#I don’t know her name but I think about her often

[writingwithgeoffrey]

This storm is the worst you’ve seen in quite a while. The rain is hammering against windows and shingles alike, pelting an uncertain rhythm out. Thunder crashes every few moments, echoing across the land like the bestial roars of some distant animal. Wind howls, rattling your doors but and causing your house to tremble somewhat.

You don’t mind it much, though. It gives you the perfect opportunity to cuddle up beneath the blankets and catch up on your favorite TV show.

When you hear the first knock, you assume it’s part of your show and brush if off without thought. When it happens again, louder and carrying a bit more desperation than the last, you pause your show and wait. A third knock at your door reaches you, weaker and almost pitiful.

Curious—but also cautious—you grab an old, dented baseball bat from behind the door and prepare to open it.

It’s a woman. She stands there, golden-brown hair whipping about in the wind. Rain washes down fair skin, drenching through the dress she wears. A dress made of leaves, you note. In one hand, she has a glass bottle, while her other hand tries its best to tame her hair.

She looks at you sheepishly, granting you sight of the most amazing eyes you’ve ever seen. Despite the darkness around you, her eyes shine a vibrant hazel. And not any of those muddy hazels you see so often, but a true hazel. The only way you can describe them is by comparing them to a canopy of leaves, when you look up from beneath and you see the interconnected branches interspersed with the verdant hues of its foliage, or perhaps to a field as it regrows after a drought, the patches of grass signaling a return to life as they sprout from a soft earthy loam.

“Hello …” Her voice is weak, but comes to you like birdsong on the breeze. “This may be a tad strange. I’m the tree in your front yard, and this storm looks to be getting worse. Can I come inside?”

You glance past her. Sure enough, the patch of land where your tree stood is now a gaping crater. Well, it’s a crater for now, but you reckon after the storm you’ll have a neat pond.

You look at the woman again and notice more. Her necklace is simple, a wooden brace that reminds you of the treehouse the neighborhood kids had built in your tree. One of her arms has a rope bracelet, as well, from which dangles a tiny, circular rubber charm.

“You’re … my tree?”

The woman nods and looks over her shoulder at where she came from. “I normally wouldn’t do this, but …” Her gaze meets yours again. “I don’t want to fall over.”

You still find it hard to wrap your head around it, but your mother and father had raised you never to turn away a soul in need. So, you step aside. “Yeah, of course. Come on in.”

The woman seems beyond grateful as she enters your home. Right away, you fetch her a towel so she can dry off.

“So, do you have a name?” you ask.

She thinks for a while, then says, “Yggy.”

It’s a nice name, and now that you know your tree has one, you plan to start using it more. “Where did you come from? Or were you always there?”

Yggy sits down on your couch. “Not even the nymphs know where we come from. We do not produce children like you humans. We simply … are.”

“‘Are’ what?”

She giggles, a noise as soothing as honey, and smiles at you. “We are the trees. We are forests, and glades, and palms. We are the ones that bring you shade on a sunny day, and we’re the ones that shelter you from rainstorms.”

“Not today,” you joke as you sit beside her.

Your gazes meet again, though not for long before she looks at the floor. “Y-yes, I suppose so.”

“Hey, don’t worry, though. You’re welcome in here anytime you need to come in, okay?”

The woman nods once. “Thank you.”

Then, she picks her head up and looks over at the window. The storm continues to rage beyond your house, showing no signs of relenting. At first, you think that’s where she’s looking. However, when she stands, she makes it pretty clear that’s not what she’s concerned about.

“This little guy …” She picks up the potted plant you’ve had sitting on your windowsill for a few months now.

“Sorry, I’m trying my best.”

Yggy cradles it like a newborn as she glances back over her shoulder. “I can tell. She says you love her very much, that you talk to her and bring her water and nutrients. And she says it’s okay if you don’t succeed, you’re trying your best.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you pull your gaze away. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just … I’ve been working so hard to keep it alive. It was my mom’s before she …” The word catches in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep your tears from coming, but it doesn’t work.

Yggy is beside you before you know it, the gentle skin of her palm caressing your cheek. “It’s all right. I’ll help you. Ayana will be all right.”

You gasp as she says your mother’s name, and your gaze snaps toward her. “Wh— How did you—”

Yggy looks down at the plant in her embrace. “She told me her name, and she told me she will always love you.”

You are watching TV during a storm when you hear a knock. At your door is a woman wearing a dress made of leaves and carrying a bottle. She looks at you sheepishly: "Hello, this may be a tad strange. I am the tree in your front yard and this storm looks to be getting worse. Can I come inside?"

[asterafroditis]

hai !! :3 I saw the sua/robin reader and I loved it so much! and it made me wonder if u could make (platonic) housewardens x sua!reader? (preferably fem!reader but idm gn!) the fact that reader misses mizi and wonders what happend to her and ultimately has trauma from alien stage :3

I love all of ur fanfics a lot!! don’t forget to drink nor eat ^-^

𐔌 . ⋮ lingering songs .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓���Platonic Housewardens x Sua fem! reader

𓏵 1245 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used but there are fem! reader descriptors, light angst

Aqqq took me a while to finally get this out of my drafts bc smth abt it just bugged me but I do hope you enjoy my train wreck writing TT feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

At first glance, Riddle sees you as a poised and refined young lady—an image of grace under pressure. He respects that. But as time passes, he realizes it’s not natural elegance; it’s control. The way you hold yourself, the way you speak—it’s deliberate, as if you’re performing for someone who isn’t there.

You remind him of a caged bird. Beautiful, but trapped in something invisible. It unsettles him.

When you mention Mizi’s name—softly, wistfully—he recognizes the way your voice catches on it. He’s studied grief in textbooks, read about different ways people mourn. But he’s never heard someone carry loss the way you do, as if it’s stitched into your very being.

You don’t cry often, but the weight of your sorrow lingers in everything you do. When you stand by the window, eyes searching the sky, he knows you’re looking for something beyond it. He wonders if you even realize it yourself.

You’re prone to sleepless nights, and he notices. He starts leaving herbal tea by your door, citing Heartslabyul’s rules on proper health. It’s a quiet way of saying I see you. I won’t push, but I care.

If you ever have a panic attack, he’s caught between his instinct to enforce structure and his awareness that grief doesn’t obey rules. He opts for quiet presence, sitting nearby, offering something tangible—warm tea, gentle words, a familiar voice grounding you back to reality.

─────────────────────────

Leona immediately senses something different about you. Unlike others who fear his presence, you meet his gaze with quiet detachment. No apprehension, no admiration. Just... acceptance. It annoys him at first. Then it intrigues him.

He’s not stupid. He’s seen loss before, but the way you carry yours—it’s not just sadness. It’s survival. Like someone who had no choice but to keep going.

“Tch. What’s with that look?” he mutters one evening when he catches you gazing at the stars, eyes unfocused. When you answer with a soft, “I’m looking for someone who isn’t looking back,” he doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t leave, either.

Sometimes he hears you humming when you think you’re alone. The melody is gentle, sorrowful—like a song meant for ghosts. He never asks about it, but it lingers in his mind long after.

He’s not the type to console with words, so instead, he gives you space to exist. If you need silence, he won’t talk. If you need company, he won’t push. And if you need rest, he’ll grumble about it before shoving a pillow at you and muttering, “Take a nap, herbivore.”

─────────────────────────

Azul is drawn to your presence. You exude a kind of mystique, a quiet allure that reminds him of deep, uncharted waters. But when he looks closer, he sees something else—fatigue. A weariness that no amount of rest could fix.

He’s fascinated by your voice. It’s hauntingly beautiful, a siren’s call that lingers even after the music fades. He briefly considers asking if you’d like to perform at Mostro Lounge, but the way your expression shifts—like the mere thought exhausts you—makes him reconsider.

One night, he catches you singing alone. There’s no audience, no stage—just you and your memories. He doesn’t interrupt. For once, Azul allows himself to simply listen.

He recognizes the way your fingers sometimes twitch when holding a microphone, the way you hesitate before stepping into a room full of people. It reminds him of his own fears, his own battles with past humiliation.

When he finally hears you say Mizi’s name or mention your longing, he doesn’t pry. But he does something rare—he offers you silence, a place where you don’t have to perform.

─────────────────────────

Kalim is immediately drawn to you. You’re elegant, composed—but there’s something about you that feels distant. Like you’re here, but not really here.

He loves music, and your voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard. But when he excitedly asks you to sing at a Scarabia event, your smile falters for just a second before you politely decline. The moment stays with him.

He doesn’t push, but he watches. He notices how you linger by the windows during late nights, how your gaze drifts skyward, searching for something only you can see.

When you finally whisper, “I miss someone,” he doesn’t respond with the usual cheerful reassurances. Instead, he simply sits beside you, letting you talk if you want to.

Kalim doesn’t always understand grief, but he understands loneliness. So he makes sure you never feel alone, whether through spontaneous invitations or simply keeping you company in comfortable silence.

─────────────────────────

Vil sees you as a performer, but not in the way others do. He recognizes the way you carry yourself—not as someone who wants attention, but as someone who was forced into it.

You don’t take up space like he does. Instead, you exist in a way that demands attention without seeking it. That, in itself, is an art form.

He doesn’t offer empty comforts when he realizes how deeply you grieve. Instead, he tells you something cryptic: “The world is cruel to those who shine too brightly. But you’re still here. Make sure you stay that way.”

He’s a firm believer in self-care, but when he catches you neglecting yourself—skipping meals, overworking—his tone sharpens. “A broken star is of no use to anyone. You won’t find what you’re looking for by destroying yourself.”

He never asks about Mizi directly, but one evening, as he watches you stare at the sky, he murmurs, “Whoever she was, I hope she knew how much she mattered to you.”

─────────────────────────

Idia doesn’t do well with emotions—especially not ones as heavy as yours. But he sees the signs. The way your fingers sometimes shake when you hold a microphone. The way your gaze flickers elsewhere when he speaks, like you’re remembering someone else.

