#I really want the fans to stop calling aftg a bad book

[professionalfangirl24601]

i hate the anti aftg tag especially because it shows up when I search up aftg on tumblr. idk why the anti aftg tag shows up under aftg but people are so mean there.

like we all know the books are problematic but it’s definitely not to the extent of trauma porn or being that bad that no one should read it

Yeah, you're 100% right.

I wish they'd think of a new tag because seeing these awful things being said about something you love is really hurtful. It's not even constructive criticism, they really are just agressively mean. Especially when they're talking about Nora, but I saw a couple of posts saying "aftg fans disgust me."

I talk about the takes I've seen there and my thoughts about them below the cut, so beware.

I don't think aftg is "objectively bad" because I don't care about the writing style, unrealistic plot, etc. For me, it's about if it makes me feel strong emotions even after a year of reading it, and if it has a good message. (Can a book even be "objectively bad"? It's an art piece and everyone has a different judging criteria. There's no right or wrong answer) But I can admit that some of the characters are based on negative stereotypes and people say it's Nora being racist/homophobic. I can actually understand that, or at least see where they're coming from. But people who say it fetishizes gay people really need ro look up the definition of the word. It's been thrown around so freely that it has a completely different meaning now. I won't go in too much details because everything I'd say would be the copy of this great post, which you should definitely read if you want more on the subject. People say it's trauma porn (and I've seen some say torture porn too) but when I read about the characters suffering, it was extremely painful. There's nothing in the books that suggests that the reader should be enjoying seeing the characters feeling pain. If someone did, that's their fault. I'm sure the people who actively enjoy it exist but does that mean no one should ever write about it? If the people who want to tell the stories of the abused and intend it to cause feeling sympathy in readers stop writing about it, then the ones who do it for their own pleasure will be left to do it. Another common thing that I saw "aftg critics" say is that they expected the books to be very light, and when they read it, it triggered them. Deciding to read a book blindly has it's consequences and risks. That's why summaries and trigger warnings exist. Here's the first paragraph of the foxhole court summary:

Neil Josten is the newest addition to the Palmetto State University Exy team. He's short, he's fast, he's got a ton of potential—and he's the runaway son of the murderous crime lord known as The Butcher. After reading it, I think no one should expect the book to be all sunshine and rainbows. I don't have the physical copy of the books but I've heard that it doesn't have trigger warnings at the beginning. I know some people prefer it that way, but if you know there's a possibility of you getting triggered why wouldn't you look it up? And if you get triggered why wouldn't you just stop reading it? I think the people who recommend it partially have the responsibility of warning them about the heavy subject. I've seen a lot of people asking the name of the series and every time, without a fail the reply warned them and often even linked the list of the trigger warnings. It's just my experience, though, but it stood out to me because it always left me pleasantly surprised. People also say that it's advertised as a YA book, and they're right. It's not and more people should say it. I personally read it at 16 and honestly I was fine, but it's really not YA. Of course the fandom focuses on the fluffy part of it! If all of us were constantly talking about the torture and rape, then I'd believe the trauma porn thing. Another thing is that, according to them, Nora is aphobic just because she wrote aphobic characters 🙄 (btw here's an amazing post about that subject) But yeah, lot of their reasoning is like that. Something bad happened in the book so Nora must be a supporter of that thing. I even saw someone say "yeah, the character didn't know about it but Nora did! How could she write that?" I don't think explaining why that's a... flawed logic is necessary. Many of them say that Andreil is toxic (one of them hilariously said that on their first meeting Andrew drugged Neil, beat him, tried to murder him... 😂) and "the romance is shit", just because they're unconventional and written by an aromantic author? Ok sure. Is aftg perfect? No. But it doesn't deserve this much of hate either. Instead of saying people shoupdn't read it, it would be more reasonable to warn them about the triggers and the heavy topics it deals with, and let them judge it for themselves.

[its-parkerblake]

hi! just have to talk about this new book i just read. it’s called Icebreaker by A.L. Graziadei and it’s a young adult fiction book.

It’s everything an aftg fan would want in the book minus the problematic author and writing.

just wanted to clarify : the characters give me neil x Andrew vibes that’s where the “aftg fans would love”

here’s the blurb : A. L. Graziadei's Icebreaker is an irresistible YA debut about two hockey players fighting to be the best―and the romance that catches them by surprise along the way. Seventeen-year-old Mickey James III is a college freshman, a brother to five sisters, and a hockey legacy. With a father and a grandfather who have gone down in NHL history, Mickey is almost guaranteed the league's top draft spot. The only person standing in his way is Jaysen Caulfield, a contender for the #1 spot and Mickey's infuriating (and infuriatingly attractive) teammate. When rivalry turns to something more, Mickey will have to decide what he really wants, and what he's willing to risk for it.This is a story about falling in love, finding your team (on and off the ice), and choosing your own path.

CW : anxiety, depression, sexism, alcohol, violence, and abandonment issues

please let me know if u need me to further explain anything <3

my rating : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5 (5/5)

Thoughts : LITERALLY AMAZING. I can't. I have nothing bad to say about this book (new comfort book). I relate wayyy too much to it. The writing style is perfection. The characters are perfection. The story is perfection. This book is perfection. I could not put it down. LITERALLY SO GOOD. I CAN'T. In love. In love. In love. The story is told so nicely. The ending was perfect. I could go into long detail about why this book ended perfectly (if you ask I will). I loved it from the start to the end. Amazing. This book is literal perfection and happiness in a book. It's been days and I'm still thinking about this book. I can't stop. Love.

