#Jo gives terrible advice

[jolalibrary]

I have to ask (only if you're willing to talk about it), how do you cope with hate...? I got the feeling from your last answer and tags that this was not the first time. Do you have any tips on how to self-regulate? How do you stay so kind-hearted & compassionate?

The reason why i'm asking is that I'm relatively new here and dread the day I receive hate mail.

Much love to you, I adore the way you write and lift others❣️

- Fellow cancerian who doesn't want to grow too hard a shell

hello fellow 🦀 thank you for the compliment on my writing and lifting others (honestly, I just feel too much and I have to thrust it on people haha)

and honestly I don’t mind answering, I don’t really have like a hard and fast answer so I apologise for the ramble under the cut:

it depends on what is said. which I know is wildly unhelpful, but it’s the truth. the one today was like…. silly? to me anyway. it wasn’t necessary, it was just—oh let’s kick someone. and like, I’m not just saying this, but I laughed and I honestly was like, jesus you feeling okay anon, like damn.

but, I’m nothing but honest (where I can be) and there have been some that have fucking hurt. like I’ve cried my eyes out—which is a lot for saying this is fun, and a hobby.

in my corner though, I have great people. one of my friends is like my rock, and she allows me to send her the more crazy ones. and we sorta have this process of talking about it first before I make a decision about deleting/responding. for me, it helps drafting my feelings or talking them out, just so I can get rid of that ‘initial’ reaction. because sometimes I just wanna shout and tear someone a new one, but that means letting them get a rise outta me? y’know.

so once I’ve done that, we normally fall on the deleting side, because it’s important to me to create a space that I feel safe in, that I’m proud of, and that others know they can come into and also feel okay. you having a bad day and seeing that I’ve been kicked down isn’t going to do anything except us both feel poopy. so unless I can be sassy, let it roll off my back, I try now not to respond.

to return back to chirpy, annoyingly nice Jo 😏 I spend time with people i love: fandom, irl and who I live with. I may go on a walk with my dog. I may put my headphones on and blast music (celine dion power ballads hit different), and lastly, I’ll churn it into something writing wise.

writing is what helps me regulate all of my emotions. I feel so much, always have done, always will. but writing helps.

unfortunately, there’s always a chance I’ll get hate. because like irl, we don’t gel with everyone. which is why I wish people would just unfollow, block and move on, but i can't control that nor can i guarantee the former will happen. so I just try to create a space I’m happy to be in, like this overtly pink blog with all you lovely lot who follow me as I throw you in fandom after fandom.

lastly, my friend said this earlier and I’m going to quote her (she’s going to love this) “you literally get what you see with you” and she’s right. it’s not me staying so kind and compassionate, that’s just who I am (which sounds big headed, like omg I’m amazing) but I just care. and on the days where being “me” feels hard, that’s when I stay off here. because it means I need some me time to get back to a good place.

I am not sure if this was helpful, 🦀 anon (this is what I’m calling you, hope that’s okay). but my dm is always open, and so is my inbox.

pls try not to let fear stop you from sharing with the world, don’t give the prospective haters any chance to steal your shine 🩷

[sailorrhansol]

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn. 

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut 

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips. 

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.   

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.” 

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?” 

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.” 

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?” 

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match. 

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly. 

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him. 

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says. 

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.” 

Our thing. 

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there. 

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories. 

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn. 

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away. 

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place. 

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm. 

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.” 

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.” 

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?” 

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin. 

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.” 

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.” 

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care. 

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone. 

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.” 

“I mean if you’ve got a date.” 

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him. 

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe. 

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual. 

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so. 

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else. 

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.” 

“Shua is a good guy.” 

“Yeah. Yeah he is.” 

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying. 

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s. 

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years. 

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience. 

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home. 

Wanna start coming here after class? 

You did. And you had. 

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim. 

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words. 

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.” 

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?” 

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.” 

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.” 

-

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out. 

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.” 

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath. 

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?” 

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.” 

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.” 

“Isn’t that like… a movie?” 

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it. 

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?” 

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then. 

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you. 

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets. 

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back. 

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.” 

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?” 

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.” 

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.” 

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.” 

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.” 

“It’s that obvious?” 

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.” 

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend. 

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.” 

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it. 

The window of opportunity is gone. 

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different. 

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must. 

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him  groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and  give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place. 

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long. 

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress. 

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach. 

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him. 

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground. 

-

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod. 

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor. 

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner. 

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!” 

“Sure, Mom.” 

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink. 

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?” 

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.” 

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.” 

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.” 

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.” 

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room. 

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.” 

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to. 

-

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.” 

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs? 

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?” 

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back. 

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.” 

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.” 

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl. 

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!” 

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room. 

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet. 

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.”  For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.” 

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall. 

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute. 

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade. 

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence. 

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.” 

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.” 

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.” 

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know. 

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then. 

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.” 

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

-

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual. 

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky. 

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer. 

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.” 

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?” 

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.” 

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable. 

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for. 

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed. 

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.” 

“I’m here.” 

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” 

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie. 

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!” 

“For sure.” 

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame. 

-

Chan can’t do this. 

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all. 

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast. 

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment. 

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.” 

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.” 

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.” 

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.” 

“Understandable.” 

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people. 

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone. 

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call. 

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours. 

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart. 

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now. 

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has. 

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.” 

-

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person. 

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing. 

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except- 

“Chan?” 

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow. 

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?” 

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch. 

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” 

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?” 

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again. 

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.” 

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.” 

“I-” 

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe. 

“Oh, Bambi.” 

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will. 

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning. 

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time. 

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip. 

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes. 

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth. 

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.” 

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him. 

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years. 

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.” 

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Oh?” 

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.” 

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you. 

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.” 

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.” 

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take. 

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence. 

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him. 

“Kiss me,” you beg. 

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze. 

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again. 

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.” 

“Chan.” 

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.” 

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.” 

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.” 

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Maybe.” 

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple. 

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm. 

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast. 

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.” 

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.” 

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath. 

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan. 

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut. 

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking. 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.” 

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him. 

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving. 

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break. 

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently. 

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.” 

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.” 

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.” 

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.” 

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you. 

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly. 

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you. 

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. 

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?” 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.” 

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.” 

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?” 

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.” 

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?” 

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again. 

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?” 

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.” 

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.” 

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance. 

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.” 

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess. 

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier. 

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.” 

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?” 

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.” 

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?” 

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.” 

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible. 

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch. 

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?” 

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm. 

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles. 

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?” 

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?” 

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.” 

“Oui.” 

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.” 

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

-

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.” 

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower. 

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.” 

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you. 

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.” 

-

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[whenthegoldrays]

So I’m not sure if it was Greta Gerwig herself or a movie reviewer but I once read a criticism of the men in Little Women, saying that the March women’s husbands are all varying degrees of useless or disrespectful. Saying that John belittles Meg and her housework and that Friedrich has no respect for Jo’s work. And I have to say… what??

Meg and John are a great example of a healthy couple. Yes, he laughs when her jelly doesn’t turn out, but is he belittling her? No! He just finds it amusing because it is, at least to an observer. And he gets miffed that the house isn’t in order, but in fairness, she did say he could bring a friend whenever and dinner would be ready. They go through rough patches, but they always talk it out and keep on pulling as a team.

And the big one that everyone is mad about, Friedrich criticizing Jo’s writing. I think these people didn’t read the book because Fritz never reads Jo’s sensational stories. He finds a story in a newspaper — specifically stated to not be one of hers — and broadly criticizes that kind of story. This isn’t directed at Jo, it’s directed at writers of these stories in general (again, Friedrich doesn’t know Jo is one of them). But Jo takes his words to heart because he’s spoken to her conscience, and then she makes the decision to burn them all up and quit writing that genre of story. She listens to him because she knows him to have a strong moral compass, which is a big part of why she likes him so much. He helps her grow and become a better person and writer without having to give her direct advice!! And that’s beautiful!! And I’m sick of people who wanted Jo to stay single taking their disappointment and turning it into “all the husbands in Little Women were bad husbands and the second half is a commentary on how terrible it is to be married.” No. Stop it. Read the book. Cut it out with the cynicism.

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

✨a s n e a k p e e k ✨

“Harry, can I get a man's perspective on something?” you ask, turning to Harry next to you on the couch. You had begged Harry out of his room for a movie night as a ruse, but your nose had been buried deep in your phone the whole night. Re-reading and overanalyzing old text messages between you and the object of your anxiety.

You don’t often go to Harry for help with men, but his advice on other areas of your life is always sound, and you respect his opinion.

“If you’re asking me for help, he’s not worth your time.” He sighs, not looking away from the movie, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“I’m serious, I need your help.” you whine, tugging on his sleeve. He turns and looks at your dramatic pout, “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He huffs. “What is it?” 

“As a man, do you prefer texting or like a call? Or maybe FaceTime?”  

