#with a lot of chaos flying around and burning stuff

[better-setterv2]

Hiiii! Can you do a post-breakup fluff with Lewis? No heavy reason like cheating for the breakup. But then they end up in bed again (Idk how but maybe after getting their own things from their apartment or something). I thought this was pretty funny. Thanks a lot!

𝒲𝒽𝑜 ��𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝒢𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒, 𝑅𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉?

Authors Note: Hi all! Here’s another request completed! Literally finished this while watching Monaco FP3. Enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: A quiet breakup leaves Lewis and the reader aching in silence, still deeply in love.

Warnings: sexual content, mild swearing

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It wasn’t a dramatic ending.

No shouting. No slamming doors. No sharp words flung like knives across the room.

Just silence.

The kind that stretches and settles into your bones, like winter. The kind that feels like the aftermath of something you can’t name until it’s already broken.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, fingers twisting the soft cotton. You couldn’t meet his eyes not yet. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, to speak, to think clearly.

Across the room, Lewis stood with his back to you, posture tense, arms folded so tightly across his chest it was like he was trying to keep himself from splintering. He was staring out the window, but his eyes weren’t really seeing anything just the hazy, golden blur of city lights bleeding across the glass, blinking like faraway signals neither of you had time to answer.

“I’m not angry,” you said finally. Quiet. Barely audible.

The words felt raw, scraped from the bottom of your throat.

“I don’t think I even have the energy to be.”

He breathed out slowly, shoulders sinking an inch. It sounded like surrender. Like he’d been holding that air for far too long.

“I know,” he said, voice low and dull. “Me neither.”

That somehow hurt more.

Because anger could’ve meant there was something left to fight for. Something to throw your hearts against, something worth the storm. But this? This was just tiredness. Two people who were still in love, but too drained to keep going. Too burned out to find each other in the chaos.

You looked down at the small, half-hearted pile of clothes you’d folded more out of habit than intention. A pair of leggings. Two t-shirts. Your favourite hoodie, the one that always ended up on Lewis’s side of the bed when you weren’t home. You hadn’t even touched your skincare stuff in the bathroom. You couldn’t bear the image of wiping yourself completely out of the apartment, like you’d never existed here. Like you hadn’t once been part of everything.

It was all too fast and too slow, at the same time.

“I kept thinking things would calm down,” you murmured. “That we’d get a week or a weekend just something. But it never came.”

Lewis finally turned around. His eyes were darker than usual, ringed with exhaustion and sadness. His mouth opened, then closed again like there was too much to say and no good place to start.

“We just lost the rhythm,” he said eventually, voice thick.

Like that was enough of an explanation.

“I don’t know when it started. One missed call. One rescheduled dinner. Then it was all the time.”

You nodded; lips pressed into a thin line.

“We stopped showing up.”

It was true. He was always flying off to Bahrain, to Monaco, to press tours, to test tracks. And you were buried under case files, essays, deadlines, trying to meet expectations neither of you had set but both felt bound to. It got harder to find the space where just you two existed no cameras, no laptops, no flight itineraries.

There were no screaming matches. No dramatic accusations. Just long stretches of not talking, not touching, falling asleep with your backs to each other because exhaustion kept replacing intimacy.

“I’d wake up and the bed would already be cold,” you whispered. “And by the time I got home, you were on the other side of the world.”

Lewis looked down, jaw clenched.

“And when I’d finally land, I’d watch you sleeping on the couch in your work clothes, papers still in your lap,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired.”

You blinked, your eyes burning.

“I was. So were you.”

Neither of you said it, but the word hovered - breakup. It clung to the walls like dust. Not space. Not a pause. Not a trial.

This was the end of something you hadn’t wanted to end.

Just then, the soft clack of nails on the hardwood echoed in the room. Roscoe trotted in from the hallway, his tongue hanging out slightly, ears perked.

His gaze moved between the two of you, then landed on the bag.

He stopped.

He tilted his head, confused, like something was off but he couldn’t make sense of it.

Then he padded over to you and nudged his nose into your thigh.

You inhaled sharply, the ache in your chest tightening like a vice.

“Hey, Ros,” you said, voice cracking. You bent down, burying your hands in his fur, your face pressed into the warmth of his neck. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

He whined, low and distressed, and pawed gently at your leg, then sniffed your bag and let out another, longer whimper the kind he made when you left for too long.

He knew.

He didn’t understand why, but he knew this wasn’t just a weekend trip.

Lewis crouched beside you, one hand resting on Roscoe’s back, the other brushing yours for half a second before retreating like it had never happened.

You didn’t move away.

“I’ll take care of him,” he said softly, like a promise. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

You nodded, swallowing the sob rising in your throat. “Tell him I love him. That I’ll - I’ll see him again. One day.”

Lewis looked up at you. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted like he wanted to say something else, something big, something meaningful. But instead, he offered a small, broken smile.

“He’s going to wait by the door. Every night.”

Your face crumpled.

You imagined it too vividly of Roscoe sitting patiently by the door, tail wagging when keys jingled outside, only for them not to be yours. Curling up in your old spot on the couch. Sniffing around the apartment for your scent. Carrying your sock between his teeth because it still smelled like you.

That did what nothing else had managed to do.

It shattered you.

You pressed one final kiss to his head, murmured something just for him, and stood up on unsteady legs. Lewis rose too, walking you to the door, silent beside you. He didn’t touch your arm. Didn’t ask you to stay.

Because he knew, too.

It wasn’t about love. That was still there, raw and aching. But sometimes love wasn’t enough when time kept running out, over and over again.

You reached the door and hesitated, your hand on the knob. Every part of you screamed don’t go, but none of it was louder than the part that whispered this isn’t working anymore.

Behind you, Roscoe let out one final, low whine. The kind that sounded like goodbye.

You turned the knob. The door opened with a soft click.

And then you stepped through it.

The sound of it closing behind you was louder than anything.

You stood in the hallway, frozen. Pressed your forehead to the cool wood, let your eyes fall shut.

And for the first time in months after all the near-misses, all the half-finished conversations, all the long-distance ache - you cried.

Not the quiet, restrained kind.

You cried like you meant it. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

One Week Later

The apartment was too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that meant rest or calm. No, this was the kind that hummed with absence. That settled into the floorboards and echoed in the walls, like a house holding its breath.

Lewis stood in the middle of the living room, barefoot, still in the same joggers and hoodie he’d worn to the gym hours ago. A mug of tea sat cooling in his hand, untouched. The steam had long since faded, leaving behind a bitter sip he wouldn’t drink but couldn’t throw away.

His eyes wandered to the couch.

The throw blanket was still there - the soft, knitted one you always stole from his side. It was folded, but unevenly, one corner tucked into the cushion like it had been caught mid-movement. It still smelled like your perfume. Subtle. Clean. Comforting. The way you used to smell when you curled up beside him after a long day, your limbs tangling into his like puzzle pieces that had always belonged together.

He hadn’t had the heart to move it.

Roscoe lay curled up by the front door again, just like he had the night you left. His head was resting on his paws, ears twitching slightly at every footstep or rustle from the hallway. He no longer barked. Not even a whine. Just waited. Quiet. Still. Like he didn’t want to miss it, in case this time finally it was you coming home.

Lewis exhaled, slow and tired, sinking into the couch like it took effort just to sit. He rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the now-lukewarm mug between his hands. His fingers were shaking, but not from exhaustion. It was something heavier. Something that lived in his chest and pressed into his ribs every time he thought about you.

His phone lay face-down on the coffee table.

He hadn’t turned it off he wasn’t ready for that level of finalitybut he couldn’t bear to look at the screen anymore either. Every time it lit up, his heart jumped, only to crash when it wasn’t your name. Every hour he hadn’t heard from you stretched longer than the last. Each day felt like trying to breathe underwater.

You hadn’t texted.

He didn’t blame you. If he were being honest, he didn’t even know what he would say if you had. But that didn’t stop the aching hope that maybe you’d appear anyway. Just your name. One message. Something.

Anything.

You weren’t doing much better.

Your flat was a mess of half-unpacked boxes and untouched routines. There was a small pile of laundry you couldn’t bring yourself to fold. A half-eaten bowl of cereal on the kitchen table, soggy and forgotten. Mugs lined the counter, mostly filled with cold tea you never finished.

You hadn’t slept well in days. Not really.

The bed was too big without him. Too cold. You kept rolling over expecting to bump into the solid, familiar warmth of his body. His arm slung around your waist. The sound of his slow, steady breathing. But there was nothing. Just your own heartbeat and the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Your Spotify kept betraying you.

No matter how many times you tried to curate a new playlist, some old song always snuck through. The one he used to hum while brushing his teeth. The one that played the first night you danced in the living room barefoot, wine-drunk and laughing. The one that made him smile so softly you fell in love with him all over again.

You skipped it. Then the next. And the next.

Eventually, you turned the music off completely and sat in silence. But even that wasn’t safe.

Your silence had a shape now. And it looked like Lewis.

Lewis stared at the photo frame on the shelf the one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to move. It was a candid; one you didn’t even know he’d taken. You were sitting on the balcony, hair a mess, wearing his hoodie and squinting against the sun, a cup of coffee in your hands. You were laughing at something. Probably something dumb he’d said. But it was real. You looked happy.

You looked like home.

He reached for the frame, thumb brushing against the glass. He missed you in stupid, mundane ways. In the way you filled up space just by being in it. In the way his mornings felt brighter when he woke up beside you, even if he had to leave for a flight at 5 a.m. In the way the air in this place felt lighter when you were around.

Now it just felt heavy.

You missed him in fragments.

The way he would instinctively reach out for your hand whenever you crossed the street, even if it was empty. The quiet hum of his voice when he read your notes aloud to help you study. The smell of his cologne lingering in the hallway long after he left. The way he always knew when you needed space and when you needed him to pull you closer without asking.

You missed the man behind the headlines.

The one who carried your groceries when your back hurt. Who took Roscoe to the groomer because you couldn’t deal with the shedding. Who left notes in your textbooks during your exam season, each one sillier than the last.

You didn’t just miss being in love. You missed being known like that.

Neither of you had said the word breakup out loud. But the world had moved on like it had been decided. Like the silence between you had sealed it.

He gave a vague excuse about needing to stay close to London. They didn’t question him, but they noticed.

You hadn’t gone to the study group you organised. Just stared at your laptop screen, the words on the page swimming, meaningless. Every essay felt like it was asking the wrong question. Every sentence led back to him.

Time was supposed to make things clearer. To soften the edges.

But every passing day only made it more obvious this wasn’t the life either of you wanted. Not like this. Not without each other.

You were just tired people who let the exhaustion win. Who let silence do the talking because talking hurt too much. But the truth was simple:

You still loved him. He still loved you.

And in the stillness that followed everything else, you both began to understand:

Silence wasn’t healing.

It was punishment.

It was regret with a slow heartbeat.

Lewis turned his phone over.

His thumb hovered over your name in his favourites list. Not to call. Not yet. Just to look. To remind himself you were still out there. That maybe, in your own quiet corner of the world, you were thinking about him too.

You stared at your phone for the tenth time that hour. Your thumb moved to open a blank text.

Just a few words. Nothing huge. Just...

“Are you okay?”

Or maybe...

“I miss you.”

Or maybe just...

“Come home.”

You typed. Deleted. Typed again. Then stopped.

Somewhere, not far away, Lewis was doing the same thing.

Two people. Two screens. Two broken hearts still beating for each other.

Neither of you hit send.

But both of you were almost there.

And maybe tomorrow...one of you would. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The door to your former apartment groaned open, the familiar weight of it pushing against your hip as you stepped inside. Your keys clinked into the little bowl by the entrance like they always had even though this wasn’t your place anymore.

It still smelled like him.

That warm, signature blend of clean linen, bergamot, and whatever cologne Lewis always wore that made strangers lean in and ask, “What is that?” You used to tease him that it was somehow infused into the walls and now, standing here again after weeks apart, it hit you like a punch to the chest.

You paused, halfway out of your shoes, letting the silence wrap around you. The quiet wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty, but it hummed with the weight of familiarity. The kind that settled into your bones. Your fingers hovered on the laces before you gave up and stepped out barefoot, the hardwood cool beneath your feet.

Muscle memory guided you even now. You dropped your tote bag by the arm of the couch, tugged your sleeves down past your palms like you always did when your hands itched with nerves, and padded toward the hallway.

And stopped dead.

He was here.

Lewis was in the bedroom, back slightly hunched as he bent over a cardboard box. His broad shoulders were bare because apparently heartbreak had robbed him of a shirt but not his dedication to early morning workouts. His curls were still damp, clinging to the nape of his neck like he’d just showered. He hadn’t heard you yet.

But someone else had.

A skitter of nails on hardwood echoed down the hall, and then Roscoe came flying around the corner, a streak of fur and sound. He barked a single, sharp cry before launching himself at you with a kind of desperate joy that cracked something inside your chest.

“Ros—” you barely managed before you were hit by sixty pounds of pure loyalty and emotion. He whined loudly, circling your legs, pawing at your knees, trying to climb up into your arms as if he could physically pull you back into his world.

You dropped down instantly, burying your face into the thick folds of his neck. The smell of dog shampoo and something distinctly him - Lewis, this home, this chapter of your life filled your senses.

“Oh, baby,” you whispered, voice breaking as your eyes stung. “I missed you so much.”

Roscoe whimpered in return, nudging your cheek with his snout like he was checking to see if you were real. Like he had been waiting every day for this moment just like you.

Your fingers curled into his fur as he pressed closer, his body trembling with excitement. You stayed there a moment longer than you should have, grounding yourself in the only thing that hadn’t changed.

And then Lewis turned around.

He was still holding the box, forgotten in his hands, his eyes fixed on you like he wasn’t quite sure if you were real either. His expression was unreadable for a second then it cracked, just a little, like something in him had softened the second you walked through the door.

“I didn’t think you’d come by today,” he said finally, voice rough, like it hadn’t been used in hours. Or maybe like he hadn’t said much since you left.

“I texted you,” you murmured, still on the floor, one hand buried in Roscoe’s fur. “You left your charger…and like, half your sunglasses in my car. And I forgot some of my necessities…”

“You’re right. Can’t leave without my personality.”

A huff escaped you startled and involuntary. Of course he was still funny. Of course, he still had that timing, still knew exactly how to slip past your defences like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

“I was packing up the rest of your stuff,” he added, gesturing toward the bed. “Didn’t want you to have to dig through everything.”

You glanced over. Inside the box were your favourite sweatpants, the tea you always kept hidden in the pantry behind the protein powder, your pillow the one he used to hug to his chest when you were out of town. The one he used to claim still smelled like you, even when you hadn’t stayed the night in weeks.

The care he’d taken with it all made your throat ache.

“Thanks,” you said softly, rising to your feet.

Roscoe stuck close as you moved, leaning into your leg like he was scared you’d disappear again. You absently ran your fingers through his fur, your gaze flitting back to Lewis. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

Like if he didn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart.

“You want tea?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence with something so simple, so him, it caught you off guard. “I, uh…I still have that depressing chamomile you like.”

Your brows lifted, just slightly. “You mean the one that’s calming and perfect?”

His smile was small but genuine, a hint of that dimple teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. That one.”

And maybe you were still raw. Maybe it was the smell, or Roscoe, or just seeing him like this quiet, familiar, Lewis. But you nodded.

And stayed.

Five minutes later, you were both on the couch, mugs in hand, the distance between you carefully unmeasured. Roscoe had wedged himself between your feet like he used to, his heavy head resting on Lewis’s thigh, tail occasionally thumping in half-hearted approval. It was like he couldn’t decide who he was more loyal to or maybe he didn’t care, as long as you were both here.

You talked about nothing at first.

Monaco’s weird weather. His latest race how the wind had played tricks on turn eleven. How your friend Kayla had finally dumped the guy who made her do juice cleanses and talked about Bitcoin at parties. Lewis laughed at that in that deep, familiar way that made something flutter and ache all at once.

The kind of laugh that had once made you feel like the only person in the room.

Then a brush of knees. Bare skin grazing bare skin beneath the hem of his shorts and your cuffed joggers. Neither of you moved.

The silence that followed was different. Still warm. Still soft. But quieter. More fragile.

“I missed this,” he said quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it out loud.

Your fingers tightened around your mug. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

And for a moment, the ache between you wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t something jagged or broken it was soft, lived in. Like an old favourite shirt. The kind you could still wear, even if it didn’t fit quite right anymore.

You looked over at him, really looked and his eyes were already on you.

And in them was something you recognised. Something like love, but older. Tired. Softer. But still there.

Still his.

“Roscoe’s not the only one who’s been waiting, you know,” he said, voice rough again, barely above a whisper.

And you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe around the lump in your throat. So instead, you leaned your knee back into his. Let yourself tilt just a little closer.

Let yourself believe, just for tonight, that maybe not everything had to stay broken.

And then like gravity didn’t care about breakups, like time and pain and pride meant nothing you leaned in at the same time.

The kiss wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Clumsy.

Rough.

Like neither of you had eaten in weeks and had just remembered what hunger felt like.

His mouth crashed against yours, and the breath punched out of your lungs as months of unspoken words, unshed tears and late-night aching exploded between your lips. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was needy his teeth catching your bottom lip, your nails digging into his shoulders, both of you breathing like you were trying to crawl inside each other.

Your fingers dove into his curls, yanking just enough to make him groan into your mouth a guttural, low sound that vibrated through you. His hands were already on you, sliding beneath your shirt like they were chasing something lost. He gripped your waist, rough and reverent all at once, like he didn’t know whether to hold you together or tear you apart.