(my attempt at a nice photo shoot)

[bloody-wonder]

Do you watch anime?

lmao yeah i think it’s clear based what i’ve been reblogging recently but tbh i just only started a couple of month ago

i love 2d animation very much so it’s surprising that it took me so long to get into anime. i guess i used to have some prejudice against it, thought it weird for some reason. but so many people said aftg is like sports anime so i had to investigate. 

but first i decided to watch the most famous anime i knew (bc i erroneously thought it was the best) so i watched death note and well... idk it had its moments but ultimately i found it too convoluted and the last chunk just plain bad. 

then i started haikyuu bc people said it’s the best sports anime. as of now i’ve finished season one and it was alright but nothing special and definitely not comparable to aftg. there’s too much volleyball and not enough character stuff. i mean i know it makes sense bc it’s a show about volleyball that’s literally called volleyball but if i wanted to watch volleyball i’d just watch volleyball you know? anyway i’m gonna keep watching but not rn bc thankfully i’ve found some anime that i actually liked and now i’m obsessed with them.

first of all i had the pure serotonin shot that’s yuri on ice. it’s short, it’s interesting, it’s self-indulgent and it looks gorgeous. i can look at the animation of skating in this show non-stop, i’m mesmerized by it. no need to say i binged yuri on ice in one sitting and the very next day i made my sister watch it with me. its major rom com vibes aren’t something that i ususally like but i think the medium of anime just magically makes it work for me. if it were a book or a live action i wouldn’t have liked it as much. it really made me appreciate what anime can do, both visually and narratively.

finally, over the last couple of month i became a huge mo xiang tong xiu fan and all three of her books have been turned into anime (donghua) of various quality and i’ve watched all of them but the one that took over my mind is unsurprisingly mo dao zu shi. the thing with anime is that sometimes its visual style is too dramatic for the story being told, but if the story is as dramatic then it’s perfect. and that’s the deal with mdzs cause it’s fantasy with lots of cool magical fight scenes, it’s set in china so you’ve got beautiful nature and architecture, majestic costumes and just general cultural stuff and it got compelling characters with very attractive character designs that reflect their personalities - all of which makes the visual appeal reach it’s peak. i loved it and i think i’ll be obsessed with it (and all other things mxtx) for a long time.

i’m gonna watch fullmetal alchemist brotherhood as soon as i’m done with my uni deadlines and also i’m taking recs as usual :)

[whatbutandreil]

i had an ask sitting in my inbox for a couple of months bc i didn't really know what i wanted to say, but i lost the ask:/

unfortunately, when i tried to save my response to my drafts, tumblr just,, fuckin deleted it, so im sorry to whoever asked it:/ but i have my response now. the ask said "what(or who) got you into tfc?" to the person who asked this question, thank you. this has been a really great reflection. so uh,, here's my answer:

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i kinda hate the way i came into tfc bc it was in a way that didn't respect the wishes of my, now friend on twitter, ziegenkind.

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basically, i was scrolling on pinterest, as you do, and i fell into a hole of like,, gay fanart? (not a question, just a little self-reflection on how fucking queer i am. how did i not fucking know?)

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anyway, so, i was scrolling, as you do, and i found @ziegenkind 's stunning painting of andrew and neil on the bottom bunk of the dorm bed (y'all know the one) and i was like "whooooo,, the fUCk are these two cuties (ʘ‿ʘ)??"

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PSA : DONT REPOST PEOPLE'S ART WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION, ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE EXPLICITLY SAYS NOT TO. THIS COUNTS AS REPOSTING IF YOU POST SOMEONE ELSE'S ART TO PINTEREST, INSTAGRAM, TUMBLR, TWITTER, FACEBOOK, ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. DO NOT QRT PEOPLE'S ART ON TWITTER IF PEOPLE SAY NO. YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION. AND DONT FUCKING ERASE PEOPLE'S WATERMARKS AND DEFINITELY DONT REPLACE THEM WITH YOUR OWN. DONT FUCKING DO IT. to the lovely ziegenkind, (it's julian from twitter (^o^)丿) it's so fuckin unfortunate that i found your art through reposts and it's fucking horrible that people don't listen, but thank you for being my bridge into this fandom and im very grateful to have found you and been able to talk with such an angel. you quite literally changed my life forever and i can't thank you enough:') im eternally grateful for that. BUT DONT FUCKING REPOST DIPSHITS

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anyway, so, naturally, i sat in my bed for 3 hours at 1am on a school night, as you do, scrolling through andreil fan art and trying to figure out who the fUCK they were and what they were from. i found tfc and immediately downloaded it on my phone

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i didn't get to reading it for a bit tho:/ abt a week later, i was brought to the emergency room bc i was planning to kill myself. id been diagnosed with depression for around a year, who knows how long i was suffering before that, and i was hitting my lowest. it was abt 2 weeks after new years and on new years eve, i was planning on ending it bc i couldn't fathom dealing with it for another year. another year of feeling nothing or everything all at once. but my mom had called me downstairs to go to a new years party, so i didn't go through with it. abt 2 weeks later, i had seen my therapist again, and i was deflecting hard core, and she saw it, and she sent me to the ER. i was evaluated all night, but i wasn't kept for observation since i told the nurse that the thoughts had passed. i was taken out of school and put in an outpatient program where id have group for 4 hours and school for 2. every morning for abt a month, i would get picked up at my house in a minivan and id have a good 20-25+ min drive to program.

