#Some people never stop and appreciate it…

[theetherealbloom]

Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever

Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.

Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”

I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T

Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler

gif by @a7estrellas

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OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY

The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.  

You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.  

“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.  

“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.  

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.  

“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”  

The day unfolded in bursts of joy.  

Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.  

Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.  

Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”  

“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.  

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”  

Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”  

“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.  

Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.  

“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.  

“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.  

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET

The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”

Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”

Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”

“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.  

Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”  

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”  

“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”

Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”  

“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.  

Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”  

You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”  

Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.  

“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”

“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.  

“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.

You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.  

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.

“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”

“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”

Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”

“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.  

Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.  

Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”  

“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.  

“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”  

“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.  

The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.

THE NEXT DAY

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON  

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.  

Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.  

His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”  

“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.  

“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.  

It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.  

The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.  

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.  

Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”  

Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.  

Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”  

Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”  

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”  

Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”  

“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.  

Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”  

Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”  

“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.  

“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”  

He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”  

The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”  

Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”  

You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”  

“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”  

Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”  

“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”  

Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”  

Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”  

Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”  

You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING  

The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.  

Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.  

“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.  

Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.  

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”  

Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.  

He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”  

“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.  

“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.  

“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.  

Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.  

“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.  

Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”  

“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.  

The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.  

“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.  

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.  

“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.  

As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.  

“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”  

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.  

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”  

“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”  

“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”  

Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.  

“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.  

The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.  

As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.  

When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.  

You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.  

Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him. 

L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING

The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions. 

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”

And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more. 

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.

“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go. 

“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”

Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.

“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”

Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home. 

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”

You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”

He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close. 

This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up. 

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”

His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”

Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”

You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.

Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave. 

Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.  

“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.  

You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.  

“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.  

Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”  

You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.  

He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”  

“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”  

His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.  

“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.  

When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.  

“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.  

“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.  

The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.  

The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.

A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.  

“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.  

Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.  

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.  

“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.  

Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.  

Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.  

Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.  

“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”  

“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.  

He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”  

You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”  

Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”  

You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”  

Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.  

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”  

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”  

You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”  

“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”  

Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”  

Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”  

The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.  

Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”  

Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”  

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.  

The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.  

Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.  

In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.

[lovelytayforce]

I agree with this comment here so hard, I remember getting blasted for calling readers who don't comment "leeches" on R/Fanfiction and I'm glad people are seeing that for what it is even if it's four years late

So, I'm gonna share my own little story here because discord has actively ruined communities for fanfic (and art too I'm not gonna leave y'all out cause my bestie @zoetiger-1106 is an artist who deserves way more praise than she gets!!) The reason why authors and myself see the "I'm shy" shit as an excuse is because the same people will type long ass tirades on Discord without a single thought. YOU CAN EDIT AO3 COMMENTS PEOPLE! If you make a mistake, read it back over and edit it. I've watched it happen in real-time with one of my favorite commenters on my one-shot where they left a short gushing comment and then came back and wrote more, you have no excuse much less reason to go "Man fandom keeps telling me to not critique and I might make a mistake so I will say nothing and consume like the average TV and Streaming consumer who thinks there doing something!" YOU have a lot of power with comments and even those bookmark tags hell just copy-paste what you put into those bookmark tags as a comment I DON'T CARE AT THIS POINT USE THAT LIL BOX TO VOICE SOMETHING!!!! God this is all over the place idc but I read back at those bookmarks, and saw people call my works the best and super cool and I APPRECIATE THAT but tell me! Stop taking the easy route, I been blasted for misunderstandings over comments multiple times cause people take my "tone" terribly cause it sucks being black and emotive online yay and for some reason people think !!!! Is bad? yes, I've been hit with that but I keep on trucking cause fuck whatever some weirdo thinks about exclamation points! Anyways back to discord and why I hate it now, I was in a small fandom, KFP got invited to a discord cause ONE person commented on my works and saw they talked about my fic, and at first, I was happy and people TALKED about my chapters at length in the fanfic channel. I basically was the ONLY ONE posting consistently in that channel and it was great but also I wanted that on my fic to show I improved so guess what I did? I went all in trying to one-up myself to be noticed, to have the acclaim my peers did so it would evolve outside of discord channels but it never happened. And Imma tell y'all now; it never will. Readers prefer convenience over your hard work, they are not gonna take time for you no matter how much you improve. People told me over and over while I looked for solutions for this; "We can't make commenting look like an obligation." "Add more prose, space these paragraphs better" all this just for no one to take the initiative and say something SINCERE towards a work they love on it. I've had to tell my own ex-friends now to go leave comments on works they called Masterpieces while ignoring me. Despite the fact they wanted Gen content in which I WROTE. Or met people who have very weird "I don't review" rules for themselves despite getting motivated by reviews themselves!! We're in a shitty time for creatives much less community cause we don't see each other as humans much less want to treat each others as we desire to be treated. Fanfic readers want to treat authors like showrunners and I hate it. But then your peers will tell you 'not to worry about engagement" and no I am because why is my hit count going up every day but ain't no one saying shit? Make it make sense!! I sat in that community commenting as much as I could, especially on long fics; it wasn't all perfect but I TRIED. I didn't expect shit back but hey it would have been nice but it never happened and again I learned; it never would. That's the real issue, no one wants to give no more; just take and take and take til you're sucked dry of passion worse than any corpo out right now. It's why I thankfully switched fandoms. I got ONE consistent commenter and they are better than that ENTIRE SMALL CLOSED COMMUNITY!! So, to any discord reactor for fanfic you better skip on to that message you made and copy and paste it in this box right here and never utter "I'm shy" ever again cause we see you, our friends tell us about you. You are not as anonymous as you think! 🫵🏽

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[sserpente]

S T R A Y

Synopsis: The streets are not safe at night, not in the N109 zone, and even less so for a woman. When you realise you are being followed one night, panic surges through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You have to come up with a plan, fast. Hardly anyone still mingles at this time of day, yet there is a club nearby whose lights are still lit. A group of men are chattering just outside. One of them, you recognise. It is Sylus, the leader of Onychinus himself. Discarding all rational thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, hoping that he will play along and help you. It’s an encounter you’re certain you will never forget. So when you meet again a few weeks later during a fateful business meeting and your own father offers you up to him as payment to settle a dispute, only one question remains—did you get unlucky…or lucky?

Words: 5434 Warnings: bad parenting, being followed

Life in the N109 zone was…different. More than the booming trade of vitamin D pills and weaponry, there was a certain beauty to it. One that I had come to appreciate. The glooming lights, the abrasive darkness, and that mysterious aura were a balm to the soul that most people failed to appreciate.

It was life. Life was rough. This dream of Linkon City, an escape most people here longed for, was as unreachable as the sunlight.

As for me, my father made sure of that. I was all he had—and he wouldn’t let me leave to find joy elsewhere. Not unless he could draw an advantage from it himself.

I sighed, clutching the pile of neatly stacked documents tighter to my body. Confidential documents, retrieved illegally, of course, that were too precious to entrust anyone else with. It was already past midnight and the cold had crept in without mercy, crawling further and further into the heart of the N109 zone and freezing up its streets and alleys.

I breathed out through my mouth only to watch it mix with the crisp winter air. I wasn’t dressed warmly enough but there had been no time to put on several layers of clothing before my father sent me out with urgency in his voice.

He was mad. I could consider myself lucky if I made it home safely—without any vicious Wanderer attacks or thugs who wanted my father’s head as much as they wanted the pile of documents I realised now would be better off in my bag.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that I did. Or perhaps it was some sort of divine intervention because the very moment I closed the zip, I spotted a man wearing a black beanie from the corner of my eye. It was too dark to make out his face, only that he had stopped walking…and stepped forward again as soon as I did.

Shit. Don’t panic. It could just be a coincidence. Just change the side of the road and it’ll be fine. I drew in another deep breath, bracing myself. I took a sharp turn right, crossing the street over cracked asphalt and a discarded car tire only to watch the stranger do the same.

Perhaps now it was time to panic. There was no doubt about it. My gun was in my bag. Would I be fast enough to pull it out, cock it and aim before he realised what I was doing? Possibly not. He was getting closer already. I had to act fast.

The main road was the only one fairly lit in the N109 zone. I had to disappear out of sight if I wanted to gain an advantage and in order to do that, I had to merge with the shadows. I took another sharp turn, slipping into a side alley.

Old cardboard boxes and bins lined the narrow pathway, and the pavement was still glistening with the tears the sky had cried throughout the day in the artificial light of a shady poker club that was still open.

An opportunity, perhaps? I quickened my steps, heading straight towards it. Voices accompanied the weak source of light—cheerful chatter by men and women alike. Normally, I’d stay miles away from these places. But right now, it may be my only lifeline.

Another inconspicuous glance back proved the stranger was indeed still following me.

Ten more steps. Ten more steps and I could…could do what? I bit my lower lip. I hadn’t thought this through at all. People who visited these clubs were hardly of the trustworthy sort. If anything, there was a chance they were even deadlier than the man behind me.

Still, I had no choice, perhaps I would…

My heart skipped a beat when my eyes fell on one of the men facing the open door of the building. His hands were buried in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world, a nonchalance unusual to the N109 zone. But it was his appearance that made my breath hitch.

