#I still see it but it might not be as common as I think

[nadvs]

the power play (part eight) (end)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

Time folds into itself as you lie in Rafe’s bed, slipping in and out of a tired daze, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

When he shifts and exhales a sharp wince, you don’t know how many minutes have passed, but you’re sure it’s time to leave, to give him all the space he can get in his bed.

“I should go,” you whisper, sitting up slowly.

He’s in a trance, his shoulder aching, exhaustion seeped into his bones.

Your warmth is gone.

He sees your figure in the dark.

You leave as quietly as possible.

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The next day, Rafe walks out through the campus gym doors after meeting with his coach and physical therapist. Turns out the tear isn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been, but as expected, there’s no chance in hell he can play for a while. He’s out of tournament.

He’s lost. It’s like he forgot his own name. Hockey is the constant in his life, or it was, and it’s messing with his head that he won’t be spending hours training or practicing or playing anymore. Instead, he’ll either be in physio or resting, and the closest he can get to the ice is on the bench.

His coach had said that at least it happened at the end of the season, that he’s only a sophomore with so much ahead of him, but all Rafe can feel is disappointment ripping through him.

His phone buzzes with a text from you.

I hope you’re ok. Guessing you can’t make it today?

Right. It’s Thursday. He’s supposed to meet you for tutoring in an hour.

If he never hurt himself last night, if today was a normal day, he’d be in class right now, his morning workout done, his body buzzing with the hot anticipation that he feels every time he’s about to see you.

But today’s far from normal. You said nothing after he kissed you last night. He’s an idiot for making a move on a girl who’d told him so many times that she doesn’t want a boyfriend.

But you’re the one who curled up next to him, who cried over his pain as if it were your own, who told him you care about him.

It’s insane what you do to him. He never runs in circles like this, never dwells on what a girl might be thinking, because he doesn’t have to. In any other situation, he’d cut to the chase and tell you that he wants you.

But the embarrassment from what happened last night still stings. He wouldn’t survive it, hearing you say you don’t see him like that, that you’re not looking for a relationship. When he’s so sure it’d end in an awkward rejection, what’s the point?

After everything that happened in the last 24 hours, it’s a loss he wouldn’t be able to cope with.

════════

You’re writing in your agenda as you wait in the study room, your pen smoothly gliding over paper. Your phone is sitting beside your notebook, and you unlock it to reread Rafe’s text from half an hour ago.

I can make it.

You’re tense about seeing him after last night.

You don’t know what to do. There’s no misinterpreting it. He kissed your forehead and there’s no way he would do that if he didn’t feel something deeper than friendship for you.

Still, it’s sad how hard it is to believe that a guy sees you like that, all because of the mark that Beck left on you. Rafe had once called you clueless about this stuff, and he was right.

The memory of how he’d snapped at you in the car that night serves as a reminder of how cold he can be, and how you’re not entirely confident you could handle loving someone like that.

You’re carrying too much baggage. So is he. You’d thought Rafe came into your life at the perfect time, but if anything, the timing couldn’t be worse.

You’re still working through your heartbreak and you don’t know if you can be with someone when you need to work on yourself. Especially when that someone distances himself from you whenever you ask the wrong question.

You’re scared. If you gave Rafe your heart, truly, all the way, there’s no telling if it’d be in good hands.

His broad figure appears in the doorway, his expression guarded.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you say. You motion to your own arm, immediately noticing that he’s not wearing the sling you saw him in last night. “You don’t need the…?”

“It’s not that bad,” Rafe murmurs, nudging the door shut with his good elbow.

“I thought you tore it,” you say, your voice laced with concern. He sits down with his elbow bent, his injured arm tight against his body.

“I’m not going to need surgery or anything,” he repeats what he discussed earlier at the gym. “Few months of physio and meds and I’ll be good.”

“And rest, right?” you say. “You forgot to mention rest.”

“What do you know?” he says with a small smirk.

You mirror his smile, glad that although something so awkward is weighing over both of you, you can share a lighthearted moment.

“A lot,” you reply. You hold up your pen. “Do I need to give you another reminder tattoo?”

He scoffs, but he’s not sure he could tell you no if he tried, especially if the offer includes you touching him.

To your surprise, he lays his forearm on the desk. You chuckle, leaning forward, gently writing rest! on the inside of his wrist, right where you’d written your study room number on him all those nights ago.

“I think I have a future in this,” you say, admiring your work. He gazes at you as you tilt your head and blow cool air over the wet ink. “How are you?”

“Good,” he answers, in a melancholy daze. “You?”

“I’m good,” you reply. You meet his eyes again. “So, only a few months until you’re better? What’s the healing process going to be like?”

“The physio gave me a whole list of crap I gotta do,” he answers with a sigh.

“Do you have it with you?”

He hands you the sheet of paper jammed at the side of his backpack. You read over the instructions, tips on managing pain, on the importance of nutrition and rest, on avoiding rigorous activities.

You skim over one of the bullet-points in the middle. Sleep on your back with the injured arm supported.

“They even tell you how to sleep?” you try to joke. “So, you shouldn’t have someone else on top of you. Lesson learned.”

What happened last night is out in the open now, the atmosphere strained with tension. Your eyes are still on the page. He can see you’re uncomfortable and he respects that you’re addressing it.

“I shouldn’t have…” He grimaces, embarrassed all over again. He has no choice but to brush the kiss off, to lie his way out of this. “I was on a lot of painkillers last night.”

He wants you to look disappointed so badly that it makes him ache, because then he’d take his words back and call bullshit on himself. But when you glance up at him, the look on your face is one of relief.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, looking back down at the paper. You’re alleviated of your anxiety. He either didn’t mean the kiss, or he doesn’t want it to turn into something, and it’s better this way. Safer. “How often do you have to do therapy?”

Rafe tells himself he can deal with the hurt later, that now’s not the time to lose it, even though he’s on the edge. He pulls his laptop out of his bag, finding it so much harder now that he can’t use both arms.

“Twice a week,” he answers, his words stiff.

“And exercises you have to do on your own,” you murmur sympathetically, reading over the page. “This is a lot. I bet you can get accommodations for school. Deadline extensions at the very least.”

You put the paper down, smoothing out the wrinkles, trying to make sense of why your heart is racing right now. Rafe throws you for such a loop that you don’t even know how it’s possible to be both eased and troubled by him shrugging off what happened last night.

“I’m really sorry you can’t play anymore,” you tell him.

“Nothing I can do about it now.”

His scowl is hard as he logs in onto his computer, typing with one hand.

“I’m not just saying this,” you tell him. “The team wouldn’t have made it so far without you.”

He doesn’t need the reminder of what he’s lost, the agony of how much work he put in just to spend the rest of the school year behind the boards.

“Those guys will be fine,” he says with a sardonic chuckle.

It hurts you to see him so sure of it.

“No way,” you reply. “They’ll miss you.”

His throat is raw and he wishes he could just disappear right now, because he’s seconds away from breaking down. His eyes burn and he swallows it down, forcing everything he’s feeling away.

“Let’s not do this, okay?” he says sharply, his gaze still off you.

And with that, Rafe proves your point. That it’s not just you who might be emotionally unavailable, but him, too. Even after what you’d done last night, even after you’ve shared so much with him, you’re kept at an arm’s length, good enough to kiss, but not good enough to be honest with.

“Did you finish the book?” you ask.

“No,” he states, stoic and disinterested.

You’d normally call him out for his bad attitude, but after what he’s gone through, you’d just feel guilty for it.

You compel yourself to just be his tutor right now – not his friend, not the girl he pretended to date – but his tutor, tasked with one job and one job only.

Rafe finally lets his eyes land where they want to be most, on you, when you ask if you can take his laptop to start working on the next assignment.

But you won’t look at him back. He can tell that you don’t want to.

════════

The moment Rafe gets to his dorm room after your tutoring session, he feels like he’s stalling with nothing left to drive him. His thoughts are tangled together, his body aches, and he has no idea what to do next.

He sits on the edge of his bed. He should probably look over those recovery instructions again, email his profs and teaching assistants about accommodations, do some school work to keep himself busy, but it’s like he’s frozen.

He looks down at the floor, his vision going blurry. The only person, if anyone, he could talk to about this right now is you.

But he can’t even do that. Especially not when you’re mad at him. He snapped, and then you were distant and talked only about his schoolwork for the rest of your hour together.

He feels like shit for how he treated you. He didn’t expect to do it, but you can be so stubborn, forcing him to talk about shit that he can’t talk about.

He lies in bed, still in painful disbelief of how quickly things can change, and how he has no control over any of them.

════════

It’s nearing six p.m. when Rafe wakes up. He checks his messages, hoping you texted him like he always does when he picks up his phone. But of course, there’s nothing from you.

He reads over the team’s group chat texts that he didn’t get to answering. After a few messages asking Rafe how he is after Coach told everyone he’s out for the season, some of the guys texted about a party tonight.

Being surrounded by noise and getting a break from reality sounds like just what he needs. And because he misses you and has no willpower when it comes to you, he texts you: Down to go to a party tonight?

You reply minutes later: Look at your tattoo.

He smirks to himself, glancing down at the word you’d written on his skin, and texts you again: I’ll just be standing there. That counts as rest.

You’re walking through campus to grab dinner, staring at your phone as you weave through crowds, your stomach in a knot.

It’s been that way since Rafe left the study room earlier today. You hate that you’re back in this headspace, overanalyzing, wondering what a man really feels about you.

You did it for years with Beck, going back and forth between being sure he liked you and feeling sad that he didn’t.

It shouldn’t be this complicated. You have fun with Rafe. He gets you, and you think you get him. He’s flawed, but so are you, and that doesn’t mean things can’t work out.

But it feels impossible. You’re not sure you can give each other what you both need. And you’re still hurting from the way he’d brushed you off today yet again, refusing to let you in.

With an aching heart, you text back: Sorry, I can’t tonight.

════════

Rafe’s limbs are heavy and hot as he leans against a wall, surrounded by his closest friends on the team. He’s letting them do the talking, too in his head to even think about having any real fun.

He wishes you were here.

He heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink. He spots a familiar face. And it’s the last thing he needs.

“Hey,” Emma says, leaning over the counter as she fills up a cup. “Where’s your little girlfriend? Not hanging onto you like usual?”

It’s the first words she’s spoken to him since their breakup. That night feels like a lifetime ago.

“What the fuck are you doing talking to me?” he mutters.