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every. single. morning. on the van, i would read tfc. every morning. i was going through, what i thought to be the worst time of my life (i now know that it in fact DID get worse and now we're going on a new level of bad, but then it was the worst id experienced) every morning i was reading about neil and him running from his father, something ive wanted to do for years. reading about andrew struggling with depression and self harm like i am and despising most touches bc of people in his life that ruined it, similar to how someone ruined it for me and doesn't understand that "no" means "no". reading about nicky learning to love and accept himself for being gay, for being who he is like ive been trying to accept myself being a queer ace trans boy. reading about kevin trying to cope with his anxiety, even if it's in an unhealthy way, the same way i do. reading about renee growing up one way and wanting to become a better person, something that i want to do every day. reading abt matt overcoming his addiction and loving his friends with his whole heart. reading about dan standing up for herself and being proud of who she is. reading abt allison cutting away the people in her life who wanted to hold her back. reading about aaron and andrew work through their differences to try and salvage their relationship. reading about neil taking his life back and living it the way he wants, on his terms, like i so badly crave to do. reading about neil and andrew finding a respectful and loving relationship, one where all boundaries are respected, not crossed, where there is comfort in being together and a certain understanding on a level that others could never wrap their mind around. the kind of relationship that i have always, always, yearned for, where i feel safe and loved and respected.

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these books taught me not only to die for the ones i love or kill for them, but to live for them, and to me, that is a much more daunting and difficult task.

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All For the Game gave me hope, something i never thought id have again. it gave me hope for tomorrow. and the day after that. and a month after that. and it gives me hope that one day, i will get away from my father, i will be comfortable with who i am and love myself for it, i will find ways to cope with my anxiety properly, i will be proud of the person i have become, i will have friends who i love and who love me, i will stand up for myself and be proud to be the person ive become, i will surround myself with good people and cut away those who treat me wrong and hold me back, i will work to repair and maintain good relationships.

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it gives me hope that i will finally break away from the pain and start to live my life the way i want, as the person i was meant to be, the way i was meant to live my life.

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it gives me hope that i will overcome my depression, that i will find the strength to stop harming myself to cope, that i will find the strength to push through, even after ive been given every reason to just give up.

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it gives me hope that one day, i will find a person who will love me for who i am, love me despite my past and the scars i carry, love me in a way that i'll never be able to explain or understand. that i will find someone who respects my boundaries, who asks "yes or no?" before touching me, who respects if i say "no" and still fucking loves me regardless. someone who can feel like they can be completely themself around me, and that i can feel the same around them. someone who will fall in love with me a little more every day. someone who i'll fall in love with a little more every day.

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it gives me hope that one day, hopefully someday soon—but i think im willing to wait—i will be happy.

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All For the Game quite literally changed to course of my life, and i can say with confidence that without it, i would not be here right now.

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people say that books and shows and movies change there life all the time, but i know that i wouldn't be here without it. these books saved my fucking life. i wouldn't have experienced those mornings, walking into program with a goofy smile on my face, practically vibrating with what i now know was joy, blabbing to every person i ran into that morning abt a boy with scars and a sharp tongue on the run and the small, depressed and angry blond who told him to stay. or nights when i sobbed and sobbed for those boys who deserved better. and i wouldn't have gotten black armbands to cover my scars and match with my two biggest inspirations. or when i have a bad impulsive thought, i wouldnt have a voice in the back of my head going "what would andrew say? what would neil say?" and the vivid image of the small blond giving me a stare, face carefully blank, yet eyes swimming with a mix between disapproval and hope, and the boy covered in scars tentatively giving me a hug, a bit awkward at first, but he's a lovely hugger and eventually, awkwardness turns into comfort. without it, i don't think id know what pure, honest love is supposed to look like.

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sorry, i suppose this got quite a bit off track from what got me into aftg, but once i started writing, i couldn't stop.

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TLDR; i saw fanart on pinterest, DONT REPOST ART WITHOUT PERMISSION, and my life was saved and changed for the better by a book that i stumbled upon, purely by chance.

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i don't believe in fate, but i do think that i found these books for a reason, and that my life changed because of it. i suppose you could call it the butterfly effect.

[softproko]

There's life without exy? (it's more likely than you think)

A Riko-centric fanfic for @poze-laceen for the AFTG winter exchange @aftgexchange Sorry for the delay, I got caught up in this prompt and still could not really finish it. I promise I will add a special cute date next week!

Read on AO3 here or continue reading below. Warnings for: canon typical violence, suicide attempt, mental health issues and original character(s).

Prompt: Au where riko isn’t killed but instead gets kicked out of exy by ichirou and goes to live in the countryside suburbs where he meets a house servant housekeeper ichrou hires who he falls in love with and they go on cute dates 

Ichirou had a gun to his head. His own brother, born of the same mother, held a gun and his life in the palm of his hand, and Riko closed his eyes in a mixture of relief and terror.

“No,” Neil -Nathaniel- said, shocking not only Ichirou and the rest of the men in the room, but also Riko.

“No?” the gun still kissed Riko’s temple, and he took a short breath. “You are making demands that I not kill someone who has pulled us all into this mess?”