White hair, red eyes…this…this was Sylus. I’d only seen him once before. As a real estate agent on the dodgier and more exploiting side, my father liked picking fights over property he believed he was entitled to—it got him on Onychinus’s bad side quickly, and onto their long list of enemies they were happy to strangle on sight.

My instincts should be telling me to run. I could only imagine the pure horrors they’d inflict on me if they knew I was his daughter. But I was also running short on options. Sylus was the most powerful man in the N109 zone. And as of right now, he was the only one I would trust to be capable of helping me out of my predicament.

He heard me approach before he turned his head to face me. One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly when my eyes locked with his, yet before he could utter even a single word, I threw myself into his arms as if he was my boyfriend and I hadn’t seen him all week. He placed his hands on my waist presumably by reflex, a barely audible gasp escaping his lips in the process.

“A little stray kitten is seeking the protection of a lion. How…adorable,” he purred. Mockery swung in his dark voice. It sent pleasant shivers up and down my spine, reminding me of how dangerous this man was, and yet…I felt safe in his arms. Protected. With a shaky breath, I nuzzled up to his neck even closer.

“Please…I’m being followed. Help me. C-can you pretend we know each other?”

Sylus stiffened in my arms. For a brief moment, I worried he’d push me away and tell me to deal with this myself but instead…instead he tightened his grip around me with a start. I let out a sigh of relief before I could stop myself.

“Who? The guy right behind you?” he asked, his tone low and stern.

“Yes,” I whispered into his ear. “He’s wearing a black beanie.”

Sylus hummed, looking up when the strange man reached us at last. “Can I help you?” he growled.

I swallowed thickly, pressing my face against Sylus’s chest. Heavens, he smelled…good. His masculine scent calmed my nerves in an instant, my trembling ceasing a little.

“N-no…” I heard the man stutter behind me.

“Then what do you want from my girlfriend? You don’t strike me as the poker type,” Sylus continued, his voice carrying just a hint of a threat. My girlfriend… Why did I like the sound of that so much? I suppressed a scoff. I’d been reading too many mafia romance novels, that was for sure.

“Your girlfriend, huh? I’m just taking a walk. Enjoying the fresh air, taking in the night breeze.”

Clearly, he was not convinced. Yet it appeared he did not realise who Sylus was either—and that as of right now, he was playing not only with fire but death itself.

“Then keep on walking and don’t look back,” Sylus said. He leaned back a little, hooking his index finger under my chin to force me to look at him. His crimson gaze went soft, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Did you have a good day at work, kitten?”

I nodded, too stunned to speak. Studying him up close, he…he was attractive. Very attractive. Shit, what was wrong with me? This wasn’t just anyone, this was…this was the leader of Onychinus himself! Sylus is dangerous, I scolded myself. Your father’s arch enemy, your...oh please, don’t develop a crush on him!

“How can I be sure you really know the lady, huh? You could be blackmailing her, making her work for you, or some shit like that. She might need my help.”

Sylus growled. I was unprepared for the jolt of electricity rippling through me when he did. But what had me at his mercy was his following action. Without showing any signs of hesitation, Sylus leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, claiming my mouth in a kiss full of longing and the promise of more.

I froze. Panicked and melting into him both at the same time. By the time he released me, his hot breath ghosting over my face, the stranger scoffed and then, finally, took off.

Butterflies exploded in my belly, my heart fluttering in my chest to the point I was worried he could hear it.

I should thank Sylus. Show him my appreciation, shower him with grateful words, and yet…my throat remained paralysed as if his kiss had awakened something in me my body was yet to come to terms with.

“You are reckless wandering around the N109 zone unarmed at this time of night, kitten,” he said once the man was out of sight.

Damn it. I shook myself. Pull yourself together!

“I’m not unarmed. I have a gun in my bag, I just…I panicked. He would have reached me by the time I got my weapon out.”

“Then carry it on your hip next time. How far are you from home?”

“About a mile. That way.” I pointed down the alley—the exact same direction the stranger had disappeared into.

I only realised now that Sylus was still holding me. I cleared my throat, peeling myself out of his embrace.

And whoever he had been conversing with, they were all gawking and had been following the spectacle as if I was the main character of a reality TV show. Oh, how lovely.

“Luke, Kieran!”

“Yes, boss?” Two young men dressed entirely in black, their faces hidden by eerie masks stepped into view, answering Sylus in unison. I blinked. Where had they come from?

“Take my car and bring this lady home safe.” His tone allowed no contradiction—not from me and certainly not from the twins. Not that they were not inclined to read every wish from his lips anyway.

“Sure thing, boss,” one of them said.

“Follow us!” the other one added.

Expecting me to do as I was told, they disappeared around the corner, the way I came from, before I could protest.

I took a step back. “Uh… Sylus?”

His crimson eyes locked with mine. A mute invitation to continue speaking.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good night, kitten.”

I did not look back when I took off. I couldn’t. I could still taste him on my lips along with the lingering aroma of expensive whiskey…

“In you go, miss!”

“Yeah, just tell us where you live and we’ll get you home in no time!”

Unable to tell who was who, I merely recited my address to them before I climbed into the back of the car hoping that this wasn’t a trick and they would indeed take me home.

Studying the interior as well as the exterior and taking into consideration that I didn’t know a lot about cars; even I knew that this one was expensive. Very expensive, surpassing the wealth of my father by far.

As soon as the engine was started and the twins stirred the vehicle further and further away from the poker club, my mind drifted off to Sylus and the way those stunning red eyes had softened with compassion upon learning of my precarious situation. A man with such a look in his gaze couldn’t possibly be a villain…right?

“Wait…this is where you live? This is the real estate agent’s mansion.”

“Are you his daughter?”

They both leaned back, staring at me through their expressionless masks. I swallowed thickly. Shit. I should have given them a different address. One that was right around the corner or something. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“I…I…”

“Explains why you’re sneaking around at night. That real estate agent is shady.”

“I was just trying to get home. I’m not up to anything. And I certainly don’t want any trouble.” Plus, I wouldn’t have thrown myself into the arms of my father’s greatest enemy, your boss, if I did.

“Ah, don’t worry, we won’t tell Boss about your dad.”

“Yet.”

The car doors unlocked, prompting me to breathe out audibly. “T-Thank you.”

“Good night!” they called out in unison when I got out of the car as quickly as I could muster. I’d barely closed the door again before they drove off already, leaving me behind confused and speechless. Yet? What was that supposed to mean?

It was a few weeks after this incident that my father announced I was to attend a highly important business meeting with him. So far, Onychinus had been silent. No surprise attacks, no kidnappings. I should have felt at ease that Sylus had acted like a true gentleman that night, ensuring I got home safe without expecting anything in return.

Luke and Kieran must have kept their mouth shut about my identity. And if they hadn’t, and Sylus already knew who I was and where I lived…

It should have been concern or even fear pumping through my veins. Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to the very moment the infamous leader of Onychinus had kissed me as if we were in love.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” My father stepped behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

I took a deep breath and straightened my suit. “Ready, Dad. So…who are we meeting tonight? And where?”

“Place is a shady poker club about a mile from here. We won’t stay there any longer than necessary.”

Shady poker club? I swallowed thickly. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“Dad, who are we meeting up with?”

“The less you know, the better, sweetheart. Now let’s go. We’re gonna be late. He doesn’t like it when you’re late.”

He. Who was he?

My father ushered me outside and into his car before I could pry any further. We soared through the streets ignoring speed limits and the occasional obstacle. He was nervous. The way his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white had me shift back and forth on the passenger seat all restless and uneasy myself.

He hadn’t even told me why he wanted me there in the first place. Not knowing what to expect at all threatened to have me decorate the dashboard with my dinner.

But perhaps that was a lie. Part of me did know, precisely, what to expect. I realised that the very moment the car came to a stop.

Sylus’s crimson eyes locked with mine when I entered the poker club a few steps behind my father and his men, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. If Luke and Kieran had indeed revealed my identity to him, he did not show it. His demeanour was calm. Collected.

“Mr. Sylus… Thank you for your time,” my father said.

“Don’t thank me before you have made it worth my while.” He paused and my heart skipped a beat when he stepped towards me and raised my hand to his face, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. “We meet again, kitten.”

It lingered on my skin even after he let go, like the gentle wings of a butterfly caressing the back of my hand. I was on fire, my face and ears so warm I could practically feel the blood pumping through them. Airplanes took off in my body, making me nauseous for different reasons entirely now. Damn it.

“Good evening, Sylus,” I pressed out at last.

My father’s eyes widened. “You know each other?”

Sylus looked at me expectantly.

“Uh… Sylus helped me out of an iffy situation the night you sent me to retrieve those documents for you. He ensured I returned home safely,” I said.

It was a challenge to hide the trembling in my voice. I’d had good reason not to tell my father about my encounter with Sylus. I suppressed a gasp when he grabbed my upper arm.

“Are you kidding me, child? You’re telling me you put yourself in the leader of Onychinus’s debt?” he hissed.

And this was exactly why.

