#Something too about how parental love can still exist in a world with these kinds of horrors

[rotzaprachim]

meta incoming but one of the most fascinating themes of rogue one and andor to me is the idea that a parent’s (individualist) love of their child might not be enough to save them from the (structural) violence of the world, so it’s fascinating how fandom managed to sail right past that in a bunch of places

[wooyoungiewritings]

"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: You, the most popular girl at school, and Mingi, the school’s geek and punching bag, grow a friendship at the library after school as he tutors you. You beg him to come to prom but instead, he disappears. No texts, no goodbye, nothing. But after 10 years, he suddenly appears again. The quiet, nerdy boy who used to be bullied and ignored, is now a successful, confident and heartbreakingly handsome man. As time pass, you both open up about the past and maybe you realize that maybe he was never just your tutor. Maybe he was the one that got away. Word count: 13.9K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love (smut in part 2... WOOOH you’re not ready for that)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

10 YEARS AGO

The lunch table was loud like always. You sat between two of your friends, half-tuned into the conversation and half-dreaming about being anywhere else. The courtyard buzzed with voices, clinking soda cans, and the occasional distant squeal from the freshman corner. Same chaos, different day.

One of the guys from your friendgroup slammed his hand on the table, gesturing toward his phone with a dramatic flair. “Fuck off, I paid so much for that shit.”

Jae raised a perfectly sculpted brow, scoffing. “And yet it still looks like a car my grandma drove.”

Your friend snorted into her water bottle. You just kept picking at your fries, already bored.

The guy friend didn’t miss a beat. “You’re just jealous.”

You drifted out of the conversation entirely, letting their bickering fade into white noise. Your eyes scanned the courtyard, just faces and backpacks and half-eaten lunch trays - until something made you pause.

There, at a table tucked under a tree, sat a boy. Alone.

He had headphones half on, half off his ears, scribbling intensely into a notebook while eating what looked like a PB&J and carrot sticks. A plastic Rubik’s Cube sat beside him, like some weird emotional support item. His backpack was covered in patches (some science stuff, a few anime ones) and his dark hair flopped messily across his forehead every time he looked down.

You had no idea what class he was working on, but he looked… focused. Like nothing else existed in the world except that notebook and his sandwich.

It was kind of cute.

He looked up, maybe sensing your stare, and your eyes met. It was only for a second, but it made your stomach flutter.

Then a heavy arm dropped around your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Jae said, voice a little too smug, a little too loud. “What about you?”

You blinked and turned back to him, forcing a smile. “What about me?”

He leaned in like he was letting you in on a secret. “Can I take you out for a ride soon? I promise my car doesn’t smell like grandma like his does.”

Your friend rolled his eyes across the table, muttering something under his breath.

You gave a small laugh, brushing Jae’s hand off gently. “I’m not really into just… driving around.”

Jae wasn’t fazed. “Okay, fine. How about a movie at my place? My parents are gone this weekend. I’ll even let you pick.”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Tempting. I’ll check my schedule.”

He grinned, satisfied with your vague answer even though you knew you weren’t interested in the offer.

The bell rang, saving you from another round of cocky persuasion. Everyone groaned, collecting trays and backpacks in slow motion. You let the crowd carry you forward through the halls, moving like a wave of too much energy and too little interest.

Later you saw him again.

Same boy from under the tree.

He was by his locker, arms full of books he was clearly trying to juggle while still managing to read something tucked inside his physics textbook. Big glasses. His shoelace was untied. He nearly dropped his water bottle twice.

You watched as someone bumped into him without apologizing. He didn’t even flinch, just gave a soft “sorry” and stepped aside like he was used to being invisible. And yet, something about him stood out to you. You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe the fact that he didn’t care about being cool. Or that he was so unapologetically himself. You couldn’t tell if he was clueless or just didn’t give a shit.

You paused at your locker, still watching as he walked down the hall, nose buried in a notebook again, nearly walking straight into a trash can.

You smiled to yourself. A little too long.

Yeah. He was definitely kind of cute.

***

You're sitting on your bed, staring at the three red-inked math tests in a row, your heart pounding with the quiet dread of what your parents said at dinner: “If your grades don’t improve, you’re not going to prom.”

Prom.

It’s not even that you care about the glitz and glitter of it. You’re not the type who dreams about the perfect dress or slow dances. But everyone’s going. Your friends. Your whole group.

“I’ll talk to the school and ask them to find you a tutor.” You dad had said across the table.

“A tutor?” you repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” He looked you straight in the eye. “If you want to go to prom, you need to be better, honey.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words stuck.

***

Mingi liked the library because no one paid attention to him there.

It was quiet, predictable. No one tripped over his backpack or called him weird for using five different highlighters. In here, he was just another student. Nameless, invisible. Safe.

He sat at his usual table in the back corner, notes already spread out with machine-like precision. Calculators, rulers, extra pens, even a printed cheat sheet he’d made for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d use it, but it made him feel prepared.

You were late. Two minutes and seventeen seconds late, to be exact. Not that he was keeping track.

He’d never talked to you before. Not really. He knew who you were, of course, everyone did. You weren’t the type to be cruel like Jae and the rest of the friendgroup, but you were still part of that world. A world that didn’t include people like him.

Which is why it didn’t make sense when the teacher told him he’d be tutoring you. It made even less sense when you walked in like you actually wanted to be there.

“Hi!” you called out, your voice carrying gently through the quiet room. “You’re Mingi, right?”

He looked up. You were smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world to greet him like that.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Um, that’s me.”

You pulled the chair across from him and sat down, tossing your bag under the table and immediately unzipping it. “Sorry I’m late. I swear, my backpack eats everything. Took me forever to find a pen.”

“That’s okay,” he said, watching as you dumped out a mess of notebooks, lip balm, crumpled gum wrappers, and a sparkly pink pen. “You… found one.”

You looked up and grinned. “Yep. Lucky for you. Otherwise, this would’ve just been me staring at you and pretending to learn.”

He blinked, catching his breath between your excited energy. “Uh. I made you this.” He slid a little folded sheet across the table. “It’s just… a summary of what we’re starting with. Kinda like a cheat sheet. I mean, not cheating.. like, just helpful stuff. In case you wanted a-”

You picked it up and unfolded it, eyes scanning over his precise, tidy handwriting. “Mingi, this is so nice. Did you make this just for me?”

He shrugged, ears turning pink. “Yeah. I mean. I do it for myself anyway. So I figured…”

You smiled again, softer this time. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Most people didn’t even notice when he held the door open for them, let alone thanked him for… being prepared.

You looked at the paper again, then back up at him. “So, how long have you been good at math?”

Mingi blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m just curious. Like, were you the kid who knew how to divide in kindergarten?”

He laughed. Awkward, but genuine. “I guess? I liked numbers more than people back then.”

You tilted your head. “Still true?”

He panicked for a moment, unsure if it was a joke or if he was supposed to say something cool.

“I mean… I like people too. Sometimes.”

You laughed again, and he swore it echoed through his ribs.

“I like you already, Mingi,” you said, flipping to a clean page in your notebook. “Okay, let’s do this. Teach me something.”

He tried not to show how much that sentence meant. I like you already. You said it like it was obvious. Like you’d known him forever. Like he wasn’t just some nerdy guy you were forced to study with.

And the thing was.. you meant it.

You didn’t pull out your phone. You didn’t sigh dramatically when he started explaining linear equations. You actually listened. Asked questions. Made jokes. Doodled tiny hearts and cats in the margins of your notes.

You were just adding tiny whiskers and a bow around its neck when you felt it, that unmistakable feeling of someone watching. You glanced up and caught Mingi staring. His head was tilted slightly, his chin resting in his hand, and his big round glasses framed the warmest, softest eyes you’d ever seen. They looked like melted tapioca pearls, dark, kind, a little surprised at being caught.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a breathless little laugh, quickly sitting up straighter. “I have a hard time focusing.”

Mingi blinked, then smiled, braces and all. “It’s alright. If it makes you learn better, then draw all you want.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. There wasn’t even a hint of judgment. Just… kindness. He meant it. And it made something flutter gently in your chest.

"Thanks," you suddenly didn't know how to continue the conversation nor the drawing.

"You draw a lot?" He asks softly, eyes still on the cat on your paper.

"Yeah," you couldn't hide your excitement. "I wanna go to art school at some point, hopefully get better." you send him a smile. "I'll invite you to see my art if I ever get that far."

That threw him off. You saw it. You met his eyes and despite looking into yours, they flickered like they tried to escape. You invited him to something? He knew it was a thing probably far into the future, but the fact that you included him in something, anything, made him both feel nervous and... excited.

“Do you like to draw?” you asked, changing the subject slightly, your eyes flicking to the closed notebook next to his elbow, worn at the edges, covered in tiny graphite smudges.

He followed your gaze, then nudged the book slightly away with his fingertips. “No, not really,” he mumbled. “I’m just… practicing formulas.”

“For fun?” Your tone was curious, not mocking. You genuinely couldn’t imagine anyone doing math equations in their free time, especially not by choice.

He gave a small, nervous shrug. “Yeah…”

The silence that followed was awkward for half a second, like he was bracing for you to laugh or roll your eyes.

Instead, you smiled, soft and sincere. “Really? That’s so cool.”

Mingi looked up. Blinking. As if he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

Cool. You just called him cool.

And when he realized you meant it, his whole face changed. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, quiet and shy, but unmistakably there.

The study session went on like that, filled with light jokes, quiet scribbles, and your occasional groans of despair every time a new formula appeared. You treated him like an actual person. Not a tutor. Not a ghost in the back of the classroom. Just… Mingi. And Mingi realized something, sitting across from you, listening to you hum while you copied down a graph.

Maybe he wasn’t completely invisible.

Not to you.

***

You’re two hours into your third study session that week, and your brain feels like it’s leaking out of your ears.

“I swear this is actual gibberish,” you mumble, poking the page like it personally offended you. “Who even decided this was important? What am I ever gonna do with the pH of a mystery liquid? What if I never drink liquid again?”

Across the table, Mingi chuckles. He’s got his chin in his hand, watching you with a kind of quiet amusement.

“You don’t have to drink the acid,” he says gently. “Just understand it.”

You groan, dramatically collapsing over your notebook. “I don’t understand it.”

“You will.” His voice is so steady, so sure of you, it makes you pause.

You peek up at him from under your arm. He’s still smiling, soft and patient and maybe a little bit too good at this.

“You have a weird amount of faith in me,” you say, straightening up.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You’re trying. That’s what matters. And you’re smart. You just learn differently.”

You blink. That’s not something you’ve heard before. People usually go with “you’re not applying yourself” or “why can’t you focus for once?”

Mingi’s just watching you like the answer is obvious. Like he means it.

Something tugs at your chest.

You look back at the page, determined to make the equations make some kind of sense. Mingi leans in, pointing to a part of the problem, walking you through it again. Slower this time, with smaller steps and silly metaphors that make you laugh in between frustrated sighs.

And then.. somewhere between the third eye-roll and the tenth doodle in the margins. It clicks.

“Wait-wait.” You sit up straight, pointing to the next step. “Is it because the hydrogen ion count doubles in this one?”

Mingi’s eyes go wide. “Yes! Exactly! Because it’s a strong acid, so the dissociation is complete!”

You gasp. “Oh my god, I got it? Like, actually got it?”

“You got it,” he says, grinning like you just solved world peace. “Good job.”

And before you can stop yourself, you grab his hand and squeeze it. “Mingi! I did it!”

His breath catches. You don’t notice.

You’re beaming, still buzzing with the thrill of understanding, and he’s just sitting there, frozen with your hand in his, heart hammering way too fast.

And that’s when it happens.

That shift.

It’s not your smile. Not the way you threw your head back when you laughed. It’s this. This moment where you were so ready to give up, and you kept going anyway. And when it finally made sense, you didn’t just celebrate. You shared it. With him.

Something in Mingi’s chest tightens.

He’s always thought you were pretty. That was easy. But this? This fierce little light in you?

He didn’t expect this.

You finally notice you’re still holding his hand and let go quickly, not awkward, just distracted. Still glowing from your little academic victory.

“Okay,” you say, eyes determined. “Teach me another one.”

He smiles, softer this time. “Anything you want.”

***

The cafeteria is loud today. Louder than usual, maybe because finals are creeping up and everyone’s either high on stress or already spiraling. The last few days has been fully booked with school and studying with Mingi afterwards. You’re trying your best not to seem too excited about having an excuse not to hang out with your “friend group” after school. The study sessions with Mingi has saved you from a bunch of meaningless conversations with the people you hang out with because they just happen to be in your closest circle.

But you actually enjoy your time with Mingi. It’s… Different.

You’re halfway through your tray of rice and whatever protein today’s lunch is pretending to be when you spot Mingi. He’s alone, like always. Sitting at the edge of a seat, his head bent over a book, the straps of his backpack still over his shoulders like he’s planning his escape.

You don’t say anything right away. You just watch him. Long fingers flipping a page, the crease between his brows when he reads something too fast, the way his foot taps like it’s keeping tempo with a song only he can hear. It’s weird. You’ve started noticing things like that.

Then Jae slides into the seat beside you, tray clattering. “Babe,” he says, though you’ve told him a hundred times not to call you that. “You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger over there.”

You force a smile. “Just spaced out.”

Jae follows your gaze, then scoffs when he sees Mingi.

“You know that guy probably sleeps with his calculator,” he says, loud enough for people around to snicker. “Like, deadass. Bet he dreams in equations.”

Your stomach twists. You’re not prepared for Jae suddenly standing up and taking a few steps closer to Mingi’s table.

“Hey, Mingi!” Jae calls, and your eyes snap to him in horror.

Mingi looks up slowly, already bracing himself.

Jae grins. “You ever kiss a girl, or are you still waiting for the quadratic formula to do it for you?”

People laugh. Not everyone, but enough to make it echo. Mingi flushes, adjusting his glasses with shaky hands. He doesn’t say anything. He never does.

You look down at your tray. The rice is cold now.