Neil looked at Riko and nodded, looking into Ichirou’s cold eyes with an equally cold look. “His whole life is exy. Why not take that from him?”

Ichirou laughed and Riko did as well, until Ichirou aimed at Riko’s knee and shot. To Ichirou’s ears, Riko’s laughter and screams sounded the same.

 When Riko came to, having passed out from the pain and then from the sedatives and anesthesia, the doctors told him he would never play a sport again. He was lucky, they said, to even keep his leg. It would take therapy to make sure he would be able to walk, or run perhaps, properly.

Ichirou visited Riko only once during his recovery. He sat across from Riko’s bed and stared at him for a couple of minutes before speaking. Riko was to go to therapy – physical and mental – at least once a week. He was to move to a remote place; not too far for Ichirou not to have any control over him, but not too close for him to be under the watchful eye of media and former fans. He was not to contact any of the Ravens, neither those who still played nor those who had graduated before. He was to have a housekeeper, a nanny, essentially, Riko thought; someone to keep an eye on him and help him adjust to the normal life.

“This is my gift for you,” Ichirou said as he rose from his chair. “Consider it an early Christmas gift. But do not think, for a moment, that as soon as you screw up, I can have you erased in less than a second.”

Riko was not sure which he would have preferred if he had the choice – a life without exy or no life at all.

The house Ichirou had gotten for him was a few hours’ ride from the major airport in the state. The suburbs were quiet, boring almost, but just as Ichirou had wished – no media, no possible fans, still close enough for a great medical centre that the Moriyamas now funded.

I hate it here Riko wanted to say. Instead he thanked the real estate agent for the keys and let them give him a tour of the house; a nice sized kitchen, a dining room, a living room and a bathroom downstairs; two bedrooms and a small office along with a bigger bathroom upstairs. I hate it here and I want to die Riko wanted to say, but instead he smiled and assured the real estate agent that everything looked absolutely perfect.

The first housekeeper that Ichirou assigned him reminded Riko of a middle-aged mother of three who cannot keep a man because of her verbose ways. It took Riko an hour to tell her to fuck off when she asked him what he would like for dinner. It took him another hour to threaten her with a knife, call her a whore, and ten minutes after that she was calling him the devil’s spawn and quitting the job.

The second housekeeper was a girl Riko’s age. If the older woman had treated Riko like a delinquent son, the younger woman treated him like a brother. She teased him when he would not eat, and chastised him when he would lock himself into the bathroom, trying to figure out which way to slit his wrists.

Ichirou fired the woman a week later after she had called ambulance, having found Riko in the bathtub with his wrists looking like a kitten with razors for claws had scratched him. Riko spent another month in the hospital, but this time did not receive any visitors. Had he, he would not have known what to say.

The third housekeeper was already in his house when Riko took the cab home, making food in the kitchen. Unlike the first housekeeper, who had greeted Riko and had waited for a hello from him, and unlike the second housekeeper who always met Riko at the door, this housekeeper did not even stop moving around in the kitchen, the pots and pans clanging around. They did not ask him how he was, they did not ask him what he would like to eat, they did not try to see if Riko needed help.

Riko spent hours in his room, and when he finally got out to venture into the kitchen, he found a bowl of cold soup on the table. It tasted surprisingly well, albeit it was cold. Eating soup at midnight while sitting on a countertop was a novelty he had not experienced enough, and so he took a few minutes to look around the kitchen for real, for the first time.

He was focusing on wondering where the knives were when he heard steps behind him. Instead of being told off for eating this late, or eating cold soup, his housekeeper went to the fridge and poured himself some soup too. The two of them eyed each other as they ate – the housekeeper eyeing Riko’s long-sleeved shirt and the supporting bandage around his knee; Riko eyeing the glasses perched on brown hair and the shirt of some obscure band T-shirt he wore.

“Ainsley,” the man said, slurping some soup. “PUP,” he said, pointing to his T-shirt for a second.

Riko finished his soup and got up without saying a word.

 Ainsley was an oddity, Riko soon decided. He would not bother Riko about anything, would not ask him what he ate and what allergies he had, would not force him to get out of his room every day, and only actually approached Riko when it was time for his weekly therapy sessions. He cooked daily, did laundry once a week and went to the store to buy necessities when they were out. Sometimes they would have takeout, and Riko could eat in his own room when he wanted to have a snack.

Yet there was something… wrong with him as well. Riko did not see him use a computer or a laptop, and his phone rang every few days, to which he always answered after exiting the house. If his second housekeeper had talked about having a boyfriend, Ainsley seemed to be as detached from society and relationships as Riko was.

Then there was the incident.

Ainsley had gone to the store and Riko had scouted the kitchen for knives, had gone through each and every shelf, cabinet and storage space, but he had found none. He had checked Ainsley’s room (the door was locked), had checked the kitchen again (one of the cabinet doors was locked and he had no idea where a key could be) and had even pulled open the freezer door. There were no knives in sight.

“What are you doing?” Ainsley asked when he found Riko sitting on the ground in front of the locked cabinet door.

“Where are the knives?” Riko asked, his back to Ainsley, knocking on the door of the cabinet. “Are they there?”

Ainsley hummed, putting the food onto the counter, then starting to put the groceries away. “Yeah. You’re not allowed to go near them, so just drop it.”

Riko grabbed onto his ankle, glaring up at Ainsley. “I need them. Now.”