I spotted the twins, standing guard on either side of Sylus’s chair, their masks void of any emotion as usual. Sylus himself had sat down already in the meantime, an untouched glass of whiskey on the stained poker table in front of him. The place was deserted. Neither customers nor staff filled the place with life, leading me to believe that Sylus had made sure there wouldn’t be any unwanted eyes and ears present.

“I don’t have all day,” he called over. He almost sounded…bored.

“Mr. Sylus… Of course. Excuse me. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

My father’s men scattered across the room, taking position in every corner with one hand on the handle of their guns. I swallowed, relieved when my father finally let go of me and sat down opposite Sylus. I took a seat next to him, unsure of what he expected me to do next.

Already I was hardly looking forward to the ride back home. My father would give me hell for getting involved with Onychinus on my own terms. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

“So…Mr. Sylus. I heard you are currently investigating Mr. Edward Geoffrey’s efforts to create Evol serums?”

I frowned. Of course, Onychinus would be interested in Geoffrey’s Evol serums too. My father had always had an eye for opportunity. He surpassed himself, however, with this. Willingly setting up a meeting with the enemy was not only reckless, it was suicide.

“You heard correctly.” Sylus took out a coin from his pocket and began flicking it between his fingers.

I bit my lower lip, fighting for composure. The tension in the room was palpable. One wrong word and it would blow, causing a deadly explosion.

“I may be able to help.”

Sylus huffed a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mr. Geoffrey is an old acquaintance of mine, you see.”

“And why would that information be relevant to me?” he replied, clearly unimpressed.

Hypnotised, I watched him play with the coin.

“Because I sold a property to him. I have access to the floor plans…and skilled men who know how to bypass the security system I set up for him.”

My father pulled out a small package and slid it across the table. Sylus looked up. Now he was interested.

“You stole a sample of one of his serums? Why?”

“Consider it a peace offering.”

“You are a fool if you think all will be forgiven because of this.” Sylus nodded at the package with his chin, then gestured for Luke and Kieran to take it. One of them snatched it off the table before my father could change his mind.

“Mr. Sylus… Let me be frank with you. I made myself very vulnerable by meeting up with you and I have no ill intentions, not tonight. I did this in good faith. My investors are not happy with me. My involvement with Onychinus has made them…wary of future collaborations.”

Sylus huffed another laugh. “That merely sounds like you are facing the consequences of your own actions. Were you expecting pity? Compassion?”

Compassion. He’d shown me compassion that night. But I was not my father. I was not here to strike a business deal. I was, apparently, here to look pretty and keep my mouth shut. It was in moments like this I resented the crudeness of my own flesh and blood.

My father shot me a brief look. He was desperate, I could see it glistening in his eyes. “Alright. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this but…how about we raise the stakes then?”

The stakes?

“An addition to your workforce, perhaps?” he went on. “My daughter is an excellent assistant to me. I’ve tasked her with many important missions in the past. She is reliable, resilient, and obedient.”

My heart skipped a beat, my stomach churning. Nausea crept its way up my throat, my limbs tensing. My own father…meant to sell me to Sylus? To Onychinus?

The shock and hurt must have been visible on my face. It was ironic, really, that my ability to keep a poker face was remarkably pathetic given the very place of this meeting.

Sylus’s crimson eyes flickered over to me before they focused on my father again. My own gaze followed him. There was no way he would agree to this. Sylus had shown himself to be nothing but a gentleman the last time we met. He’d respect my autonomy, he’d—

“Hmm. That does sound like a fair enough deal. I accept.”

What? My head whipped back in his direction, my eyes widening in pure horror. He…he couldn’t be serious now, could he? He wouldn’t let my father sell me to him like cattle…right? Right?

The man who was supposed to love and protect me turned to me. His hand felt heavy and sweaty when he put it on mine. “Go with him, sweetheart. Make me proud.”

“You’ve planned this all along.”

He nodded.

“How could you?” I choked out.

“Sweetheart…this is the N109 zone. It’s to kill or be killed. And you working for Onychinus? It will lift my reputation and respect tenfold. It won’t be too different from working for me, hmm?”

I should be surprised. Hurt. Heartbroken. And perhaps I was all of these things but instead, all I was able to feel was an uncomfortable numbness revealing to me what I had known for years without wanting to realise. My father had never truly loved me. I was a tool. A means to an end. Another mouth to feed that he was now finally rid of.

Sylus rose from his chair, flinging the coin in the air before catching it and letting it disappear in his pocket again.

“Come on, kitten. It’s getting late. Consider your name off my list. For now,” he added, addressing my father.

The twins approached me when I made no move to follow Sylus back outside and to his car. Their touch on my shoulders was surprisingly gentle. I wanted to cry. Wanted to ruin the makeup I had applied so meticulously only an hour before in order to please my father. Not a single tear was willing to escape my eyes though, not even when Sylus opened the door to the passenger seat for me and the all too familiar scent of his expensive car filled my nostrils. Moments later, we rushed through the streets as if we owned the place. In a way we did. Well, Sylus did.

I refused to take in the beauty and vastness of his home when we arrived. It reminded me of a gothic novel, one with mysterious counts and vampires luring in young women to keep them as playthings and living blood bags. Expensive art and antique furniture filled the place, our steps echoing all the way up to the high ceiling. I followed Sylus and the twins into what I assumed was both a lounge and a dining room.

Luke and Kieran placed the mysterious serum my father had retrieved on the table, removed the stopper, and gave it a little sniff before popping it back on.

“Now what?” I spat.

“Is it a fake, what do you think?” Sylus asked nonchalantly, ignoring my question entirely.

He… I gnashed my teeth. Why was he acting like I wasn’t even in the room?

“Looks genuine, Boss. We should have it checked though, just to be sure.”

Sylus nodded. “Leave it here for now. I’ll deal with it later.”

Three…two…one. I waited until Luke and Kieran had left the room before I all but threw myself at Sylus. This time, however, it was not to seek comfort and aid. This time, I was out for blood.

“You bastard!” I lashed out at him. “Why did you agree to this? Accepting me as a prize like I’m some sort of slave! I thought…I thought you were…”

Sylus’s reflexes were downright terrifying. He snatched my wrist before my palm got even close to his cheek, his red eyes darkening.

I gasped for air when he pushed me against the nearest wall and my back hit the golden frame of a painting, his large body pressed up against me and nullifying any chance at escape. Heavens, he was strong. I was well trained in martial arts, my father had insisted I learned to defend myself since my early childhood, but Sylus? Sylus could crush me. He wouldn’t even need to use his Evol for it.

“I agreed to your father’s proposal for your sake, kitten,” he growled. “Not for mine.”

“My sake? My sake? Am I supposed to believe that?”

“What kind of father bargains his own daughter away, kitten? You’re better off without him.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as if my behaviour was sawing on his nerves. “I have half a mind to send you back. You are acting obnoxiously ungrateful.” I…I couldn’t even tell if he was joking or not.

“How dare you?” I spat.

“Am I wrong? Your father doesn’t strike me as the type you say no to. What was your life like, I wonder? Running errands for him? Constantly putting yourself in danger like that first night we met, disregarding your own dreams, your own needs, all in order to earn the love of a man who was never willing to grant it to you in the first place?”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” I struggled against his steel grip, hot and salty tears now finally threatening to spill and stain my flushed cheeks. Sylus was right. He was right about everything and hearing him speak it all out loud was so painful my knees gave up on me. It all came crashing down on me like a landmine. My father’s betrayal, my services being sold like a pint of milk in the supermarket, Sylus…Sylus.

My attempt to shove him away caught him off guard long enough for me to slide to the floor the very moment he reached for the next best thing to steady himself—it was the dining table, the small bottle containing the mysterious Evol serum an inch too close to the edge.

Sylus cursed when it tipped over. The twins must not have stuffed the stopper back in properly, for when it did, its liquid contents spilled all over the smooth surface of his mahogany table and his long fingers. It sizzled when it made contact with his skin, throwing bubbles and emitting smoke before eventually drying into his pores in the blinking of an eye.

“What happened? What did it do? Are you hurt?” I didn’t want to show concern for this man. I ought to hate him, despise him, loathe him… I blinked my tears away. I just…I couldn’t. There was anger, yes. But…there was something else too. It was that feeling again. That very same feeling that had already filled me from head to toe the very night I had wrapped my arms around him begging for his help. It was security. Security and…protection. Like I could put my life in his hands and he would cherish it.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. Sylus shook his hand out as if that would help remove whatever substance had crawled under his skin, salvaged what was left of the serum, and then, finally, sank to the floor so we were eye to eye again, propping one knee up and resting his underarm on it. His dark red gaze met mine. He appeared to be…fine. Perhaps my father had lied and the serum was a fake after all.

“I suggest…a ceasefire for now.”

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, wiping my eyes. My palms came back bearing black streaks from my makeup but I couldn’t care less. Nevertheless…I nodded.

“If you don’t want me as your assistant…does that mean…I’m free to go?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“You are not a prisoner here. Although, I would prefer to keep you around for a while longer. Your father will notice if you go straying again too soon, kitten.”