You should say something. You want to. But your voice catches in your throat, and instead you just press your lips together and pretend to be really focused on your fork. Jae’s attention drifts after a moment. Someone calls his name from another table, and he struts off like he didn’t just pour gasoline on someone’s self-esteem for sport.

Mingi gets up a minute later. Doesn’t look at you. Just packs his book away and slips out of the cafeteria like he was never there.

And you?

You feel like shit.

You catch up with him after third period, rushing down the hallway as he’s stuffing his books into his bag like he’s trying to disappear.

“Mingi!”

He turns, startled, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to him for the rest of the day.

You slow to a stop in front of him, breath caught in your chest. “Hey. Um. I just-” You scratch the back of your neck. “We still on for our study date later?”

He blinks. A beat passes. Then he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Of course.”

You nod, heart heavy. You’re not brave today. But you will be.

***

You spotted Mingi at your usual library table before he spotted you. His nose was in a book again, shoulders slightly hunched, and his pen tapped anxiously against the edge of the page. You swore you could hear the awkward silence already forming between you. You made your way over and dropped your bag into the chair with a dramatic thud.

“Hey,” you said cheerily, sliding into the seat across from him.

Mingi looked up, surprised, his pen pausing mid-tap. “Oh, hey.”

You hesitated for half a second before blurting, “I just wanted to say sorry. About earlier.”

Mingi shook his head before you could go on. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

You hated that.

“But you didn’t deserve that,��� you said. “You were just sitting there, being your smart self, reading your big-brain-book about DNA or genomes or whatever, and Jae had to make it a thing.”

You waited, watching him. A short silence. His mouth twitched into a hidden smile.

“‘Big-brain-book’?” he asked quietly.

You grinned. “Yeah. I’m not the one tutoring someone in math and biology, so don’t expect fancy words from me.”

That earned you a small laugh, and it lit you up like a light switch.

Success.

“I just…” You leaned in on your elbows. “I think it’s cool, you know? That you read that stuff because you want to. I have to reread the same sentence like ten times. And even then, I’m still confused.”

“That’s relatable.”

“See? We’re not so different,” you said with a playful smile. “You read about chromosomes for fun, and I.. well, I memorize the school vending machine schedule. Both important things.”

He was smiling now. “Critical survival skills.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Now, are you ready to witness the academic disaster that is me trying to solve basic equations?”

“I’m ready,” he said, already flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

And as he began explaining the first problem, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him. How his hands moved carefully across the page, how his voice grew more confident the more he talked. He was still the quiet guy in the corner, the one nobody really paid attention to.

But somehow, you were starting to notice everything

1 month later

The library feels different lately.

It might be the way the late spring sunlight filters through the dusty windows, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the tables. Or maybe it’s just him. The way he smiles more now. The way he teases you gently when you get a question right on the first try. The way he sits a little closer than he used to.

He’s tucked into your usual corner as you enter the library. You set a cup down in front of him, condensation beading along the plastic.

Mingi blinks. “What’s this?”

“A vanilla-sea-salt-olive-oil-milkshake,” you say, smug. “You said it’s your favorite.”

His ears go red instantly. “..I didn’t think you remembered that.”

You nudge the cup toward him. “Of course I remembered. It’s literally the weirdest milkshake combo I’ve ever heard of, but I respect it.”

He laughs, full and soft and a little shy. “It’s good, okay? Don’t knock it until you try it.”

You grin, sipping your own drink. “One day.”

The moment lingers, a gentle quiet settling between you. Pages flip. Pencils scribble. Your foot taps against his without thinking, and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

“So…” you say, casually flipping your pen in your fingers. “Prom’s coming up.”

Mingi freezes mid-sip. “Ugh,” he mutters, setting the cup down. “That.”

You raise a brow. “What? You’re not going?”

He shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Because prom is for… Popular people. The ones who actually get invited to things and, like, exist in other people’s minds.”

You frown. “Mingi…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, avoiding your eyes. “I mean, even if I wanted to go, who would I go with? No one even knows I’m here most of the time.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s not self-pity. He says it like it’s just a fact, like rain or gravity. “But I know you’re here,” you say, quiet but firm.

He glances at you, eyes flicking up from his notebook.

Your gaze holds his. “I know that you bite your pen when you’re thinking too hard. I know you get weirdly happy when you talk about physics. I know you pretend not to laugh when I mess up, but you totally do.” You smile, just a little. “And I know you deserve to be there. Just like anyone else.”

Mingi swallows. “Even if I’d spend the whole night standing in a corner?”

“I’ll stand in that corner with you,” you say, bumping his foot under the table. “We can be anti-prom together. In the middle of prom.”

He laughs, but there’s something wistful in it. Like part of him wants to believe you.

You don’t press him. Not yet. But the look in his eyes when he sips his milkshake again is softer. Lingered. Like maybe - for the first time - he’s imagining himself there.

2 months later

You practically crash into the library door, breathless and beaming. Your backpack thuds against the floor, and you don’t even care that people turn to stare. You spot him immediately. Mingi, already seated at your usual table, scribbling quietly into a notebook, glasses slipping down his nose.

“MINGI,” you shout-whisper, rushing toward him.

He looks up, startled, but when he sees your face, his whole expression softens.

“What’s going on?”

“I PASSED!” you whisper-scream, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Like actually passed! No - aced! Bio? A-minus. Chem? B-plus! Mat? B-plus! I DID IT.”

His mouth drops open. “No way.”

You nod furiously, hands flapping like you don’t know what to do with all your excitement. “YES way. My parents were so shocked they actually hugged me. Hugged me, Mingi. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He laughs, wide and full and so proud. “Y/N, that’s amazing.”

“You helped me so much,” you say, grabbing his hands before he even knows what’s happening. “Like, I literally would’ve failed without you. You are a godsend. A genius. An angel. A cute science wizard.”

Mingi turns bright red. “O-okay, let’s dial it back-”

You’re glowing. Practically vibrating. “And you know what this means?” you say, eyes wide. “I get to go to prom. I get to go to prom!”

He grins, but it’s a little quieter now. A little more contained. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing your hands once before letting go. “You’re going.” To a world he still doesn’t feel like he belongs in.

“So,” you breathe, eyes shining, “are you coming?”

Mingi blinks. “To prom?”

“Yeah!” you say, sliding into the seat beside him, your knee bumping his. “You should come! You’re, like, half the reason I’m allowed to go. I need my study buddy there.”

He laughs under his breath. “Y/N…”

“Come on,” you nudge him, teasing. “It’s just one night. Who cares if it’s lame? We can make fun of people’s outfits. Drink gross punch. Hide in a corner and complain about music.”

“You already have a date,” he says softly.

You pause. The other day, Jae asked you to be his date in the middle of the cafeteria and you agreed. You couldn’t explain why you say yes, honestly. Your excuse was that it felt “safe”?

“Yeah,” you admit. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there. You’re my friend, Mingi. I want you there.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a second, you think he might say yes. But then he smiles, a little sad. A little distant.

“I’ll think about it.”

And you don’t know why that answer makes your chest feel weird.

But it does.

***

The music pulsed from inside the building, muffled by the heavy doors and the hum of chatter echoing under the lights. But you weren’t listening. You stood just outside the prom entrance, your hands wrapped tightly around your phone like it was going to deliver you something. Anything. A text. A call. A simple “I’m here.”

But the screen stayed stubbornly dark.

Your blue dress sparkled under the string lights lining the school entrance. You looked like you belonged at prom. You looked like you were having the night of your life. But your eyes kept scanning the parking lot instead of walking through the doors.

Where was he?

You checked your phone again.

Nothing.

A part of you told yourself to stop. That maybe he got nervous. That maybe he changed his mind. That maybe he was late and you'd feel stupid for worrying. But your stomach twisted anyway.

You paced a little, heels clicking softly against the pavement as couples and groups passed you by, laughing, already inside. You ignored them all. You were too busy searching each new arrival’s face, hoping to see that familiar mop of dark hair, those glasses, that slightly awkward stance.

Still nothing.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Jae walking toward you, his tux sharp and pressed, but his smirk even sharper. The rest of the friend group trailed behind him.

“There you are,” Jae said, eyeing you up and down. “Took you long enough.”

“I was waiting,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

Jae raised a brow. “For who?”

You didn’t answer, just glanced down at your phone again. All you could hear was the pounding bass inside, the quiet buzz of your phone still not lighting up in your hand. Then one of your friends appeared at your side, tugging your arm. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the pictures!”

You hesitated. Just one more look at the parking lot, just one more second.

Still nothing.

With a deep breath, you turned away and let yourself be pulled through the entrance. The lights are too bright. The music is too loud. The fake smiles, the crowded dance floor, the punch that tastes like sugar and cheap vodka.

You keep looking. Every time the door opens, every time someone tall walks by, your heart jumps. Just for a second. But it’s never him.

Not Mingi.

Not the person who got you here.

“He’s not coming,” Jae said beside you.

You flinched. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“What?”

“That loser. Mingi. You’re still looking for him?”

You didn’t answer. Just tried to keep your face neutral, even though your pulse jumped.

Jae huffed a laugh and leaned in closer. “You seriously thought he’d show? C’mon. Guys like him don’t come to prom. They stay home jerking off to anime or some shit.”

“Jae-”

“Let me guess. You told him the theme was ‘under the stars’ and he took that literally and went home to read a book about astronomy?”

You rolled your eyes and moved to walk away, but he followed.

“I mean, sure, he’s helping you with school, but let’s be real.. He’s just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. He’s probably obsessed with you. Guys like that always are. You smile at them once and they think they’ve got a chance-”

And that’s when the drink left your hand.

Red punch, sticky and cold, splashed across Jae’s face and tux in one glorious arc. He froze mid-sentence, blinking as drops clung to his lashes and dripped from his nose. The room around you stilled, just for a second, as people turned to see what had just happened. You dropped the empty cup on the table.

“Say one more thing about him,” you said, voice low but steady, “and I swear to God, I’ll make sure the next thing that hits you isn’t a drink.”

Jae sputtered, wiping his face with the sleeve of his very expensive jacket. “Are you serious right now-”

But you were already walking away, heels clicking hard against the floor as you pushed through the crowd and out of the gym. The music was still playing, the lights still spinning, but none of it mattered. You stepped into the quiet of the hallway, heart pounding. You didn’t know where Mingi was. You didn’t know why he didn’t come. But what you did know was that Jae was wrong.

Mingi wasn’t the loser in this story.

Jae was.

And he wasn’t worth one more second of your night.

10 YEARS LATER

The Friday night rush had officially taken over.

You balanced a tray of drinks in one hand and menus in the other as the host called out another name behind you. The restaurant was buzzing, the clink of glasses, low conversation humming under the jazz overhead, the quiet pop of champagne bottles in the back.

You weave between tables with practiced grace, a tray balanced on your hand, smile plastered on like muscle memory. Your feet ache. Your shift is only halfway over. Someone just spilled red wine near table 6. Again.

You ducked behind the host stand to check the reservation list and refill your apron with pens and receipt slips.

“Y/N?”

You froze. Your fingers tightened around the pen you were holding, and slowly, confused, you looked up.

And then everything stopped.

Standing a few feet in front of you was someone tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly good-looking. A sharp suit. Clean cut. Confident posture.

But his eyes… his eyes were the same.

“Mingi?” you said before you could stop yourself, and your hand knocked the plastic cup of pens off the counter with a loud clatter, sending pens bouncing in every direction like startled insects. You dropped down to gather them, cheeks burning, brain still scrambling to make sense of what you were seeing.

He crouched too, already reaching to help you.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing you a few.

You looked up at him, still crouched. His face was more angular now, more mature. His jawline sharp. Lips full. Hair perfectly styled. There was nothing nerdy left about him, except maybe the warm flicker in his eyes as he looked at you like he wasn’t quite sure he was seeing right either.

But before you could say anything else, a woman's voice cut in.

“Mingi,” she said flatly, bored already. “They’re waiting on us.”

You glanced up at her. Tall, flawless, designer from head to toe, clutching her purse like she hated touching public surfaces. She didn’t look at you. Not once.

Mingi stood slowly. “Right. Reservation under Song.”

“Of course,” you said, straightening quickly, stuffing the last pen back into your apron. Your voice sounded weird. Too high. Too unsure. “This way.” You led them in silence, your heart pounding in your ears. 

He didn’t say anything. You didn’t either. Not because you didn’t want to, but because neither of you seemed to know what to say. And it wasn’t the time anyway. The restaurant demanded your attention. Tables to serve. Dishes to clear. Orders to double-check. 

After delivering food for another table, you grabbed your notepad and made your way over to table seventeen, smoothing down your apron. You already knew this was going to be weird. Your old high school tutor, now looking like a literal GQ cover model, sitting in the corner booth with a woman who’d already made you feel like gum on her designer heels.

“Hi again,” you said, putting on your best server voice. “Can I take your drink orders?”

The woman didn’t look up, still scrolling through her phone. “Ugh, can you give me a minute? I haven’t even had a chance to look.”

You blinked. “Of course. Take your time.”

She sighed dramatically, tossed her phone into her bag, and finally glanced at the menu. “What’s the least sugary wine you have? I don’t want anything cheap or mass-produced. I only drink biodynamic wines from small family vineyards.”

You nodded. “We have a dry French Sauvignon Blanc that—”

“Is it vegan?” she interrupted.

You hesitated. “I can check with the bar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. Why don’t restaurants ever just know that?”

“I’ll double-check for you,” you said, voice still even.

“I guess I’ll just have sparkling water for now. No ice. Room temp. With a twist of lime. Not lemon. And not in the water. On the side.”

Mingi spoke up gently. “I’ll just have a ginger ale.”

Your eyes met his for a moment. You smiled tightly and moved on. “Are you ready to order food?”

“Give us a second, just bring the drinks.” She instructed and you sent her the most professional smile you could manage.

“I’ll be back.” You smiled before making your way up to the bar, order slip in hand, and dropped it dramatically on the counter like it weighed fifty pounds.