“You do not.” Ainsley pulled his foot away from Riko and ignored how Riko cursed and swore at him, and promised to stab him as soon as he got the knives.

“Which is exactly why you’re not getting the knives. Go do something in the living room, watch TV or read or whatever. I need to make food, or we’ll starve.”

Riko threw a book at the TV a minute later but it was alright – they did not watch much TV anyway. He had wanted to scare Ainsley into giving him what he wanted, but Ainsley had behaved in a way that suggested that he was not scared of Riko or whatever he stood for. Somehow that made Riko like him.

 Riko’s birthday just so happened to be the day of his therapy. Instead of getting up like he usually would, he burrowed himself deeper into the blankets and ignored his alarm clock. He also ignored Ainsley who knocked onto his door an hour before his therapy session was due.

“Therapy in an hour,” Ainsley said, not opening the door yet. “I’ll drive you.”

But Riko did not get up. He did not want to shower and to get dressed so that a woman in an ill-fitting pencil skirt could ask him how many times he had thought of killing himself the week earlier. He did not want to drive to the hospital only to be driven back later, and then to lie around doing nothing.

Thirty minutes later, Ainsley opened the door and peeked in. “Oh. Still alive. Get up.”

No. NO! Riko’s mind screamed, but his body turned so that he was looking at Ainsley. Ainsley looked just like he had looked on the first night they had met – an obscure band T-shirt on, and glasses on top of his hair.

“I’m not going,” Riko said when Ainsley did not leave. “I haven’t even showered. I look like a mess. My hair’s greasy.”

It was the most words he had spoken to any of his housekeepers. It did not impress Ainsley, who left for a couple of minutes, only to come back into the room and toss a can at Riko.

“Dry shampoo. We’re leaving in ten.”

 “How have you been, Riko?” the therapist asked him right after he sat down. Riko sighed, shrugging, and tried to tune her out as much as possible.

“Still having bad thoughts?”

He nodded.

“Are you taking your meds?”

Another nod.

“Do you have anyone else to talk to?”

Riko shrugged. Who would he talk to? His brother? He would rather die.

“Did someone drive you here?” She asked, writing down things that Riko had said, or rather things he had not.

He wondered if he could train the muscles in his neck by just nodding.

“Do you think you could talk to them? It’s very hard to be alone in this world, Riko.”

I know this, stupid bitch Riko thought, but gave a small shrug again. Him and Ainsley had nothing to talk about, anyway. What would they talk about? The food Ainsley was going to make? When he was going to do laundry? Who he called and was so secretive about?

 Ainsley waited for Riko in the waiting room, glasses on, reading a book. Riko tried to read the title – Slaughterhouse Five – before Ainsley put the book aside and got up. He did not say anything, and at first, Riko did not. He spoke up once they were in the car.

“It’s my birthday today,” he said quietly as Ainsley turned the engine on. “I’m 23 now.”

Ainsley hummed, taking a right instead of a left. “I don’t have a gift, but I’ll buy you a slice of cake.”

For the first time in over a year, Riko genuinely smiled. “I like red velvet cake.”

 Slowly Riko started talking again. There was not much he wanted to talk to Ainsley about, but he would ask what they would have for dinner, what books Ainsley was reading and why he wore such ugly T-shirts. Ainsley was not very talkative either, giving words and sometimes short sentences as answers, but together they learned how to arrange letters into words and words into sentences without it sounding forced. For a few happy, fleeting, moments, Riko wondered if that was what it felt to have a friend. But then again, Riko had a very hazy idea what ‘friends’ even meant. The Ravens had always been violent and cold and either overly distant or overly physical, so Riko expected Ainsley to be similar – fully withdrawn or draping himself over Riko when they talked; when Ainsley did not touch him unless it was to give Riko some food or to pat his shoulder for when Riko came out of his room and did not mope.

Ainsley mentioned how he wanted to see a movie in the cinema; Riko made the effort to shower and asked Ainsley to go see the movie with him. Riko mentioned how he wanted to walk longer distances now that his knee felt healed; Ainsley drove him to a park after his therapy session and let Riko use him as a crutch for a wonderful hour. Ainsley talked about how one of his favourite authors would be promoting his newest book in the neighbouring town – Riko booked them seats to the reading of the first chapter and spent over an hour listening to a story he did not much care about, only to see Ainsley smile and laugh. Riko said he missed sports – Ainsley took him to see the local high school football team play against someone from their state.

 “Are we friends?” Riko asked one winter morning over a bowl of cereal, wearing his warmest sweater.

“I’m your housekeeper,” Ainsley simply said, shrugging, pulling one of the straps of his tank top up. “It’s a bit different than being friends.”

Riko was upset about the answer for a couple of days until Ainsley demanded they decorated the house together to prepare for Christmas.

“It must be festive,” Ainsley said, another band T-shirt on, trying to wrap the tinsel around the fake Christmas tree, “It’s fucking Christmas!”

The snort that came out of Riko’s mouth was almost a laugh. He was almost content with the tree, the Christmas sweater Ainsley had told him to wear (it was soft and had a snowflake pattern) and the cookies they were to make. In his 23 years, he had not baked anything, but Ainsley promised it would be fine. I’ve made them before, it’ll be fine Ainsley had said as he tossed premade dough into their shopping cart, want to pick what colour icing we’ll use?

