldn’t worry about it that much.” I could hear God’s voice from both sides, and I was worried (laughs).

Utsunomiya: A characteristic of Nirasawa’s designs is a small waist. I wanted to recreate that somehow, but it was difficult. The suit actors hadn’t even been decided yet… Nirasawa was probably thinking, “too fat.”

Nirasawa: No, no!

Did you visit Rainbow at all?

Nirasawa: I stopped by once. It was pretty early on, when they were making Bat or Locust.

You said you drew two motifs and brought them to the first meeting, but did you draw them without any idea of what kind of piece they’d become?

Nirasawa: That’s right. I just wanted to draw a chameleon and a jellyfish, so I drew them and brought them with me (laughs).

Utsunomiya: The plan changed several times, but the fact that 52 monsters would appear and what their motifs would be were roughly decided in the early stages. We changed a few of them later in discussions with Bandai. We asked them to choose their favorite motif from among them. I felt sorry that we couldn’t draw motifs they liked. But Nirasawa graciously accepted their requests.

Nirasawa: If I remember correctly, the crane became a scarab beetle, and the black cat became a chameleon.

Utsunomiya: The choice of motifs was heavily influenced by “555,” so there are quite a lot of shared ones. As far as I know, this is the only show where all of the motifs were decided from the beginning.

What motifs were difficult to work on?

Nirasawa: Animals with hooves were tough, like deer… or maybe the cat. Like deer, I like that sort of cute creature, so I was sad to turn it into a monster. On the other hand, Shinohara is unbothered by that sort of thing, so I thought I would leave motifs like that to him. At first, we took turns doing it, but then he told me, “If you’ve come this far, go for it.” (laughs)

What motifs did you want to try doing?

Nirasawa: Paradoxa (praying mantis). There’s Chalice (Mantis Undead) in the show, but I wanted to try doing a different design, while still including the Chalice design on top of that.

Which is your favorite?

Nirasawa: I really like Mole. It looks like a soldier, and it’s simple. For some reason, the mole monsters, like Mogurang and Drill Mole¹, are blue. And following suit, this one is blue, too. I wanted them to make a soft vinyl figure of it, but I guess that didn’t happen (laughs). Even if we did a popularity contest, I think it would be quicker to count from the bottom.

Also, you frequently use skull motifs.

Nirasawa: The Undead are monsters associated with imagery of “death,” so I began frequently using centipedes and things like that as a symbol of the Undead.

This might be a weird question, but why do all of your designs face right?

Nirasawa: I think it’s mostly because I’m left-handed. Also, I decided to base the proportions and such on the first Chameleon I drew. In short, all of the Undead were born from Chameleon. Because they’re chameleons, it might be more accurate to say they’ve shape-shifted. (laughs)

The Undead planning sessions were mostly held with Utsunomiya.

Nirasawa: First, I received a fax from Utsunomiya. It would contain things like the motif, the story of that episode, and also the following developments they’d written, and that got me really inspired. When I got home from work and saw that I’d received a fax, I thought, “Ah! Instructions from Utsunomiya!” and it got my blood pumping (laughs). I wondered just what kinds of things would be written this time.

Utsunomiya: I sent more faxes than phone calls. Meetings would go late into the day. In the faxes, I’d write various things, like notes on my meetings with the writer and director, the motif is ____, whether the death would be quick or drawn out with tension, this design should have a boss-level feeling, things like that. But I didn’t really write many requests for what I wanted him to do. It’s not like I had zero, though.

Nirasawa: But I’m glad you sent faxes. If we had phone calls, it would’ve completely given away that I was nervous or excited. I’d be saying things like “Whaat?” or “Are you serious?” (laughs)

What was the most memorable part of these exchanges?

Utsunomiya: Joker for the movie. I received the design 5 minutes after I sent the fax (laughs).

Nirasawa: I knew the Joker would be appearing, so I already had a feeling of the direction I wanted to go in ahead of time. I wanted to use a longhorn beetle motif for the headgear, and a demeanor that resembled Hakaider (the evil warrior who appeared in “Android Kikaider”), so I made his internal organs visible in some places.