Harry barks out a laugh at the ridiculous question, before looking over at you, and realizing your dead serious. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tossing his head back against the couch. “I mean I’m more of a talker, and I like seeing who I’m talking to, so I prefer FaceTime. But I guess it depends on the girl and how long I’ve been talking to them. What our situation is, and stuff.  Which one of your boy toys are we talking about?” he asks. 

“Cameron.” you grimace.

Cameron is admittedly your least favorite of the boys on your roster, but your most tenured member. And the one Harry hates most. In the beginning you thought it could be something real. He was sweet and did a decent job at wooing you. That is until - in Harry’s eyes - he coerced you into a friends with benefits arrangement. Harry could tell that you liked him, and to see him treat you as terribly as he did, got Harry’s blood boiling. You deserved better, that much you both could understand. What Harry couldn't understand however was why you would even consider speaking to him again after the last time you were in contact.  

Instead of saying what he truly thought, or giving you a hard time, he just pinched the space between his brow with an exasperated sigh. 

“I know, I know,” you grumble.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?” 

“A while. But he reached out recently and - ” 

“I thought you were done with him.” he deadpans, eyes glued to yours. 

“I was, but we got coffee last week and he apologized.” 

“Coffee?” Harry groans in disgust at the low effort. He pauses the movie, and turns to you, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Go back in there,” he says pointing down the hallway towards your room. “Make yourself come, and forget about him. For your sake and mine.” 

“Harry!” you laugh, hitting him with a throw pillow.  

“You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.” he concedes with a chuckle, “You don’t even like him.” 

“I like him enough.” 

“He’s a terrible fuck.” 

“He…gets the job done.” you defend voice cracking. 

“Everytime he leaves, there's suddenly a consistent buzz coming from your bedroom.” He scoffs. You go to defend yourself with heat rising to your face. You stammer a bit but not quite getting words out before he continues, “I’m a grown man, I know what a vibrator sounds like.” He smirks, and you giggle covering your face. 

“Jesus.” you laugh, “Look, I’ve tried your way already…and it’s not doing the trick.” you pout, “So tell me, how pathetic would I be  if I were to reach out to him.”

“I don’t think you’d be pathetic, love.” he soothes 

“Then why are you so against me texting him?”  

Because you deserve better! Why can’t you see that? He thinks, These guys don’t deserve you. If I were them I’d - 

“Harry?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s in the glow of the television, and the small light on the side table that Harry is able to admire your adorable pout and curious eyes. He’s always had a little crush on you throughout the entirety of your friendship. One he knew you could feel and was reciprocated. There were a few drunken confessions of your attraction for one another that were joked about the following morning. Then there was the holiday kiss . One New Year for ‘good luck’. But there was also a promise. A pinky promise, to never risk the friendship you had. To keep things platonic.  It was a promise that was becoming more and more difficult for both of you to keep. 

When you two agreed to move in under the same roof for economic reasons, you knew it would be an adjustment, with both of you having been living on your own for years. But you were excited. Living alone could get lonely and overwhelming. So having your best friend of years, under the same roof and splitting responsibilities felt like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

But being in such close proximity meant that it was becoming harder to keep your promise. Especially when things just felt so domestic with the two of you. Cooking dinner together, movie nights, cuddling together on the couch. It was hard for both of you not to let your minds wander to a reality where you were more than just friends. 

But you were friends, and as long as that boundary was there, there was nothing stopping either of you from being young, wild and free. So there were parties, and one night stands, and situationships. All in an attempt to distract you both from the truth. Because no matter how pretty the girls were that Harry brought home, no matter how sweet and kind they were. The only face he saw when they were splayed out in his bed…was your. 

And after a very awkward Sunday morning breakfast with one of your one night stands meeting Harry, you stopped bringing guys home all together. Opting for spending weekends away. A change Harry didn’t like, and lectured you over. “It’s not safe. You don’t know these guys. At least if you bring them here, I’m here if you need me.” he’d argued. All that did was keep you from seeing anyone for a while.  Which is how you ended up even considering talking to Camreon again. 

“Look” Harry finally says, turning his body towards you, “if you’re that sexually frustrated I’ll… help you out.” 

You tilt your head, letting out a nervous giggle, waiting for his real response. But it never comes, he just…smirks at you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, heart beating against your ribs. “You’re serious.” Harry nods, biting his lip. The offer was…promising, and the way Harry looked at you was intriguing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.  That the last month or so things haven’t  felt different between you two, something less than romantic, but certainly more than platonic. It was messing with your head for sure. But you were friends. Regardless of how fit you thought he was, you didn’t have the right to blow up your over decade long friendship just because you were horny. You clear your throat blinking up at him, shaking your head,“Thanks for the offer, Har but -” 

“Yeah no…you’re right. It’s - dumb idea.” He stammers, “I do think you just need to let off some steam, and then you’ll forget about him.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He sees you deflate a bit at his words, and he realizes you didn’t expect  him to give up so easily. So he tries again a little more directly “And not to be that guy but I’ve been told I’m pretty talented, and if making you come keeps you from making a repeated mistake then I’ll take one for the team.” 

“Gee, thanks.” you scoff. 

“I just mean. You’re my friend, and I’m trying to be a helping hand.” he says sweetly before the smirk returns, “And tongue.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes. “And on a serious note, you’re too special of a woman to have to deal with mediocre sex from a guy that clearly - and I’m sorry to say - couldn’t give two shits about your Love. If you need to…get your rocks off, why not with someone you trust? With someone that actually cares about you?” Harry says sweetly. 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods, “And if we cross this line, it won't ruin our friendship.” 

“Cross my heart.” He says drawing an ‘x’ over his chest. 

“What about Taylor?” you ask, thinking of the pretty blonde that you’ve caught making breakfast in your kitchen a few times. You're trying to give him an out. But he doesn’t take it. 

“Out of the picture.” he smiles, “Has been for a while.” He admits, and before you get a chance to offer your condolences, he asks “So what do you say?”  

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” he smirks, “Come here.” He says softly, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You scoot closer to him on the couch, your knees touching his thigh.  Your breath hitches in your throat as his other hand rests on your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

He leans in slowly, his breath fanning across your face, his lips inches away from yours. His emerald eyes dart from yours down to your lips, back to your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. You nod your head slowly, eyes glued to his lips as he speaks. You watch as they curve up into a seductive smirk, “Words, baby. Want to hear you say it.” He coaches. 

He wants to hear you say it because the truth is, he can’t believe this is finally happening. He gets why you both agreed to not cross this boundary for so long. For the sake of your amazing friendship. But being this close to you now, seeing the look in your eye, the want and anticipation. Feeling the way he lit up touching you. It all seemed so silly. Why deny yourselves the pleasure of giving in to such chemistry, when life was so short? 

“I’m sure.” you whisper, “Are you?” 

“Oh, I’m positive.” he purrs, before leaning forward finally bringing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on yours. Immediately, the kiss feels different than anything you’ve shared in the past. What starts off as a soft sweet pecks, familiarizes yourselves with one another, quickly evolves into a hurried frenzy. Tongues swirling, teeth clicking, and with Harry’s hand having come down to rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jugular possessively your head was spinning. You gasp  into the kiss, trying to catch your breath but all you could do was breathe in more of Harry. It’s when he nipped at your bottom lip licking at the skin after, that you have a moment of clarity. Pulling away slowly you, run your hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck making him look up at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, worry etched into his features. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you begin, “ I have one condition.” 

“Okay.” he prompts 

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” you whisper, voice shakily. 

“Planned on it, Love.”

more coming soon...

✨masterlist✨

let me know what you think :) - A

[nichoberri]

super shy

&team jo x reader / y/n

high school au, in which basketball player jo and ‘nobody’ y/n both have huge crushes on each other, yet are totally oblivious. well, that is until they are forced to confront their feelings in the aftermath of the final basketball game of the year.

requested (sorry it took a while, i’ve been quite busy)

pronouns- she/her (as requested)

warnings- super cheesy, shit writing because i haven’t written properly in ages (i’m so so sorry 🫶🫶)

word count- 1,035

lowercase intended

y/n hurriedly scuttled between the rows of students inside the crowded gymnasium, eventually situating herself in the middle of her two best friends. any minute now the final basketball game of the season was about to begin, and y/n was trying not to pass out from the nerves. so much so, that the aforementioned friends had to physically drag y/n to the game. if you’re thinking that the actual result of the game was significant to y/n, you’re terribly mistaken. the poor girl merely had an earth-shattering crush on the school’s star player, jo. she didn’t even think she could look at him right now, never mind watch him do what he does best; the crush had escalated that far.

she didn’t even know where the crush came from, it just manifested after observing him in their classes and during the small interactions they had at school. however, she was adamant that jo could never like her back.