Her eyebrow raises in that infuriating way that tells him she’s enjoying getting a rise out of him.

“Warning you,” she laughs. “She’s kind of twisted. I don’t know if a normal person would hear all about your red flags and then like, cling onto you.”

“What’d you say to her?” he asks, his jaw tensing.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“We don’t talk about you.”

Rafe hates that it’s a lie, that he wasted so much of his limited time with you talking about someone else.

“I just told her the truth,” she says.

His nostrils flare as he glares down at her, at a loss for how he ever thought he saw any good in her. After he’s gotten to know you, after he’s seen what it’s like when someone treats him like he’s not a burden, he could never want someone like Emma again.

“I’m sure it’s nothing she hasn’t seen for herself by now,” she says when he doesn’t respond. “Obviously, she heard what an asshole you are. That must be her type. Or it could’ve been the part I said about how pathetic you were, crying to get back together. Maybe she wants to fix you.”

So, that was your first impression of him. That’s what you’ve kept from him.

Rafe heads back to his friends without saying another word. There was a time he was dying for Emma to talk to him. Now, he can’t waste another second around her.

He got what he wanted. She’s jealous. And that guy he saw her with before isn’t around.

He won.

But the victory is hollow.

════════

“It’s not pretty,” Isaac tells you, one foot outside the locker room, “but I got everybody to write something.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the card. You look around the hall again, as if Rafe will catch you, even though you know he wouldn’t be in this part of the arena right before the semi-final game.

“I did say I owe you,” he replies.

“He’s watching from the bench?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Isaac answers, wincing. “How is he?”

“Fine, I guess,” you reply with a sad shrug. “He won’t really talk about it.”

You haven’t heard from Rafe since last night after you texted him back. But based on how Isaac’s acting, you can tell he hasn’t told anyone about your breakup, saving you from having to come up with any explanations.

“The guy’s a vault,” Isaac half-chuckles.

You nod, glancing down at the card, opening it up to see messy, scribbled messages from the guys on the hockey team written across the inside.

You’d bought the blank card at an on-campus convenience store after asking Isaac if the team did anything to commemorate Rafe after his forced departure. When he told you everyone was too preoccupied with the tournament, you took it upon yourself to do something.

You’re not upset with Rafe anymore. Not after you’ve taken time to reflect that he doesn’t have to tell you anything he doesn’t want to, no matter how much you wish he would. Not when you recall how heartbroken he was when he insinuated that his teammates won’t miss him.

“It’s nice of you to do this for him,” Isaac offers.

“Thanks. I think he needs to hear that people care about him.” You take a step back. “Good luck tonight.”

════════

It’s difficult for you to even imagine watching the semi-finals. You tell Lyla you’re too swamped with studying to attend.

The truth is that you know sitting in those stands will just make you feel the lack of Rafe, the wrongness of him not being on the ice, the gap in your chest that he left.

It’ll break your heart to see him on the bench, instead of in the game where he belongs.

You stop by his dorm room to slide the card under his door. And then, you go home to distract yourself with schoolwork, hoping that with enough time, you can finally feel like yourself again.

════════

You send the text a few minutes after you check to see that the team won, left with one more game to potentially win the championship.

Can you come over?

Nerves stitch your stomach when you receive his response that he’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Eventually, there are soft raps on your door, and when you open it, Beck looks exactly how you expected him to. Confused.

“I’m going to talk,” you tell him, “and I want you to listen and be honest with me, got it?”

He nods, brows furrowed as you step aside. He walks into your room, leaning against your desk as you sit on your bed.

You take a deep breath, nervous but already relieved that years of pressure will be off your shoulders after you say this.

“You know what you did to me,” you say, “and I don’t want you to pretend like you don’t. You strung me along. For years. You knew I liked you, didn’t you?”

Beck glances to the side, adjusting in his haphazard seat.

“It's not like I…” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I liked you, too,” he says, looking like it pains him to admit it. “I – I do like you. Still.”

It’s not what you expected.

“Since when?” you say in a huff of disbelief.

“It’s been a long time,” he answers.

You can only scoff. He sighs, clearly uncomfortable.

“You’re my sister’s best friend,” he says quietly. “Can you imagine how weird it would be if it didn’t work out?”

It’s a sudden, overwhelming realization, hitting you like an ice cold wave. The only reason he never acted on his feelings was because he was afraid of a mere possibility. Maybe it wouldn’t end well, so he saw no reason to even try.

“That’s why?” you say. “Why not just tell me?”

“Because of this,” he says tensely, motioning between you.

“Because of an awkward conversation?” you say. “How is that any better than what happened after your final? You stopped talking to me after that.”

“I thought… with time, we’d go back to how it was,” he mumbles. “And that maybe, we’d both just lose feelings. But then you started dating Rafe and… I can’t handle seeing it. You shouldn’t be with him.”

You hate how he said Rafe’s name, as if it was a swear word. It’s the only thing you can focus on. Not that he just told you what you’ve been wanting to hear for years. Just that he speaks about Rafe like he’s bad.

And Rafe isn’t bad. He can be difficult and short-tempered, but he can also be warm. Passionate. Funny. Caring.

And you love him.

Damn it. You love him.

“I don’t need you worrying about who I’m dating, okay?” you say sharply. “Maybe if you were a friend, sure, but you’re barely even that anymore.”

“Why are you talking like this?”

Beck seems jarred by your contempt. You’re surprised yourself. You always thought you’d sugarcoat your words with him, that you’d care about his feelings too much to ever be brutally transparent.

But this is necessary. And you realize you couldn’t have gotten here without Rafe.

“Because I deserve honesty,” you say. You let out a shaky sigh. “I know you didn’t want to have a hard conversation, but avoiding it led to this. An even harder one. You weren’t wrong to worry that we would never work out. We wouldn’t. I just want things to be civil from now on. Like you said, Lyla’s my best friend.”

Beck shakes his head slightly. It almost looks like he had some semblance of hope that this conversation would go another direction.

“You know he’ll just hurt you, right?” he says. “I saw him fighting with his old girlfriend all the time. He’s a jerk.”

“You don’t know him,” you mutter. “And you’re in no place to call him that. Not after how you treated me. You expected I’d always be on the sidelines, waiting for you, and then got mad when I started seeing someone else. It isn’t fair.”

Beck shakes his head in frustration and walks to the door, but stops himself before he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his back still to you. “You’re right. Let’s… be civil.”

It’s a glimpse into why you once liked him so much. He has a soft heart, desperate to run from conflict. But conflict is inevitable. And you can’t be with someone who doesn’t see that.

“Okay,” you say to his back.

The door shuts behind Beck with a hard thud, closing a chapter you’re glad to see end.

════════

You eventually text Rafe: Are you going out with the team? I’m free. Just saying.

Now more than ever, you miss him. It feels silly to distance yourself, to do exactly what Beck did with you and stay away from someone just because there’s a chance that it’ll end badly.

Every part of you longs for him, for the feeling you get when you’re around him, and you can only hope he wants to see you tonight, too.

He responds that he’s on his way to pick you up.

════════

Rafe pulls up to your building, unable to stop his mind from stumbling down memory lane. He idled here for the first time so long ago, with only revenge on his mind, waiting for a ridiculously cheerful and talkative girl to sit in his passenger seat.

When you open the car door and flaunt your bright smile as you climb in, it’s like his heart found its way back to him, like you hold onto it when you aren’t together and parade it around when you are.

“Was it you?” he asks.

“Was what me?” you say.

“The card.”

You grin, glad he got a chance to go back to his room before coming to pick you up. You don’t need the recognition. You’re just glad he seems happy about it.

You notice both of his hands on the steering wheel, recalling how he could only type with one a few days ago.

“Nice,” you say, buckling your seatbelt. “Your pain meds must be working. That’s great. I have to tell you something. I finally talked to Beck. I kind of… told him off, I guess. And… you can say you told me so. You were right. He did like me. Or actually, he does. It was a lot to take in.”

Rafe grimaces, hating to hear that the guy you once said you loved told you he wants you, too. He drives out onto the road, his body tense.

“I told him that it’ll never happen,” you continue. “And he was bitter. And he’s convinced things are going to end badly with you and me. I wonder how we should tell people we’re broken up. Do we just… mention it if they ask? I haven’t told anyone. You haven’t either, right?”

You finally look over at him, gazing at his profile.

Rafe is relieved that you really are done with Beck, that you’re acting like yourself, that you’re in his car again, rambling, filling his life with a light he never had before.

He’d rather not talk about your fake breakup. And definitely not about Beck. He doesn’t have it in him to waste any time with you focusing on someone who hurt you.

“Just admit it,” he murmurs.

“Admit what?”

“The card,” he mutters playfully.

You sigh, realizing he won’t let you get away with not taking credit for it.

“Did Isaac tell you?” you ask.

“Nobody told me.”

“If you want to call me corny, just do it,” you laugh. “Never stopped you before.”

Rafe smiles sadly. Admittedly, it felt good to read the messages from the guys, seeing that they really will miss him. But he doesn’t deserve you doing that for him after the way he lost his cool on you.

“I thought you were pissed at me,” he says.

“I was, a little,” you confess.

“Sorry I snapped,” Rafe says regretfully. “If you were mad, then why’d you do it?”

His voice is soft, just like it was when he’d asked you why you came to his room the night he injured himself.

“That’s why,” you say. “You always seem so surprised that people care about you. I just wanted to give you proof that they do.”

You interlace your fingers together, glancing out the window.

“And it’s okay. I’m not mad anymore,” you say. “I think at some point, I started to take it personally when you don’t want to talk to me. Sorry. I don’t mean to force you. I’ll stop.”

Rafe taps his thumb on the steering wheel. For once, he doesn’t want you to stop.

“It’s because it’s new for me,” he mumbles, giving in.

“What?”

“Someone caring as much as you do is new for me,” he replies. “That’s why I seem surprised. It throws me off.”

Your lips part, but the words won’t form. You’re in shock that he’s opening up, especially when you didn’t ask him to, when you just told him you’ll stop pushing.

“And I’m not used to getting asked so many questions,” Rafe says. “You never stop.”

“I am kind of relentless,” you say, crinkling your nose and smiling. “You make me curious, though.”

“I can tell,” he mumbles, earning a chuckle from you. “We’re good now, yeah?”

You’re touched that he worries this much about you being upset with him. Some time in the last few months, throughout your tutoring sessions and the events you attended as a fake couple and all the moments in between, he really did start caring about you.