Utsunomiya: I really wanted to include some sort of Nirasawa Rider in the movie, and I was disappointed that I couldn’t.

Nirasawa: But that was reflected in the Trials. I didn’t think the Trials would appear that much, so I used things like Fake Kamen Rider and the Great Leader of Gel Shocker² as the motifs. One thing that I strongly remember from that time was that for one of them, I used Satan Bug (Kamen Rider Stronger)³ as a motif. When I told Utsunomiya about it, he asked, “Is that Cloth?” and I was personally very amused. Utsunomiya looks cool, but he’s really knowledgeable about “Kamen Rider” (laughs). I was really happy to learn that.

Utsunomiya: I’d seen it in a book or something before, and I got a strong impression of it.

Nirasawa: I remember that the movie was difficult because there were so many of them. If I remember correctly, we started working on it before the Golden Week holidays in May⁴, and we finished the first week of June.

Utsunomiya: Actually, there were more. There were a few monsters that got rejected.

Nirasawa: Cobra, or something. It made it to a rough sketch, but that was it.

Utsunomiya: I really wanted to do it without reusing any monsters, though.

The final boss, Fourteen, was the only fully CGI monster.

Utsunomiya: The first version was designed so that a person could be inside. But it was going to be CGI, so we were asked to redraw it.

Looking at your commentary on the designs, several costumes were revised, but did you have any other challenges with the designs?

Nirasawa: I don’t remember struggling. Actually, I had fun.

Utsunomiya: We had discussed ahead of time that there would be more revisions in the second half. As an example that’s easy to understand: for the Darkroaches that appeared in the final series of episodes, we recolored the Albiroaches from the movie, and we wanted to make not only the body but also the eyes green. When we discussed it with Rainbow, they told us, “We can’t do that.” But when we persistently asked the person in charge on set, they did it.

Nirasawa: They turned out to be a nice clear green.

Utsunomiya: We were really grateful. I might have been a little angry, though (laughs).

Nirasawa: How many of them were there?

Utsunomiya: There were six. Two of them had wings that opened.

Also, you designed not only the Undead, but various other things like the Undead Buckle.

Nirasawa: There was also the stone slab that appeared near the end. Director (Takao) Nagaishi requested that it be like a monolith, and he told me to twist it a little more, so I tried to “twist” it exactly like he asked (laughs). The staff called it “twisted konjak.”

Utsunomiya: At first, we planned to make it out of urethane foam, but if we did that, we wouldn’t be able to do any close-ups because of how the texture would look, so we decided to make it out of fiber reinforced plastic. Nirasawa also gave us various other ideas. It had been established that Undead can’t die, which is fine, but how would they be able to defeat them? At first, we thought they could explode and be sealed in a card, and then Director Ishida had the idea of sticking a card in them and sucking them in, which prompted the idea of the buckle opening. So, we ended up with the buckle opening and sticking the card in it.

Nirasawa: The card-throwing action was cool, too.

Utsunomiya: Also, you gave us instructions for the Bat Undead’s wings to move.

Nirasawa: That had just been on “National Geographic,” so I used that. It was recreated in the show, which made me happy.

This might be a bit of a change of subject, but what memories do you two have of “Kamen Rider?”

Nirasawa: Well, I was in the generation that grew up with it.

Utsunomiya: To be honest, I didn’t know much about it. I was born in 1970, so I have some vague memories of “Kamen Rider Amazon” and “Stronger.” If anything, “Himitsu Sentai Goranger” probably left the strongest impression on me. When it came to “Kamen Rider,” I mostly learned about it through reading books later on. It was the same with Satan from earlier. I remember being surprised that that was the final boss… (laughs)

Speaking of which, what’s your favorite monster?