Wooyoung, the bartender, glanced at it, then glanced at you. “Table seventeen?”

You just nodded and exhaled.

He raised a brow, already filling a glass. “So what’s she allergic to? Joy? Basic manners?”

You snorted. “Room temp sparkling water. No ice. Lime on the side. Not in the glass. God forbid.”

Wooyoung grabbed a bottle from under the counter, muttering under his breath. “She sounds like the human version of a Terms and Conditions page.”

“I feel like I’m in a Yelp hostage situation.”

He slid the drinks onto a tray, leaned in, and whispered, “Why is there such a tension between you and that guy across from her.. You know him?”

You gave him a look. “He was my tutor, turned friend, and then he disappeared for 10 years. It’s awkward.”

Wooyoung smirked. “Mhm. He is looking at you a lot though.. He looks rich, go for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the tiny smile. “I don’t even know him anymore, it’s been 10 years. He looks… different.”

“Different how?”

“Like he eats confidence for breakfast.”

Wooyoung leaned on the bar, grinning. “And his date looks like she eats waitresses.”

“She almost did.”

He gave you a dramatic pat on the shoulder. “Godspeed, soldier.”

You sighed, picked up the tray, and turned toward the battlefield. “If I don’t come back… avenge me.”

Wooyoung called after you, “I’ll write your name on the tip jar!”

You let out a giggle as you returned to the infamous table seventeen. You placed their drinks in front of them and found your notepad once again. “Ready to order your food?”

The woman let out a groan, flipping the menu shut like it offended her. “What do you recommend for someone who’s gluten-free, dairy-free, low-carb, and doesn’t eat anything with a face?”

“…A salad?”

“Ugh, boring.. I guess I’ll have the risotto,” she said, not waiting for your answer. “But no onions, no garlic, no salt, no dairy, and absolutely no parsley. I hate garnish. It ruins the presentation.”

“Of course.”

Mingi glanced down at his menu like it was the only safe place to look. “I’ll have the steak. Medium rare. That’s all.”

You scribbled it down and just gave a nod. “I’ll get that in for you.”

The rest of the evening drags in flashes of passive-aggressive comments and high-pitched scoffs. She sends back a plate because it’s “too pretty to eat, but not in a good way.” You keep your smile steady through all of it, a crack in porcelain.

Mingi doesn’t say much.

But you notice the small things. How he flinches when she talks down to the staff. How he keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. How he starts saying “thank you” every time you come near the table, soft and almost guilty.

It’s not the boy you remember.

He’s older now. Quiet, but not like he used to be. He’s learned how to hide in plain sight. But his eyes still say what his mouth doesn’t.

It's finally time for the m to pay and she sighs dramatically. “God, finally. Maybe now we can get out of here.”

Mingi looks at you one last time as you hand over the receipt. “It was…really good to see you again.”

You nod, heart too full to respond.

Too shocked to see the man you’ve been dreaming about for 10 years. 

***

Youre half-jogging across the street, clutching your sketchbook under one arm and your much-needed coffee in the other. Late… again. The crosswalk light blinks red, but you’re already halfway through when the black luxury car comes speeding around the corner.

You jump back with a gasp, stumbling on the curb, and your coffee goes flying, straight out of your hand, splattering down your coat and shoes.

And in your panic-fueled rage?

You hurl the empty cup at the hood of the car.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” you yell, breath caught in your throat as the car screeches to a stop. It just sat there, glossy and silent, like it was too expensive to care. Your dignity abandoned you immediately.

Mortified, heart pounding, you turned on your heel and marched away before the tinted windows rolled down and revealed some ultra-rich devil ready to sue you for assault via paper cup. You storm into the next coffee shop, head down, coat stained, pride bruised. You’re still muttering to yourself about dangerous drivers when someone says your name.

“Y/N?”

You turn and time slams to a halt.

There he is.

Mingi.

Tall, broad, dressed in a tailored black coat that probably cost more than your rent. His hair is tousled like it had been done on purpose, his jawline is sculpted like he’d been carved from rich-boy marble, and in his hand…

… is your empty coffee cup.

“I believe this belongs to you?” he said, lifting it slightly, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

You blink. Then blink again. “Wait. You were the guy in the car?!”

“…Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I figured it was best not to mention it while you were still holding a hot beverage.”

Your soul left your body. “Oh my god,” you groaned. “Please, no, I didn’t mean to throw that at your car.”

He was grinning now. “It was a great shot though.”

“I thought you were some reckless douchebag,” you stammer, pushing hair behind your ears, already dying of embarrassment.

“I mean,” he shrug, “the driver was going a little fast.”

You stare at him. You can see he’s trying to find the right words. “My driver. He almost hit you, but don't worry, he’s now banned from Bluetooth arguments while driving.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Sorry for the cup.”

“I deserved it,” he says easily. “I’m buying you a new coffee, anything else?… a soul cleanser?”

“Coffee is fine.” You smile, before he orders a new coffee for you. You wait, still too flustered to do anything but trail after him like a starstruck ghost. While waiting in line, you manage to gather your senses enough to smalltalk.

“So… you’re in the area?” you ask, glancing up at him. How do you talk to a person who disappeared for 10 years and comes back looking like a GQ model with wealth spilling out of them? You don’t know. But you're trying. 

"Temporarily. I’m just back in town because I’m investing in some properties around town and I need to close some deals before heading back.” he said.

“Investing in properties?” You ask, not knowing exactly what to ask about first. 

“Yeah, those long hours studying math really came in handy,” He jokes, sending you a smile that reminds you too much of the person he was 10 years ago. “I was heading to a meeting, but I think almost murdering someone takes priority.”

You snort. “Well, lucky me.”

“What about you?” He looks down at you. You recall him being tall in High School but he was definitely even taller now.

“I’m on my way to art class,” you said, lifting your sketchbook as proof.

His gaze flicker down. “You still draw?”

“Still trying to,” you say, smiling softly.

“I remember you used to sketch during our study sessions,” he said with a smile, surprising you. “I would scold you for making doodles on the paper instead of taking notes.” His voice is warm. The barista hands you your new coffee before you have time to react. And before you could thank him again, Mingi say, “Let me give you a ride.”

You blink. “What?”

“I insist,” he say. “You’ve suffered enough for one morning.”

“I can walk-”

“Please.”

You hesitate, then nod. “…Okay.”

As the two of you walk out of the shop, you spot the black car parked out front. Same one from earlier. And leaning against it like he was in the middle of a Vogue shoot is a tall guy with dark hair and rolled-up sleeves. He spots you and straightens, removing his sunglasses.

“This is my driver, personal assistant and best friend, Yunho.” Mingi introduce Yunho as he take a step towards you.

“I’m really sorry for earlier. I swear he was yelling about some meeting and I missed the turn.” Yunho apologize.

You raise your coffee. “I threw a cup at your car, so I think we’re even.”

Yunho grins. “Deal.”

Mingi opens the car door for you like a gentleman, and you step into the kind of interior that smells like new leather and old money. As the car pulls away, your coffee warms your hands and your thoughts whirl faster than traffic. You sit with your coffee in your lap, legs crossed, trying not to overthink the fact that you are in a car with Mingi. Ten years ago, you were calling him cute in the back of a library. Now? Now he is next to you, suited up like he owns the building your class is in.

“So,” you say, casually glancing his way. “Your girlfriend from the other night… she was really… sweet.”

Mingi lets out a quiet sigh, then glances your way, deadpan. “That wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, pretending to sound surprised. “Could’ve fooled me. She seemed really into the water with no ice and emotionally terrorizing waitstaff.”

“It was a blind date a colleague of mine set up. He’s no longer allowed to do that. Ever again.”

You try to hide your smirk behind your coffee. “She seemed super chill. I loved when she asked if the truffle risotto was gluten-free, dairy-free, and joy-free.”

“She sent it back because it smelled too ‘mushroomy.’ It was truffle risotto.”

“And the water. Can’t forget the water.”

“I’m still emotionally recovering,” He rolls his eyes. “She also told me the candlelight was too aggressive.”

That made you laugh, hard enough you had to set your coffee down. You shake your head, laughing as you lean back against the seat. “So... no second date?”

“I blocked her halfway through dessert.”

“That bad?”

“She told me I had ‘beta energy’ because I helped you with the pens.”

Your eyebrows fly up. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says, looking over at you with that same old sparkle in his eyes. “But I don’t think it was a compliment.”

You smile into your cup, feeling lighter than you expected.

Then, after a beat, Mingi glances over again. “What about you?” he asks. “Are you… still seeing Jae?”

You blink, caught off guard. “God, no.”

He arches a brow.

You shrug. “We were never really a thing. I think I convinced myself to consider it for like five minutes back in high school. But… yeah. He was kind of a dick.”

Mingi laughs softly. “Kind of?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

He smiles at the windshield. “I could’ve told you that.”

You turn to him, mock-offended. “And you didn’t!?”

Mingi tilts his head with a knowing look. “Do you remember how he was back then? I liked my teeth where they were.”

You grin but you know how Jae was to Mingi in high school. Not a doubt in your mind that Jae would’ve been even worse to Mingi if he ever did anything back. The car slows to a gentle stop. You look out the window and see your art building. You hadn’t even realized you were this close.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Thanks for not throwing your coffee at me this time.”

“No promises for next time.”

You both smile.

As you get out of the car, you make eye contact with Yunho in the front before saying, “And sorry again for the cup.”

“Fair trade,” Yunho says with a shrug. “I almost hit you. You assaulted my windshield. Balance.”

You laugh, stepping out into the sun. “Well.. Maybe I’ll see you around, Mingi.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “See you.”

***

You are halfway through balancing a tray of desserts when you spot him.

Tall. Broad. Too well-dressed for a Wednesday afternoon. He looks almost comically out of place beneath the dim chandeliers and overpriced floral centerpieces, like he walked into the wrong restaurant by accident and was just too polite to leave. Mingi stood by the host stand, hands in the pockets of a dark navy coat, glancing casually at the menu as if he hadn’t already made up his mind.

You smooth your apron and walk over. “Don’t tell me you’re here for another blind date.”

He looks up and smiles, just a small one. But you notice. “No blind dates today.”

“Thank God. I don’t think we have the emotional support risotto on the menu today.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. “I came for lunch.”

Your brow arch. “You came to a place that serves foie gras in abstract geometric shapes for lunch?”

“I was… in the area.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking like he knew how unconvincing that sounded. “Is there a table for one?”

You bit back a grin. “As a matter of fact, there is.” You lead him towards a table by the window. Once seated, he looks up at you, eyes scanning your face like he hadn’t gotten the full view last time. 

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” He says while he’s looking up at you.

You raise a brow. “Pretty sure you’re the one who walked into my workplace.”

“Fair point.”

You hand him a menu and lean slightly on the back of the chair. “So, what’ll it be? More emotionally stale water? Or something new?”

He smiles again, barely. “Surprise me.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think that’s how this restaurant works.”

“I trust your judgment.”

You give him a look. “You shouldn’t.”

But still, you turned towards the kitchen with a little smirk on your face, cheeks warmer than you liked. A few minutes later, you return with a plate of the daily special and a glass of iced tea, placing it down in front of him with a practiced hand. “I take it you’re not allergic to anything that grows in the dirt or has... feelings?”

He chuckles. “I’ll survive.”

You step back, folding your hands behind your back. “So, really. What brings you here, Mingi?”

He took a sip of the tea first, then shrug, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know. I guess I was just curious if you'd be here.”

You blink. “That’s... weirdly honest.”

“I’m bad at lying.”

You smile despite yourself. “Well, congrats. I’m here. In all my apron-clad glory.”

“It suits you.”

You tilt your head. “The apron?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you like he was maybe starting to figure out how much he missed out on back in high school. You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway. Let me know if you need anything. A fancy salt, perhaps? A spoon blessed by a Michelin chef?”

He gave you that same small laugh again, the kind that stayed low in his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

You leave him with his lunch and try your best not to look back too many times. The rest of the hour, Mingi would steal your attention more than you cared to admit. Your eyes would naturally travel to his corner like it was the most natural thing in the world. It weirded you out seeing the boy who used to sit alone at lunch now sit alone in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. Just for lunch.

After he paid, you finished stacking a few menus when you notice Mingi still lingering by the host stand, hands in his coat pockets, eyes flicking toward you like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

You step closer, raising an eyebrow. “Forgot something?”

He shrugs casually, but his voice betrays him, just a little tight, just a little hopeful. “Not really. Just thought… maybe I could get your number?”

You blink, surprised. “For?”

He scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping for a second. “I don’t know. In case I stop by again and… you’re not here. Or if I need a drink recommendation. Or table suggestion. Or something.”

You smile, amused by how awkwardly he was trying to be casual about it. “Right. For professional purposes.”

“Exactly.” He nods, clearly relieved you didn’t make it weird.

You pull out a receipt and scribble your number on the back before handing it over. “Don’t use it to order food though. I don’t take reservations by text.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet. “Got it. No food orders. Just emergencies.”

And with that, he gives you a small wave and turns to leave. You are still smiling when you turn back towards the bar and almost jump out of your skin when Wooyoung is suddenly right there, propping his elbows on the counter like he’d been waiting for the curtain to drop.

“So,” he says, loud enough to draw attention, “that wasn’t suspicious at all.”

You groan. “Please don’t.”

Wooyoung points dramatically towards the door. “Tall, mysterious, dressed like he owns a yacht, came in just to stare at you for an hour and left with your number.”

“He came in for food.”

Wooyoung leans in. “And stayed for dessert.”

You grab a towel and toss it at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoyingly observant,” he says, dodging. “You better invite me to the wedding. I want the first toast and the first slice of cake.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing. “It was just a number.”

Wooyoung smirk. “Numbers become dates. Dates become soulmates. I’ve seen the movies.”

You give him a look. “It’s not a movie.”

He wink. “Not yet.”

***

You’re curl up on the couch, blanket over your legs and a bowl of cereal in your lap even though it’s nowhere near breakfast time. The TV plays quietly in the background, something forgettable you put on just for noise. You’re halfway through mindlessly flipping through your sketchbook when your phone buzzes beside you.