He recognizes that grief isn’t just sadness—it’s obsession. He understands shutting yourself away from the world because reality is too painful.

He won’t ask about Mizi, but if you ever mention her, he listens. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to comfort you. He just listens.

One day, he programs a small game. In it, there’s a tiny, pixelated version of you and another girl—a girl who looks like Mizi. He never mentions it, but when you find it on your screen, you understand.

This is his way of remembering, too.

─────────────────────────

Malleus is drawn to you immediately. Not because of your voice, but because of your presence—like an echo of something long forgotten.

He understands longing. The way you search the sky for something beyond reach—it’s the same way he waits for letters that never come.

When he first hears Mizi’s name, he doesn’t ask. But later, he quietly wonders, “Do you think she would be proud of you?” The question lingers.

If you ever tell him about Alien Stage, he listens with deep fascination. A world where people had to sing to survive, where every note was a battle. He wonders if, in another life, you and Mizi might have been free.

[mintyys-blog]

MORE THEN JUST BUSINESS — mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: none

Y/N had always admired real estate. From the glossy magazine covers to the sharp business deals, everything about it fascinated her. She spent her days attending classes and reading about the industry, all while envisioning herself working beside the biggest names in the business.

But being just a few blocks away from a successful real estate agent like Debbie Grayson, Mark’s mother, made her dream seem closer. Much closer. Debbie had become a mentor to Y/N, offering advice and sharing stories about how she’d built her career from the ground up. In return, Y/N did her best to help out whenever Debbie needed a hand with anything, whether it was organizing papers or running errands. It wasn’t long before they spent more time together than just business.

Every afternoon, Y/N found herself at the Graysons’ house, often perched on their porch with a cup of coffee, listening to Debbie’s advice about selling homes, the importance of staging, and the strict, complicated regulations that governed the market.

“You have to know the area like the back of your hand,” Debbie would say. “Every neighborhood has its quirks. You need to know where the best schools are, what the local market is like, and how to sell the house with its unique charm.”

Debbie’s passion for real estate was infectious. Y/N could see herself thriving in the industry, her own future just as bright. They laughed together, shared stories, and Y/N soaked in all the lessons.

Then, of course, there was Mark.

Mark Grayson, Debbie’s son, was quiet but kind, a bit reserved but thoughtful. Y/N didn’t see him much at first; he was often off with his own set of friends, busy with school, or simply keeping to himself. But as Y/N became a more frequent guest at the Graysons’, their paths crossed more often.

One evening, while Y/N was on the porch with Debbie, sipping lemonade and listening to one of her many insightful stories about the importance of curb appeal, Mark came out with a basketball in hand.

“Hey, Mom. Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm.

Y/N turned, offering a smile. “Hey, Mark! You going for a game?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just shooting some hoops.” He paused, glancing at Y/N. “You’re here a lot, huh?”

She laughed, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I guess so. But mostly for the great real estate advice,” she said, nudging Debbie with her elbow.

Debbie chuckled. “Well, she’s got a lot to learn, but she’s coming along great.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Real estate, huh? You thinking of following in my mom’s footsteps?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, actually. It’s always been my dream. Debbie’s been helping me a lot.”

“That’s cool,” Mark said, then glanced at the basketball. “You want to come shoot around? It’s a great way to clear your head.”

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Sure, why not?”

The basketball court was just a few steps away, and soon they were both laughing as they took turns trying to make shots. Mark’s easygoing nature made Y/N feel comfortable, and before long, they were talking about everything and nothing—real estate, the future, and how they each saw their lives unfolding.

“Sounds like you’ve got a good plan,” Mark said as he grabbed the ball from Y/N and tossed it in the air with practiced ease. “So, when do you officially start selling houses?”

Y/N grinned. “Well, I still have to pass my exam, but I’ll be ready.”

“Debbie’s been really good to you, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “She’s amazing. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s been like a second mom to me.”

Mark smiled, his eyes softening. “She’s a good one, alright. She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t realize I needed her.”

As the sun began to set, they continued their game, laughing, exchanging stories, and slowly getting to know each other better. Y/N realized that she liked Mark more than she had anticipated. He was down-to-earth, humble, and so different from the typical high school jock.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N’s visits to the Graysons’ house became a regular occurrence. Every time she was over, Mark seemed to pop in unexpectedly, joining them on the porch or offering to help her with her studies. They found themselves bonding over things that were completely unrelated to real estate—like movies, their favorite bands, and their shared love of cheesy pizza.

One afternoon, after a particularly lengthy chat about market trends, Y/N stood to leave, gathering her notes and heading for the door.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up,” Mark called from the living room. He was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious but warm.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, turning back to him.

“I was wondering… if you ever want to take a break from all the real estate stuff, maybe you could join me for a coffee sometime. No work talk. Just… you know, a little fun.”

Y/N blinked, surprised but pleased. “I’d like that,” she replied, smiling.

And so it began—the first of many coffee dates, casual hangouts, and, slowly, the growing connection between Y/N and Mark. As she continued to learn from Debbie, it was becoming clear that there was more to life than just business. There was also the possibility of something special, something that could develop alongside her career. And she was more than willing to make it happen.

[sanesaviour]

Solarion (1st image is character sheet, 2nd is another outfit exploration I did) read more below⬇️⬇️⬇️

I’ve decided to mess with you little bit like Solarion messes with people lol, so plot twist- Solarion is girl, I know, shocking- her real name is K… yes just K (I wanted to call her so me really long complicated name… but I find it quite interesting having only one letter as name)

She uses voicechanger bc she knows that people will take her more seriously as male vigilante than if they knew the truth, but she also does that to protect herself and her identity… Of course spidey team doesn’t know about her true identity and neither does S.H.I.E.L.D. ... It’s really hard to track her down bc everyone is convinced that Solarion is a man, but also bc she no longer has family nor friends, she dropped out of highschool and she doesn’t do nearly anything else besides vigilante stuff (maybe she sometimes goes clubbing at night to lose some steam)

I kinda think she is not American (well bc I’m not too lol so you have to deal with it now), she is from somewhere in Europe (haven’t decided from where yet, but when I will write someday about her origin story I will definitely mention it so stay tuned)… after one incident she had nothing left to lose so she moved to New York to fight villains and help people (she needed to find some meaning to her life)… she became masked vigilante named Solarion and quickly became really popular amongst people (you can read more about that stuff in my previous post)

Ofc Spidey team is not happy about Solarion, he sometimes get to places faster than them and defeat villain before they even arrive, so naturally they sees him as competition (I write him bc they think she is man, I know it’s bit confusing), but lot of times he is very cooperative and helps them in fights and on the other hand they often save his ass from getting beaten too, but still they don’t like much each other mainly because how unserious and reckless he can be, because of his double meaning jokes, but also bc of how well he can connect with regular people (lot of people root for him)

I already wrote about Solarions relationship with Spidey and Nick Fury in my last post about him but here are some headcanons and stuff about him and other characters:

1. Nova really despises Solarion, mainly because of how he constantly humiliates him, but also he is bit jealous of Solarions popularity amongst young people, how they adore him or how they copy his style… Nova always pokes fun about Solarions outfits like “nice outfit, did you find it in dumpster” but secretly he is just bit salty about that he didn’t came up with that idea before Solarion… also I think he once tried to wear regular clothes over his hero suit but got memed on social media so bad (or called Solarion fanboy or wannabe) that he never did it again… they make fun of each other all the time, but that doesn’t stop fangirls from shipping them (Nova hates it, Solarion loves it lol)

2. Powerman doen’t really get how others can be so annoyed with Solarion, he knows that Solarion likes to rage bait them and always tells Nova to just ignore him and focus on mission (nova never listens), he actually doesn’t mind him that much as long as he helps them and actually thinks that Spidey and Solarion are not that different maybe because how they both manage to joke in most inappropriate situations… also at some point he starts calling Solarion bro (Solarion is so happy about it and tries to hide it, but sometimes that spark of joy is way to visible) and he calls him bro back ofc

3. White tiger also despises him, mainly because Solarion jokingly flirts with her and calls her kitty, she finds it disgusting (for Solarion it is mostly just a cover to hide his identity, although he really likes how she looks while fighting, bi curiosity lol)… she hates how arrogant he can be, whenever he smirks at her during fight she gets irrationally annoyed but doesn’t know why… out of everyone Ava is most suspicious about his identity, something about his movements and mannerism feels off, but she can’t put her finger on it

4. Iron fist never gets frustrated with Solarion’s sarcasm, he treats it like a puzzle rather than problem - he just observes him and tries to find some patters and reasons why Solarion might be like that… after listening to his rants he just tells him “you should try out meditation and finding some balance” and solarion answers “I am balanced - balanced between being super awesome and being super hot”, also Danny either really hates Solarions inappropriate jokes (mostly because his mind suppose to be stay pure and focused) or he doesn’t get them at all

So in nutshell they are not very happy about Solarion lol, although Peter is more sympathetic towards him than others… they sometimes hang out on rooftops for moment after long day and just talk for while… but this all is how things are before they find out Solarions true identity

Also I m so sorry for how poorly is this written but I just can’t do better today, but I swear I will write more stuff (and hopefully better stuff) in near future… hope you like my rant but also art :))))



[edamameimei]

Perhaps, Even This — chapter 36

A year ago, you were known as your friend group’s “sunshine.” You were able to light up a whole room with your energy and everyone could rely on you for your quick wit and easy humor. You lived life simply one day at a time. However, seemingly out of nowhere, that all changes. Now a Junior in university, you find it extremely difficult to do all the things you used to do. Especially being the Resident Assistant for the Geffen Dorms. New residents begin to move in and one them is a girl you could only describe as “radiant." Her name is Megan Skiendiel, and at first, you don’t welcome the positivity but as you two continue to meet and hang out, you find yourself becoming the person you used to be. Will you be able to be that person you were a year ago? Or will everything just stay the same?

