#(maybe both at different points in their life?)

[kenntoria]

you’re lying side by side with satoru in the dim light of your room, the faint hum of the city outside your window the only sound between you. your fingers trace lazy patterns on his bare arm, your voice soft, half teasing, half curious.

“hey, have you ever heard that beauty marks are the spots where your lover kissed you in a past life?” you ask, looking over at him.

he hums, eyes fixed on the ceiling, thoughtful. “sounds like something someone made up to romanticize scars or something.”

you laugh quietly, but then your hand drifts down to your own skin, pointing out the scattered little moles across your shoulders and arms. “look at these. if that’s true… then i must’ve been very loved before.”

satoru turns his head slowly to look at you, and you catch the faintest shadow in his eyes — something somber, distant. his skin is smooth, flawless. no marks, no traces of old kisses.

“what about you?” you whisper. “do you have any?”

he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, voice low. “no. doesn’t seem like it.”

your heart tightens just a little at the thought. so many past lives, and he never got to be kissed like that — never got to be loved like that, maybe.

without thinking, you reach over and press a kiss to his cheek, soft and warm. “guess i’ll have to change that,” you murmur.

he blinks, surprised, and before he can say anything, you start pressing gentle kisses all over his face — his jaw, his temple, his neck — marking him now, in this life.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice quiet but smiling.

“i’m marking you for your next life,” you say, smiling back. “making sure you’re never without love again.”

he melts into your touch, eyes closing, lips parting slightly like he can’t quite believe it. and in the quiet dark, with your kisses still warm on his skin, he lets himself believe that maybe this life will be different.

“thank you,” he breathes, voice soft, his hand finding yours beneath the covers.

“always,” you say, and kiss him one last time before sleep pulls you both under.

[thesnackthatsmilesbacck]

🧨 Try Me

Or: The time Dynamite replied to your thirst tweet and you briefly forgot how to exist

You’re in bed. It’s sometime after 2 a.m.—2:49, specifically, because you’re looking at the time in the corner of your screen and wondering when exactly you started measuring your nights in percentage of battery left rather than hours of sleep remaining.

The blue light burns into your retinas like you're being punished. You know this is bad for your sleep. You’ve read the studies. You’ve seen the TikToks. You’ve also been here before. This exact place: head half-buried in your pillow, a hoodie you haven’t washed in a week pulled over your knees, your thumb aimlessly scrolling until it feels like your thumb is the one doing the thinking.

And then—

It happens.

A tweet. No context.

Bet none of you could take me anyway.

— @DynamightOfficial

2:47 a.m.

You freeze.

Not in the way people mean when they say it metaphorically. You literally freeze—thumb hovering, heart stuttering, stomach twisting like it forgot which direction is “down.”

Because it’s him.

Bakugou Katsuki. Dynamight. Number two hero. Number one problem in your adult life. Professional menace. Certified weaponized male aggression. Your brain’s least safe place to go at night and yet the one it always returns to, like a tongue to a sore tooth.

You stare at the tweet.

It’s nothing. Just twelve words and a digital timestamp. But you read it again. And again. As if the pixels might rearrange themselves into something safer. Less loaded.

But they don’t.

Bet none of you could take me anyway.

It’s not just the words. It’s him saying them. At 2:47 a.m., which is in your opinion is the horniest time of night. It’s the complete lack of punctuation. The aggression that seeps through the screen. The fact that you know—you know—he meant it in both ways. He always means it in both ways. That’s the problem.

Or maybe that’s the whole reason you’re here.

Your brain does this thing when you get nervous—it splits. Like a cracked mirror, every version of you reflecting something slightly different. The part of you that’s amused is like: “Haha, feral tweet from a feral man.” The part of you that’s anxious is like: “Delete your account. Move to rural Canada. Learn to churn butter.” And the part of you that runs your Twitter smut account is already opening the quote tweet box.

You don’t think. Not really. It’s muscle memory at this point.

“Try me. I’ve already taken you in every way imaginable. Check the pinned.”

You hit send.

And then you sit there in the silence that follows, heartbeat going too fast in a body that isn’t even moving. Your screen is too bright. Your room is too quiet. Your brain is too loud.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You’ve tweeted worse. You've written worse. Your entire pinned thread is dedicated to cataloging the (imaginary) ways Dynamight has rearranged your guts like God intended. You once tweeted, “If I die, bury me face-down so Dynamight can sit on my neck.” That got four thousand likes. This is nothing.

But this feels different.

Because this time, he tweeted first.

And something about that��about him speaking into the void and you answering like you’ve been waiting to catch his words midair—feels too real. Too close.

You try to scroll away. But your hand shakes. So you just lie there. Screen glowing. Brain buzzing. And eventually, you fall asleep—if you can call it that.

---

You wake up six hours later to a vibration that doesn’t stop.

Your phone buzzes off your nightstand and clatters to the floor. You groan. Reach for it. Your thumb catches the screen.

And then you see it.

> DynamightOfficial wants to message you.

You sit up so fast you see stars.

For a full three seconds, you stare at the notification like it’s a hallucination. Like your brain has finally given up trying to differentiate between your delusions and your timeline.

But it’s there.

Blue check. Hero account. Him.

You’re not awake. You’re dreaming. You’re in a coma. You died and this is some uniquely customized hell.

You tap it.

Message request: @DynamightOfficial

> you’re outta your fuckin mind

You choke. On nothing. On air. On the weight of your own self-respect, which is currently collapsing like a flan in a cupboard.

He messaged you.

He messaged you.

There’s another one.

> what’s your name

No greeting. No “hey.” No “lol.” Just two messages, four words each, and the kind of syntax that feels like a punch to the sternum. It’s so him you could scream.

And you do. Into your pillow. Loudly. Twice.

Because this can’t be happening.

This is the kind of thing you joke about. The kind of thing you tell your group chat while giggling and pretending you’re not serious: “What if he saw the smut thread and actually liked it? What if he DMed me? Lmao, can you imagine???”

And now he has.

And all you can think is: He saw it. He read it. He read the things I said about his hands.

And then another ping.

> send your fuckin face. need to see who the hell writes shit like that.

You black out for a second.

Just a brief, graceful loss of self.

Then you pace your room like it might stop being your room if you circle it fast enough. Your skin feels like a bad disguise. Your thoughts are piling up in your mouth. You don’t know who you are. You are a brainstem with anxiety. You are a single, vibrating nerve ending.

And yet—your fingers open the camera.

You don’t know why.

Maybe you want proof this is happening. Maybe you want to test him. Maybe you’ve spent so long crafting fantasies in your head that you want to see what happens when one fights back.

You snap the pic.

Just your face. A little lip bite. A little neck. Natural light. The kind of photo that says “I’ve got thoughts you aren’t ready for.”

You hit send.

Read.

He’s typing.

He stops.

He starts again.

> dinner. you’re paying. i wanna see if your mouth works as fast as your thumbs.

You die.

You die and your ghost reads it again and whispers: What the fuck is going on.

You don’t remember what you responded with. Something stupid. Probably “sure.” Probably “okay.” Maybe just your address. Maybe nothing at all.

All you know is that it’s Friday, and you’re standing in front of your closet like it holds the secret to seduction and salvation, and your stomach hasn’t unclenched since noon.

It’s not that you haven’t gone on dates before.

It’s that none of them have started with your smut thread and ended with Bakugou Katsuki telling you to wear the lip bite.

You’ve reread the messages about forty times. You’ve gone back and forth between deleting your account and updating your pinned tweet to something more poetic, like: “This is how it starts. God help me.”

He hasn’t messaged since. And part of you keeps wondering if it was a joke. If it was a dare. If it was a PR stunt gone rogue. You even spent an hour Googling “deepfakes + Twitter DMs” before your roommate told you to shut the hell up and go shave your legs.

You don’t remember getting dressed. You don’t remember walking out the door. You barely remember the cab ride, because your thoughts looped the entire way there:

What if he doesn’t show?

What if he does?

What if he’s disgusted?

What if he reads my face like a book and doesn’t like the ending?

What if I say something dumb?

What if I say something too smart and he thinks I’m pretentious?

What if I say nothing at all?

By the time you arrive, your heart is beating so fast it doesn’t feel like it belongs in your chest anymore. Like it’s a borrowed thing. Like you’re just holding it until someone more qualified comes along.

The place he picked isn’t fancy. It’s not even particularly private. A late-night ramen spot tucked off a quiet street in the city. Clean tables. Dim lighting. No music. Just the hiss of broth and the clink of bowls. You wonder if he comes here often, or if he chose it because it’s the kind of place no one would expect to see him. No cameras. No crowds.

Just him. And you.

You step inside.

He’s already there.

He’s sitting in a corner booth, hood up, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to bite anyone who recognizes him. He’s wearing black. Of course he is. Not dramatic, not sleek—just Bakugou. Comfortable but on edge. Coiled. Like he’s always thirty seconds away from going feral.

You freeze.

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours.

He doesn’t smile.

He stares.

You feel it—like heat, like gravity, like a trap closing around your ribs in slow motion. He looks at you like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he didn’t expect you to look like this. And you don’t know if that’s good or bad.

But then he gestures at the seat across from him with a flick of two fingers. Like you’re late to a meeting. Like he’s been waiting.

You sit.

You are aware of your body in a way you didn’t know was possible. Aware of your hands. Your breath. The way your voice might crack if you speak too soon. You want to crawl out of your own skin and start over. You want to kiss him through the table.

You want a lot of things you can’t say out loud.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he says, finally.

His voice is lower in person. Rougher. Like it’s been scraped through gravel and fire and came out angry on the other side. There’s no filter. No politeness. He talks like he punches: direct. Blunt. Aimed to connect.

You laugh, nervous. “Didn’t think you were serious.”

He scoffs. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

You blink.

He leans forward. “You think I go ‘round DMing just anyone who writes about sittin’ on my face?”

Your soul leaves your body.

You attempt to make a sound that isn’t a dying bird.

“Fuckin’ hilarious, by the way,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself. “Some’a that shit was too accurate.”

“You read it?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

You want to die. But not in a bad way. In the way that means you want to explode into dust and float into the air and never come down.

You swallow. “...Do I owe you royalties?”

That gets a smirk. Barely there, but real. He slouches in the booth, spreading his legs a little, like he owns the air around him.

“You write about me like you’ve been there,” he says. Not accusing. Curious.

“I—” You pause. “I research.”

“You imagine.”

Your cheeks burn. “Yeah.”

His eyes drag down your face. To your mouth.

“Showed,” he says. “In the threads.”

You can’t look at him. You’re too seen. You’ve never been more clothed and more naked in your life.

A waiter comes. He orders for both of you. No menus. Just confidence.

You’re still reeling when the food arrives, steam curling in the space between you like a bridge.

You talk. About dumb things. About nothing. You think you black out for half the conversation, but you remember that he listens—really listens. He doesn’t look at his phone. He doesn’t talk over you. He just watches. Like he’s trying to match you to the version of you that lives in his head now.

You try not to fall in love with that. But it’s hard.

At the end of the night, he pays. You don’t argue. You remember the text—you’re paying—but he brushes you off when you reach for your wallet. “You’ll pay next time,” he says. Like it’s a promise. Like he’s already decided.

He walks you home.

The city is quiet. Your stomach is louder.

You want to ask a hundred things. What this is. What he wants. Whether he’s going to ghost you after this or kiss you on the sidewalk.

You don’t ask.

Because when you reach your building, he stops. Looks at you. The streetlight hits the edge of his jaw, and your breath catches on the thought: He’s real. This is happening. I am not dreaming this.

And then he leans close.

Close enough that you feel his voice before you hear it.

“Next time you write about me,” he says, low and warm and rough in your ear, “make it a little more accurate.”

You freeze.

“Don't worry, i'll give you material.”

And then he walks away.

Just like that.

While you stare at him with your mouth agape.

[barcapix]

🌺 angst 12 & 14 with oscar

❀ Ultraviolence Radio - Oscar Piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

prompt/s: “i wish i could undo everything i said, but the damage is already done + the hardest part isn’t the goodbye. it’s knowing i’ll never hear your voice again.”

a/n: gotta start working on my angst gng its not my strong point at all wtaf. thank you for the request though🫶🏼 (this isn’t a mini fic like its supposed to be but oh well) + why do i think this would be so good as a chaptered fic idk.

warnings: purely fictional, no actual relation to life events + mentions of crashing. one use of y/n.