Unknown: Hey. Just checking if this is your actual number and not some cruel prank. 

You blink, surprised to see a text from who you only imagine to be Mingi. It’s only been a few hours since he left the restaurant. You smirk to yourself and grab your phone.

You:Would a fake number reply to you this fast?

You immediately save his number and make him a new contact. You set your phone back down, returning to your cereal, only for it to buzz again seconds later.

Mingi:Bold of you to assume I haven’t had imaginary conversations with fake numbers before.

You huff a small laugh and sink deeper into the couch, spoon dangling from your mouth as you text back.

You:Sounds like something you should bring up in therapy.

Mingi:I did. My therapist ghosted me.

You snort into your cereal, nearly dropping the spoon.

You:Tough crowd.

Mingi:Tell me about it.

Your phone goes quiet after that, but the little exchange leaves you with a faint smile. You close your sketchbook, set the empty cereal bowl on the coffee table, and let yourself relax a little more into the cushions.

*** 

You don’t expect to receive a text from Mingi the next day. But you do. 

Mingi So... do I have to schedule an appointment or can I bribe you with coffee to see your art?

You stare at the message, mouth twitching.

You You wanna see my art?

Mingi I wanna see what stole all of the attention while tutoring you 

You Wow. Emotional blackmail. Hot.

Mingi You promised. And I am a man of follow-ups now.

You chuckle, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the gray clouds overhead. You meet him that evening outside your art school. It’s after-hours, but your professor gave you a key code. Perks of being one of the more “dedicated” students, aka “you’re here too much, go home sometimes.”

Mingi stands by the gate, dressed way too nicely for a quick art tour. Black trousers, a slate gray coat, a warm scarf that makes him look like he walked out of a drama set. He waves when he sees you, and the smile on his face is so familiar it kind of makes your heart trip.

“Ready to be wildly underwhelmed?” you say as you swipe your ID at the side entrance.

“Extremely.”

You lead him into the long hallway filled with student work. Some pieces hang proudly in frames; others are still drying on racks. There’s the smell of paint, turpentine, a little coffee, honestly, your comfort zone. Mingi walks slowly, taking everything in with surprising focus. When you stop in front of your section, you feel a flicker of nerves.

“This one’s mine,” you mumble, suddenly shy. “Well, this whole wall.”

He scans the canvases carefully. There’s a large abstract piece with messy strokes of crimson and gold, a smaller still life of a coffee cup you were once too broke to drink, and a half-finished portrait that still makes your heart ache when you look at it too long. Having been working on it for nearly two years, it’s one of those paintings you don’t think you’ll ever finish. 

“You’re really good,” he says softly.

You shrug, trying not to make it a big deal. “I’m trying.”

“No,” he says, looking at you now. “You are.” There’s something in his voice. An honesty you remember from a long time ago. The same tone he used when he told you you’d pass your math final, even when you thought your brain was rotting.

You smile, a little flustered. “Thanks.” You continue slowly walking next to all the art in the room. A thought you’ve had the past few days blooms in your mind again and you get the urge to ask him.  “So…” You start, trying to make your question natural and not open wounds that could possibly not be closed. “How long are you in town for?”

He looks at the ground. “Not sure yet, until the investment deals are closed, and then I’m heading back home.” There's a tug at your heart at the words “back home”. Just as you thought he was home he’s gonna leave again. 

“Oh, of course…” You know exactly what you want to ask next, but once again scared that the question might scare him. That it might push him into something he wants to forget. You take a deep breath, keeping an eye on him and his reaction. “It's been 10 years since we graduated..” You glance at him. “You got the invite for the reunion?”

Last week, an invitation to the 10-year-high-school-reunion showed up in your mail. You already decided to be there, to get a feeling of where your past class-mates are in their lives. And maybe to see if there’s a chance you can convince the quiet boy who helped you through senior-year to come. 

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I got the invite.”

“You going?”

A pause. A breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Feels like… walking into a movie I didn’t get cast in.”

You frown. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He tilts his head. “You remember how people treated me, right? The only reason most of them knew my name was because they copied off my homework.”

“Well, they didn’t know what they had,” you mutter. “Still don��t.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. You nudge him with your elbow. “I think you should come.”

“To be ignored by people who still think I'm invisible?”

You smile up at him. “No. To be acknowledged by people who don’t recognize you because now you look like a Calvin Klein ad and drive around in a car that almost committed homicide.”

He laughs, really laughs. That warm, breathless laugh that used to sneak out between tutoring sessions when you said something accidentally funny.

He shakes his head. “You really think I should go?”

“I think you should go,” you say firmly. “You skipped prom. Don’t skip this too.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Thoughtful. A little hesitant. “You’re going?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say. “My art is in the alumni showcase. And I look hot in formal wear. It’s a win-win.”

That earns another soft chuckle. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you said about prom.”

“And look how that turned out.”

You tilt your head. “Exactly. Don't ghost this one, Song Mingi.”

“I’ll try,” he says, quiet now. “No promises, but… I’ll try.”

And as you stand beside him in the echo of the empty hallway, you can’t help but feel the past and the present stretching and folding between you. Two threads that never fully came undone, tying themselves back together in small, careful knots.

***

The Allen key slips from your fingers again, clinking against the hardwood floor with a sound that feels almost personal at this point. You sit back on your heels, sweating lightly from sheer frustration, surrounded by mismatched wooden panels, screws that don’t seem to belong anywhere, and a manual that may as well be in ancient hieroglyphics.

You stare at the chaos in front of you, defeated. The IKEA coffee table should have been a simple, 30-minute build. It’s been an hour and you’ve gotten as far as accidentally screwing one of the legs in backwards. You sigh and grab your phone from the couch, already knowing who you’re going to text. The one person you can count on to both show up and mock you the entire time.

You: wooyoung pls help ikea is winning and i’m not strong enough

You toss your phone beside you and grab the water bottle at your side, taking a sip while looking over the battlefield.

Wooyoung: what is it this time? bookshelf? chair? a humble side table?

You snort and wipe your hands on your sweatpants before typing back.

You: coffee table i fear it might become firewood

Your phone buzzes again instantly.

Wooyoung: 😔 gone too soon rip flatpack

You grin a little despite yourself, dragging the manual closer as if something might magically make sense if you stare at it hard enough.

You: are you coming or not

He types back immediately, which is always a little suspicious.

Wooyoung: i could… OR

You raise a brow and lean against the couch cushion behind you.

You: or what

Wooyoung: OR you could text your new tall friend with the jawline and the tragic blind date taste you know mr. i-own-three-black-coats-and-a-personal-driver

You blink.

You: no

Wooyoung: come on he clearly has strong forearms he’d probably carry the table in one hand and read the manual with the other

You picture Mingi in that sleek coat, tall and effortlessly put together, showing up at your restaurant last week. You shake your head.

You: he’s not a superhero he’s just tall

Wooyoung: tall and rich. and he literally showed up to see you at work. idk sounds like someone who would build a table for a girl he likes.

You pause, staring at the screen. Your heart does a weird little flip, but you immediately squash the feeling. That’s not what this is.

Right?

You chew your bottom lip, typing slowly.

You: who said he likes me???

Wooyoung: me. i said it. and i’m rarely wrong

You groan into your hands, half-laughing and half-exasperated. This is what you get for asking Wooyoung for help.

You: so you’re not coming?

Wooyoung: no, i’m busy watching netflix and doing absolutely nothing ask him 😌

You let your phone fall to your lap and stare at the unfinished table. You could ask Mingi. He was nice. Surprisingly easy to talk to. And yeah, maybe you’d caught yourself looking at his hands more than once when he handed you his credit card.

Still…

You roll onto your back, hair splayed out against the rug, staring up at the ceiling. The idea of texting him makes your stomach flutter, but it’s just a table, right? You sigh. The coffee table creaks beside you, as if mocking your indecision.

It starts with a text.

you: hey um… super random but do you know how to build ikea furniture?

There’s a pause. Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

Then:

mingi: this feels like a trap like if i say yes you’re gonna make me build a castle or something

You snort.

you: not a castle just a table a large, heavy, emotionally threatening coffee table

mingi: ah yes the sadistic swedish puzzle box

you: it’s been giving me death stares from the middle of my living room i think it’s winning

mingi: are you asking me to risk my life for you

you: ...yes?

This time the three dots hang for longer.

Then:

mingi: text me your address i’ll bring coffee and emotional support

you: you’re my hero

mingi: don’t say that until we survive step 12: “insert screw B into slot F without crying”

You laugh to yourself, heart doing a weird little jump. You’ve only seen him a handful of times after his 10-years-disappearance, but even through a screen, Mingi’s the same blend of soft and sarcastic that he used to be. Just taller. Richer. Hotter. And still, somehow, kind of a lovable nerd. You send your address. A second later, another text buzzes through.

mingi: just so we’re clear if the instructions has more than 5 pages we’re taking breaks every 40 minutes and i’m allowed to complain at least twice

you: deal

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Or maybe it’ll be a total disaster.

But either way… you’re actually kind of excited to see him again. And maybe, just maybe, you hope the coffee table takes a little longer to build than it needs to. And the second you open the front door, you know you’re in for chaos. Mingi’s standing there with two iced coffees, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, and a wide grin like he’s about to conquer Everest.

“I brought backup,” he says, pulling an Allen wrench out of his pocket like it’s a weapon. “And caffeine.”

“You really came prepared.”

You lead him into the apartment, pointing toward the warzone that is your living room: an opened cardboard, Styrofoam, and that infamous IKEA manual laying in the center like a threat. You both kneel by the box, pulling out panels and screws, the floor quickly turning into an obstacle course of wood and tools. Mingi is meticulous from the start, lining up the screws by type, glancing at the instructions like they’re a sacred text.

He reads the manual like it’s a textbook, brows furrowed, lips pursed slightly. You watch the gears turn in his brain and you’re flooded with memories, study dates where he’d do this exact same expression while explaining calculus, the way he used to get adorably serious about things nobody else cared about.

You had forgotten how much you liked that about him.

“You’re very serious about this,” you note.

“This is my Olympics,” he replies solemnly. “I will not be defeated by a coffee table.”

You work together, slowly finding your rhythm. He reads the instructions while you screw the panels into place. He slides a hand over a finished piece to check its sturdiness, nodding like a proud architect. At one point, he misplaces a bracket and looks genuinely offended.

“I swear I just had it.”

“You probably buried it under your precision screw pile,” you say, lifting a handful of mismatched screws with zero organization.

He gasps. “Blasphemy. This is an advanced sorting system.”

You glance at Mingi, sweat dampening his forehead, glasses sliding down his nose from all the effort, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a proud, dorky smile tugging at his lips. He’s ridiculous. And kind of adorable. And very much still the same Mingi you remember.

You don’t say anything, but you feel it. That weird fluttering thing that happens when someone does nothing but be completely, unapologetically themselves… and you can’t help but fall just a little.

“Okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “What’s next?”

You sip your coffee, smiling to yourself. “Dinner, I think.”

“You cooking?”

“I built half a coffee table. I’m not lifting a spatula too.”

“Fair,” he says. “I’ll order.”

The takeout containers sit open between you on the floor, still steaming slightly. You and Mingi are cross-legged beside the newly built coffee table like it’s your proudest achievement, because, honestly, it kind of is. The soy sauce has already soaked through one napkin, but neither of you moves to clean it.

“I was such a mess in high school,” you admit. “But I always looked forward to those afternoons.”

He looks over, eyes softer now. “Same.”

The moment lingers, quiet but full. Outside, a car passes. Inside, something has shifted, like time folding in on itself, letting the past and present breathe in the same space.

You lift a dumpling toward him. “Peace offering. For stealing all your melon candy.”

***

It had become a little routine. The texts had turned into phone calls that stretched for hours, picking up where the messages had left off, weaving in laughter and conversations that seemed to flow effortlessly between you and Mingi. It didn’t matter what you were doing. Folding laundry, sketching out designs, or sometimes just lying in bed, he was there. You’d talk about anything and everything. There were no filters.

Tonight was no different. You’re half-listening to Mingi talk about a bizarre TikTok recipe he saw involving canned peaches and instant noodles when your laughter interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You’re kidding,” you say through a grin, pacing around your living room in socks. “That’s almost as cursed as your high school milkshake obsession.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the call. “Cursed? Excuse you.”

You can hear the mock offense in his voice, and it makes your cheeks ache from smiling.

“You’re not really about to defend that vanilla–sea salt–olive oil milkshake again, are you?”

He scoffs. “First of all, it wasn’t just olive oil. It was cold pressed, and second of all, it was a masterpiece. That place on the corner knew what they were doing.”

“You brought it to the long study sessions” you laugh, flopping onto your couch. “And it always looked like... salad dressing with ice cream.”

“You bought them for me sometimes!” 

“I was being nice!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. “You were making me pass classes, the least I could do was give you your weird milkshakes!” Both of your laughs died down, and a short silence follows, but it’s comfortable now. The kind that lingers between two people who’ve been talking too long to bother with filters.

“…You know,” he says suddenly, voice a little softer, “you could come over sometime. We could… I dunno, sit around and talk like this. Maybe get some of those awful milkshakes.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment, but the warmth in his voice isn’t flirty. He’s not trying to make a move. It just sounds like Mingi. Familiar. Gentle.

You clear your throat. “You buying?”

“If that’s what I have to do to make you try it, then yes. I’m defending my honor, so you better bring the evidence.”

A few hours later, you’re in the elevator of a glass building downtown, holding a cardboard drink tray with two sweating milkshake cups. One of them is chocolate. The other… well, you can’t believe you actually paid for the olive oil one.

His apartment is high up, some penthouse suite he’s temporarily staying in for work. And now standing in the entryway of his penthouse, the actual penthouse, like floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge balcony and gadgets enough to make anyone a millionaire, you realize nothing about Mingi is really “no big deal” anymore.