Riko had chosen black and red, his two favourite colours. Ainsley had at first laughed, but then had helped Riko to decorate the dozens of gingerbread cookies, shaped like ravens and hearts and snowflakes. Riko wrote a ‘#1’ onto a raven; Ainsley wrote Riko’s name onto a heart shaped cookie. Neither of them spoke of how when Riko saw the cookie, his cheeks turned pink, or how Ainsley gave him a little wink and a smile.

 Riko had not expected to receive any gifts for Christmas. He had not talked to the friends he had had for over a year; his brother would surely not give him anything, and his therapist’s only gift to him had been to tell him he had improved considerably in the time he had been to therapy. He had not expected to give any presents either, yet when him and Ainsley went shopping, and Ainsley spent ten minutes making eyes at a black cashmere sweater without buying it, Riko placed an order online to get the sweater delivered to their door, wrapped in the silliest wrapping paper and the biggest bow the store had. A few more shopping trips, and Riko grew more used to putting in his credit card details and not telling delivery guys to fuck off.

It was not easy to tell who was more surprised to find presents with their name written on them – Ainsley when he found not only one but four gifts under the tree, or Riko when he counted three more presents under the tree than he had put there.

“You got me a present?” both of them said at the same time, and Ainsley smiled widely, wagging a finger at Riko.

“Riko, you know you did not have to get me anything, yes?”

“I wanted to.” Riko said, automatically, picking up a soft rectangular gift. “You didn’t have to get me anything…”

Ainsley shrugged, picking up a nicely wrapped present, shaking it to figure out what it was. “Wanted to. We’re kind of friends, are we not?”

Riko’s blush was hidden by him opening the present and covered by the sound of Ainsley ripping the wrapping paper apart, revealing a black cashmere sweater inside.

“Oh, Riko… Thank you,” Ainsley pulled the sweater on right away, wrapping his arms around his body to feel the soft fabric. “It’s lovely!”

Instead of answering, Riko pulled the gift wrap off the present, trying to figure out why Ainsley had gotten him a pair of mittens, a scarf and a beanie. He did not go out much, and even if he did, they usually took the car.

“So that we can go outside and build a snowman,” Ainsley pointed out, already opening the other presents – books and some fancy cleaning liquid for glasses. “You barely go outside and you’re really missing out on winter. It’d be good for you, too.”

Riko mumbled how he did not like cold and snow anyway, and went towards the kitchen to get himself some gingerbread cookies. Apparently, he was not the only one with such idea, so him and Ainsley tried to step through the doorway at the same moment.

“You go first,” Riko said, gesturing for Ainsley to go.

And then suddenly Ainsley was pressing a quick kiss onto his lips, much warmer than Riko had expected or dared to hope. For what it was worth, Riko kissed back more, more, please, don’t leave me hanging, please until Ainsley pulled away a second later, cheeks flushed, a grin on his face. He pointed at something above them, winking.

“Mistletoe.”

Riko wondered if Ainsley had put it up to have an excuse to kiss him or if Ainsley truly believed mistletoe was an important part of Christmas.

 I want to take you out on a date.

Riko looked at himself in the mirror. He had showered, had shaved, had used deodorant, had put on a clean shirt. A white button up shirt. So what if his face looked sunken in, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look older than he wanted to look. He was a good-looking guy… right?

“I want to take you out on a date.”

Clear, straight to the point. Honest. He could do this.

Ainsley was in the kitchen, making lunch, as he usually would. Riko helped, sometimes, but today he had more important things on his mind than vegetables. He coughed, trying to get Ainsley’s attention.

“Oh,” Ainsley turned, giving Riko a one-over. “You’re looking fancy. Going somewhere? Need me to drive you?”

Riko shook his head, looking at Ainsley. He took a deep breath.

“You. Out.” Fuck.

Ainsley arched a brow, stirring the vegetables on the wok pan. “Excuse me?”

“Go out with me.”

That got him a smile, and Ainsley beckoned for him to take a few steps closer. “Are you asking or telling me?”

“…Asking?” A few steps, still not close enough to reach if either of them held their arm out.

“Ask me nicely,” Ainsley teased, motioning for him to take a couple of more steps, giving Riko the spatula so that he could help with making the food. Riko patted the vegetables, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out what exactly Ainsley wanted. A blowjob? Would that be it? Money? Presents?

Ainsley’s hand on Riko’s was gentle. Riko looked at it, and for the first time noticed the scar tissue over the knuckles.

“Repeat what I’m saying. Ready? Do you want to go out with me?”

Riko nodded, cheeks warm. “Yes.”

Ainsley’s laugh was hearty, but warm, and he squeezed Riko’s hand. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” He leaned even closer, kissing one of Riko’s red cheeks. “After lunch, you can take me out.”

He hummed as he continued cooking the lunch, and Riko had to excuse himself so that he could rush to the bathroom before he made a mess out of himself by blushing or whimpering of joy.

 While Riko was elated to see that Ainsley looked ever so handsome while dressed in a warm sweater and a beanie, he was surprised that Ainsley still wore glasses, even if they would not need to read small letters.

“Are they not reading glasses?” Riko asked, eyeing his companion, fully taking advantage of getting to hold Ainsley’s hand and being so close to him.

Ainsley shook his head, turning to give Riko a little smile. “No. Need them to see most of the time. Not everyone has a perfect vision.”

Riko could understand that. He knew that if a person had stress, their sight could get blurry, had experienced it a lot back in the Nest. There had never been enough time to rest his body and his mind, so Riko had worn a pair of glasses in his glasses and while studying. Now, it seemed, his eyes had adjusted to their surroundings and he only needed glasses if he stayed up too late, watching TV.