36. the beginning

written (wc: 1218)

CONTENT WARNING: toxic yeji is back! abuse, not explicit. mean words, cheating

Yeji wasn’t always so mean to you. 

When you first started dating her, it was the beginning of your sophomore year. You two met in your Intro to Photography class freshman year and you were always so intimidated by the older girl. You heard stories about her, how she was often ruthless to those who cross her. At first, Yeji was irritating. She always bothered you during class, teasing you relentlessly. She tried everything to get your attention but you didn’t budge. You wanted nothing to do with Hwang Yeji. You considered yourself to be kind, a good person, loyal. Things you never heard people describe the Korean girl as. But as the quarter came closer to an end, your professor decided to play an awful trick on you and pair you two together for a project. 

As your partner, she was different. You had to give the older girl some credit when it came to school. She wasn’t the type to fuck around and she was willing to do anything to do well in the class, even if it was just an elective to her. You remember how shy she was while you took pictures of her. She opened up about her life and how her parents pushed her to be the best. You two spent hours in your dorm, just talking about anything and everything. When you two made an A on the project, Yeji quickly asked you to go out with her. 

But you were smarter than that. You declined, telling her, “Prove to me I’m not like the others.” 

That summer, Yeji proved herself well. Even when you went back to New York for a month, she kept in contact with you. She texted you “good morning,” and “good night.” She would call you randomly just to see how you were doing. When you came back to California, Yeji was right there by your dorm, waiting for you. As soon as you saw her, you decided she had waited enough, kissing her for the first time. You felt so silly for ever thinking the words people said about the girl were true. You thought she was just misunderstood. You thought, no one knows her like I do. 

But then school started again, and everything started to become confusing. 

Yeji didn’t want to be public. When she requested this from you, you didn’t bat an eye. You rationalized that she just didn’t want people to continue telling you stories about her. She often told you how they were just baseless rumors, how they all had no evidence to back their claims. When she said she didn’t want to be public, you didn’t realize it also included pretending to be just friends. When you posted pictures of Yeji on your Twitter, it annoyed her. She often told you to take them down and how you “don’t know how to respect boundaries.” She expected you to go to every single party she attended to only leave you behind after an hour. It always ended with you taking her back home after having one too many drinks. She was reckless, turbulent, and everything your friends warned you about. 

But Yeji loved you. She always held your face so tenderly. She would tell you, “No one will ever love you as much as I do.” 

Then Jang Wonyoung transferred to Hybe University. 

She studied the same thing as Yeji and quickly became close to your girlfriend. At first, you thought it was nice. Every time you interacted with Wonyoung, it was always a pleasant conversation. You saw Wonyoung as being a good influence on Yeji as opposed to her other friends who often enabled her impulsivity and poor choices. But then Yeji started spending more time with the younger girl. It was to the point where you barely saw your girlfriend, ditching you to be with Wonyoung. When you tried bringing this up with her, she called you crazy. She called you stupid and pathetic. 

The moment you tried walking out the door, Yeji stopped you. She had a tight grip on your arm and her nails dug deeply into your skin. She reminded you, “No one will love you like I do.” Without even realizing it, she had you wrapped around her finger and you were right where she wanted you. You knew better than to say anything when she wouldn’t text you for hours. You kept your mouth shut when she would tell you she was spending the night with Wonyoung. 

When Yujin announced she had been seeing Wonyoung to the group chat, you felt physically ill. 

You confronted Yeji. You begged for the truth, for her to tell you once and for all that you weren’t going crazy. And to your surprise, she tells you the truth. Your heart dropped to your stomach. You felt as though the wind was knocked right out of you even though you foolishly knew. But what was more foolish was the fact you stayed. Even after you argued, even after you felt the stinging on your cheek after you said too much, you stayed. And you kept quiet. 

Because no one would ever love you as Yeji did, she said so herself. 

The day after your birthday, Yeji found you in the photography studio on campus working on another one of your projects. When you noticed her presence, you lit up. You expected her to ask you about your trip. You expected her to tell you ‘Happy birthday’ since she didn’t the day before. You expected everything but what ended up coming out of her mouth. 

She said it so carelessly as if you hadn’t been together for months now. “We’re breaking up.” 

Your eyes widened at her words. You walked over to her, reaching out to grab her hands but she pushed you away. She looked at you, her eyes cold. You noticed a tinge of amusement in them but you wanted to pretend that it wasn’t like that. Your voice breaks as you ask, “Why?” The laugh that came out of her mouth sent shivers down your spine. She looked at you as if you had asked the dumbest thing she had ever heard. She tilted her head, her brows furrowed in faux concern, “Why? Because you’re so tiring, Y/n,” She smiled, continuing, “How could anyone love you when you’re like this?” Your eyes brimmed with tears. You stared at her, helpless. The words you wanted to say become stuck in your throat and you just felt so stupid. 

Yeji shook her head, clicking her tongue, “It was fun for a while, right?” When you didn’t respond, she just sighed, turning away from you. Once she left the room, you felt your knees go weak. You collapsed onto the floor, sobs wracking through your body. You had never felt a pain quite like this before. It was a pain you kept to yourself for months. You pushed everyone away, not daring to allow anyone to get that close to you again. You started the beginning of your junior year with a new outlook on life. No one will ever know you the way Yeji did. 

If they did, they wouldn’t love you anymore. Yeji proved that to you. 

And unfortunately, you wanted to be loved so bad. 

a/n: i told yall another update was coming! probs not the update U WANTED but an update nonetheless

prev ✿ masterlist ✿ next

requests are open

@saysirhc@urfriendlylocalidiot@daniiii267@xochitlisbest@minjisn1@mei2yok@goofymickeyr

✧.* taglist is open ✧.*

[untitled-document-95]

Enamored (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: Following the events of Infatuated, Jake and reader take a walk.

Warnings: none

Requested: by the lovely readers of Infatuated. You all gave me such a confidence boost, thank you so much!

Word Count: 1k

A/N: A part 3 is in the plans! Please do not hesitate to drop ideas, inspo, and any wishes for part 3 in the comments.

*gif is not mine*

That night, Jake couldn’t help but think his tiny Texas hometown somehow knew how important the evening would be to him. Riding the high of seeing her so happy instead of angry at him for how late he’d been, he led her down the sidewalk downtown. There was a gentle breeze blowing down the street between the historic buildings. Streetlamps cast a warm glow in contrast to the bright light from the stars and full moon. Jake blamed the moon for the chaos that had led them to this moment, but thanked the stars for how it had turned out. 

Ever the gentleman, Jake kept her on the inside of the sidewalk, between himself and the dark buildings. They silently wandered up and down the lonely main street for half an hour, the night sounds of the little town as their soundtrack. Finally, Jake broke the calm. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Honestly?” she said, sounding much different than back at the bar. “Humiliated.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Jake asks, smirking at her. 

“I…really don’t know what made me so bold back there.”

“What, or who? Jack, Jim, Don…” Jake rattles off alcohol with male names, making her giggle. That would be the first time he’d hear one of his favorite sounds.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she laughs. 

“No, no, don’t get me wrong - I want to thank them,” Jake chuckles.

“Really?”

“I was expecting you to be pissed at me. I’m so sorry I was so late. I promise that’s not like me,” Jake says seriously. 

“Well, alcohol-induced audacity isn’t like me, either,” she replies, still feeling embarrassed. Jake’s eyes lift to look at the sky. 

“Guess it’s this full moon making us both act out of character.” Her eyes look up to the sky as well. 

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” She rubs her arms, the breeze giving her a small chill. While her face remains upturned, Jake trains his eyes on her. 

“Second most beautiful thing I can see right now.” She blushes and looks at him bashfully, eyes darting between his face and the ground. 

The pair continue to walk. As they do, Jake lets his fingers lightly brush hers. She does the same, giving Jake the confidence to slowly envelop her hand in his, a motion that feels so new and exciting, yet warm and familiar at the same time. This time, she breaks the quiet. 

“Didn’t we say we were meeting here tonight to talk about why we came back here?” Jake’s mind flashes to the memories that led him home. Or rather, that forced him home. Without the noise and activity of the bar, Jake isn’t sure if he trusts himself to talk about it. 

“Did we?” he teases. “I can think of many more interesting things than that.” “Like what?”

“Like that amazing song I heard you playing this morning?” She scoffs at this, but it’s a playful scoff. 

“Amazing is a stretch,” she opines. 

“No, I’m serious,” he insists. “You may not be Mozart but that was a hell of a lot more than what most people can do.” 

“Well, thank you. I’ve been wanting to learn piano, so I’ve been trying to practice whenever I check out books.”

“You like to read?” She nods. 

“I love to read.”

“So how often would I find you at that library?” he asks. 

“Two, maybe three times a week?” Jake gives a low whistle.

“That’s a lot of books.” There’s that giggle of hers again. 

“I only check out one at a time so I have an excuse to run an errand every few days.”

“Still. That’s not a rate I could keep up with unless we’re talking Dr. Seuss books!” They both laugh at this, perhaps both picturing adult Jake cuddled up in bed with “Green Eggs & Ham” in hand. 

“I learned to read really young and it just became a habit, I guess,” she says.

“It’s impressive,” he replies. 

“I don’t know…if I could trade being a good reader for being good at piano or something like that, I would.” Her tone has darkened, grown in seriousness as though she has begun shrinking inside the shell she’d worn at the library. 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, to loosely quote one of my all-time favorite books: ‘Musical prodigies are always celebrated, early readers aren’t, because early readers are only good at something others will eventually be good at too; so being early isn’t special, it’s just annoying.'" Jake waits a pause to ensure she’s done before speaking. 

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” he says softly. 

“Not yet,” she mutters under her breath. Jake stops walking, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t let go of her hand, so she’s lightly pulled back. Her face is concerned, and so is Jake’s - but for very different reasons. 