Except he’s still barefoot in sweats, big glasses and an oversized hoodie. Still blushes a little when he sees you staring.

“Holy crap,” you murmur, stepping inside. “You live here?”

“Technically, yeah, just for now” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “It was a work thing… investment perk or whatever. It’s only temporarily while I’m in town as I’m investing in the property.”

“You live like a Bond villain.”

He shuts the door behind you. “Only on the outside. Inside I’m still the guy who alphabetizes his manga and cries over Studio Ghibli soundtracks.”

You hand him the tray. “Well, Bond villain or not, you’ve got your gross milkshake. Drink up, sir.” You walk further into the penthouse and it hits you in the head how far Mingi has come. But it still looks like his place. Stacks of books in the corner. A record player. A Gundam figure half-assembled on the counter. An old hoodie slung over the back of a leather chair. It's expensive in layout, but it feels like Mingi lives here. It feels like him.

You wander a little while he disappears into the kitchen. That’s when you see it.

Tucked into the bottom shelf, nearly hidden under old magazines: a dusty high school yearbook. You grin and crouch down to pull it out, fingers wiping across the cover. It’s old and familiar, instantly bringing back the scent of marker ink and locker sweat. When you flip it open, you’re already smiling, ready to find some awkward teenage photo of Mingi in braces or maybe a dramatic quote about science. But the sight in front of you makes your heart sink. All of the pages are blank.

No messages. No inside jokes. No “have a great summer!” or doodles of hearts. You pause, flipping through slower now. Every page is spotless. No one wrote anything.

Mingi comes back with the two milkshakes and sees you crouched there, frozen.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You found that. I didn’t even realize I had that. Must’ve been in one of the boxes my mom dropped off. I didn’t mean to bring it.”

You look up. “Why didn’t anyone sign it?”

He shrugs, walking past you to place the shakes on the table. “No one noticed me back then. Kind of hard to sign a yearbook for someone you didn’t know existed.”

Your heart cracks a little. “That’s not true. I noticed you,” You notice his lips twitch, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, still wearing that lopsided grin. “It’s not a big deal.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean, high school was… whatever,” he went on. “I kept my head down. Did my homework. Got gum thrown in my hair once in gym class, that was fun. And Jae, of course. His favorite game was grabbing my backpack and tossing it into random places. One time it ended up in a bathroom stall. Still don’t know how.” He laughed a little, like it was funny now. Like it hadn’t mattered.

But you remembered. You remembered the way he used to flinch when Jae walked by. How his shoulders stayed tense until you were sitting down to study. You remembered how he never met anyone’s eyes in the hallway. How sometimes, he’d show up to your sessions looking like he hadn’t slept at all. But a part of you didn’t realize how bad it really was. Maybe you were just to scared to realise it back then. And now you feel even worse about how you handled everything during high school. How you could’ve been there for him, supported him, stopped the bullying or at least tried.

So now you regret not doing more. 

“I used to hide out under that tree by the math building during lunch,” he added casually, tapping his straw on the lid. “One time Jae and his friends poured soda into my backpack. Said they were giving it a drink.”

Your grip on the yearbook tightened.

“But I survived,” he said, flashing you a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Could’ve been worse, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you closed the book and put it back carefully. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You were always nice to me,” he said. “That helped more than you probably realized.”

You glanced over at him and he finally met your eyes. The façade cracked, just slightly. You could see the truth there. It had been bad. And it had stayed with him. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” you said softly. He gave you a small smile, but said nothing. “I should’ve written in your yearbook,” you murmur. “I would’ve written so much.”

He chuckles softly. “You probably would’ve drawn something ridiculous, too.”

“Probably.”

Silence stretches between you again, but it’s heavier now. Like time is waiting for either of you to add to the topic, but what is there to say? you don't feel like pushing him too hard, and he seems to brush it off, like he isn't comfortable enough to talk about how it really was back then. So you do the next best thing and reach your arm towards him and extend your hand. “Okay. Give me the sacred Mingi Special.”

His eyes widen. “You sure?”

“Nope. But I’m brave.”

He hands out the drink and you take a sip of the infamous vanilla-olive-oil-sea-salt milkshake, and then blink. The mix of sweet and salty, with a touch of olive-oil balances out the flavors perfectly. “Wait… that’s actually not bad.”

He looks smug. “Thank you. Finally, vindication.”

You roll your eyes jokingly. “Still not better than chocolate.”

“Debatable.”

***

The past few days had passed in a blur of double shifts, aching feet, and too much caffeine. You were running mostly on autopilot. Pour, serve, smile, repeat.

And tonight, work had been hectic. A weekend dinner shift meant nonstop tables, last-minute party reservations, and a manager who couldn’t seem to stop breathing down your neck. But Wooyoung, ever the life of the kitchen and bar, had kept your spirits up the whole night.

As you both step out into the cool night air, you are still breathless from laughing.

“If I ever have to make another espresso martini for a man in flip-flops who calls me ‘chief,’ I’m going to lose my job,” Wooyoung says, dragging a hand down his face dramatically.

“You handled it so well,” you say, still giggling. “You told him the machine was broken and then walked away mid-order.”

“Because it was broken, emotionally. Like me.”

You snort, and he bump his shoulder into yours. The cool night air wrap around you both as you walk slowly down the quiet sidewalk. The restaurant lights glow behind you, and the street ahead was dim and calm.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Wooyoung says as he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys. “No offense, but you look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up, so you’re stuck with my terrible driving.”

“You’re not that bad,” you say, smiling up at him. “I only screamed twice last time.”

“That’s an improvement.”

But just as you’re about to follow him towards the lot, you freeze. A familiar figure stood under the streetlamp ahead, half in shadow. Tall. Broad. His posture straight, but his shoulders slightly tense like he hadn’t meant to be seen, standing still like he wasn’t sure whether to move forward or vanish.

Your steps falter slowly. “Mingi?”

His head snaps up like he hadn’t expected to be seen. His eyes find yours immediately.

“Oh,” he says, almost too softly. “Hey.”

Wooyoung glance at you, then back at Mingi. “What a coincidence.” 

You heard the teasing in Wooyoun’s words. 

“I was just… going for a walk,” Mingi says.

Wooyoung grins, playful but not mean. “At midnight?”

You elbow him lightly, but Mingi gives a half-laugh. Not awkward, just small. Quiet. Like he was trying not to take up too much space. Mingi only shrugs like it made perfect sense. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“We just got off work,” you say quickly, stepping slightly forward. “It was… kind of a wild night.”

Mingi nods, eyes flickering to Wooyoung. “Right. That makes sense.” His gaze flickers between the two of you. You see it written all over his face, it was the same look he had back in High School when he talked to you in front of Jae. Like he felt like he interrupted, like he wanted to disappear..  

Wooyoung shifts beside you, suddenly less talkative. You don’t miss the way Mingi’s eyes flickers to the keys in Wooyoung’s hand. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his shoulders tightens.

“Well,” Mingi says, already taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “We were just-“

But he is already backing away. “I’ll see you around, okay?” he says, trying to smile. “Have a good night.”

You stand there for a beat, stunned by how fast he vanishes, like the night had swallowed him up. Wooyoung lets out a low whistle and turns toward you slowly. “That boy thinks we’re dating.”

Your stomach does a weird twist. “Do you really think so?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just gives you a long, considering look. “He showed up here. After midnight. Just happened to be outside the restaurant you work at. And now he’s walking away like he just watched the love of his life get proposed to.”

“Wooyoung-”

“He’s into you,” he says, tone softer now. “In that quiet, I-would-definitely-die-for-you kind of way. You see that, right?”

You look down at the pavement, chewing the inside of your cheek, hoping you didn't give the impression you just think you did.

TAGLIST: (let me know if you wanna be added)

@lveegsoi , @vixensss

[beifong-brainrot]

Thinking about this panel of comics in tandem with the fact that Aang's Avatar duties kept him away from his family.

Like for all we talk about Aang being absent from his family due to his duties as the Avatar and the last Airbender, the discussion centers mainly whether or not he "failed" as a husband to Katara and as a father to his children. And while there certainly is nuance here, and I've discussed the "deadbeat dad Aang" theory in the past, I wanna focus on how Aang's role as the Avatar affected him internally.

Aang had the luck, unlike Korra, of having a mentor that protected him from his title as Avatar and gave him a carefree childhood.

Gyatso: Aang needs to have freedom and fun. He needs to grow up as a normal boy. Tashi: You cannot keep protecting him from his destiny. Pasang: Gyatso, I know you mean well, but you are letting your affection for the boy cloud your judgment. Gyatso: All I want is what is best for him. Pasang : But what we need is what's best for the world. You and Aang must be separated! The Avatar will be sent away to the Eastern Air Temple to complete his training.

And this was a blessing for Aang, as he got to be a normal child, as we see how damaging the lack of this is with Korra, who was raised to be Avatar first, a perskn second. Aang got to grow up as himself, not the Avatar. However, the moment his identity as the Avatar is revealed, he immediately becomes isolated from his peers and treated as other.

Air Nomad boy #1 : Now that you're the Avatar, it's kind of an unfair advantage for whichever team you're on. Aang: But I'm still the same! Nothing's changed! So, what? I can't play? Air Nomad boy #1 : That's the only fair way. Aang: Oh, okay. Air Nomad boy #2: Sorry, Aang.

This isolation is already tough, and its something we see almost all Avatars suffer with, some more, some less. Of course, it is that much harder on Aang, and, as he is just a scared child, being stripped of his identity and othered by his community, he runs away.

The fact that Aang will never know that Gyatso was not going to let him be sent away is my roman empire he will never know how much his parental figure and friend in two lives loved him and im tearing up oh my god

And when he wakes, he is the last airbender, his people, friends, family, dead for a hundred years. And that is a magnitude of loss hard to comprehend, especially from Aang's perspective, where it is both instantaneous and long past.

And yes, while Aang has Katara, Appa and the Gaang, they cannot replace a whole nation. Especially in the Avatar universe, where nationality is so tied to ones identity via bending.

And Aang isn't just the last member of a completely obliverated nation, he's still the Avatar, responsible for the other, still existing nations. Its his responsibility, and it is clearly taking a huge toll on his mental state. Because he is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation. Yes he will have his friends help, but it is his responsibility. Mind you, he is still 12 and currently mourning a whole nation. And we see how he struggles to balance his own comfort with this responsibility to the world.

Aang: I'm really glad you told me that. But I still need to do this. Katara : I don't understand. Aang: No, you don't. Every day, more and more people die. I'm already one hundred years late. Defeating the Fire Lord is the only way to stop this war. I have to try it!

And, yes, while defeating Ozai took a load off his shoulders, the nations still need guidance and peacekeeping. And Aang is expected to handle that too. Alongside trying to rebuild his nation, and resurrect its culture ans traditions. I know many people are upset by Aang hanging out with his fangirls and frankly, it hurt my soul to see Katara go through that. But I also understand Aang's joy at finding a community that embraces his culture and also eagerly participates in it, if not for the most noble of reasons.

Mind you, I absolutely don't think Katara was in the wrong for being upset. I do, however, believe she can empathise with Aang's joy, as she remembers her excitement and possessiveness over the waterbending scroll, her desire to learn waterbending, her immediate bond with Hama and how Aang supported her through these attempts to reconnect with her also damaged culture. And, of course, the Air Nomads cultural heritage, artifacts and community are in an even sorrier state. Because the Southern Water Tribe still has some elders to pass down traditions, and their connection with their sister tribes. Not perfect, by far, and much has been lost. But the Air Nomads only have Aang and whoever volunteers their interest.

And later, Tenzin.

Now, I'll keep this short, because I sound like a broken record at this point. Aang was not a deadbeat. He wasn't a perfect father, but he was a loving one. While Bumi and Kya may have certainly already felt isolated for not being airbenders, we see they struggled with aspects of the culture as well, while excelling at others, both being naturally spiritual and free spirits.

Tenzin, I believe, felt more pressure to conform to his Air Nomad heritage, due to being an airbender himself. How much of this pressure came from Aang, I'm not sure. We see him comfprt Tenzin over "failing his duty" and it is also an appartion of him that convinces Tenzin to embrace his own identity. So I would reckon a good chunk of this pressure was not from Aang, but from their surroundings, and perhaps even from Katara, who also cares deeply about preserving culture.

I do like that comic, but white man Aang scares me who is that man with the piercing sky blue eyes and the brown english teacher beard he looks like belethor from skyrim but bald

And of course Aang would want to support his son as he grows into the leader of a nation that has undergone such hardships. So, he would make sure Tenzin at least had fun during that period. Ergo, Bumi and Kya feeling like they're missing out. This, combined with Aang having to leave on Avatar duties would naturally have Aang more absent than he clearly would've wanted. But I also find it interesting that Kya and Bumi's resentment seemed to lie mainly with Tenzin, rather than Aang himself. Based bcs Tenzin can be a bit of a dick.

But we see Kya and Bumi acknowledge multiple times that Aang was a loving, supportive father with a lot on his plate.

I just can't help but find Aang an inherently lonely and tragic character. One that, frankly, had every right to turn bitter, angsty and hateful but remained so filled with love and care, who met the world with open arms. The Avatars all experinece some level of isolation and "othering", perhaps because they are not entirely human. But Aang, of course, had his home and family torn from him, in an instant in his eyes, and he spent the rest of his life trying to rebuild it. Yet he also had to manage the rest of the world's problems. And yet he loved. His friends, his wife, his children. He loved them but he will always be, to some degree apart from them. And it just fucking hurts to think about.