It’s nice, because you feel the same way about him. How deep those feelings go remains unspoken, and you’re not sure you can face them yet.

“We’re good,” you reply. “I can’t stay mad at you. You’re too charming. In like, a really grumpy, always mad at everything type of way.”

“Wow,” Rafe huffs, pretending to be offended while flashing the smile you always get hypnotized by.

“Was that rude?” you quip. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

His smile widens, certain now that if he only has you like this, as a friend, it’s so much better than not having you at all.

════════

“How’d that presentation go?” Rafe mumbles in your ear.

You’re standing on the bar’s back patio with the team and the rest of the usual social circle, surrounded by music and chatter floating through the warm late spring air.

You’re right next to him, but not touching in any way, because there’s no reason to fake affection anymore. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to stay away from him.

“For my group project?” you clarify. “Picture me and three guys in front of a full lecture hall. They’re taking turns reading off of Wikipedia and I’m trying to pretend that I’m not losing my mind.”

Rafe chuckles, enamored.

“I got a good individual grade, though,” you say. “Wait. Did you ever check what you got on your midterm?”

“No.”

“Please do,” you say, bringing your clasped hands to your chin.

He sucks his teeth, a little nervous as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He feels your cheek against his good shoulder as you lean in to look.

“An A,” you say proudly, leaning against him, your hand curled around his bicep. You did it without thinking, the closeness feeling more natural than anything you’ve felt before, a hard contrast to how hesitant you’d once been to touch him.

“Thought we broke up,” he murmurs, glancing down at your hand on his arm. It’s his way of testing why you’re touching him like this, aching to hear you say you’re doing it because you want to.

You look up through your lashes, eyes trained on his, silence sweeping over you. You have to feel it, too. He’s sure of it.

“Right,” you reply with a chuckle, hoping to smile your way out of the split in your chest. “Yeah. We are.”

You let go, crossing your arms as you awkwardly look away. You should have known your instincts were wrong, that Rafe is just another guy leading you on, confusing you, whether it be on purpose or not.

He can’t take what it feels like when you pull away like that. He once thought he could handle not acting on his feelings for you, but he can’t. He needs to know what’s so wrong with him, if Emma’s words poisoned you before he even had a chance with you.

“Is it because of what she said?” he says, squaring his shoulders to face you, to try to separate both of you from the rest of the group.

“Is what because of-”

“Emma told me what she said to you,” he interrupts.

You gaze up at him, wide-eyed.

“You talked to her?” you ask. Imagining it wrings your heart out, jealousy pooling through you.

He nods, his jaw tight, looking at you like you’re the one who needs to explain something here. Your forehead crinkles, your face falling with disappointment.

“I thought you didn’t care what she thinks,” you say.

“I don’t.”

You look down, as if you can find the answer somewhere on the ground. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning.

“Are you okay?” you hear.

Rafe looks over his shoulder to see that Beck has walked over, staring at you.

“I’m fine,” you answer.

“I told you this would happen,” Beck says to you.

Rafe meets your eyes again to see that they’re glossed over with tears.

“Fuck off,” he mutters to Beck.

“I’m just looking out for her,” Beck says.

“I look out for her,” Rafe says angrily. His raised voice earns a few side-eyes, the conversations around you silencing.

“Do you?” Beck asks.

Rafe breathes a humorless chuckle, rage coursing through him as he turns around, his back to you, his fists clenched.

“Don’t,” you say. “You’ll get hurt.”

There’s a hole in Rafe’s chest when he hears the concern in your voice for Beck. But when he turns around, you’re gazing up at him instead.

“You’re already in enough pain,” you say to him, your eyes drifting over his aching shoulder. He stares at you in awe, again, like he’s in shock that you worry about him. “Let’s talk out front.”

You don’t wait for him to agree. You storm back into the bar, darting through the throngs of people, pushing the heavy entrance door.

Your shoes pad over the concrete, your breaths unstable as you pass by the small crowds outside the bar.

You round the corner, finding a quiet pocket of privacy in the dark parking lot, next to the wall. You turn to see Rafe right behind you, facing you, his chest heaving.

“What’d she tell you that she said to me, exactly?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Rafe is in disbelief that he led himself back to doing this, talking about his past relationship with you again, letting it bleed into whatever it is that he has with you.

“That I’m a pathetic asshole,” he begrudgingly answers, his features shadowed in the darkness. “That I – I cried.”

“Her words don’t mean anything,” you tell him.

“She’s right, though, isn’t she?” he asks. “You agree. Just be honest with me. Tell me all of it. No more bullshit.”

Tears continue to sting your eyes, afraid you’re going to hurt him, but too worn down to fight.

“She said you were moody and mean,” you relent, “and yes, that you called her crying when you wanted to get back together. And you know what? The only person I thought was an asshole was her. She’s the pathetic one, okay?”

Rafe searches your face, his features hard, in pain.

“She was horrible to you,” you say. “You deserve someone better.”

What’s left of his composure burns away. He drops his head, his breaths barely escaping his mouth. He’d do anything to be what you want. Who you need.

“Why can’t it be you?” he asks through a ragged exhale.

You still, your heart pounding in your ears. A tear escapes past your bottom lashes, a result of one of the most overwhelming days of your life.

“What?” you whisper. You brush the wetness off of your skin, silently begging him to look at you again.

“What is it about me that’s so wrong?” he rasps, his voice starting to strain, putting sound to the question that he’s asked himself his whole life.

Rafe finds it in him to meet your gaze, all too acquainted with the sinking feeling of begging someone to love him.

Your eyes sweep over his face, your lips parted in silent shock.

He’s tipping over the edge, in slow, splitting agony, waiting to hear the words he knows you’ll say so he can finally let the hope that’s still somehow living in him die.

“What are you...” you say quietly, needing to hear it, to be sure. “What are you saying? You want me?”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, sending a frustrated, pained exhale towards the starry sky, your name laced in a groan.

“Yes,” he says clearly, staring at you again, frustrated and afraid. “So bad that it fucking hurts.”

You’re able to feel every inch of your body, yet you’re numb all over. It’s an overwhelming, euphoric rush, looking up at the man you’ve given your heart to and knowing for sure that he’s given you his.

You blink as you step a little closer, taking in every inch of him, his messy hair, his handsome face, unable to believe that there was a time you didn’t see the warmth behind his eyes.

You can’t find the words, and for once, you stop trying to. Instead, you follow your impulse and take one more step, your body brushing against his, tipping your chin up.

Rafe swallows hard, his veins tight and hot as your gaze flutters down to his lips.

“You said you wanted it to be real,” he says, a note of disbelief in his voice.

A smile tugs on your lips. In a moment like this, he’s considering what you’d told him about how you wanted your first kiss to be real, showing you how much he listens to the things you say, how much he cares about your comfort.

“It will be,” you say softly.

After wanting you so badly for so long, Rafe can’t be still for another second. He brings his hands up to cradle your face, ignoring the pinch of pain in his shoulder. His heart thumps as he leans closer and gently leads you towards him.

His lips press against yours and every piece of you melts away. You were wrong when you thought his kiss would either be rough or gentle. It’s both, the pressure perfect, the urgency just as present as the tenderness.

He kisses you deeper, his lips hot and soft. When he smiles beneath the kiss, you smile, too, hooking your arms around him, hands splayed over his firm back, because you can’t possibly have him any closer.

He gently guides you backwards, pressing you against the cool brick wall, your face still in his hands, holding you as if you could slip away.

Rafe is warm against you, shifting to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, your jaw, the side of your neck. His breath is warm on your skin as you try to catch yours, squeezing him.

He’s never been so sure that he’s where he’s supposed to be. It’s like you’re grounding him with how tight you’re holding him, ensuring him that he’s wanted.

He shifts to kiss your lips again, panting. He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, never having felt so lucky before.

But he’s unsure of how to even navigate this when you’ve told him you don’t want a relationship.

“‘I’ll wait,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Until you’re ready.”

“Ready?” you ask.

“To date,” he says.

You smile up at him, your lips still warm from his. You know you both have work to do on yourselves, but you’re confident you can do it together.

“We already dated, didn’t we?” you tease. “I’m ready. If it’s you.”

He sighs a breath of relief, kissing you once more.

════════

You haven’t done much since you made it to Rafe’s dorm room.

You’ve been lying in bed together with your heads on his pillow, his desk lamp blanketing the room in a soft light, facing each other and talking.

“We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving,” you realize, even though you left the bar about half an hour ago.

The way your eyes widen in worry is so adorable to him that he can’t help but kiss you, and he loves that he doesn’t have to hold himself back from doing it anymore.

“Should we go back? Say sorry to everyone?” he murmurs, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t mock me,” you laugh.

“But it’s so easy.”

You scowl at him, although you’re hardly able to stifle your smile.

“Don’t be mad,” he chuckles, planting a kiss on your lips again. Your cheeks burn, still reeling from how intoxicating it is getting touched and kissed by him now that you know it’s real.

“Right, that’s your job,” you joke, nuzzling in, your forehead against his chest.

A pinch of shame digs into him, his hand running up and down the curve of your spine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, all the happiness from his voice gone.

You shift back to look at him again.

“I was kidding,” you say, your voice thick with worry.

“Nah, it’s true,” Rafe says.

You bite your lip, studying him.

“Is there a reason?” you ask.

“I just… I’ve always been like this,” he admits. “Sometimes, I can’t feel anything but pissed off.”

“It’s an easy emotion to feel.” You gently trace shapes over his chest, your finger skimming over soft cotton. “They say anger is hurt’s bodyguard.”

“You read that somewhere, huh?”

“You know me so well.”

Rafe’s smile is sad. He had no reason to hold back, not anymore.

“Nobody’s ever tried to understand me like you do,” he admits, “and it was shitty of me to get mad at you for trying.”

“Being mad is comfortable for you,” you empathize. “I get it.”

He takes in a slow, deep breath, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

“I grew up around a lot of fighting,” he tells you. “It was a relief when my parents split up.”

Rafe’s stomach twists with discomfort, the memories rushing back, the pain of being at that damn birthday party and seeing such a happy family still cutting into him. Seeing a proud father. Seeing a mother who stays.

And he can’t believe he’s saying it out loud, and that he wants to, and that you didn’t even have to ask.

“But then my mom… stopped trying to be a mom,” he continues. “And I was left with my dad and my sisters and it was like to him, they could do no wrong and I was nothing but a fuck-up.”