“Take it back,” he says somewhat playfully. 

“Take what back?” Her question seems innocent. 

“I heard you,” Jake chuckles. “I heard you say ‘not yet’ when I said I don’t think you’re annoying.” Her face flushes with embarrassment. “Let’s make a bet,” he says, the cocky, smart ass pilot in him coming to the surface. 

“What kind of bet?”

“For however long this lasts, if I ever think you’re annoying, I swear I’ll tell you. But I bet that I never will.” Her face churns from confused, to doubt, to a silly smirk. 

“What’s at stake?” she asks teasingly. Jake thinks for a moment, smiling at the concrete beneath his feet.

“If I go a whole year without ever finding you annoying, I’ll get you a ring,” he says, her earlier boldness making way for the words he never thought he would have the guts to say…or someone worth saying it to. The twinkle in his eye tells her that yes, he does mean that kind of ring.  She giggles and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. She does a little dance in a circle, face towards the moon, as if to ensure that he doesn’t see her face while she has this little moment. She takes a loud, deep breath and spins around to face him seriously. 

“You’ve got a deal,” she says, and they resume their walk. 

Maybe other people would have been weirded out by this conversation. Maybe other people wouldn’t react the way either one of them had towards each other that night. But when a match is made in Heaven, there’s not a supernova in the galaxy that could ruin it. 

[your-favourite-yapper]

tw: I don't know rats ass abt Greek (roman ?) Mythology I don't gaf srry

mary is orpheus and lily is eurydice and maybe that means she was doomed from the start but mary doesn’t believe in doom she believes in herself and music and love and maybe she shouldn’t have maybe she should’ve looked away sooner maybe she should’ve never looked at all

but how do you not look at lily how do you not see her how do you not hear her laugh like birdsong after rain how do you not watch the way she tilts her head when she listens to something closely how do you not fall in love with the way she runs her fingers over the spines of books before she picks one how do you not want her so bad it aches in your ribs

so mary watches and mary waits and mary wants and wants and wants and maybe if she was smarter she would’ve left it at that but mary is not smart she is brave and bravery is so often just another kind of foolishness so she tries and she sings and she writes and she tells her and it works it works and it’s so much better than she ever thought it would be it’s them it’s right and she thinks finally finally finally

and then lily dies.

just like that.

mary is not prepared for that she was never prepared for that she thought she’d have forever she thought she’d have decades she thought she’d have time but she was wrong she was wrong she was wrong and all she has is a grave and a song that she can’t stop singing and maybe she should stop maybe she should move on but how do you stop when your lungs are full of her how do you move on when your ribs are lined with her name how do you live when she was the only thing that ever made it mean anything

so she sings and she sings and she sings and the world keeps turning and the people keep listening and mary hates them she hates them because they don’t get it they don’t understand they don’t know lily they only know the idea of her they only know the sound of her name in mary’s mouth they only know what mary tells them but pandora does

pandora listens pandora hears pandora understandspandora is always in the front row she knows every word she hums along under her breath and when she talks to mary she says i get it i get it i get it and maybe she does maybe she does because she loves mary she loves mary she loves mary in a way that is sharp and consuming and too much and mary should care but she doesn’t because nothing matters now nothing has mattered since lily was breathing beside her so she lets pandora listen and she lets pandora touch her wrist when she passes by and she lets pandora linger and maybe she lets pandora in just a little because who else is left

and maybe that’s a mistake but mary has already made so many.

and pandora loves mary she loves mary she adores mary but mary won’t shut up mary won’t let go mary won’t see her won’t sing for her won’t do anything but rot in the name of a dead girl and it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair so she does what she has to she does what she must and when mary gasps on the floor blood pooling like ink spilled from the final verse pandora cradles her face and whispers hush now hush now hush now it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay and maybe mary sees lily in the end maybe she doesn’t pandora doesn’t care she doesn’t care she doesn’t care because mary is hers now and she won’t ever sing about anyone else again.

Ty 4 the idea @sunnysaystuff and @mrstellmeafuckingsecret

[yunsound]

C-drama Recommendations

I tend to like watching TV shows more than movies since I get more content to watch, so here we go!

Keep in mind the following dramas aren’t really made with the same limitations of being “understandable for a Western audience” as the movie rec list I made. Thus, some of these dramas may be utterly incomprehensible even with English subtitles. Watch at your own risk, I guess. 

This post is very long. I recommend you read the whole thing, but if you're too bored, to, I will give you right here the top 5 ranking I think you should watch these shows in.

Empresses in the Palace (Zhen Huan Zhuan), the Tale of Zhen Huan (available on YouTube with English subtitles)

Nirvana in Fire (available on YouTube with English subtitles)

The Bad Kids (available on YouTube with English subtitles)

Joy of Life (available on YouTube with English subtitles)

The Story of Minglan (available on YouTube with English subtitles)

All the other dramas on this list are also worth watching! You'll just have to read through my yapping. Sorry.

I WILL PREFACE BY SAYING.

In recent years, I have seen people recommending a drama called 如懿传, or Ruyi's Royal Love in the Palace.

DO NOT FUCKING WATCH THIS SHOW. IT IS SHIT.

If you liked it, I have no words. You do you, I guess. Just... why???

This isn't even just my opinion either. It's widely known across literally every Chinese social media site that this show is terrible. I have ZERO IDEA why people overseas recommend it. It's the "sequel" to Empresses in the Palace, Zhen Huan Zhuan (which is arguably the most iconic historic TV show in Chinese history) in that it tells the story of what happens after Empresses in the Palace, and the novel si written by the same author.

I will elaborate on why you shouldn't watch Ruyi in a different post, which I will link here once it's up.

Let's begin. Sorry for that rant.

甄嬛传 Empresses in the Palace (or The Tale of Zhen Huan), 2011

Starring Sun Li, Ada Choi and Chen Jianbing

This is widely-regarded as the most popular c-drama. It’s also my personal favourite c-drama, I’ve rewatched it ENDLESS times and I think I can recite the lines and mannerisms from memory. 

It’s a palace harem intrigue story, set in the late Qing Dynasty in the court of the Yongzheng Emperor. His harem of concubines (yes, Chinese emperors had harems) frequently fought and battled with each other for favour or political strength.

The titular character is named Zhen Huan, who is a young girl selected into the harem. She is beautiful, smart and looks very similar to the Emperor’s deceased first wife, Empress Chunyuan.

Zhen Huan (we affectionately call her Huanhuan) quickly rises through the ranks of the harem with her wits. She is politically and socially savvy- a true girlboss. Along the way, though, she encounters much opposition, from other jealous concubines (most notably Consort Hua, who is the haughty, beautiful and favoured younger sister of a grand general named Nian Gengyao). 

The reason why Empresses in the Palace is so good is because not only is Zhen Huan almost the perfect MC (she’s incredibly smart but she has practically no plot armour- her failings and success are entirely her own merit), but the other characters are all written very well. 

None of them are truly evil, per se, but despite their petty and often cruel actions, you want to sympathise with them even if they do bad things. 

Also, the set and costumes and props and actresses are all super pretty! 

Like, look at these costumes and accessories!

It's such a visually-stunning show, and Sun Li is so beautiful and likeable as Huanhuan.

The whole show is on YouTube with English subtitles. I don’t know how I feel about the English translations, but they’re not bad per se. 

Prior to watching, I’ll include a list of the rankings of people in the palace in case you get confused. From highest to lowest:

皇帝 Emperor = 太后 Dowager Empress (even the Emperor has to listen to her sometimes, even though the Emperor is technically higher ranked)

皇后 Empress

皇贵妃 Imperial Noble Consort

贵妃 Noble Consort

妃 Consort

嫔 Concubine

贵人 Noble One (or Noble Lady)

常在 Attendant

答应 Answerable 

官女子 Palace Lady

Being granted a title rather than using your surname (for example, Consort Butterfly is higher-ranked than Consort Smith) is a great honour.

GO WATCH THIS SHOW! It’s so good! The original novel is like, kind of shit. This is the only time the book has ever been worse than the adaptation. It’s very long (like, 70 episodes) but I swear it’s worth it!

琅琊榜 Nirvana in Fire, 2015

Starring Hu Ge and Liu Tao

It has been a LONG time since I’ve watched Nirvana in Fire and I’ve basically forgotten everything about it (I watched it when I was younger and was not paying attention). Regardless.

At its core, it’s a political thriller about the rise of an underdog politician in the warring states period. What makes this drama so good is the chemistry between Hu Ge (the main actor, playing Mei Changsu) and literally everybody else.

The plotting, the scheming, the subterfuge and espionage and battle and justice-pursuing epic machinations: I really liked this drama even if I’ve forgotten literally everything.

You can consider it a little bit like Game of Thrones? If not nearly as huge a mythological universe, the overall themes are somewhat similar. 

This show is just generally very popular even without me advertising it, but go watch it if you haven’t! 

知否知否应是绿肥���瘦 The Story of Minglan 2018

Starring Zhao Liying, Feng Shaofeng, Zhu Yilong

Okay, the translation for the title of this drama is really bad, but I suppose it is hard to translate it. 知否知否应是红肥绿瘦 is a very famous line from a Song dynasty poem (by a very famous female poet). Translated directly:

You know, you know? This should be green fat, red skinny.

The actual meaning: Did you know, did you know? This should be a time for green shrubs to blossom, and red flowers to wither. 

The main character, Minglan, is the daughter of a high-ranking government official and his concubine (ancient times, noblemen had multiple wives). Since she was not born of the primary wife (and thus is considered an inherently lesser person), Minglan is often mistreated. She is extremely clever and strong-willed, but learns to hide her smarts and personality behind a seemingly-weak and dim-witted mask. 

Minglan’s family all battle for their own self-interests. She has many siblings (there are lots of wives and concubines). As Minglan grows up and comes-of-age, she learns to subtly manipulate people, fend off her enemies and experience romance. 