[starsinthesky5]

in you are in love

can we get a reader meets joes parents for the first time

that's my whole world || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a flashback blurb to meeting joe's parents for the first time

a/n: she met his parents in febuary (7 months since the day they started dating). they knew there was a girl in the picture, and he had told them about her on numerous occasions. but they didn't meet until the time was right :)

word count: 3.4k

series: you are in love

warnings: none

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she was a complete mess. like she genuinely had never been so nervous for something in her life.

joe had been trying to reassure her all week that everything would be okay, but she couldn't help the nerves from twisting in her stomach at the mention of...the dinner. she wanted to believe him, but the voice inside her head told her a different story.

it was a constant tug of war in her mind between the side of her that thought this would be a complete disaster, whispering things like "i'm too much for them," or even, "they're going to hate me and everything i bring with me...all the attention, prying eyes, the drama. they seem so nice and normal, so calm. i can't do this...why did i think i could do this?".

and the side that was bringing ice to the searing anxiety in her chest, whispering, "joe loves you. he chooses you. they will too,".

but god, it was just so hard to believe that when she knew exactly how not normal her life was. she wasn't just any girl meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time. she was her. the woman whose entire existence and being was scrutinized by the world, whose biggest fails and fatal flaws were aired out like dirty laundry. she brought even more flashing cameras, headlines, rumors, and attention to joe's life, even more than he was already dealing with. that couldn't be appealing to the parents of any child, especially since they knew how much joe had already struggled to balance privacy since he came into the league.

and the burrows? they were so normal. warm, kind, small-town folks who lived a quiet life outside of the football world that engrossed every single one of their weekends since joe could walk. they were the embodiment of home, at least from everything joe had told her--from his mom’s famous snicker salads to his dad’s lengthy football spiels, always delivered from his signature reclining rocking chair whenever joe visited. it was an established routine that joe valued, because it was one of the few constants in his life. no matter how much his world changed--draft nights, contract extensions, playoff games, becoming the designated heartthrob of the NFL--the burrow household remained the same. his parents still sat on the porch in the evenings, still had their favorite local diner they went to every sunday morning for brunch, still called him joey like he was six years old running around in the backyard.

this was one aspect of his life that never changed...that couldn't change.

athens.

his family.

his home.

until she came into the picture.

he made space for her, not only in his heart, not only in his closet, but in his home. physically and metaphorically. he had never done that for a girl before, but he did for her. and that meant something.

even though she knew all that, she still had never felt this much self-doubt in months, but don't get it twisted, this wasn't caused by a person this time (previously, her self-doubt was often implanted within her from those around her). this time, she was just getting in her head, going over every possible scenario where she could embarrass herself or rub them the wrong way.

and joe did everything he could to calm her nerves, to ease her into his family by first introducing her to his brothers and wives (who absolutely adored her). but she was the biggest overthinker he knew, so he knew that it wouldn't be that easy to bring her back from the ledge.

"baby, my parents are going to love you. like immediately. just like i did," he laughed, rubbing his hand along her thigh in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

she stayed silent as she watched them pull up to his childhood home. the anxiety boiling under her skin, threatened to explode once she saw the first glimpse of their picture-perfect porch, the porch where joe said his mom and dad would spend hours watching him practice his little peewee throws with his older brothers when he was a kid.

his mom and dad.

his mom...and dad.

his mom.

oh right, this wasn't just meeting his parents. it was meeting robin burrow. joe's mom, his biggest supporter, the woman he adored more than anything in the world. the woman who moved mountains to make sure joe could get to where he needed to be. she had heard firsthand how much respect and love he had for her, how he spoke about her with so much admiration. she knew how close they were, how much her opinion mattered to him.

and that is precisely why this dinner felt like the most important test of her life.

it was honestly funny how nervous she was. i mean, she had met some of the most famous individuals on the planet, sold out stadiums and arenas, but somehow, this felt bigger than all of that. more intimate.

--

the second they stepped inside, everything shifted. the warm scent of home-cooked food lingered in the air, a mix of sweet and savory, and the cozy lighting cast a golden hue over the living room. numerous framed photos decorated the walls--baby joe photos, football related snapshots, family moments frozen in time. you know, the usual.

she had seen a glimpse of his childhood through his stories, but standing here, in the house that built him, made it all so real.

robin was the first to greet them, moving right past her baby boy to first hug the woman who had stolen his precious heart. "finally! we've heard so much about you, sweetheart," she squealed.

her breath hitched while she almost broke a sweat, her smile however, remaining as steady as her feet. (thank years and years of practice for the paparazzi for that). "all good things, i hope," she beamed.

robin chuckled, "oh, only the best," while giving her a warm squeeze. "it's about time we got to meet the woman that got joey to learn the difference between dark and light wash denim,".

jimmy snorted, shaking his head. "and got him to wear something other than sweats in public,".

she laughed at the silly jabs at joe, glancing up at him, whose face was already contorted in playful annoyance. "okay, we’re already starting with this?" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

robin gently let go of her before turning to face her son, "you know we love you joe, but she got you to give up the gray jeans and the sweats? screw being the best thing that happened to you," she smiled, then faced her again, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "she's the best thing to happen to us,".

she couldn't even process what was happening because it felt so...easy. easier than she had thought. off the bat, the banter and vibe that had been established for years in the burrow household was engraved into her system. and it literally had only been 5 minutes.

his mom was so...comforting? she just had this vibe about her that immediately calmed her nerves, no matter how loud the voice inside her head was. and you know what's funny? only one person could do that for her.

joe.

now she knows where he got that from ;)

jimmy, joe’s dad, was just as comforting, shaking her hand with a firm grip and an easy grin. "you must have some real patience if you’re dating my son,".

joe groaned, rolling his eyes. "thanks, dad,".

she laughed, already feeling the warmth of their family dynamic, the way they teased but loved fiercely. it was easy. effortless.

and then, suddenly, she wasn’t her. she wasn’t the woman who graced magazine covers, wasn’t the person whose lyrics echoed through sold-out stadiums, wasn’t the figure people screamed for in arenas. she was just joe’s girl, standing in the warmth of his childhood home, being welcomed into his family like she had always been there.

she couldn't even remember why she was so worried in the first place? it's not like they would come out with pitchforks and a lighter incase she said the wrong thing. this was joe's family. the ones who made the person she was so madly in love with, who he was.

--

his parents could see how infatuated he was with her right off the bat. they could tell she was special to him from the way he spoke about her, but actually seeing it was a different story.

joe barely let go of her the entire night too. at dinner, his arm rested along the back of her chair, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against her shoulder. every so often, he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, murmuring something soft in her ear that made her heart flutter and a giggle to come to her lips. he knew she was nervous, so he made sure to do anything and everything he could to remind her it was okay...and he was right here.

the conversation flowed easily--stories from joe’s childhood, football talk, the occasional embarrassing story from robin that made joe groan.

"mom, seriously?" he complained after she detailed an elaborate story about him dressing up as batman for nearly three years straight as a kid.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. "he’d even wear the cape to bed. wouldn’t go anywhere without it,".

she turned to joe, wide-eyed with happiness. "oh, this is gold,".

robin smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "oh, honey, i have plenty more where that came from,".

joe sighed dramatically, slumping against his chair. "i walked right into this,".

she reached under the table, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. "it’s okay, babe. i still think you’re cool,".

his eyes narrowed playfully as his hand joined hers, fingers entwining under the table. then he have her three squeezes. "i don’t believe you. i just lost so much cred with that,".

joe was even clingier after dinner, practically attached to her as they settled onto the couch. his fingers still laced with hers, thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. every so often, he’d press a lingering kiss to her hair, like he couldn’t help himself.

oh, and then there was that moment--one she’d remember forever--when his parents started playing home videos of joe’s childhood. everyone was huddled around the TV, the warm glow flickering across their faces while joe, ever the gentleman, was finishing up the dishes.

her eyes were glued to the screen, completely transfixed, as if she were watching the most important film of her life. baby joe babbled at the camera, a toy football clutched in his tiny hands, making incoherent little sounds through a drool-covered grin. his dinosaur shirt was stained with whatever snack he’d been munching on, and his chubby cheeks were impossibly round. she felt something deep in her chest tighten at the sight--it was him, the boy who would grow up to become the man she loved.

she was so caught up in the moment, she didn’t even notice when joe snuck up behind her, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. he rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin, watching the screen from her perspective. for him, it was surreal--seeing these memories through her eyes, seeing her watch him at his most innocent, his most unguarded.

soft kisses pressed along her jaw, slow and affectionate, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. instead, she shifted one hand up, her fingers trailing over his jaw, nails scratching lightly in that way she knew he loved--a silent i feel you, i love you, i know you’re here.

his parents, however, fully noticed.

they turned to face joe and her, completely in awe of how touchy-feely he was being with her.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "well, would you look at that," he mused, nudging robin with his elbow. "our boy's turned into a big ol’ sap,".

robin grinned, her eyes twinkling as she took in the sight of her son clinging to his girlfriend like she was the only thing grounding him to earth. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen him like this," she said, her voice laced with warmth.

joe groaned against her shoulder but didn’t make a move to pull away. instead, he tightened his hold on her waist, pressing another soft kiss beneath her ear. "you guys act like i don’t have ears," he muttered, lips brushing against her skin.

she giggled, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen to look at him. "they’re just observing, baby,".

jimmy laughed. "oh, so baby is what we’re calling him now?".

joe shot his dad a deadpan look, but it was hard to look intimidating when he was literally nuzzling into her neck like some love-sick puppy. "you’re both insufferable,".

she laughed, turning her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. "you’re kinda proving their point, joey,".

robin sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "oh, it’s just so nice to see him like this. all affectionate and soft. i mean, he’s always been sweet, but this? this is new,".

she wasn't wrong. everyone knew how joe was opposed to PDA and being so soft in front of other people. but with her, he didn't give two fucks. and that was beautiful.

"this is disgusting," joe grumbled, though it was completely contradicted by the way he was practically melting into her touch.

"oh, hush," robin scolded, waving a hand at him. "you love it,".

he didn’t argue. he just held her a little closer, completely unbothered by his parents' teasing, because deep down, he knew they were right.

and his parents shot each other knowing glances all throughout the night, their hearts overflowing with happiness and gratitude.

later in the evening, while joe was off showing jimmy something on his phone, robin gently touched her arm, "come help me with refills?".

she followed her into the kitchen, her nerves creeping back in like the first time she stepped on stage, the weight of the spotlight reaching down on her and the unsure hint of adrenaline in her chest. it was also like trying out a new song live for the first time, unsure how the crowd would react, only this time, the crowd was one very important person--joe's mom. but robin didn’t jump into anything serious right away. instead, she moved around the space like she had a hundred times before, topping off drinks, grabbing extra napkins. then, finally, she turned, leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

"i just want to tell you how happy i am that joe has you,".

she blinked, caught off guard. "oh."

robin’s smile softened. "he’s always been focused, always had big dreams that revolved around football. but there’s something different about him with you. i see it in the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you," she reached out, squeezing her hand. "you make him so happy, sweetheart. you make him dream of a future beyond football, and for that, we're forever grateful,".

her chest tightened--not with nerves, but something warmer, something deeper. she swallowed hard. "i love him a lot," she admitted, voice softer than before.

robin nodded, as if she already knew. "and he loves you. that’s all a mom could ever hope for. we were so worried he'd get so caught up in football, miss out on the other aspects of his life like love, a family," she said, reaching out to grab the 'j' initial necklace which sat around her neck. "but then you came around,".

she exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. "i was really nervous to meet you,".

robin raised an eyebrow. "why? because of who i am? honey, you’re the famous one,".

she shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip. "because of how much joe loves you. how much he looks up to you. i didn’t want to mess this up, you know?".

robin’s expression melted into something even softer, her thumb running over the surface of the pendant. "the only way you could ever mess this up is by not being yourself. but from what i can tell, and mother's intuition is never wrong, you’re perfect for him,".

before she could stop herself, she wrapped robin in a hug, this one even more meaningful than the one at the door. and then, the damn of emotion flew open. "thank you. thank so much you for making him who he is. i don't know what i would do without joe,".

robin's arms tightened around her in response, holding her as if she was already family. "oh, sweetheart, you don't have to thank me for that. joe’s always had a big heart, and he’s always known what he wants--he just needed someone like you to bring out the best in him," her voice cracked slightly, emotion clear in her tone. "he's been so much more himself since you came into his life,". she pulled away slightly, but her hands stayed on her shoulders, a steady presence. "you complete him, and we all see it. no matter who you are, what your life is like, screw the cameras and the attention. you're you. and we all know that. he knows that." robin added, her voice dense with emotion.

one thing echoed deep within her throughout the night--her career was never brought up. her fame, her music, the whirlwind of headlines that followed her everywhere she went. not a single mention. not even a passing comment.

because here, she wasn’t a superstar.

she was just a girl in love, spending time with the people who loved him first.

robin’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "but just so you know, if you ever need to gang up on him, i’m always available,".

she blinked, surprised at first, but then a laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and effortless. she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the kitchen light above them. "i might take you up on that," she admitted, voice laced with something softer--something that felt like relief.

robin squeezed her hand one last time, a silent reassurance, before stepping back to grab their drinks. and just like that, the last bit of nerves melted away, dissolving into the love that filled the room.

joe found her a few minutes later, his presence known before he even touched her. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth from the oven, and then, suddenly, his arms were around her, strong and steady. he pulled her into his chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her cheek. "what were you two talking about?{ he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with curiosity.

robin grinned, her gaze flicking between them, and then she smirked. "just how much we love you, joey,".

joe hummed, nuzzling into the crook of her neck like he belonged there. "you better not have been scaring her off, mom,".

robin gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "me? never!".

she giggled, leaning further into joe’s embrace, feeling the way his hands instinctively tightened around her waist, as if he needed to anchor himself to her. he had been like this all night--touching her in soft, subtle ways, like he couldn’t quite believe she was here, with him, in the house he grew up in, surrounded by the people who had shaped him.

and then she realized that there was absolutely nothing to be so nervous about, now that she thought about it.

you know why?

because joe chose her. and they saw that. he chose her for a reason. and they knew that. he loved her, and that was everything they had ever wanted for him.

she felt it in the way robin had hugged her like she was already family, in the way jimmy had teased joe about being whipped, in the way they had welcomed her into their home without hesitation, without expectation--just love.

because at the end of the day, it wasn’t about who she was to the world. it wasn’t about the bright lights or the sold-out shows, the cameras flashing or the headlines screaming her name.

it was just about this.

the warmth of joe’s arms around her. robin’s knowing smile. jimmy’s easy laughter. the quiet hum of the house that had built the man she loved.