You look into his eyes, unable to believe that he holds such a deep, painful wound. Earlier tonight, he asked you what was wrong with him. You can see now that he must have been asking himself that since he was a child.

“I was always trying to make him happy and it never stuck,” he tells you. “Then I started playing hockey and… I could let out how mad I was. And people liked me for it. I finally had a place to go and – and I hate not having it anymore.”

The puzzle pieces click together. Your instincts were right when you’d assumed he was much more sensitive than he let on, hiding behind anger when all he’s ever wanted was love.

Knowing he was in a relationship where he was pressured to hide those types of things makes the pang in your heart even sharper.

“It’s temporary,” you remind him. “You’ll get back out there. But there’s so much more to you than what a good player you are.”

“You think I’m good?” he says. “You didn’t write anything in the card.”

You breathe a chuckle, gently gripping his wrist, the ink you’d etched washed away now.

“I prefer to write on you,” you tease, then gaze up at him again with sincere adoration. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Thank you for telling me. There’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”

He stares at you in concern, as if he’s afraid you’ll take it back.

But you don’t. You just brush a kiss against his hand, squeezing his fingers with yours.

And this is so much better than the doses of temporary happiness he used to find to fill the gaps. After feeling empty for so long, this is real, complete wholeness.

════════

“Last book on the syllabus,” you say happily, already seated like usual. “We made it.”

Rafe smirks at you as he shuts the door behind him. It’s been almost a week since the night at the bar, and he’s only falling deeper for you, missing you even more when you’re not around.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually tutoring me today,” he answers.

“What’d you expect?”

He drops his backpack on his seat and stands behind you, leaning over to wrap his arms around you.

“Somethin’ more like this,” he murmurs, his lips against the side of your neck.

You smile, squeezing his forearms as you breathe in the crisp aroma of his cologne, remembering when you’d noticed how good it smelled at the first party you went to together.

“You think you can get away with this?” you say, although you feel weak all over. “Did you read the book?”

He kisses the side of your neck, sending a warm tingle through you.

“Rafe,” you sigh. “We have work to do.”

“Oh, shit,” he chuckles. “Your serious voice. I’m scared.”

“You should be,” you laugh. “How was physio?”

“Fine,” he replies, giving you one last kiss before he heads to his seat. Then, he remembers he doesn’t have to lie to you, that you’re the one person in his life that would never give him shit for telling the truth. “Brutal, actually. How are you?”

“Not ready for finals,” you reply.

“You’re already thinking about finals,” he scoffs as he unpacks his things.

“Of course I am.”

You can’t believe that the exam season is just three weeks away and that in two days, the hockey season will be finished and that before you know it, your freshman year will be over.

Rafe pulls out a paper bag from his backpack and places it in front of you, the logo stamped on it familiar.

“Did you..?” you say with a smile. He must have driven to the cafe you’d once met him at right after class, the one you said had the best treats. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Just take it,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you sing-song, putting the bag in your lap, sneakily opening it. “Food’s not allowed in here, but this is worth it.”

“Nobody’s going to care,” he teases. “And the door’s closed.”

“Did you miss the windows?” you reply with a laugh. You take a bite and then reach for your copy of East of Eden that you’d lent him and fan through the pages.

“There’s some beautiful prose in this one, isn’t there?” you say.

“Sure,” he says, staring at you with an enamored glint in his eyes.

“You’re just saying that,” you chuckle.

“When do I just say things?” Rafe challenges.

You shrug in agreement.

“So, the discussion question is about the changes of perspectives between both families and how it…”

You trail off as you notice a circle around a paragraph in blue pen, standing out from the yellow highlight and pencil you’d previously etched throughout the book.

“Did you mark something in my book?” you joke. “Who gave you permission?”

“Permission?” he asks amusedly. “God, why do love rules so much?”

He watches as your eyes skim over the page. He only marked one thing in the book and he’s aware of exactly what you’re reading.

You tilt your head, your smile fading, your heart weightless as you read.

A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything. And I was not afraid any more.

“Why did you circle this?” you ask.

“Why do you think?”

Another smile ghosts over your lips as you look down at the passage again, brows furrowing.

“What?” Rafe says, afraid you’re actually annoyed he marked your book.

“I guess I…” You clear your throat. “I used to read stuff like this and imagined someone thinking it about me, but never thought it would actually…”

You meet his eyes, your voice faded into silence as you exhale. He’s never seen you like this before. Uncertain. Afraid to speak.

You spent so long wanting to be loved just like he has, and while he spiralled into anger, you fell into insecurity, convincing yourself that someone would never care about you the way he does, questioning every sign.

Rafe sits up, reaching forward. You put the book down and take his hand. He gazes at you, feeling so damn fortunate that he walked into this room all those weeks ago, and even more fortunate that you see something in him.

He’ll have to prove to you that he sees something in you, too. He knows there’s work for him to do here. It’s work he wants to do.

“It’s true,” he says, glancing down at the book. “You changed everything for me, you know that?”

You breathe a soft, appreciative laugh, offering a small nod.

“Like your grades?” you joke.

He bites his bottom lip, smirking as he leans closer. You meet him halfway, sharing a soft, slow kiss, your eyelashes overlapping.

“Everything,” he repeats, inches away from your lips. “Thank you.”

You’re dazed, lost, and finally, a little less afraid.

════════

“Get as many as you want,” Rafe says, putting his car in park.

You stare ahead at the shop he just pulled up to, your mouth agape.

This morning, you’d asked him if he had to sit on the bench for the final game of the season this afternoon, or if he could sit in the stands with you. He’d told you he’d rather not watch it at all and that he had something else in mind, refusing to elaborate.

Your eyes travel over the sign hanging above the small bookstore, boasting its collection of old and rare books.

He pulls out his key, then chuckles when he sees that you’re frozen, staring ahead in awe.

“Really?” you say.

“No, I just wanted to show you the front of the store,” he mumbles. “Yeah, really.”

You laugh, excitedly getting out of the car. It’s a surprise, seeing just how much he likes to give you things to show he cares. He might not be great with words all the time, but his actions show you what you need to know.

Rafe follows you as you browse the shelves, picking up books, taking some with you and leaving others behind. He doesn’t understand how this could make you so happy that your smile hasn’t left your face, but he’d do it for hours for you.

He starts to take the books out of your hands, holding them for you as you search, but you don’t let him carry them for long, worried about his injury acting up.

He’s glad this is how he’s spending the afternoon. His coach and his friends on the team were cool with it when he told them he wasn’t going to attend the last game of the season.

It’s too hard to watch from the bench, wishing he could be on the other side of the glass. He’d rather be where he feels best: with you.

At one point, you’re reaching for a book on the top shelf, on the tips of your toes, and the sight warms his heart so much that he takes out his phone and snaps a photo.

“A little help?” you giggle, your voice strained. You look over your shoulder to see him smirking with his phone directed at you.

Rafe pockets his phone and steps forward to face you, his chest brushing against yours as he grips the book you’re trying to reach.

Your gazes stay locked as he hands you the book, looking down at you with a pure smile.

“Can we do this all the time?” you ask.

“You like it?” he says. “Bet there’s lots of places like this between us.”

A look of apprehension flashes across your face. You’re weeks away from the end of the school year, when you’ll both be moving back to your hometowns for the summer, three hours apart from each other.

“Do you mean it?” you ask.

You’re uncertain, needing to hear that he wants to keep this going over the summer, and after, that he’ll keep making an effort to see you.

“Three hours is nothing,” Rafe says.

You beam. You don’t need any more words, entirely comforted.

════════

“You made the right call not coming today,” Isaac says as you and Rafe enter the common room an hour later, the team dispersed across the small space. “That was embarrassing.”

“Shit,” Rafe replies, their hands clapped in greeting. “Was it that bad, man?”

“Never got my ass handed to me like that before,” Isaac says, a few of the other hockey players nodding in agreement. “Meanwhile, you’re on some cute little date.”

You share a smile. It’s clear he’s seen the photo of you that Rafe posted.

“It was cute,” you laugh. “Sorry about the loss.”

“Crappy way to end our season,” Isaac tells you. “But there’s always next year. Rafe’ll be back throwing punches.”

Rafe catches your frown.

“Thanks for the help with my essay, by the way,” Isaac tells you. “Got an A.”

“Great,” you say sweetly. “No problem.”

“You think Lyla’s coming?” Isaac asks. You nod, having texted with your best friend on your way here.

“She is,” you say.

Isaac grins when he looks up at the door. You turn to see Lyla come in. He steps away, eager to greet her.

You smile to yourself. After everything you’ve heard from Lyla, you’re pretty sure they’re only a few days away from becoming official.

“What was that look?” Rafe asks quietly.

“What?”

“When he said something about throwing punches, you looked mad.”

You adore it about him, how much he picks up on, but at the same time, it hurts to remember that the reason he knows how to do it is a result of his lonely childhood.

“I’m protective of you,” you say. “I know you’re healing well, but I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt. Is that so crazy?”

Rafe smirks, stepping forward, putting his hands on your hips, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes and a wide grin.

“What?” you whine with a soft laugh.

“It’s cute that you’re worrying about me, baby,” he answers, revelling in the feeling of touching you in public because he wants to, not because he’s supposed to be making someone jealous.

“You think I’m cute?”

His grip tightens, holding you like he always does, like you’re too good to be real, like someone might take you away.

“All the time,” Rafe murmurs, earning a gentle nudge from you. “Gonna miss you when you get too busy for me during finals.”

“You know I’m going to want to read all those books you got me, right?” you say. “I need you to keep me in line and study with me. Make sure I’m not getting distracted.”

“I thought you said I distract you.”

You chuckle, still in awe of how affectionate he is, of how much he loves to touch and kiss you whenever you’re close. He absolutely does distract you, and you love it.

“I mean, yeah, but everyone needs study breaks,” you say with a shrug. “And I don’t like it when you’re not around.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Me, neither.”

Rafe takes a second to just stare at you. It’s impossible to get enough of you. He never really looked forward to life in general, but since you made him yours, he looks forward to everything.

You press your cheek against his chest in a hug, listening to his heartbeat. And you love the feeling of knowing, with absolute certainty, that part of it beats for you.

(the end)

epilogue >

au masterlist

author’s note this was such a fun series to write!! thank you to everyone who supported the story. the epilogue is pure fluff and smut, so for the readers who don’t like spice, def skip it!! ily all!!