Minglan, just like Zhen Huan, is smart and accomplished. She has her wits about her and isn’t blindly in love with anyone, nor does she tolerate people who try to hurt her. However, she’s kind and generous, not cruel, and isn’t annoying or loud. It’s just very satisfying to see her go about her life and live well for herself. 

隐秘的角落 The Bad Kids, 2020

Starring Rong Zishan, Shi Pengyuan and Wang Shengdi

The Bad Kids was released as part of a series of TV shows including The Long Night (the next one on this list). The main character, 15 year old Zhu Chaoyang, is the young son of divorced parents. His stepfather and half-sister Zhu Jingjing often do not treat him well, and although he excels academically, he has a cold and unfriendly personality.

Chaoyang’s primary school friend Yan Liang escaped from their orphanage with another little girl, Pupu (a nickname, I don’t remember her actual name). Chaoyang, Yan Liang and Pupu enjoy their time together playing and goofing off and doing slightly-illegal activities (nothing bad! Pupu and Yan Liang are technically missing runaway children, so they’re being pursued by well-meaning police officers trying to return them to the orphanage, and Chaoyang is letting them stay unlawfully at his house without letting his mom know). 

One day, while playing in a park across from a mountain, they take a video of themselves singing a popular children’s song. Later, they realise the video contains evidence of a murder.

The murderer is a teacher whose wife wants a divorce, his name is Dongsheng. Dongsheng is a terrifying character. He seems so normal (he’s even quite handsome) but everything he does is just… subtly off. He feels so wrong even though there’s nothing outwardly out of place. 

The three kids are terrified at the news and want to turn the video over to the police, but they realise that means Yan Liang and Pupu would be sent back to the orphanage. 

Dongsheng and the kids engage in a game of desperate cat and mouse to get the video, get money, and get an alibi in place. However, as the story goes on, you can’t truly like or hate any of the characters. The plot is written very well. 

Chaoyuan, who seems like an innocent kid, reveals he has some darkness in him as well. Dongsheng, who is a coldblooded murderer, develops an attachment to the kids and begins to bond with them. 

The entire drama is incredibly tense. The three child actors do a terrific job. Literally every actor does a terrific job. Not only is the plot well-done, the acting and pacing is great too. A very good drama!

沉默的真相 The Long Night, 2020

Starring Bai Yu, Liao Fan

This is the other drama that went viral in 2020 with The Bad Kids- it’s part of the same universe.

Yan Liang, now grown-up and a detective, investigates a mysterious murder case.

The killer was caught by police when trying to get past subway security with a suspicious suitcase- it’s revealed the suitcase included a dead body. He confesses to the crime and pleads guilty, but on the day of the highly-publicized trial, he reveals that he has a perfect alibi for when the murder occured.

The victim was once a prosecutor who dedicated his entire life to solving a particular crime. He was sentenced to two years in prison for corruption and bribery. As the story progresses, you begin to wonder who exactly is a murderer, and who exactly is the detective. Who is the victim? Was it the person who died? Was it the person who killed them?

Regardless, the entire drama is incredibly tense. Your brain has to work overtime to keep up with their deductions, but it’s done brilliantly where you want to know and figure out what’s happening with them, instead of getting bored or confused. Every new discovery opens the web of conspiracies up!

In the end, the entire murder case seems like an incredibly long play. You’re left not knowing if any of it was worth it, or if you (and the characters) have wasted away your time, youth and energy on something that was always inevitably a tragedy. The epitome of doomed by the narrative. 

This is a very good show. All I can say is, don’t watch it if you want to be in a good mood, but it’s thrilling and gripping and very well-done. 

长安十二时辰 The Longest Day in Chang’an, 2019

Starring Jackson Yee, Lei Jiayin

A former army soldier is given 24 hours (or twelve shichen, hence the Chinese name of the show, Twelve Shichen in Chang’an) to uncover and dissolve a terrorist plot against the capital of the empire, Chang’an. If he manages to solve the problem within 24 hours, he will be released from prison (he killed important people) and if he does not, he gets executed. 

The terrorist plot is to take place during the Lantern Festival (not CNY, but similar) which is the biggest holiday. As such, the stakes are pretty high.

I never finished this drama, it’s pretty long. I remember the plot being pretty good, though the costuming and some of the action wasn’t amazing. Jackson Yee is a great actor, though! 

Again, this is a very tense thriller show. My main complaint is that it’s too long and not fast-paced enough. If you can watch it to the end, I think you’ll like it- I certainly enjoyed it well enough.

庆余年 Joy of Life, 2019

Starring Zhang Ruoyun, Li Qin, Chen Daoming

Based on a popular novel, a transmigrator from the 21st century is born as Fan Xian in ancient China in the fictional Qing (a different Qing than the other Qing Dynasty, this one is 庆, but there is a 清, which is the Manchu Dynasty and the one in Empresses in the Palace) Dynasty. 

He is raised as the bastard son of the assistant minister of finance, Fan Jian. Fan Xian’s mother, Ye Qingmei, was a genius inventor who created the Inner Department (a treasury of production of surprisingly-modern goods like soap, etc) and the Overwatch Bureau, basically the CIA. 

After Fan Xian experiences an assassination attempt, he heads from the rural manor he was raised in to the capital to find out who tried to kill him. 

While he is originally a carefree person who thinks himself unimportant, Fan Xian eventually finds himself involved in many conspiracies and political battles for power, particularly between the princes of the empire, who vie for ultimate control and to one day succeed the throne. He also discovers some choice facts about himself and his mother. 

Fan Xian is an excellent main character. He’s humorous and light-hearted, but also very smart, righteous and kind. The story involves many conspiracies and plots, and you never know just what anyone is planning. 

The seemingly-lackadaisical Qing Emperor is also a very charming character. He’s a complete bastard, is what I’ll say, a bit of an asshole, but not in the I-do-bad-things-way. He just fucks with you. A gremlin. 

He does do bad things, though, and is pretty ruthless, but he’s an emperor, so…

If by the end you also fall in love with the Second Prince, consider yourself part of the club, everyone loves him even if he's a bitch.

鬼吹灯之精绝古城 Candle in the Tomb: The Lost City of Jingjue, 2016

Starring Jin Dong, Chen Qiao’en, Zhao Da

An adaptation of an incredibly popular series of tomb-raiding novels (like Lara Croft), Candle in the Tomb tells the story of Hu Bayi, a former soldier from a line of tomb raiders. He and his friend Wang Kaixuan (nicknamed Chubby) are hired by the mysterious wealthy Chinese-American daughter of a dead Wall Street businessman Shirley Yang to go on an expedition to find the mythical ancient lost city of Jingjue.

Hu Bayi and Chubby, secretly tomb raiders, want to find some treasures and sell them on the black market, but their expedition team is full of government archaeologists.

The city of Jingjue is said to be in the Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang. They first stop at the icy Kunlun Mountain Range to try and retrieve a notebook from an archaeological team that is said to have already gone there, but seemingly died on the way.

Along the way, they encounter multiple dangers and ancient treasures, and the lost city of Jingjue becomes even more mysterious. As the team faces many perils first in the icy mountain range then in the harsh desert, they finally make it to the lost city, only to encounter a place so mysterious they wonder if they are hallucinating.

Jingjue City is so strange that by the end you don’t even know if they were truly there or if the whole thing was almost like a dream. If it was a dream, then when did they begin dreaming? 

This show is pretty good! My family really likes Candle in the Tomb, so we’ve watched all the adaptations, but the Lost City of Jingjue is still my favourite. The acting is good and the characters are charismatic and likeable. Chubby is annoying, brash and is prone to having offensive biases, but he's good at heart even if you don’t like him. 

繁花 Blossoms Shanghai, 2023

Starring Hu Ge, Ma Yili, Tang Yan, Xin Zhilei

I will start by saying Blossoms Shanghai is not… a show that I would think is understandable to a wider audience. It was filmed entirely in Shanghainese. It is very heavily steeped in Shanghainese culture (very distinct) and Shanghainese nostalgia, so even other Chinese people don’t get it. My mom loved it and I liked it as well, but we are both Shanghainese, so even if you’re Chinese you might not understand most of the references it makes.

Still, it’s very good.

It takes place in the 1990s in Shanghai, an era of unprecedented economic growth. People could get insanely rich overnight, but also lose everything just as quickly. Exports and stocks were beginning to grow in the Chinese market, and the main character, A-Bao, rises from a nobody to the wealthy and respected Mr. Bao (宝总- literally, Boss Bao. “Boss” or 总 zong is added to the end of a businessman/businesswoman’s name to signify their rank) through both his wit and the mentorship of the elderly and mysterious Uncle Grandfather (I know the name is a little weird- you can refer to him as Uncle Ye). 

Mr. Bao deals in both stock trading and exports. In that era in Shanghai, most business deals were conducted over a fancy dinner in a restaurant on one road in particular, Huanghe Road (Yellow River Road). As such, the owners of restaurants on Huanghe Road were considered middlemen and business brokers as well. 

Mr. Bao’s companions include his old friend, the hot-tempered but pragmatic Ling Zi, who manages a small restaurant owned by Mr. Bao called Tokyo by Night (she studied in Tokyo), as well as Miss Wang, a respected exports broker at the official government exports office. (Back then, in order to deal in exports, you needed a government official to make the deal for you and ensure you weren’t doing anything shady- this is no longer the case)

Mr. Bao’s business faces ups and downs, but he is always able to navigate the market with ease due to his smarts and Uncle Ye’s guidance, as well as the assistance of Miss Wang. However, a new restaurant opens on Huanghe Road, owned by a mysterious woman named Li Li- her intentions, origins and business practices are unknown. 

The plot centers around Mr. Bao’s various business practices, which sounds boring but is really quite exciting. Business is shady and high-stakes, so it’s almost like an espionage film. Every character is very well-written and true to life. 