"it's you and me, that's my whole world,".

joe’s whole world was under this roof.

and somehow, she had become a part of it.

--the end--

[flawseer]

In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter’s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

[kisses4reid]

date night | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you’re late for date night after your own kindness distracts you, but aaron doesn’t care as long as you’re with him.

genre - fem!reader x aaron, reader has a job not at the bau (you can decide), fluffy fluff, date night, selfless reader, angst if you squint really close??

warnings - light swearing, r being rained on, blabbering and near crying, haley doesn’t exist neither does jack

w/c - it’s short. trust me.

a/n - pov: pia asks for requests, starts writing those requests, and instead uploads an original fic. enjoy!!! (this is from a year ago so beware the writing. i just need to upload something before the engagement goes down 😭)

It got dark quicker this evening. A storm was approaching, you could tell by the drizzle outside of your office window. Your colleagues were already packed up, waiting for you, and you shot them a small smile and scurried to pull on your jacket.

In the elevator there was a rumble, a girl you had begun to get close with gripped your arm obviously scared and you looked at her concerned. Her eyes batted at you and all you could do was squeeze her arm in reassurance - you weren’t going to point out her fear in an elevator of office men. She looked great, a nice dress shirt, hair done nicely. You recalled her giddy whispers from that morning, I have a date tonight!

The excitement felt weirdly familiar, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

And although the restaurant she was going to was close by, you still worried about the rain.

See, you often opted for the outdoor afternoon stroll, but now the dark clouds had rolled over and it felt more like walking home at night with no moon as your guide.

You waved your friend goodbye and stepped out from the covers of your office building, into the rainy street with a thin pink umbrella overhead. Your small heels clicked against the roads, your jacket barely saving you from the chill, and you set off to your fiancé’s apartment. Your apartment now, you reminded yourself.

The trees lining the avenues and backroads swayed in the rain that was starting to pound harder, and the puddles you avoided started to get, well, unavoidable. You had always loved rain. Spending the weekend snuggled against the large window of your apartments living room with a good book and a warm drink was one of your favourite things to do, but right now you slightly cursed the storm and wondered why you didn’t check the weather app this morning like you always do.

Your sole focus was seeing your fiancé, and yet when your attention catches on a struggling older lady, you can’t help but step through mud to help.

“Shit.” A shorter lady, maybe in her late 50’s, was pull a wagon of flowers and plants along the sidewalk, and each step she took, the back left wheel would spin uncontrollably or not spin at all.

You scurried over and approached the woman, talking from across the wagon, “Can I help you with this?”

The woman’s face crinkled with relief and she nodded furiously causing you to smile back.

Helping people was your way of paying back the world for how well it treated you (most of the time). Your parents were constantly helping others and you had no choice but to follow suit. And at times your friends had to tell you to calm it down, saying you were being selfless and sometimes even a pushover.

That didn’t stop you.

“Thank you so much! My legs are getting too old for this.” You pulled the wagon up by its back legs and moved with the woman to pull it under cover, closer to what you assumed to be her flower shop. She locked up the store promptly and thanked you again but you stopped her.

She was dressed in a lovely floral dress, a thick cotton apron and small ballet flats and you just couldn’t stand to see that outfit go to waste. You held out the handle of the pink umbrella, rain immediately dampening your hair.

The lady held a wrinkled hand to her heart and placed a red-lipsticked kiss on your cheek. Your heart sank slightly, realising you would not be coming home in the state you wanted to. It wasn’t like Aaron would care, it was your own worries about ruining the apartment’s carpet and probably the elevator too.

You started down the street, not attempting to avoid puddles or mud anymore, just attempting to hide under bus stop covers when you could. The rain was truly heavy now, but luckily you were only a block away from your apartment.

“Hi Aaron Hotchner.”

“Hi Y/n Hotchner.” His hair was combed nicely and he was still in his work suit, he looked stoic and so manly - you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. His large hands took your jacket off and a cheeky smile slipped on his face. “Why are you drenched?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He definitely remembered you taking your umbrella before you left for work.

“Oh I,” you sighed, knowing you would get a small scold for your actions, “I walked in the rain.”

Aaron sighed, knowing you were lying for your and his own good. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You pouted, “I didn’t know if you’d be home.” You moved yourself further down the hall, Aaron trying but failing to keep you back. He clenched his fists as you stopped at the end of the hall in shock, you were supposed to close your eyes.

You held a hand over your mouth and let your eyes wander the room. Your dining table was decorating with candles and petals, there was an amazing smell coming from the kitchen and suddenly you felt the whole world crash onto you. How could you forget about date night?

“Oh my god, Aaron. Aaron, I am so sorry I completely forgot, oh my god.”

Aaron moved in front if you, a small smile adorning his handsome face, “Hey it’s okay, I understand it was raining and your umbrella magically disappeared. I only got here 10 minutes ago, I wasn’t waiting or anything.”

“Aaron I ruined it I mean- Look at me!” You looked down and extended your arms to motion at your whole being. Drenched dress, stuck hair, a shivering disaster.

“What do you mean-“

“My makeup is trashed, and- and my hair. There’s leaves in my hair! I’m wet and now your suit’s wet and- oh Aaron I’m so sorry, I don’t look like a good date at all.” Shoulders slumped, eyes tearing up, you looked down at your feet and felt your heart attacking your ribs.

“You don’t have to be sorry honey. I should be the one sorry, I didn’t think to come find you so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain.” He placed two fingers under your chin to lift your gaze back to his, and moved his other hand to pluck out a leaf from your hair.

“I ruined our date.”

“No you didn’t.” Aaron talked smoothly and low, as if you coming home looking like you’d been to hell and back wasn’t concerning him at all.

“Aaron I look horrible.”

“You look…”

“Awful? Hideous? Like Poseidon put me on a hit list?” You brought a hand up to wipe your eyes of slightly smudged mascara before Aaron’s larger hand caught it.

“You look beautiful. You look gorgeous, like always.” His eyes stared deep into yours, his hand squeezing around yours.

“… Thank you.” You sniffled, “You should just break up with me now.”

“Eh, that engagement ring was too much to let you go that fast.” He twisted your hand slightly to smile at the dazzling ring on your left hand. His hand moved from your face down to your waist and leaned in to place a loving kiss on your trembling lips before he caught a glance of something and paused. “How’d you get that red mark on your cheek?”

“Oh- I helped a lady out with her flower cart because it was stuck in the rain. And then I gave her my umbrella, and she kissed me on the cheek.”

He pulled back, sighing, “Y/n…”

“Her dress was very pretty, and I could tell her hair was freshly permed, okay. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” You crossed your arms over your chest and smiled cheekily.

“You’re unbelievable.” He couldn’t help but smile, he knew his girl was unforgivably selfless. Aaron took your hand and lead you to your bedroom so you could change for your date.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He leant against the doorframe, “I meant it as a good thing. Let’s eat, and then we can shower, and you can tell me about your day was.”

You opened your closet and sighed, “I’m really sor-“

“Don’t say sorry. You can apologies but wearing something nice and complimenting my subpar cooking.” He shot you a charming smile that warmed your heart and exited to set up the food, all you could think of is how lucky you were to have him.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover

[sushirrrry]

second person please! :)

I am not too fussed but an emphasis on plot please

Best friends brother. Some proper dramatic thing where she likes goes on a date or something or is speaking about a date and he gets all possessive but it’s like no they cant:

best friend brother or brothers best friend. Jealousy. Protectiveness. Frat boy era possibly? X

this is like the coolest thing writers can do. Thank you. I love ur writing take care ❤️

word count: 1,420 cw: staring & longing a brother's best friend!harry x you blurb

******

this week, I'm doing a little writing spree in honor of hitting 1,000 followers! send me your requests for 1,000 word blurbs here & I will be writing them all week! here is a template, if you'd like to fill it out

thank you so much for 1,000 followers, it means the world to me! ****** Summer.

You didn’t expect this summer to feel like this limbo of to do it or not to do it.

The beach town rental was supposed to be a break, it was supposed to be the time for you, your brother, your sister, and your parents to get a little reset before senior year—before your brother moved across the country for work, and you got serious about grad school.

Instead, it feels like you’re orbiting a version of yourself that only exists when he’s around.

Harry.

He’s been your brother’s best friend since middle school; he came on every family vacation since you can remember. He’s the kind of guy who always smelled like cedar and old leather in high school from the notebooks he carried around, who got taller every time he came over, and who now walks around the house shirtless like it’s a free public service.

You wish you were immune to the way that you see him. You used to be – that was until you recognized how large his hands were, how solidly enchanting his eyes were, and how you felt unfathomably different with him around. But now, he’s the sun, he seemingly takes up your entire orbit.

It’s just past six now when you come up from the beach—still warm, golden light soaking into your skin. You’re salty, hair feeling gritty with the sand and slat, and sun-tired, your towel slung over one shoulder, and your phone vibrating with a new text from Jonathan.

Jonathan: Still on for dinner tonight?

You tap out a vague “yep see you soon” and shove your phone in your bag. You’re not even sure why you said yes to him. He’s nice. Too nice. The kind of guy who talks about investing in crypto on the first date and asks if you “do Pilates or whatever.”

He was extra nice to you the night that you met when you and your siblings went out for drinks; you got his number and had been hanging out for the summer. It was nice – it was something that made you feel secure, like you could date again, casually and without any posing dramatics.

You open the gate to the rental’s back porch and pause when you see him.

Harry.

He’s leaned back in a weathered Adirondack chair on the porch, sunglasses sliding down his nose, beer bottle sweating in his hand. Bare feet up on the railing, skin golden from a week in the sun, curls still damp from the ocean. His eyes flick up when he hears the gate shut. He looks annoyed, like you had disturbed his peace. Or maybe he just looks at you like that now.

You walk past him toward the hose, towards the outdoor shower. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t said anything.” He replies quickly, letting his head rest again.

“But you were thinking it.”

He shifts slightly. You can feel the weight of his stare even with your back turned. “Thinking what exactly? Please, tell me, great philosopher of mind-reading.”

“That my swimsuit’s too small. Or I’ve got sand in my hair. Or that I shouldn’t be going out with Jonathan tonight.”

There it was: a pause.

Then, he comes back with: “Is it too small? I didn’t notice your ass completely hanging out.”

You roll your eyes but don’t answer. The hose is cold on your skin, and you rinse off quickly, aware that your bikini is clinging to all the wrong places under his gaze – but that’s the thing: he had noticed, because you could feel his stare like glue on a trap.

When you finally turn back, he’s sitting up now, elbows on his knees, jaw set. “You’re going out with him, again?”

You blink. “What?” You cross your arms, but then notice that it’s pushing your boobs up in the triangle shape bikini top, so you stop. “Is that a problem??”

He shakes his head like it’s obvious. “Because… I don’t know.”

Harry was known for this – he was known for sitting and trying to defend his position but never having the words to do so. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sensitive, he just didn’t know how to express himself outwardly which is how he lost most of the things he wanted. “He just doesn’t look at you like you invented the sun.”

Your stomach flips at his random comment; you tilt your head at him.

“That’s poetic coming from the guy who hasn’t looked at me directly in a week.”

“I’m trying to be respectful,” You finally hear him mutter. “Your brother’s inside, and I’m trying not to destroy the one good thing I have by going and trying to make another good thing happen.”

Your breath hitches at his remarks.

He stands then, beer dangling from his fingertips as he goes to step closer. “You think I don’t see it? The way you’ve been pushing me. The sunscreen bit last Thursday? The popsicle thing?”

“I was eating a popsicle,” you say weakly, like you hadn’t a clue what you had been doing. You bite the inside of your cheek when he tilts his head back at you.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping, “but you were looking right at me.”

You don’t deny it – he had a point. The funny part about you and Harry’s relationship is that since you had had both grown up, there had always been this. You had fun together, he made you laugh, you made him blush. It was playful…

Until it wasn’t. Until you watched him chat up girls at the bar, or he watched you floating around the pool as you chatted with your mom. There were many times when you just weren’t sure what had happened. All that you knew is that you were fighting an internal battle of trying to keep the normalcy, but that just wasn’t there anymore.

You didn’t know what to do about it, so you just didn’t do anything. You just kept this internal struggle, watching him watch you.

He’s inches away now. His voice is low, hoarse. “C’mon, you know he’s just gonna take you to that overpriced fish place, talk about NFTs, maybe kiss you on the pier and ask for a handy. And the whole time, I’ll be here, wondering if you’re thinking about me instead.”

“If I’m thinking about giving you a handy on the pier?” You joke, feeling a smirk rise on your cheeks.

You feel your smirk move away when you see that his reaction is much more… daunting. “If I had the opportunity, I’d be asking for more than just a handy, I can tell you that much.”

His fingers brush your wrist. Barely a touch, but enough to make your pulse skitter as you take in a breath.

“You don’t get to be jealous, you know,” you whisper out, eyes darting back towards the house as you wonder if anyone is looking for either of you.

“Not jealousy,” He says under his breath, shaking his head, “I’m protective.”

You laugh—short, breathless. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

His eyes burn into you, then. “Not when it’s you.”

Silence. Just the sound of waves and cicadas and your heart in your throat as you feel a burst of the warm breeze that comes right from the ocean and onto the deck that you’re both standing on now.

You both suddenly hear it then; your brother’s laughter is echoing from the inside.

You step back, feeling his finger loosen on your wrist.

Harry doesn’t move. Just watches you, gaze stormy, mouth parted like he’s about to say something that will ruin everything.

“But I’m not yours to lose,” you say to him, knowing that his indecisiveness met with your trust is keeping you both apart – for now at least.

He nods once.

“I should go shower,” you say.

He nods once, knowing that you need to walk away before anything can happen – before he does something. “Yeah. You should.”

But his voice cracks a little at the end, and you hear it loud and clear.