It took me a sharp inhale to process his words. Safe, a treacherous voice in my head whispered. You are safe with him.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” I wish you’d never stop calling me that. My heart skipped a beat whenever he did.

Sylus chuckled. “Don’t act like you hate it. You are…” He did not finish his sentence. My jaw dropped to the floor when he was suddenly stopped by a pair of fluffy brown cat ears springing from his white hair. They were quickly followed by a long tail of the same fur colour. Sylus tensed and gasped audibly.

“W-what is happening?” I choked out.

With one hand, he reached up to feel his ears, flinching when he realised that they were part of his body and…assumingly sensitive.

“So that’s what the serum does…” Sylus mumbled.

I gasped, covering my mouth with my palm to stifle a hysteric laugh.

“Who’s the kitten now, Sylus?”

Shit, this… This was all so…so absurd! All of it! This whole evening, me being here, Sylus turning into an Evol cat…could anything else go horribly wrong at this point?

My emotions turned into a bubbling cauldron full of uncertainty. It was overwhelming, to say the least. And I was getting tired of trying to figure out which feeling I wanted to give in to. Wiping the wet tears from my cheeks one last time, I sniffled and sat up, determined to not let fate get the better of me. I’d get through this. Somehow.

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

“You…you have no idea how much I needed this. You…you’re going to be okay though, right?”

“Of course I will. I just need to find out how to reverse the effects.”

“Why were you interested in this serum anyway? My father’s motivations I can understand, he’s in it for the money but you are…you are filthy rich already.” And the more I’m speaking to you, the more I’m realising you’re not the brutal and cold criminal I thought you were.

“There may be links to the usage of an Aether Core. That is all you need to know, kitten.”

I raised an eyebrow, half a smirk battling the sternness on my face. Truly, I couldn’t care less about Protocores. “I think you lost the right to call me that when you grew a pair of cat ears and a wagging tail, Sylus,” I said instead.

I paused, biting my lower lip. I made my decision there and then. I was safe. For now. And…I trusted him. I trusted Sylus enough to keep me alive and well and that had to suffice for now. I could deal with those strange butterflies awakening in my belly whenever he was near me tomorrow.

“I…I want to stay. And help you fix…whatever this is.” I reached up, scratching his left ear. My eyes widened when a little moan escaped his lips.

“That…is sensitive.”

Oh. Did…did he just growl?!

“You are welcome to stay, kitten. Nothing will happen to you here. Besides…I could use another assistant once I’ve sent Luke and Kieran off to find an antidote for…this.”

He whipped his tail in my direction where it wrapped around my waist. I cleared my throat. I was starting to feel a little cheeky now that I was certain that Sylus would keep his promise. Banter helped. Banter kept me distracted.

“I could be of great assistance indeed. I’ll clean your litter box every day, buy you fresh milk, brush your tail…and I’m more than happy to take you to the vet to get you checked for fleas.”

His gaze darkened. Evidently, my joke was not lost on him. Nor was the playfulness.

“You’re dancing on very thin ice, sweetie.” Sweetie? Now that was a new nickname. I decided I liked it just as much.

“I like to live on the edge. I… I hope you’ll compensate me adequately for my services though.”

Sylus crawled forward and pressed me closer against the wall with a start, almost as if his newly won feral instincts had taken over, ushering him into showing his affection by rubbing against me. I suppressed a moan. Being so close to him had my mind wander off into dangerous territory I was certain there was no coming back from. And to make matters even worse… Sylus’s crimson gaze now dropped to my slightly parted lips.

“Generously…” he whispered.

I’d gotten unlucky before. All my life, to be precise. Maybe today, the tables had finally turned.

[smallgodseries]

Sometimes education isn’t enough.  Sometimes you can study and study and try and try, and never quite cross the last bridge between where you are and your heart’s desire.

Sometimes you need to tell the perfect little lie to get there.

Once upon a time there was a small god of goldfinches named Yucan who wanted nothing more in the world than to be a god of toucans, to manifest himself as a big, beautiful, tropical bird that people would stop to ooo and ahh over when they saw it in the trees, something impressive.  It was a good thing to be a god of songbirds.  There weren’t as many of them as there had been before cats became quite so popular as house pets, and the ones remaining needed all the divine intervention they could get their wings on.  He appreciated their attention and their worship, but he wanted, so very badly, to be more than his nature was allowing him to be.

So he hatched, over the course of several slow decades, a plan, and one night, with no warning whatsoever, his faithful woke and found him gone.  He had abandoned his divine duties, flown the coop, left the nest, and no one could find a single feather left behind!  All the little birdies were distraught…but not for very long, as little birdies have short memories, and there were other gods of songbirds around to serve.  If it wasn’t quite the same, well, nothing ever is, not even following the same god from one day to another.  They adjusted.  They adapted.

And far away, a very small god with a very big dream put his plans into action. He donned a false face, he told everyone who met him that he was the god of endangered tropical birds, and if no one had ever seen him before, well, some of those birds were very endangered.  Deforestation and poaching, don’cha know?  So many dangers to evade.  So many fledglings to protect.  So he lied, and lied, and pretended, and did his best to live up to his own lies.  He protected those who came to him, he spread his wings over the nests of species unknown to science, and he tried, and he lied, and he tried.

Until one day, the mask would not come off when he went to go to nest.  One day, he noticed that his wingspan was greater, and he no longer heard the prayers of songbirds, but of the birds he had claimed…and of more than them. Of frightened high school drama students and would-be figure skaters, of novice computer programmers and new-made lawyers.

They had their own lies to tell.

And Yucan Tu would be with them every step along the way, singing goldfinch songs in their ears and spreading his wings to defend them from the risks of their own actions.

He is a god of falsehood, yes, but also of sincerity, and of effort.

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[band--psycho]

Vander x Reader - 5 Years Later...(Part 2)

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Requests are still open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

Part 2 to my Vander x Reader series - Part 1

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Vander Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of grief, feeling of dega-vu

You knew the Undercity wasn’t the safest of places to go, at least that’s what your father had always told you. 

So why were you down here? 

Because as much as you appreciated your fathers protectiveness, what type of friend would you be if you let one of your closest friends go down there alone? 

A pretty shit one. 

Which is why, despite the risks, you went with Jayce down to the Undercity. 

Besides, seeing as you were training to be an Enforcer and Jayce was just a student at the academy it was basically your job to escort him and make sure that nothing happened to him; that’s at least what you’d tell Greyson if she asked where you’d been…and your parents, if they asked which you hoped they wouldn’t. 

“Remind me where we’re going?” You asked in a slightly hushed tone as the two of you turned a corner walking down a dimly lit alley, before 

“I need to get some supplies for a project I’m working on,” Jayce answered simply; with an optimistic gleam in his eyes. 

“What project?” you inquired, unable to keep your curiosity at bay; it had certainly been a while since you’d seen Jayce this excited about a project.

“It’s best I don’t tell you, until I can get it working,” he replied; his answer only furthering your curiosity, but perhaps it was for the best for you to know as little as possible…especially if the academy wasn’t aware of it, which by the seams of things, they weren’t. The less you knew the better; though it still played on your mind as the two of you continued walking through the Undercity.  

To most people the Undercity was just an underdeveloped land across the river, deep in the canyons,  beneath Piltover, filled with misfits and thugs; but as you walked through the lanes of the Undercity, you couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it. 

The beauty of how vibrant the lights atop of the shops shone in the darkness; the difference of industrial architecture, making each building its own, if only in a little way.

It was different from Piltover, of course, but beautiful nevertheless. 

Since you'd arrived down here you couldn’t shake this feeling of deja-vu…like you’d been here before. 

It was odd. 

You’d never been down here; not once; so why did it feel so familiar?

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t realised Jayce had stopped walking until you walked into the back of him. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, hearing a small chuckle fall from his lips. 

“Lost in your own world again?” he teased, turning around to look at you. 

You simply rolled your eyes at his comment and looked at the building you’d stopped outside; a pawn shop. 

You shot Jayce a confused look; you didn’t understand what this place had that any of the shops in Piltover didn’t; except from some anonymity. 

Down here no one knew him. 

But that only caused the curiosity you had about his project to grow. 

“Stay out here, I won’t be long,” he said before disappearing inside the shop. 

You went to follow him, before you heard a song in the distance, that halted your steps. 

You knew it. 

But you were certain you’d never heard it before…

How did you know a song from the Undercity? 

You turned on your heel, following the sound of the song; you knew it was risky, venturing off into the Undercity alone and you knew Jayce would be worried if he came back outside and noticed you gone, but you couldn’t help it. 

It was like your feet had a mind of their own and before you knew it, you’d come to the source of the music, it was a bar, or at least that’s what you assumed it was seeing as it was called ‘The Last Drop’ and had a logo of a tankard in the middle of the name. 

‘Why does this place seem so familiar?’ you thought to yourself, your eyes narrowing as you stared at the building in front of you. 

You were about to take another step, before you felt someone grab ahold of your wrist; instinctively your training kicked in and your guard went up, ready to fight. 