Nirasawa: I was the most shocked by Ganikoumoru (Kamen Rider 1971), the first monster of Gel Shocker, and the storyline in which he kills off the remnants of Shocker one after the other. Also, the two motifs wasn’t exactly half and half, but mixed together, and the asymmetrical design was the best. It’s not Ganikoumori, it’s Ganikoumoru. I also like the use of the colors, and that the blank part on the right shoulder is slanted. I think that must be the “ru” (laughs)⁵. I like the monsters of Gel Shocker, so I was happy with Titan. That was a fusion of the Chameleon and Scorpion monsters. I thought, “we can have Gel Shocker monsters in this world.”

Utsunomiya: From the start, we decided that there would be 53 Undead, including the Joker, so I thought having compound or man-made Undead would be okay.

Nirasawa: I always thought those kinds of monsters were designed by Ishinomori, but fairly recently I learned that Akira Takahashi was in charge of the modeling design. For example, Sea Snake Man (Kamen Rider 1971) has a face that’s not a sea snake at all, no matter how you look at it. But that was Takahashi’s interpretation. Worm Man (Kamen Rider 1971) also deliberately had a tear in his side, so the worms inside could peek out. Also, the use of color for Kamakubikame (Kamen Rider V3), the proportions of purple, yellow-green, and orange have a Western-style feel to them. According to him, since it was a children’s show character, he could have done something simple, but no, this is how a monster should look. I was definitely influenced by Takahashi to make the Undead asymmetrical. The Eagle Undead is Gilgaras, and the Jaguar Undead is Jaguarman⁶ (laughs). It’s my homage.

Utsunomiya: I wish I had replaced the feathers of the Eagle Undead. I regret not including a scene of the feathers growing, because it would’ve looked more realistic.

Nirasawa: I wanted to have the eagle land on top of the Earth. Doing that would create a Shocker mark, right? (laughs) I tried doing a rough sketch with that in mind.

Utsunomiya: Since he’d gone to the trouble of drawing it for me, I showed it to the production team, but they couldn’t find a good place to film it.

Nirasawa: It wasn’t much of a replacement, but I tried putting a Shocker band on the left arm.

Utsunomiya: That was still good.

Nirasawa: I got advice from Shinohara that I shouldn’t include many motifs from existing works, but it was my first project, after all, so I couldn’t help it.

What’s the appeal of Nirasawa’s designs from the producer’s perspective?

Utsunomiya: Personally, I think it’s better for a monster to be scary. But it’s a morning show, so there were limitations. Despite that, they’re stylish. And most importantly, they’re cool. That’s their greatest appeal. I’m just grateful that those exquisite lines have been beautifully reproduced. I would love the chance to work together again. Next time I definitely want to ask for a design with an original motif.

June 9, 2006・At Toei Studios

T/N 1: From Kamen Rider (1971) and Kamen Rider V3, respectively. 2: “Fake Kamen Rider” refers to the Shocker Riders. Both are from Kamen Rider 1971 3: The Great Leader of Black Satan from Kamen Rider Stronger. 4: Takes place the first week of May. 5: “Ganikoumoru” (ガニコウモル) is a combination of “kani” (カニ - crab) and “koumori” (コウモリ - bat), with the “ka” カ syllable changed to “ga” ガ and “ri” リ changed to “ru” ル 6: From Kamen Rider 1971. 7:

[otp-after-dark]

PLEASE, please Osblaines read this one — I highly recommend it. It had me bawling.

(God, I hate the Handmaid’s Tale writers.)

I loved it so much I had to share why this three-part fan fic resonated so deeply with me and made me remember why I fell in love with this novel and the characters in it. It brought me back to the real heart of Atwood’s story: the one about agency, survival, unconventional love, and the quiet defiance of building something entirely your own.

Castles in the Air does what the show flat-out refused to do: it writes June and Nick not just as a couple, but as true partners. It builds a life for them that isn’t conventional, clean, or easy but it’s honest, free, and chosen. This fic gave me everything canon took away.

There’s a version of The Handmaid’s Tale that remembered what it started as: not just a dystopia, not just a warning, but a rebellion against every “right way” a woman is told to live. A story that gave space for love that didn’t follow the rules. For women who don’t make the choices the world wants them to make. The show used to be that story. And then it wasn’t.

But this fic is.