He pressed you down into the couch, his body heavy and warm over yours. You didn’t care that the cushions bit into your spine, didn’t care that your knee hit the coffee table. All you cared about was the way his mouth dragged across your jaw, down the column of your neck not soft, but claiming. His stubble scraped along your skin, his lips biting and sucking like he was making up for every day you spent apart.

You gasped, back arching into him. “Lewis—”

“This—” he panted, mouth still on your throat, voice rough and full of something broken, “this is not what I planned.”

You blinked up at him, lips kiss-bruised, heart racing. “You want me to stop?”

His laugh was a rasp in the dark. “God, no. I want…I want you.”

That was all it took.

Your clothes came off in frantic, fumbled movements shirts tossed over shoulders, pants kicked away in the hallway, socks forgotten. His hands were everywhere, greedy and unforgiving, squeezing, stroking, tugging you flush against him as he stumbled you both toward the bedroom.

He pushed you back onto the mattress, hard enough to bounce, and then he was on you teeth on your collarbone, fingers digging into your thighs as he spread you open with zero hesitation.

“Missed this,” he muttered like a prayer as he kissed a trail down your stomach. “Missed you.”

When he sank to his knees and dragged his mouth up the inside of your thigh, your breath hitched so sharply it was almost painful. His grip was bruising, his tongue relentless licking, sucking, teasing until your hips were shaking and your hands were in his hair again, pulling without apology.

He didn’t stop. Not when you cried out. Not when your thighs threatened to close. He held you open, held you there, watched you fall apart on his tongue like he needed to ruin you, to prove you still belonged to him or maybe that he still belonged to you.

By the time he finally came up for air, your body was wrecked and trembling. And still, you reached for him.

He crawled over you slowly, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he was barely keeping it together. His hands framed your face, and his thumb brushed your cheek like he hadn’t just pulled you apart piece by piece. Like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice hoarse and raw.

You stared up at him, your chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

His mouth crashed into yours again, and this time when he pushed into you deep, hard, all at once you cried out against his lips, nails raking down his back. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

It was rough.

It was real.

It was everything you’d been craving.

He fucked you like he missed you. Like he hated that he missed you. Like the only way to make sense of it was to bruise your hips with his grip and kiss you so hard it felt like penance.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your body arching to meet every thrust, every grind of his hips. He buried his face in your neck, breathing harshly, voice cracked with emotion.

“I thought about this every night,” he gasped. “Every fucking night. Your voice. Your hands. The way you looked at me.”

You clung to him like you might fall apart. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

And that did something to him. He slammed into you harder, deeper, like he wanted to carve himself back into your skin, back into your life.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You came with a cry that punched from your lungs, shaking so hard you thought you might break. And when he followed moaning your name like a promise, his body trembling as he spilled into you it wasn’t just release. It was something bigger. Something heavier.

It was every unsent text. Every almost-call. Every time you’d gone to bed cold and alone.

And then silence.

The kind of silence that only happens when two people have been completely undone.

The sheets were a mess beneath you, twisted and damp with sweat. Your skin was flushed and marked with his lips, his hands, his teeth. He didn’t let you go. One arm locked tight around your waist, the other buried in your hair like a tether.

Your heart was still thudding. His was, too. You could feel it where your chests pressed together, still wild, still aching.

He kissed your forehead. Just once. Quiet. And you closed your eyes because if you looked at him now, you might shatter.

Because this wasn’t a mistake.

Wasn’t a relapse.

Wasn’t just about the sex.

It was grief.

It was love.

It was two people who hadn’t stopped needing each other even when they’d tried.

It was gravity.

It was inevitable.

And it wasn’t over.

It was quiet for a long time after.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled. Not with words. Not with apologies. Just the sound of your breaths beginning to slow, your hearts trying to catch up with everything your bodies had already admitted.

You were still wrapped around him, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the room dim with late-night shadows. The only light came from the hallway soft and golden, casting just enough glow to catch the sweat still clinging to his temple, the rise and fall of his chest.

Lewis had shifted onto his side, propped up on one elbow, just watching you. Like if he blinked, you’d disappear again.

You stared up at the ceiling, your body still warm from the aftershocks. The air smelled like lavender, like skin, like him. But your heart - your heart was louder than anything.

Eventually, your voice broke through the silence, small and uncertain. “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

You hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge. But it did. Defensive, like you were already bracing for impact. Like if you said it first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt when he agreed.

He turned to look at you, brow furrowed. “It means I’m an idiot.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I thought we needed space,” he said quietly, eyes steady on yours. “That maybe we were better off focusing on work. That maybe time apart would fix something. But every time I walked past your mug or looked at your empty side of the bed, it just felt wrong.”

His voice cracked, just slightly. Not enough to fall apart but enough that you heard the truth in it.

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” he admitted. “I just got too tired to show it right.”

Your throat tightened.

You’d spent weeks pretending not to care. Ignoring the ache. Filling your schedule. Telling Kayla you were fine even when she saw right through it. But hearing him say it hearing that he hadn’t let go either made something collapse inside you.

“Lewis…”

He shifted closer, brushing his knuckles gently along your wrist like he was grounding himself. Like the touch was the only thing keeping him real.

“I’m not saying we figure everything out tonight,” he said. “I know it wasn’t perfect. I know I wasn’t perfect. But maybe we try again. Slower. Smarter. With better tea and more time for each other.”

You looked at him really looked. Not the world’s version of Lewis Hamilton. Not the champion. Just him. The man who used to sneak chocolate biscuits into the grocery cart when you weren’t looking. Who always fell asleep five minutes into a movie but insisted he didn’t. Who kissed your temple before every flight like it was a ritual.

There was a softness in his eyes now fragile and hopeful. Like he wasn’t asking you to fix everything. Just to let him try.

“Do I still get the good tea mug?” you asked after a beat, your voice a little thick.

His smile returned, tugging at the corners of his mouth smaller than the ones he gave cameras, but more real than any you’d seen in months.

“Only if you promise not to ruin the vibe.”

You huffed a laugh, your chest loosening for the first time in what felt like forever. “No promises.”

He rolled onto his back, arm looping around your waist and pulling you in without another word. You went willingly, your head tucking beneath his chin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the bare skin of his chest.

The duvet rustled as he pulled it higher around you both. The room was warm now, full of shared breath and the slow return of comfort. Not perfect. Not yet, but honest.

And for the first time in weeks, the apartment felt like home again.

Not just because the lights were dim or the sheets smelled like him or because you were wrapped in his arms. But because he was there. Because despite the space and the silence and the break-up that had kept you apart, you’d still found your way back to each other like magnets, like muscle memory.

Like gravity.

“I kept your book on the nightstand,” he murmured suddenly. “The one with the dog-eared pages and the underlines. I didn’t, I couldn’t move it.”

You smiled against his skin, something warm blooming in your chest. “I kept your hoodie. The grey one you always said was cursed.”

“Because I crashed the car twice wearing it.”

You both laughed, soft and sleepy, and the sound felt like an exhale.

It hit you then not all at once, but in slow, quiet waves: this wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t about sex or timing or a moment of weakness. It was deeper than that. Older.

No matter how far apart you drifted, no matter how stubborn or tired or lost you both got, something in you would always pull you back to him.

And something in him would always wait for you.

It didn’t happen all at once.

You didn’t wake up the next morning with everything magically healed, with every crack smoothed over by the soft press of his lips on your shoulder. But you did wake up wrapped in him in the warmth of his body, in the steady rhythm of his breathing, in the quiet certainty that you were both still there. Still choosing this. Choosing each other, even through the mess. Even through the past.

And that was more than enough to start.

The first week back together felt like something between a honeymoon and a soft, cautious reboot. Like trying on your favourite sweater after weeks in storage familiar and warm, even if it still smelled faintly of distance. You kept bumping into the old rhythms, finding traces of the life you used to share, but everything felt sweeter now. More intentional.

Lewis cooked breakfast on the second morning or tried to, anyway.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, your oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, only to find him shirtless in a cloud of smoke. The toast was blackened to a crisp, Roscoe was licking pancake batter off the floor and the smoke alarm blared above his head like it was auditioning for an action movie.

He was waving a dish towel wildly at the ceiling, his curls frizzing at the edges from the heat. “This was supposed to be romantic,” he croaked through a coughing fit, eyes wide and sheepish.

You leaned against the counter and laughed a real, belly-deep laugh that echoed off the cabinets. “Is this the part where I swoon?”

“Please don’t,” he grumbled, voice muffled by a tea towel. “We might both die in here.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth anyway, soft and grateful and pulled out your phone to order pancakes from your favourite brunch place. As you placed the order, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder, whispering against your skin, “I swear, I’m gonna learn how to poach an egg if it kills me.”

You tilted your head toward him, smiling. “Please don’t die over eggs.”

“I would for you,” he whispered dramatically, and you laughed again, leaning into him.

That afternoon, you made a list together.

Literally.

He pulled out his Notes app while you were curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around both your legs, Roscoe sprawled across your feet and titled it: Operation: Don’t Mess This Up.

“I’m being serious,” he said, his voice lower now, thumb moving steadily across the screen. “We’re not going back to what broke us. We’re going to build better. Starting with time. And space not that kind of space, I mean like…room to breathe. To show up for each other without sacrificing the stuff that makes us, us.”

So, you carved it out for real, this time.

You blocked off days on your shared calendar. Colour-coded them. Tuesdays - Us. No interviews. No calls. No late-night scripts or early meetings. Just wine, or tea, or matching face masks if the mood struck. If he was home, you cooked together or at least, you tried. He got better at the eggs. You taught him to dice onions without crying. He taught you how to make his nan’s ginger tea.

When he was traveling, you FaceTimed from hotel beds and airport lounges, the screen lighting up with sleepy smiles and “I miss yous” whispered between yawns. You watched him eat room service pasta in Rome while you folded laundry in London. You watched Love Island together, muting the audio and providing your own commentary.

And you laughed. God, you laughed so much.

He started leaving you notes.

On the bathroom mirror:

You looked too good this morning. Kind of rude, honestly.

Tucked into your tote bag before a long day of classes:

Don’t forget to breathe. You’re brilliant, even when you doubt it.

And once scribbled on a napkin and left on your pillow after a long week —

I missed your laugh. Please don’t ever take it away from me again.

That one made you cry. The kind of tears that come when you feel safe enough to let it all out. He found you curled up on the bed, napkin still in your hands, and he just held you. No questions. Just his arms, steady and sure, wrapped around your ribs like he was holding your heart in place.

You started showing up more, too.

Before, you'd always told yourself you didn’t want to get in the way of his schedule, his team, the media, the noise. But now you knew better. Now you knew that love doesn’t take up space. It makes it.

So, you surprised him at the garage before a race in Spa. You wore one of his old hoodies, your hair tucked under a cap, a shy grin playing on your lips.

His eyes found you instantly, even through the crowd.

He crossed the paddock in four long strides and tugged you into his arms like he was afraid you might vanish if he waited a second longer. “You’re here,” he murmured into your hair, arms wrapped tight around your back. “Feels like I can breathe again.”

And when he stepped into the car, helmet tucked under one arm, he kissed your forehead through the visor and said, “Don’t go anywhere. You’re my good luck charm.”

You didn’t go anywhere.

You stayed. You cheered. And when he crossed the finish line in second not first, he still smiled like he’d won everything, because you were there. You were always going to be there.

You bought matching mugs for the apartment. One said Let’s Stay In, the other said Let’s Go Racing. You fought over who got which depending on the day.

You reorganised your shared calendar with stickers and colour codes and a little smiley face next to every Us Day.

You signed up for a pottery class together. You were both terrible at it. You made lumpy bowls and weird, tilting cups, and your hands were always covered in clay. But it didn’t matter because every class ended with your fingers tangled together, laughing over your disasters, stealing kisses behind the spinning wheel.

One night, lying on your backs in the living room with Roscoe curled between you and dried clay smudged across your cheeks, Lewis turned to you and whispered, “This feels like us.”

You turned your head; cheek pressed into the rug. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “Like the real us. Not perfect. Just good. Just right.”

And there was so much love.

In the way he pulled you into his hoodie when you got cold, whispering, Come here, sweetheart. You’re freezing.

In the way you always reached for his hand, under restaurant tables, in elevators, a silent signal: I’m here.

In the way you both said I love you like it meant something brand new every time.

“I love you,” he’d murmur when you got overwhelmed by exams, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“I love you,” you’d whisper into his shoulder after long flights, when his body ached and his eyes barely stayed open.

And once during a completely normal trip to the grocery store, he looked at you in the cereal aisle, cereal in one hand and your fingers in the other, and said with quiet awe, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the oat milk.

But it was true.

You weren’t perfect. You still bickered about directions. He still left his chargers everywhere. You still forgot to take your vitamins unless he reminded you in that tone. But now? Now, you forgave faster. Loved louder. Paused longer. You knew how to hold space for each other how to say what you needed before it broke you both.

One night, wrapped up together on the couch, rain whispering against the windows, his voice broke through the stillness.

“Thank you,” he said softly, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “For coming back.”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Thank you for waiting.”

He pulled the blanket higher, tucked you under his arm, and held you like a promise warm, steady, whole. And in that golden quiet, with Roscoe snoring at your feet and the scent of tea lingering in the air, you realised something:

You weren’t just healing.

You were home.

Still, you and him.

Still in love.

And this time? This time forever meant something different not a promise without flaws, but one you’d keep choosing, again and again.

Slower. Smarter. With better tea.

And love - the kind that stays.

[dearggntlereader]

Sugar Cookies ༻¨ : ·.. ｡⋆⍋*｡

mattheo riddle x reader CW: Lorenzo erasure, food fight

The kitchen is bustling and the sound of laughter could be heard from miles away. Pansy is sitting on the counter trying to get Draco and Blaise to decorate the cookies prettily, while sneaking some frosting for you and her every few minutes. 

Draco is incredibly concentrated on his snowman cookie, but the frosting looks wonky and Blaise can’t focus on his own christmas tree cookie, too busy laughing at the snowman's runny eyes.

Theo has stopped trying to get designs onto the cookies, instead eating half of the ones he takes and piping random colors onto the others. All while bickering with Pansy and laughing at Draco.

Mattheo only rolled his eyes at his Friends before turning to you. You were kneading some more dough, to freeze for later, and swaying to the soft christmas music in the background. He can feel the smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer on reflex. He circles his arms around your waist and presses his grin into your neck.

You laugh and turn your head to give his curls a soft kiss, lingering for a second longer to bask in his warmth.

He rubs his nose a bit against your shoulder, drowning in you. You smell like cookies and warmth, the hint of your body wash still present on your skin. He presses a few more kisses onto your skin before he gets interrupted.

“eeeeew!!” Pansy fake gags at the sight of you two. Theo quickly joins in while Draco and Blaise start booing.

Mattheo turns his head with that mean smirk of his. “You’re just jealous you don’t get any, Parkinson.”

Theo gasps and over dramatically slaps his hands to his face, acting impressed and yelling, “Damn! Burn!”

You huff out a soft laugh at your Friends antics. This seems to draw Mattheo’s attention again as you feel his body melt into yours. He presses his Lips against your cheek and you can faintly hear Pansy shooting back some form of tease or insult.

But you aren’t focused.

All you can see are Mattheo’s arms around you, all you can feel is his chest pressed against your back, all you can hear is the soft sigh he lets out as he lets his head fall back into the crook of your neck and all you can smell is him. Eucalyptus and Cookies.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Blaise calls out, tossing a handful of flour in your direction, and it lands in a soft puff on Mattheo’s shoulder. “This is a kitchen, not a romance novel.”

Mattheo smirks, squeezing you even closer. “Jealousy looks awful on you, Zabini.”

Draco lets out a quiet laughter as Pansy cuts into the conversation, “Blaise couldn’t handle all that anyway. Too much emotion”

Blaise gasps in offense, mouth wide open. “How dare you?! I have the most emotion out of you lot!” He sends a few sprinkles flying her way and Pansy quickly throws back some flour, hitting him right in the chest.

“Like that’s hard,” Draco cuts in sharply, getting a bark of laughter out of Theo and stopping the upcoming food war.

Blaise crosses his arms over his chest glaring at Pansy, then Draco, “Right, that’s it!”

He throws a handful of sprinkles their way and before they can retaliate Theo joins in, chucking some frosting at Draco.

Pansy screams with laughter, and soon, the kitchen dissolves into a full-blown food fight. Sprinkles rain like confetti, frosting becomes war paint, and Theo manages to stuff a cookie directly into Draco’s open mouth mid-protest.

You laugh loudly, watching the chaos. Mattheo’s head is still buried in your shoulder and he seems entirely content to stay that way forever, ignoring his Friends antics.

At Least until he gets attacked.

A stray blob of frosting lands in his hair, wet and cold. You immediately double over in Laughter and Mattheo loosens himself from you, looking at you with mock-offense and raised eyebrows. “Oh? Okay, I see how it is.”

He grabs some of the dough still in front of you and steps closer again, smashing it onto your face lightly, even now giving you space to move away. You don’t.

Instead, you laugh and grab some frosting. 

Mattheo’s eyes are intense as they wait for your next move. Before you get the chance to, Theo attacks Mattheo.

Mattheo looks down at the mess splattered on his shirt, then at Theo, who is doubled over in hysterics. “Right. That’s it. You’re dead,” Mattheo growls, releasing you and charging after Theo.

You lean against the counter, breathless with laughter, as the two of them wrestle across the floor. Pansy, Blaise, and Draco are in tears, and the kitchen looks like something exploded.

It’s perfect.

Thank you all for supporting my blog!! As always, I appreciate all comments and reblogs. It's what keeps me going.

[royallygray]

@periwinklepaint

Here is a scene I wrote for an au (that I really need a name for bc it dominates my thoughts).

Bit (a lot) of background on this AU: It's supposed to be a superhero/urban fantasy/soulmate au. Everyone has some degree of magic, they just have to learn to harness it. All soulmate pairs are the canon ones from Double Life.