[shortypipatrick]

One of the things about Hans is that he's fucking lonely. His parents died when he was very young, and he's being raised by his 'uncle', who, in theory, is meant to give Rattay over to him when he's of age. In the games, he's 19 or 20 (?). And so he has no family, really, except Hanush and whatever staff is raising him. The people he spends time with are all trying to train him to be a better noble, a better politician, someone who will do what they want when he's the lord of Rattay. And anyone who isn't, isn't around for him; they're there for Hanush. And even though Hans is a noble, he has no real claim - it belongs to Hanush - and on top of that, he's very young, and a little hot-headed - and immature, admittedly - so they just don't respect him. At all. It's made very clear at different points in both games; he's at the table because he's a noble, but no one thinks he's earned more respect than that.

And then the commoners he spends time around pretend. They pretend to like him, pretend to respect him, pretend, pretend. Because he is a noble, because he does have power over them, because if they don't, they could be in very real trouble. So they laugh at his jokes, listen to his stories, play dice with him and lose at practice duels.

And as soon as he's gone, they whisper about how bad he would be as a leader, how they don't want Hanush to hand over Rattay, how hes immature and childish and snobby and annoying....

And then, this orphan from Skalitz shows up, half dead after running for his life and being saved at great danger to some great knights, and he has the AUDACITY to ask Sir Radzig to be his squire.

And then Hans hates him - and Henry hates Hans. And they argue. And they duel with swords, they compete at archery, they get in a brawl at the tavern when Hans wants to ignore the rules, but Henry doesn't think he should be allowed to. And Hanush punishes them both by making them go hunting.

And Henry doesn't laugh just because Hans told a joke - he doesn't respect him just because he should. He argues, insults him, makes jokes at his expense, and then, even after all that, he saves his life

And they carry on like that. And Hans grows fonder and fonder of this boy from Skalitz who isn't afraid of him, who actually, truly does respect him, but doesn't kiss his ass just because he's supposed to. And he isn't Lonely, anymore. And that's huge for him. And I think it's a big part of why he fell so hard for a village yokel.

Theres also a lot of times where someone is just plain disrespectful to Hans - ignoring his ideas or just whatever he said or telling him it's bad or ETC, ETC - and Henry can step in and stand up for him. It's another one of those things that I imagine no one else ever did for him. His only family was Hanush, and he's plainly more concerned with Hans figuring out how to act appropriately in court than he is with listening to his ideas or whatever

And Henry gets SO mad and fuckin fights with him at the start of KCD2, and for a while, Hans is so mad that he called him out, told him he's a spoilt brat and a fool, and then, when he sees Henry again, he keeps up his stupid act until Henry is in trouble, and he's there immediately to back him up, at the cost of his own freedom and almost his life. Because Henry is his friend, and he cares for him very deeply.

(And also! After their fight, he's all "fuck off, I don't want to see you, I'll figure it out on my own," but if you find him out poaching, he'll still say "I'm trying to get money so WE can get into the wedding")

And also the whole time he's agnozing that he might actually lose Henry because of his behavior - he admits as much to Henry, which is not easy for him at all. And Henry reassures him he does care about him, and gives "his word as a blacksmith" that he won't leave his side.

Henry is something he's never had. He's honest, and he cares about Hans. He doesn't serve him platitudes or try to make him pleased because he should. He's unafraid to argue when Hans is wrong, or call him out on stupid ideas. But, even so, he'll argue to defend Hans against people he has no business arguing with, and he'll risk his life again and again to save him.

And Henry doesn't need great romance poems or epic stories; he just needs his honesty. When he tells Hans he cares, he doesn't make a big show, he just says it, every time. "I care about you, maybe more than you know." And how often has Hans had that?

Looking at all of it through the lens of Hans, how he was raised, how lonely he must have been. He needed Henry as much as Henry needed him. Their love is so wonderful, and it makes so much sense. I do hope the beautiful folks at Warhorse are unafraid to make it a bigger part of the next game.

[adieutristana]

Could you do headcanons about jinx x polar opposite Reader for example who is cheerful, optimistic, positive, calm and just lightness?

of course! thank you for the request <3

summary; headcanons of jinx with a girlfriend who is her polar opposite.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, slight hurt/comfort, mentions of poor mental health

men dni.

✧.* i think jinx would definitely be surprised at first, and depending on different traits she'd feel different ways- though she'd grow to love all of them.

✧.* when it comes to your cheerfulness, jinx finds it refreshing. she's cheerful and kooky in her own way (when she's in a good state of mind), and finding someone who shares that with her is a welcome surprise! especially in zaun with the company she keeps, she isn't at all used to this.

✧.* though optimism is a bit different, because she hasn't had that in years, probably not since before she was taken in by silco as a child. she's a jinx after all, everyone who gets close to her dies, she's weak. that's what she thinks, but you're constantly reassuring her that things will be okay. and even if they aren't, things have a way of working themselves out.

✧.* "none of those things you think about yourself are true, okay?" your tone is firm, and as much as jinx wants to argue, she knows there's no getting through to you like this. "...if you say so," she mutters.

✧.* "hey, it's alright," you murmur. jinx has just barely missed a task in a job, and to say she's pissed is an understatement. "will it, though?" she bites, though her tone doesn't deter you from placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "it will be. you can try again, and you'll get it this time! i know you will."

✧.* your positivity is a bit alarming to her, but i think she'd grow to love it. again, it isn't common in zaun- but to have a constant warm presence by her side is reassuring, the fact you're so cheerful and calm does eventually rub off on her. it's bound to, the way you're constantly kissing her cheeks with a wide smile, your laughter becomes her favorite sound, and you talk about your own life with such a positive cadence.

✧.* jinx also finds comfort and safety in you. her mind is a scary place after all, but you always seem to know exactly what to say to get her back on her feet. and even on the odd occasion you don't, you're there to scoop her into your arms and whisper soft reassurances to her. "shh, you're alright," you murmur, your voice nothing short of sweet and loving while you press soft kisses to her temple. "just focus on me, okay? i'm not going anywhere."

✧.* she lovingly refers to you as the 'light of her life' because to jinx, that's exactly what you are. a constant ray of sunshine, shining on her and making her glow like she never has before. you've changed her, that much is clear.

✧.* she finds your cheerfulness adorable after a while of being with you, she loves seeing your wide smile and bright eyes. loves the way you get excited over the smallest things, like seeing a cute cat on the street or hearing your favorite song on the radio.

✧.* "baby, baby, look! isn't he cute?" you'd fawn, immediately running to crouch beside a stray. "that thing might have a disease, you know," she'd chuckle, though there's no malice in her tone. "i'm sure he doesn't. he's just so adorable!"

✧.* one of her favorite things to do is pepper kisses all over your face until you're laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. your laughter is one of jinx's favorite sounds in the world, next to your sweet voice.

✧.* "jinx, stoooop! that- ah! that tickles!" a kiss to your cheek, then another tip of your nose. "can't," she chuckles, pressing another kiss your forehead. "you're too cute like this, you know?"

✧.* although it doesn't take much to make you happy, jinx will still go out of her way to try and put a smile on your face. she cares, and hates the thought of anything ever upsetting you- so expect constant gifts, bouts of affection, and silly gestures in an attempt to bring some joy to your life. it works every time, without fail.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Moon River 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: your husband is a mischievous man.

Note: this kinda just came together.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You race ahead in excitement. The turtles float lazily behind the tank wall but you crash into another before you can get far. You stop short and pout. You turn to face Loki as he struts through a gaggle of children and to you.

"I told you to wait for me," he girds.

"The turtles," you say.

"Yes, they will be there still if it takes us some time," he tuts.

"Hmph," you cross your arms.

He mimics you with an arch in his brow.

"You're not supposed to use your fairy dust on me."

"Magick and it was only for your safety," he assures you.

You stick your tongue out and reach up to scratch your head. As your hair slowly regrows, your scalp feels all too exposed. Your husband watches your nails graze through the short strands.

"You didn't wear a hat."

"I don't mind."

"I don't mean for vanity. It's sunny out." He girds.

"I'll survive. Gosh, you make the world seem so dire."

"Forgive me. I find my fears hard to let go of when they have come so close," he takes your hand.

"I'm fine. I'm in remission. The doctor said."

"Yes, I know what your mortal medicine woman said. What does she know?"

"Lulu," you chide. "Sometimes, I don't think it's the doctor and the neighbour and the barista you don't trust. I think it might be me."

"On the contrary, I've never trusted any but you," he assures. "It is why I am weak, darling. Thinking of life without you. Well... I'd never have found this place and had the pleasure of inhaling the smell of fish waste."

"Oh, you always see the bright side of things," you tease and swing his arm as you continue towards the turtles.

"You are the bright side," he insists.

"Loki Odinson, aren't you a soft little puppy," you chirp.

He tugs you to a halt in front of the turtle tank. He brings you to face him as his eyes flicker. He smirks. "You know I am no puppy."

"My baby boy," you speak to him in your dog voice. "Aren't you so sweet?"

"I've proven myself otherwise, haven't I? Not very long ago in the shower--"

"Yes, naughty puppy," you giggle and turn to the turtles. "But that will still be there when we get to it. Right now, turtles."

He sighs and turns so his sole squeaks. He leans over and rests his hand on your lower back. "And I'll still be as I am. Ready for you, darling." He whispers.

🐍

You haven't had a bad day in a very long time. Not like this. You're still in bed as Loki wakes up. You can hear him go downstairs and make his tea.

You don't even get up to join him. You usually have a smoothie but you just don't have the energy. He comes to check on you, startling you from a half-sleep with a hand on your shoulder.

"Darling," he sits behind you and rubs your arm. "What is the matter? It's a nice day. I thought you wished to go to the park and see the birds again."

You groan. "I'm just... tired."

"Do you ever sound it." He drawls. "I did keep you up rather late."

"Mm," you hum dully. You barely remember last night. You just feel weak.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," you babble.

"Perhaps a few more minutes," he suggests.

"Maybe," you whisper.

Your eyes close on their own and you drift off. When you wake again, Loki has you on your back. He rubs your chest as he calls your name.

"There you are," he says as he holds a bright green shape in his hand. It's the elixir. "You missed a dose."

You look at the bottle. "Yesterday. I forgot. I'm sorry."

"What about today?"

"I haven't got up--"

"So you should take it," he says as uncaps it. "It will help."

You nod. He leans over you and hooks one arm beneath you. He pulls you to sit up against the headboard.