That was until you saw that it was Jayce who was holding your wrist; he was panting slightly with a worried look in his eyes, “I thought something had happened to you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, guilt washing over you, “I didn’t mean to worry you,” 

“It’s okay,” he answered softly, tugging on your wrist slightly, leading you away from the bar, “Let’s just get out of here.”

And with that the two of you made your way past the pawn shop Jayce had been in, passing a little boy with white hair leaning against the wall, he had a proud smile on his face that was until he saw you. 

You waved at him politely, confused about why he was staring at you; but the little boy said nothing, he just continued to stare at you, his mouth hanging slightly agape as you vanished out of his view. 

All you could think about as you made your way back to Piltover was how strange today had truly been. 

The deja-vu, the song, the bar, the little boy….none of it was making any sense….

~~~~~~

Vander hated seeing Vi hurt; he also hated that she was a mirror image of how he was when he was younger, so eager to rebel against the topsiders…but it wasn’t that simple. 

That’s what he was trying to get her to understand.

Every action had a consequence. 

He knew that better than anyone. 

He was the one who was too stubborn to call off the uprising, because he wanted to show Piltover that they were worthy of not being left behind on all the grand new ventures Piltover were indulging in; and because of that, he lost so many people that were close to him. 

But no ones ghost was more haunting than yours. 

He just needed Vi to understand that violence wasn’t the way to play this. 

He knew Greyson would probably be paying him a visit soon; the kids, unintentionally, broke an agreement that he’d made with the current sheriff of Piltover, to keep a peace between topside and the Lanes. 

A peace that was now hanging by a thread. 

Once he was sure Vi’s injuries were clean, he rose from the table and began putting away the supplies he’d used to clean her cuts. 

“Vander…there’s something else,” Vi began, halting Vanders movements and making his attention focus back on her. 

“Go on,” he  said calmly, though in his mind he was dreading the next words that were going to come out of her mouth; she’d just been part of blowing up a building in Piltover, what more could there be.

“Ekko said….he said he saw Y/n,” 

Her words short-circuited his mind at the mention of your name.

“What?” he asked; thinking that maybe, somehow, he’d misheard what Vi had said. 

“He said he saw Y/n walking with that topside guy that came into the shop,” she repeated, noticing how Vanders eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to process her words. 

“That was partly why I went up there….to see if she was there,” she continued, rising from her seat, walking over to Vander and placing her hand on his arm. 

She knew how much Vander loved you. 

She knew how much losing you broke him. 

She knew how much losing you hurt both her and Powder; who’d grown so close to you in the few years prior to the uprising. 

That’s why she wanted to be sure that Ekko wasn’t wrong; she’d barely believed him herself when he first told her, but before the explosion happened, she was sure she heard your voice; but without actually seeing you, she couldn't be sure if it was you or if it was just the wishful thinking in her mind.

“She’s dead, Vi,” Vander stated; his voice remaining balanced; although the look in his eyes showed a growing sadness. 

“You’ve never believed that,” 

It wasn’t a lie; he didn’t believe it. 

He might’ve said that you were dead; but Vi knew that deep in his heart, he had never believed it.

He never found your body; and without your body, he could still cling on to the hope that you were alive. 

Vi never really understood why he couldn’t believe your death was real; but now she knew that he was right all along. 

“Ekko got it wrong, it can’t have been her.”

“Vander, he knows what she looks like….” Vi tried to counter, they all knew what you looked like from the photos Vander kept of the two of you; but Vander just went back to putting away the medical supplies before heading to the stairs. 

“He got it wrong,” he answered back, slightly harsher than he’d intended to,before leaving the basement entirely and heading to his own room. 

He all but collapsed onto the side of your bed; his eyes landing on the photo of you he kept on his bedside table. 

You were dead.

That’s what he kept telling himself. 

That’s what he'd had to tell himself for the last five years to keep his own sanity. 

But there was a little voice in the back of his head, a voice that reignited his failing hope…what if you weren’t…what if what Ekko said was true…?

Vander didn’t know what to believe….the memories from that day flooding back into his mind as the pain he’d felt re-entered his heart, tears fell from the Hound Of The Undergrounds eyes, as he tried to work out what to believe. 

What if all these years you’d been alive? 

Why were you in Piltover? 

Why hadn’t you come back to him? 

Did you blame him for what happened on the bridge….did you blame him for the deaths so many people had succumbed to…? 

Is that why you never came home?

So many thoughts were running through his mind; but even if his mind hadn’t settled on a decision, his heart had; he needed to find out the truth. 

And he would; just as soon as he’d smoothed everything out with Greyson about today's incident.

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @the-lone-librarian @conretewings @barbersjoy @eternallyvenus @trixiex2 @newlosadventures @eternalgoddessofart @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @nagislemontea @dazecrea

I apologise in advance to those who have asked to be on the taglist and aren’t - I’m not ignoring you, I just can’t tag you in it for some reason :(

[genderqueerdykes]

howdy, this may be a stupid question but I saw a post of yours talking about how men can be lesbians and I'm just a little confused? can some men be lesbians just because they identify with the label? and If people of any gender can be lesbians what does being a lesbian mean? my understanding may be flawed so I would really appreciate help in understanding :3

hello there! not a stupid question!

yep, men can be lesbians simply by identifying with the label, that's all there really is to it! that's how every queer identity except intersex works, in fact! in recent years, we've begun welcoming non binary people into lesbian and gay spaces- so why can't we open the doors to other people? this can be for a variety of reasons why a man would identify as a lesbian, transmascs and trans men who started in the lesbian community and still feel a connection to that identity, bi/multigender men, genderqueer men, genderfluid men, intersex men, bi and pan men who feel like their attraction is gay and lesbian instead of gay and straight, lesbian trans women who are also men, the sky is really the limit!

it's a bit complicated to define what terms like "gay" and "lesbian" truly mean, because they don't exist in a static vacuum that can encompass everyone in that given community. every lesbian has a different definition of what lesbian means. many lesbians believe that it strictly means cis women being attracted to cis women, which is definitely not how lesbianism works at all. no two queer people will ever define a queer term the same way. a lesbian is anyone who identifies as one. it can be a queer woman, non binary person, or man, or a gender well beyond that. or no gender at all.

for example, there's a loooooonnnngggg history of trans women who are also gay. many trans women still identify as gay and with the gay community even well after transitioning and not identifying as a man anymore. this has been a well documented experience since the dawn of the modern queer community in the United States, so why can't we extend the same to men and lesbianism?

when i say i'm a lesbian, i mean a lot of things. i do experience queer attraction to women ofc, but for me, lesbianism is about community and expression. it's about my love for other lesbians, dykes and sapphics, not just women. i'm a lesbian-oriented person. i resonate with the community, history, and culture. i feel right at home hearing about other lesbians' struggles and experiences with gender, expression, identity and sexuality. i see myself in other lesbians, dykes, and sapphics, and just because i'm (partially) a man doesn't mean i have to give all of that up!

i hope that makes sense! most queer identities don't have a concrete definition when you get down to brass tacks. for example "genderqueer" is not something that's easily defined at all. people love to argue about what it "really" means but there's no one answer to that. the same goes for lesbianism. the experience is too broad to be able to be defined simply by saying a lesbian is is a woman attracted to women. identity and lived experience is too varied and complex for that

feel free to have any more questions you may have! if you'd like, i highly recommend looking into the life and works of Leslie Feinberg, a transmasculine butch lesbian revolutionary and queer activist who had to transition into manhood in order to feel like hirself as a butch lesbian. zie identified as multigender and never gave up hir lesbian identity, even after living as a man for many years. it was vital to hir butch lesbian identity :) thanks for stopping by, i appreciate you asking!

[mrs-hatake]

Jealous, jealous, jealous girl!

pairing: sylus x afab!reader

Surveying the N109 Zone is not a regular occurrence in your agenda…is what You told Yourself at first. In the beginning, You’d just patrol around Sylus’ neighborhood, ensuring that that sneaky little fox isn’t up to no good. Somehow, as the days turned into weeks, watching over the N109 Zone has become a habit that you can’t seem to break free from. 

But Your endeavor isn’t fruitless. Though You have yet to witness Sylus competing any sort of felonies, You have stopped petty criminals from harassing the few innocent civilians living in the zone. At the mere sight of crime, You’ll wear a porcelain maroon mask (one that You’ve purchased so that Sylus won’t recognize you), jump out of Your car and head straight into battle. 

The crimes aren’t much to begin with but the more You get involved, the lesser they’ve been committed. Your assistance even made news into their shoddy newspapers. Masked hero saves The Zone! Is how most of the headlines are read. 

Tonight has been a quiet night. There are not bored looking children roaming the streets for some highly inappropriate prank that’ll cost the city quite a few millions in damages —not that the city council will do anything about it.  You don’t spot shady looking people who are breaking and entering. It’s a silent night. Still, You wait out a few minutes, just to make sure that everything’s good before You leave. 

Just as You’re about to press the grey button to start the engine, a familiar tuft of hair catches Your eyes.