‘i’m meek, nerdy and don’t stand out at all; i’m completely unremarkable,’ the girl pondered to herself whilst counting down the minutes until the game began. ‘he’s perfect and popular, and wouldn’t even know of my existence if we weren’t in class together. like yeah, we do make eye contact a lot in the corridors, but i’d be delusional to think he actually could like me. he doesn’t seem as intimidating as his other team mates though; he seems so gentle with everyone including me. and his stoic face sometimes quirks up into the most adorable smile when we greet each other. oh. my. god. I CANNOT STAND ITTTTT!!!!’

obviously, y/n’s internal monologue was presenting itself on the outside as well, as her leg was shaking erratically, she was gripping her jumper so hard it looked like her fingernails were going to pop through the other side, as well as her facial expressions going through all five stages of grief. her friends looked concerned, yet simply shared a slightly worried look and laughed with a roll of their eyes; they were used to this.

on the other hand, y/n could not have been more wrong about jo’s feelings towards her, seeing as though he too had a monumental crush on her. that’s why he was almost having a panic attack outside of the locker room, with yuma trying to hand him a paper bag to hyperventilate into. jo then started to pace towards the door of the gymnasium, peeking through the window to look for y/n. as soon as he spotted her, he sprinted back to his previous spot, doubling over with nausea.

“just take the bag dude, it might help you to not die,” yuma exclaimed with slight amusement in his voice.

the team captain, nicholas sauntered over, “you’re just nervous because you want to help us win the whole season, and it’s not because of that girl you like right…RIGHT?!?!” jo’s side eye did not look promising to nicholas, who just patted jo on the shoulder, shook his head and walked away in defeat, not ready to give relationship advice.

there was no time for anyone to comfort jo anyways, because the team was directed to line up ready to file into the packed gym.

the boys ran out, one by one, jo being the last due to the anticipation he brought with being the most important player of the season. as he scanned the audience while waving to everyone, he made direct eye contact with y/n. the pair immediately looked away from each other, blushing profusely.

throughout the game, y/n was internally being pulled between being unable to spare a glance at jo because ‘his magnificence was just to great’, as she put it to her friends, and being unable to look away from him. he effortlessly moved across the court with the ball, gracefully jumping to score (which he did many many (*italics*) times). the lovesick girl was mesmerised by jo, watching his tall frame join the crowd of other boys to celebrate a basket that he made, with a huge grin on his face. she wished he would smile like that because of her.

it was no surprise that jo’s team won the game. despite this, the oblivious pair were in for a shock, when they were forced into facing each other.

as soon as the final whistle was blown, y/n’s friends pushed her down towards the court, whilst jo’s teammates basically held him hostage in the centre of the court.

“jo has something he needs to get off his chest…don’t you jo?” yuma probed.

“funnily enough, y/n does too,” stated one of y/n’s friends, very matter-of-fact, despite having to push down a smirk.

y/n decided to just let it all out, maybe it would be a weight of her shoulders no matter the result, she thought to herself. as if they were psychically linked, jo figured that confessing couldn’t feel as bad as he had been lately because of his crush on y/n.

“OK SO BASICALLY I LIKE YOU, LIKE A LOT,” y/n and jo, practically screamed at the same time.

“huh, you like me back?! you, jo, the star of the basketball team, the most popular boy in school at the moment?!”

“well…yeah i do, i like you so so much, i could burst. i may be all those things that you said, but i feel like a shy loser around you. you’re so sweet and smart and beautiful, that i can’t handle it. i could barely look at you lately.” a smile bloomed across y/n’s extremely rosy face, at hearing jo’s confession.

“well, i guess we can be shy losers together now,” she giggles, laying her soft lips on jo’s plushy cheek.

their friends whooped and hollered, as the couple hid in each other’s arms, sending a glare at their mildly irritating supporters. yuma had to clutch onto his evil eye bracelet for protection from the double side eye.

“i guess we were the only ones that were clueless about each other’s feelings,” jo whispered into y/n’s ear, as they basked in the first of many tender moments they shared together.

[filmswithrem]

a character analysis on amy march

and how greta gerwig changed the perception of one of the most disliked literary characters

when i first watched little women (2019), i wasn’t expecting a lot. i didn’t realize how much i’d fall in love with the story, or the characters. out of all the characters, i especially felt a connection with amy march. i felt so seen by her. as a 14 year old girl who would watch films as an escape, i had never felt so understood by a movie or character as much as i did then. it felt sort of uncomfortable how similar she was to me, as if i was watching another version of myself. i immediately started watching all kinds of videos about her as a character and little women as a whole, and quickly saw how much of a disliked character amy is. 

    it’s not uncommon for a young, female character to be hated on. but i’ve noticed that so much of the amy hate is so deeply rooted, and so personal. i understand it to an extent, people who see themselves in jo, or just anyone in general, probably felt an unbearable amount of anger when amy burned jo’s manuscripts. maybe this makes me a terrible person, but i understood amy’s perspective and almost rooted for her. i felt so much pain for jo but also sympathized with amy. especially when seeing the incident happen in gerwig’s adaptation, the whole situation feels more complex. there was obviously a more deeply rooted anger that amy had towards jo, her going to the play without amy just pushed her into finally reacting. 

    that’s one of the many reasons i love greta gerwig’s version of the story. while 

the characters were already fleshed out and well written, she added some more complexity to them, especially compared to the other film adaptations. i could go on for hours talking about all the characters, but for this i’m specifically focusing on amy. when looking at the 1994 adaptation, with kirsten dunst as amy, there’s so many scenes that make her thr villain of the story. she never really grows as a person since all the situations from her childhood. i do also need to point out that in that film, the story mainly focuses on jo (played by winona ryder) and the three other march sisters are side characters. for the 2017 miniseries, i haven’t even finished watching it because i hated amy’s portrayal so much. kathryn newton is a great actress, i really liked her in other films, i just don’t think she was the right choice for amy march. the show also portrayed her as a villain, making her seem like such a terrible person. overall i didn’t like the show. i see a lot of positive reviews so i may need to give it another chance. gerwig’s version shows amy as an ambitious young girl who is looking to be loved, and wants to be noticed by people. whether that’s in society, for her talent, or in her family.

    in little women (2019), amy, as well as all the march sisters, finally get the recognition they deserve. all the other adaptations focus mainly on jo and don’t really show much of the other sisters, or their relationships with each other. it’s such a big part of the story and is so overlooked in the other adaptations. jo and amy’s dynamic is one of my favorites. it’s so interesting to see how their relationship progresses throughout the years and how they learn from their mistakes. it’s so realistic and so painfully relatable. a quote that really stuck with me is towards the end of the film where amy gives jo advice. jo asks her “when did you become so wise”, and amy proceeeds to say “i always have been, you were just to busy noticing my faults.” i felt it so deeply, it showed how overlooked and amy was. being only seen as a bratty child rather than noticing all the good parts of her personality. there’s so many small scenes that make such a big impact in their dynamic. jo crying to amy after she cuts her hair was a big scene showing that they still love each other dearly even when having some sort of resentment towards each other. amy’s line when laurie tries to propose to her add so much depth to her character. “i have been second to jo my whole life in everything. and i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.” she’s constantly felt like she’s underneath jo’s shadow, even if jo isn’t intentionally trying to be above her. she’s constantly comparing herself to jo, but also looks up to her a lot. jo sees it as the opposite. when amy can’t make it to visit beth, jo makes a bitter remark on how “amy always got out of the hard parts in life”. she constantly felt as if amy had some special treatment compared to her. 

    amy constantly compares herself to other people throughout the story. when she’s first introduced in the film, it shows her painting a picture and looking over at the people painting around her. she tries to mimic the style they’re painting in. she’s desperately trying to fit in with the girls in her school and later with the upper class in Europe. in her iconic “i want to be great or nothing” scene, she talks about how she’s not good enough, and will never be good enough to be a “real” artist. the monologue that gerwig added in afterwards adds more perspective to her character and how women were treated at the time. she genuinely believes that she will never be as good or talented as the people around her. she thinks that no matter if she’s a woman or if she were a man, her artistic abilities are mediocre at best. from an outside perspective, as seen from laurie, it’s so frustrating that she can’t see how talented she is. 

    i think a lot of people tend to forget how young she is. in the book-burning sequence, she was only 12. hating on her character purely off that situation makes no sense, she was a child and has grown from her mistakes. it’s so evident in later scenes that she feels sorry for how she acted, and is trying to do better. watching other adaptations made me realize how greta gerwig’s film really does amy justice. she’s seen as a girl who’s grown from her mistakes as a kid rather than a girl who is always plotting against her sister. obviously everyone has different opinions, it’s ok to hate on whichever character you want. i decided to write this because she’s such a special character to me, especially in this adaptation. i always go back to this film, i love it more than anything.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3/5

Book Blurb:

“An absolute joy to read....Obuobi’s perfect balance of humor and wisdom made this one a true standout.” –Emily Henry, #1 NYT bestselling author

Kennedy Ryan meets Carley Fortune in this swoon-worthy story of love and friendship in the age of social media—where what you see might not be all you get. 

To thousands of Instagram followers Josephine Boateng is the dazzling Dr. Jojo, and her opinions on health and self-love matter. Her message: be smart, be significant, and do not put up with foolish men.