Scar (Hotguy) and Gem (Fauna) are heroes. Grian (Chaos Sparrow) is a vigilante. Pearl (Scarlet) is a villain. Jimmy is just a civilian, but he's a victim of the prophecy (basically just the Canary Curse).

It was supposed to be Scarian mild annoyance to lovers and Gempearl enemies to lovers, but it has gotten more focused on the:

Scar & Gem besties relationship,

the Grian & Pearl chaos skyblings relationship,

the Grian & Pearl & Jimmy & Lizzie skybling/seabling relationship,

the Scar & Pearl depression villain arc relationship,

and Gem & Grian's sibling dynamic.

At this point in the story, our four main characters (Gem, Scar, Grian, and Pearl) have made a deal. The higher-ups at the Hero Corp want to interrogate Scarlet (Pearl) for information because she's not only the primary villain of the city, she's also the leader of the underground, who are presumably the people who want to assassinate Jimmy (if he dies, it's basically Ragnarok). Pearl does not have control over individual people or groups in the underground, she just runs the system.

The Hero Corp wants Gem and Scar to retrieve Pearl and bring her to them. So Gem and Scar set up a meeting, since there is mutual trust between the four of them.

The conclusion was that they could take Pearl, but Grian would take one of the heroes as collateral so that he could ultimately get her back. They decided to exchange Gem rather than Scar because they knew that Gem is the Hero Corp's precious baby and they'd be desperate to get her back, which ensures Pearl's release. Additionally, Scar's magic is incredibly strong since he's a fae. He has a natural advantage that bypasses some of Pearl's talent in magic.

So he places a curse on her that can only be broken if Scar chooses to break it. Basically it prevents her from flying (she's got wings, so does Grian), getting out of range of Scar, and the curse includes the ability to control whether the person the curse is placed on can talk or not, but Scar refuses to utilize it.

Also since Scar is a fae, he can't lie. But he does have a silver tongue that easily gets around the lying factor. Also he doesn't know that he and Grian are soulbound. Also Gem doesn't have a soulbound. Also I'm really insecure about posting this like I think it's cool but maybe other people won't think it's cool but an IRL friend really liked it but idk and I did write this all on discord because I needed to explain the scene to said friend and it was going to be easier to just write it and AAAAAA

okay here are some words of scar being a badass byeeeee

-- --

The Hero Corp keeps insinuating that Scar is working with the villains. They keep insisting that he break more and more of his morals to find more stuff.

And finally, he just goes "Do you want a villain? Because I can give you one.”

And it's dead silent.

No one says shit.

Gem's apprentice, Guqqie, is there with their jaw dropped.

Scar's usually green eyes are glowing red.

He's angry.

"It seems to me that you want a villain," Scar says, his voice echoing in the silent room. "I can give you one. Isn't that what you want?”

No one says anything.

Scar's red eyes burn into the side of [boss]'s skull. "I thought you wanted a villain.”

Some people are staring at him. Some are trying to get out of this room. Some are trying to ignore what's happening.

"Did you not want a villain?" Scar asks. "I don't appreciate lying.

"I can't lie," Scar says. "I'm not sure if you know this, but I cannot lie. I feel like maybe you'd extend the same courtesy for me.”

"Do you want a fucking villain?" Scar snaps. "Or are you just unsatisfied with me having boundaries? Not liking how you compare me to Fauna and wish I got taken instead? Realizing that Villains are people too?”

It wouldn't've been terrible to be taken by Sparrow (Grian, Scar thought with mild wonder. A beautiful name. His heart fluttered, despite the situation), but the thought still stood. [boss] didn't know that Sparrow wouldn't hurt him.

"Don't you want a villain?" Scar asks, quietest yet. "Don't you?" More silence. The clock on the wall ticks. Scar can hear his heavy breath in time with his heartbeat. "Well, I'll give you one." He rips his hero badge from around his neck and lays it on the table. "I resign.”

And he stalks away, the explosion of "no!"s and "why?"s and "HOTGUY GET BACK HERE!"s blocked out by his mind.

And he walks up to his apartment, his mild haven here, and sees Pearl and Jimmy. He snaps his fingers, lifting Pearl's curse. She looks up in alarm, and Jimmy follows suit.

"We're leaving." Scar tells them, leaving no room for argument. "And we're not coming back.”

[phen397]

Sonic Adventure 2 but told as notes I took while playing

OK here we go

Big game for the series

Not sure if this game has multiple story modes like in sonic adventure

But let's get into this

It has the same like 15 seconds of live and learn looped for the title and select screens

And OK

2 stories hero and dark

Let's start on the hero side

Above the capital

Sigma alpha

Captured hedgehog secured

WHAT IN THE WORLD

No food or movies gotta dip

I am sure that part of the helicopter isn't important

Skydiving now

With a snowboard

First stage city escape time to board down the city streets

Sick tricks off ramps

Fuck dem cars

Escape from the city indeed

Also got the song playing too*chef's kiss*

Done with boarding time to run

Oh God it's Omochao

Burn him

Break the boxes

Weird pipe?

Whistle

Oh hello raccoon friend

Jump scare robot

Got coloured tubes

Can use them to raise Chao

Run down the streets this time

Chao box

Got Chao key

U mean to tell me you are gonna hide secrets from me

Oh oh

You got me

Rabbit was hiding in corner

Got so much stuff it is falling off the screen

Is that bad?

Is it gone?

Where does it go?

Song still going hard af

Only now get told how to do a homing attack

Oh God Oh shit

Gun got a whole truck after me

BIG NO!

Big got crushed!

I will get you gun I will avenge you cat man

End of level

Def missed some stuff

E rank OOF

one sonic thing

Chao world

Welcome

Is this in space?

Who made this(lore)?

Ah yes the gate to Chao space

Spit out all the tubes

Next level

Boring game of tag

Boss time

F-6t Big Foot

What did I do?

Why all this effort for little old me

Avoid the flying shooter

Hit em when he lands

Boss done

"Hey guy take care"

What?

Oh hi shadow

Ultimate power jewel

Chaos emerald

What he want with it

Fake hedgehog

Chaos controll

Fast boi

Uses the emerald to warp

Ultimate life form has no time for games

Not again

Ah yes desert area

Rouge and knuckles at it again

Don't know when to give up

Master emerald is mine got it?

Can neutralize the emeralds

Eggman gets grabby

Knuckles shatters that thing

Look what you did

Can restore the pieces so all good

He says "bat girl" so aggressively

Find 3 pieces

Super chill music

Kinda nice just to explore and fly around

Lots of animals here

Big winds

First piece get

Another pipe to whistle at

Lonely statue looks Lonely

Thanks omachao

I got a dragon from the Chao box

Got a bomb

Got the last one and got squished at the same time

Chao time

Egg

Egg

Egg

Shake da egg

Rise my child

Oh

They steal traits from the animals

Oh they stack

Time to make an abomination

Waterfall cave

Chao cult?

Oh

Races

Enter the abomination

Crab pool sure

Level 1

Cheer them on

They are babies

Ah there are the crabs

These other Chao can swim

Got wrecked

OK maybe later

Prison island time

MY BOI

Tails time baby

Secret military base

Sonic would never rob a bank

Oh hi Amy

Amy needs help

Transformers (more than meets the eye)

Long load screen got me scared

Mech fight

Egg dead

Won't be so lucky this time

Ba ba ba bya byyyaaa

Amy here for sonic too

Tails got this shit

Tails needs no lady

Lots of robros

Lots of tubes

Big is trapped In a cell

What did he do

Free my man

Get him his frog

Sneaky bots

Level done

Gonna stop for now

See ya for the next one

[itsmewillful]

Request #2

Main Masterlist:

Character Masterlist:

Requested by: @nev20

OMG I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. I got held up with school and other personal matters 🤧

I turned your idea into an x reader story, I hope you don't mind!

Anyway, here is your request, and I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2,567 words. (it's kinda long)

Warning(s): Fluffy fluff, some angst, mentions of Order 66 and death, Leia running away, not proof read, lot’s of uncanon stuff (becuz its better that way)

Reader is GN, or at least I tried to keep it that way. Let me know if I missed anything.

Outline: After Anakin defeats Darth Sidious in a gruesome fight, he leaves the Jedi Order to settle down with you. Fourteen years later, you are both blessed with a daughter and son: Luke and Leia. However, because Anakin Skywalker was a famous Jedi, the descendants of him are worth a lot of money to bounty hunters, so you and Anakin live in constant worry of your beloved children being whisked away, far from your reach.

Our Intentions Were Good, I promise

“Anakin!” You yelled with a hoarse voice over all the chaos that was going on in the Jedi Temple. You could sense his presence nearby, but with all the Clone Troopers storming around the temple killing Jedi in their wake, you could not help but feel worried for your lover. 

You, Anakin and the rest of the Jedi Council discovered that the Sith Lord behind all the issues was none other than the Chancellor. It was a big shock to Anakin, and you knew he felt betrayed since he basically considered him as a father. But you had always had your suspicions, and the discovery only made sense to you. 

You hear your name get called through the rubble and dust flying around the temple and you spin on your heels to see where the voice originated from. You let out a shaky breath when you noticed it was Anakin, and he was okay. 

“Ani!” You whispered and ran over to him and tightly embraced him in a hug. He hugged you back and buried his head into the side of your neck and inhaled your scent.

“You’re okay, I was so worried for you,” Anakin said, biting back a sob.

“And you’re okay,” you giggled when he began to kiss you tenderly on your cheek. 

“Of course I’m okay. I am the Chosen One afterall,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. You rolled your eyes at his banter and gently kissed his cheek. 

“Where’s the Sith Lord? Did you arrest him?” 

Anakin hummed in acknowledgement before continuing to kiss your cheek passionately. 

“Anakin–I’m trying to have a conversation with you,” you giggled in between kisses. 

He sighed heavily and stepped back a bit to look you in your eyes.

“We managed to arrest him, however, Master Windu was. . .killed in the process. Which leaves Obi-Wan as the new Head of the Council.” 

You gasped at the news and you felt your eyes burn. Master Windu was your own mentor when you were a Padawan, and basically the Father figure you never had. Even though he seemed very distant and cold-hearted, he would once in awhile have his moments that left great memories of the time when you were a Padawan under his authority.

“It’s alright, darling,” Anakin said, kissing your lips gently. “He’s in a better place now.” 

You nodded your head slowly, and buried your face into the crook of his neck. 

“Let’s go home, Ani.”

+++

Not long after Order 66, you and Anakin officially left the Jedi Order and got married. It was a small but beautiful ceremony; with only a few people invited. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and Anakin’s old Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.

About a year later, you brought two beautiful children into the world: Leia and Luke Skywalker. Leia looked a lot like you, but had Anakin’s strong will and personality. Meanwhile, your son looked like a spitting image of your husband, but he had more of your quiet and laid back personality. 

Now, your twins were nearing the age of thirteen, and you couldn’t believe how fast your small babies were now young adults.

One problem, however, was the constant worry of your children being abducted from you due to them being related to Anakin. You both were aware that both Luke and Leia had a bounty on their head worth thousands of credits. Anakin and Obi-Wan had both tried to investigate who was behind the order of their capture, but they never succeeded. So, you found yourself being incredibly over-protective of your children.

You homeschooled your children because you were scared of them walking by themselves to and from the public school. You didn’t allow Leia to go out with just her friends even if she was accompanied by their parents, and you never allowed Luke to be outside by himself. 

Were you taking all precautions a bit too far? Of course you were. You and 

Anakin loved your children and were too attached to risk the chances of them being taken away from you. 

+++

“Mom, dad, can we ask you something?” 

You looked up from the holopad you were scrolling through and noticed Leia and Luke were both standing in front of you with anxious looks on their faces. You raised your brow and beckoned them to walk up closer to you.

“Yes you two?” Anakin said with a small look of concern on his face.

“Umm. . .” Luke started to say, but immediately lost his train of thought and snapped his mouth shut.

“You know how today marks the fourteenth year of peace throughout the whole galaxy, right?” Leia began.

You glanced at Anakin and noticed he was also confused as to where this conversation was going.

You nodded your head at your daughter to continue and she shakily inhaled.

“There is a parade and fair–”

“No” you and Anakin said at the same time sternly, knowing exactly where this was going.

“But why?” Leia pleaded, tears began to form in her crystal eyes. 

Luke sighed heavily, and with heavy footsteps headed to the staircase to head to his room.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Leia, we have been over this many times. I would have thought you would know by now.” You said.

Leia’s face slowly morphed into one of pure grief and frustration. 

“I HATE THIS! You and dad worrying about EVERYTHING!! This whole thing is so stupid!” And like that, she stormed out of the room and slammed her bedroom door when she reached it.

You shook your head and looked at your husband to see his reaction and noticed he was already looking at you.

“She is kind of right, you know?” You began. “Our children are basically secluded from the rest of the world, let alone other kids their age. It wouldn’t hurt to let them go out once, would it?”

Anakin hummed in thought. 

“I’ll think about it. I think you might be right.” 

“The parade doesn’t start until nightfall, so you just sit there and put your one brain-cell to work, darling.” You teased as you stood up from the couch you were previously relaxing on and began to head to the kitchen.

“At least I have a brain-cell, sweetheart.” Anakin bit back to which you turned around to smack him on the top of his head.

He chuckled and grabbed a hold of your wrist before pulling you down harshly onto his lap.

“You are such a bully, darling.” Anakin shook his head. You huffed at that.

“And you aren’t?” 

“No, I am just your teasing husband.” He said, glancing at your lips before pulling you into a long and passionate kiss. You hummed and smiled into the kiss. You reached your hand behind his head, and moved your hands into his hair, before pulling hard on it, causing Anakin to jump and disconnect your lips.

“HEY! You’ll pay for that!” He warned with a slight smile on his face. You rolled your eyes before squirming out of his tight hold. 

“Only if you can get me!” You giggled lightly before sprinting out of the room and running up to your joined bedroom. 

+++

“Ugh, why is mom and dad so strict?” Leia complained as she dramatically plopped onto her brother's bed. Luke shrugged and continued to tinker with Lola, Leia’s small robotic companion. 

“And you are so helpful Mr. I-don’t-dare-disobey-my-parents.” Leia said with venom  laced in her voice. 

Luke sighed heavily and ignored the rest of Leia’s banter.

After a stream of censored cursing and complaining about how her life is so miserable, she decided that she was going to take matters into her own hands. 

“I am going to sneak out of the house.” Leia said with some excitement in her voice. 

Luke just about choked at his sisters ‘revelation”. 

“Umm. . .no you aren’t” He said sternly.

Leia chuckled before sliding off his bed and began to walk over to her slightly older brother. 

“You aren’t the boss of me Luke. What are you going to even do, cry and tell mommy and daddy? You’re no fun at all. In fact: you’re straight up boring. I don’t need your consent. I’m doing what I want.” 

And with that, she stormed out of the room.

Luke sat at his desk quietly, thinking hard.

“She wouldn’t actually do it, will she?” He asked Lola, who was still off and had most of her parts laid out on the table.

He sighed heavily but decided his sister didn’t have the guts to carry out such a dangerous idea.

Or, so he thought.

+++

“Leia?! O.M.G girl, I thought your parents were gonna say no to you turning up!” Leia smiled when she recognised the face of her best friend, a Twi-Lek named Brigade, and her friend, Han Solo. 

“Yeah, they did say no. But I came anyway.” Leia said matter-of-factly.

Brigade gasped and squealed with excitement.

“About time you take control of your life! That’s so badass of you!” 

Han Solo chuckled at that and patted Leia’s head fondly. 

“And if anything happens, don’t forget I’m here.” he winked. 

Leia rolled her eyes at his playful banter and noticed that the streets of Coruscant was more packed than she expected.

“Wow, there’s a lot of people here.” She trailed off.

“Yup. But it’s normal for an event like this.” Brigade said casually. 

+++

“Luke, what do you mean she left?” I panicked when I entered Leia’s room and found it empty with her window wide open. 

“I-I am so sorry, mother.” Luke stuttered. “I didn’t think she’d actually do it and decided against telling you. I should’ve and I am so sorry.” 

Anakin had his arms crossed and he was staring at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. You cleared your throat to gain his attention, to which he obliged. 

“Ani? What are we going to do?” 

“Well, we need to go find her, first of all. But this event is a planet-wide thing and I don’t even know where to start looking.” 

Luke gulped and began to burst into tears. 

“I am so sorry! It’s all my fault!” 

You reached out to your son and hugged him tightly, kissing him on the top of his head. 

“It’s all of our faults. We have been too strict with you children and this behaviour was bound to happen eventually. If anything, it’s our fault.” You said calmly, glancing at Anakin to see him nodding in agreement.

“Now, let’s go find your sister.”

+++

“Umm. . .are you sure this is safe, Brigade?” Leia asked, gulping heavily when Brigade split up from Han Solo and was leading Leia away from the rest of the crowd to an alley-way close by.

“Yup! Totally safe. As long as you're here with me.” Brigade said carelessly. 

Leia nodded and tried to take her friend’s advice to heart, but through the force, she could sense something terrible was about to happen.

“Well, well, well. Look-y here! The Twi-Lek actually did it!” Leia heard a voice from behind her and she spun quickly on her heels and noticed there was two masked people in front of her. A man and a woman.

“What are they talking about?” Leia asked cautiously.

Brigade slowly faced Leia with an emotionless expression.

“You should’ve stayed home, Leia. Coming out here by yourself was foolish.”

“What do you mean? What are you on about, Brigade?”

“When I first found out how high the bounty was for you and your brother, I knew I had to get close to you. I’m sorry if it hurts, but my family needed the money.”