Sylus, in his glorious height and broad shoulders, leisurely walks from around the block. A hand casually slipped into the pocket of his dark jeans pants. Though the man is giving the aura of friendliness, You can tell that Onychinus’ leader is on high alert. His shoulders being slightly elevated is a dead give away. 

You observe the man, following his every move, ready to strike when needed. Despite the fact that the two of you have gotten closer in recent months, You still can’t fully trust Sylus. How can You when he’s a crime lord?

As You continue to watch, Your tense muscles relax. It truly does seem that Sylus is simply out for a walk. In the back of Your mind, You vaguely remember Sylus informing You that he has trouble sleeping at night. Maybe tonight is one of those nights and he thought that strolling through the city might tire him enough until he sleeps. 

Just like earlier, You’re about to start Your car when a figure appears from the shadows. 

High heels step into the street lights, black leather gleaming under the artificial lights. They’re adorned on feet that carry long and smooth pairs of legs. Supple thighs are barely hidden by a blood dress, too short and revealing to be worn in the dangerous streets of N109. 

Sylus is a crime lord, that much is true, but You don’t believe he’d do something to an innocent woman but You can never be too sure. 

With a bated breath, You watch as the two about to cross paths. They’ll pass each other and You’ll be reassured, once again, that Sylus isn’t all that bad. 

However, the mysterious woman stopping directly in front of Sylus catches you off guard. Her boldness as she runs her finger down Syulus chest, the very same one that’s been haunting You in Your dreams, has You gawking in disbelief. 

Her flirtatious demeanor that is eagerly reciprocated by Sylus has You double taking at the exchange. Yeah, Onychinus’ leader can come off as flirty with You at times but it’s never anything serious. Yet, seeing Sylus’ lips curly lazily as his eyes appreciatively roam over the woman’s figure has Your chest feeling hollow. 

Without a thought, You shove Your car door open and march to where the two are. 

Thoughts of Sylus’ teasing remarks, him relentlessly calling You kitten, sweetie and other frivolous pet names, the nonstop skinship, all of those seemingly insignificant moments has Your footsteps thundering down the chewing gum covered pavement. 

Once they’re within reach, You impulsively yank Sylus away from the woman and step between the two of them.

Purple eyes that can be mistaken for sugilite blink with incredulity. The woman’s—whom Your brain tauntingly marvels at her beauty—pouty lips part ways, as if to defend herself but You don’t let her. 

“Sorry.” You press Yourself closer to a stupor caught Sylus. Glaring at the woman, You continue,  “He already has someone to warm his bed at night.”

“What?” Both Sylus and the woman ask, as if they haven’t heard what You had said. 

You don’t repeat Yourself but the fire burning in Your gaze is warning enough for the woman to back off. 

Suddenly, a quick bark of laughter cuts through the night air.

The nerve of the woman to laugh at You! 

Behind You, a voice sighs, “Y/N.”

The heated glare is now directed at Sylus who has his face hidden behind his large hand. 

“And you!” You shove Your finger into his rock solid abs, “How dare you seduce me and flirt with another woman?” You spit out the words in his face.

“I-” Sylus tries to explain but You cut him off. 

“I took You for many things, Sylus, but a womanizer wasn’t one of them!” Your tone is cold and disapproving. 

Sylus, despite being on the receiving end of Your venomous words and harsh glare, stares down at You in amusement. This only adds fire to the fuel.

 “What’s so funny?!” Your gaze shifts between the giggling woman and the amused looking Sylus, nausea churning Your stomach. You need to leave before You continue making a fool out of Yourself. Screw Sylus for his flirtatious nature. And screw him for playing with Your heart. 

“Relax Y/N.” A familiar voice stops You from running away in embarrassment and driving all the way home with Your vision filled with tears. 

“Kieran?” You blink in astonishment at the…woman? “What?”

Kieran chuckles, his gaze soft and apologetic. “I’m not stealing your man, don’t worry.”

When You’re still staring at him with shocked confusion, Kieran explains, “Boss and I are luring out a rival kingpin who has been relentlessly targeting our organization.”

“But,” You tilt Your head, still trying to process what has been said to You, “why are you dressed as a woman?”

Vibrant red colors Kieran’s cheeks, amplifying his beauty. He avoids meeting Your eyes as he explains, “The dirtbag has a specific type of woman and I’m the only one who matches the description. Luke’s sick so…” he rubs the back of his neck.

An awkward silence envelopes around the both of you. It is only interrupted by Sylus’ chuckle. 

As if remembering his existence, Your entire body flushes in embarrassment as Your behavior from earlier caught up to You.  

“So you’ve been warming up my bed?” His eyebrow rises when You turn to face him, “I’ve been wondering why I’ve been sleeping so restfully the past few days.”

Mortified, Your hands shoot out to push Sylus away but he catches Your wrists in a strong grip, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Sylus leans forward, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours, “Never.” 

[etclouie]

Hi!! I just found your blog and I love your writing! Even though I'm a new follower, I do have a couple requests but please don't feel pressured to write for them!!

30. "You werent supposed to hear that"

With Rafael Barba from SVU please?? Not enough people write for him imo

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; "You werent supposed to hear that" — from 150 prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; established relationship, fluff (despite the almost angsty sounding prompt), olivia being a wingwoman basically, eavesdropping in his and olivia’s conversation, love confessions, that’s it i’m pretty sure

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; he’s my husband fr🤗

— celebrate 600 with me?

you’d gotten a text from your boyfriend, Rafael, saying he was working late in the office. which was becoming a more than reoccurring habit. 

you missed spending your nights with him, he was always coming home by the time you were asleep these days and it bothered you. 

deciding upon yourself to take dinner to his office tonight instead, wanting to spend as much time together as possible. 

walking down the corridor towards his office, greeting Carmen on your way past and stopping at his open door. 

hearing both Rafael and Olivia’s voice, and listening in through the gape in the door. 

“she’s good for you Rafa”

you can hear him hum at that, the small sound of his shoes moving across the floorboards before he grabbed his coffee off of his desk. 

“just tell her how you feel”

Olivia continued to encourage him, to what you didn’t know. but what you did know was that he’d listen to her, he always accepted her advice. 

he sighed again before running a hand down his face, as if in some attempt to gather his thoughts. 

“what if it messes stuff up?”

he asks with clear hesitation and restraint, and Oliva must’ve shook her head at him because he was sighing again. 

“how do i even tell her i love her?”

that made you pause.

he loved you? he loved you back?

in your surprise you must’ve accidentally kicked the door shut, cursing yourself and smiling sheepishly at your boyfriend as he opened the door. 

“hi Rafa”

you whisper softly, to which he shakes his head before stepping back into his office and holding the door for you to follow in after him. 

greeting Olivia before she excused herself, nodding her head to the bag of food in your hand as you set it down on the tables. 

waiting until Olivia was gone and out of sight to turn to Rafael, watching him sit on the edge of his desk. standing directly in front of him and soothing your hands across his chest, the act always seeming to soothe him. 

“you love me?”

the question soft, shy almost. 

he nodded, scared to admit it out loud to you just yet. 

wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, feeling him melt into the kiss while his hands sat on your hips as you whispered against his lips. 

“you wanna know a secret?”

he nodded again, simply watching you as his mind raced faster than he could formulate words to respond. 

pressing another kiss to his lips and whispering out to him again. 

“i love you too”

his head pulled back, his eyes searching yours and finding nothing but sincerity behind them. 

he sighed again before resting his forehead against yours, his hands soothing across your sides as he whispered back to you. 

“you weren’t supposed to hear that”

which made you laugh. 

if anything, you’d never seen him this closed in on himself about he feels towards you. he’d always been open with his feelings in your relationship up until this. 

stealing another kiss from him before you whispered out again. 

“i’m glad you did, means i can tell you i love you to your face now”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[call-me-chips]

Hey, could any of the christians/christ followers on here please pray for me?

Religious trauma(?) warning

(Idk if this counts as religious trauma or not)

Don't know how to word this, so bear with me

I've decided to stop pursuing a relationship with God, because trying to do so has just been detrimental to my mental health

Every time I go to church, everyone there is putting up their hands, singing, some are even on their knees. And here I am, having never experienced God, and feeling like he's there. I've always felt alone in that sense

He's never answered my prayers, and because of this, I've doubted his existence since I was like, 10. When I was having nightmares and couldn't sleep, I tried praying with mother, but I always had to calm myself because I felt no comfort at all, prayer after prayer

I've really started struggling over the past few years as I've started finding my sexuality and gender identity. Although I feel happy with who I am, I still have a LOT of doubts. I've been told all my life that gays go to hell, and although I don't believe that God would create people just to send them to hell, it's still a prominent thought. I've quite literally been sobbing on the floor dozens of times, begging God to show me ANY sign from him that being gay is either wrong or right, he hasn't answered me at all. It's just been me crying at the wind. Nothing.

I can't change who I am or who I like, and it really scares me that I could be sent to eternal torment because of it. If I could choose to be a normal, cishet person, I absolutely would, no hesitation, just to remove all doubt and fear

I really wanna believe that god exists, but I'm really not sure at this point. Every time I try to pray, I wanna cry because I feel nothing, while EVERYONE ELSE seems to have a relationship with God and is happy. I dread going to church because I nearly cry every time I see everyone in the room worshipping and genuinely enjoying being there. I just feel so tired of trying and done with God and christianity