Off-camera, Jo’s story is more complicated. She's grappling with depression and the pressures of her career, and her love life is nonexistent thanks to a longtime unrequited crush on her best friend, romcom heartthrob Ezra Adelman. But when Ezra shows up to his thirtieth birthday party with her childhood bully on his arm, Jo realizes enough is enough. It’s time to take her own advice and prioritize herself.

No one is more shocked than Malcolm Waters when his debut novel turns him into a literary darling, the type who gets invited to a swanky penthouse party to discuss film opportunities. Rubbing elbows with the elite of entertainment will be great for his career—except he's terrible with people, and even worse at networking.

Just when Malcolm is ready to throw in the towel, he’s rescued by none other than Dr. Jojo. He’s been following her on social media for years, and she’s even more impressive in real life. And to his bewilderment, the feeling is mutual.

But Jo, Ezra, and Malcolm exist in a world where the line between private and public is as blurred as the line between friendship and love. The question is, can they risk defining those lines to create something real?

Review:

After being in love with her best friend for years, she's finally had enough and now she's ready to fall for someone else... but now her best friend wants her back and the new man in her life has her questioning whether or not she's actually felt love before him. Josephine Boateng is a doctor who has a large following on instagram. On camera she's perfect, she's smart and kind. Yet off camera her life is much more complicated: she's dealing with depression and the pressures of her career, having a longtime unrequited crush on her best friend, actor Ezra Adelman, and it only gets more complicated when Ezra shows up to his birthday party with her childhood bully as his date. Jo has had enough and is finally taking her own advice and cutting the cord. Then... to her great shock she meets Malcolm Waters, a famous author who is as sweet and kind as he is handsome. Malcolm and Jo meet at Ezra's birthday party and instantly hit it off. But Jo is still dealing with her feelings for Ezra while Malcolm wants a serious relationship... and on top of that Ezra wants Jo back. Being in a love triangle is messy, but being in a very public one is even worse. Can Jo sort out her relationships before it destroys her? This book was definitely for people who enjoy love triangles, and it just kind of missed the mark for me. Jo is dealing with a lot and is a bit of a mess. Ezra was just ew for me and I adored Malcolm. Malcolm was so clearly the one from the beginning and you just find yourself rooting for the best for him. Overall, it's a fast read and if you like love triangles definitely give this one a go!

Release Date: July 30,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager | Avon for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[oddeyevibes]

Where For Art Thou, Ichiban?

Summary: You step into the new millennium with terrible news concerning your best friend.

Words: 3131

A/N: I did most of this on mobile so if there are grammatical errors plz forgive that thanks, my eyes are in not shape to sit in front of a computer atm.

Then

The matter was urgent. 

You didn’t care about the looks from other people. 

You needed to find Ichiban. 

The day started normally enough until you found Ichiban’s wallet on the ground. No money, but his ID in there, bold as day. 

On any other day, this might have instantly caused some concern, you chalked it up to him simply enjoying himself. It was also his birthday after all. You figured he and Mitsuo got shitfaced. 

So you had set off to find and return his wallet to him. That’s when you heard a terrible rumor. At least…you hoped it was a rumor. Bad gossip always makes the rounds just as much as good gossip. 

Ichiban killed someone last night. 

When one of your mother’s coworkers told you that, you felt your heart drop. Ichiban? A murderer? 

‘That can’t be.’ You remembered thinking. 

Ichiban’s the type that’s always caught off guard when betrayals happen in crime dramas and now you’re supposed to believe he took someone’s life. 

When you stopped by the cigarette shop, the old lady told you the same thing. Of course, she made a slight harsh comment about it when she saw your worried expression. 

“It was only a matter of time, Y/N-Chan. He’s Yakuza, after all.” 

Then you ran to Michiyo. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t much help. Almost as wasted as her customers and in her inebriated state, she gave the worst advice someone could give a teen going through emotional turmoil looking for their friend: check the Arakawa family office. 

So you went. Barreling through the streets of Kamurocho, ignoring the dirty looks and profanity people shouted at you for rubbing into them. Only one of them actually stopped you, Mitsuo. 

“Hey, hey! Slow down, Y/N. What’s wrong?” He looked behind you, worried you were being chased. 

You struggled to catch your breath before speaking. “Tell me everyone’s lying.” 

He shrugged, clearly lost on what you’re on about. “Lying? About what?” 

“Everyone’s saying Ichiban was arrested. That he killed somebody last night.” 

The look on Mitsuo’s face said a lot. He was just as in the dark as you were, if not more. He was deep in thought before a look of dreaded realization washed over him. 

“Oh shit!” He hissed. “I called him earlier and he started spouting some nonsense about how old we’ll be in the future. I thought he was just being sentimental cause of his birthday but…” Then he focused back on you, noticing the tears forming in your eyes. “Listen, Y/N, there has to be a misunderstanding. Ichi wouldn’t do that.” 

“I know! Why is he going to jail?”

“I don’t know, Y/N…maybe they got the wrong guy. Listen, I’ll talk to Arakawa-san. You just get back home—HEY!”

You bolted off into the direction of the Arakawa family offices, Mitsuo chasing after you. 

Standing in front of the office was none other than the captain that Ichiban and Mitsuo reported to: Jo Sawashiro, smoking a cigarette. 

“Y/N, slow down!” Mitsuo shouted, drawing the attention of Sawashiro. 

The older man turned in your direction, instantly recognizing you. The kid that Ichiban kept hanging around. Another example of Ichiban’s negligence as a Yakuza in his eyes. 

You stopped in front of the man, breathing heavily as he eyed you with an unreadable expression. He then looked past you to Mitsuo. 

“Mitsuo…what the hell is this?” He asked. He spoke with his usual stern tone. “Get this kid out of here.” 

“Yes sir!” 

“No! Where’s Ichiban?” 

He didn’t reply. Merely staring you down in an attempt to scare you but despite the mixture of fear and confusion, you stood your ground…and he respected that. Instead, he looked back at Mitsuo, gesturing his head in your direction, silently urging his subordinate to carry out his orders. Mitsuo went to gently grab your arm but you instantly snatched it out of his grip. 

“You don’t get to send me away!” You yelled. “Tell me where Ichiban is!” 

‘The audacity.’ Sawashiro thought. As much as he wanted to tell you off, he smirked. “You’re running through the street making a scene. You obviously know. Why don’t you tell me…boss?” 

“Everyone’s saying that Ichiban…killed someone last night. But I know it’s not true. Ichiban would never do something like that so then why is he going to jail?!” There was so much firmness in your yell as the tears let loose and began sliding down your face. To be honest, you looked like you could pass out any second but in your mind, you needed to be awake to help Ichiban if you could. 

“If that’s the word on the street then I guess it’s true then…Ichiban’s a cold-blooded killer.” 

He was teasing you. You knew it. Mitsuo knew it. 

“He’s nothing like that. He can’t even do a collection run like a normal Yakuza.” You reasoned.

“Maybe he’s an idiot savant.” He suggested, earning more of your ire. “Bad at collections…good at killing.” 

“SHUT UP! You’re lying! Ichiban would never take someone’s life!” 

Sawashiro finally got fed up. “Listen, you little brat, how well do you know Ichiban? How can you say he would never do something like that? You only know what he shows you.” 

“Captain…” Mitsuo interjects before you can shoot something back. “What…did happen last night?” 

Sawashiro scoffed. “Yasumura…why is she still standing in front of me?” 

“But what about--” 

Sawashiro said nothing but gave him a stern and threatening look. One that said, pry anymore and you’ll be losing part of your finger and Mitsuo knew Sawashiro was just petty enough to do it, especially with Mitsuo’s close proximity to Ichiban. Guilty by association and all that. 

He was too focused on intimidating Mitsuo that he wasn’t ready for the hard shove he received from you. He had almost toppled over before catching himself, nearly dropping his cigarette as it happened. He felt his rage quickly build as he stared down at you ready to tell you off but the tears in your eyes were just flowing and he didn’t have the heart to do that all of a sudden. 

You were some teenage idiot trailing behind another bigger idiot. You knew nothing true about this world and you probably had some black-and-white view of how things worked. He knew that if kept trying to poke fun at you, he’d eventually tell the truth, and while he could probably get away with just letting you in on it knowing no one would ever even try to believe you, he couldn’t with Mitsuo there.

He had to play it cool and collected to keep up the story. The story of him being the one that murdered someone last night and that Ichiban was covering for him by orders of Captain Arakawa. Maybe one day you’ll know but until then…

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He shouted. 

“YOU KNOW HE DIDN’T DO IT!” You were screaming now. 

“Keep your voice down.” He hissed. 

“You know he’s innocent and you’re letting him go to jail because you hate him. You’re nothing but a jerk! A petty jerk! You’d let an innocent man rot in jail knowing he doesn’t deserve it.” 

“He got himself in there by himself. He thought he was a big man so he killed a member of someone else’s family. Now Arakawa can’t bail him out of this one.” 

“HE DIDN’T DO IT!” 

“What’s going on out here?” A calm voice came and tore through the rising tension. All three of you looked to see Masumi Arakawa standing there in his normal get-up with his signature fedora. Arakawa’s voice always made him sound calm and collected in a way that made other people nervous because they could never guess what was going on in his head. It was unnerving that way.