OSCAR HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE PEACEFUL TYPE TO FEUD, no yelling, no wild animatic gestures nor endless hours of strings of curses being shot up into the already-tense air.

he kills you with silence instead.

the worst part about it? he weaponises it so well. that’s what stings.

as mclaren’s primary comms engineer, you were assigned to oscar’s side of the garage rather than lando’s. probably due to the assumption and suspicions when they’d caught you mid-makeout in the sim room with a door that had no lock and a hidden light switch.

between you both, this, whatever you call it, a fling maybe—was never made official to yourselves nor the public. young adults in love but too busy with their job, too afraid of what defining it might do.

and right now, it was definitely far from being official.

during the race at silverstone, you’d told him to, “back off, oscar. if you push now, you’re going to lose the line. don’t be stupid.”which you thought warned to protect him from leclerc, but oscar rather saw it as an order.

you should of thought before you spoke—when does he ever being liked told what to do?

reasonably but rather harshly, since then, he’s avoided you—completely. after the race ended, he didn’t take his helmet off before walking away, purely because you were stood on the sidelines with an apology on the tip of your tongue.

to add fuel to the fire, oscar denied all of your calls, voicemails that had your throat clasping with unshed tears, and at one point, you swore he ducked into the media pen just to avoid you in the corridor.

and every single-time? it stung worse than the previous.

then, suddenly your problems weren’t so small anymore. the crash at spa turned ugly. the crash, point be reinforced, caused by his inability to listen to your instructions, and his vehement desire to win; the radio turns cold, lifeless and inefficient.

the buzz of oscar’s radio is blank, and as you look at the broadcast display, lumps of metal scatter out on the track. the papaya colours are fragmented, tires lose and a brief stream of smoke curls into the air like a disaster signal.

you squeeze your eyes shut; your hands were folded like a prayer.

hours after the race, the one that began in the afternoon, but you found yourself lingering in the garage until dusk. you don’t even clock how your headset is still being worn. the once lively, papaya garage is half torn down; most of the team has retreated and unsurprisingly, the papaya enthusiasm has stilled.

better yet, your eyes haven’t left his telemetry once.

the first thing his teammate, lando, had done was rush to console you, even if his suit was still clinging to his torso and sweat sunken into his tanned skin.

“he’s alright you know,” lando whispers, his hand hovers on your back, eyes searching your features. “osc’s okay, he’s stable.”

“but still unconscious?”

lando slowly nods, his lips thinning into a line. unbeknownst to him, the brit isn’t aware of the feud oscar left you with. nobody knew.

you should of felt relieved. so why did you feel even more guilty? why wasn’t that enough?

days pass, and the calendar you’ve been marking with a ‘op81’ reaches seven days. now in hungary, a different garage but with the same lifeless quiet over the comms. you’re still here and still waiting. for what? something that started as hope but now feels like fading into something too hollow to name, just a stretch of quiet that feels like forever. the garage felt like something precious to you, like your own oyster, and although it wasn’t yours, it felt enough like it to call it home.

the guilt still thrums through your bones, still listening to the dead frequency like it might forgive you.

on a blank night where no stars would appear, you still find yourself toying with the tangerine headset. it’s only you in the space, being torn apart by your thoughts as you presume the rest of the staff are tucked away in their beds for tonight.

oscar used to call such night a bloodstar moon. on a particular stargazing date, he’d matter of factly pointed out that if you stare at the sky for too long, your brain would erase them.

the rubber around the ear sockets of the headphones feel rough, almost like gravel. your fingertips smooth over mclarens logo and your name engraved into the plastic like a significant placeholder of someone who mattered for a while, even if only to him.

taking a deep inhale, the kind that rattles your shoulders, you adjust it back onto your head.

the lights flicker as you do so, like they aren’t prepared for it either.

then abruptly, a saved file clicks. your brows scrunch together—someone must of queued it up in the system, you think and you stay tuned for it, incase it’s a part of media you missed on debrief day.

you don’t expect it to be oscar, least of all.

but fate has its journeys, right?

your heart skips its usual beat, your pulse stiffening under your skin. oscar’s voice. it crackles indistinctively at first, only shallow breathing escaping.

“i hope this gets to her—will it?” you hear him say, presumably to someone hovering in the background. “okay.. as long as it does.”

oscar takes a deep breath, and you picture him running his hand through his hair. “i don’t even know if this will get to you.. y/n, but i thought making the first move in person is a little too confrontational and terrifying for me.”

he chuckles, the sweet, innocent laugh you miss that always infected your own voice. “just don’t think of me as a wimp if you see me tomorrow after listening to this.”

you usher a laugh, if you can even call it that but it catches halfway, as your mouth runs sitient; your body recoils from the sound of something you’d been starving for.

“maybe it was best to do it here, maybe not, i don’t know,” he says, a little quiet. “but i—” he exhales again, the whistling palpable. “i wish i could undo everything i did.. the silence more than anything, but i feel like the damage is already done.”

“i hope it’s not, but if you don’t forgive me i understand.”

your breath catches, your hands trembling and sweat beads forming beneath your palms. you think, no osc, i’d forgive you a thousand times over if you’d just wake up. just come home.

“if you do decide to never speak to me again,” you make-out a faint sad chuckle, following a tired sigh. “the hardest part isn’t the goodbye. it’s knowing i’ll never get to hear your voice again.”

you don’t realise your crying until it hits your lap, even the shrill coolness of them doesn’t wake your senses after it spills down your cheeks.

and then, one last time, it almost breaks from static. “radio check.”

your fingers press rather rapidly at the button you’ve been hovering over, the pads of your thumb gnawing white at the force you’re excilerating. just above a whisper, muffled sobs leaving in syllables before the file ends:

“loud and clear.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

[itzpookiepooh]

Hi 😊👋, I know your probably super busy but I had a request. So I'm a Xav girlie to my core but before that, he was not my type. I'm like a stereotypical goth girlie and before playing lads my type were ppl who shared my similar tastes in style, music, interests, and so on. Like I 1000% thought I'd vibe a lot more with Sylus, but I surprisingly ended up being in love with Xav lol.

My request is pre-relationship lads with an MC who's type is like the complete opposite of them and maybe the aftermath of getting together amd MC being like "how tf i ended up with you idk but i love you so much ❤️".

Thank you so much and have a lovely day 😘

Opposites Attract

Sylus is very calm, calculating, intelligent, many things that have earned him many titles. So when he meets you the complete opposite of him, he wonders how you and him came to be. He likes darker colors, you like brighter colors. You’re always telling him how he needs to liven his place up with some chartreuse and things that express liveliness.

He would listen to classical music on his record player and you would listen to pop music. He slept heavily during the day while you woke up bright and early trying to get him to do things with you. He would glare at you from under his pillow like an angry dragon would. He’d even turn over and ignore you.

Despite all of that, no matter how different you both were, there was still that pull. That spark that brought you both together. No matter how annoyed either of you were with each other’s differences, you still stayed together unable to grow apart. You were like his personal Pinkie Pie.

“What are you smiling at?” You chuckle as you put the watering can down and turn to your loving boyfriend.

“Just thinking about how someone so rambunctious came into my life.” He smirks holding you by your waist. You smile brightly at him a loving look in your gaze.

“Would you change it?” You asked your smile unwavering. “Not for every gem on earth.” He kissed your forehead softly.

Zayne’s always been the type to plan and work hard towards his goals. Always working and setting a goal. His days are fully planned out unless he has sleep to catch up on. He’s calm and collected while you go where the wind takes you. Nothing planned just easygoing and taking it all in always.

Have work in 10 minutes? Bet you can take a detour to the cake shop and still be on time.

You need to run an errand? You will when you aren’t distracted. It’s a never ending cycle with you.

Imagine how he felt when he first started hanging out with you and you were all head in the clouds. He would try to plan out your weekend and you would somehow throw it off. It drove him a bit crazy but Zayne being who he is never got angry more concerned with your listlessness. That was until you guys had a deep talk about enjoying what life has to offer instead of stressing about what ifs.

“We should stop in here.” You pause pointing inside a small accessory shop. Zayne squeezes your hand thinking back to that conversation.

“Yeah, the event will still be there when we get there.” He agreed before leading you inside the small shop.

Rafayel was a very disorganized but organized person. What you saw as a mess was something he saw as organization. It irked you he could just put things down and go on about his business and you were stuck jumping around it. He knew where everything was in his disorganized organization. You needed labels, drawers and neatness.

If he needed inspiration he would immediately pull out whatever for when it hit him. It drove you mad at how sloppy his process was but when you really took a look like really sat with him to figure out why he was the way he was, it shocked you how much you understood. He wasn’t messy per se he was creative in his own beautiful way.

“Stop staring at me. You’ll burn a hole in the back of my head.” He says not facing away from his sketch.

“I’m just thinking about how we got together.” You smile softly as he raises an eyebrow. He turns to you with a soft smile.

“Somehow it worked out for us.” He chuckles as do you.

You and Caleb.

Caleb and you.

Since the beginning of time. Caleb is outgoing and talkative while you were introverted and quiet. He made friends upon friends while you had one good friend. He would go out and party and you would stay home and read. It’s always been like this. When you guys got older, you got closer.

Caleb would constantly try to drag you out with him and his friends however, once you rubbed your feet together it was over for the night. He was trying everything under the sun until you finally told him that you’re not comfortable with big groups of people. It was a long process where he would stay in with you and you would go out with him. All it took was a bit of compromise.

“Night out tonight, remember?” Caleb asked poking in to see you already ready. He smiled kissing your forehead.

“I really want to stay in.” You say fiddling with your fingers. “How about we stay for a few minutes and if you don’t like it we can leave, deal?” He tried to persuade you.

“Deal.” You smile nudging him before he drags you to the door.

Xavier was a night owl most times while you were an early bird. The friendship was bumpy because of that. The early bird catches the worm was your life. If the sun was out so were you. You were chirping with the birds while he stared at you crazily, half sleep.

The night was Xavier’s thing. He would stay up longer to look at the stars in the sky. It was calming and peaceful at night and that’s why he liked it so much. You’d be charging up for the day while he used his battery.

You both found a way to make your relationship stronger when you both confessed. Xavier would wake up earlier if you would stay up to see the stars with him. He explained in vague way how he missed home not in a way you would understand but enough to get you thinking. He told this story before but not as himself but it made you wonder if he spoke so fondly because it was himself he was speaking about.

“You know we’ve come a long way.” You told him as he looked away from the many stars and constellations.

“Yeah, we have. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He smiled softly as he began glowing, small specs of glow floating around you both.

I’m so sleepy today ngl friends be safe in this heatwave 🤍

[fuckyeahisawthat]

The Old Guard 2 story structure thoughts under the cut. I'm going to write a separate post about the action sequences because I have more specific things to say about what the first film did well and where I think TOG2 missed the mark.

Yeah, I thought a lot of the new lore was dumb as hell; it raised more questions than it answered and some of the retcons (the birthmark jfc) were very silly. And Discord and Tuah were about as shoe-horned in as I was expecting. (Remember back when many of us assumed Quỳnh would be the main antagonist of TOG2? It seems likely to me that there was pressure to add another A list star to the cast, and I would guess that once Uma Thurman was on board, the whole story bent a bit around her despite her character being...not much of anything at all. Call this the Chris-Hemsworth-in-Furiosa problem if you will.)

But many of these elements could have worked with a stronger script that gave more conscious thought to what it was trying to say in terms of character arcs and themes. The poor writing is most egregious with Nile, because she was a co-protagonist of the first film, and Gina Prince-Bythewood pushed hard to have her journey be central to the film. But really no one had much of a character arc to speak of, so it's not even like Nile's screentime was sacrificed in order to develop another character better. It was just...not there.