Set after Season 3, Castles in the Air picks up where the real story should have: with Nick making a choice. Not just for June, but for himself. To step outside the structures he helped dismantle. To be part of something better. To fight, not just for the woman he loves, but alongside her. And not in some idealized way. This fic gets messy. Their relationship isn’t picture-perfect. It’s strained by trauma, guilt, grief, old wounds, and impossible choices. But they stay. They talk. They listen. And for once, the words aren’t one-sided.

What moved me so much is that this fic lets Nick finally say what the show never allowed him to: how deeply June’s tunnel vision has affected him, how often he’s been asked to sacrifice without being considered, how her choices, even the brave ones, have sometimes come at an unbearable cost to him. And the best part? The fic doesn’t frame him as wrong for saying so. He’s not punished. He’s heard.

And June—God, June—is so well written here. Still fierce, still raw, still capable of burning down everything in her path for the people she loves. But here she’s forced to sit with that. To look at how that fire has hurt the people closest to her. There’s a period of separation between them that just wrecked me but it’s necessary. It’s not melodrama. It’s growth. When they come back together, it’s because they’ve both chosen it. Not because they have to. Not because they’re stuck. Because it’s what they want.

This fic doesn’t just give them love—it gives them freedom. Not the hollow kind the show teases, where everyone ends up in Canada as proof they’re safe. This is a different kind of freedom. One built on mutual trust, shared purpose, and the radical act of saying:

We don’t have to follow the rules. We don’t have to live how people expect us to. We can build something real, even if it doesn’t look like what the world says a family should be.

And oh my god, the ending. I won’t spoil it, but it’s so in line with what Atwood was getting at. June choosing a path that’s uncertain, imperfect—but hers. Choosing love that’s not safe, but true. It’s powerful in the quietest way. The kind of ending where you finally exhale and realize just how long you’ve been holding your breath.

Also, the side characters? Chef’s kiss. Luke is given depth and care. He’s not villainized but he’s not centered either. His grief is real, and his arc feels earned, even as it makes clear that his and June’s lives are no longer aligned. And Beth—oh my god, BETH. She’s smart, she’s direct, she calls June out when she needs it and supports her when it matters. She’s the perfect grounding force in all this chaos.

In the end, it doesn’t just give Nick and June a future, it gives them a choice. And more importantly, it lets June reclaim something the show tried to take from her: the right to define happiness on her own terms. Not what the world expects. Not what a good mother or good survivor is supposed to want. Just what she wants.

This fic broke my heart and then put it back together in a way canon never tried to. Please read it.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷 sooooo excited about both of these

Thank you!!!

72 or 500 for 💔:

---

“R-really?” Diane asks. “Worse than being trapped under a flaming garage in a bomb shelter?”

“Oh, easily,” Buck says. 

Easily and very, very recently, in fact. But if he keeps talking then he doesn’t have to think about that. 

“Like what?” Diane asks.

Fantastic question, Diane.

“Well-”

“Oh, we don’t need to go there,” Eddie interjects. 

“No!” Diane argues. “Please. I need a distraction. So, um… So either that or something else. Please.”

Eddie sighs, relenting. “Fine. Terrify her.”

Buck smiles. This is perfect. If he talks about everything but the lab, then he doesn’t have to think about the lab or how it had concrete walls reminiscent of this in places. If he talks for as long as he possibly can, they’ll either rescue them or he’ll run out of oxygen and die. Either way! 

“Would you like that chronologically or in order of severity?” Buck asks Diane. 

“I’m a history teacher,” Diane replies. “So chronologically.”

“Wonderful,” Buck says. “So in January of 2018 I almost went down in a sinking plane…”

▪️▪️▪️

Eddie spends about ten minutes being badly annoyed by Buck’s incessant storytelling and Diane’s eager appreciation of it. Like, couldn’t they all just choose to shut the fuck up and wait this out in companionable silence? Why is that so hard?