Leia felt hot tears fall down her cheek at the news. Her childhood friend had been using her this whole time? 

“What the Kriff, Brigade. You traitor. I thought we were friends!” She sobbed. 

Brigade continued to stand completely still without showing a pang of regret.

“So sad, but we have no time for theatrics! The big man wants the job to be done A-S-A-P. We have a ship to catch.” The woman said carelessly, as she dug into a satchel that was around her shoulders and pulled out a big sack of credits.

“A thousand credits, just as we promised you.” The man said.

Brigade caught the bag and opened it and looked over her newly-earned loot.

“Thank you, Leia. You just saved my father from a certain death.” Brigade said with a small smile on her face.

Leia felt strong arms grab her by the shoulders and she felt herself get yanked to the ground.

“I got you Leia!” She sat up and noticed Han had rushed into the alley and was now fighting for his life against the two masked people.

“Run! Get out of here!” He yelled at her. Leia quickly scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the alley, searching for the direction home. 

But, once again, she felt someone grab onto her, making her let out a bloody sounding scream.

“Leia, it’s okay!” 

Leia recognised the voice of her father and latched onto him tightly.

“Dad! I am so glad I found you! You and mom were right! Everything here is dangerous, please take me home!”

“Leia, what happened?” you asked with a calm voice bending over slightly to reach her eye level.

“Alley-way, and Brigade selling me or something and- O.M.G! Han is there all by himself! He needs help!” Leia exclaimed with complete terror and worry laced in her voice. She pointed at the direction she came from and her father nodded and began to rush that way.

When he was out of sight, Leia looked back up at you and could see that you were smiling and looked the complete opposite of how she expected.

“Why are you smiling? I thought you’d be so mad at me.”

“Oh, I am mad at you, Leia.” Your eye twitched in annoyance. “But I am so thankful that you are alright and nothing happened to you.”

Leia sniffled some more and buried her face into your warm body.

“I’m sorry, mum.” Leia cried.

“Shh. . .let’s talk about this when we get home.”

+++

“So, you actually were going to take me and Luke to the event?” Leia asked with complete disbelief in her eyes.

You nodded and looked over at your husband who still was nursing a bruise he had gotten from the fight on his left cheek. 

“Yes, your father and I have decided that we can’t make you guys live in solitude for all of your childhood, so we agreed to take you out into the city some more. However, because of your behaviour, you should expect to not be going anywhere for a week.” 

Leia nodded in understanding, but she couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve actually decided that mum?” She asked.

You chuckled and raised your arms to invite your two children into a hug. They both giggled and practically jumped into your arms, making you fall back a bit.

“I love you mom!” They both said at the same time.

“Hey! How about me? I saved your friend and got your ‘attempt captors’ put into custody!” Anakin said with a fake frown on his face.

“Yeah, thank you father.” Leia said with a genuine smile plastered across her face. Anakin also smiled and joined the group hug.

The Skywalker family was happy and safe once again.

A/N: OMG!! This x reader was different from the ones ive previously written, i hope you enjoyed it! And thank you for requesting it! I enjoyed writing it so much 

Sorry if there was any mistakes or repetitive sentences, I am a bit too lazy to try and proof read it but ill do it eventually.

Love ya all!

-Will

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hellooo i need it for a critique review but do you know where to find where someone compared the wuotes about power of the 7 kings? I remember you commenting on it so i though you might know 😅

I looked around but couldn’t find a post about it, though I feel like I made one at some point (Tumblr’s search function isn’t great so that doesn’t help). In the interests of assistance I figured I’d do a quick King comparison, in number order:

1.Silver King, “the eternal king.” 

-Powers are immortality and flight (…come to think, why flight? Is it just that Kings are naturally drawn to jump off stuff and the Slate thought hey better let the first King fly so he doesn’t die the first time he jumps off a building?). 

-Combat power though seems low, at least from what we see with Shiro. He does a lot of talk no jutsu and we get that bit of umbrella-fu during the Mihashira attack but most of the actual combat seems to be left to Kuroh, which makes me think he doesn’t have a lot of physical strength beyond ‘can’t die.’

-Jumping Off High Things score: 7/10. Being able to fly is a bit of a cheat. Can jump off very high things like airships and even change clothes in mid-air but takes a little too long to land. Also landing by dive bombing face down just isn’t as cool as landing on your feet.

2. Gold King, “the King of prosperity.”

-His powers are stated as something along the lines of ‘the ability to bring out a person’s full potential,’ so basically he can maximize everyone’s talents but at the same time can’t make them stronger than whatever their maximum potential is (Mizuchi is specifically bummed about this in Side Red as I recall, that ‘this’ is as far as he can go). He can also give the power to erase memories and he can throw planets at people. Why? Because fuck you that’s why.

-Combat power is the highest of the seven Kings, even though he’s an old guy he’s built like a brick house. No one can defeat him in combat, which is why Hisui had to wait for him to conveniently die.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 2/10. He never really jumps off anything high, even though he has this huge tower. Maybe he doesn’t like jumping off high things? Disappointing for a man called the strongest King.

3. Red King, “the King of chaos.”

-Powers include burning things, frying things to a crisp, leaving no blood no bone no ash, letting his Sword of Damocles fall and taking power naps.

-For Mikoto specifically, his power is probably about even with Munakata’s. We know he was a strong fighter even before becoming King, but at the same time he has to hold back his powers so they don’t overwhelm him and cause him to destroy everything which is a fairly substantial weakness. 

-Jumping Off High Things score: 7/10. He can jump off balconies and ferris wheels with ease but doesn’t seem to really have the spirit for jumping out of planes. Maybe he just never got the chance. Points for a strong landing though, and the ability to fight Munakata in mid-air just because it Looks Cool.

4. The Blue King, “the King of order.”

-His powers allow him to create blue shields and to enhance his own weapon with blue power. He can also do things like make sandcastles permanent or draw out blueprints in the sky. Also has the power of shiny glasses, but that’s just a Munakata thing, not a King thing. 

-Like I said above, Munakata and Mikoto seem to be about equal in power. Presumably Munakata’s power is more defensive-based and Mikoto’s more offensive — since we do see Munakata use the shields against non-King combatants fairly often — but when they fight each other it’s largely offense and they’re evenly matched. Mikoto is probably a stronger physical fighter but Munakata is more tactical and their strengths cancel each other out.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 10/10. Who can jump off of high things better than Munakata? He leaps out of helicopters with ease, landing dramatically in just the right spot. Truly a master of getting himself onto high things and just waiting for his chance to jump off for no reason other than he can.

5. The Green King, “the King of Change.”

-Powers are lightning and electricity based (and also the internet, for some reason). Hisui generally has to be all wrapped up like a burrito to keep his powers in check but when he lets loose he gets a whole magical girl transformation.

-Combat wise Hisui is second only to Kokujouji when using full power. He’s the only member of the living cast to directly challenge Kokujouji, though he does get defeated. In LSW he seems perfectly willing to fight Munakata for Fushimi’s hand in marriage and stops only because he becomes aware that Mikoto is also present, presumably if he’d only been facing Munakata he would have gone for it.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 4/10. On the one hand he can’t jump at all while in a wheelchair, though he does escape Mihashira somehow (I choose to believe via a tiny propeller that sprouts from his wheelchair). He could also presumably jump off lots of high things once his power is released but it’s more of a hypothetical jumping off of high things, we don’t get to see enough to really judge his abilities.

6. The Gray King, “absolute defense.“

-It’s in his title, pretty much (why doesn’t he get a fancy title?). Can create a gray mist that protects him from things and obscures his opponent’s vision.

-Iwafune’s combat abilities seem to be pretty high, especially for an old guy. He goes toe to toe with Munakata twice, wins the first time and nearly wins the second time until Munakata gets a Power of Friendship power up. From what we see Iwafune prefers to use his King powers to throw his opponent off balance and protect himself while using his gun to attack. I assume only he can see through his own mist, so his aim isn’t obscured at all, and being an older King with a stable Sword is a benefit too.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 0/10. He’s an old drunk man, why do you want him to jump off high things? Let the man have a beer and a nap.

7. The Colorless King, “the joker”

-Power is whatever the fuck Gora wants it to be. Ichigen saw the future, Fox Mask Colorless bodynapped people. The Colorless King is considered a wild card among the Kings for this reason. 

-Combat abilities vary. We know Ichigen was strong but presumably a lot of that was just because of his own swordsmanship skills rather than his King power. Fox Mask didn’t seem to have terribly high combat abilities on his own, since he mostly relies on surprise in order to stab and run away. If Mikoto had actually confronted him while not caring about what body Colorless is in Colorless probably would have gotten punched to death easily. 

-Jumping Off High Things score: ??/10. Ichigen can balance on his cane but we don’t get to see him do much other jumping, he flies helicopters he doesn’t leap out of them (it would be a bad example for his kids). Fox Mask gets thrown off high things a couple times but he jumps bodies when it happens so he’s disqualified, if you’re going to jump off high things you gotta commit to it.

[the-firebird69]

Yeah the two are a pair. He said I can't wait to get to the lawn mower cuz I'm a normal person and try and pull start that damn thing for a mansion and she's laughing that's right get out there and get to work it's a mansion cuz we have room for all our children and a huge kitchen for all of them and the lawn mower is starting.

-we are moving on to the topic of this area it's really disgusting but Trump's even there see these clothes are nasty as hell and trying to get you to say stuff when you're fighting them they're horrible bunch they're trying for chaos all the time to try to take stuff that's what they're doing and they're fighting them do it and they're finding them do it and they're fighting them on it and it's a huge rip-off show is what they're doing. There's several other things going on

-the pseudo empire they were getting hit last night and it is pretty bad and they're out there in Oregon and they're out there Washington and British Columbia Michigan and also part of Illinois it's pretty much what was attacked and they're taking all of it but those areas were mentioning are Stan wasinski and he is taking a pummeling. Is out about 45% and we mentioned that he's getting a family because he is running the apartment that's one reason the other is that he is getting hit more than the other is not less and he thought it was a better idea to say less and the others are at about 30% out but he is going down and his ships are getting taken and they have to try and take them back sometimes they make it out there and they try and kill off the rest of Stan's people and there's a fight on board and they have to take the ship and Stan is aware of it. These two here have to go at the apartment and we will put an orders now.

-there is a lot of pressure but he's producing a lot of it on purpose and we do appreciate it but Stan is under a lot of pressure he's under major to rest and in the Eastern hemisphere they're going to attack his bases with more Force than the others they're already out 60% and they keep calling and recovering a teeny bit and they're going to land base them today and they're probably going to be out 70% at the end of it and even when they try and recover they're approaching a point where they're going to lose the east completely we have businesses to start we need a middleman and these morlocks are not willing to do it or capable. It's a great place to hide and as an analogy these people will hide in a library and try and burn books and we mean that they ruin stuff where they hide and they're not good it's running companies and ruin them and they don't like to that's one reason why. So there's a list of companies overseas and you'd be flying around as the boss as opposed to it nobody and your people would be managers it's been proven to work on several companies and we should listen to their but we can't I think I know a couple and starting to work

-we have some other stuff we're doing we'll get to it a minute

Frank Castle hardcastle

And we're taking turns and he's working and we have a lot to do he's still in the suit tons of stuff and it's good

Moana Ariana

We're getting to it and these cities are now in a war. The Mac proper coming up and they're having massive fights everyday it's about 60% of the largest cities are fully embroiled I mean they're fighting over every device every day and it's a very big battle every day and it will get bigger and it will be probably 70% today and 10% a day and it will hold there it's a war and they're fighting over circles now everywhere if the city one or if it's nearby they're fighting each other and it will make things a little bit better shortly. We expect probably to lose a couple of percentage a day maximum starting in a couple days of their population and it's going to be very big there's a lot of stinkers and they go first. We have a big program here in the next few days the clones will try and attack there's still about 30% of their Force is not mobilized here and it's a little more than that but they're going to begin doing that today and they're trying to attack at the same time it never works and they're going to they're going to be an issue there plan is to strike and to take it over but they are having a lot of trouble. Now these guys have some resistance to radiation they can be a couple rad for a couple hours and do regular recovery and they'll be fine and I don't want to swim in it but they can get there and evacuate and they'll be fine and other people won't and it's deadly to them so they're going to probably start to open this up as part of a battle plan and they want to just sabotage Miami pretty bad and they're trying that up front and I'll notice that if they do it that they evacuate and they try to take over that way and people fight them and they get sick and these guys can recover so that's their plan

There's some more but we're going to publish

Toothnicum Blockbuster Duke Nukem I'm going to fix the verbiage

Olympus

[aks-of-the-weak]

Incipit: Since last time, i actually looked up how constellations worked and learned that there is already both a Whale and a Fly constellation. So that's fun. I thought i was original, but turns out i was actually pretty basic all around. Story of my life.

4th Post: Artist, Sign of the Artist. I'll come out and say it right now, if i was a creator god i wouldn't love all my children equally.

Constellation: I hate how this one turned out, but i don't hate the idea. The aspect of Creation is usually Space whereas Time is the aspect of Destruction, so there's a clear irony here, but not an irreconcilable one. For one, "Art" doesn't necessarily mean "Creative Art", it can also mean any sort of skill set that is practiced and acquired. For example, the "Art of Archery" doesn't create anything. In fact, it's (or so i heard) about reproducing the same winning movement every time in order to arrive at the same result. That said, the Artist sign was supposed to be (a terrible attempt at) representing the head of a paintbrush. So here's my idea. (See picture below). This carries the symbolism of Time a lot better than the paintbrush did, since candles burn over time and ultimately all arrive at the same result. On the other hand, it doesn't carry anything of the whole definition of art i've elaborated in this paragraph, so that's a bummer. I like the idea enough tho, so I'll leave the bridging of these two concepts to other sections.

Lusus: Initially i wanted the lusus to be dead, but then i realized the only character to have a dead lusus in homestuck canon is also a timebound Burgundy blood, so my ✨ Special ✨ Boy ✨ Instincts ✨(tm) immediately kicked in and now i have to actually come up with something. Fire use is pretty rare in the natural world. The only thing other than humans that could be carrying a stick that's on fire is Firehawks. Firehawks are a group of Australian birds that sometimes carry burning sticks from wildfires to other dry areas in order to propagate them. Usually this is for the purpose of hunting, but this one is just going to be a little shit. The firehawk lusus's only joy in life is to burn shit down and sow chaos and destruction. Not a great parental figure to have around. Which sort of introduces Pyromania to the character. Pyromania is a form of impulse control disorder, sometimes born from having a neglectful father figure, which becomes harder to treat after childhood and can potentially worsen if untreated. This might be relevant later. It might not. #improv writing.

*I'm not an expert on this stuff, obviously; i just did a quick googling.

Physicality: I generally try to be creative with psionic powers and expand the possibilities from what homestuck set up, so giving this character strong Pyrokinetic powers would be pretty easy since it's just one step away from the burgundy's already established Telekinesis. But here's what i think. The character is about art in the sense of "practiced skill" so if "burning shit down" is or represents in some way their art, isn't it counter-cohesive if that art is a proficiency they were born with? So i'm going to make them psionless. Their fire-setting tool instead is a giant paintbrush which they coat in tar then light and use to draw circles around the battlefield. orrrrr... for their job. Pyromania isn't an art, creative or skill-wise, and as much as i think Alternia having Arson as a competitive sport is pretty funny, it's not really "a character's main focus" worthy. so here's the scene:

CONTENT WARNING: Violence against a Child. Abusive Parent.

Personality: Fire was a mainstay in Maipur Lenote's life since further than they can remember. When they were 4 sweeps old, fire was the thing their lusus waved around to chase out predators and bandits. When they were 5 sweeps old, fire was what tore down one of their hive's wall. The bird brained parent had a moment of clumsiness, or so it seem, and now the hive's left side had gone up in flames. From here on, fire was what cooked the meat without a connection to fuel household appliances. Fire was what brought heat to the coldest nights. At 6 sweeps old fire was what drove an angry mob of psions and warriors to Maipur's house, fire was what burned in their heart as they beat the young troll to an inch of their life without even ever telling the them what it is they did wrong. Their lusus never showed an inkling of knowing anything either. At 7 sweeps old, fire was what lit the way in dark forests as they ran from hordes again and again and so until fire finally became a tool for revenge. Maipur started to meet the hordes head on. Using a giant paintbrush coincidentally found in a chest adorned with their own caste sign, Maipur lit bodies across every field and forest on alternia, each death accompanied by screams of agony that no amount of smoke and crackling could cover. But revenge, in turn, only breeds revenge. It's only at 8 sweeps old that Maipur learned why their pursuers were so angry everytime. Everywhere they had went, their stupid birdbrained lusus had dumped sticks of fire and cans of gasoline in every neighborhood. It had spent every effort to prevent Maipur from learning this, indulging in its pyromanic impulses and leaving them to deal with the consequence. In a fit of rage, Maipur grabs it by its neck, pins it to the ground and yells with all the desperation in the world "But why!? Why do you do this???". The creature could answer, it's one of the rare lusii smart enough for basic communication, but it chooses not to. With a flick of its dexterous talons, it spins its burning stick into Maipur's wrist who releases it in a cry of pain. Now freed, Maipur and the beast make eye contact. They look at at each other with sadness, with anger, with pain. And then it flies away. At 9 sweeps old, Maipur never saw their lusus again. With it gone, mobs stop forming from having their homes burned down, but the ire of the friends and loved ones of the people felled by Maipur still burns on. From purple to burgundy, land dwellers of every kind come after Maipur's head. What was once a technique for survival has long since turned to art. They can burn down a half a dozen foes in a single sweep of the brush now, perhaps, but instead in battle like in peace they apply this skill to a new hobby of theirs. Landscaping. Their flames meticulously burn away ugly plants and view blocking bushes. Everywhere they pass through, from the nourishment of the ashes and a few consciously planted seeds, beautiful scenic vistas arise in time accompanying the charred bodies they leave in their wake. The Firepainter's works, though often macabre in circumstance, quickly gets noticed by both competitive arson leagues and gardening guilds. "Her Condescension wastes, but she does not spurn" as the blue bloods say, and when the time comes to leave the homeworld, the empire makes good on that adage. Maipur is offered work far above the merit of their blood. They shape landscapes for High Blood employers, they prepare battlefields for the empire's invasions, they burn down armies of soldiers, they burn down fortresses, they burn villages, they burn innocents. Anything really, Work is work. Most trolls look back at their days on alternia with fondness. But Maipur never looks back.