(I know I am always the person saying movies are too long, but I really think about 20 minutes is missing from the second act of TOG2. The movie is a skimpy 1:38 without credits. The ending action sequence is very long...but not egregiously longer than the ending of TOG1, which flows beautifully. But there should have been at least one and maybe two more sequences in the second act, which would have made room for so much more character development.)

Even accepting that all the stuff I thought was kinda stupid still had to be in there, it's not that hard to imagine how arranging the story a little bit differently would have made it stronger.

Nile's arc in the first film was about coming to accept her place in this family of immortal warriors--realizing that she was Different, that there was no going back to her old life, and accepting that using her immortality for good sometimes includes doing violence to protect the people she cares about. Nile is the newbie, but it's already implied that she is worthy of being Andy's successor as leader of the team ("next time, you go first.") Throughout TOG1 she is shown to be Andy's equal in determination, stubbornness and bravery, if not in years of experience. Andy is an ancient warrior but Nile was an active-duty member of a modern military; she has first-hand knowledge of how war is organized in the 21st century. She is the perfect person to bridge the transition between past and future.

Andy's arc in TOG1 was about finding her purpose again. At the end of that arc, she becomes mortal, but she has already decided that she wants to keep fighting, setting up a great set of stakes that should have been explored further in a sequel.

In the final fight of TOG1, we know Andy is mortal. She goes into the fight already wounded and bleeding, and we're worried for her the whole time. We see her awareness of her mortality and her decision to push through moments of fear around it to protect her family. We also see the whole team--following Nile's cue--adjust tactics to protect her without ever explicitly talking about it, including taking turns to shield her with their own bodies. It's a beautiful piece of action storytelling.

But throughout the fights in TOG2, Andy's mortality rarely felt like a real danger. We were reminded of it in the laziest way possible--a line of dialogue saying something both characters would already know--but we weren't shown it in the action choreography. In the opening fight she is paired with Copley, the only other mortal person on the team! What's the point of having a bunch of immortal battle buddies if one of them isn't there to be a human shield for you when necessary? (Yeah, Nile looked good af in that boat, but Nile and Copley's positions should have been swapped.)

Given where TOG1 left off, in a sequel, Nile's arc should have been about moving from being the new kid on the team to being a leader. And Andy's arc should have been about confronting the limits her mortality now places on her, and maybe coming to accept that she cannot always be at the front anymore, and that her role in training Nile to some day take her place is purpose enough for her. And then after she accepts that...she becomes immortal again and has to reevaluate everything once more.

If we follow these general arcs, then the first fight sequence should probably have been: Nile is leading the team, but she's not an expert at it yet. Andy is trying to hold back and let the others protect her, but she's not good at that yet either. At some point, Nile makes a mistake or a wrong call, and Andy has to step in and brute-force a solution, reminding us of her unparalleled skill as a fighter, but putting herself at risk in a way that makes everyone else on the team nervous. It turns out fine! But she could very easily have been killed or seriously wounded.

No one is happy about this state of affairs. Nile feels like she's not ready and Andy feels like she's being babied.

In this version of events, I think Andy would go to try to meet up with Quỳnh alone, over the objections of the rest of the team, maybe even sneaking away without telling them. Andy and Quỳnh's reunion is one of the strongest parts of the film, and as much as I like Nile being stubborn about going with Andy, having Nile and Discord in there at the same time ends up being a distraction from the very impactful stuff that's going on between Andy and Quỳnh. Maybe it takes Andy longer to find Quỳnh and the beautiful walk-through-time long take becomes a whole sequence of Andy looking for Quỳnh in their old haunts and remembering the time they spent there.

The whole thing with Nile being able to take away others' immortality could have been done in an interesting way, but they made the wrong narrative choices with it at pretty much every turn.

If you want to do this plotline in a way that gives Nile agency, then I think the solution is that Nile learns this information first, and alone, from Discord. This information needed to be set up way earlier in the story, at least by the beginning of the second act.

Then, back with the team, Nile brings up what Discord said, and here you could have the blah blah "there are legends" stuff etc. But also who knows, this could be bullshit, we don't even really know what Discord's motivations are at this point. Why are we gonna believe some rando who just popped up yesterday claiming she's the oldest immortal?

We could watch the characters work through the same questions and skepticism that we the audience have. What about Lykon? Why did the stab wound Nile gave Andy seem to heal, and it's only later that Andy noticed something has changed? Had Nile not even once nicked Joe or Nicky in six months of training together? (They realize she hasn't; she is pretty new to bladed weapons so they have mostly been training with dummy swords.) These conversations would still be exposition-heavy and you might not totally be able to avoid the Wise Asian Exposition Man problem that Tuah presents, but they could also function as character moments, the way the dinner scene at the Charlie safehouse does.

If Booker is there, he's the one who's like, well there is an easy way to test this out, and volunteers to have Nile wound him. Which she refuses. Maybe this is bullshit, but she's rattled enough that she doesn't want to risk it, and she's not about to reinforce Booker's own sense that he's expendable.

Crucially, Andy is not there during this time and they agree not to tell her anything for now since it's just a theory.

Then, the theorizing gets interrupted by Plot Things, and they have to go off and do some action. Andy isn't there and they all agree that Nile should be the one leading the team. We get space for all her feelings about all of them unhesitatingly trusting her to lead them when she's still not sure she's ready for that and also whether she's immortal kryptonite or not. Maybe they trust Booker enough to come with them; maybe they don't yet and there are feelings about that either way. Tuah could also be there I guess. (If they were going to put Tuah into the final fight I would have loved to see him do...anything distinctive at all. Tuah and Quỳnh having distinct fighting styles favoring different East Asian martial arts and weapons would have been cool as hell!) Or maybe Tuah and Booker are back at the safehouse waiting for Andy and that's where we get the piece of information that immortality can be transferred, setting up that possibility but still making it something only Booker and Tuah know about.

During this mission Nile has another chance to make a crucial call and she gets it right this time; maybe it's a trap and they have to abort whatever they were trying to do but she successfully extracts everyone safely. She saved them all. Their trust in her was not misplaced. Meanwhile, Andy comes back without Quỳnh; Booker and Andy could still have the conversation they do about expiration dates.

Then, the third act. Nile in the lead, confident in her command this time. All of them fighting together, side by side as a team. (God I hated that the choreography of the final fight split them up so much.) Including Booker, who betrayed them. Including Nile, who might kill them all. Including Andy, who's mortal.

They are trying their best to protect Andy. But during the fight she is mortally wounded, and that's when Booker gives up his immortality. He probably does it in much the same way--making Nile cut him "accidentally", and then fighting his way to where Andy is pinned down, wounded, and getting seriously injured himself in the process. So now Andy is healing and Booker is dying, and Andy still doesn't understand why, but Booker gets to die surrounded by his family instead of alone in a hallway at a moment that's not even a turning point in the battle. I'm sure many people still would have hated this plotline on the basis of "suicidal person ends up dying anyway, just finds a way to make it a Noble Sacrifice," and I understand why that leaves a bad taste in a lot of people's mouths. But I do think this is consistent with Booker's characterization. He would have traded his immortality to save his dying son if he could, but he couldn't, and that haunts him. So giving it to Andy still makes his arc a tragic one instead of one about healing and moving past self-loathing and survivor's guilt. But I think it would have felt more narratively earned this way. Booker is the first immortal we know to have died since Lykon! It's a big deal! Ending the movie with the rest of his family not even knowing it happened feels weird and bad!

And then...yeah. There are ways to do an open ending of a middle part of a trilogy where characters in an ensemble are split up that still feel emotionally satisfying. (The Two Towers and The Empire Strikes Back both do this very well.) There are ways to do a last-minute twist ending that also work well. (See: TOG1.) But the end of TOG2 did neither of these, and while I felt like the Andy and Quỳnh part of the story did leave off in a satisfying place, the rest of it was a bit like...wait. That's it??

So I think there could have been a good (or at least...better) movie in there, even burdened with a bunch of elements that wouldn't have been my choice for a sequel. But unfortunately that wasn't what ended up on screen.

[thecinnamonr0ll]

So I just saw your thing to batsandbirdbrains (I hope that’s the correct name) and am so happy someone else who follows them also knows about bats-and-the-birds since I think their ideas aren’t the exact same there is a lot of common themes.

While I love the idea of the younger boys just completely misinterpreting when Bruce talks about the first two robins based on their assumptions after knowing the adult versions. But sometimes I like to think through what would happen if the slant Bruce puts on the stories comes from his own pov and the flaws of memory.

Like so with Dick as he ages and matures and chills (externally at least) Bruce doesn’t remember the difficult times as well, partly due to nostalgia partly due to that thing that happens to parents where they forget how difficult kids are and just remember the cute parts. So while young dick has that anger to him there was also joy and when Bruce thinks back he thinks of that joy first.

Then with Jason while he was I really pretty happy there is an aggression/rough edge to him that he developed from crime alley, and while Bruce and dick by raising had to be performers and can hide that edge, Jason doesn’t know how to hide it. To him being defensive isn’t rude it’s how he knows to keep himself safe. But for the most part he’s just happy to have shelter and food and books. Then he does in the way he does and it devastates Bruce. And Bruce keeps thinking about how things could have been different is Jason just listened (even though he normally did) and Bruce hyperfixates on that to the point it masks any of the good memories.

And then of course Jason comes back as hood and it just validates everything Bruce has been thinking about him (aggressive, violent, out of control)

Then you can add what this does to Jason, to wake up from the Lazarus out severely traumatized and just so incredibly angry. But sometimes he gets the flashes of being happy and laughing with Bruce. But Jason can’t tell if those memories are really real or he just wants to believe in them and it’s just a fantasy cooked up in his very messed up head. Then he goes to Gotham and sees how everyone reacts to him after the reveal and it just reinforces to him that he’s always been this way and yeah. U think there’s just a lot of angst potential there.

Either way hopefully my semi insane rambling makes sense. I know both headcanons don’t really work together, but I think they are both just interesting and someone could tell very intesting stories with both. Just different vibes for different moods.

Either way, hope you have a good morning/day/evening/night. And that I don’t bother you to much by sending this

OH MY GOD YOU ABSOLUTE GENIUS

I love how these scenario works like a Mandela effect, bruce remembering more of the memories similar to his newer memories ( talking about Jason running away, instead of him helping uplift the people around him) and saying those first, talking about Jason’s disobedience and defensiveness, and only talking about that, because maybe if he warns the other kids, he won’t lose them and thinking back to Dick’s Joy first because that’s how he is of him nowadays (also his ignorance of Jaybin’s typical demeanor, in favor of the bad apples in his memories, is so intriguing to imagine)

also, Jason thinking that his Happiness is just a fantasy, a dream he could never have, is so good, he thinks that he was always this angry kid, who would provoke and fight those around him, that he never had happiness, that his whole life he only had grief, pain, and anger. (The Lazarus twisting his mind to only remember the worst is an additional interesting idea, that I might just have to write)

idea for Dick to think of Jaybin in a ‘bad’ light, we know he has hallucinations, so what if the two began to blend together in his thoughts, he begins to think of the boy hi would follow him around with stars in his eyes as the shadow blaming him for the death of his baby brother

Another idea, it could be added to a fic ‘past goes to the future fic’

so basically, in that fic, Jason might’ve been cursed by some magician/villain to ‘regain his inner child’ and the Batfamily meets this boy who spends most of his time reading, doing homework, or chatting with Alfred. I want Jason to look at this boy and realize that those flashes of happiness are real. I want him to look at this boy who giggles while running around in his Traffic light costume and realize that he was that boy.

also slightly different tangent, let’s say this is one of those Vaguely bad brother Dick, (more so angry at Bruce and pushing it onto Jason) Pre-Jason’s death, it’s be interesting to see if Jason thinks that the pit tainted his memories of Dick, and though he was the same he is now, (I think this could be an interesting especially if Dick blames himself for not being there for Jason, for not being able to save him)

I love your ideas, the thought of the Batfamily (Bruce) ignoring how the robins actually were in favor of the idea he creates in his head is so interesting!!!

I love when people ramble to me, you could have sent me a whole scientific research paper sized ask and I’d be bowing down and thanking you!

[lemonfizzyy]

The reason I go with the popular head canon that Dami and Dick are extra close is not so much the fact that Damian was Dick's Robin. Yes, that was a catalyst for their meeting, but not the thing that caused their relationship to take off, y'know?