"A bit extra today then to make up for yesterday," he slithers.

He puts the bottle to your lower lip and you let him pour it in. It spreads over your tongue and trickles down your throat. You swallow and sigh.

"And your smoothie? I made your favourite. Blueberry pie."

He puts the bottle on the night table and grabs the tall glass of purple. You smile and accept it, keeping it over your lap as you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. The elixir takes a moment to settle.

"Lulu," you say.

"Yes, precious," he rubs your thigh.

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

You glance over, "the green stuff."

"I told you, an elixir." You puff out and look at him sharply. He squints. "Oh, I do hate when you look at me like that."

"An elixir? But what is the elixir made of?"

He takes a breath and tilts his head. "It's not important. I've told you what it does."

"I can feel what it does. But the doctor said my cancer is gone so..."

"It is an Asgardian brew. If I tell you the ingredients, you wouldn't understand. What it does is offer vitality." He explains. "The doctor also said that with your rebound that you will take time to feel yourself again. I didn't want you to wait so that's what the elixir is."

"Oh," you sniff. "I guess that makes sense."

"Aren't you gladdened to be here? To be alive? With me? You shouldn't worry so much about my fairy serum," he scoffs.

He's being dismissive. Yes, you tease him about the fairy stuff but he only copies that when he's mocking you.

"Of course I'm happy," you say..

"And are you feeling better?" He asks.

"A little," you lean back and drink the smoothie through the straw. You make a face. "You didn't add honey like I like."

He smirks, "well, darling, forgive me, I forgot to fetch some from the market. We are all out."

You make a face. "Well, now I am not so happy."

"Oh, no," he takes the glass from you gently. "Be assured, there is more than honey I have to offer."

He puts the glass on the night table and gets up on his knees. He pulls you down by your hips and straddles you on the mattress. You screech in surprise and giggle.

"Lulu!"

"Yes, darling, say it louder," he covers your body with his. "Forgive my forgetting. You know I could hardly need for honey with something so sweet as you at home."

[maxdibert]

your essay about Snape and classism made me think of the implications behind the Weasleys being the definition of poor in the magical society, according to the books.

They're pureblood, think less about muggles and they never speak about their only muggle relative, yet they don't seem to fit with the aristocrats because they're "blood traitors"?? What does that mean?

Despite being poor, the father and breadwinner for the family works at the Ministry, and Percy joins him later in a higher rank. Meanwhile, the eldest brother works on a bank (THE bank? is there any other banks that isn't Gringotts?) and we have no clue about how people see dragon breeding as a job.

I don't know where I was trying to get to, the Weasley's place in society confuses me. Any idea?

This is a very European dynamic that happens in most countries that still have monarchies or a strong aristocratic elite and a tradition of class systems based on nobility: the figure of the poor aristocrat. In Spain, for example, there is the figure of the hidalgo, which is the aristocrat with a title but without property or land, perhaps even poorer than a bourgeois, but still maintaining their aristocratic status. And this figure exists in other countries too; in fact, it's quite common in popular culture.

The problem with this is that many people (especially from the United States, obviously) think that in old Europe, class is defined by money. But that's not necessarily true, because an aristocrat will always be socially above —even for other aristocrats— regardless of being poor or a "class traitor," as opposed to a bourgeois without a family name. And this is something that is very well reflected in the fact that even Slytherins consider Ginny a "catch." The pureblood Slytherins don’t consider Ginny a catch just because she’s pretty, but because even though she’s poor and a “traitor,” she is still pureblood. She still has “aristocratic” ancestry and comes from the same roots as them. A pureblood would choose a “traitor”—as much of a traitor as she may be—a hundred thousand times over someone who can’t help continue the bloodline. This is pure traditional European aristocratic mentality.

So yes, the Weasleys may be traitors and perhaps not as wealthy as the Malfoys, but the Weasleys are still far above any other wizard in the magical society because of their blood status. Because in an aristocratic society, economic capital is not enough to match social capital: you need both. Lucius is above Arthur because he has both social and economic capital. But Arthur is still above any Muggle-born or half-blood wizard who might have as much or more money than Lucius. Does that make sense? Because despite the hatred and contempt Lucius has for Arthur, he would still be willing to save Arthur twenty thousand times before saving any half-blood or Muggle-born, no matter how wealthy they might be, because Arthur can help preserve the bloodline, and the others can’t. And this is something those of us who grew up in societies deeply affected by these value systems understand quite well.

There’s also the fact that Rowling has never truly grasped what poverty is. For Rowling, being poor means not being as privileged as the most privileged. She doesn’t know what it’s really like to be poor or to suffer from true poverty. The Weasleys always had a hot meal on the table, they could dress themselves, and they could buy things for their children and even spend lottery winnings on a family vacation. A truly poor family could never afford the luxury of spending lottery winnings on a trip, they literally need it to avoid starving. The Weasleys are poor from a privileged perspective, but they are not poor from a class perspective, nor are they truly poor from a sociological standpoint. And even less so considering the author of the books is British.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

WOOIN'S LOVE LANGUAGES (srs relationship edition)

➷QUALITY TIME

Wooin isn't a guy to waste his free time on someone who doesn't matter nor mean anything in his life. So when he spends time with you doing nothing special but just listening to you yapping about your day or him being the one yapping about whatever he wants or maybe him playing video games in his phone while you're cuddled up to him and watching, it could only mean one thing.

Honestly, he likes having you around even if you two aren't doing anything. Maybe just hanging out at the park, or maybe he would come over at your house just because, you two minding your own businesses but enjoying each other's presence at the same time - these are common in your relationship with him.

But of course he likes chatting with you in those moments too or when you're painting his nails for example, he might even agree on doing skincare with you, or just eat with you while you two are watching a movie. He loves doing anything fun with you.

Quality time would be his way of comforting too tbh. Like have you seen how he left the house, went to meet up with Joker just to listen to Joker's depressive rants? Yeah, he would show up for you like that too. He's better at giving advice than offering comfort words though..

And my god, taking you on dates? He sure loves that. Whether it's the restaurants, cafes, aquariums or absolutely whatever you and he wants. I think his fav would be amusement parks especially if you two are sitting at those scary rides haha.

Wooin hates solitude so he tries to be with his friends or you as much as he can! Pls make sure this silly people traumatizer won't get lonely(*´▽｀)ﾉﾉ oh oh! He would take you to meet his friends btw (Sabbath ofc)!

➷PHYSICAL TOUCH

Now listen, he does like physical touch. Throwing his arm around your shoulders, holding your hand, maybe waist too - he ain't shy, you know.

But it's not his main love language. He doesn't truly express what he feels by touches alone. He thinks of physical touch as...intimacy, rather than a way to show you something. He likes teasing you with it though, maybe grabbing you by ur waist and observing how flustered you get.

I think he likes when you trace his tattoos with your finger. Sometimes it even makes him shiver but not in the bad way.

He likes kisses too, especially unexpected ones. I think he'd be the type of guy who would grab your chin and kiss you like that, or when you're least expecting it and he just leans it and plants a kiss. Don't blame him, he can't get over catching people off guard.

He'd throw his arm around your shoulders or hold your waist whenever he'd get jealous or competitive, especially in the bars. He's not truly expressive with physical touch but these times? Oh he's definitely giving the message.

As I said, he likes spending time with people he holds dear to his heart. So he definitely wouldn't mind physical touch, no. This guy is a tease and knows how and where he should place his hand, he knows where you love it. On your thigh? He's squishing it. Your waist? His hand is already there. Maybe your hand if you're romantic one and he would have his fingers Intertwined with yours.

But honestly, his love languages depend on his mood. If he's in the good mood then he would be more touchy, would spend time with you more productively, would buy you more things, would just do more in general yk. If he's in the bad mood, I can see him still being physical but he'd mostly keep himself from being overly touchy. He won't mind if you'll hold his hand or maybe much more physical activities.

I don't think I need to talk about what happens in bed, even though things get very physical there :;(∩´﹏`∩);: but I'm sure people have an idea what he would be like and whether he likes these type of physical activities or not (he does).

➷ACTS OF SERVICE

Again, depends on his mood╥﹏╥ but I feel like acts of service would be his love language. I mentioned that he's most likely to offer you advice instead of comfort words and looking at how he's usually the one helping out his crew members, giving them advice and basically being their mom, that could reach his relationship too. So yes, you can safely expect act of service from him.

He's definitely the type to walk you home or give you a ride. I mean, why else does he have that cool ass car, hm? Especially at night, I don't think you'd get to walk to ur house urself cuz he would give you a ride or walk you home.

When you get wasted at clubs, again he would be the one to take you home but also take care of you like giving you painkillers, holding ur hair if you throw up. He'd kinda scold you for drinking so much（┬┬＿┬┬）

If you're shy or anxious, he'd be the one ordering food from waitress/waiter and do all the talking in general.

Pulls you behind him when situation is getting serious, like if some guy suddenly overly aggressive and is about to fight, you're definitely staying behind him and protected.

I feel like, if you are new to cycling and all, he'd check if yoir helmet is tied correctly because, you know, it's dangerous to ride when your helmet isn't tied correctly.

Holds your drinks, bags and all if he notices you're struggling. Or just silently take shopping bags from you even if you don't struggle.

Oh and he's always the one that pays! I don't think he would believe in "50/50" or that girl has to pay. Not like you will but hey, at least he willingly pays for anything! Doesn't mean he won't complain if you buy too much or something genuinely stupid like Hyuk's furry rabbit costume.

Feel like at some point he would track ur menstruation cycle😭he has to make it easier for him if you two are living together(*´▽`)ﾉ

➷GIFT GIVING

On daily days, the gifts you're getting from him are lollipops. Be thankful if he gives you spare one instead of his own to share indirect kiss or whatever his moody ass tells him.

He's definitely not the type to buy you bouquets of flowers, chocolates and YSL heels every day, in fact that's rare for Wooin, heck he might not really do it. If you want them, then sure.

I feel like he'd buy you something that you could match him with. Matching color outfits? Hell yeah!! Matching bracelets? Sure if you wanna.

Does buying you pads count as gift giving or act of service?🥲

I think most of the stuff he would gift you would be customized because he seems to like customized stuff. (His bike, his glasses??)

And hell yeah all ur clothes would be expensive thanks to him. Gucci? Valentino? YSL? Chrome Hearts? Say less( ͡°з ͡°)

But he's not that booktok rich typa guy that spoils his wife cuz she's breathing. Wooin ain't like that. Gifts from him are definitely not daily, they can be random but mostly on important dates.