Excipit: Eeeeeeeeeh, get it? It's, like, the imagery of a wick/candle that burns from one side to the next, kinda. "Everywhere they pass through", "in time", if Maipur does their landscaping stuff then leaves and never comes back to see the result there's something bizarre, and i'd say profoundly anti-artistic, in that. I didn't want to tap into the "mental illness = evil" trope which i fucking hate from the bottom of my heart, but i did kind of tap into it. But i feel there's a few caveats that should be cutting me some slacks. For first, the "mentally ill = evil" character is a fucking bird. For twoth, the morality of someone with a mental illness is still depend on themselves first, if the story is good the character's morality might derive from their relationship to the illness or a particular action might be explained by that mental illness, but the character's morality can't come directly from the illness itself. I feel there's enough grounds to say the bird was an asshole already, pyromaniac or not. It hid its crimes and harmed its charge/child. pyromania is just the vehicle through which that manifested. For thirth it's a fucking bird.

[randoosreal]

Soon, though, as the man tried to speak, his guitar held securely in his hands... he turns as another portal opens about a few meters to his right. It's a rift, like a gash in spacetime as absolute chaos is going on within it.

Screeches of unholy, incomprehensible eldritch horrors, the sounds of powerful spells and strikes being delivered and lots of words being slung around that I can't say here are heard, before something or someone is flung towards the rift.

They fly out of the rift suddenly, right at the man. It hits him and he goes immediately unconscious; as for the new visitor, they look something like this:

The figure soon yells something akin to "KILL YOURSELF" to the forces on the other side of the rift, that is, the elder horrors on the other side. He then pulls out a whole nuclear bomb from behind his back and tosses it into the rift. Right before he slams the rift shut, a loud explosion can be heard. Thankfully his arms stretch out and clamp the edges of the rift together, closing it.

He first turns to the man with the guitar which he just flew into. He looks a little concerned for him and grabs his ankle, tossing him through another rift he creates with a hospital visible on the other side, and then closes that rift. He then speaks:

"I'm so glad nobody else witnessed that tomfoolery that just occured! I sure hope I turn around and see nobody there!"

says this thing. His voice is odd, like eldritch whispers mimicking everything he says behind his surprisingly human voice.

The figure turns around and the then content look on his face shifts slowly and comically into a grimace. "Oh. It seems the writers have it out for me today. First, I'm fighting what would happen if Cthulhu and the Antichrist knew how to celebrate Christmas. Now... actually, y'know what, I'm not gonna say that."

"What I AM gonna say is the word-" says the figure, before his very bad curse word gets censored, a glitchy loud black bar appearing over his mouth. "You've got to be kidding. I can't curse? Man, I'm bouta-" says he before it's just a whole 5 minutes of that bar over his mouth. It doesn't vanish for a single moment in that timespan. At all.

The bar vanishes suddenly as the figure gives up. "This is bull honkey. I'm gonna do a 9/11 if I can't say curse words... okay not really but still it makes me mad." says he.

He looks at Jorden, awaiting what he's gonna say, since this particular writer for this section of the story is too inexperienced to write someone else's character because he doesn't wish to mischaracterize them.

POINTS ABOUT MIKE THAT AREN'T IN THE IMAGE:

he's completely all powerful lol (I'm not joking)

He holds back a lot because, with the infintismally small amount of power he bottlenecks himself into using, he can solo literally everyone in all of existence and if he were to use more he'd be putting the whole multiverse in danger of obliteration.

not only is he acutely aware he's fake, he's just as aware of OUR existence and can speak to us directly.

He has strong negative opinions on green beans (he would rather jump off the empire state building head first than eat one green bean he hates them with a burning passion yet for some reason green beans are a foundational aspect of the fictional multiverse so Mike can't get rid of them else he will kill all fiction with them).

also he will intentionally do the worst stuff ever and do all sorts of infuriating things just to get both the characters and the writers mad and he will giggle as they get mad but find themselves unable to do anything about him

HEY, WHO WANTS TO MAKE A OC TRAIN!

Ok now that I have your attention, here is what I'm thinking... 

We are going to create the BIGGEST CROSSOVER between everyone’s OC’s. It’s going to be like a relay race between a whole bunch of different writers. Everyone will have an opportunity to add their OC and their part of the story into the mix.

It’s going to be one CHAOTIC MESS! But that's what's going to make it so fun!

How this will work:

I’ll start with my own section of the story.

You’ll continue the story, adding your OC and their perspective.

Leave your part open-ended so the next person can continue.

The more OCs that join, the harder it will be to keep track—good luck! 😆

You can write a single paragraph or a full scene—whatever you’re comfortable with!

All skill levels are welcome! Please join and we want you in!

After you write your tid bit, you can write a few facts about your character, as a reference for other writers

BUT….

Here are some rules to abide by:

Please keep this story clean. I have minors reading this. 

So no swearing, no gore, no spice, just keep it PG. Please!-keep it fun for everyone!

Other than that you are free to take the story in any direction you want! 

Here is the starting point of our adventure. If you wish to join this little fesco, reblog this post, and add your part of the adventure!.

Let the chaos begin!

White nothingness swirled around him, expanding in all directions, erasing any hints of life. The horizon line was blurred, nothing more than a suggestion at this point.

Jordan Waystone stood on what remained of a parking lot, a jagged slab of concrete adrift in the void. Bits of concrete crumbled around the edges. A broken sign clung to the pavement. The colorful letters of the sign were faded and peeling, slowly being claimed by the void. It was like looking at a faded photograph. It was wrong. Everything in here was wrong.

Jordan watched the void. His grey hoodie hung loosely around his frame. The fabric floated around him, along with his headphone cord. A pair of blue ear phones sat comfortably on top of his hair, squashing the tight curly mess. Music played gently through the speakers, and his fingers moved in tune, matching each beat with a drum of his fingers.

"Bloody! They should be here by now," he muttered. His fingers sped up in annoyance. He had timed this. He knew when the void was about to shift. Still, the whiteness persisted. Jordan huffed, pulling his headphones off his ears. The sudden quietness was deafening. He itched to put the headphones back on.

A toy truck floated next to his face. Jordan snagged it out of the air, studying it between his fingertips. It was bright yellow, a stark contrast to his olive skin tone. It was cool to the touch, and he could feel its weight in his palm.

"Strange," he thought.

It must be new. That meant it was near. He was close, so close. Things would be right again. He would make them right. He realized his hand had closed into a tight fist. He opened it, revealing the lorry in his hand. An inscription on the side of the truck caught his eye. It was written in black marker: "Mark, 14." He guessed the number was the boy’s age. He wasn’t much older than he was, Jordan thought with surprise.

He breathed out. Even if it was here, he wouldn’t be able to fight it. He released the toy truck, watching it spin aimlessly into the void.

The void rippled. Jordan’s head snapped up. The dimensions walls moved outwards, like it was made out of liquid.

"Finally," Jordan breathed. He smiled, watching as the void collapsed in on itself, drawing inward into a knot. Creating a small black hole in the center.

Jordan kicked upwards, sending his body toward the rift. The void continued to draw on itself, forming a black dot in the center of the white canvas. Then it exploded outwards, sending ripples across the expanse. Each ripple hit him, sending a tingling sensation along his body. He pushed through drawing closer.

 The knot ripped open. Blue sky tumbled out, and scents of a different world flowed past him. Light, sunlight touched his skin. Something he had almost forgotten the feel of. All of it—so different from his home dimension. And it felt so right. 

A figure tumbled out of the tear. They flailed, their arms spun wildly. They kicked trying to right themselves. 

Jordan floated next to them. The figure jerked away, eyes wide.

"Oi! No need to look so miffed, mate," Jordan said, grinning. "I’m Jordan Waystone, and I need your help."

Jorden way stone:

personality: formal, analytical. usually the calm one but will hold a grudge.

Has a need to make everything right.

He has a problem with things being out of place.

About 16 years old.

likes music

He's not technically part of the novel i'm writing.

But I love him ether way

also he is supposed to be British.

However I am American and did little to no research

[ghostmartyr]

...I have lost my temper, so this is all going under a cut despite the fact that some of it clearly needs to be shouted into people’s ears. This is pure hate for a fandom I am not part of, because I hate it. Reasonableness not found.

It’s about ship hate.

Specifically, shipper hate. And why NO.

Buckle the fuck in.

...So I don’t spend time in the fandom anymore. I hate it.

But I unfortunately have friends. So I hear stuff.

So. Uh.

I despise the Eren and Historia ship with all of my heart.

Meanwhile, the people who also hate it are so fucking loud and obnoxious that I can’t hate it in peace without feeling tainted by their inability to leave people the fuck alone.

(ETA: ...Several hours later, wow. I was not kidding about losing my temper. The below was crossed out originally, and for the sake of continuity I won’t delete it, but good grief, me. Calm down. You’re not helping.)

Stop sending people hate. You take away my ability to peacefully fantasize about my NOTP burning to a fucking crisp, and you make the general perception in the fandom that anyone who cares about queer rep in the fandom is a raving jackass.

Is that remotely true? No. Does fandom perception function on truth? Also no.

Also, when people get hate, spite becomes a motivator.

Thanks guys. You’ve made the fandom even more full of that thing we can’t stand. Wow, gee, why are so many more people in favor of this ship I hate now?

Gee, I fucking wonder.

People do not stop being invested because you send them hate. Or they do, which is actually awful. Fandom’s fun. It is supposed to be fun. Let the people who haven’t completely fallen to the hate in their hearts actually have a good fucking time and leave them the fuck alone.

I hate this ship. So fucking much. But do you know what happens when I try to hate it at the moment? I feel guilty! Because every single person who actually likes it has to put up with this crap! You people being assholes is interfering with my quiet, simmering hate, and it’s annoying.

(I got calmer as things went on, so that’s crossed out in the spirit of giving people the option of ignoring the vitriol. ...There’s. Still a lot of vitriol. But. The above is probably the worst?)

And you know what? If canon were to actually make it a thing, yeah, there would be some very serious reasons to complain. But you know what else? Right now, you’re complaining about something that isn’t canon. Because it is not fucking canon. You aren’t complaining about a worrying trope within a product of mainstream media.

You’re complaining about other fans enjoying themselves in a way you don’t like.

Does it suck that the whole fucking Historia fandom would prefer shipping her with every single male character over her ending up with a girlfriend? Yes.

Does shouting at the people who still know how to have fun change how much that sucks? Not really.

Look. I hate this fandom. With all of my fucking heart. I don’t belong in it. People don’t like me, and none of the things I care about are things that it values. I spend every second I’m forced to think about this fandom consumed with hatred for life in general. Is that healthy? No. Hence the leaving.

Don’t take away people’s joy. Ever. Even if it’s for something you hate. They need it just as badly as you need yours.

Find your joy again instead of trying to tear someone else’s down. If you succeed, you ruin someone’s day/week/life. If you don’t, they’ll probably create more of that thing you hate. Which doesn’t help you in any way, shape, or form.

I would kill to find a reasonable discussion about wanting Historia to be a lesbian and being disappointed that fandom has zero interest in that. I would kill to find a serious discussion on how fucked up it is that the manga appears to have killed her girlfriend off-screen and impregnated her. Regardless of anything else, she is queer. Hell, she could be head over heels in love with NPC Farmer Guy, and she’d still be queer, and the narrative problems with her arc as it appears would still be worthy of critical discussion.

And instead of that content existing, people keep screaming at fans of a non-canon m/f pairing.

Which, even if it were canon, would be a jerk move.

Pairings being canon means that you can shout about them without hating their fanbase. That’s really the only change, but it is a significant one. When a pairing is canon, that means shouting about it is shouting about canon. When pairings aren’t canon, shouting about them means that you are shouting at their fanbase.

One of those is okay. Unless the shouting leads to direct content with the creators. The other is straight up being a dick.

Not everyone who likes m/f is homophobic. Hell, some people just like Eren and Historia together. Is that a fun thought? No. Is Eren the only character Historia has significant canon interaction with? Pretty fucking much. People will ship anything that stands in the same room long enough. It comes down to personal preference.

Most people do not have personal preferences that lead them to f/f. It sucks. Shouting about it is not going to change that. You can talk about why that is, and why misogyny and homophobia combine with discussion of queer female characters and why that doubly sucks.

People will still ship the thing you don’t like.

At best, you might make them feel ashamed about it.

Awesome. More people feeling like they’re not allowed to love the things they love.

Historia Reiss is a queer character. The entire fandom regularly screams about how she never actually had feelings for Ymir. Currently, her arc involves her girlfriend dying off-screen while she herself is coerced into pregnancy.

So, you know. Let’s complain about how people want Eren and Historia to bang. That’s clearly the problem.

Again, I hate the ship! I hate that half its shippers appear to be following me and I have no idea why (....no offense, I’m sure you’re all wonderful people, I just have a lot of hate I’m really sorry thanks for the likes)! I hate that it’s difficult to find fans who want Historia to be gay! I hate that the one person I’ve seen wanting her to be asexual said that Ymir and Historia weren’t canon! I hate that before I left, every single damn fan of Historia who cared about Historia as a person, not an accessory, seemed to be cheering for the possibility of Eren and Historia!

But you know what I hate most?

I can’t find anyone who feels that way who has remembered to treat their fellow fans with respect. The people I know who have my preferences? I know that because they scream and shout at people. They tag their hate, they send anonymous messages, and generally make people feel like garbage for enjoying a thing.

I can’t even want Ymir and Historia to end up together without feeling guilty, because I know if that happens, everyone who happens to like a m/f ship involving Historia is going to get crapped on.

I’ve wanted Historia to be a lesbian since I started this series, and I am now in a place where I feel bad for wanting that, because the people interested in her being other sections of the spectrum get treated so terribly.

The honest truth is that I left the fandom because psychologically, I am a disaster, and everything being shouted back and forth hit too close to home. I can’t handle it. I don’t expect to ever touch it again outside of my bubble, because every brush I’ve had with it since makes me miserable.

What triggered this mess of temper was one of my friends commenting that someone I know got hate for making some kind of graphic. He used hyperbolic language about how “oh so they did this so that means they’re murdering gay people.”

I don’t hold that against him, but the reason it set me off is because the perception is that people upset with Historia being the m/f bicycle of the fandom are whiny brats who deserve to be unhappy and are overreacting to homophobia that doesn’t exist.

And it’s just... anon hate is never okay. It helps nothing, and hurts people. Including the people sending it. Putting that darkness in your soul into action is just going to make it worse.

But part of what that hate has done is... it’s made it so the loudest voices of the people upset over Historia and the problems with her treatment are anonymous haters who make people who like the wrong ship cry.

That. is not a helping thing.

Historia’s portrayal in the manga is a damn concerning thing. The fact that people still argue that she never had feelings for Ymir is a very concerning thing.

The fact that people ship her with Eren might be frustrating, and even hurtful with the reminder that the majority of the fandom definitely does not want Historia to be gay, but it is very much not the thing to be loud and worried over (especially because, again, non-canon, so you’re really just picking on the fanbase itself, which has zero point except for meanness).

Maybe I’m imagining it, since I left. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, since my little corner is so distant.

But what it feels like is that people complaining about homophobia has become synonymous with whiny brats with no respect for fandom boundaries. Because the people complaining about homophobia loudest are acting like whiny brats with no respect for fandom boundaries.

And that is a problem.

Homophobia still exists. Lesbophobia still exists. Biphobia still exists. From my limited contact before I left, I know that those last two are at war instead of holding hands, because they’ve fundamentally misunderstood what each side is upset about.

(Side bar I guess: People upset about lesbophobia are upset about lesbians being treated like crap. People upset about biphobia are upset about bisexuals being treated like crap.

Not wanting a queer female character to like men does not equal hating bisexuals. Wanting a queer female character to like men does not equal hating lesbians.

Meanwhile, at this point, if Historia is ever given a canon sexual identity beyond liking Ymir, a lot of people are going to be hurt for personal reasons that have nothing to do with their respect for various sexualities. Having your hopes dashed sucks. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You should be allowed to feel however you want about fiction in peace.

Which leads us back to me wanting Historia to just fucking die so that no side will ever have the option of harassing another because “ha ha we were right you all suck.”

Just. Just kill the queer. It will be so much less awful that way. Kill her now.

I need this series to end and the tags to accidentally be deleted. Or on purpose, whatever works.)

Going back to... yeah.

As much as we all like to think we’re reasonable people who use our heads, when something does not actively affect you, it is easy to start taking it as seriously as you take that thing’s spokesperson.

So the fact that the apparent spokespeople for lesbophobia in the SnK fandom are a bunch of rabid anons lacking in basic respect?

That... is really sadness-inducing.

You’ve taken an understandable pain and twisted it into a frothing hate that does nothing but hurt people.

Please don’t do that.

Be hurt. Be upset.

But be kind. For the sake of yourselves, and for the sake of the things you’re trying to champion. It’ll go better.