So yeah, if any of the religious people could please pray for me, that would be very appreciated /nf :)

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi there; first, thank you for making this blog and all the lessons you do, i really appreciate them as a Black person because it highlights a lot of struggles i face with fandoms in general, and why i dont interact more in certain spaces. it makes me feel seen

with regards to your questions, i'd also like answers to them from nonblack fans, especially nonblack anime fans. i don't even mean consuming anime with overtly racist caricatures of black characters (because numerous anime fans pirate their anime and never send a cent to the creators anyway), i mean how can they make fanworks of it?

how can they look at something that they are told is wildly offensive, but then defend with "well, this is how it looks in canon"? where is the line drawn between what's okay and what isn't? as long as it's slow and gradual, is there no line at all?

these are probably just rehashings of your own followup questions, so please excuse that, but i do have an anecdote

i joined a casual anime server the other day and a lot of folks were lamenting one Black character's racist design and how often those on social media will replicate it without thinking/caring. The thing that struck me is that, I've checked this character's tumblr tag regularly for a long time. There are always people who will post art/fanworks of this character with his racist design. Yet hardly ever, if ever, (outside of Black fans) have I seen any of these folks- the ones in the discord server- try to talk to artists/writers/fan creators/etc via asks/replies/etc. There's a notable amount of people in that server and a notable amount that agreed the design was outright racist and that they'll never make fanworks like that, and yet still silence

i'm not entirely sure what would be the line, or the "okay, that's enough" moment to spur any of these folks into action. i'm not sure if there is one. the only reason i don't make my own "hey what is wrong with all of you" post and blow up is because I've made a wonderful little friend group in this fandom who get it, and I don't want them to get caught up in whatever happens if I were to make a post like that

And this is just for getting people to stop using the canon design of the character, i.e., to stop drawing him as a racist caricature. This isn't touching on the people who 1) lighten his skintone [he's been horribly whitewashed over time, which has been reflected in some fanarts and fan merch], or 2) give him a looser hair/straight hair texture, rather than his type 4 hair (there's also #3, which is fanfiction with straight up slurs, and horribly racist writing in it that my friend heavily warned me not to read, but that was more of a one-off case and I've had the creator blocked a long time now).

my point being, we (Black fans) can't even get folks to stop with the caricatures, which we have to start with, and then there's even more of an annoying uphill battle with the other stuff. I'm just so tired of all of this; it makes me want delete my own works and turn away from fandom all together because i can't stand it.

trying for polite and assuming ignorance hardly ever works, speaking bluntly doesnt work at all, making public posts hardly goes anywhere (partly because of how rarely people reblog things anymore, partly because it makes people 'uncomfortable' to share this information with others). Black fans so obviously need help to combat this, and yet it's like sitting at a tea party and hearing all these pretty words in this one setting, yet nobody does anything different/better when the party's over/outside this setting.

sorry for dooming a bit, but like, genuinely i would like to know where the line is for nonblack folks? what is the point/are the points where you would speak up against antiblack racism? have you ever considered speaking up? if there's ever a moment you recognized antiblack racism and didn't say anything, why didn't you? did you consider how your lack of speaking up might affect your fellow Black fans? or how Black fans may be interpret this as silent agreement with the racists/with the racist 'norm'?

..those could maybe be alternative ways of asking your last followup question?

(if i've made any blunders or overstepped here, please let me know!)

No, I'm glad you spoke up! I too would like to see answers!

[hanjisungslag]

hiiii!! so sorryyy idk if you take requests BUTT could you do headcannons of being in an argument with the aot characters?

🗣️ aot characters & arguments

characters involved: eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, reiner, annie, bertolt, erwin, levi & hange

notes: i do take requests indeed!! :3 i luv angst, i hope this is gd♡

✧ eren jaeger - 

okay, when you guys argue it’s honestly more cute than anything because you’re both so protective of one another. neither of you wanted each other to join the scouts because it was so dangerous but, you both joined anyways obviously. oh my god, you guys non-stop bicker when there’s a mission! and don’t even get me started if you get put into different teams😭 you start TWEAKINGG. after he finds out he’s the attack titan, oh it gets 10x worse. his absolute biggest fear is losing control and hurting you - he’s already so conflicted, confused & felt like an outcast. he definitely lashes out more and becomes snappier than usual but, it does come from a place of sincerity.

when this happens, you just leave it be. as soon as it’s not just bickering anymore, when a voice is raised or an insult is made, you just leave it. you understand he’s going through a lot and just needs a minute but, TRUST ME! when you walk off, you make sure it is known that your feelings are hurt.

“i said no! you are not being on my team! im going with the levi squad, thats final.”

✧ armin arlert -

you both love each other very much but, goddamn you’re both so up your own arses! you are the ‘smart couple’ you are both strategic and witty and have your own way you go about things. so, when it comes to deciding whose plan is better, you always think yours is better and admin thinks his is better. this has (and probably always will be) the main root of your arguments, tbh. nobody likes to get involved either because if someone picks a side then even more havoc will break lose. the only people who’ve ever come between you two is: mikasa, levi & erwin.

it’s just like a debate, you know the ones on jubilee where it’s just people speaking over each other with different facts and sources? literally you two. you both would keep going until the end of time if you didn’t need to sleep, eat and drink water. it’s never that serious at the end of the day, you both love each other and i GUESS you can appreciate each others plans albeit you both think yours is better.

“if you actually listen to me when i say, my layout is better! look at how easy it is to manoeuvre from the castle to the forest!”

✧ mikasa ackerman -

wash the damn scarf. that is all you ask of her. she has literally never washed it and you love but jesus christ, stink LINGERS. not only do you think it’s weird she doesn’t wash it but, it’s also from eren… now, you know mikasa’s lore, of course. however, it’s really hard to get over your girlfriend having this deep love for this smelly scarf that her ex-crush gave to her after he literally saved her from being kidnapped. at first, you try to ignore it but it gets to a point where you sit down and talk to her but, she is not having it. she clearly cares very, very deeply for this scarf and will defend it. it’s really awkward conversation that slowly turns into raised voices and some opinionated things being raised.

“why are you getting jealous over a scarf? that’s so stupid! i just have fond memories with it!”

✧ connie springer -

again, not so much major arguments but just bickers. it usually starts as a joke but slowly but surely divulges into an argument about something stupid. one time, someone ate the last of jean’s meal that his mum made for him and he saved until today, obviously he was super upset and jokingly you blamed connie. at first, all was well, laughs were being heard and he even poked fun at you but, somewhere along the way it became more serious for you two, you genuinely suspected connie of eating jean’s meal and connie was getting visibly more upset.

“that was so not me! why are you telling them that?! i didn’t eat it, y/n!”

jean regretted asking who ate his food.

✧ jean kirstein -

jean is unfortunately a jealous guy. not for any malicious reasons, he’s just a bit insecure gang! he’s more scared that you’ll leave him for someone ‘better’ more than anything but, these feelings of insecurity manifest as jealously. he’d get jealous over you spending time with people like eren, mikasa or armin. in so many aspects, they’re better than him (in his eyes) and this will just make him reallyyy pissy. being in an argument with jean is painstakingly ambiguous like he never straight up says it, it’s always sly remarks or dry responses from him for a while. eventually, you know something is up and question him but he will avoid answering like the plague and it’s just so, so frustrating! eventually, when you break your calm demeanour, he will also break his ‘nonchalant-ness’ and just shout about how he feels.

he crossed his arms, “i just don’t understand why you need to be around him so much, you have me?”

✧ sasha braus -

absolutely nothing. i’m sorry but, she is too sweet and loving. IM SORRY, i’m sorry… i tried so hard to think of something but this queen is too perfect. at most, she would snap at you in high stress situations but she would never turn it into an argument. for example, if you told her to slow down her eating because you’re going on a mission but, she hasn’t eaten much that day she may snap and tell you to “let her do what she wants” but, she’s sooo quick to recover and apologise. literally not even giving you a second to even think about arguing with her!!

“ah, i’m sorry. you’re right, i don’t wanna be sick while flying through the air, huh?” she pouts.

✧ reiner braun -

you’re both from marley, you know damn well what you’re doing here but it seems reiner is straying off path. you’re there to try and remind him why you’re there and this leads to so many arguments. his split personality also plays a role in the arguments because it’s so.. scary and confusing for you because one moment he’s defending eldians than the next, he’s shouting at you about how he ‘knows the plan’.

when talking about stuff like this, since it’s extra sensitive for reiner he definitely flips out. i’m talking shouting, angry grunting, clenching his fists into balls and holding them against his forehead so he doesn’t fully crash tf out. he’s just as confused and scared as you are about his split personality but, he doesn’t want to seem weak or to seem like he’s losing sight of what is ‘right’ - it gets him really worked up. obviously, you stand your ground against him, he doesn’t scare you when you’re arguing. you’ve known him for so long.. you feel like he just needs to be guided.

“when did i ever say i liked them? yes, they’re okay people to be around for now but— no, i never said that! i know what they are, you don’t remind to tell me, y/n!”