To me (or at least the way I characterize them both in my own writing) Damian and Dick are very similar both in their anger, compassion and general complicated relationship with authority. Dick needed someone to ground him, Damian needed someone to lift him up. Both of them became that for each other through a mix of circumstance, personal similarities and whatever else.

And the outcome was Damian being Dick's robin, lowercase r. Like... What Dick was to his mother, Damian is to him.

That's why they're extra close in my head-canon land.... that's his literal kid. Dick's inadvertently helped raise a lot of kids (Cass, Lian, most of all Tim) but Damian was the first one who for a good bit there, he had to be everything for. Damian had no friends, no contact with his family, no respect for anyone or anything... all except Dick who managed to earn his trust.

That said, Tim is definitely Dick's ride or die in my mind, but not in the way your child would be. They're brothers, above all. Now, if they met in different stages of their life, in a similar situation to Dick and Damian's? Maybe they'd be father and son too, honestly. Like D&D, D&T are very similar people. I've unironically have a number of AUs where Dick and Tim are the main focus and are closer than Dick and Dami. (I actually have one where Dami and Tim are closer and Dick is a footnote... I love that au....)

........Anyway, feel free to ignore this. This is all my personal view points and I'm not saying this is canon or objectively the right way to write these characters AT ALL. Dick and Tim being closer than Dick and Dami is definitely a valid take, I'd just like to explain my obsession with my personal favorite two goofy goobers :)

hey fanon warriors who say damian and dick are extra close bc damian was dick’s robin did you know dick was batman to tim robin in batman prodigal. did you know tim has been robin to three different batmen. did you know prodigal was shortly after knightfall (when jean-paul was batman) and this was all also during tim’s first year as robin, while his dad was in a coma/later in a wheelchair and needing tons of help doing stuff and his mom had just died and bruce was constantly leaving tim (a thirteen year old) to do shit on his own (robin i, robin ii, knightfall, prodigal) and i haven’t read nightwing and its been a while since i read robin 93 but from what i remember dick tried really hard to be a consistent presence in tim’s life at a time where everything was being upended for him and they should be just as close as dick and damian are. did you know that.

[shutupineedtothink]

No no no no you don't get it Suzanne did not close the door on Hayffie in SotR, she threw the door wide open for the movie.

Haymitch and Effie having some kind of romantic relationship is not canon in the books. It just isn't. It's subtext at best. Even the fact that they could be friends is pretty subtext. But Haymitch and Effie having some kind of romantic-friendship-situationship-relationship in the movies is like 97% canon. It's right in front of our eyeballs. Woody Harrelson and Elizabeth Banks were 10 toes down for that ship and we all knew it. (Bless them)

SotR provides ample material to support the beginnings of this relationship in the film, even alongside Haymitch and Lenore Dove. The makeup box scene? Are you kidding me? The woman could not have written a better meet cute for the two of them to play out on screen. Her flying in to his launch room at the last minute to fix his clothes and the locking eyes moment before he goes up into the arena? Movie magic if I ever saw it. I can already picture how they would shoot it to emphasize their connection (whether either of them likes it or not at this point).

Post games theyre suddenly the only relationship of any kind left standing once everyone else Haymitch cares about dies or he pushes them away. She's literally the only one left that means anything, that shows him any kindness, even as short-lived as their relationship is at this point. That makes them the emotional anchor for the end of the film. It’s unlikely but they could even show us moments from the 24 years they worked together since that’s canon now and still insane to me. (Suzanne gave them so much history!!! How is anyone not seeing this is a goldmine?)

Finally for the epilogue, it's written in such a way that you could easily tweak it to show Haymitch and his geese, and Effie somehow enters the scene. In my head, she’s visiting him since I don’t think they would ever have the kind of relationship where they’d live together all the time. At first I thought maybe they talk about the geese and how they mate for life oh wait no they don’t, but then I thought maybe Effie just says something along the lines of I heard you told them your story. Haymitch- yeah. Effie- Was I in it? Haymitch- of course you were. Etc etc. I don’t have it all figured out but the point being there’s a real opportunity here to make this both of their origin stories because of how their roles in the films play out.

There’s almost an equal opportunity here to shine the light on Effie’s background and motivations, and how she was basically put in her role as escort by accident (I’m still not over this) almost just as much as Haymitch was chosen against his will for the games.

But anyway, back to my original point. Do I think Suzanne wrote the book with the movie in mind? Maybe not, but she knows how this works by now. And she knows the differences between her Haymitch and Effie and the films’ Haymitch and Effie. Her version of the story does not include Hayffie in a straightforward way, but that doesn’t mean the films have to follow that to the letter. In fact, they’ve already deviated far from it in the original trilogy by keeping Effie in District 13 for Mockingjay, the KISS, etc.

As I’ve said a million times before, this is how adaptation should work at its finest. Giving the opportunity to tell a slightly different story based on the context and opportunities given by the adaptation medium. In this case, that involves 3 previous films that set up these characters and the actors’ choosing to make subtext text. All the ingredients are there. I’m so intrigued to see how they get put together.

[keirareidss]

fireworks - s.r + a.h + a bonus ;)

a few little blurbs in honor of fourth of July :)

Spencer Reid:

The fourth of July was always nostalgic for you, laying in the backyard watching the neighbors fireworks, sitting around a bonfire and making s'mores, running around with sparklers in your hand.

Spencer had never really felt the same nostalgia. Instead a longing for the feeling, a childhood he'd never had. Instead, he'd sit by the window in his bedroom, listening to the loud boom of the fireworks down the street, covering the sounds of his parents arguing, occasionally catching a glimpse of sparkling color behind the trees.

Before this upcoming Fourth of July, he'd told you about this and it made your heart hurt. You made a promise to yourself to make this the best fourth of July he's ever had.

You went all out, buying supplies for s'mores and hot dogs and even a fruit platter, setting up blankets in your backyard, and finding some sparklers and the biggest at home fireworks you could find. Not the cheap ones that just sparkled a little on the ground, the big ones that shot up, filling the sky with color.

The team was invited over and they all brought a little supplies of their own. And when Spencer showed up, letting you lead him to the backyard, his eyes lit up at the spectacle. Literally, the fairy lights lining your backyard glinted in his pupils.

"This is incredible." Spencer breathed.

"Thanks, I thought I'd make your first Fourth of July experience a memorable one." He looks at you, his expression becoming softer.

"Wait... did you do this for me?"

"Of course I did. Now, come on, let's find a blanket before Rossi starts lighting the fireworks." You lead him to one of the blankets randomly laid out along the lawn, plopping down next to him, your hands brushing.

As the first burst of color exploded in the sky, Spencer glanced over at you.

"Thank you for doing this."

"Of course, Spence." You lean over, brushing your lips against his cheeks. You can barely see the blush forming under the bright lights popping in the sky. Maybe, if you're lucky, you might get a kiss by the fireplace by the end of the night.

Aaron Hotchner:

Aaron enjoyed the fourth of July just as much as anyone else. He liked to bring Jack into the driveway where he'd light a few of the smaller fireworks that glittered up from the ground. He'd buy a few sparklers for Jack to run around with but that was about it.

Until you entered his life.

You brought them both to the beach where you splashed around in the water with his son until it darkened enough for the fireworks to start. All three of you laid on the blanket, Hotch's under behind your neck, Jack curled up between the both of you as dazzling sparks formed shot into the sky from the boats out on the lake.

"This is nice." Hotch turned his head to you, smiling softly, looking the picture of a domestic man, finally able to relax.

"It is, isn't it?" You grinned, looking at him as well until the little boy's voice between you pulled your attention.

"Woah! Look at that one!" He pointed up to a vibrant blue firework, bursting in the dark sky. Your eyes followed his finger, smiling at his little giggle as another brightly colored firework crackled energetically.

Aaron's eyes never left your face. His gaze scanned your features, lit different colors by the ever changing lights above you. Every new color gave him a glimpse of a different part of you. The blue accentuated the freckles on your face, the green bringing out your eyes, the purple emphasizing the color of your lips.

"They're so loud." Jack discerned and you hummed in agreement.

"They are. Do you want some earplugs?"

"No, I'm okay." He snuggled closer to you, his head on your chest. You glanced over at Aaron once again, meeting his unwavering gaze. He leaned over his sons head, planting a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled against him and he pulled away, unable to help his own smile.

He placed another kiss on Jacks' head before settling closer to the two of you, putting his arm over you both as the fireworks continued shimmering in the sky.

Bonus! Emily Prentiss:

When you thought about how you would spend the fourth of July, this was not what you imagined. You pictured spending the evening somewhere outside, maybe with a bonfire and a drink in your hand, watching fireworks with your girlfriend cuddled up next to you.

You didn't expect to be cooped up on the couch, comforting Sergio, Emily's cat, who was deeply afraid of the fireworks booming outside. He meowed a loud suffering sound into your chest as he tried to bury himself into you to get away from the sound.

Emily chuckled behind you, his arms wrapped around your middle, your back against her chest.

"Is he going to be okay?" You asked, stroking the cat's soft fur, scratching behind his ear.

"Oh, he'll be fine. As long as the neighbors don't keep it going past midnight like last time." You could hear the scowl in her voice as you recalled her telling you how she had to go across the street and bang on their door to get them to quit it.

"So we don't get to sleep until they stop?" You asked, leaning your head back on her shoulder, looking at her upside down and she laughed again.

"Not unless you want claw marks in your skin." You hummed snuggling into her more. The cat in your lap meowed again, nails digging into the pillow barrier Emily had placed between you and Sergio to keep him from puncturing your soft skin.

She leaned over, grabbing the pink lemonade from the coffee table, holding it up to you so your lips could wrap around the straw, taking a sip before she drank from it as well. She put it back before leaving a cold, wet, kiss on your cheek and a few on your neck.

You giggled, shying away as her arms tightened around you. Maybe you didn't mind if you were up past midnight.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni, @pixie-verse, @cinnamoncunt

[pohtaytoh]

Cornelia Street

⋆·˚ ༘ * Sophia Laforteza x g!nReader

Sophia, now the famous leader of the pop group KATSEYE, once shared an unexpected love story with you. You, a quiet high schooler, never imagined someone like the popular and brilliant Sophia would notice you, let alone fall in love with you. Your romance blossomed after a chance meeting on Cornelia Street in New York. Now, the street remains as a painful reminder of the love you lost, a place you try to avoid, filled with the bittersweet echoes of a past you can't quite escape.

Sophia Laforteza.

Leader of the global pop group KATSEYE. 

She has the voice, the beauty, and the brains. It was either people wanting to be her or be with her. However, before the world discovered her—prior to becoming KATSEYE Sophia—she was your Sophia. Your Fifi. Your Sophie. 

Your love story was something you did not expect. She was way out of your league. During your highschool years, you remember that she was a straight A student while you were just…you. Teachers would praise her intelligence. She was the president of the class, always sitting at the front, the one representing your school during competitions, the student council president, and the popular girl. She had boys giving her boxes of chocolates and flower bouquets but to their luck, she was dating the basketball captain, his name you couldn’t even bother knowing and remembering. 

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. You were always sitting at the back of the classroom, keeping to yourself, in your own little world. Sometimes participating in the discussions but most of the time, just listening to the teachers yap about their life. Others wouldn’t even bat an eye on you. Other teachers would just shake their heads at you. Your life was not anything like hers. She has the money while you don’t. You were basically a ghost to others, sometimes wishing someone could see you but you realized, maybe, it’s best that way.

So imagine your surprise when THE Sophia Laforteza is calling out your name whilst you were walking along Cornelia Street in New York. 

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You recognized that voice, so you turned around, confused. There, lo and behold, was Sophia Laforteza, waving at you with a smile on her face. She looked pretty much the same as five years ago, but this time, prettier, and she had that different kind of glow on her. A kind of glow that makes her ten times more attractive in your eyes.

“Uh, me?” you mouthed to her, pointing at yourself, confused. How did she know you? You tried to recall moments where you both interacted but there were none to remember. You were nobody back then, how can a woman as popular as Sophia remember a person like you?