(...And on that note, I’m really sorry for all the yelling. Which probably made a few people who didn’t deserve it feel bad. I am just a very angry person, and. ...When I say I left for a reason, this is that reason. Every behavior I’m critical of is something I have felt a thousand times worse in my heart. I want to be a bad person more than anyone in this damn fandom.

But sorry for the yelling. I know most of you guys have nothing to do with any of this. Hell, I’m not even in the fandom, so who knows if what I’m screaming about is accurate.)

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumpcember #8

Mass Effect Andromeda - #8 - Faked Death

*

Watching it was unbearable and dangerous.

Yet Reyes stood, hood pulled over his disguised face, shifting uncomfortably in the padded shoes meant to make him taller. An urn rested on a small, recently-built platform.

He had never intended to attend his own funeral, but his worry over Ryder saw him here regardless.

Ryder stood, his sister on one side of him and Liam on the other. He leaned heavily into his sister, and Sara put her arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Reyes crept closer carefully. The way Ryder’s shoulders shook broke his heart. He’d never seen such a strong man look so weak.

It had been necessary. That’s what Reyes had told himself, at least, as he engineered the plot.

His enemies had been dangerously close to discovering his identity as the Charlatan. Rather than risk the chaos that would cause, Reyes and Keema had arranged to fake his death.

It had been careful. They’d quietly captured and killed an enemy, dressed him in Reyes’ clothing. Reyes had accepted a meeting he knew was a trick. With Keema and a few highly trusted men in tow, Reyes went into the building he knew he was supposed to die in.

Sure enough, he was locked inside and the building was set ablaze. Keema helped him escape and plant the body of the man, who burned down to bone. Then she went back in and confirmed it was his body, planting his weapons on it as proof.

It was temporary. Just until they could find and kill everyone who threatened Reyes’ true identity. 

But he couldn’t tell Ryder. Ryder’s reaction is what sold the ruse. It was a key part of the plan, and the part that tore Reyes to pieces the most.

Liam touched Ryder’s arm. “Do you want to say anything, Ryder?”

Ryder lifted his head and slowly turned to face the gathering. Reyes was pretending to be one of three friends of Keema’s who had known Reyes. He was thoroughly disguised, but still ducked his head a little as Ryder’s anguished eyes swept over the small group of people here to mourn.

“Reyes wasn’t perfect,” Ryder said. “He could be a real shady bastard sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Jaal said, and a small ripple of laughter broke the tension in the crowd.

Ryder gave a weak, sorrowful smile. “Alright, a lot of times he could be a real shady bastard. But he…he was so much more than he ever got credit for. He was a cheesy romantic that liked to slow dance. He was a free man who loved nothing more than to fly across an open sky. He was a leader who wanted to bring peace.”

Reyes felt himself choking up. Ryder thought so highly of him. And here was Reyes, being that lying, shady bastard everyone else knew he was. 

He did not deserve Ryder. He knew he would never be forgiven for this.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” Ryder said. “That’s what he said to me. The first words. And he was right. More right than I knew at the time.” He looked at the urn, with the ashes of a stranger sealed inside. Tears brimmed in Ryder’s eyes and pain flared in Reyes’ heart. “I’ll be waiting for the rest of my life for someone who will never come back.”

Reyes wanted to scream that he was right here, he was alive, it was a cruel plot. But he couldn’t, not with Kadara at stake like this. If he revealed himself, it also put Keema in danger. He was too tangled into his own scheming to ease Ryder’s pain.

Ryder was crying silently now, stepping back to his sister for comfort. She held him tightly, whispering soothingly in his ear as he clutched at her. 

“You are watching his trust in you die,” Keema said quietly. “He will never recover from this, even if he comes to understand why it was necessary.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Reyes said, his voice numb even as every other part of him ached at this turn of events.

He’d imagined building a future with Ryder in a hostile galaxy that they tamed together. He’d opened himself up, promising honesty, always knowing he could expect it in return. Ryder would never lie to him - not about the big stuff. That was the whole basis of their relationship. 

And here was Reyes, killing Ryder in a way the Archon never could.

His pain was excruciating as he watched the most beloved and cherished person in his life cry for him. No one had ever loved him so much. No one had ever trusted him so much.

He accepted the pain he felt now. The pain Ryder would feel when he learned the truth would be worse, and Reyes just hoped it wasn’t enough to shatter him in the end.

[etheriaaly]

Just The Two Of Us [C! Tommyinnit x GN! Reader]

FLUFF TO ANGST (PLATONIC)  WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, character death, cursing

Reader pronouns: They/them 

A/N: Hi, this is my first DSMP fanfic so uhh I hope u enjoy lmao. There might be grammatical errors so pls do not mind it :D

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ∣ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

—

[Y/N] already lost count of all the pranks and chaos they made with Tommy. They didn't like causing havoc or pulling pranks on people but if Tommy asked them to tag along, they would. Tommy is their best friend after all. Plus, where's the fun in life without a little risk?

[Y/N] was just at their Cottage house, peacefully making the potions that Quackity ordered just hours ago. Since [Y/N] is a skilled witch, it was no shock when they owned a Potions business. Everyone in the SMP server knows about this and they usually come and buy their potions. 

They were about to finish the last set of potions that Quackity ordered until they ran out of ingredients. "Dammit." [Y/N] muttered under their breath. They turned around and immediately went to find if they have any stock ingredients in their barrels or chests.

When they saw no stock ingredients, [Y/N] sighed and decided to do some last minute ingredients grinding. It was until they opened the door and saw Tommy standing in front of their house door.

[Y/N] knew that his presence is no good because that motherfucker is grinning ear to ear. They playfully groaned and asked, "What is it this time child?"

"Hey, I told you not to call me a child anymore!" Tommy suddenly protested, feeling insulted but went back to his sly grin and said, "Let's prank Skeppy and Bad." 

"That's a horrible idea." 

"Come on, bitch. It'll be fun." 

And they did come with Tommy. A couple hours had passed and [Y/N] had already forgotten about the ingredients they were gonna get for Quackity's potions. Tommy said that Big Q's order can wait but the prank can't. 

It wasn't long after Bad and Skeppy saw the two teenagers doing their little harmless prank on them. 

[Y/N] caught sight of the two and immediately tugged on Tommy's shirt. "Fuck, Tommy we gotta go." 

Tommy, unfazed and still focused on the prank, said, "Just a little longer." 

[Y/N] nudged Tommy's side using her elbows as the two teenagers can now hear Skeppy and Bad's incoherent yelling drawing closer and closer to them. 

"RUN!" [Y/N] yelled as they both left the things they used to try to prank BBH and Skeppy. 

The two let out a laugh as they ran away. Tommy constantly turned his head back to see if Skeppy and Bad are still after them. 

[Y/N] and Tommy continued to run even though Bad and Skeppy stopped coming after them. It wasn't until the two teenagers finally stopped running so that they could catch their breath. 

"What now?" [Y/N] gasped, who is still out of breath from both running and laughing at the same time. They looked at Tommy. 

Tommy grinned again and then grabbed their arm, "I have something pog to show you." 

[Y/N] didn't question Tommy and just let him drag them to a mountain. 

Once they have reached the destination, [Y/N] let out a 'wow'. The view is breathtaking and it is very peaceful. The mountain isn't that very far from the SMP but it looks like very few have come across this part. 

"So, what do you think?" Tommy asked, looking at the view. The view consists of the calming ocean waves and a peaceful sunsetting with birds passing by. 

[Y/N] turned to Tommy and smiled, "This could be our secret spot." They slowly walked towards the edge of the mountain cliff but were immediately stopped by Tommy. 

"Oh, [Y/N] wait. Be careful, the edge of the cliff looks really faulty." Tommy warned. 

[Y/N] immediately stepped back a little and took note of what Tommy said. But, they were still curious and looked down at the edge of the cliff, only to see the water from below. 

If someone would fall from this cliff and took a heavy impact on the water, that person wouldn't survive due to how high the mountain cliff is. 

[Y/N] then proposed, "You know, when things are stressful and stuff. We can just go here, sit in silence and look at the view as the wind or the waves takes away our problems for a while." 

"Just the two of us." The blonde haired lad said and then they both stood in silence, admiring the view and beauty of the server. 

Oh, if only you could turn back in time and relive this memory. If only things are still the same the way it was before. 

It's been so long since [Y/N] had fun and peace. Probably so many months since Tommy first showed them their secret mountain hangout area. 

[Y/N] currently stood still, gazing at the view that was once calm and peaceful but was now replaced with sounds of flying TNTs, fireworks and screams from the background.

They were in no state of mind as of the moment. They don't even know what to do anymore. A lot has changed ever since the wars, the exilation of Tommy. 

[Y/N] sniffed, wiping their tears using their now mangy sleeves caused by the current chaotic event. They continued to stare at the ocean, a potion of poison glistening in their hands. 

[Y/N] looked at the Potion of Poison that they were holding and pondered whether to drink it or not. 

Maybe it's best to end it once and for all. They don't have anywhere to go anyways. They don't have any friends or family to turn back to since everyone is against them or thought badly of them now. 

[Y/N] can't even go back to L’manberg as well since they're now a wanted criminal for breaking the laws and escaping from their house since they're supposed to be on house arrest for the crimes they didn't even do. 

They opened the cork of the potion, but they didn't drink it yet. They let their mind wander for a while and process everything that has happened. 

Maybe Dream was right. Maybe the people they loved never even cared for them at all. Maybe it was all just a lie. Maybe—

"[Y/N]." A familiar voice that they haven't heard in a while. 

It was windy. The cool breeze of air touched their skins. But along with the wind, there are particles of TNT or fireworks dusts. 

The [H/C] haired person turned around and saw their best friend for the first time in months. 

"Tommy." [Y/N] replied. Their voice were hoarse and dry. "What are you- What are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same thing." Tommy glared at them.

[Y/N] quietly groaned, closed their eyes for a while and pinched their nose bridge, still holding the potion on their other hand. "So, you believe all that shit?"

"Enough for me to believe the fact you tried to murder Tubbo, burn my invites and team up with Dream." 

Tommy added, "Maybe they were right about you. You're Dream's sibling after all." 

[Y/N] scoffed and threw their available hand around the air, "He may be my sibling, but we are never alike." 

"Why, [Y/N]? Why did you do it?" Tommy asked, hands gripping tighter on his sword. "Did Dream finally get into your head for you to commit these crimes? Or did you just do it because it's in your blood?" 

"You don't know a thing that happened," [Y/N] harshly spit back, completely trying to avoid the topic of Dream. "Of course you don't. You were exiled."

Tommy never understood why. Why had they turned like this? He felt rage and betrayal. During his exiled time, Tommy thought that they were gonna be that one person who would try to find him. Comfort him or even send him secret coded messages. But no, he received nothing. 

It hurts. Hurts like hell to know your best friend turned their back on everyone. A best friend that he has known for years. A part of him wants to believe they didn't do it but the proofs are enough for him to believe it was really them. 

"Well, you really can't blame me can you? You can only blame yourself," [Y/N] said. "This all started because of you and your stupid discs. All you ever care about is the FUCKING DISCS. Wars started, lives were lost, relationships were destroyed, all just because of those discs." 

They had never done this before. This was their first time just being angry and shouting at each other. Although this might be new to each other, it was obvious that they have been bottling up their emotions way too long. 

"You know what?! Things would be so much better if only you didn't exist." Tommy instantly regretted what he said as soon as he saw a potion glisten from [Y/N]'s hands. 

He may not be an expert but he knew well enough of the potions due to him hanging out too much with them before. "What are you doing?" Tommy immediately asked. "Is that a potion of poison?" 

"Nothing for you to care about." [Y/N] turned back towards the cliff and stared at the view once again. 

"Just the two of us again here, huh?" They said as they pulled the potion towards their mouth, just inches away from the lips now until Tommy hurriedly ran towards [Y/N] and tackled them. 

"What are you, an idiot?!" Tommy scolded as they both fought each other while trying not to fall from the cliff. He tried to pull the potion of poison away but it was hard since they kept gripping on it. 

It wasn't until Tommy was finally able to remove the potion from [Y/N]'s grasps. He threw the potion far away as it got smashed on the ground. 

The two of them were too busy fighting over the potion to notice that one of them is now standing on the faulty edge of the cliff. 

[Y/N] was on the edge of the cliff and accidentally backed away from Tommy, thinking there was still space. A loud shriek came out of their mouth.

Tommy immediately ran towards the edge, scrambled on his feet and looked down. Luckily, [Y/N] was able to hold onto the edge but their hands are shaky and tired from all the things that just happened. 

"I got you, I got you." Tommy frantically muttered, his breath increasing as to not knowing what will happen next. 

[Y/N] grip is slowly failing. Once their hands slipped, Tommy instantly grabbed their hands and tried to pull them back up. But, he too was tired from everything that has been happening. 

He tried to pull them up again but it was no use. Stress was adding up even more the moment they both felt the edge of the cliff shaking once more. 

Tommy can't do it anymore. So, he let out all the tears he's been trying to fight back. 

"It's gonna be okay, Tommy. Let me go." 

The blonde haired teen's eyes widened at [Y/N]'s statement. He can't do it. He can't bear to lose another loved one in his life. 

"I can't lose you too, [N/N]." Tommy croaked. 

The two might've fought just minutes ago but this is now a life and death situation. Problems and angst aside, they still care for each other. 

"You already did." Tommy's eyes widened in confusion and sadness. [Y/N] forced their hand to slip from his as Tommy tried to tighten it even more. [Y/N] had a few energies remaining, so they used it to push themselves off the cliff with their foot, making Tommy let go. 

For Tommy, everything is going so fast that his mind almost stopped working. 

But everything was in slow motion for [Y/N]. The fresh wind was so refreshing, almost making them forget what is currently happening to them. 

They closed their eyes, not wanting to see anymore reactions from Tommy. This is their end. This was meant to be. 

The moment [Y/N] chose to fall out from Tommy's grip, the blonde panicked and set aside all items he had with him. Without thinking properly, he lunged himself off the cliff. The only goal he had in mind was to save [Y/N] before it's too late. 

But he was, indeed, late. 

Everyone's communicator beeped. They all took at least some time to look at what the message could be on the communicator. As soon as everyone read the 2 words, their jaws dropped. 

[Y/N] drowned. 

[glowingsquiddragon]

part 2!

why do they have what they do as their aces?

Macaque and hisuian zoroark are just perfect match, as they (if fanart is to be belived went opposite colors after death n stuff) they both died at the fault of someone else (implied that most zoroark froze to death and LBD Brought back macaque and shes got a lot of ice stuff). Both are fuled by an intense hate and malice towards (zoroark) the living, and (macaque) the one who killed him. They both do everything they can to survive in this second chance even if its morally doubious at best. Both use shadows to fight. And are specialized in illusions to cause mischief and chaos, to fight, and decive. While also being intensely protective once they have someone they care for. With the zoroark making illusions so strong and powerful it can physically harm people (including itself) and macaque would do anything just to keep MK alive (even fight him to just try and get him to stop him from doing something reckless)

Mei’s Ace is her Noivern. A strong powerful dragon thats loud and feels rather down to party at any time. But still controlled as outbursts could be devastating, so much so that its been practicing its ability to control itself. Its learned that in her house its to be under control. But once they go outside and leave they can have all the fun in the world, it will carry her and fly throw her up in the sky and soar around the city just to feel how free the sky makes them

MK’s Ace is his Riolu, the pokemon that matches his mentor. The one that trains with him every day together to get stronger and be better. Mks whole team is mostly unevolved because hes still learning and growing and going on his journey so his Pokemon relfect that, as they are also growing with him. None are evolved. And with his Ace the Riolu their friendship has their hearts matching, growing together, getting stronger and learning how to protect as many people as they can as both tirelessly train Wukong has lucario is an evolved riolu, the stage where it has mastered its fighting, riolu is still learning and in need of support but works hard and trains endlessly to be better. And thats why MK and his Riolu are partners

sandys ace is his drampa stictly off of vibes

Wukong’s ace is interesting

because his was a hard hard choice. But I ended up realizing the perfect option. Wukong has 2 aces

his Volcarona and Lucario

volcarona fits surprisingly well. Something incredibly powerful even seen as a secondary sun in times of need, but can also be too much causing harm to those around it. While Lucario is more controlled and reserved with its training and practice and is a lot more serious. I guess in a way. Volcarona could be his previous ace, but it shifted to Lucario as he learned more control but he also still can get a bit reckless so it may be suited that it remain as volcarona, as it makes things incredibly hot and is often very isolated like how he was on his island. Seen as a powerful legend, but remaining lonely cautious to approch others as to try an avoid any cases of icarus flying too close to the sun. so in some more serious matters where he exhibits more patience and caution lucario remains his ace, but still most often it is volcarona But both Wukong’s Lucario and Volcarona are at equal strength swapping when needed. one for caution and care the other with reckless brute force (raining down firey scales that devour oxygen as wukong forgets for a moment that others are mortal.The others still need to breathe) the switch for whatever situation calls for them the most.