Words of affirmation? What's that? Forget that cuz that's definitely not in this list, not for Wooin Yoo.

[atwhughesversion]

jim rutherford’s world tour, continued 😐

summary of rutherford’s appearance on Canucks Central today; it’ll be available to listen to on the Sportsnet 650 website as well as podcast platforms shortly for those who didn’t hear it live!

on offence:

thinks they’d have had more offence last year if they shot more lol — “and for some reason the players wanted to pass the puck when scoring chances were there”

thinks offence can come from structure, and thinks it’s better than the teams who can get burned by cheating for offensive chances

on quinn/adam foote:

players don’t want to help choose coaches — rutherford had a really good conversation with quinn the day tocchet decided to leave then he asked quinn if he had any suggestions, and quinn said he trusted management would make the right decision/his job is to play

quinn was excited to hear that foote would be the head coach

they’ll do everything they can to keep quinn

“it’s common sense” (in reference to his comment abt quinn to new jersey) 💀

“i know [quinn] likes it here; he’s been a canuck since he turned pro…we have lots of time to figure this out”

on improving the roster:

with the parity in the league, only takes one or two of the right players to rise in the standings

“just getting chytil and pettersson back in the lineup is going to make a difference” (in reference to their injuries at the end of the season)

open to all options to make this team better

they already get calls about their defence in regard to trades because teams are aware of their depth — it’s an area where they could possibly move a player to improve their forward group

on petey:

preparation biggest thing for petey

says petey didn’t have a good offseason; admits that he had a couple of physical issues (but somehow makes it sound as if those were all meaningless reasons and it’s all petey’s fault.)

he was working hard for the 7-10 days he stayed in van which was good to see

rutherford feels petey’s injuries are behind him so shouldn’t be an issue, and if he has a good offseason there’s no doubt he’ll bounce back

strained relationship this season with miller was difficult on petey — “it appears that it just wore him down and he wasn’t strong enough to get through it this season” (hey jim i’m blowing you up with my mind)

on getting new players/attracting them to van:

“everybody should feel honoured to play in a canadian market and a market like vancouver”

would prefer to improve roster via free agency but top UFA players are limited and most teams have cap space, and because a trade is something they can control that’s the most likely avenue

going to be in the free agent market if they still have cap space, but they might be done before that if they’ve already made trades

started talking abt states with low taxes, but there are ways around the higher taxes lmao

says that sometimes when they trade players, they realize months later how much they like it here and wish they could have worked out

final pieces:

when asked abt confidence they can bounce back he says the 2 big issues last year were dressing room chemistry and key injuries; says the first is something he’s confident they can overcome but can’t guarantee the second obviously

when asked about how he thinks he’d review the 4 years he’s been here, rutherford says he wishes he’d done a better job by this point and thought the team would be in a stronger position, but it was a big setback “when we had the two players who couldn’t figure out how to get along” (ok girl it’s time to be quiet)

[abigailovesz]

CHAPTER 2 STONE HEARTS

pairing: jj maybank x lara croft!reader

summary: stranded together, you and jj begin to peel back your emotions beside a jungle campfire. through quiet confessions and sharp banter, you both begin to trust each other and In the darkness of the island, you realize you may have more in common than they ever expected.

warnings: references to childhood abuse and domestic violence, implied parental neglect and emotional trauma, brief mentions of wounds and blood.

chapters. recent chapter next chapter

night didn't fall gently on the island - it dropped like a shroud.

the fire snapped in the breeze, smoke curling upward like spirits released from the day. crickets chirped like clockwork, a low, steady song that filled the silence between two people who had never meant to find each other.

jj lay on his back, arm folded beneath his head, eyes tracing the stars above the canopy. he was shirtless now, his soaked flannel discarded and drying over a crate. his shoulder was still sore, and the scrape across his ribs burned every time he moved. but he didn’t complain.

not once.

you sat a few feet away, legs crossed, a weathered leather journal open in your lap. you hadn't written anything in it for a while - just stared at the blank page like it owed you answers.

jj turned his head slightly. “so…you always this chatty, or is it just me that makes you want to eat your own words?”

you didn’t look up. “I find silence underrated.”

“yeah?” jj chuckled softly. “where I’m from, silence means trouble. means someone’s bout' to get hit, or someone’s already been hurt.”

that made you pause. you glanced over at him, eyes catching firelight. “where are you from?”

jj shrugged. “outer banks. north Carolina. we’ve got more sand than stability. and bout' as much money as trust.”

you closed the journal slowly.

“your wounds,” you said after a moment, voice softening. “they didn’t all come from the wreck.”

jj was quiet for a long time. the fire crackled between you two.

“no,” he said finally. “some of them came long before that. some of ‘em still bleed, you just can’t see it.”

your eyes lingered on his face. for all his swagger and crooked charm, he looked too young to be so haunted. And yet so familiar. “you said you were looking for a relic,” you said, shifting the subject only slightly. “what exactly do you think you’re going to find?”

jj sat up, brushing his fingers through the dirt. “closure,” he said with a crooked smile. “money. answers. I don’t know - take your pick. i just know I can’t go back to my old life empty-handed.”

you studied him. “you think a treasure will fix what’s broken?”

he met your gaze, and for once, there was no joke on the tip of his tongue. “no. but it might make the bleeding feel worth it.”

silence. but now it pulsed with understanding.

you closed her journal fully and continued speaking. “my father was obsessed with relics,” you said quietly. “he thought if he could uncover enough truth, it would somehow bring back what he lost. his work cost him everything - his name, his sanity, his life.”

jj didn’t speak. just listened, which felt new to you - most people couldn’t stand the weight of your words. “I hated him for a long time,” you continued. “for choosing history over me. for leaving me to piece together the ruins he left behind. but sometimes I wonder if I’ve become just like him.”

jj leaned forward, voice gentler now. “you think chasing ghosts makes you like him?”

“I think chasing ghosts is the only thing that keeps me from becoming one,” you admitted.

your eyes met and neither looked away.

jj reached for a stick and poked at the fire, breaking the heaviness with his usual tilt of a grin. “damn. that was poetic. I should write that down. get it tattooed.”

you smirked - just barely. “you’d need a lot of skin for all the 'poetry' in my head.”

jj chuckled, then winced as his ribs pulled. your smirk faded as you noticed. “lie back,” you said, standing. “lemme take a look.” jj raised a brow. “you sweet-talkin’ me, croft?”

"eh, you wish."

you knelt beside him and pulled back the bandage you’d haphazardly wrapped earlier. your touch was brisk but careful, fingers calloused but steady. jj sucked in a breath.

“you always patch up boys you find on beaches?” he asked, only half teasing.

“only the ones that dont fuckin' whine when they’re in pain,” you replied dryly.

jj laughed, then hissed again. you poured a bit of antiseptic on a rag and dabbed at the scrape. “You’ve got a high pain tolerance,” you noted.

“had to,” he said, staring at the canopy, then whispered. “when your old man teaches you that flinching just makes it worse, you learn to stop reacting.”

the words slipped out way too fast and you stilled.

jj closed his eyes. “sorry. that was…too much.”

you didn’t respond right away. continuing the work on his scars you spoke softly. “no. It wasn’t.” you finished wrapping him in silence, fingers moving with practiced grace. when you were done, you sat back, looking at him not as a threat or a liability - but as someone who had made it out of the wreckage. not just of the sea.

but of life.

LATER, JJ lay in the dim glow of the fire while you sat nearby cleaning your gun. the jungle whispered around you two. somewhere in the distance, a bird let out a low, mournful cry.

jj turned his head toward you and spoke. “hey, croft?”

you glanced at him.

“you ever..think about stopping? like, for good? just laying it all down?”

you paused, fingers frozen over the disassembled slide.

“every day,” you said, almost too quiet for jj to clearly hear. “and then I remember all the people who didn’t get the chance.”

jj nodded. “yeah.”

he let the silence stretch.

then he repeated. “croft?”

“yes?”

“I’m glad ya found me.”

you looked over at him - truly looked - and this time, your voice wasn't hesitant or a whisper. “me too.”

taglist ! - @maybejj - @delayeddrabbles - @kittykatinc - @hotvampdragon -

[dark-elf-writes]

Wen Ning would be full down to move to whatever world Wei Wuxian is in no matter what, me thinks

Luo Binghe and Shen Jiu hate basically everyone from MDZS on principle the only exceptions being Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui

Lan Wangji…

God, Lan Wangji…

But everything coming to light. Nie Huaisang’s revenge happening in a way he never expected. Just. Everything

Tianlan-Jun definitely figured out what was happening in Wei Wuxian’s original world and immediately brought them all back and stole Shang Qinghua’s melon seeds for the show because this is the most drama he has seen in years.

So if it goes the portal closes route I think Wen Ning might choose to stay in his original world for Shizui sine he’s the last of his family but he has also been through just as much as Wei Wuxian has so staying is very tempting. Particularly staying in a world where his friend is happy.

Luo Binghe and Shen Jiu have found common enemy and that enemy is Jiang Cheng. They don’t care that it’s complicated. They don’t care that Wei Wuxian still sees him as a brother. They hate his ass. To be fair they hate basically everyone but with him it is far more personal because he is one of three people that can actually hurt Wei Wuxian emotionally and he chooses to do so constantly.

God Wangji. Poor Wangji. Seeing Wei Wuxian alive only to immediately learn that he is married to someone else has got to be a body blow, but also…

Wei Wuxian is alive, and I think that would matter to him far more than anything else.

Nie Huaisang is fucking THRILLED. Wei-Xiong is alive, the Jin’s are exposed, his brother gets justice, and he didn’t have to do much of anything other than to leave certain scraps of information out for a weird man that practically bled power.

[dhruvkumaar]

Does reading nonfiction help fiction writers?

It’s the question that’s been worrying me for some time. I mean, we all know reading other author’s fiction helps you a lot in writing your own story. But, if you write fiction, does reading nonfiction help too?

I recently began university around a year ago. And firstly, I just checked my grades and I’m not doing well. Secondly, I’ve been reading a lot because of it. Y’know, those political science, history, philosophy, cultural studies stuff. A lot of nonfiction. And, because of that, I’ve been reading less and less of fiction too.