With that, I conclude my c-drama rec list. Obviously there's more shows I like, but these are my personal favourites. I know there are much more shows that are MUCH MORE popular (honestly I think Empresses in the Palace and Nirvana in Fire are the only ones on this list I would deem "top five best/most popular shows".

[movingmusically]

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 8

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

I was aware of it immediately.

The change. The subtle but undeniable shift in our messages.

It wasn’t anything obvious. Nothing outright. But something was different.

Maybe it was the fact that I was checking my phone more often. Or the way my stomach did a stupid little thing whenever I saw his name light up my screen. Or the way our messages stretched longer—little back-and-forths that didn’t feel necessary, but neither of us seemed inclined to stop.

Austin: Hope you went with the pizza.

Me: Obviously. I’m not a monster.

Austin: Good. I was worried for a second.

Me: Can’t have you losing sleep over my dietary choices.

Austin: Too late. Been up all night, pacing.

Me: Tragic.

Austin: Truly.

It was nothing. It was nothing.

And yet.

By Wednesday, the shift had settled in like it had always been there.

It wasn’t just the messages anymore—it was how we texted. The gaps between replies had shrunk. The teasing was just a little sharper, the conversations stretching just a little longer. And somewhere between talking about work, making fun of Callum, and debating the moral implications of pineapple on pizza (wrong, obviously), I stopped pretending this wasn’t something.

Not something big. Not something I needed to do anything about.

But something.

And then, on Wednesday evening, right as I was getting home from work—

Austin: So when are you going to let me prove I’m better at pottery than you?

I blinked down at my screen.

It took me a second to remember what he was talking about—the conversation over brunch, when he’d mentioned the class and I’d said something cocky about how I’d probably be a natural.

I hesitated, my stomach giving an annoying little twist.

Me: Bold of you to assume I’d let you win.

Austin: Bold of you to assume you’d have a choice.

I snorted, shaking my head.

Me: When do you even have time for pottery?

Austin: Sundays.

Right. The only day they had off. The only day he wasn’t stuck up near Oxford in his little 1940s war bubble.

I hesitated.

Not because I didn’t want to go.

But because of what it was.

It wasn’t just grabbing a coffee or texting or hanging out at a party with other people around.

This was—

I swallowed.

Austin: You free this Sunday?

I was.

I also knew I could come up with an excuse if I wanted to. Something easy, something believable.

But I didn’t.

Me: Yeah.

Austin: Good. I’ll book it.

I hesitated for half a second too long.

Then—

Me: Just so we’re clear, I’m going to absolutely humiliate you.

Austin: Looking forward to it.

And just like that, I had plans.

Plans with Austin.

Plans that felt…

I ignored the thought before it could finish forming.

Thursday evening, Zara and I got dinner after work.

We’d fallen into an easy routine of grabbing food together every couple of weeks, usually after particularly exhausting days. Today was one of those days, and by the time we collapsed into a booth at our usual spot, I was already halfway through my first glass of wine.

Zara raised an eyebrow. “That kind of week?”

“You have no idea.” I sighed, swirling my glass. “Play rehearsals are almost over, and I want to throw myself out the nearest window. Half of them still don’t know their lines, one kid cried because he thinks the donkey role is ‘too embarrassing,’ and the twins playing the narrators got into a fistfight over who gets to stand in the middle.”

Zara winced. “Sounds promising.”

“Oh, it’s a masterpiece in the making,” I said dryly. “I’m thinking of just quitting and living in the woods.”

“Fair,” Zara said. Then, with a sly look, “Although, someone would miss you.”

I frowned. “What?”

She smirked. “I assume Austin would.”

My stomach dipped. “I—what? No.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been glued to your phone all week. I assumed it wasn’t just a particularly riveting work email.”

I scowled. “I hate that you notice things.”

“It’s my greatest skill.” She leaned in, chin resting on her hand. “So? What’s going on?”

I hesitated.

Because nothing was going on. Not really.

But…

I shifted in my seat. “We’ve just been texting.”

Zara made an unimpressed noise. “Define just.”

I pursed my lips. “It’s just—small stuff. Banter. Nothing serious.”

She arched an eyebrow.

I sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s been a lot.”

Zara grinned. “I knew it.”

I shook my head, stabbing a chip with unnecessary force. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It doesn’t,” I insisted. “We’re just—”

Her eyes sparkled. “Go on.”

“He just—he doesn’t know a lot of people in London.”

Zara’s eyebrows lifted.

I ignored her and kept talking. “And he does this pottery class on Sundays, and he mentioned it before, and we were joking about it, and then he asked if I wanted to go.”

Zara’s lips curved. “And you said yes.”

I shoved another chip in my mouth. “It’s casual.”

Zara let out an amused breath, shaking her head. “Ange.”

“What?” I said defensively.

“You’re going to a pottery class together.”

I gave her a flat look. “So?”

She tilted her head. “So it’s a date.”

I let out an exasperated groan. “Jesus Christ.”

Zara just grinned.

I threw a chip at her. “It’s not a date.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s not.”

“Sure.”

I hesitated for a fraction too long.

And Zara, of course, pounced.

“Oh my God.” She grinned. “You like him.”

I let out an exasperated groan. “You’re worse than Callum.”

She smirked. “And you’re in denial.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” I said, because it was. “He’s leaving when filming’s over. This whole thing—whatever it is—it’s temporary. I know that.”

Zara tilted her head. “And yet.”

I shot her a look. “And yet nothing.”

She smirked.

I sighed, slumping back in my seat. “I know nothing will happen. I know that. I just…” I ran a hand through my hair, voice dropping slightly. “I just don’t want to be stupid about it.”

Zara softened.

After a beat, she said, “What if it’s not stupid?”

I exhaled, staring down at my drink. “I don’t know.”

But wasn’t that the problem?

I knew I liked talking to him.

I knew I liked being around him.

And I knew that the longer this went on, the more dangerous it felt.

Zara didn’t push. Just watched me, waiting.

Then, after a beat—

“Come on, though. Are you excited?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Fiddled with my glass.

Zara smiled knowingly.

“Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling, too.

The days leading up to Sunday felt slow and fast all at once. I kept myself busy—work, errands, anything to stop my brain from running in circles. But no matter what I did, there was always this quiet hum in the back of my mind. The anticipation of Sunday. Of seeing him.

It was ridiculous, I told myself. It wasn’t a date. It was just pottery. Casual. Friendly. Not a big deal.

And yet, by the time Sunday morning rolled around, I found myself standing in front of my wardrobe longer than necessary, second-guessing everything. Trainers or boots? Hair up or down? Did it even matter?

In the end, I went for my usual—black jeans, a denim jacket, and my grey trainers. Comfortable, easy, not trying too hard. That was the vibe I was going for, anyway.

The walk to the pottery studio was peaceful, the spring air warm enough to make me shrug off my jacket halfway there. The streets were quieter than usual, the soft hum of the city waking up around me. By the time I arrived, I’d managed to convince myself—for the fifth time—that this wasn’t anything to be nervous about.

Austin was already there, leaning against the wall outside the studio, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his phone in his hand. He was wearing a light blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans, and the sunlight caught on his hair in a way that felt annoyingly cinematic.

My stomach flipped before I could stop it. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t. But the easy smile that spread across his face when he looked up at me made it very hard to remember that.

“Hey,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my voice casual.

He held the door open for me, and we stepped into the studio together. The space was warm and inviting, with big windows letting in the sunlight and shelves lined with half-finished clay pieces. The air smelled faintly earthy, like damp stone and wet clay.

The instructor welcomed us and handed out aprons, which I immediately struggled to tie. The strings were longer than expected, and I fumbled with them, muttering under my breath.

“Need help?” Austin asked, already tying his own with ease.

“No,” I said quickly, finally managing to secure it. “I’ve got it.”

He smirked, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing.

Once we were set up at our wheels, the instructor gave us a quick demonstration. Austin took to it immediately, his hands shaping the wet clay with a confidence that made me wonder if he was showing off. I, on the other hand, struggled to keep the lump of clay from wobbling off centre. My hands were covered in the stuff within minutes, and my first attempt at a bowl collapsed into what could only be described as an unfortunate pancake.

“You’re supposed to make it look difficult,” I muttered, shooting him a glare.

He glanced over, lips twitching as he fought back a laugh. “You’re supposed to keep it on the wheel.”

“Oh, is that how this works? Thank you, sensei.” I swiped a bit of clay from my apron and flicked it in his direction. It landed on his arm, and his mock expression of betrayal nearly had me doubled over laughing.

As the hour went on, I started to get the hang of it. The feel of the clay beneath my fingers, the steady hum of the wheel—it was oddly soothing. I glanced at Austin’s station and immediately regretted it. His hands moved confidently, shaping the clay into something smooth and symmetrical.

I tried not to stare. Tried not to notice the way his long fingers curled around the clay, strong but precise, guiding it into place like it was the easiest thing in the world. There was something oddly hypnotic about it, and for a brief, mortifying moment, I wondered what it would feel like to have that same focus turned toward me. The thought sent a rush of heat to my cheeks, and I quickly looked back at my own wheel, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

My second attempt ended up looking like something a five-year-old might bring home from school.

I groaned, glaring at it. “This is rigged.”

Austin chuckled. “It’s clay, not a conspiracy.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr Perfect Bowl,” I shot back, eyeing his work. “You’ve clearly done this before.”

“Maybe once or twice,” he admitted, that infuriating smirk still in place.

By the time we finished, I was covered in clay, and had created something vaguely resembling a bowl—albeit a very abstract bowl. Austin’s bowl, of course, was perfect. He carried it to the drying shelves like it was a trophy, and when I set mine down beside it, he shot me a teasing grin.

“You know,” he said, “it has… character.”

I bumped his shoulder with mine as we turned back to our seats, catching the faintest laugh as he steadied himself.

After the class, we stepped outside into the warm spring air, our aprons replaced with our jackets, though Austin slung his over one arm. We wandered into the nearby park without really discussing it, the path lined with blooming flowers in every colour imaginable.