The Arakawa family head surveyed the current scene in front of him. Maybe in normal circumstances, he could laugh this off as simply Sawashiro letting a kid push his buttons. But under these circumstances, when he knew who you were and who you were here for…this talk was not going to have a happy ending. 

“Jo…what’s going on?” He asked. 

Sawashiro straightened himself up to give off the physical impression that he was not about to get into a verbal confrontation with someone that needed a hall pass to use the bathroom. 

“Nothing sir, she was just--” 

You pushed passed him to be face-to-face with Arakawa. The way Jo wanted to swing so bad but he knew better than that.

“Arakawa -san! Say it’s not true! About Ichiban! Everyone’s saying he killed someone but you know he could never do something like that.” You pleaded with the man. 

Sawashiro’s teasing had nothing on the way Arakawa suddenly avoided your pleading gaze, tilting his hat down. That told you clearly. Even he’s in on it. 

“Arakawa-san…?” 

“Y/N…have you eaten yet?” 

/////

You didn’t make much of a fuss about his request. You didn’t have any reason to not trust him but the energy of the whole walk was somber as the two of you just sat in initial silence as the sounds of small talk filled the cafe. 

He opted to just let the two of you sit in silence while you waited for your meals. He wanted to let you have a moment to breathe. It was only when the server delivered your food and left that he started to talk with you. 

“You know…Ichiban and I were supposed to get some Peking Duck last night…we had to settle for ramen since the place was closed. He was so excited, he almost made a scene shouting at the closed sign.” Arakawa chuckled. 

You couldn’t help but crack a smile but that didn’t answer the questions you needed. Your lack of an audible laugh told Arakawa that. It broke his heart that he couldn’t tell you the truth. From what Ichiban told him about you, he babysat you and was practically a friend of you and your mother’s small family. And now…he would have to take that away. That hurt him deeply. 

“You must be very close with Ichiban.” 

You looked up at him with a somber doe-eyed expression but there was a break before you responded. 

“Yeah…I guess so…he’s not really my babysitter anymore but my mom still tries to get him to come to the house. It’s her…really bad attempt at trying to get him out of crime…” you laughed. “She says he’s too good for that type of life.”  

Arakawa smiled. “I would agree. The life of a Yakuza is a life of…taking advantage of the community around you.” 

You shrugged. “Well, that’s not true. A lot of gangs start with the intent on protecting the communities they form in. It’s just…they all lose their way at some point.” 

“That is true. You’re lucky to have such a caring mother.” 

There was another beat of silence. 

“How have you been doing in school? Ichiban told me you’re graduating this year. That’s good. It’s nice to see young people living up to their full potential. So many are lost in the cracks that oftentimes they have no choice but to find shelter in unsavory places. Do you know what you’ll do once you graduate?”

“Well…my mom wants me to go to college. I’ll have better opportunities to fall back on if something doesn’t work out. But I don’t really know what I wanna do after that. Seems like I’m always asked that but I never have an actual answer.” You let out a nervous chuckle. You hated that question so much. 

“I’m hoping Masato changes his mind and does go to college. He’s a smart kid and he deserves a chance at showing that to the world.” 

You didn’t say anything to that. You had no real opinion on Masato in general and what few times you did meet him when Ichiban was tending to him, he was kind of an asshole. You probably shouldn’t say that to his father right now though.

“Maybe he just needs time to think is all…or maybe some motivation. I mean, he probably thinks he doesn’t need or…deserve to do something with his life since he’s the son of a Yakuza boss maybe?” 

“Ah…maybe so…” He seemed sad when you suggested that and you instantly felt guilty. 

“I’m not trying to say that it’s your fault, Arakawa-san. It’s just that…the few times I have met him with Ichi, he always seems so…sad, you know?” 

The man nodded. “I understand completely. Though I never know what I can ever do to reassure him that he has value in this world. I always try to tell him that he can make his own space without bending others’ notions of what he should be. I want him to live for himself but…it’s hard not to think that I’m holding him back sometimes.” Even with him pouring his heart out, the tone of his voice felt like a father’s reminiscing about fond memories with their kid.

You let out light laughter in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “Now I feel bad…the worst my mother and I fight about is how I’m trying to grow too fast. She wants me to go to college back in America so I can experience a chaotic youth like she did.” 

Arakawa sat back with a laugh. 

“Well, she didn’t say it like that but…she might as well have. I told her I’d feel out of place there. I mean…I’ve been here since I was practically a baby. But even then…it feels like I don’t have roots here either. I’m not even a foreigner but I get treated like one.” 

Arakawa casually leaned upright. “Maybe… you’re scared of leaving because you think it’ll hold more weight to the notion that you don’t belong here.” 

You nodded like a child caught red-handed. “I guess so.” You mumbling.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be living for these people. Maybe you should be living for yourself? Maybe that’s what your mother wants you to realize. I know it can sometimes sound like we parents are just…lecturing without understanding but often we do but…it’s been so long since we were young that we’ve forgotten how to say in a way that our children would understand. There’s a chance your mother can feel guilty because of how you feel and she wants you to find somewhere to place…your roots.” 

“Maybe so…but…I think I just need time.” 

“Of course. Life’s too short to force yourself onto one route. I think a lot of people forget that.” 

You shrugged. “Well, it’s hard for people to remember when everything around them is constantly telling them to be this way like it’s…life and death. People’s hands are being forced every day. It’s a rat race out here.” Your eyes lingered outside the cafe’s window, watching busy bodies move past, not even taking the time to stop for anyone busking on the sidewalks. 

You didn’t see the smile that Arakawa had on his face. Like a proud dad. You were a smart kid, clearly. You were gonna be alright with or without Ichiban. 

“Arakawa-san…” you only spoke his name but the delivery told him what was going to come out of your mouth next. “What happened to Ichiban?” You didn’t bother to look back at him. 

Arakawa was silent for a moment, mentally prepping himself for the question. Would he tell you the complete truth or half the truth? Would he even tell you at all?

“What happened to Ichiban?” 

Still not looking at him. So he took a moment before replying. “He’s going to jail. He killed someone without orders…someone in another Tojo family—”

“You have to be lying.” You finally turned back to face him. “You and I both know Ichi couldn’t have something like that. There has to be more to the story. Maybe he defended himself and…it was an accident. He’s probably losing it right now. Murder is…intentional. It’s premeditated. He’s not a murderer, Arakawa-san, you know that.” 

“…….I know. Maybe you’re right. It was an argument that got out of hand and maybe…Ichi took it too far.” 

He was willing to indulge this idea if it meant that you would simply go home after all is said and done. He could see how desperate you were to rationalize the idea of Ichiban being….going to prison for murder. 

“It’s not enough isn’t it. Nobody meant anything by it, right? I mean…your both Tojo clan…maybe they were just hanging out and got a little too drunk…were you there?” You asked him. 

He shook his head. “No, after the Peking duck idea fell through, we went our separate ways for the night. I had hoped to see the ball drop with Masato but…” 

“He’s not made for prison.” 

……….

Arakawa looked down at his food. 

“He’s hard headed but he’s got a soft heart.” You went on. “Can’t you do something, Arakawa-san?” 

There was a tense pause before he replied to you. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. He’s no longer a part of the family.” 

Hearing that broke you. Ichiban really was on his own. You didn’t even know what you could do to help him. You doubt any court or lawyer would actually help in the way he needed. Not to mention, this was Yakuza stuff and they would damn sure work to keep Ichiban in jail as retribution. 

“If it is any consolation…Ichiban accepted his expulsion from the family. He knew the risks if he stayed. This punishment is his and his alone but so long as he keeps his head down, he’ll be fine. The years will go by in a flash.” 

You let out a heavy sigh. There was no relief. Only sadness.

“I have a feeling you’ll be fine. So long as you focus on yourself much like your mother wants, you’ll lead a good life.” 

“My best friend is going to jail, Arakawa-san.” 

“If Ichi were to know you were panicking, that’s all he'd do during his time.” That clearly didn’t satisfy you. He folded his hands and placed them on the table.  “Right now, Ichiban will need you to be strong. Do you think you can do that?” 

There was a moment of contemplation before you nodded. 

“I promise, I will do everything in my power to make sure Ichiban is safe inside. That is my part. Do you know what yours is?” 

You nodded again. 

“Good.” He then extended a hand, signaling for yours. 

Your hand gripped his in a lackluster manner that was only shooed away when you realized how firm his was compared to your own. 

“Your mother has no doubt probably heard this. We should probably get you home. Alright?” 

“….ok.”

[totaldramacruisecontrol]

Last time on Total Drama Cruise Control: The teams were revealed! It’s the Bawling Beavers VS the Terrible Tapirs!