Now, as an author myself, that kinda worried me. I’m not worried anymore because the semester’s over and I’m back to reading fiction again, lol, but it led to a question: they say writers should read a lot. They never mentioned what they should read. So, does all this random nonfiction that I’m reading counts? Or it doesn't? Why does it not count?

And so, guys, welcome to another one of my yapping sessions.

***

#01. Elements of Theme and Style

First, let me reiterate the main elements of storytelling here. Because, obviously, nonfiction can't help you with every part of storytelling, but still, there’s some stuff I feel it can actually help you more than fiction ever does.

Anyway, these are the main elements: theme, plotline, character, setting, and style. That’s it. That’s all. That’s everything your story is made up of.

Now, plotline, character, and setting are obviously unique to fiction. Actually, if you study nonfiction and style a little deeper, you’d understand that everything in language is plotline and character, but let’s not get into all those details, because it means we’re severely disrupting the sense of what these words conventionally mean to us right now.

So, what’s left with us are theme and style. Now, you might ask: what’s theme and style?

Theme is the underlying foundation of your story. It’s the issues your story is trying to tackle, or even the message it’s conveying. Honesty is the best policy, betrayal, good wins against evil, racial injustice—all that stuff. For example, Metamorphosis is absurdist, and stands on the themes of alienation, family dynamics, and stuff like that. Mainly alienation, though. Kafka is trying to give out a message too: you’re just as good as you’re earning and providing something to somebody. All relationships—at least in Gregor Samsa’s case—are transactional. Once you can't give that anymore, you turn into an insect.

Damn, that’s such a good reading of the novel, I realized. I’m so damn smart—y’know, I just thought of it! Lol, sorry.

Let’s come to the other element: style. It’s the way you write. As simple as that. Style includes your vocabulary, tone, but also some common habits, such as how detailed your scene-descriptions are. Style is basically how you tell the story. How you design those words on paper, y’know.

For example, look at this blog itself. I use the word lol a lot. Also, I use a lot of commas, em-dashes, colons, and a lot of unnecessary phrases in the middle. I joke around, but I still sound a little informative. That’s my style.

Every writer pens the same story differently, and that’s what makes it their own. After all, Shakespeare never wrote his own plotlines. Romeo and Juilet was inspired by earlier Italian tales, Hamlet is a retelling of the legend of Amleth—and I can see a lot more on Google right now, but I won’t list them all here because that’d be boring. But yeah, Shakespeare never came up with a story of his own.

Yet, he’s often regarded as the greatest author of the English language.

Why do you think people love him so much? His plotlines? No. It’s his style. His poetic grasp on the plays left his audiences baffled. His words were strong enough to hold people’s attention—and make them feel emotions. Simply through words.

Yeah, he was white. And he probably never existed. But let’s ignore all that, lol. Lemme make my point.

What I’m trying to say is: style is important for your story. Damn, I wrote a hundred-plus words just to explain this?!

***

#02. Nonfiction is storytelling

Most of nonfiction is storytelling too, in a way. You’d often find that in essays and articles, the authors often tell a little story connected to the message they’re giving. But even if there’s no apparent story as we know it, there’re still characters and a plotline—of events, of ideas, or simply of contexts.

I told you I won’t go deeper, but I think I need to. Look at this blog. There’s no story, except when I told you I’m failing university. (which is true, by the way—my GPA is three. three-point-zero. and im NOT happy…)

Anyway, look at this blog. It has characters. Both theme and style are characters of the sentence. All sentences need characters. In fact, in the last sentence, the word sentence acted as a character too, with the verb need being, well, the action that the character sentence does. Yeah, language is a lot complex than we initially think it is.

Anyway, we don't give a damn about that characters. As fiction authors, we talk about a living being when we talk of characters. And nonfiction might not have that all the time, but most nonfiction does.

Nonfiction is a form of storytelling—it just tells a different story. And in a different manner. So, the style is gonna be different, and, let’s say, less novel-like. But there are stories.

Language itself is storytelling. Like I said, all sentences need characters—the subject—and actions—the verb. And when a character acts, that’s plotline. Without it, there’s no language. There’s no thought, even.

Yeah, even political ideologies are characters. Every object is a character. Lol, everything is character.

Now I kinda sound like a mad scientist who’s going on a random monologue before the climax hits.

***

#03. Climax: The part where I console myself for reading less

So yeah, nonfiction has theme. And style. It shares both the elements with fiction.

Also, these elements appear the same in both forms. Like I told you about how the character changes with form, theme and style apparently doesn't.

In a nonfiction, look at how they use their words. Nonfiction evokes emotions too—notice how they do that. Notice how they appear interesting and keep you hooked. Observe their style.

Also, observe how they subtly try to tell you something—that’s theme. Understand theme. Understand characters and plotline, because even though the story is being told to you in a different manner that doesn't include action and thoughts, it’s still there. You might need this skill a little bit in fiction, too.

Prose is prose, guys. If somebody has written it, there’s definitely something you can learn from it—even if it’s bad enough to learn what not to do.

***

Conclusion

Stories are all around us these days, man. Everybody online is hyper-fixated on storytelling and how to use it to gain social-media traction, sell something, or simply just, y’know, entertain you. The corporate world has accepted it so much for a reason. Hate those corporate guys, though—I don't know why. I just hate a corporate lifestyle, but that’s just me, I guess.Anyway, just learn to notice the stories around you—in the events, newspapers, reels, YT videos, ads, essays, or anything else that you consume. And see how they make it work—or how they fail at it. That latter one helps too!

[quibbs126]

You know, it’s sad to me that Peach Blossom basically got nothing

He was only given one short scene in the story, and he only talks to one character, that being Dark Cacao. And most of their interaction was about Peach Blossom giving him food and directions, with whatever character work being pretty much Dark Cacao centric. And how he’s left, he’s probably not relevant enough to ever bring back in another update, he’s just a guy tending to a peach bao garden

I mean sure, other playable characters have been relegated to short cameos, like Blueberry Pie, but in Blueberry Pie’s case, she already has Ovenbreak, in which I believe she did have a small story, and she has relationship charts. She has a whole other game of context, and it’s similar with Peppermint (though I never finished Mermaid’s Tale so I don’t know all his scenes), but with Peach Blossom being a CRK original, he doesn’t have that luxury

He doesn’t even have interactions with anybody right now in game, which could be changed later and they hopefully give him someone else to talk to other than Dark Cacao, but as it stands he’s got nothing other than saying a Cake Hound bit him or that the thing on his head isn’t a peach

Heck, there are NPCs who have had more characterization in stories than him. Yes one of those is Smoked Cheese, but still

It’s almost like no wonder he just gets lumped in with Affogato despite being nothing like him other than more feminine appearances and being a new femboy, that’s the most characterization some people are willing to give him because there’s not much else to work with. I mean he does have a character, or at least things you can base one off of, but you generally have to look for them in his story description or some of his in-game lines, and I think most people aren’t gonna go out of their way to do that

[gifti3]

the goverment is definitely figuring out this alien situation asap right?? cause whats happening currently is not feasible in the long run is it not??

im sure they are trying to maybe figure it out...probably, but part of me feels like it is not being treated with the seriousness it should be by them, which ig is in character LOL

pretty much relying on one guy (who doesnt even wanna be doing this) is actually scary

and the mc still has to like 'encourage' him to do it, tho its much easier in the 'ray ending' for sure. that man just wants to live a regular life with mc (unfortunately for him that means continuing to be binary star and dealing with aliens)

and if i was a citizen and knew this id be panicking

like yea u have these other heroes helping and stuff which im sure looks comforting from an outside point of view! but like the actuality is that its ray keeping things afloat

AND ON THE TOPIC OF THE MC, i was definitely in my head like....wouldnt rays superiors (managers??) get like curious about them? like no way theyre not being nosy about it after a certain amount of time passes. it really feels like something that could be leveraged against him,,, (if there is fic about this pls send it to me lol)

honestly i feel like mc and rays relationship would have moments of high stress. like there will be good times but also the bad times will also be there and its sometimes gonna be because of outside factors they cant control

[koszmarnybudyn]

Little (mostly) Cecil doodle page, cause brain images are wierd.

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[itsmistyeyedbi]

Cliché as it may be, I want to make ocs that go about their day with really impractical hair.

An oc with an afro so big that it covers their eyes, an oc with locs or cornrows so long that they almost touch the ground, an oc with a hairstyle too elaborate to maintain for long - and they just exist Like That.

[lordkingsmith]

I wish you would write a fic where...

Just Dance/Power Rangers: Leanbow beats the every loving shit out of The Traveler. Or the aftermath~

Fic Name: Purple; Black; Blue; Colors of a Blooming Bruise

Fandoms: Just Dance, Power Rangers: Mystic Force

Characters: Koragg, Leanbow, Jack Rose, Udonna, Nick Russell, Wanderlust, The Traveler, Sara, Maddie Rocca

Pairings: Sara/Maddie Rocca, Nick Russell/Wanderlust, Leanbow/Udonna

Fic Rating: T

Fic Summary:

in the aftermath of prophesies, the mystic realm sees fit to properly open dimension doors between other realities once more. One of them being the Danciverses. Which had it stand to reason the two groups of chosen ones and friends would eventually meet, and eventually, parents of said chosen ones.

After a small incident with Wanderlust getting stuck in the Koragg suit but not possessed, Leanbow does a little digging. Fifteen minutes after finding out some history he’s challenging The Traveler to a duel. No magic no trickery, no weapons. Thirty minutes after that both of them are being given assistance for their injuries; but only Leanbow is being given sympathy.

excerpt;

Wanderlust’s eyes had gotten very wide as he tracked the a very angry mystic stalking across the impromptu arena. Nick nudged him. “You okay?”

“Your dad knows mine would have intervened with Koragg if I’d actually been in danger…right?” Nick snorted. He doubted it. “This isn’t about that it’s the conversation you two had.” He eyed him, almost concerned. “You…never had a choice? Ever?”

“Well-did you?” Wanderlust asked and Nick shrugged.

“I mean them telling me from the start or not was out of their hands. But I’m The Light. You don’t tell the sun to do its job right, it just does it. Basically how my birth parents view prophesies.” Wanderlust blinked again. This was obviously a foreign concept to him. He looked back at the fight. Currently both were evenly matched. “I’ve never had someone fight him on my behalf, before.” An arm circled his waist, drawing him to Nick in a half hug. “Stick around and you’re going to have it in spades.” Was promised, which made Wanderlust smile as Traveler took a sucker punch to the side of his neck.