Austin slowed as we passed a row of roses, leaning down to smell one of the bright red blooms.

I watched him as he leaned closer, his expression shifting to something softer, almost thoughtful. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen much of—quiet, unguarded, as if the rest of the world had melted away for a moment. There was something almost poetic about the way he moved from flower to flower, pausing just long enough to notice the details.

“This one,” he said, motioning to a pale pink rose. “It smells like perfume. Stronger than the others.”

I stepped closer, curious, as he tilted the flower toward me. “Really?”

“Try it,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

I leaned in, my nose brushing against the petals as I inhaled. The scent was sweet, heady, and rich, like something you’d find bottled on a vanity.

“You’re right,” I murmured. “It’s lovely.”

I pulled back, catching his gaze as he watched me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

I laughed softly, breaking the tension. “Do you always smell the roses?”

He straightened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. Doesn’t hurt to stop and notice things.”

I nodded, glancing back at the roses. Before I could respond, he tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing.

“You’ve got—” He gestured vaguely at my head. “Clay. In your hair.”

I froze. “Oh, great,” I muttered, reaching up to find it.

“Here,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me.”

I stilled as he raised his hand, his fingers brushing against my hair as he carefully picked out the tiny bit of dried clay. The warmth of his touch lingered longer than it should have.

“Got it,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Thanks,” I said, my own voice oddly soft.

He didn’t step back right away. His gaze flicked to my cheek.

“Hang on,” he said, reaching out again. “You’ve got some here, too.”

His thumb brushed against my skin, gentle and deliberate, and my breath caught. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple through me, soft but startling, like the smallest drop breaking the surface of still water. My skin tingled where his thumb had been, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, the faint scent of clay and something unmistakably him lingering in the air between us. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in my throat.

“There,” he said after a moment, his eyes meeting mine.

The warmth of his touch lingered even as he stepped back, hands dropping casually into his pockets.

Before either of us could say anything, a voice called out from behind us.

“MISS!”

I turned, startled, to see one of my pupils bounding toward me, his parents trailing behind with apologetic smiles.

“Max,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Hi.”

Max skidded to a halt, staring up at me with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the flowers,” I said, still smiling. “Same as you.”

He frowned, his gaze flicking to Austin for a moment before snapping back to me. “Did you see the red ones? Like the ones in the play?”

I blinked. “The ones from your scene?”

“Yeah!” Max said eagerly. “The big ones. I remembered my line about them yesterday!”

“That’s great, Max,” I said, genuinely impressed. “I knew you’d get it.”

He beamed, his excitement contagious, and I heard Austin chuckle softly beside me.

Max turned back to his parents, who gave me a quick wave before steering him away.

When I glanced at Austin, I found him watching me, something softer in his expression. “You’re good with him.”

Austin’s gaze lingered, and for a second, it felt like he wasn’t just talking about Max. There was a quiet intensity to the way he watched me, like he was cataloguing something he hadn’t noticed before. It sent a flutter through my chest I didn’t quite know what to do with.

I shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s part of the job.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” he said, his voice quiet.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then, he smiled. The smile lingered between us, soft and warm, before he glanced back toward the path ahead. “Come on,” he said, motioning with his head. “Let’s keep walking. Unless you have somewhere to be?”

I shook my head. “No plans. Unless you count ‘avoiding cleaning my flat’ as something pressing.”

He chuckled, a low sound that did something unfair to my stomach. “In that case…”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we walked. The park was alive with families, joggers, and couples sprawled on picnic blankets, but somehow, it felt like a quiet bubble surrounded us. Occasionally, our arms brushed, and each time, I fought the urge to overthink the small, accidental touches.

“You never told me,” he said after a moment, his gaze sliding to me. “What’s the play about?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want the full Year Four synopsis?”

“Absolutely.”

I laughed softly. “It’s a mishmash of fairy tales. The narrators—when they’re not fighting over who stands in the middle—are trying to tell a story, but all the characters keep messing it up. Cinderella accidentally ends up in the Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood steals the glass slipper, that kind of thing.”

He smiled. “Sounds like chaos.”

“Oh, it is.” I sighed. “But it’s sweet, in its own way. Max—the kid you just met—has this line about the roses in the Beast’s garden, and he gets so into it. Every rehearsal, he says it like he’s performing at the National Theatre.”

Austin’s smile widened. “I can tell he’s got a good teacher.”

I felt heat creep up my neck and focused on a patch of daisies lining the path. “They do all the work. I just point them in the right direction.”

He didn’t say anything for a beat, and when I glanced at him, his expression had softened again, that unreadable something flickering in his eyes. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I looked away.

As we reached a small fountain near the centre of the park, Austin stopped and turned to face me. “This was fun,” he said, his voice quieter now. There was a softness to his expression, something unguarded, like he wanted to say more but hadn’t quite decided how.

I nodded, my fingers brushing against the strap of my bag. “Yeah. It was.”

“I’m glad you came.”

There it was again—that flicker. I met his gaze and felt my stomach twist, the easy rhythm of our walk replaced by something heavier. Something unspoken.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t fill the silence with a joke or a tease.

I broke the moment first, glancing down at my trainers. “So… do you think they’ll call us pottery prodigies? Or is that just wishful thinking?”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile. “I think they’ll call us something. Not sure ‘prodigy’ is the word.”

I laughed, the tension easing just enough to breathe again. “Speak for yourself. My abstract bowl is going to revolutionise the pottery world.”

He chuckled, but his gaze lingered, as if he was still holding onto something from a moment ago.

When we started walking again, it felt lighter, easier, the conversation dipping back into safe territory. By the time we reached the park’s edge, the sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

As we stopped at the corner where we’d have to part ways, he turned to me again, his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for coming today.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

For a second, it felt like he might say something more. His gaze held mine, his lips parting slightly, but then he smiled—a small, almost shy curve of his mouth—and stepped back.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said, his voice light.

“Yeah,” I said, clutching the strap of my bag. “See you soon.”

I turned first, walking away with measured steps, my heart doing something both ridiculous and impossible to ignore. And as I glanced back over my shoulder, just once, I found him still standing there, watching me.

I turned back quickly, heart skipping in my chest. What was he thinking? Did I imagine that hesitation, the way he’d almost said something at the fountain? I shook my head, willing myself to stop overanalysing. But even as I walked away, his voice lingered in my mind, quiet and steady. I’m glad you came.

Taglist:

@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @butlerrizz @myradiaz @chocolatetree222

[byjove]

when I was like 15, a drunk woman I didn’t know at a party who was smoking a cigarette on the porch started randomly opening up to me about her infertility journey and I told her how I was my parents rainbow baby after multiple miscarriages and fertility treatments said not to lose hope. she comforted me about being a strange kid without many friends my age (hence why I was at a party full of adults thrown by my uncle) and told me everything would work out eventually. the next time I saw her like 2 years later (small town, mutual friends) she was carrying her newborn. I think about that a lot. it’s easy to feel disconnected from people and but sometimes just talking to them and hearing their point of view and relating makes you feel less alone. even if you’re only each other’s company for a few moments.

[ducksoup17]

I cant believe these live in my house with me

[quietwingsinthesky]

millieverse john winchester has a small scar around his left ring finger because when she was three, she realized she wasn’t going back to her mom and she bit him. she cracked her tooth on his wedding ring. the first time sam and dean met her, she had a mouth full of blood. until she was seven, she only had half a tooth at the front of her smile, and after it fell out, her face never looked right to her again. at that age, she didn’t remember her mother’s name and never asked before john died.

[milflewis]

.

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

..

[gojoest]

from pregnancy freak to postpartum freak — satoru finds himself in a tough spot while your body is recovering from giving birth to his child. he tries to be patient but motherhood looks so beautiful on you… and unfortunately, after you’re ready to have him again, there seems to be another little issue — one that likes to cry and disrupt the moment satoru has been longing for

MDNI, established relationship, f!reader (she/her), pregnancy and postpartum, you have a beautiful baby daughter, mentions of breastfeeding and satoru being really really weird about it, mentions of male masturbation, somno if you squint really hard (just to be safe), pet names (baby, beautiful, sweetheart), nothing too explicit going on here tbf, but there’s a sweet little hint of a potential breeding sesh at the end, not proofread, wc: 1.8k+

your husband (gojo satoru) and you have always had a marvelous sex life, one that would naturally induce a sense of envy in anyone who came to know of it, accidentally or not — the walls were thin, but sometimes it was the mouth of your husband that was too big.

but in all honesty, there has never been a day in which you didn’t desire each other carnally, even after so many years.

you thought, maybe, this might change after he knocked you up with a baby — you had read a handful of articles on the topic and how some men become more distant during that sensitive timeframe — but as it turns out, you could not have been more wrong. either those magazines sucked or your husband was some sort of mutation. maybe, it was both.

your pregnancy could be, in fact, easily considered the peak of your sex life — that round belly of yours really did a number on him, as well as on you. well, with you it was the hormonal changes your body was going through that made you so borderline sexually insatiable, and the mood to bounce on him would strike you more often than ever. at some point, your sex drive went off the roof — you’d ask him to fuck you multiple times a day and satoru couldn’t be more fortunate — he’d drop everything and oblige in an instant, like that was all he had been waiting for, which was not so far from the truth. it was safe to say that you enabled the freak in him, and he was grateful.