THE BAWLING BEAVERS Millie Ripper MK Harold Sammy Heather Amy Julia Chase Alejandro THE TERRIBLE TAPIRS Scott Wayne Raj Lightning Brick Sam Trent Jo Sadie Topher Courtney CHALLENGE 1: VANCOUVER, CA "The challenge is simple: before you there are 2 sleighs. Large enough to carry your luggage, and you. Pack it tightly and jump on! Because 2 teams will be sleighing down the mountain, whoever is first wins not only access to the luxury resort inside the Christine, but they are also safe from elimination!"

Though the Terrible Tapirs had a huge lead in the challenge, The Bawling Beavers stole the win. It is later discovered that Wayne smuggled Raj onto the ship, which leaves the teams uneven! ELIMINATION: Chris invited every to the stern, only to reveal it was a non-elimination challenge! Meanwhile, Brick finds himself crushing on multiple members of his team! Maybe it wasn't the best idea to ask Ripper for advice, especially when he doesn't know the advice he's giving is about relationships! With the Tapirs squabbling with each other over a web of misunderstandings, will they be able to secure the next win? Find out next time on TOTAL! DRAMA! CRUUUIISE CONTROL!

[hjellacott]

Happy birthday Jo! (And Harry!)

Today my role-model turns 58, and The Boy Who Lived, 43.

You don't always get lucky that the people you love for subjective reasons become even better for objective reasons, but we did. I admire other authors, characters, actors, but sometimes they do things I frown upon, things I can't defend, and yet, it isn't the case with Jo. With her, I can breathe in peace knowing what she does will always be for the benefit of those who need a hero the most.

Harry was a hero for any of us who have known terrible loss, and taught us to make the best out of shit situations, to look at the bright side of things — consider your friends, choose your own family, fight for things you believe in — and to be brave and persistent, to stay true to yourself, to be selfless and kind, to be heroes of our own stories. To me, he's one of the most humane and extraordinary characters I've known, with tremendous depth, someone that is heroic not because he wants to be, not out of a deep desire of protagonism or power, or because he likes the limelight, but because he makes the best our of every difficult choice, and he tries to do the right thing. He's so deeply flawed, but always within logic (i.e. when he isolates himself from his friends because for 11 years he never had any and it's still hard to know what to do with them), and then he raises above his challenges, even the self-imposed ones.

In the Harry Potter books I found solace through a sometimes miserable childhood, again through more and more loss, and again in times of Covid. I found advice, I found the friendly words I needed, I found courage and inspiration, I found good old friends — and realised Hogwarts would, indeed, always be there when I needed it, even twenty plus years on.

Harry's story almost seems to mirror Joanne Rowling's. She knew incredible adversity and overcame it, and like Harry, she found true love, she made a family of her own, she found a place she could call home and true friends to stand beside her. And after all the success she's known, she's always giving back to us. This is a summary of some of her charitable work:

About 16% of her wealth in 2011 went to organisations fighting worldwide poverty, something that she's continued doing year after year.

Various work with Amnesty International.

The Ickabog royalties went to supporting charities that supported vulnerable groups affected by the Covid-19 pandemic.

J.K. Rowling is Founder and President of Lumos, an international children’s charity fighting for every child’s right to a family by transforming care systems around the world. Lumos sheds light on the root causes of family separation and demonstrates that children can safely be united with loving families that help them thrive.

The Anne Rowling Clinic was founded by a donation from J.K. Rowling in 2010 in memory of her mother Anne.  The Clinic delivers clinical care and research to improve the lives of people with degenerative conditions affecting the brain, as well as hosting specialist NHS clinics for these conditions.  Jo continues to fund MS research exclusively through the Anne Rowling Clinic.

J.K. Rowling's charitable trust, Volant, which she set up in 2000 to administer grants to charities, to alleviate social deprivation particularly affecting women and children.

She's also created Beira's Place, a service for victims of sexual violence, focused on women (including trans men with female sexual organs).

Additionally, substantial donations to charity in the form of book royalties.  Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages are sold in aid of Comic Relief and Lumos, and The Tales of Beedle the Bard is sold in aid of Lumos. Royalties from The Ickabog go to Volant, to help support vulnerable groups who’ve been particularly impacted by the Covid-19 pandemic, in the UK and internationally.

And then J.K. Rowling is a decorated social warrior, standing up for children, for homeless, for people who've suffered major disaster in life, and for women, doing anything and everything for us even when she meets opposition. She never gives up.

Thank you, Jo. You're my hero. Thank you for your hard work, and for the stories that will keep your memory and your activism alive, long after you're gone. Thank you for making my days so much brighter. Wishing you and Harry a wholesome day of much-deserved joy and laughter. HAPPY BIRTHDAE!!!

[dhampirslays]

Your prompt: Em: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars. Jo: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

@faenapped / @sorrowwaited gets an incorrect quote cause they exist

[jolalibrary]

hi jo! firstly, thank you for being such a positive kind influence in the community, you deserve all the love!

secondly, pls don’t feel pressured to answer if you wouldn’t like to, genuinely!

but i was wondering if you have any advice for writers on here that severely lack getting feedback from readers. i can’t help but feel extremely discouraged receiving virtually no comments (no matter how small) about my works when i post them. it’s a bit disheartening and it’s starting to affect my confidence in my writing, especially when numbers/notes don’t mean anything to me. i know that creativity and skill is not reflected by any parameters on social media whatsoever, but i just can’t help but self-doubt when i feel really proud about a work yet receive no feedback.

thank you for taking the time to read and i genuinely appreciate you < 3

hiii, that’s so sweet. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but I thoroughly appreciate it! thank you so much! 🩷

I shall be completely honest, I am not entirely sure how to answer or what answer I can provide. but as always, I shall give it my best go:

getting people to engage is a tricky thing, and something unfortunately you can’t make happen. on some occasions, it’s instant and with others it takes time. I know stories that have had so much interaction in the comments but then on others there’s been none—and they’re written by the same person. equally, even some of my pieces get very few comments and then others get a lot. so it’s difficult.

my first advice on what you can do to help is consider making sure your piece indicates what you’d like someone to do. sometimes people are scared/nervous, because they don’t want to do it wrong. so if you haven’t, adding a simple “If you can let me know your thoughts in the comments, be much appreciated” shows an indication that you warrant that kind of feedback.

if you’re already doing that and still struggling, I recommend seeing if you can reach out to some friends or writers you admire and create a ‘buddy’ group. this way you can share amongst one another your works, give each other feedback (and also then scream at one another about plots and characters). by creating a circle for yourself, it can make it feel less like you’re shouting into a void, and at least then if interaction is slow, you know there’s someone more than you who is invested in your story. if that’s something you feel would benefit you.

I had a group like this for a different thing and it was ahhhmazing. we bounced off one another, but we were also one another’s cheerleaders (and that’s such a nice feeling).

lastly, you love your story, right? remind yourself of that. something I’ve told a friend to do is before they upload and share it, copy and paste quotes or passages that they love from their work. put it in a fresh document somewhere just for you. and, when you begin to feel disheartened, remember the beauty in which you created. put it in a cool font, add it into a graphic (if you make them) or just have it in a format that tells your brain it isn’t on tumblr or where else you post.

I know it’s cliche, but the person who has to love your work first, is you. and while I know it’s disheartening (like honestly, you’re not alone in it), and unfortunately there isn’t a spell I can cast or a bit of helpful advice that I can offer to let you know what makes people interact.

and while I know I said this on the “be kind” post, but I like the phrasing. you just haven’t found your people, and that takes time. and by that I mean, the people who love your work, the words, the places, the descriptions you create—not just the character or fandom.

again, I am not entirely sure if this has been helpful. I feel i give such poopy advice and I’m so sorry if it is. but just know it’s okay to feel whatever you feel, just don’t let it smush out your flame (if you can help it) 🩷✨

equally, if anyone has any advice, please drop it below. I am very aware I am not that good at the advice hahaha!

[joandfriedrich]

What negative affects promoting the Little 2019 has

When you share images, promote, buy or stream Little Women 2019 it has the following indirect effects.

-

You participate in supporting racist comments on Germans and Italians. Greta Gerwig spend the entire promotion tour of the 2019 film commenting on "how professor Bhaer was a terrible German who spoke with a terrible German accent". Louisa May Alcott loved Germany and German literature. Bhaer is partially based on her favourite German writer Goethe. What would she think of Gerwig's racist comments?

Laurie in the book is written to be a brown-skinned Italian and there are some indications in the book that he has faced discrimination (same with Friedrich) movie does not acknowledge this.

You agree to spread the fake notion that Greta Gerwig has been spreading that all relationships and marriages in Little Women are meaningless and queerbating that Alcott was gay/asexual and hated marriage and Jo should have ended up with Laurie. Laurie is based on Alcott's ex and Friedrich Bhaer on her first love, philosopher Henry David Thoreau. In her journal, Alcott writes how she envies her sister's marriage and in her "next life"/ life after death, she is going to reunite with her loved one and receive her "award" meaning husband and a family. In Little Women (chapter "all alone") narrator (Alcott) mentions how she has sacrificed wishes for love and family for her career and she is not at all happy about it.

You participate in supporting Laurie's romanticisation when in the novel he is harassing Jo and even threatens to kill himself if she won't marry him.