She then nodded. You stood there confused, not knowing what to do. Sensing this, Sophia walked up to you like it was a normal thing to do. It was like she knew you all along. 

“Hi! I haven’t seen you in a while! I can’t believe this is where I would find you. You kind of disappeared after our graduation.” 

You raised your right hand, becoming more confused over her actions. This seems like a prank. 

“Hold up, pause. What…Why….How…” you tried to form the right words but it came out incoherent. Everything was confusing and overwhelming all at once.

“Who…where?” Sophia attempts to joke at you but seeing that you’re serious, she scratched her nape awkwardly while clearing her throat. “Not funny, huh? I forgot we never really interacted back when we were highschool students.”

“Exactly. I’m so sorry if I’m such a mess, like you said, we never really talked to each other. I was nobody back then so I really didn’t think someone like you would notice a person like me.”

You explain to her, playing with your hands, not knowing what to do but settling in crossing them instead.

“A nobody? Why would you say something like that? Don’t talk to yourself like that.” You couldn’t help but smile a little as she frowns at what you said. This is why Sophia was popular, she wasn’t like those typical mean popular girls. She was the complete opposite. She was sweet and considerate.

Shrugging, you told her “Well, I was practically like one. I’m surprised you know me.”

“Right.” The latter says, dragging the letter I, and then clears her throat. You noticed she seemed nervous, which confused you even more. Why was she nervous around you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Anyway, what brings you around here?” You asked her, trying to start a conversation. You were no longer the shy and awkward person that you were five years ago, you do have your moments but you completely changed. You are no longer scared of initiating a conversation. Working as a call center agent before definitely had its perks. 

She seemed surprised at your question but immediately relaxed. You knew why. It wasn’t like you to initiate or even talk to someone longer for five minutes. “I’m on vacation and decided to pay this side of New York a visit. In a couple of months I’ll be busy training because I auditioned for this company so I thought why not travel for a bit? What about you? What brings you here?”

“I work here. As soon as I graduated, I packed all my stuff and—”

“I'm really sorry for interrupting but uh…can we continue this at a nearby cafe? It looks like it's about to rain,” as soon as you heard this, you looked up, and surely, dark clouds were starting to form.

“You're trying to ask me out, aren't you?” you joked, hoping she doesn't take it the wrong way. 

“Uh…w—well, maybe? I want to talk to you more but uh sure, that too.” Sophia was a stuttering mess which you found adorable. 

You chuckled, “Sure. Lead the way, Miss Laforteza.”

You two walked together towards the nearby cafe, side by side, with her yapping about whatever she's busying herself with at the moment. You used to not like people who talk too much but you found yourself listening to every word that she said. 

Later on you discovered everything. You discovered that Sophia knew who you were even before graduating as high school students. She told you how she noticed you at the back, how intrigued she got when she discovered your name, and how she wanted to befriend you but was never really given the chance. 

You couldn't blame her, you tend to stir away from any school events that would cause a huge crowd (basically every event that the school held or celebrated). 

You also discovered that the basketball captain she used to date ditched her for another woman four years ago. 

You discovered a lot of things you didn't know about her and she learned everything about you too.

That's when it all began. Cornelia Street was the reason why your love story bloomed. 

Sophia asked for your phone number after that little date that you had at the cafe, you quickly became close through texting each other, you often hung out—her asking you out on dates—one date after another until she finally asked you to be hers. 

It was surreal. It took a while to sink in that you're dating Sophia Laforteza. The first few months were blissful, the Filipina really showered you with her love, she was the epitome of the five love languages. In the span of those months you also met her family and you were glad that they were accepting of the relationship that you had with Sophia.

Until the day she had to fly out to Los Angeles to fulfill her training, aiming to claim a spot on a 6-member global girl group that companies Hybe and Geffen were going to create. Sophia had told you and made you promise not to tell anyone. 

It's not like you have someone to share this information, anyway. 

You went with her to the airport and it was one of the most heartbreaking memories for you. You both stood there, arms wrapped around each other tightly—like you didn't want to let go—crying and telling each other how you're going to miss one another. 

You wanted to tell her to stay but you didn't want to be selfish. Sophia was following her dreams and you didn't want to hold her back. When her flight was called, she kissed you goodbye, telling you to take care of yourself before she turned around and walked towards the gate without turning back.

You noticed how each step that she took was hesitant, as if she wanted to turn back around and ditch the training, but you couldn't let her do that so you yelled despite being surrounded by a lot of people: “Best of luck, my future popstar! Claim that spot!”

The following months were torture, you were longing for Sophia’s touch. You barely talk. You were busy with work while she was busy following her dreams. Whenever she is given the chance, she talks to you on facetime, most of the time looking a bit tired and surviving on a two-hour sleep. Most of the calls that you do were also spent with her sleeping because you wanted her to at least take a minute to nap more. 

You spent the days that you couldn't get a hold of her walking along the bustling Cornelia street, reminiscing about everything that you both did together. The lack of communication was taking a toll on you and you didn't know if it was doing the same to her. 

However, you hold on. You didn't let it get to you because you knew your love for each other’s stronger than that. It was a challenge in your relationship, a minor bump on the road. 

‘Till it wasn't. 

After all the hard work the girls did during their training, the company allowed them to have a month's vacation before the big announcement was made. To say you were excited for your girlfriend to come home was an understatement. 

You were at the airport alone, practically buzzing with anticipation, standing on your tippy toes as you looked for your girlfriend to come out. Sophia’s family was in the Philippines and they couldn’t immediately fly back because both her parents’ schedules were packed.

There were too many people today but you knew you’d recognize your girlfriend even from afar. 

There she was, looking a bit tired while rolling her suitcase. She didn’t see you at first, that’s why you were the first to approach her. 

“Fifi!” You wrapped your arms around her in a hug. She reciprocated the gesture but you felt it was forced with the way her arms wrapped around you loosely. Maybe you were just overthinking things. Maybe she was too tired for a hug. 

The first few days were a blur of you trying to make up for lost time. You wanted to take her everywhere, show her everything you’d missed, but she was always so tired. You brushed it off at first, of course she was exhausted from training and the flight. You kept telling yourself that.

“Hey, want to grab some dinner at that new Italian place down the street?” you asked one evening, hopeful.

She mumbled something from the couch, not even looking up from her phone. “Hmm? Oh, no, I’m good. Just gonna order in tonight, too tired to go out.”

You tried again the next day. “Fifi, let’s go for a walk? The weather’s perfect, we could even walk along Cornelia Street, just like we used to.” You remembered the way her hand used to fit so perfectly in yours, the shared smiles as you pointed out every little detail.

“No, I can’t,” she said, her voice flat. “Got some stuff to do. Maybe tomorrow.”

Tomorrow never came. Or the day after that. For three weeks, it was the same. Every suggestion you made was met with a polite refusal. You missed her laugh, the easy banter, the way she used to just be with you. You even tried to get her to play games with you, anything to just spend time together.

“Want to play that new game I downloaded? It’s pretty fun, I think you’d like it.”

She shook her head, still engrossed in her phone. “Nah, I don’t know how to play those types of games. You go ahead.”

But you’d see her, across the room, illuminated by the glow of her screen, a soft smile gracing her lips, a smile that never seemed to be for you anymore. It was always there when she was on her phone, typing furiously, occasionally giggling to herself. You didn’t ask who she was talking to. You didn't want to know. The silence between you grew, thick and suffocating, much louder than any conversation you used to have. Every refusal, every distant glance, every time you saw that smile on her face that usually was meant for you, chipped away at the hope you desperately clung to.

You didn’t give up. You couldn't. Not yet. You still tried. Every morning, you’d ask about her day, suggest a movie, or a coffee. Every time, the same half-hearted excuses. "Too busy." "Too tired." Her eyes, once so bright and focused on you, now seemed to drift, always pulled back to that glowing screen in her hand.

One afternoon, you found her on the couch, laughing into her phone, a genuine, joyful sound you hadn't heard directed at you in weeks. You took a deep breath, mustering what little courage you had left.

“Fifi, how about we actually go out tonight? Just us. Dinner? Anything?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear, her smile immediately fading, replaced by a strained look. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Can you please just let it go for once? I said I’m busy. I’m tired of you constantly asking!”

You froze. The words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected. You felt your face flush, your heart sinking. You didn’t say anything, just sat there on the opposite end of the couch, shrinking into yourself, the silence now deafening.

After a long, painful moment, you managed to find your voice, quiet, almost a whisper. “Who are you always talking to? Is it… is it someone new? Did you find someone else during your training?”

She sighed, a frustrated, drawn-out sound, and finally put her phone down. “No! God, no. It’s just Marquise. She’s a trainee from Dream Academy too. We’re just friends, that’s it.” She looked at you, a flicker of something in her eyes you couldn't quite decipher. “Marquise has a boyfriend, and they’re really in love. There’s nothing like that going on.”

The relief was a brief, faint flicker against the dull ache in your chest but it didn't answer the core of it. Your voice was barely audible when you finally asked, the fear, a cold knot in your stomach, “Then why don’t you want to hang out with me anymore? Do you… do you still love me the same?”

The question hung there, suspended in the air between you like a fragile bubble, ready to pop. You watched her face, searching for any sign, any flicker of the girl you knew, the one who would have crushed you in a hug and sworn her undying love. But her expression remained unreadable, a blank canvas where your hopes slowly bled out.

She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze drifted past you, out the window, as if something more interesting was happening outside. The silence stretched, becoming unbearable, each second feeling like an hour. You could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside, the distant hum of traffic, but in your living room, there was only the sound of your own frantic heartbeat.

Finally, she pulled her eyes back to you. 

Her voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of any warmth. “Of course I still love you.” It was a programmed response, lacking any conviction, when she told you that, you didn’t want to believe her. All her actions were anything but. “It’s just… a lot has changed. We’re both so busy. It’s hard.”

It’s hard. That was it. No explanation, no reassurance, just that hollow statement. You wanted to scream, to shake her, to demand the truth, but you couldn’t. The energy had drained out of you, leaving you empty. You just sat there, watching her, the person you loved more than anything, slipping away right in front of you, and yet, there was still this sliver of hope.

You were still holding on by a thread, barely, hoping that something, anything, would eventually change. But it was like you were hoping for nothing. Your relationship with Sophia was already falling apart, but it was getting worse. You were now constantly fighting. Each passing day, your fights got worse and worse, draining the life out of you.

You remembered the early days, when just a glance from her could light up your whole world. Now, her eyes held a distant look, like she was seeing right through you. It wasn't just the big arguments that hurt; it was the quiet moments, too. The way she'd scroll on her phone while you tried to talk, the quick goodbyes that replaced lingering hugs, the jokes that no longer made her laugh. It was a slow, painful fading, like a photograph left too long in the sun.

You'd tried everything. You'd cooked her favorite meals, planned surprises, offered to just listen. You’d swallowed your pride countless times, apologizing for things you weren't even sure you'd done wrong, just to stop the fighting, just to bring back a flicker of that old warmth. But every effort felt like pushing against a heavy, locked door. Each attempt to connect felt like it drove her further away.

The dreams you once shared, the future you’d painted together in vivid colors, now looked dull and faded, like old forgotten memories. You still saw her, physically, but the Sophia you loved, the one who understood you without words, the one who was your home, felt like a stranger. It was like living with a ghost, a constant reminder of what you had lost, even though she was right there. The loneliness in her presence was worse than being alone.

You felt a deep ache in your chest, a constant dull pain that never went away. It was the pain of a heart slowly breaking, not with one big crack, but with a thousand tiny fractures, day by agonizing day. You were tired, so tired of fighting, tired of hoping against all odds, tired of feeling this constant emptiness.

Until you had enough.

Something inside you snapped. You were tired so you did what you thought was the best thing to do, you confronted her. “Sophia, we need to talk.”

The words hung heavy in the air, like a thick, choking blanket made of bad feelings and pain no one talked about. You stood across from Sophia, but it felt like a huge hole stretched between you, wider than any room. Her face was a mask you didn't know anymore, and your own heart pounded fast and hard in your chest, a desperate drumbeat of sadness.