“thank god… i don’t know how else i could survive those 9 months with you glowing like this, becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day”, he’d say to you every time you pressed and rubbed your ass against his cock in the middle of the night, not so innocently waking him up because you had a craving.

you had a lot of sex, but he was always careful with your aches and pains, no quirky positions until the baby was born — your physique didn’t allow it as the pregnancy progressed anyway. but the passion was always there, undeniably so, growing along with you.

but things changed after you went into labor and your daughter was born. the perfect little angel, his and his baby’s baby. satoru has never been happier.

to be honest, he didn’t think about sex at all in the beginning. he was on cloud nine, overjoyed. every second of his day was spent exploring this new light in his life and taking care of the both of you.

after you got discharged from the hospital, he took it upon himself to look after the house and deal with the chores — he handled the cooking, he washed the dishes, cleaned, did the laundry and everything else that needed to be done — while you were healing and navigating through motherhood. he helped you nurse your daughter, there wasn’t a single night where he didn’t wake up along with you whenever the baby needed feeding or randomly started crying.

but soon enough, after he adapted to this new pace, his sex drive started showing signs of its return. it came back strong — in fact, stronger than ever, and once again it was none other than you to blame for it.

…because, being a mother looked so good on you.

you have been his wife for years. but now, you are the mother of his child, and that is a title that somehow makes you his even more than ever. it is so permanent. because, even if you leave him one day — which you never would since he would simply never allow it — being the mother of his child will always tie you to him, he will always have a place in your life. that’s it, you just made it impossible for yourself to run away from him. like it or not, you will be his eternally and irrevocably.

he liked watching you be a mother and couldn’t help but get bricked up each time you held your daughter close to your chest, revealing your breast and holding it to her mouth in order to feed her.

was this normal? to get this hard? now of all times? — he didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t bother finding out. because, when was he ever normal about you to begin with?

all he wanted to do in those moments was pin you down and fuck himself into you. you could see it in his eyes and in his bulge that he was trying to readjust.

“don’t try anything funny in front of the baby”

“i would never — i am simply watching and engraving this scene into my mind, for later”

‘for later’ obviously meant when he was jerking off.

the doctor said “no sexual intercourse for six weeks”

your body needed time to heal after giving birth, and that was only natural. and it was okay.

but it didn’t mean it wasn’t arduous for him. he had to watch you day and night without being able to touch you in ways he wanted to.

and now it’s been two months. two whole months without him laying a finger on you. his urges were back with full force, but yours? not really.

sure, you cuddled plenty while the baby was sleeping, which made it even harder for him. but you never got sexually intimate after you gave birth. he was well aware that you needed more time, that your body was still not ready, that you were exhausted physically and mentally because, once again, you were going through all these changes — because of him.

he understood that. but still, he missed you so much.

he’d jerk off whenever he got the chance, more than once a day, in fact. religiously so in the shower, it was a must — or else he would find it more difficult to manage himself around you.

sometimes he’d watch you breastfeed the baby and secretly sneak into the bathroom midway through it to rub one out, because if he didn’t — he’d bust right then and there. but can you blame him? you looked so maternal, so ungodly and unapologetically beautiful. the way you hissed whenever the baby sucked too hard on your nipple made him wish it was him dragging those sounds out of you…

fuck. he was becoming a freak again.

there were nights when he would wake up, as hard as a rock, and watch you sleep while fisting himself in the spot next to you in bed. he would be careful not to wake you when pushing the cleavage of your gown down, just enough to take your breasts out. he’d peck you softly on the nipples and that would inevitably and always lead to him uncontrollably unloading himself inside his palm. sometimes he would make a mess of the bedsheets, other times — of your nightgown.

“shit— if simply touching your skin does this to me, then i don’t want to think what will happen to me the second i slide it in”, he’d curse under his nose while washing off in the bathroom. “fuck. i miss you, baby”, he’d brush a hand over his face. “look what you made of me…”, and he would get hard all over again, just because for a split second he thought of being inside you.

luckily, you soon started dropping subtle hints of desiring him — initiating longer morning kisses, biting your lower lip and giving him the look whenever he walked out of the shower, saying his name in that same sweet voice with an undertone of fake innocence you would use in the past every time you wanted him to do things to you, rubbing his chest as you cuddled in bed or on the couch, sometimes your hand would slide a bit lower down his abdomen… but, that was it.

satoru never saw past the pearly gates, because his sweet angel of a baby would always start crying in the most inappropriate of times, as if on purpose.

“you go — i don’t want to face my daughter with a boner”, he’d whine, and you’d chuckle.

he loved his daughter more than anything, but he was genuinely bummed out and he had to do something about it.

one afternoon, after you fed the baby and left her in the care of your husband to go and take a shower, satoru put his daughter in the crib and leaned over with a serious expression of a parent about to lecture their misbehaving kid.

“listen, little miss, because we have a problem”

the baby chuckles in response.

“…and apparently, you know it”, satoru snorts. “but listen here, i know you love mama and you want her all to yourself. but what about papa?”, he pouts. “papa loves her too and wants her all to himself, at least once a day, but you’re not giving him a chance here. it’s not like i am asking for an entire day, just stay put for 15 minutes — 15 minutes is all i am asking for. deal?”

his daughter lets out another sweet chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a yes”, he caresses her cheek before leaving the room with the baby monitor in hand to join you in the shower.

finally. it was happening.

he stripped out of his clothes and walked into the bathroom, placing the baby monitor on the sink countertop before stepping into the shower cabin, letting the hot stream wash down his body as he reached for you.

“hello, beautiful”

“oh—“, you jolt. “you’re here? but what about the ba—"

“shh—“, he puts a finger on your lips, his free hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. “don’t worry, she’s fine. if something happens, we’ll know it from the baby monitor — so just relax”

you smile against his fingertip and softly peck it before sucking it in between your lips. his cock, already hard and squished between your naked bodies, throbs with a powerful twitch. a low growl rolls out of his mouth.

“god… i’ve missed you so much”, his hips involuntarily push against you, a desperate attempt to seek more friction by humping himself on your stomach. with how starved he was for you, he could probably finish just from this. but he wanted to take it slow and savor every second.

“it’s been so long, isn’t it?”

he nods. “i thought i was going to die”

you laugh. “you’re exaggerating”

“i am not… i never thought our tiny little angel could be such a huge devilish cockblock”

“you shouldn’t speak like that about our kid”, you snort.

“but it’s true. she’s a sly one, and obviously she’s obsessed with you”, he pouts.

“i wonder who she took it from…”

“she’s going to cause me a lot of trouble, isn’t she? but maybe, if we gave her a friend, she wouldn’t feel as lonely. maybe then, we’d get to have more alone time — like this. what do you think?”

“she’s too young for a pet, satoru. you know that”

he laughs. “i didn’t mean a pet, sweetheart. but we can get that too at some point”

[sasheneskywalker]

5. It Has A Body Count

I’ve used the term ‘proshipper’ a few times here, and while the meaning is probably fairly clear from context, it necessitates some explaining. ‘Proshipper’ was coined to replace the more aggressive and context-dependent term ‘anti-anti’ – it means, again, what it says on the tin. Pro shipping, pro shippers, pro the right of people to enjoy and cherish fiction as fiction. A number of antis have tried to claim that proshipper means ‘pedophile’ or ‘pedo apologist’ – unfortunately, this lie spreads more than I’d like it to. (Considering the lack of consequences for pedophiles, I think it’s cute that people think they need a codeword.) It doesn’t mean any such thing.

The other thing that shows up, though, is the idea of pro-shippers being ‘just as bad’. While I’m also interested in writing an article taking apart the idea of a singular pro-ship community, this also needs to be taken apart on its own. Yes, there are pro-shippers who harass people. I myself have been targeted by a smear campaign largely led by self-identified pro-shippers; I’ve also seen some pro-shippers go way too far in their responses to antis, including spamming them with porn or otherwise violating boundaries. I’m not disavowing these. But there are some notable differences, the first of which is that I have never heard of a death associated with these. I’m sure there’s been some close calls; and this is something which I am open to correction on. (The “I haven’t heard of” here is an important bit.) By contrast, there have been a number of confirmed deaths and near-deaths related to antishipping. A 15-year-old died by suicide a few months ago, confirmed by her mother; another account (who I’m not naming out of respect) went completely silent after posting about suicidal urges soon afterwards. These are only two, and I know there are significantly more. After the explosion of anti backlash against Tamsyn Muir for some old Homestuck fanfiction, I ended up in the hospital myself; this despite being well-acquainted with anti-shipping at the time. Again, this doesn’t mean that these incidents don’t have mirrors, or that the harassment of antishippers by proshippers isn’t bad. It’s a statement of scale – and one that makes sense. Proshippers largely talk about antishippers as annoying brats, or a thorn in their side; antishippers talk about proshippers as menaces and threats to children. It stands to reason that one group will stop long before a death, and the other won’t – even to the point of justifying the harassment after the death was confirmed. (I wish this wasn’t true.)

I’ve also never seen an anti-shipper step in to tell another anti-shipper to back off or stop, without that anti-shipper then being ejected from their circle and becoming the next target. In fact, any disagreement in anti circles often gets this treated. Pro-shippers have their own battles and fractures, but several times, I’ve watched a pro-shipper go too far – and other pro-shippers (or otherwise non-antis) step in to tell them off for crossing a line. A notable occasion of this was when an anti-shipper was fundraising for top surgery and a pro-shipper with a bad attitude made a point of saying “well, maybe we’d help you if you weren’t an anti”. The pro-shipper in question got a huge amount of backlash from their own community, and the anti-shipper – despite being an anti – got a significant amount of donations. Not every situation works out as nicely, but seeing it happen just a few times already influences how I see the two communities, even having been targeted by both.

So the anti-ship arguments may sound good – but even if you took to heart the idea that a written crime is equivalent to a real one (cf. Stranger than Fiction), that it is an ironclad predictor of a crime (cf. Minority Report), and/or that some ships “shouldn’t be shipped”, it’s difficult to justify the level of violence shown over what is at worst a red flag. It also puts a much darker light on things like directly tagging “known proshippers”, making lists of them, or warning zine applicants that they’ll be subject to “background checks”. If there wasn’t an ongoing history of these people being doxxed, mass-harassed or fired due to calls to their workplaces, it would already be sinister. As it is? It’s downright horrific.

Behind the Curtain: Anti-Shipping is a Bad Faith Position