“Besides, I wouldn’t get to see your beautiful face without them.” Ainsley winked, and Riko felt his cheeks turn bright red.

They walked to a small café a few blocks away from Riko’s house, and got hot chocolate that they could drink inside. Ainsley offered they could buy cookies or cake, but Riko just wanted something to drink. They sat by the window, watching the snow fall, Riko’s hand resting on Ainsley’s over the table.

“Something on your mind?” Ainsley asked, lifting his glasses up into his hair so that the warm drink would not fog up the glasses. “The hot chocolate not sweet enough?”

Riko shook his head, curling his fingers around Ainsley’s hand. He put his drink down, and took Ainsley’s hand between his, turning it over to map out all the skin he could put his fingertips on. Again, Riko saw the scars and he traced some of them, frowning. Ainsley did not look like he was into sports – how could he have gotten the scars then.

“Accident,” Ainsley answered before Riko could ask. “Glass pieces were everywhere. Had to get stiches.”

Gently, Riko stroked his thumbs over Ainsley’s knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Ainsley shrugged it off, “Happened a long time ago. It’s fine.”

When Riko brought Ainsley’s hand to his face and kissed the scars on his knuckles, Ainsley’s cheeks turned a shade darker, and he pushed his glasses in front of his eyes.

Good, Riko thought, finally doing something right.

They finished their drinks and left, holding hands the entire way home.

 A few weeks later, it was Ainsley who asked Riko out. He sat down next to Riko while Riko was watching the news in the living room, and grinned, putting his arms behind his head.

“Hear me out, yes? I was thinking. You like sports, yes?”

Riko nodded, not looking away from the TV.

“There’s a basketball game in the city over. Wanna go?”

Riko slowly shook his head. Basketball was not really his thing.

“Oh. What sports do you like then?”

“Exy.”

Ainsley hummed, sitting a bit up. “Alright. I’ll look into it.”

He gave Riko’s shoulder a little nudge before getting up, going upstairs. Later, Ainsley skipped downstairs again, giving Riko a thumbs-up. “Next weekend there’s a little league game. The drive will be three hours one way, but we could g-“

“Yes.” If he could have exy again, even as a spectator, even if Ichirou killed him for that, the rest of his life would be wonderful.

 Behave.

Ichirou’s text message was prompt and Riko had nearly thrown his phone out of the window. Of course he was going to behave. He still limped, could not walk for a longer period of time without having pains in his knee – what did Ichirou think he was going to do? Storm the court and demand to play?

I will.

 “You look like you’re really enjoying yourself,” Ainsley whispered next to his ear, taking Riko’s hand and entwining their fingers. “But you’re frowning a lot.”

“They’re shit,” Riko mumbled, pointing at the backliner. “He’s missing most of his opportunities,” he pointed at the striker next, “She would miss the goal if she stood three feet from it and the goalkeeper had gone for a break.”

Ainsley laughed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Cute and smart. How did I ever find you, hm?”

Had Ainsley complimented him years ago when he was the most known exy player in the world, Riko would not have given him a second glance off of court. But now, sitting in the stands and watching a game he would never play again…

Now Ainsley holding his hand and being so close to him made Riko’s heart beat faster than the adrenaline before an exy game ever could.

“Riko… Where are the goals, in like soccer?” Ainsley asked, pointing to where the goals were. Riko sighed, closing his eyes. Perhaps he would manage to teach Ainsley about exy later when they got home.

 When they got home, Riko did not have a chance to educate Ainsley about exy. They stepped into the living room, and Ainsley turned to Riko with a soft, inviting smile. “Would you like to see my room? Nothing too serious, of course. Perhaps… cuddling? More kisses?”

Riko nodded, as if in trance, following Ainsley up the stairs. For that one evening, Riko forgot about everything shitty in his past life, and enjoyed his life. Maybe there was more to life than exy, and perhaps everything would work out fine.

 And it did.

[onewhodiedyoung]

@rhymaes, not wanting to write papers must be contagious :,) (no, actually they’re just awful) (also, ‘edge of your teeth’ is art and I’m a fan)

fandoms: oh boy, there’s like a million but let’s say that recently Les Miserables (because I love being miserable ha and am reading the book in French and calling it ‘studying’) It (planning to reread the book before I see the movies though but still reading fic), All For the Game (because I’ve just reread the books for the 5th time and ascdfsc), Percy Jackson (because apparently writing about the son of Hades’ emo phase is all I need to be happy) Harry Potter (because Harry Potter is a constant thing in my head whether I want to or not, like one time I literally explained a whole dramatic friendship evolution to my dad by saying ‘I thought they were a Hufflepuff but actually, they’re a Slytherin’ but I’m only in the fandom for the fandom cause like the source material is...... well) Hannibal (rewatching for the third time with my younger brother cause he said he wouldn’t be scared of all the organs and is so far keeping his word, oh corrupting youth... will I go to hell?) and A Series of Unfortunate Events (kind of, not really talking about it online but I would die for this show). I guess Drrr! too but I’m taking a break

tropes: okay, I love love love hate to love more than anything but there might be a trope I love the most of them all, only I don’t know if you can call it a trope and it’s a very specific thing. It’s this carefree sarcastic character that is slowly releaved to have depths BUT hear me out I don’t mean the cliche bad boy sob story ohhh someone hurt me and now I wear a leather jacket and flirt with people and stare attractively out the window, I mean this more specific scenario when someone kind of doesn��t care because they once cared too much and it’s why I am so obsessed with Les Mis because it’s so Grantaire. Like give me a story about an overexcited child-genius who grows up sad and barely passes the year and gets drunk and I’m just a puddle. I don’t know what about it speaks to me so much but it’s my absolute favorite. Also, found family, always. And not romantic, but hate to friendship is awesome, too. and all those cop/criminal aus, I need them ok