"What do you want from me?" she finally snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the heavy quiet. It was always like this now – a constant fight, every word a fresh cut.

You felt a shiver go through you, a cold fear spreading deep in your bones. "What do I want?" Your voice cracked, just a whisper. "You. I want you. I want us, Sophia. I wanted what we had. What we had was real, at least that's what I think. Don't you remember? The way we used to talk for hours and hours, about everything and nothing? The way we planned our whole lives together, every tiny detail, every dream we shared?"

She scoffed, a quick, rude sound that twisted something painful inside you. "Don't be so dramatic. Things change. People change. You can't expect everything to stay exactly the same forever."

"Yes, they do," you shot back, the little bit of control you had slipping away. 

"And I was willing to change with you. I was willing to do anything. You were the only thing that ever made me want to stay soft in a world that kept handing me reasons to harden. Every time life hit me hard, every time I thought about closing myself off and becoming cold, there was you. You were the only reason why I let my guard down, why I dared to feel things deeply. You were the reason why I kept holding on. You were the reason why this sliver of hope exists, why I didn't want to give up on this, on us. On everything we promised each other."

Sophia looked away, her eyes moving past you, out the window, just like she always did when things got too raw, too real. It was her usual way of escaping, like a brick wall she had built around herself, a clear sign that she was pulling away again. 

The silence stretched, becoming so heavy it hurt, each second feeling like a torturous hour. You could hear the city's distant hum, the faint sounds of life continuing outside, but in this room, your whole world was falling apart. The quiet roar in your ears was louder than any traffic, the sound of your own heart breaking into tiny pieces.

"And what about now, Sophia?" you pushed, your voice getting louder, raw with pain. You felt tears stinging your eyes, burning them, but you wouldn't let them fall, not yet. You refused to break completely. 

"Now? Now you're just giving me a reason why it's better to let us go than to hold on. Every day, it feels like you're pushing me away more and more. The more I'm holding on to the possibility of us being together for a long time, the more it's hurting me. It's like I'm ripping off a bandage every single day, just to feel the wound again, to watch it bleed all over, never getting a chance to heal."

She finally pulled her eyes back to you, but there was no warmth, no sign of understanding in their depths. Her eyes were blank, empty, unfeeling, like stones. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm trying. It's just... hard." Her voice was still flat, emotionless, as if she were reading from a script, words without any meaning behind them.

"Hard?" A bitter, empty laugh escaped you, hollow and painful. 

"That's always your answer, isn't it? 'It's hard.' Do you have any idea what hard truly means at this moment? Do you know how hard it is to stand here, loving you, while you look at me like I'm a stranger?" You took a shaky step closer, your voice dropping to a desperate plea, begging her to see, to feel, to understand just a tiny bit of your pain. 

"I prayed that one day things will change. I always pray silently, to God, to Allah, whoever is listening to me, that you don't break this piece of me that's staying. The piece that still remembers every good thing about us, the piece that still loves you with everything it has, even when you make it so difficult." You could feel that last tiny part of yourself shrinking, begging for mercy.

A tear finally escaped your eye, tracing a hot, burning path down your cheek, followed by another, and another. They just kept coming now, a flood you couldn't stop. 

"Do you even know what it feels like, Sophia? To love someone so much it aches, a constant, sharp pain, and to feel them slipping away, piece by agonizing piece? To feel like you're losing your footing, your ground, everything you built your entire life on? Like the very earth beneath you is crumbling?" You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat, feeling your voice grow weaker, ragged with raw emotion. 

"I know you loved me, but not the way you used to, not the way I love you. Not with the same fire, the same deep connection. You never loved me enough to learn the language of my heart, that it was longing for you, that it was breaking every damn time you say no. Every time you chose something else over me, every time you pulled away. But every time you hurt, I was there. Even with a bleeding heart, a heart that was already shattered, I checked on yours. I put your feelings above mine, time and time again, believing that if I just loved you enough, if I just kept giving, you’d come back to me. You’d remember us. You’d remember what we were."

The air crackled with the heavy weight of your words, and Sophia's face remained blank, unmoving, like a cold stone. It was a blank canvas that offered no comfort, no understanding, no sign that she even heard you. It was like speaking to a wall, a beautiful, familiar wall that had suddenly become impossible to get through. The energy had drained out of you completely, leaving you hollowed out, empty, like a shell washed up on the shore. 

You just stood there, watching her, the person you loved more than anything, slipping away right in front of you. And yet, that tiny, cursed sliver of hope still stubbornly clung on, a tiny, annoying spark in the overwhelming darkness. It was a torture you couldn't escape, a cruel joke your heart kept playing on you.

"I just... I can't do this anymore," you whispered, the admission tearing through you, a raw, ragged sound. It was a surrender, a painful giving up, the final breath of a dream that refused to die but was suffocating nonetheless. 

"I hate giving up on people but I also hate forcing things.”

“And I’m forcing us, Sophia. I’m forcing us to exist in a space where only one of us wants to fight for it. I can’t be the only one pulling, dragging this relationship forward. It's too heavy. It's crushing me."

The silence that followed was different this time – not stretched and unbearable, but heavy with finality, like the last breath before a big storm finally clears and leaves nothing but stillness. The fight was truly over. And in its wake, only an aching emptiness remained, a silence that echoed with all the unspoken words, the shattered promises, and the ghost of a love that was now truly gone.

You remember how painful it was to walk away, to leave her all alone in that apartment, a space that suddenly felt colder than any winter. Your hand was shaking on the doorknob, hesitating, waiting. You were begging silently, with every beat of your broken heart, for her to tell you to stay. For her to say she'd fight, she'd change, she'd remember. Instead, you were met with the words you never wished to hear, words that cut deeper than any knife— "Let's break up, then."

Sophia, the person you thought was your forever, your anchor in a confusing world, just delivered the final, crushing blow. And just like that, with the bang of the door as you closed it behind you, both of you got your answer. It was over. The sound echoed in the empty stairwell, a lonely, final note in your shattered love song.

Everything that happened between you ended a month ago. Sophia ranked first among all the trainees, earning her spot as the leader of the global pop group KATSEYE. You had supported her all throughout, silently, from a distance, becoming her most secret fan. You watched her grow into the powerful, shining star she is now, gracing magazines and screens, her voice reaching millions. It was like your breakup never happened to her, she looked happier now, brighter, more alive than she had been in years. The only difference was that she was no longer yours.

Now, sometimes, when you walk through the city, you try to avoid certain streets. You go the long way around, take different turns, just to keep away from it but no matter what you do, you can't escape Cornelia Street. It's not just a street anymore; it's a living, breathing memory. Every brick, every lamppost, every cafe window screams her name. Sophia. Fifi. Sophie. The echo of her laughter, the warmth of her hand in yours, the way she used to lean into you when she was talking too fast and too excitedly. It's all there, waiting for you on Cornelia Street.

You remember that day you first met her again, the surprise, the hope that bloomed like a wild, unexpected flower. You remember all the dreams you built on that street, the whispered promises, the feeling of finding your home in another person. But now, Cornelia Street is a monument to what was lost. A painful reminder of a love that was once so vibrant, so real, now reduced to dust.

You can't walk Cornelia Street anymore. Not without feeling the ghost of her hand in yours, not without hearing her voice in the wind, not without seeing the shadow of a future that will never be. The city, once a canvas for your shared dreams, now just screams her name, a cruel reminder of the girl who walked into your life and then, just as suddenly, walked away, leaving you with nothing but a street full of memories and a heart that still aches for what used to be.

a/n: I tried to make this one as painful as I can. This was one was a bit personal because it was one of the reasons why me and my ex broke up. I am fine now, obviously but yeah, it still hurts alitol. Soooo, how was it? Please let me know!

[jay-trying-things-out]

I Have A Date Everything Theory (be warned for SPOILERS below!!!)

So, at first I was just experiencing the game as a fun little dating sim, y'know, as it's probably supposed to be experienced, but then I got to thinking in the shower, and I put some things together that may or may not have been intentional.

I'll give some examples of scenarios first to illustrate my point:

1. The toxic relationship between Dirk and Harper is obviously one that the game wants you to help fix/break them up. It's a good thing when they're finally away from each other in the context of personified characters, of course, but think about what has literally just occurred. You've gotten Dirk, the dirty clothes, away from the hamper by washing them. You've finally washed your clothes, which, judging by how sick of each other Dirk and Harper were, must've been dirty for awhile. Congrats! They motivated you to get something productive done!! (Even if Clarence, is, well, Clarence lol)

2. When you talk to Keyes, the main character (not us, but the person that is inside the game) seems to realize, in at least one of the dialogue options, that they haven't played piano very often. The interaction with Keyes as a person (hopefully) gets the mc to want to interact with her more, which, again, in a literal perspective, would be playing her. The mc is being motivated to play piano either again or for the first time. To explore creative hobbies like music.

3. Mitchell Linn the food connoisseur offers to take you to three different places right out in the gate in your first interaction (usually). The choices are sushi, a Hawaiian-fusion restaurant, and ice cream. When you choose the Hawaiian-fusion, Mitchell basically tells you good job for branching out and having an open mind. I believe he says something like this for Daisuke's restaurant too, if I'm not mistaken. He is literally encouraging the mc to try new things, starting with food, at least. To learn a bit about other cultures, too, while doing it!! (Since he asks you questions about silverware/tools/how you eat certain things for Koa and Daisuke's restaurants)

4. When you talk to Amir, he is the embodiment of not only the mirror, but the best hype man ever. I've seen many people in playthroughs assume that the mirror would be very vain and arrogant, but it turns out he is just the opposite! He never misses an opportunity to try to get you see that you are beautiful, and will not stand for any negative self-talk. I think that the beneficial impact he has on you needs no explanation; he's trying to improve your self-image!! :)

5. Beverly is REALLY desperate for customers. She even demonstrates that she is slightly annoyed you would invite friends over and then always end up cancelling. She wants you to get her bar more popular, and to do that, she insinuates that you have to invite some friends over! Sure, those friends can be the objects you've befriended in your house, but she's the one motivating you to maybe step outside of your comfort zone and realize that a little social interaction after all this time might be a good thing! She does just want business, though, so take this with a grain of salt lol.

I could go on and on about each (or at least most of the) character(s), but I'm pretty sure no one has the attention span to read this ramble, so I'll summarize some others I wanted to point out:

Dunk (and technically Kristof, Dasha, Shelley, and maybe a few others, but mainly Dunk) tries to get you to not only become sporty again, but be able to love it, too! Not to do it because you feel like you have to, but to enjoy doing it!

Diana speaks in word salads, presumably taken all from sentences written in her pages, so this might motivate the mc to write more positive things, therefore enjoying the positives of life more. Having Diana regurgitate or contemplate negative feelings that the mc writes about would probably make them feel guilty, driving them to make both Diana's and their lives better by writing about the positives.

I'll stop for now (let me know if anyone wants to hear about any more characters), but there are some of the things I wanted to point out. I'm not entirely sure what this is all leading to, since these are mostly just shower thoughts I had, but I'm thinking that, somehow, the glasses are improving your lifestyle. Now that the mc doesn't have a boring, pencil-pushing job (that replaced them with AI anyway), they are able to live a better life. (Or something like that; don't worry, I realize this is all a bit of a stretch, I was just having fun theorizing :] )

Hope you enjoyed!

[jules2kewl]

A different path.

COWBOY SEVIKA AU.

Tags: sevika works in a ranch, reader is married, artist reader, sevika and reader are neighbors, eventual smut, sevika cowboy au, chubby reader, sevika x female reader.

Word count: 9k but it lowkey feels less.

Part: 1/?

Note: I put a lot of effort into this lwkkk. I really hope you guys enjoy it. <3

Growing up, you were convinced that art was your future. It was what you were born to do. To create. To show your passion to the world.

Here you are, in a beat up pick up truck, with your now husband.

—

Flashback.

You met him in college. He was a frat boy.

“So.. what’s your major?”

You ask, smiling while tracing the rim of the red cup.

“Uhhh.. don’t remember. I’m not really here for like.. the education. Kinda here for the experience you know? This is the fucking life.”