Redson’s ace is his chandelure. His chandelure reflects the loss (sealing) of the samadi fire. It is a reflection of his most powerful ability that was lost, stolen away from him. But also represents his destructive behavior. chandelure lures people in and burns away their life force and devours essentially their souls, a powerful terrifying thing that is difficult to control. But the fire was sealed away, much like in the sense that the Chandelure is captured and serving. But it’s still dangerous. (There will be a whole post about Reds relationship with his chandelure) the Absolute destruction caused by both of them in different ways is what makes them mirror each other, the chandelure is subservient to red because sure it kinda likes him but more than that it’s beneficial the beast follows him because he provides food, but like the samadi fire is more dangerous than the host itself, and threatens harm to the ‘wilder’. The danger that Redson’s ace poses to him is also pretty much representative of how hes often falls victim to situations of even his own creation

Am I doing this? Yes. Yes I am

macaques team:

Hisuian zoroark (his ace, both illusionists, back from the dead and fuled by spite). Umbreon (evolves with the power of the moon). Xatu (because sees past and future ). Armarouge (Gifted by wukong) Absol (pokemon no one ever seems to trust) Shedinja (an empty shell of what once was)

honorary mentions, Marshadow (travels in shadows and fighter), dusknoir (reflections of his time under LBD, his darkest times of following orders from another to survive, judge jury and executioner), mimikyu (lonely baby that just wants friends hiding themselves to try and protect people), and Banette (puppet master and puppeteer filled with malice), Darkrai (forced to live in isolation because its mere presence gives nightmares to anyone nearby)

Wukong’s team will include:

Volcarona (secondary sun) Cereludge (gifted by macaque) Darmanitan (Firey monkey that meditates) Lucario (well trained aura warrior) Espeon (day babygirl) Rhyperior (Big heavy rock)

Honorary member: weedle. A bug he just found and it’s following him around

runner ups: solrock and daytime lycanroc

Mei’s team is:

Noivern (ace, loud, party vibes) Dragionair (big noodle) Charizard (fire dragon cretur) Hydrapple (she feels like she’d try to use mostly only dragons, even a slightly silly one. Also she went apple picking with MK and found a tiny apple dragon with him so she kept it) Golurk (family guardian) Sigilyph (artifact protector. Follows the sword and its master to keep both safe)

honorary mention: goodra (just feels like she’d vibe with em)

MK ‘s team:

Tyrogue (Practice and get stronger together) Meinfoo (kunfu massttterrr) Riolu (like mentor, ace) Hakamo-o (gift from mei) Passimian (Monkee, but consistantly works in groups, mk needs to learn to accept assistance but also he dosent ever wanna lose his friends) Monferno (also monkey)

Redsons team :

Chandelure (ace, reflection of the lost samahdi fire) Tauros palden blaze (bull) Coalossal (Powering his inventions) Magnazone (also powersource inventions n such) kingsgambit (it appears to be skill based but its heavily on tricks that it got to where it is dark type) Hydregion (highly dangerous and agressive, constantly thinking of destruction it was kept because its powerful)

honorary mention: cofegregus

Sandy’s also fun, i dunno a lot about him but

His ace absolutely Drampa (parental creature) Rosesrade (for tea leaves). Gloom (smelly but sweet <3) Leavany (arts and crafts and making stuff likes to make clothes for other pokemon) Leafeon (therapy cat helps other plants grow) And wooper (because i love wooper and i feel like hed like wooper)

Honorary mentions: shroomish, butterfree , sprigatitio other small pokemon

[prismadog]

Since Scott made his brother into an accessory, I've been seeing a lot of corrupted!Scott content from artwork to fics to random posts.

that's all well and good. it is - I live for that dark gritty angsty stuff.

but!

butbutbutbut!

what if!

what if it has the opposite affect?

what if wearing his crystal-trapped brother doesn't make Scott corrupted but makes Xornoth uncorrupted?

what if Xornoth can hear and see everything that goes on in the world outside the crystal?

what if, because of that - they can see and hear everyone Scott interacts with - his citizens, his allies, his enemies? all of it, they see what Scott sees and they hear what Scott hears.

the Rivendell Feast and the chaos that ensues - the way the Codfather kills Scott for the Crown of Empires.

Scott's meticulous digging and filling and decorating of the cod sanctuary - they pity him for his lack of control of his new-found ice magic

the ice that doesn't melt in the lake and the worry they hear in Scott's voice - they remember when they first got their powers from Exor and how hellish amazing it was despite the powers being near uncontrollable

Scott's meticulous, again, building of the "statue" in the Codfather's empire and his interaction with the Swamp King's ally - the one that doesn't believe in them and is also married to that eldritch horror of the ocean that they fear hate

the late nights his brother has been having where he's planned out the sanctuary and the tower, and sometimes talks to himself, maybe even sometimes hums songs they've long forgotten

then the taking of the Crown of Empires, they watch their brother plan that out just as carefully, if not more so, and even put a little thought into it, and even gives the Codfather gifts beforehand - oh, Exor, their brother has it bad for the Swamp King, doesn't he? and they get the *insert sarcasm here* wonderful opportunity to see it from a front-row seat. lovely *insert more sarcasm*

but most of all - most of all -

- they get to be near the brother they lost - they get to listen to him talk or sing, even if it's just to himself.

- they get to fly through the skies like they've never done before - they could hover and teleport due to their powers but could never fly the way Alinar could Scott can. and it's the most exhilarating thing in the world - being above the clouds, dipping through them, spinning in lazy circles, the cold air hitting their crystal, the wind as it rushes by - all of it!

- they can hear his heart beating 24/7, a calm steady rhythm that at first was driving them mad but is slowly starting to become a nice relaxing sound to their ears - it fills the silence that they've long grown accustomed to and drowns out the voices of the corruption that whispers of dark evil things in their mind.

- they listen to his steady breathing at night when he's sleeping and they can almost feel Scott's cold fingers as they wrap around their crystal - he seems to like holding it, they find, because he's begun doing it during the day when he's thinking or just relaxing and y'know, it kind of relaxes them too, makes them feel connected to the brother they lost

they get to be near their brother in a way that they could only do when they were a child, long before Exor, long before the jealousy and the anger and the hatred, long before they felt nothing but love for their brother.

maybe being so close to Scott, trapped in the prison of their own making, could help show Xornoth that they were wrong in following Exor, could help show them the beauty of the world around them and how they came so close to destroying it, could help them fall in love with life again and seek the comfort of family instead of the powers of a god.

maybe they could find peace and just rest and hope that one day, they'll be released from the corruption in their soul. maybe if they ever get free, they can amend the bridges they burned when they chose Exor over family - maybe them and Alinar Scott can be brothers again like when they were children.

* idk, I just think I'd like to see Xornoth get the love and support and healing that they desperately need. like, don't get me wrong, I'm all for corrupted!Scott/villain!Scott, but also, I want Scott and Xornoth to make amends and just be brothers [which, I know, from an smp/filming standpoint, most likely not going to happen because that'd be hella-difficult to work with but for just an idea, maybe talked about or not, wonderful 10/10]

[sparkliingcrown]

— my worst nightmare.

Summary: You know the saying that goes 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?' How much closer can you get to your enemy than being roommates?

Request: Brownies + Dark Irish Coffee 

Genre: Roommates AU, College AU, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: Lots of swearing. I didn’t hold back in that aspect. Uhm, mentions of drinking, yn kinda panics at one point... I think that should be all! If not, pls notify me ^^

Note: An Eishi Café special. Yes, this is because it was last minute requests and it took too long for me to get to and open up the café again. ALSO TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS, I’M SORRY I MISREAD THE ORDER AND WROTE IT AS A LIGHT REQUEST! I hope you still like it nonetheless... Sorry it took so long T^T Also, this is my first time writing something like this so I really hope that it fits.

You were hauling your bags and boxes up to your new dorm room by yourself. That wasn’t exactly the greatest way to start the day, considering you had to stay up packing the last of your stuff, rushing to the nearest train station, riding the train, and then driving all the way to your new dorm room for college yesterday. You didn’t even get to sleep a wink on the train and you sure as hell can’t sleep while on the road. So, in short, you were tired, hungry, and really fucking pissed.

You mocked your naive and excited self, making faces as you tugged your bags closer to your body, pulling the strap of your backpack higher up your shoulder to keep it from falling on the floor. Go to college, they said. You'll have the time of your life, they said. Who's they? The many, many movies you watched growing up. And where exactly were you now?

"Can you at least try to help me move my stuff inside?" You drop your bags at the door, stretching your arms out.

"Lemme think about it." He closes his eyes for a second, letting out a deep breath. "No."

That's right. You were stuck with him. Choi Seungcheol. The bane of your existence.

That motherfucker.

His majesty was sitting comfortably on the couch, a cup of boba in his hand. Oh, how you wish you could just reach out there and squeeze it to make it explode in his face. Instead, you huff. You turned away and stomped your way down to the elevator to get the rest of your luggage. Muttering to yourself, you hauled the last of your luggage in, just wanting to collapse onto your bed for the day having barely gotten any rest the previous day.

You were expecting your best friend, Jiwoo, to greet you at the door. You were expecting her to greet you with that enthusiastic squeal when she sees you. You were expecting her to give you a warm hug that would last probably longer than 5 minutes. Alas, the universe decided to be rude to you and give you your worst nightmare.

Seungcheol stares as you drag your bags and feet to the nearest room, raising an eyebrow when he thinks he heard you utter his name. He did not help whatsoever. Asshole. Once you get to your room, you don't even bother cleaning up and unpacking. You sank to the floor with a loud whine, not caring at all if Seungcheol could hear you from outside.

You were so excited to live out your college dream. Going to the library, going to parties you know Jiwoo would drag you to, midnight talks with your roommate, binging series you’ve been eyeing for a while. The universe just really had to ruin it for you by placing him as your roommate. You didn’t even know he was enrolled in Hybe University. It seemed like he didn’t know either. You recall the shocked look on his face when he opened the door.

“You’re my roommate?!” You both exclaim in unison.

You feel your lifespan shorten by 30 years when it fully sinks in that you’re stuck with him for a full school year. If it wasn’t enough that the bags you carried were heavy, the ones under your eyes felt even heavier. Seungcheol frowns.

“You look like shit,” he states, taking a long sip out of his cup.

You manage to send your iciest glare at him, chucking the heavy luggage inside to make him  move. “No shit, Sherlock-”

“The name’s Seungcheol.”

You ignore him. “I just drove a fucking half hour just to get here.”

You kick the bag, moving it to a corner then go to get a smaller one waiting by the door. Seungcheol moves out of your way, walking back to the couch. “Don’t fucking test me, Choi.”

He puts one of his hands up in a surrendering gesture. You sigh, closing the door behind you to get the rest of your things.

You let out a groan, deciding to unpack your things a little later. Eyeing your bed, you get up to move to your bed. You easily drift off into sleep. You would’ve loved to say it was dreamless but you actually quite enjoyed the chaos of it all. You awoke at 2 in the morning, lost and confused. You frown at your waste of half the day yesterday, smacking random items in your room to figure out where you had placed your phone.

Once you located it, the screen lit up your face - blinding you a little in the process. Jiwoo had excitedly messaged you. Well, excited was an understatement when she sent you 102 messages in the span of one hour and 17 missed calls for the rest of the time you were unconscious on your bed.

Your stomach growls, shocking you. “Yeah, I should get some food then start unpacking. Probably message her back as well…” you mutter to the air, dusting off your jeans as you finish up the process of fully moving into your new home for the next school year.

You sigh, “Fuck, this is going to be a long year.”

You bury your head in the reference book that you picked out to help with your assignment. It wasn’t doing it’s job of helping. You shifted in your seat. With a groan, you lean back in your seat, not understanding any of the material so far. Jiwoo pats your back encouragingly, nuzzling her cheek on your shoulder.

"There, there," she says, running a hand through your hair. "Hold on, I'll just return this book because it didn't have what I was looking for."

With a solemn nod, Jiwoo rises from her seat. She skips away with the book in your hands leaving you suffering all alone. You mentally slap yourself for sulking when it's literally only the second month of college. Living in the dorms has not been any easier ever since you arrived. Seungcheol took any opportunity to get a rise out of you and you would bite back with just as much sass.

It was like a competition between you both. Over what exactly? No one could really tell. Jiwoo came over often so she's very much used to seeing the two of you bicker like little children out of the smallest things. This was the reason as to why she dragged you out of the dorm.

"Come on, ever since you've arrived, you're either staying in your room or going to that boba place!" Jiwoo was tugging you by your wrist while you used your other hand to cling onto your bedpost. "You need to live! To breathe!"

"I do that just fine over here!" you complain.

Then, it was just a competition of whining. Jiwoo won that one easily. Her bright, sparkling puppy eyes were too much to resist. You sighed. You were too soft for Jiwoo sometimes. You mumble, cursing the professors for giving a bunch of work already. It was to the point that you could barely keep track of any of your subjects anymore.

You stare at your laptop screen, a half blank essay staring back at you with a menacing aura. You turn your head. An open textbook sat atop several other books of the same subject stared at you too. You could hear it calling for you, yelling at you to study for the test next week. With a silent cry, you drop your head down onto the table. You hear a snicker from behind you. One that you've heard way too many times that you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.

"Hello to you too, Choi." You let out a tired sigh, head rising from the table.

"You look pitiful like that," he comments, eyeing the multitude of books surrounding your laptop. "You need any help?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Do you need help?"

"The Choi Seungcheol is offering me help?"

"Ah, good, so your ears can work," he gives you that shit eating grin that you just want to punch off his face. You can already feel the fire burning inside just ready to burst. You feel like a boiling kettle to say the least. It's his turn to raise an eyebrow now.

"Well?"

"No way," you huff like a child, turning your back on him.

He sat across from you. It really just had to be the only fucking unoccupied seat left. You mentally cursed all the students who came to the library. Then you felt bad and instead cursed Seungcheol who just had to come to the library when you were at the peak of the stress rollercoaster, just ready to dive into the depths of despair and bad grades.

Your eyes flutter back and forth between the laptop, the books and Seungcheol himself. With a defeated sigh, you turn the laptop so the screen could face him. "Please."

That same grin never left his face, he tauntingly cups a hand around his ear. "What's that? I can't hear you."

"Old man," you retort with a snicker. Just as he was going to open his mouth to protest, you repeat yourself a little louder. "Please help me with this damn assignment so I can finish it already."

"That's more like it." He pulls out the chair next to you, pushing away the books to help you.

You would never admit it out loud but you were actually grateful that Seungcheol had offered his help. With every small pointer he gave you, you were able to fly through all of your workload like a breeze. He even lent you his notes for that test you were so worried about. You leaned back, tipping your head back as the most relieved sigh anyone could muster slipped past your lips.

“What? No ‘Thank you’?” he asked, a small pout on his lips.

“I didn’t kill you. Is that enough?” He rolls his eyes at you, returning to his own seat. Guilt started to take form in the pit of your stomach. You sighed. “I gotta go. Thanks. I’ll see you at the dorm.”

You didn’t see it. He didn’t want you to see it. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it; the heat rising up and painting his cheeks pink from when you sent him that small smile before leaving. Seungcheol mentally slapped himself, shaking his head and trying to focus on his own essay he put off while helping you. Safe to say, he never really did finish that stupid essay.

"Joo, do I have to go?" you complained, tugging your shirt downwards. It's a little too much for your taste.

"You deserve it, babe," Jiwoo replied. "You got good grades after studying for so long! Loosen up a little! Please?"

You give her a skeptical look.

"Just this once?" She gives you her best puppy dog eyes that shimmered under the light of her dorm room. She puts up a finger and juts out her bottom lip in a pout, ultimately stealing your heart with how cute she is. "For me?"

"Ugh, fine. You're too cute not to."

"Yay!" she wraps her arms around you and gives you a light kiss on your cheek, dragging you out of her dorm and to her car.

She drove you to the party, that sweet smile never leaving her face. She talked about a blend of many topics she was interested in. You heard her mention something about talking to that girl in her class. You only stared out the window, humming in response as you dreaded arriving at the party.

Alcohol. It reeked of alcohol. You just arrived but there were already so many people that just smelled like sweat and whatever was served in the kitchen. Jiwoo took you to the dance floor, which was clearly just the living room of the house with the couches pushed to the side so there's space. She introduced you to a couple of her friends. You give them a small wave. It probably wasn't the best idea to try and have a conversation this close to the speakers.

After just a few minutes of walking in, you already lost Jiwoo. She was probably just with one of her friends. Come to think of it, she was clinging on to one of them really tightly and just being very clingy. But she was almost always like that with anyone. You brush it off your mind, heading to the kitchen to get something to drink.

"They look pretty," Seokmin stated, sipping from his cup and making a slight face at the bitterness. "Wait... Is that Y/n?"

Seungcheol's ears seem to perk up at the mention of your name. He turns to the direction his friend was staring at, seeing you hover over the kitchen island with a drink in your hand. You looked bored. A little lonely too. He deduced that your friend had left you to fend for yourself. He snickers to himself.

"Oh yeah, I think that is," Jeonghan was suddenly by his side, eyeing Seungcheol for his reaction. Seungcheol pulls a face.

"What are you looking at?" he sneers.

"Don't you think they're pretty, Cheollie?" Jeonghan giggled, obviously already a little tipsy. Seungcheol scowls. An old conversation flashed by his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

You raise an eyebrow. "And why do you care about where I'm going?"

"Because I'm your roommate? What if something happens to you?"

"Awh, does Seungcheollie actually care about me?" You jut your lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"No, I- Wait..." He takes in the outfit you decided to wear, and breathes in the scent of that perfume you always wear on special occasions. "Don't tell me... You're going out with that guy again, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps of your shoes with a groan. "So?"

"Are you that blind that I have to fucking tell you? He's not good for you!"

"Why do you give a damn about who I go out with? Why would I give a damn about who you think I should go out with?"

"That's not the point- Stop going out with him!"

"What are you? My dad? Fuck off, Cheol."

"That guy is not good for you." He crosses his arms against his chest. "Hell, even I would be better for you and I'm your enemy."

“Yeah, you’re my enemy. That doesn’t explain why you’re butting into my love life like this. Literally, just fuck off!” you exclaim, losing your cool with a stomp of your foot.

You fall silent. He falls silent. Seungcheol is worried for that second that passes. He didn’t know why. The silence was uncomfortable. It was like the chill of realizing there’s a spider in the shower with you. He felt chills run down his spine. He didn’t even know why.