You support the notion that Jo is gay, even when the book doesn't have indications of that, and Gerwig has said that "Jo must be gay because Jo doesn't think that Laurie is attractive....????? I have never met a gay person who would give this kind of reason for being gay.

You support the notion that Jo thinks Laurie is attractive but in the book, Jo calls him "weak, girly and feminine" and the narrator often mentions how Jo likes "masculine men".

You support Greta Gerwig's hate speech against age gap marriages and age gap relationships because she doesn't like that Jo and Friedrich have an age difference. Greta Gerwig is married to a man 14 years older.

You support the notion that Louisa May Alcott didn't want children or didn't like them. Jo, in the 2019 movie, doesn't seem to like children. In the book, Jo loves children and so does Louisa May Alcott.

You support the notion that Gerwig's version is the best version of Litte Women because that is what she kept saying and Meryl Streep said it is a movie made by women for women. The film has several elements taken from previous films, like Laurie's hairstyle (199¤) and Bhaer playing the piano (1949). Saying that their movie is the best when taking elements from previous movies is stepping on the work of other women, Little Women 1994, Little Women 2017 and Little Women 2018 adaptations were all directed and written by women.

You support the notion that Jo is an immature brat who didn't want to grow. Gerwig said that we admire Jo for being immature and that "Laurie wants Jo to step into adulthood". Louisa May Alcott was over 10 years younger than the real-life Laurie, Ladislas Wisniewski and that relationship didn't work because he was too immature and didn't have the emotional or intellectual capacity to support her writing career.

Jo, in the book actively seeks Friedrich's advice on her writing and never shouts or screams at him.

When Laurie proposes to Jo he says that he wants Jo to be his caretaker so that he doesn't need to grow. Where is the part of the book Jo is immature and Laurie mature?

You support the notion that Jo didn't have any kind of development as a writer, since Gerwig insisted on erasing Friedrich

s positive influence, turning him into a bully and making Jo's editor a hero when in reality Louisa May Alcott hated the magazine editor and Jo in the book despises him as well.

You participate spreading the notion that Jo and Laurie should have ended up together because both Greta Gerwig and Timothee Chalamet said so. Despite the fact that Laurie is based on Alcott's ex. You are participating to the notion that Laurie's and Amy's marriage doesn't have any meaning because Gerwig doesn't give Laurie his character arc, and this further increases "the villanization of Amy's character" as the person "who stole Laurie".

You participate in spreading fake news on a very beloved story.

[skycounts]

One thing Carina has learned while being with Maya is that Maya is good at shutting down. She could turn off her emotions in the blink of an eye and it took awhile for Carina to understand how she could do that.

Maya doesn’t talk about it, but Carina knows it’s because of her dad. Maya never got the luxury of hanging out with friends and seeing movies or staying up late on a school night. She had a set schedule her entire life and had to learn how to turn off her emotions quickly.

“Hey, I’m home,” Maya says, tired.

Carina’s body fills with excitement. She never gets tired of her wife walking through the door of their house. “Hi, bambina,” she offers lightly, a smile on her face.

Maya gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Hi, baby,” she says.

Carina reaches for Maya, entangling herself in the woman’s arms. “I missed you,” she tells Maya.

Maya tenses a bit and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Carina. “You, too,” she says softly. “Where’s our daughter?”

Carina leans in for a quick kiss before untangling herself from Maya. “She’s still sleeping,” she says.

“Still? It’s nearly eight o’clock. She’s usually up at six thirty on the dot,” Maya says.

Carina shrugs. “She was fussy all night. She’s teething, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Maya says. “I’m gonna sleep for a couple of hours. I’m exhausted.”

Carina leans in for a kiss. “Are you okay?” She asks.

Something flashes across Maya’s face. “M’fine,” she murmurs. She kisses Carina back. “Wanna lay in bed with me for a bit until Frankie wakes up?”

It’s then that Carina realizes Maya isn’t okay. “Of course, amore,” she says, taking Maya’s hand and leading her to their bedroom.

When they get into their bedroom, Carina undresses Maya slowly, taking the time to kiss what bare skin she finds. It isn’t sexual; it’s intimate and the gesture is so full of love that it almost makes Maya cry.

They get into bed and Maya clings onto Carina, wrapping herself completely around her. Carina plays with Maya’s hair and whispers words of love to her until she falls asleep.

It’s not too long after Maya falls asleep that Carina hears Frankie on the baby monitor saying, “Mamma, mamma, mamma.”

Carina slowly untangles herself from Maya and places a gentle kiss on her forehead before going to the nursery and greeting her baby girl.

“Buongiorno, la mia bambina,” Carina says, smiling.

“Mamma,” Frankie says, bouncing up and down in her crib.

“I’m here, baby,” Carina says, picking up Frankie and kissing her forehead. “You’re warm,” she says, reaching for the baby thermometer and taking Frankie’s temperature. “Oh, piccola, hai la febbre.”

She quickly changes Frankie’s diaper and gives her some teething medicine along with baby Tylenol. She dresses her for the day and then heads into the kitchen to put her in her high chair.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Carina asks Frankie. “Some fruit and mashed oats? Oatmeal and sliced avocado?”

Frankie nods, laughing.

Carina laughs softly. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” she says.

She feeds Frankie breakfast and cleans her up before putting her in the living room so she can play with her toys.

Carina is cleaning up the kitchen when Maya walks in, freshly showered and dressed for the day.

“Where’s my goober?” Maya asks and she hears Frankie scream in excitement from the living room.

“Mommy,” Frankie says.

Maya laughs and leans in for a quick kiss from Carina.

“She has a fever,” Carina tells Maya. “It’s not high. I gave her medicine.”

Maya nods. “Okay, good,” she says. “I’m gonna go play with her for a bit, then, if her fever is better, I’ll take her with me to go and get lunch with Pru and Miller.”

“I didn’t know you had lunch plans today,” Carina says.

“We made them this morning after shift,” Maya tells her. “He just needs some advice and the girls haven’t seen each other in a few weeks.”

Carina nods. “Okay, while you do that, I’m gonna go shopping with Jo. They’ve got a new shop downtown and both of us wanna check it out. I was gonna take Frankie, but if you’re gonna take her, I’m fine with that.”

Maya smiles. “Do they have lingerie at this new shop?” She asks.

Carina laughs. “You are absurd,” she says.

Maya beams and kisses Carina’s smile. “You love me,” she says.

“I do,” Carina agrees. “I really, really do.”

—

It’s not until they’re having dinner that Maya seems really off.

“It’s bedtime for a certain little girl,” Carina says softly, pointing to Frankie who’s falling asleep in her high chair.

Maya stares off into space.

“Bambina?” Carina questions. “Maya.”

Maya snaps out of it and blinks slowly at Carina. “Mhm?”

Carina brushes it off. “Our daughter is falling asleep sitting up,” she tells Maya.

Maya smiles. “She’s adorable,” she says before standing up and going to pick up Francesca. “C’mon, goober, time for bed.”

After Maya puts Frankie to bed, she meets Carina in their bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Carina asks Maya.

“What do you mean?” Maya asks.

“You’ve been off all day,” Carina says. “Did something happen at work?”

Maya winces and tries to play it off. “Just a long shift,” she says.

Carina sighs. “I wish you’d talk to me.”

“I am. We’re talking right now,” Maya jokes.

“Bambina,” she says softly.

“There was a bad fire,” Maya tells Carina. “Probably one of the worst I’ve seen.”

“What happened?” Carina asks.

Maya takes off her shirt and looks for a sleeping one. “When we got there, almost the entire house was up in flames,” she says. “I mean, anyone who wasn’t already out of there, wasn’t getting out. And there was this woman screaming for her daughter. It, like, echos in my head, you know?” She pauses for a moment, trying to keep herself together. “I couldn’t send anyone on my team in there. It was sudden death. We had to fight it from the outside and when we got the whole thing out, we went inside.” She blows out a breath. “The entire time, the woman was screaming for her daughter. She had just given birth and her new grand baby was in there as well. We found them, burnt to a crisp. The woman’s daughter was holding her baby, and, my God, Carina, if you would’ve seen it.”

Carina walks over to Maya and holds her.

“I just kept thinking about you and Frankie,” Maya admits. “And how that the woman outside screaming could’ve been me screaming for you guys.”

“We’re right here, bambina. We’re safe,” Carina says.

Maya nods. “It was terrible,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Carina says.

Maya leans against Carina. “I love you.”

Carina kisses Maya’s temple. “I love you.”

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

“And how’s Cas?”

“How’s--” Dean stumbled as Dr. Moseley fixed him with a smile. “He’s great. Hasn’t been able to make it to the last few meetings because of Classics Society.”

“Mmm.” Dr. Moseley’s smile grew. “You know, Dean, if I’m not mistaken that boy was coming to book club just for you.”

Dean let out a nervous laugh and then glanced at his phone. “Dr. Moseley, I gotta go, traffic’s gonna get real bad soon.”

“Alright. Drive safe. And remember what I said about Cas.” She winked at him and Dean turned and sped out of her office as fast as he could. 