Maybe there, you should ended it. You should’ve dodged the bullet. But you after a couple social pressure from the people around you, and other students degrading your major, here you are. Married away to a southern boy. On your way to the south. You grew up in a sort of suburb city place. It was in between the south and north, so you somewhat understood some culture.

But forgetting your dreams were extremely hard. But hey, you chose this life. No point in complaining.

—

“Whyd you want to bring all these dumbass paintings? They take up half the fucking space.”

He tosses the canvases to the ground, you wince and rush to them.

“They’re special to me,”

You mutter. As if you were embarrassed to say so.

You both unpack, the place was.. okay. It was spacious, and vintage looking. But not exactly the pretty type. Just old. You both moved down here because he took the offer of working with his other family in the ranch. Apparently they were all red necks, which made you.. scared.

“We’re gonna go down to my grandmas place. Dress nice.”

He says, plainly. You go to your luggage and take out your favorite outfit. You wore it throughout college. Fun.

“Hell are ye wearin’?”

He scoffed.

“Clothes,”

You tease, smiling. Except he didn’t smile. Just looking up and down, judging. Quickly erasing your smile.

“Go wear a dress or somethin’,”

He pauses.

“Look pretty for me.”

You listen. You obey. Changing into a dress. You hated how it looked, you looked like a house wife. And slowly, you’d probably become one.

When you meet his other family, they give snarky comments.

“You majored in art?”

The two girls look at eachother, smiling. Trying to hold back giggles.

“No! We think it’s like— cute. Atleast you chose a better path in the end.”

Bye the end of it, you wanted to cry. But ..

“What’s for dinner, hm?”

He clings onto you from behind, as you try to finish unpacking clothes.

“Dinner? We haven’t even filled up the fridge,”

You frown slightly. He groans.

“Seriously? What’re we gonna eat?”

He complains, pulling away.

“I don’t know.. order something or whatever.”

Pause.

He laughs loudly.

“Oh okay, I’ll just ORDER something in the middle of no where. I seriously forget yer fuckin’ spoiled.”

He pinched your ass and laughs again.

“Make something, I’ll be back. Headin’ down to meet some old friends.”

He gives it a slap and leaves. You stare out the window. You weren’t the best at cooking. Maybe you were spoiled. So you should get to work.

2 weeks later. You start getting better.. at whatever this was.

Packing his food, making the bed, cleaning the house, planning dinner and.. doing nothing, all at once.

When you finish, you stare out the window. Why did you pick this? No, it’s okay. You had to settle down. Art wasn’t going to take you anywhere. It was stupid. You chose this. Live with it.

You convinced yourself.

Flashback.

You both lay on a roof, he smokes while you ramble on about a book you read for art literature. You had to write an essay about it.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

He lifts the cigar from his lips.

“Yeah?” You say eagerly, expecting it to be about the book.

“Why do girls think.. they can do something? Like, chose an art major. It’s kinda stupid,”

He laughs hoarsely.

“It’s not really gonna get you somewhere. I have a little sister, she did art. Now shes a waitress,”

You go quiet.

That week, you kept thinking. Everyone told you that. Even some of your other college friends. Was it worth it? It was so expensive, and burdening your mom…

This was the right choice. He’ll keep you under a roof. Protect you. Provide for you. It’s okay.

You see a red pick up truck pass your house, and you see it drive to your neighbors house. You didn’t realize you even had one. You stand up eagerly, but anxiety creeps up on you.

What, were you going to go introduce yourself or something? That’s stupid. Only a thing movie people do.. but you haven’t talked to someone since you moved here.. maybe it’d be nice if—

Your thoughts are cut short when you see them.

Tall, strong frame, short hair. You see their back. Is that a girl? You try moving to see them better. It was a girl!

You squeal, then clap your hand to your mouth. Why’d you do that? Whatever! It’s a girl! She could be your friend.

Later. You cute a slice from your lasagna. Lasagna was your comfort food. So you made it. You start worrying if it was good enough to offer it to people. Whatever, go and do it.

You walk down to her house. Standing there and taking deep breaths, before knocking.

You wait, sweat staring to bead on your forehead.

After a hot minute, you wonder if she didn’t want to answer. You decide to leave the plate, before she opens.

“Hello?”

She’s bigger than from afar. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Shit, what do you say now?

“Uh— hhh…”

You try finding it.

“Hi. I’m.. your new neighbor.”

You put your hand out after saying your name. Mentally slapping the shit out of yourself. She probably wants to be left alone. This was stupid. Do people in the south even say hi to neighbors? God!

She smiles.

“Why hello. It’s sevika. You moved in with your husband eh?”

She tilts her head. Shaking your hand. Her hand was heavy and rough. It scared you a little.

“Uhm, yeah. That’s right.”

“You wanna come in?”

You smile, but try not to smile too hard.

“If that’s not a bother,”

“Oh no, never. Come on in.”

You go in, looking around. Leather couches, small little paintings, wooden carvings and taxidermy’s everywhere. This was so fucking southern. You loved it.

“It’s nice in here.”

You smile. Feeling relived to finally talk to someone.

“Thanks sweetie. Take a seat. You want somethin’? Water, tea, maybe a beer?”

She smiles. You see her tooth gap. How adorable!

“I’m okay, but thank you.”

You smile. It reeked like cigarettes and something else strong. It hurt your head, but it shouldn’t matter.

“Why’d you move down here? You don’t look like the rest of us.”

You tilt your head.

“What do you mean?”

She leans against her counter, picking up her cigarette from the tray.

“Look at the way you’re dressed.”

You look down. You just wore a t shirt and random shorts. You didn’t see anything wrong. Then you see one of your tattoos, your expressive jewelry and your shoes. Well, maybe something gave it out? You’re not sure.

“Uhm, my husband and me moved down here.”

She takes a hit and blows out through her nostrils.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

You pause.

“For his work. He works at the ranch.”

She looks at you.

“You mean the frat kid?”

You perk up. Frat? How did she know he was a frat boy?

“How did—“

“He acts like one. I just guessed. Always wanting to invite everyone for a drink after work. Doesn’t take it seriously,”

She puts the cigar down.

“So you work there?”

She nods.

“That would’ve surprised him,”

You smile. But she doesn’t. Giving you a slight judging look. You get hot and your smile goes away. Did she not like you?

“It did. He didn’t expect a woman to work there. But here I am.”

You tap your knee nervously. Not knowing what to say.

“What did you do? Before you became his house wife.”

“Oh no— I’m not his house wife.”

You smile and laugh.

“Really? You don’t leave the house do you?”

Your smile fades again. Did she hate you or something?

“I do.”

You lie. She chuckles.

“Yeah? When?”

You start thinking of a lie, but she chuckles again.

“It’s alright sweetie, I’m just askin’. Don’t worry your little head about it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t think you were holding in.

“I did art. Painted, wrote, all of that.. stuff.”

You start reminiscing. All the beautiful art work you did. Now hidden in the dusty attic.

“Did? You stopped?”

She picks up her cigar, tapping the ash off.

You shrug.

“Is that a yes or no?”

You look up at her.

“I guess I stopped. I don’t have the material anymore.”

There’s a long pause. It feels awkward, for you atleast. She didn’t seem bothered by it.

The lasagna in your lap felt stupid.

“What’s that?”

She points at it.

“Lasagna. I kinda brought it for you but..”

“But what?”

She smiles.

“I don’t think you want it.”

“What? Hey. Give it to me. I could never give up free food.”

You stand up and pass her the plate.

“I’ll eat it later.”

Pause. Again.

You look out the window.

“Uhm, thanks.”

She chuckles.

“For what?”

“Talking to me? Inviting me in.. thanks. I’m going to head home. Maybe I can talk to you another day?”

She nods.

You walk home. It felt good to talk to someone, although it felt like she judged you most of the time. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe you two could become close.

Thanks for reading luv. 💋

[averagecringekid]

I don’t remember who it was by but I remember seeing an idea about a twisted wonderland batsib! reader crossover and had some thoughts (specifically with a neglected reader)

Just thinking about reader ending up at NRC and trauma bonding with Leona. Maybe during book two or three? Not sure but I feel like if they were given an opportunity to open up to each other about their pasts they’d form a kind of kinship. 

Leona who grew up second to his brother. The second born prince, the second best. Like what he did was never good enough simply because he was born second. 

Leona who learnt at a young age that trying to outshine the sun was pointless and so gave up. If he was never going to win, why even try?

Leona who learnt to hide his emotions behind a wall of apathy. Because not caring about anything is easier than caring about everything. 

Leona who grew up being taught that he was only worth as much as his title.

Reader who grew up invisible to their family. Invisible to Bruce who was lost in grief, (of his second son lol) invisible to Dick who was still angry at the world, invisible to Alfred who was busy trying to pick up the pieces, and invisible to Tim who was only there for Batman.

Reader who understood from a young age that trying to be seen was futile, but was so desperate for connection that they never stopped trying.

Reader who had seen how cold the world could be, had experienced first hand how cruel people could be and refused to let the world take away their empathy, because not caring about anything is scarier than caring about everything. 

Reader who grew up being taught they were only worth as much as they gave.

Thinking about how both Reader and Leona grew up feeling unwanted and not good enough. that their family legacies were so much greater than themselves, that they could never live up to it. Both were severely affected by their childhoods and grew to be different but the same the same but different.

I have so many thoughts and not enough words. Bonus points if reader spent the first part of their life growing up in severe poverty with their mom (who's dead now cause of course) and so also relates to Ruggie, like I could talk so much about this it's not even funny. To bad I suck with words I'm also still figuring out formatting on tumblr so I apologize if its lowkey bad

[sunishake]

NOT MEANT TO BE — enha hyung line !

"When I let go of what I am, become what I might be." — Lao Tzu

Enha Drabble Vol 1: When they know they are not the one for you .꒷ 𖤐⤸₊˚ ִֶָ

HEESEUNG 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

Everything was okay

Everything was going to be okay

Everything will be okay

You held onto these until you realised you weren't living. You were just surviving at this point. Missed calls, fighting, cursing each other only to run back in each other's arms seemed so good, but you realize those were the fantasies you were chasing.

It hurt so bad in reality that you felt like ruining everything.

Rain clung to the edges of his coat as he stood in the doorway, eyes red-rimmed and jaw clenched. You stood across from him, arms wrapped around yourself like armour.

"I can't do this anymore," you whispered, voice cracking like porcelain.

Heeseung stepped forward, desperation lacing his every breath. "Don't say that. Not like this." You looked up, glossy eyes meeting his cloudy red ones.

He stepped closer, and you stepped back.

“Really??? Avoiding me like you weren't just crying on my chest last week, the truth is you always come back, you give me hope this will work out and you are the one to always pull away first.” His words were latched with poison, your heart bled.

You shook your head, eyes glistening. "We've been trying, haven't we? For so long. But all we ever do is hurt each other."

Heeseung ignored the lump in his throat, he expected you to bite back like you always did, but this just made him feel sick.

He swallowed hard. "So what? Love's not meant to be easy. It's meant to be worth it."

Your silence cut sharper than any goodbye.

Then, softly, almost apologetically, you said, "If it was meant to be, it wouldn't be this hard.”

Snap.

Heeseung looked pale. He knew what you said was making sense, but he just wanted to trick his heart a bit more. He just wanted to make you feel better to fix everything.

“Y/n…” he choked “Don't do this, i beg you”

“I’m tired Heeseung…how long are we going to pretend? Stop hurting me and hurting yourself”

He flinched like you slapped him. "That's bullshit and you know it. Since when did 'meant to be' mean effortless? This-" he gestured wildly between you two, "-this mess, this chaos... it's real. That's what love is. It's not calm seas, it's surviving the storm together."

Tears spilled freely now, you cried, "and you don't think we could've done that? Together?" Your voice broke as you said, "I think we would've drowned each other trying."

He stared at you, every word landing like shrapnel in his chest. His lips trembled. "You still love me.”

There was no denial. You did. You always will.But you know. Both of you knew you weren't just meant to be.

JAY 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

The world was crumbling again.

The sky split in shades of fire and ash as buildings collapsed in the distance, and people screamed like echoes from another life.

But all he could see was you—standing at the centre of the chaos, eyes wide, heartbroken, already fading.