Eddie’s irritation switches to curiosity and confusion, and perhaps a bit of sadness, when he realizes a pattern. Buck is editing every single story. Even the ones where Eddie wasn’t there to experience it firsthand, he can tell. Because he’s heard them all before. Buck has shared all his mishaps and adventures with Eddie, over the years. Almost all his stories, to some degree, include Bobby.

Today, not a single one does.

It starts with the plane crash. Eddie knows that the only reason Buck was ever at risk of drowning that night was because he stayed behind, ignoring Bobby’s evacuation orders, when he noticed Bobby hadn’t evacuated. Classic Buck. Apparently even more classic Buck pre-Eddie meeting him. Today, the motivations of that story are a lot less clear. Everything is told in passive voice. Yes, Eddie remembers that term from English class, thank you very much. 

“We were told we had to evacuate the plane,” Buck explains. “But not everyone did. A passenger was still stuck. So what was I gonna do? Leave someone on our team there? No way! But yeah… The whole cabin was filling up with water and it was pretty scary for a minute there.”

Diane watches him with wide-eyed appreciation. 

“Did your whole team get out?” She asks. “Did the passenger?”

“Oh, yeah,” Buck nods. “She was rescued.” Not Bobby told them to evacuate. Not Bobby rescued the passenger.

---

66 or 500 for 🪷:

---

“Right,” Shannon whispers. “Is… Is Eddie not nearby?”

It’s hard to imagine Eddie leaving Chris in this city. She knows he never loved the idea of LA, but he had seemed to like it once he was here. Would he really go back to Texas the moment Chris hit voting age? 

“He is,” Chris answers simply. 

“Is he working?” Shannon asks. 

“I don’t think he works today,” Chris replies, still looking at his phone. One of the strange ones with no buttons. 

“Okay, uh…” Shannon tries not to sound demanding. “Can we ask him to come instead? I-I think… Well, I’d just feel better if we did that.”

Chris shakes his head, adamant. 

“No,” he says. “No, I can’t just… No. We’ll go back to my place. I’ll call him. I’ll get him to come over alone, and then… And then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Get him to come over alone. 

“Ah,” Shannon says. There’s another wife. 

Of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? She wouldn’t want him to be alone for over a decade and a half. She is happy to hear he’s moved on. She’s not trying to get him back. She asked him for a divorce. He’s just the only person she knows. Because she doesn’t know Chris. Not like this. 

“Could I just talk to him?” Shannon asks.

Chris looks at her. 

“He’s going to freak out.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“You don’t,” Christopher says. “I need to… I need to make sure he’s not with…”

With his wife.

“With my sister,” Chris says eventually. 

Shannon’s shoulders slump. Oh. A sister. Eddie has another kid. Well, of course he does. And why not? He’s a great father. Hadn’t he just said he would have been happy to have another kid with Shannon? Last night? Sixteen years ago…

“Your sister,” Shannon repeats gently.

“She’s only seven,” Chris says. “I don’t… I don’t want to freak her out. So if we could please just do this in a way that… That protects her, okay? She knows who you are and what happened to you.”

Something about this strikes Shannon as interesting. She obviously doesn’t know this little girl. Maybe she’s timid and easily distressed, and Christopher’s concerns are rather straightforward. But, the truth is, Shannon is just some stranger she must have heard stories about. Someone long gone. A ghost in her older brother’s history.

[the-ruby-enchanter]

You're no feminist. You're not only placing blame of Tamlin onto Feyre but you're saying that Feyre's revenge was stupid /petty as if he wasn't @busing her and his ugly lapdog was just watching it all fall apart . Just like that boy did with his mom .

Rhys's sister ain't alive that nasty man's actions caused her to die . Some of you need to know how to comprehend material . Her head was floating down a river , Tamlin is nasty and cruel person . His soulmate is Lucien and only Lucien

"When you only interact with people who share the exact same opinion as you... Same favorite characters, same takes, same echo chamber where you can throw even your most delulu theories around without risking anyone throw free hate... sounds cozy, right?

But even then — even in your carefully curated comfort zone — people still find the time to crawl into your inboxe just to send this kind of messages over fictional characters. 🙃 Wow. How great!"