✧ annie leonhart -

just the fact she’s cold and distant, it makes it really hard to actually have a relationship with her. at first, she was closed off COMPLETELY but cracks began to show and eventually, you thought you were at a good point with each other but, you kind of realised you didn’t know that much about annie. you try to ask questions to get her to open up but, she is one tough egg to crack so eventually, you just ask! hoping to help her more than anything but, this leads to an argument…

after this first argument, it became pretty regular like once every few weeks this would happen. you get super frustrated because she acts like she doesn’t even care! so, you’re shouting and getting really passionate while she sits there, looking pissed off and bored, rolling her eyes and scoffing. she doesn’t see the need to open up to you, she’s done what she thinks is ‘enough’ in her books.

“what do you want me to say? i’m not an open book, that’s just how i am. we’re all gonna end up dead, anyways.”

✧ bertolt hoover -

sigh… oh bert. every time you feel yourself developing further into your relationship with bert, his friends seem to pull him back. you’re still not quite sure why and they always seem to be giving side eyes or glances when he talks about his life - its starting to piss you off, rightfully so. you feel like he’s got two other side hoes watching yours and his every move! you being this up in subtle ways as to not seem like a crazy, jealous partner but eventually you burst and tell him how you really feel.

arguing with sweet bert isn’t fun because you can tell he tries so hard to please everyone in the situation, whether it’s you, him or now in this case, his friends too. he will raise his voice but, not in a bad way just in a general sense, things are getting heated, his voice will raise and he will fling his arms and hands. he’s a very expressive man when arguing because he is so passionate about it.

“y/n, they’re my friends! they’re just trying to protect me, why are you jealous?”

✧ erwin smith -

there’s so such things as arguments in your relationship, erwin likes to call them ‘mutual disagreements’ as your both in the scouts, he knows your time is limited. it’s a morbid and pessimistic way to think but, you have to be realistic when you live such a deadly lifestyle. he doesn’t want to take your time together for granted - plus, he’s a MAN like, he is calm and collected and will always hear you out.

you both start off calm, having a mature conversation about whatever it is that is bothering you but, when you start getting rowdier that’s when erwin quells the flames quickly. he takes a deep breath, hears you out and calmly walks you through it all. he’s so compassionate about it, i cant omg. he’ll gently place a hand over your own hand or on your shoulder if you’re standing, letting you know he’s present, he’ll sweetly talk you down, eventually calming you down and usually you’ll both say apologises or just general sweet statements and move on!

“i’m sorry, y/n. no, i’m glad you talked to me about this.”

✧ levi ackerman -

oh lord, being in an argument with levi ackerman is nawwtt fun. i’m sorry but, i’d kms if i argued with levi 😭. this man has such an awful resting bitch face as it is but, imagine his face when he’s arguing with you? IF LOOKS COULD KILL. he cant hide his emotions, so when you’re arguing even if he’s trying to be somewhat nice, his face says it all. usually he’ll roll his eyes and scoff if it’s something minor, he’ll hear you out, maybe give a half arsed apology or some sort of nice gesture to make sure you’re not upset however, if it’s a big issue oh brother…

silent treatment, i fear. he is so bad at communicating his feels correctly and often feels confused because this mf ain’t been in love before?! it gets too a point where he’s so mad, he just cant even begin to think of anything to say to you. you’ll be there raising your voice, becoming so passionate and when you ask what he thinks, he’ll say “i have nothing to say.” then boom, silent treatment. however, he’s bad with his words… but good with his actions. he still wants you to know he cares, you two could be in the most rancid moods but, you’ll go to your room and find your clothes ironed and folded🥲.

✧ hange zoë -

oh my sweet hange, my probably neurological challenged sweet hange… an argument with them would definitely stem from them spending more time with titans than you. when sawney and bean were around, you weren’t getting ANY time of day with them, trust. at first, you didn’t want to say anything because of course, you understand! the lifetime you guys are living in, things like hange’s research is soo important but, you can’t help but feel neglected sometimes.

when you finally bring it up, an argument ensues. neither of you really shout or anything, it’s just that kind of weird sort of raised, high pitched voice people get when you’re really frustrated. you both stay relatively calm for the situation you’re in but, you can totally tell you’re both so frustrated because hange just doesn’t see the problem. when you guys argue like this, it usually just goes in circles and after a while you both decide to mutually give up and leave it for another day.

“it’s all for science and the greater good of humanity though, i don’t understand?”

[the-far-bright-center]

Yeah, there's a point at which some Obi-Wan fans just disingenuously interpret everything Anakin does as being purposefully hurtful or unjust towards Obi-Wan, and my problem with this is that it shows they think Obi-Wan is Anakin's main motivating factor in life. And hello? Padme is right there? You know, the one he never stopped thinking about for 10 years and then married??? He loved Padme before even MET Obi-Wan! That's kind of the point, Anakin meets Padme first, before he meets Obi-Wan and before he meets Palpatine. This suggest that she's more significant to him than either the Jedi OR the Sith. But these type of Obi-Wan fans are so eager to discard Padme and downplay her importance to Anakin that they would even rather frame Anakin's actions as being something negative about Obi-Wan rather than something POSITIVE about Padme. Like, I'm sorry, but this simply isn't about Obi-Wan and it's pathetic that they try to make it about him, even in a negative way, rather than celebrate what Padme means to Anakin. And while not everyone is gonna be a diehard Anidala shipper, I feel like there has to be a baseline appreciation for Anidala's relationship in this godforsaken fandom or else people are just going to continue to miss the entire point of the PT x OT saga.

Today I learned that this infamously stupid take (re: the 2003 Tartakovsky Clone Wars scene in which Anakin gifts his padawan braid to Padme after being knighted) is apparently not as uncommon as one would hope...

Ah yes, a prime example of "Obi-Wan-stan-itis", aka the condition of demanding that Anakin, Padme, the Anidala relationship, and the entirety of Star Wars canon center Obi-Wan Kenobi at all times. This is quite a serious conditon that leads affected fans to throw delusional, misogynistic tantrums when they learn that George Lucas' Star Wars does not, in fact, center Obi-Wan, and that it's actually about *gasp* Anakin and the Skywalker family!

On a more serious note, insane takes like these illustrate what, in my opinion, is one of the biggest divides in contemporary Star Wars fandom: aka, whether people view Star Wars as Lucas intended, as being a generational saga about Anakin/Vader and the Skywalker family, OR whether they view it as some kind of free-for-all where they can pretend their personal fave is the main character and that everything must revolve around them, instead. This phenomenon is found most frequently amongst the more unhinged section of the Obi-Wan fandom, but it is also common amongst rabidly pro-Jedi types who operate under the mistaken impression that 'the Jedi' as a concept exist separately from the Skywalker saga. When in reality, features like 'Padawan braids' were created FOR scenarios just like this one.... for Anakin to ignore or not even give two shits about the custom and do his own thing, to show his love for Padme above all. Lucas enjoyed showing how much Anakin and Padme care about each other via these kinds of small but significant romantic details. After all, it's 'love can ignite the stars', not 'strictly adhering to Jedi traditions can ignite the stars', folks. ;p

[partycityistotallyofficailguy]

does anyone ever stop and think about. Art. Like how pretty life is that some guys like me had to just go and represent it through silly little shapes and designs and intricacies that can barely even begin to represent the beauty and love that surrounds life despite the hatred in the world. Life is beautiful and art is beautiful and I think sometimes people forget that when they make art because sometimes it’s just nice to let go and draw things. The creative process is beautiful and awesome just like life

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[unforth]

Ngl as a small business owner who puts out something extremely pirate-able and who has never earned enough to make a pay check, this...

...is extremely upsetting.

Do y'all realize that most small business are maybe a handful of people? Do y'all realize that company's like LLCs exist to protect owners from legal and financial repercussions if the company falls apart? I'm not a company because I have stockholders, I'm a company so that if the business goes bankrupt the banks can't seize my fucking house. It's not evil to use existing legal structures to protect my family's assets. It's not unreasonable to ask people not to steal from businesses like mine.

It's like on Tumblr when it's One Artist or One Author Doing The Thing Themself you guys are all about it but the minute anyone tries to collectivize to do better we go from One Person Against The World to The Embodiment of Capitistic Evil with no in between, which is especially insane coming from the website that claims to think individualism has turned toxic and we should do more with community organization. The minute lots of people are involved in a business, there HAS to be legal structures like contracts and shit to protect the people involved. The Lone Creator Forging a Path is great for that one person. What about everyone else?

And so... some of us try to make a company to lift up a group.

And then I see shit takes like this.

Maybe. Maybe DONT fucking pirate from literally anyone just cause they've got the word "company" I'm the name?

Maybe remember that for small businesses, yes even when they're a company, there's a single person, or a family, or a group of friends, who are working their asses off to build something, and actually? Stealing from them makes you a FUCKING DICK.

Like. You realize we're just people right? Other regular people trying to survive the dystopian hellscape that is the now?

Maybe stop acting like you're automatically entitled to the labor and creations of others solely because you've decided that there is an entire huge category of people it's okay to steal from.

Like honestly. What the fuck.