Just like the last time.

And the time before that.

Jay reached for her, breath ragged. “No. Not again. Please, not again.”

You smiled through your tears, soft and familiar, like the melody of a song he'd once known by heart. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

He nodded, voice cracking. “It always happens.”

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing, never quite holding. “Do you think it’s punishment?” you whispered. “For something we did… in the first life?”

“I don’t know,” he choked. “I just know I’ve found you in every lifetime, and I’ve lost you in every one.” it hurt so bad, you wished you could hold him close forever, but the universe had different plans for both of you.

The ground trembled beneath.

“If we were meant to be,” he whispered, “why does the universe keep tearing us apart?”

You looked at him, eyes glassy but resolute. “Maybe… maybe we were never meant to stay. Maybe we were meant to find each other, to remember… so it would always hurt.”

“No.” His grip tightened. “I refuse to believe that. I’ll find you again.”

“And I’ll love you again,” you said,voice already growing distant, from flickering like smoke. “Even if it ends like this… every time.”

“No—please, stay,” Jay begged, voice breaking.

You pressed a final kiss to his blood clad knuckles, and vanished with the wind.

Silence.

Then rubble.

Then lifeless stars.

And somewhere in another time, another version of him woke up with a name on his lips.

Your name. Always your name.

JAKE .꒷ 𖤐⤸₊˚ ִֶָ

You stood in the back of the room, drink untouched, eyes fixed on them.

Your once lover and his first love.

Laughing.

That quiet kind of laugh that crinkled his eyes, the corner of his lips forming a beautiful crescent—the one you once believed was only reserved for you. You expected too much.

Tonight, it was her that made him laugh like that.

You watched Jake tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, lean in just a little too close. You watched the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

Like you never existed.

Your chest burned. Still, you smiled. You brought this misery upon yourself. No one told you to do charity work or attend your ex's engagement. It truly was pathetic. You tried to look away but couldn't. The pain was addicting, almost like you felt a pleasure victimising yourself.

Jungwon found you later, half-hidden near the window. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He hesitated. “You're hurting y/n, stop forcing yourself ”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you asked, “Did I imagine it? All of it?”

he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The way they looked at me. The late-night calls. The little touches. I thought… I thought it meant something.”

His gaze softened with something like pity. “Maybe it did.”

You looked back toward them—now with Jake's hand resting casually on her back. So natural. So easy.

“He was never mine Jungwon,” you said quietly, voice cracking. “I just convinced myself he was. Built a future in my head out of moments that were never promised.”

Jungwon reached for your hand, but you stepped back.

“I was just the story he forgot once the real one began.”

“He cared about you,” he insisted.

You nodded, hollow. “But not enough.”

And as Jake smiled at someone else the way you once dreamed He’d smile at you, you realized something far worse than losing love—

You never had it to begin with.

Jake laughed at something she said, a soft, practiced sound, and tucked her hair behind her ear the way she liked. She smiled- bright, unbothered, perfect.

Everything looked right.

Everything felt... off.

He didn't know why his eyes kept drifting.

Why his chest tightened every time he caught the smallest glimpse of a familiar silhouette near the window.His heart ached. He knew he did not have any right but he hoped he was yours to begin with.

SUNGHOON 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

He watched you from the doorway, the quiet thrum of the house only broken by the sound of you packing. It had been an almost ordinary evening—until it wasn’t.

Your suitcase lay open on the bed, half-zipped, like you couldn’t even bring yourself to finish it. It was a simple, almost clinical task for him, but for you… He could see it in the way your hands trembled as you folded your clothes. You were trying to act normal, as though this wasn’t the quiet death of everything you’d built together.

“Why are you leaving?” The words left his lips before he could stop them, but they didn’t feel like a question. More like an accusation, an unfair challenge to something neither of you two could control.

You didn’t turn at first. Just continued your work, your back to him, but your shoulders sagged, as if the weight of his gaze was too much to bear. “I have to,” you whispered, barely audible.

Sunghoon swallowed. “I thought we were okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.

The silence was sharp. Then, softly, like it was the hardest thing you ever said “we were. In pieces.”

“Then why?” His voice cracked despite his best effort. “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned then, slowly, you still had tears, but you weren't crying. “I do love you,” you said, the words breaking between them, “but not enough to stay.”

He stood there for a moment, unmoving, trying to process it. The words felt too final, too clear.

The door clicked shut.

He didn’t move.

He just stood there, staring at the half-empty coffee mug you left on the table—still warm. Like you hadn’t really gone. Like you might walk back in and laugh awkwardly, say you forgot your power bank, your sketchbook or your cherry colored scarf.

But he knew better.

You always took the cherry colored scarf.

He sat down at the edge of the bed hours later, staring at the crumpled sheets on your side. That’s where you used to curl up, always toward the wall, like you were guarding something he wasn’t allowed to see.

He remembered how you used to reach for him in the middle of the night, like instinct. Your fingers cold, your breathing uneven.

“Are you okay?” he used to whisper.

“Yeah,” you lied. Every time.

And he let you lie.

Because he thought if he didn’t push, you’d stay. Because he thought love meant giving space, even if it was slowly killing him.

There had been signs. Small ones, too easy to ignore.

The way you flinched when he said “we, us, our.”

The way you smiled less.

The way you stopped telling him about your day, and started saying “it’s nothing” instead.

He’d hear you crying in the shower sometimes. He never asked why.

He told himself it was respect.

But deep down, he knew. It was fear.

Fear that if he asked and you answered, you’d say the one thing he couldn’t unhear

“I’m not happy here anymore.”

He was grounded. Calm. Stable.

That’s what you said you loved about him.

But sometimes he wondered if that’s what pushed you away.

He wasn’t spontaneous.

Wasn’t the type to yell during fights or demand grand moments.

He loved you in quiet ways—warm meals, remembering small things, never letting the gas tank go empty in your car.

But maybe you wanted storms.

Someone who’d grab your wrist at the door and say something.

He didn’t.

He just stood there.

Even now, he wasn’t sure if he could have stopped you.

Or if you’d already left him a long time ago, in pieces he ignored.

THE END

© sunishake

Ts so ass.

[robinminustherichard]

6. Death of a parent

For Bucktommy

Mentions of minor and major character deaths

"Is it bad that my dad is dead and I'm not nearly as broken up about it as I was with Bobby?" Evan's voice calls out from the bathroom in thier hotel suite, and Tommy sighs. He knew this particular crisis was coming.

"Is it bad? No." Tommy says simply, pulling his tie down to finish the knot and smoothing it out before buttoning his jacket.

"But?" Evan asks, his voice reaching Tommy before he appears around the corner of the room. Evan's in a similar suit, just with a small pocket square he knows will match both Maddie and Margaret's scarves.

Tommy pauses, deciding where he wants to go with this, before looking directly into his husband's eyes and speaking without hesitation.

"You had a complicated relationship with your father. Particularly, there was a long portion of your life where you felt as though your father didn't like you, let alone love you. Therefore, it isn't surprising that you are still feeling those complications as you prepare to go to his funeral."

Evan was silent as Tommy spoke, and Tommy can see the desire to argue and debate the point in his eyes. When he opens his mouth to respond, Tommy takes two quick steps towards him and grabs him by the shoulders.

"Sweetheart." Tommy starts, happy that his rarest pet name still stops Evan in his tracks more often than not. "You watched Bobby die-"

Evan looks away, seven years of grief and living with it still sharp some times, but swallows and nods before looking back at Tommy.

"-and your dad died here in Pennsylvania, when you hadn't seen or heard from him in months; I completely understand that it may not feel as...as raw or emotional as Bobby. Grief is different from itself all the time. It's weird, it's uncomfortable, it's infinitely hard to pin down. Maybe in two weeks, after your mom has been moved in with her sister and the house is getting ready to go on the market it will feel more real. Maybe his birthday will pass and it'll hit you, or maybe Jee or Bo or Graham will ask about him and it'll take your breath away."

Tommy takes a breath then, ducking slightly to grab Evan's eyeline from where it had dipped and was half hidden by rapid blinks.

"But Evan, it doesn't make you a bad person to feel different about this than Bobby. It doesn't make you a bad son-"

"I didn't think it made-"

"Yes you did. Don't lie to your husband. And don't interrupt him when he's being profound either."

That gets a chuckle out of Evan, paired with an eye roll, and Tommy smiles softly. He pulls Evan into his chest, resting his head on top of his partner's.

"It makes you human. It makes you someone who tried really hard with their father, someone who continues to try, and who can't walk away even when it makes you doubt yourself."

Evan breathes in a raggedy breath, a little wet and hitching.

"Okay." Evan replies simply, bringing his arms up around Tommy. "Okay, I can do this."

"Okay, honey," Tommy says easily, rubbing his hands up and down Evan's back before pulling away. He swipes a tear away from Evan's cheek easily. "Let's go. I know Graham enjoyed the sleepover at your mom's with his cousins, but I'm sure Maddie and Chim are ready for back up and help getting them to the funeral home."

"Yeah," Evan agrees, reaching to grab their go-bag with snacks and extra clothes for Graham from the tiny hotel desk. "Thanks, Tommy."

Tommy smiles at his husband gently, wrapping an arm around him softly and pressing a kiss to Evan's birthmark. He follows Evan out of the door, stopping to make sure it closes behind them. Evan is waiting for him in the hallway, eyes a little shiny but shoulders relaxed.

"Let's go."

[thewriterowl]

Okay wait more, I threw the stone (Leia and Luke) and it came back to brain me—

Leia and Luke who don’t immediately connect as siblings. Their upbringing is too different, their worldviews and values don’t always overlap. They butt heads frequently. They love each other, of course they do, but they don’t quite know how to convey that in a way that doesn’t involve them Force-loading their affection and trust and catapulting it at each other.

All that to say—the general public doesn’t quite know what to make of Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker.

Their relationship is. Contentious.

Leia Organa had, at some point, bestowed Luke Skywalker prestige after prestige. There were titles, lands, celebrations. Then she quietly and methodically took most of them back. What’s that supposed to mean? Well.

It means that Leia was used to showering the people she loved in gifts, of wealth, of security. It means she once wanted her sibling to stand next to her on the stage of influence and politics. It means she realized just how much it all suffocated Luke. How ill-fit he was for the life she lived as easy as anything.

It means she let him go with a wry smile and everything he needed for a nomadic, secretive life.

+DinLuke addition.

Luke Skywalker is arguably the best man Din knows. He’s definitely the best teacher Grogu has. Possibly the best partner a budding Mand’alor could ask for.

Din definitely didn’t stalk Luke through most intergalactic networks like a good bounty hunter and acquired all the publicly available information on the guy. Din doesn’t know all the names of his allies and maybe allies and enemies and exes. No, really, that’d be terrible friend behavior.

(Din sucks at traditional friendship.)

And Leia. Would like to know what she did to piss off the Mand’alor so much. Really.

She doesn’t usually care when someone doesn’t like her—she worked with (and against) people that wanted to kill her in her sleep. Smiling like she’s welcome when she isn’t is a skill she perfected.

But this was the man her brother picked. Put down his roots for. The man that made Luke glow with an encompassing kind of happiness. The man that gave Luke the home that Leia couldn’t quite get right.

She’d really like it if they could get along. Luke will be so happy with them if they could.

An awkward little found family!! Yes! Everyone trying to just find their places with each other as they face things without a constant war. It's good, of course it it, and they all love each other, but there is so much trauma and differences that it is hard.

Leia is dealing with her trauma through a lot of anger. Luke through a lot of self-pressured forgiveness. Both through a lot of sacrifice. They are going to buttheads because Luke's a gentle warrior and Leia is a fierce politician. Both are coming from horrific loss and knowledge and neither are quite sure how to just settle and talk in a way that fully reaches the other. (And Leia knows she can be very harsh and blunt and it can come across mean when she doesn't intend so--it was bad before...it got worse after Alderaan).

But both would die and kill for the other. This is their twin. Their mirrored sun. They may struggle finding quiet comfort after so much loudness but they are both there for each other no matter what. Both will always try for their twin. And Leia will be damned if this doesn't work out in a way that makes Luke get the happiness he deserves