You say nothing more, picking up your purse. The silence was odd. It was new. Especially to the both of you. Seungcheol was just about to speak up again, voicing his opposition to you going out with the sketchy guy you met when you walked out and slammed the door on him.

His mouth hung ajar, disbelief spread all over his features. He scoffs, “Ugh, whatever.”

He turns to look at you again. You were by the dance floor now, the neon lights surrounding you. He always thought you were pretty whenever you two wouldn't be bickering until the day's end. Seeing you next to the lights, seeing you like this, it made his heart race a little. He blames it on the alcohol.

Seungcheol ignores the way the rest of his friends start teasing him. It was mostly Joshua and Jeonghan ganging up on him but it was teasing nonetheless. He rolled his eyes, shoving them off him when Jeonghan started giggling a little too close to his face. Sure, he thinks you look pretty, and sure, he doesn't deny that he did find you attractive when he first met you after the summer. That doesn't matter, though, right? Right?

So, what was this feeling festering in his heart when he saw another guy walk up to you and ask you for a dance?

Seungcheol watches as the anonymous guy takes your hand and graciously leads you to the dance floor. His friends would be dramatic and say that he glared daggers at the dude. To be fair, he was. Seungcheol wasn't going to admit to that, however. He crushes his cup in his hand, startling the rest of his group but leading to only more teasing from all of them. With a roll of his eyes, he decides to shift his attention elsewhere.

Your weight shifts from one foot to the other. Maybe situating yourself near the dance floor wasn't the best idea you ever got but you needed to search for Jiwoo in the sea of sweaty, horny, drunk people. What better option than to sit right next to the speaker? You mentally facepalm yourself when the neon lights blinded you from identifying anyone. You blink once. Twice.

Who is this stranger in front of you?

Alarms blare in your head, telling you to get away. Your grip tightens on your cup, anxiety filling your stomach. He notices your worried expression and immediately flashes a smile. "You don't come here often, do you? I'm Eungwang."

He extends a hand out to you, asking you to join him on the dance floor. You shyly follow him, his hand never leaving yours. He twirls you around, telling you to smile a little bit and relax. You could feel all eyes on you, the blinding neon lights and booming music slowly becoming unbearable with each passing second.

"You okay?" You nearly didn't hear Eungwang calling out your name. "You look stressed. Are you okay?" You did your best to shake your head no, breath stuck in your throat.

A worried look passes his eyes, the corners of his lips turning downwards. It was becoming too much. You knew you shouldn't have come to this party. Jiwoo just had to bring you along. Jiwoo... You still haven't found her. The pounding in your heart and ears were getting worse, getting louder. You twist your head, trying your best to scan the crowd for a glimpse of your best friend.

"Get your hands off of her," a more familiar voice speaks up. With wide eyes, you see Seungcheol with his hand on Eungwang's shoulder.

Without an answer, Seungcheol rips him away from you and grabs your wrist to pull you into a more open space. It was weird. You always thought Seungcheol's hands would be rough, yet his touch felt so light. It felt like feathers. It was almost as if he was afraid to break you in your state. If you weren't too occupied with panicking, maybe you would've been trying to fight your way out of his grip.

You hadn't even noticed. Within minutes, the two of you were seated in the front lawn. The cool air brushed your cheeks, slowly pulling you out of your trance. Seungcheol tosses you a water bottle which you catch with trembling fingers. You take a sip and let out a breath. With pursed lips, you turn to look at him.

"Sorry.”

"What for?"

"I probably ruined the mood, right?"

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands in his jacket pocket. "Whatever. The party was shit anyway. We should get you back to the dorm."

"But Jiwoo--"

"Your friend will be fine." He tosses his jacket to you. "Wear that. It's cold."

"I will not."

"Suits you." He snatches it out of your hands almost immediately. "Don't come crying to me when you get a cold."

Like a child, you stuck out your tongue.

You're sick.

You don't know if it's fate trying to trick you or something. Whatever it was, it definitely isn't funny. Thank goodness, it was still the weekend. You definitely would have lost it if you got sick in the middle of the week. Good news was Jiwoo got back to her own dorm safely because her roommates dragged her back. That made you feel a little better.

Swaddled in your blanket, you begin your travel to the faraway land of the living room where you met your roommate looking at you amusedly. You sent him the best glare you could muster with a bit of snot dripping down your face. He only snickered.

"I told you, you should've worn-"

"Shut it. I'd rather be sick than wear that sweaty jacket of yours."

"Oi!" He stands up, pointing at you who was rummaging through the fridge. "I'll have you know my jacket isn't at all sweaty and gross! I wash it often!"

You let out a snicker, taking some leftovers out of the fridge and shutting it close with your hips. Seungcheol drops his plate in the sink. He stares at you for a fleeting moment; your hair was a mess and there was a bit of snot running down your nose. Nonetheless, you were wrapped up tightly in your blanket that reached the floor. You peek your head to see what's playing on the TV when you see a familiar character.

"You watch...Link Clink?" You sniffle slightly, bringing your blanket back up to rest on your shoulders.

"Oh? You know this show?" Cute. He shakes the thought out of his head immediately.

"Yeah...It was on my watch list." You didn't think that he'd watch something like that. "Not like you need to know."

He rolls his eyes at you, ignoring your last comment. "You wanna watch it together sometime?"

What in the fuck? You don't know if it was your cold, if it was just the air conditioning or literal chills went down your spine at his offer. Maybe it was just the first option. Caught off guard, you stare at him. His eyebrow was raised at you while waiting for your response.

"Uhm...yeah, sure... why not?"

"Oh, yeah." He opens up a cabinet, your curious eyes following his form as he searches through the cupboard. He pulls out a green plastic and hands it over to you. "I figured you would get sick, so I bought some stuff this morning that could probably help."

"Oh, uh, thanks..."

"Don't mention it." You weren't too sure but you thought you saw him blush a little. Perhaps it was your brain playing tricks on you. Nonetheless, despite being your enemy, he was nice enough to buy you something. Though, it really was just a small cold.

He clears his throat, snapping you out of your trance. "Get some rest. Jiwoo will probably drop by here later."

"Yeah, okay."

“You’re telling me he took care of you while you were sick?”

“And you’re telling me you didn’t threaten him at all to take care of me while I was sick?”

Jiwoo takes a long sip of her bubble tea, taking her time to chew the pearls while you wait for an answer. She simply shakes her head no. You sigh.

“It’s not like he, like, took care of me. It was more of, like, he just made living together less of a living hell, I guess,” you state, taking your own sip of your tea.

“Less? What do you mean?”

“I mean, he still teased and taunted me. Like, he kept bringing his friends over. You know how loud all of them could get. Finished a bunch of my snacks even though they had my name on it. He broke my third favorite mug, too. One time, he placed my shit on top of the cabinet when he knew I couldn’t really reach it.”

You almost let out a laugh when you remember it.

“Awh, you need me in your life after all."

"Shut up, I can replace you with a step ladder."

"Too bad you won't. You love me too much."

You hadn’t even noticed the rosy pink that started to bloom on your cheeks and creep up to your ears. Jiwoo did, however, and would not let you live. Her eyes grew wide, dramatically placing her cup down. She shook you. A big grin was plastered on her face once you turned to look at her.

“Oh my goodness, it all makes sense now,” she cheered, enthusiastically shaking you around like a maraca. “You guys have been talking a lot lately… When I visited there was no sign of chaos anywhere.... And you were just giggling!”

“Giggling?”

“Giggling, Y/n, giggling! You!” she squeals. “Oh my god, you’re blushing! They’re blushing! Don’t tell me… you actually like him, do you?”

You let out a snort. “Me? Like him? Jiwoo, love, he makes my college life a lot less bearable. My petty ass won’t even let that go by, either. There’s no way I like that asshole.”

Okay, maybe you liked him a little bit.

It would be hard not to like a guy who stops in the middle of a walk just to pet some dogs he saw on the way. It would be hard to ignore the way he smiles whenever you see him with his friends. It was most definitely hard to pretend like your heart wasn’t racing at all when your drunk roommate, also known as your enemy, snuggled closer to you on your way to the couch.

“Seungcheol.” A groan. Try again.

“Seungcheol.” Same response. What is this bitch on?

“Choi Seungcheol.” A loud whine escapes his lips. “How much did you drink? You reek.”

“Just a lil’ bit,” he hiccuped, swaying back and forth on his feet. “We were having so much fun I didn’t even notice the time!”

You softly threw him onto the couch as he started to flail his arms. You rush to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He throws his arms around the pillows and tightly squeezes them as he starts babbling nonsense you couldn’t quite make out. You hear something along the lines of peaches, weird foods they tried, and someone jumping into the pool. You smiled. They always were such a rowdy bunch. All 13 of them. You would know. They trashed your room once and ate your leftover ice cream.

“You look pretty.” You snorted, covering your mouth with your free hand. “You look just like my roomie, you know. They’re like-” A hiccup interrupts him. “They’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” he slurred.

“Oh? Is that so?” You make him sit up properly and hand the cup over to him. “Here, drink some of this.”

He gulps down the water. “You're really kind, too! Ah, just like Y/n~ But they have a little- no, no- a huge temper.” Oh, wow. The audacity. He giggles and you suppress the urge to smile. Failing, you laugh along with him, shaking your head.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room, you ass,” you say, slinging an arm around him to try and get him up. “Why are you so damn heavy?”

“Because of my love~ for Y/n~!”

“Why are you cheesy when you’re drunk-”

You finally arrive at his room, which took a lot longer than expected because of dragging a very intoxicated Seungcheol around who would not stop trying to cuddle you. You struggle to open his door, ignoring the loud beating of your heart. Wanting to go back to sleep as quickly as possible, you let him crawl onto his own bed, turning around to leave.”

“Get some sleep.”

A hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. He pulls you closer. You lose your balance. Oh look, now you're on top of him. You hold your breath. You try to push yourself away from him but to no avail. You were trapped.

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” He croaked out, quickly leaning up to peck you on the lips.

“You kissed?!”

“Shh! Joo, not so loud!” Your eyes darted around the area, several heads turned to look your and Jiwoo’s way. “Everyone’s looking at us. I don’t even know what to say, Joo. I haven’t seen him at all for the past few days.” “You haven’t seen him or you’re avoiding him?” She raised a skeptical brow at you, popping some food in her mouth. She points one of her chopsticks at you with a big grin that makes you want to hide in a hole and never come out. “I think… you’re just avoiding him.”

“Well, what are you supposed to do when-” you lower your volume, casting your eyes to the ground. “I’m not finishing that sentence. Argh!” You hide your face in your hands, Jiwoo’s thrilled laughter coming from beside you.

You spent the following week trying to evade Seungcheol’s presence. You’ve been getting out of the dorm far earlier than you used to and he could never catch you anywhere. He seemed more than eager to talk to you nowadays, usually looking for you in the hallways or trying to spot a glimpse of you in your favorite spots. The library, the boba place, outside your classes. Nothing. It always seemed like you were one step faster than he was, one second too late for him.

He went around the campus grounds one last time. He even asked his friends if he’s seen you to which they replied with skeptical looks for fair reasons. He even tried to ask your friend, Jiwoo, to no avail. He retreats back to the dorm in defeat. His shoulders slumped over as he fished the keys out of his pocket. The door clicks and he becomes visibly confused. He still has his keys in his hand. The door opens wide and Seungcheol yelps, faced with none other than the roommate he was looking for.

Without thinking, he grabs a hold of your wrist as you go to shut the door on him. You snap yourself out of your thoughts from that night. "You're coming with me."

"What the fuck?" You tug your wrist back. His grip only tightens. "Yah! What the hell do you think you're doing?! I'm going to miss the next episode of-"

"Mmm, don't really care."

"Tch." You look down, suddenly ashamed of your get-up. He opens his car door for you. "Did Jiwoo put you up to this?"

Seungcheol smiles. Your heart... Did it skip a beat? Woah. Maybe he actually doesn't look too bad when he's not being a dick to you. Maybe he actually, dare you say it, looks cute when the two of you aren't at each other's throats every 5 seconds. You reluctantly get in, buckling your seatbelt while you wait for him to start up the car.

You look out the window, appreciating the beauty of the night. It's serene. It was still pretty bright with all the lights and buildings yet it looked beautiful. You opted not to speak to Seungcheol for the rest of the drive. You still didn't even know why he dragged you out of your room. You don't even know why you actually got in his car.

Realization hits you.

You're in his car. Seungcheol's car. You willingly got into Seungcheol's car. A small gasp leaves your lips, calling his attention.

"Is something wrong?"

You look at him. "Uh, no... No, I'm fine." The car suddenly holts, snapping you out of your daze. 7/11. Your eyebrows furrow. What?

"You dragged me out of my room... to go to 7/11? This late at night?" you asked, disbelief laced in your tone. He only chuckles at you, getting out of the car while leaving you bewildered and still strapped to your seat.

"Technically, it's like morning but sure." You unbuckle the seatbelt and step out, the cold breeze hitting your skin. Right, you still looked like a mess in the middle of a crisis. "I owe you ice cream since Soonyoung couldn't control himself the other day."

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of why he decided to be nice to you today. Before you could open your mouth to speak, he interrupts you, "This is just so you won't bitch about your lost ice cream."

"Hey!" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He picks up a few items and checks them out, you follow behind him like a lost puppy. "I thought we were just getting ice cream... why are you-"

"Can you just enjoy this quiet we have right now?" That made you shut up for the rest of the night. Not really. You started complaining about the cold a few minutes later while he laughed at your misery.

"Your fault for not bringing a coat, idiot."

"You fuckin- You dragged me out here!" you exclaimed, exasperated. "The audacity of this bitch, I swear."

Now sitting outside the 7/11, you rub your arms in a feeble attempt to warm yourself up. Not much luck. He slams a cup of instant ramen in front of you. You jumped slightly at the noise and he sent you a sheepish grin. "Enjoy, loser." You stick your tongue out at him yet pick up the cup nonetheless.

A sizzle breaks the silence between the both of you. He has a cheeky grin plastered all over his face as he teases you with the sight of the can of beer. He tosses one in your direction. You caught it, thankfully. You take a sip after opening it, letting out a content sigh. You searched your brain for something to say to fill the silence. It wasn't exactly everyday you get to sit quietly under the night sky on a school night with your worst enemy.

“I...uh... also wanted to apologize if I weirded you out while I was shit-faced drunk that one time. I didn’t- the words… they just slipped out,” he says.

“That’s it?” you ask. “You don’t remember anything else?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I don’t remember anything other than babbling nonsense. Why? Did I do something?” Your cheeks flare up, memories flooding back in that you’ve tried so hard to avoid. He stops and looks at you, noticing how you wouldn’t look him in the eye. Your eyes were trained on something else, your cheeks burning crimson. He blinks once, twice, trying to recollect the events of that night. All he remembers was you pissed and greeting him at the door, muttering some embarrassing shit, and being dropped onto his bed. Everything else was a blur.

“We should… Let’s get going. It’s getting really late,” you say, turning your head so you’d stop staring. The two of you finish up your ramen and drinks, heading back to Seungcheol’s car after discarding the trash.

On the way home, he recalls a few memories. The day you first met, the time you embarrassed him in front of the whole 8th grade, the time he gave you an oreo cookie filled with toothpaste. A good trip down memory lane later, the two of you were laughing obnoxiously in the wee hours of the morning. The laughter dies down as Seungcheol unlocks your dorm door.

“Come to think of it, why are we enemies again? We didn’t really do too much to hate each other,” you say, removing your shoes by the door.

“Do we hate each other?” You shrug. He laughs. “Why don’t we start over then? We’re not too different, apparently.”

“Yeah. Sure, why not?”

He sticks out his hand. “Hi, I’m Seungcheol.”

You gaze lingers on it for a few seconds. You never thought you’d be doing this ever. You look up at him and back at his hand. There’s a chance you’ll regret your next move but you doubt you will.

With a simple, soft kiss, everything felt like it changed yet stayed the same. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like a simple gift from the universe as a sorry for everything the two of you went through together. Seungcheol was frozen in his spot, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pulled you closer. His memories start getting clearer. He slowly pieces together what happened that night. You pull away with a grin, completely red in the face.

“Hi, I’m Y/n. Seungcheol’s worst nightmare.”

“Is that what I get for making you suffer in silence when I couldn’t remember anything?”

“Oh, so you remember now? Damn, you really are old.”

“We’re the same age!”

“To answer your question, yes. Yes, it is.”

For the second time that night, you kissed.

[you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be]

One of the best things I can advise writing wise is to marry doylist and watsonian thinking together, and then throw in some wells law.

Here’s what this all means. For anyone who doesn’t know doyalist means the real life reason for something. Why didn’t I have the character do that? Bc the story would be two chapters long if I did that instead of 30. Watsonian means the in universe reason for it. Why don’t these people in a slow burn hook up? Bc they’re oblivious idiots and have self esteem issues.

There’s a lot of places this works well. This murder that happened on a train, why did no one see it except for that there needs to be a story? Why did this character that was previously religious mention being atheist and come back later again as religious? Not because you forgot or needed different functions in this story, but because there was a crisis of faith.

Wells law is the idea that you only introduce one insane element and then expand on it. Who cares if pigs can fly when houses float too? It becomes hard to get anyones attention if there’s chaos everywhere. However, if pigs fly and you talk about how this affects how fences are built and how every farmer has a pilots license? Lots of crazy stuff you can do with flying farmers and pigs. This works in fantasy as well, you just world build around it. Avatars one insane element isn’t that some people can control elements, it’s that one person can control all of them and was in a 100 year coma. Everything else is set dressing to explain that, and seems mundane in comparison to this guy being the avatar.

Someone online who’s really good at this that id recommended reading is @primtheamazing she does a fantastic job at taking an idea and expanding it and taking a plot element you took for granted and making it a part of the story that surprises you later.