Let me say it louder for the ones in the back (and I’ll keep saying it, again and again):

The way I perceive a story, its characters, its events: that interpretation belongs to me. Not you. Not your circle. Me.

That’s the entire point of fiction! It’s meant to spark different perspectives, emotions, even contradictions.

We’re human beings, not clones. We think differently. So if you need everyone to agree with your opinion 100% of the time… you’re not looking for conversation, you’re looking for a cult.

And oh, don’t come at my boys just because you lack the imagination or empathy to put yourself in their shoes — especially when we never got to hear their full stories.

You don’t know what Lucien went through in Beron’s house. You don’t know if he exchanged messages with his mother in secret, living under the constant threat of a powerful, abusive High Lord. What exactly do you expect him to do? Stand up and die for rebellion while no one even sees it?

And for my lovely blondie Tamlin — you’re so quick to condemn him while you forgave Rhysand in a heartbeat, even though he actually abused and sexually harassed Feyre Under the Mountain. But I guess it’s fine now because he “had a reason,” right? Because we heard his story.

But what about Tamlin’s story? What if, for just one second, you considered what he went through?

You really think Amarantha, who lusted after him since his childhood, wouldn’t do horrible things to him once she had him caged like a trophy in her court? You think he came out of that untouched?

Let me remind you: it was Rhys who willingly offered his “services” to Amarantha.

Tamlin rejected her for years. And still ended up her prisoner.

Now let’s get real for a sec:

Questioning my feminism because I see nuance in a male character? That’s not only childish, it’s embarrassing.

Real feminism is about advocating for all people — women, men, everyone in between — especially when they’re misunderstood or mistreated.

Sometimes men are victims. Sometimes they’re trapped by the way a story is told. And recognizing that doesn’t make me any less feminist.

If your feminism only supports women who dress a certain way, act certain way, think a certain way, or hate the “right” characters… then it’s not feminism. It’s just another form of control.

(It's just like the kind that supports “freedom” when women can wear what ever she want until she choose to wear a hijab and cover her self, that suddenly doesn’t count as freedom anymore, I'm not saying you do that but the way you persieve things hit the same way)

Also, can we talk about the joykiller you are for a moment?

I adore the theory that Tamlin and Rhys’s sister were old lovers and that she might come back as his mate. I love it. It makes so much sense to me.

You don’t have to agree. But messaging people just to tell them their theory is “wrong” or “won’t happen” , are you allergic to fun?

If you don’t like it, scroll. It’s free. No one’s forcing you to engage.

And lastly, It’s a real shame you messaged me under “anonymous.”

Because people like me? 😇 When we disagree with someone’s opinion, we either ignore, scroll past, or worst case hit block.

We don’t send sneaky little anonymous hate messages like cowards.

Have a beautiful day. Or don’t. That’s up to you. ✌️

[carolldesign]

🏳️‍🌈 Pride makeup and genetics set 🏳️‍🌈

This set contains: 🏳️‍🌈 A 4-swatch face paint eye set inspired by different pride flag colours 🏳️‍🌈 A 4-swatch white eyeliner with different pride flag details 🏳️‍🌈 A 9-swatch shadow topper with colorful glitters in different shades of rainbow

All files are available for download exclusively on The Sims Resource.

➡️ Download eyeshadow topper

➡️ Download eyes

➡️ Download eyeliner

(PR)

TSR was kind enough to share a discount code for their VIP subscription:

❤️ SHOP_Caroll9112 ❤️

For $6 off (20% off ) your annual subscription including cool perks like no ads and waiting time to download your fav things and download basket! More instructions how to redeem it are on my linktree and in my highlight stories on IG❤️

Choosing my code allows me to continue creating for you - thanks for supporting me ❤️

♥ The Sims Resource

♥ Curseforge

♥ Instagram

♥ Facebook

♥ Twitter

♥ Pinterest

♥ Twitch

♥ Mod Collective

♥ Patreon (currently unpublished)

I use an array of CC from different sources. For my list of creators I use - refer to my WCIF page:

✨ click here✨