(I severely dislike soulmate aus and only read them sometimes when I just can’t stay away because of the writing style)

number of fics: only 21 but the quarantine makes the number grow fast... I have like a million ideas for 20 different fandoms, I swear (even though I should be working on the novels and short stories instead)

fic I’ve spent the most time on: uhhh to be honest it’s hard to tell because I just sit down and write something until it’s done. Usually when I post something I started it the very same day or the day before. It’s probably simply the longer the fic, the more time? ALTHOUGH I’ve been writing this super dramatic Warsaw/Cracow post-war story that is set in this au about city personifications and loosely from Les Mis and I’ve literally already been trying to write it for a month, maybe because the subject matter is so dark, I don’t know, I just really want to get it right

shortest fic: apparently, at 1621 words, “blood spot”, which is a Drarry fic about Harry using unethical spells and trying to care lol (it honestly worries me how much I romanticize the whole sectumsempra thing, it needs to stop) https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794572

longest fic: from completed ones, The Gift of Hands (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042392/chapters/50051546) but I’m posting an OHSHC fic that’s already longer than that, an original work (so not technically a fanfic but shsh it’s my fanfic of Franz Marc as an artist ok) that’s already longer as well (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463895/chapters/56249917), and a hp epistolary fic that will be. From one shots, The Catalogue of Bones (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627441)

most comments/kudos/bookmarks: The Gift of Hands (I’m still shooked that people liked this story so much considering Izaya wasn’t present for like half of it lol)

total word count: 187,719 ....... it absolutely terrifies me that this is from less than a year...... I had uni and work and all my wip novels how did this happen what have I been neglecting to write Drarry after Drarry? someone kill me please

favorite fic: is it cheating to mention 3? Cause I can’t pick. So there’s ‘The Catalogue of Bones’ which is overwritten and which I’m scared to open in case after all these months I’ll see right away that it’s shit but I loved writing it and I like the rhythm of it (which probably doesn’t exist) and just like it. Then there’s ‘And Who Can Say if There Are no Frogs on the Moon’ (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631638) which is maybe the sweetest thing I’ve ever written and Hermione/Luna which is a ship I would die for. Aaand ‘the boy who listened to bones’ (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614144) because I just love Nico and love writing Nico and, for some reason, love writing war-trauma

fic I want to rewrite/expand: rewrite? almost all of them but I won’t, because hopefully sometime from now I will reread them in the order of posting and maybe, maybe see progress? Expand.... hmmm.... I don’t really want to expand anything, tbh. When I want to add something I actually always just make it a new separate fic (this sounds like I’m perfectly satisfied with everything I posted but trust me, I’m not... like the Moaning Myrtle/Neville fanfic is all good intentions and eternal cringe)

share a bit of a wip: oh boy......... all I have is like two sentences of a never finished Gilmore Girls fic about Lorelei drinking wine and wanting an inn and a piece of a Drarry story that I temporarily dropped because I liked the concept and decided to use it for a whole novel about lesbians and Paganini instead oops. I really just write one shots the day I post them and I’m not posting a one shot today so... But I guess here’s Drarry with Draco remembering Harry speaking up for him and Narcissa during the trials:

He looked confident, Harry, and he wore grief like something freshly-washed and pressed. He kept his chin up, and his glasses weren’t held together by tape. He was immaculate, even his hair somehow combed into a semblance of tidiness, and Draco imagined it must have taken hours to get it to behave, couldn’t imagine why Harry would bother. By then people would oh and ah whenever he entered the room, no matter the tea stains, no matter the stubble, no matter the falling-apart sneakers, and then this: crispness like Harry was a dollar bill straight out of print, even though he wouldn’t lose anything otherwise, anyway, even though people would love him, unconditional.

It wouldn’t occur to him for months that Harry might have made himself presentable for their sake, that he might have put all the thoughts of countless deaths inside his pocket for a little while to make sure that people would listen as he explained that Narcissa was a mother, and not a bad person, as if the two were mutually exclusive.

He said, after clearing his throat, and to the whole room, his voice echoing, we’re not all good. He said, after a significant pause, and they’re not all bad.

Draco hated him for how he was ‘them’ and he felt c and r and u and c again and i and then o align on his tongue, letters he would voice or swallow, it could go either way.

Once, he crucio-ed himself, writhing in the ground and begging something for forgiveness through the pain, some old gods who must have raised their eyebrows as they watched, or maybe they didn’t bother watching at all.

No wand for a year was the verdict, and Draco didn’t mind because he didn’t want the wand.

What he wanted was the piano.

I have pieces of aftg and Stranger Things fics in my head but not written down yet. Wow this was unnecessarily long and rambly, I’m sorry :,) Not tagging anyone because my brain is scrambled and I can’t think but if you’re writing fic and this looks fun then I’d love to read yours! <3