Dean and Cas had been randomly assigned as roommates freshman year, and they were now halfway through their senior year of college and still living together. Dean couldn’t imagine it any other way--and he couldn’t imagine Cas thinking that way about him, the way Dr. Moseley (his English professor and the faculty sponsor of KSU’s book club) was implying. 

Because Cas was just like that. If someone needed something, Cas was the first person to offer to help. He loved to tag along on adventures and offered great advice and was never upset to end up the designated driver when their friend group went to parties. 

Sure, Dean had been nursing a pretty intense crush on his best friend for about three years now, but he had already accepted that how Cas felt and how he himself felt were two different things. 

Or were they?

All afternoon, as Dean worked on his homework in the living room of their cramped apartment, Dr. Moseley’s insinuations crept through his mind, knocking him off his focus. Dean didn’t have time to be distracted--balancing a mechanical engineering major, English minor, and his job at the auto shop was enough work as it was. 

Cas came home at his normal time, when he got off work at the campus bookstore, and he greeted Dean with his usual “Hello!” before heading to the kitchen and making a fuck-ton of noise.

Dean sighed and set down his textbook, hauling himself off the couch and into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Cooking.”

“Cas, you don’t cook.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Get out of my way.” 

Dinner prep went the same as always, except Dean was hyper-aware of every time Cas brushed against him or Cas’ gaze lingered on him. He managed to keep it together until after they ate, cleaned up, and watched an episode of Jersey Shore while making fun of all the people on it, but as soon as he could Dean escaped to his room and pulled out his phone to text their friend Charlie.

Dean, 7:45pm: hey charles i got a question Charlie, 7:47pm: shoot Dean, 7:50pm: does cas like me?

Dean’s phone rang about three seconds after he sent the message, and he answered it to Charlie practically guffawing in his ear.

“Shut up,” Dean said emphatically. “Are you saying--”

“Yes, Dean, yes.” Charlie was still laughing. “Literally since you two met. You could text Jo or Benny or Ash right now and they would all tell you the same thing. Hell, you could ask Sam, and he doesn’t even go to KSU.”

“I hate you,” Dean said.

“Don’t. Look, now you can shoot your shot. Cas definitely likes you. You should hear him rhapsodize about your eyes--”

Dean hung up on her.

He didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning with the knowledge that Cas might like him. Even with confirmation from Charlie, it still felt way too good to be true.

But maybe she was right. Maybe he should give it a go.

Dean sighed and dragged himself out of bed thirty minutes earlier than usual the next morning and set about making breakfast. Cas typically had a bowl of cereal, but he appreciated it when Dean made breakfast, and, well, what was it that his mom always said? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? 

Cas shuffled blearily into the kitchen at their normal wake-up time and poured himself a cup of the coffee Dean had made, draining it before finally saying, “Good morning, Dean.” 

“Mornin’. I made breakfast.” Dean gestured at the table and hoped Cas’ hadn’t gotten cold. 

“Thanks.” Cas took his seat at their minuscule kitchen table, took a sip of his orange juice, and then took a look at his plate before promptly spitting it out.

Dean raised an eyebrow, anxiety swirling in his gut. 

“S-sorry,” Cas said, swallowing before looking up at Dean, eyes wide. “Did you mean for the--”

“Toast to be shaped like a heart? Yeah.” It sounded worse, and so goddamn cheesy, out loud. Dean would have spit out his orange juice, too.

“Charlie told me something might happen but I thought she was messing with me,” Cas said, his voice full of awe. He was still staring at Dean and it was almost too much.

“Charlie told you--I’m gonna kill her,” Dean vowed.

“Please don’t.” Cas was smiling now, and it was too much, so Dean did the only logical thing and crossed to the table before hauling Cas out of his chair. With Cas’ face mere inches from his and Cas’ pajama shirt balled up in his fist, Dean froze. Cas’ gaze was patient but searching. “I’m glad she told me,” Cas whispered, and that was that--Cas was closing the gap and they were kissing. 

Dean had daydreamed about this moment for a long time, but never quite like this. Objectively, it should have been an awful kiss--Cas had terrible morning breath that also tasted vaguely like orange juice, and it was a little off-center at first, and Dean was pushing Cas into the table in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but it was also perfect.

Dean eventually forced himself to come up for air. Cas was grinning at him, wide and gummy, his lips spit-slick from the kiss, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back.

“That was nice,” Cas said.

“Eat your damn breakfast,” Dean replied, but he could tell that he sounded too happy to be serious. 

(Cas’ breakfast did end up getting cold, but Cas said it was more than fine.)

[high-supernatural]

Reasons Kai Parker Wasn’t Technically Evil

#1 - 1,000: Nobody ever gave him a chance, he became a product of his environment. Let me explain, 

His family rejected him from the moment they found out he was a siphoner. It’s basic developmental psychology that toxic households lead to toxic traits as an adult whether they’re super evident or not. Kai said in (idk which episode, the one where he calls Caroline ‘Clarice’), that growing up was hard since he was basically disowned for what he was born as, he wasn’t allowed to touch anybody, he watched his siblings being applauded while he wasn’t allowed to go near anyone, and it was difficult because he felt like an addict fiening for a hit of magic all the time, he wanted to change but nobody would help him or give him a chance. 

Putting developmental psychology to that -- he was disowned for who he was (he was raised and taught to hate himself for something he couldn’t change), he couldn’t touch anyone (kids need physical touch and interaction to develop in a healthy way lol), he was never praised or allowed to participate in much and had to watch everyone else be involved (that’s just evidently shitty), & he struggled and was refused help, so the idea was put in his mind that he couldn’t be saved or get help anywhere. AND THEN, since he was ignored his whole life basically, he got their attention in an extreme way and then spent 18 years in 100% isolation. 

SO THEN AS AN ADULT, he has poor boundaries, doesn’t know how to interact with others well, forces his way into other people’s lives because he doesn’t want to be left out again, feels like he’ll be refused help so he either forces people to help or he deals by accepting that nobody will help and decides to revel in all that he is. He knows/thinks that extravagant displays of violence gets peoples attention, so that’s how he get’s attention on top of becoming more invincible so they can’t put him in isolation for it. 

Imagine this: your family completely disowns you for being born a certain way, you have to watch them be a happy family while you’re forced to sit on the sidelines all your life, you struggle with the way you were born and it makes you feel terrible, when you reach out for help you’re rejected, so you lash out and are forced to spend 18 years in a world identical to yours but there’s nobody in it -- 18 years in silence, loneliness, desolation, basically you’re the last person on Earth but you can’t escape and you can’t die. Because of this you have unhealthy communication methods, tons of trauma, all that stuff. So when you’re rescued and display your unhealthy behavior, your rescuers also disown you and treat you terribly. 

Idk about anyone else but I’d lose my marbles too. 

He literally asked Bonnie to be a positive influence on him & to help him adjust before they left the prison world. He said, and I quote, “the thing I’m most scared of is trying to figure out how to live in the world again, I was sort of hoping you’d be a positive influence on me. You’re a good person, Bonnie, you’re brave, loyal, patient... I wanna be more like you.” And Bonnie didn’t really care. I mean, in her defense I wouldn’t trust someone who killed me a few times either, but from Kai’s perspective I’d be a lil hurt. 

He genuinely apologized to people he’s hurt. 

A truly evil person doesn’t have a conscious, Kai does, specifically in these lines -- “I know you think I’m a monster, I mean I did murder or heavily maim most of my immediate family... but after a long period of self reflection, I came to the conclusion that I could’ve handled my anger better,” and, “how do you feel?” psychopaths don’t care how people feel and wouldn’t admit they did any wrong unless they were trying to get their way with something... which I guess could have been the case. BUT, psychopaths also don’t ask others for help or advice, and Kai does a few times. 

In the deleted 6x15 scene he tries to reasonably talk to Jo and Jo throws him against the wall. Kai says, “as much as my suffering might bring you pleasure, or whatever, this is not the way to handle this situation,” LIKE, he was TRYING to have an actual conversation. Also, this statement basically just says all of what he feels; “my family just enjoys to watch me suffer.” Then he says, “I’m the defective twin that nobody wanted,” “I spent 18 years in isolation as the family reject, and every inch of me wants to kill you for that, but I can’t,” “I’d like to live because I didn’t get to do a whole lot of that before everybody decided that I wasn’t worth it,” UGHHHH

ALSO in that scene, Kai says he’s trying to keep the coven alive. Like, ok, hypothetically if my whole life panned out like Kai’s did, I wouldn’t really want to be alive, no matter how much power I could potentially achieve in the future. Assuming Kai was feeling the same, he still wanted to keep his family alive. 

He tried opening up to multiple people including Jo, Elena/Damon, Bonnie..... and they all ignored him or kept telling him he’s evil. THAT’S SO ANNOYING. He even acknowledged that he didn’t expect them to believe him, proving that he knows he’s done wrong, psychopaths don’t know they’ve done wrong.

Boi needed friends, support, and therapy, but was locked in another prison world again....