When you slip inside, towel clutched tight, you don’t miss the way he stays rooted to that porch like he’s bracing for a storm he knows he can’t outrun.

And you walk away—barefoot across the wooden planks of the deck, heart pounding, wet hair sticking to your back—knowing you’ve just torn something open that will never fully close again.

He doesn’t stop you from walking away; he never has. But, maybe one day, he will.

[devonpink]

Conversion in the Deep

Far from land and deep in the sea, lives a world undiscovered by humanity. In an underwater kingdom where merpeople not only exist but thrive. Ruling over them is King Lyle, his wife, and his only offspring, Prince Dorian.

On the morning of his 25th birthday, Dorian was not his usual cheerful self but distressed, swimming back and forth in one of the castle's many gardens. "What kind of a birthday surprise was that?!" He was utterly flabbergasted over what his father had sprung on him only a half hour ago. "An arranged marriage?! With a mermaid, no less! When is he gonna get it through that thick head of his that I'm gay! Gay, gay gay!"

Unbeknownst to Dorian, his future bride, Princess Alana, was not far behind, watching and following him in curious wonderment. She couldn't help but eavesdrop. Neither could the royal guards. "It has to be a joke?" Dorian questioned, trying to keep his head on straight. "I'm sure that's what it is! There's no way my father is that-" Dorian was too lost in his own head to realize Alana had swam up behind him. So when he abruptly flipped around. Boom! They smacked right into one another, face-on. They were mere centimeters away from accidentally kissing, causing Dorian's face to immediately blush from embarrassment—he was redder than a cooked crab. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!"

"It's okay! I should have said something." Alana insisted, hoping to soothe Dorian's embarrassment. She smirked slightly, thoroughly amused with how awkwardly cute Dorian's nervous expression was. That pared with his muscular build making him even sexier. She swam back slightly to give them some breathing space, easing him further. However, she couldn't help but give in to her feminine wiles. "I hope you blush as cutiely on our wedding day."

"About that," Dorian anxiously gulped, assuming Alana was just kidding but didn't like the glimmer of sincere lust in her eye. He took a deep breath, hoping to reason with her. "Look, you must think this whole arrangement is as crazy as I do, right? I mean, we don't even know each other! It would never work out! I'm just not made for this kind of marriage!"

Alana looked confused, almost hurt by what he said—her heartbroken expression made Dorian uneasy, filling him with bizarre guilt. "Why not?"

Dorain gently grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to a nearby rock formation, out of the guard's sight. "I don't know how to break this to you other than spitting it right out: I'm gay. I'm incapable of giving you a happy marriage."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Alana smiled slightly, inching herself closer to him. She laid her small hand on his massive bicep, making him unexpectedly quiver in titillation. "They don't call marriage hard work for no reason."

"What?" Dorain was surprised by her reaction or lack thereof. It's as if his confession went right over her head. "Didn't you hear me? I'm gay. Like, really gay!"

"You think you're the first?" Alana plainly said, brushing her fin against his. "It's not like this hasn't happened before. It has, and it's worked out." Dorian was stunned, frozen in disbelief but her calm demeanor. Throwing him off further, she swam around him, eyeing him like a delicious piece of meat. "Just take my parents for example."

Dorian's eyes lit up in shock, watching her confidently swim around him, trying hard not to stare at her perfect tits. "What do you mean?!"

"A long time ago, my father was in the same position you're in right now," Alana nonchalantly answered, stopping back in front of him. She seductively bit her bottom lip, still processing how unbelievably muscular Dorian was—a true muscle god.

"You mean, King Trenton is gay?!" Dorian questioned in disbelief. He couldn't figure Alana out or why he felt so funny. The more Alana talked the more smitten he weirdly became, confusing him more.

"He is, well, was. I guess you can say it's complicated, but love will do that. "Alana answered, her eyes kept making their way to his genital slit. She swam closer to him, forcing him back against the large rock formation behind him.

Inside Dorian was a swirling mess of emotions. He felt both frightened and turned on by her, which didn't make sense. He was gay, but her obvious lust for him was making him unbelievably horny. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly enamored with her as if a switch abruptly went off in his brain. "I don't understand?"

"I'm not surprised," Alama smirked, with an all-knowing look. She moved her hand up his ripped chest, making him quiver. She then gently grazed his firm nipples, which made him gasp. He was blushing uncontrollably. "God, you're so cute when you're nervous."

"Alana, please. I can't!" Dorian's heart was racing, enthralled with her heavenly touch. How could he want her so badly?

"Do you want me to show you?" Alana seductively asked, purposefully ignoring Dorian's growing concern. She moved her hand back down his perfectly toned body, heading for the genital slit in the front of his tail.

"Show me what?" Dorian asked, trying his best to keep his voice down to not draw the guard's attention. He wanted to moan so badly but kept it from coming out, which was hard to do. A few minutes ago, the idea of being in this type of situation with a mermaid repulsed him, but the reality of it only turned him on. It felt as if his body was acting on its own, out of his mental control. Was it primal instinct? Was it pure madness?

"Do you want me to show you exactly how my mother turned my gay father into a mermaid lover?" Alana rephrased, eyeing Dorian's plump lips in lustful hunger. She put her other arm around him, feeling up his manly backside. "How?" Dorian nervously asked, afraid yet intensely curious of the answer. Alana moved her hand over his slit, sensually rubbing it. His prehensile penis was in danger of popping out. "Oh, fuck." Dorian quietly moaned, trying not to alert the guard's attention. "Why aren't I stopping her?!" He thought. "Why does her touch feel so right? Why is her voice pure music to his ears? Why do I want to fuck her like a primal sea beast? How could I suddenly be so damn horny for a mermaid?!" He couldn't help but moan in sexual agony. "I don't understand why I feel so-?"

"Horny?" Alana answered, already knowing what he was gonna say. Her tone was dripping with lust, she was just as horny as he was.

Dorian sensually moaned again, unable to resist letting his massive prehensile penis finally emerge from its slit, all 13 inches of glorious man meat. Alana licked her lips, reached out her hand, and gently grasped it. Dorian moaned again, only this time more desperate. She stroked him, unable to believe the enormous size of his throbbing member. He instinctually grabbed her waist, unexpectedly loving how manly he instantly felt. They gazed at each other like lovers, as if they would passionately kiss at any moment.

"What's happening to me?" Dorian loudly pleaded, not caring if they got caught. Actually, the thought of his gay self getting caught with a mermaid was an unexpected turn-on. He then moaned loader, letting himself give in to his lust even more.

"My family's powers," Alana finally answered, after stroking him a bit more. "The mermaids in my family have a certain way with mermen. We can bring out whatever we want from them, able to mold them like clay. And the best part, the mermen love it. It's a win-win. Everybodys happy. Even if it takes a little persuading to get there." Alana slowed her stroking and played with the tip of his tapering penis with her finger, edging his lust even further. "You can't tell me it doesn't feel good, that I don't make you feel good."

Dorian moaned again in lustful agony, reluctantly loving how her finger teased his sensitive tip. None of it made sense, but he was starting to not care. All he knew was he felt good and beginning to enjoy himself. As hard as he tried, his lust was winning. He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze burning with passion. He didn't want her to stop. Damned it be her doing or not. He wanted more.

"There must be a part of you that's always secretly wanted to be normal, to be the prince your father always wanted." Alana picked her pace back up, grasping him tighter. She could sense his temptation to fully give in and was hellbent on making sure he did. "Allow me to make that secret desire a reality. Give in to me."

"Oh, fuck!" Dorian aggressively moaned, grasping the ridges of the rocks behind him. Her touch was pure heaven, winning him over. His gay resistance was hanging on by a tread.

"I'll be the perfect wife," Alana assured him, knowing she was close to fully having him. "And will make the most beautiful babies."

"Alana… I-" Dorian could barely speak, only able to moan in utter pleasure as Alana stroked him even faster. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guards watching them with cocky grins.

"I want to breed with you," Alana hornily begged, wrapping her tail around his. Her smutty confession surprising Dorian but turning him on more.

"I want…" Dorian bit his lip, not wanting to let the rest of his words escape. The small part of himself that was resisting cried out, not wanting to give in. However, the second after Alana ripped off the shell bra off her huge tits to reveal her juicy nipples, it was over. Any last shred of resistance evaporated. With that, he finally let the truth bubbling inside him surface out of his quivering mouth. "I want to breed with you, too!!!"

And thus they finally kissed—french kissing, indulging themselves completely in their lust for one another. Her small feminine body against his massive masculine frame was electrifying. He plunged his rugged face into her huge soft tits, sucking on them like his life depended on it. Seconds later he had his thick fingers in her tight slit, making her moan like a merslut—fueling his testosterone even more. Never in his life had he felt so masculine. He didn't give a damn if the guards were watching. In fact, he wanted them to watch. He wished everyone was here to see him finally become a real man. Dorian figured this new way of thinking was all Alana's doing, but he didn't care. It felt too good to fight. Still gay or not, it didn't matter. He was hooked and couldn't wait till the wedding night.

[golden-rolling-hills]

More Autistic Pony and Darry Headcanons

these took me a few days but here y’all go

*scatters headcanons likes they’re birdseed and runs away*

Pony has literally no sense of danger, bro ran into a burning church for christ sake he doesn’t understand danger at all. this scares the fuck out of Darry and Soda

Pony is a chewer, he has a chewy necklace that he uses when he’s at home but at school he literally devours the ends of pens like om nom nom

Pony is much more prone to meltdowns than Darry and he can get pretty aggressive during them. his stims when he’s upset are very self-injurious but if Darry or Soda did something to cause him to meltdown he will hit them

Darry was the kind of kid to heavily mask all day at school and break down as soon as he got home

he’s very routine oriented and if his schedule and routine get messed up then he doesn’t know how to cope

his meltdowns look a lot different than Pony’s. Pony’s are much more stereotypical autistic meltdowns but Darry’s are more yelling at people and stomping around. he’ll usually go off to his room alone and let himself cry and stim but he doesn’t let other people see him like that unless he’s so upset that he can’t hold it in

Pony had the worse sensory issues out of the two of them, he hates tags and seams but he especially hates long sleeves, this is why he cuts the sleeves off of all his hand me downs

he actually likes that most of his clothes are hand me downs because that means they’re already soft and broken in

Darry is the most literal thinker in the world, he can’t understand metaphors or analogies or sarcasm like at all, Pony doesn’t struggle with this as much though and it makes Darry lowkey upset

Pony has a really hard time with routine and time management. he needs to be guided through getting ready for school everyday or else he would just show up late and still in his pajamas

Pony has absolutely zero filter. he says every single thought he has out loud. his social skills are so unbelievably non existent. he really struggles with making friends and the only real actual friend he’s ever had is Johnny

Darry has always masked his autism a lot and he was actually pretty popular in school. if he wasn’t so handsome and athletic then his awkwardness probably wouldn’t have been as well received but since he was then people found his quirks charming and endearing

Pony is very particular about food, he likes to eat the same exact things every day and he’d rather starve than try something new

Darry definitely has alexythmia, he has no clue how he’s feeling ever and emotions make no sense to him

Pony and Darry were diagnosed in the same year, pony was 2 and darry was 8. Pony’s pediatrician noticed signs in him early has referred him to a specialist to be diagnosed and after going through the diagnosis process with pony, the Curtis parents were like “wait, hold up a minute. this all sounds like it applies to Darry too.” so they had him assessed too.

after a meltdown, Pony just wants to be cuddled. he loves deep pressure so tight hugs and weighted blankets are his best friends. Soda is always his go to for a good bear hug, not just because he’s his brother but also because Soda is the master of hugs

Pony always has his headphones on, he’s usually listening to music but even when he’s not he doesn’t take them off

Soda is not the token neurotypical sibling though, he canonically had the most textbook case of ADHD that i’ve ever seen, argue with a wall

[fangirlingpuggle]

I had an idea for an AU of your "the twins are bill and Fords kids AU"

So bill finds out about the kids before they hatch(?) a bit of time before it happens in your AU Bill basically kind of just remembers "oh shit I did that with Ford I should see if it actually worked"

and then he hatches(?) them and takes them and at first because it's a ✨manipulation opportunity✨ but then oh no at least some parental instinct has emerged as he takes care of them because they're his and they're wonderful

And as they grow they develop personalities and Mabel oh how she reminds Bill so much of himself the little creature of chaos she is

And Dipper reminds him of Ford (and himself too) with that insatiable hunger for knowledge to see the secrets the universe has to offer

(And when Mabel starts becoming a bit boy crazy Bill just tells her that when she's a bit older he'll let her start her own cult)

And instead of creating things with glitter Mable creates things with the stardust her dad stole from the sky when she wanted to bedazzle her scrapbook (and also glitter because it is an item that breeds chaos and that is something Bill approves of)

And Dipper has a journal that never runs out of pages where he writes down the secrets and stories of the universe (both freely given and stolen by Bill)

And they are Bills children because how could they not be they are so fundamentally weird these nigh impossible creations that were made in a drunken haze a combination of magic and science that somehow breaks the laws of both

And Bill dreams of how when the time finally comes he shall finally bring Weirdmageddon

and he'll give them like a 10th of the planet where they can do whatever they want (because he may be a parent but he still likes to party and also doesn't want his kids to accidentally eat some hard drugs so it's basically a dedicated area for the kids where he doesn't have to worry about them too much because sometimes you just need a little you time okay!!!)

And getting back on track with the original plan surely when Ford meets the kids surely he'll at least love them as much as Bill and they can finally play one big happy Family ruling the world together

[In the meantime Ford had no idea any of this was happening didn't even know he had kids so imagine his surprise on Weirdmageddon

(Should Ford even trust these children they are Bills kids not to mention the fact that he's the one who raised them

a part of Ford wants to protect these kids another part of him thinks that Bills spawn shouldn't be trusted shouldn't exist)]

Anyway do you like my idea do you have anything you'd like to add (please say you like it 🥺🥺🥺)

(I just thought this would be a fun AU for your AU I got a bit inspired do you like it? you better like it because you have infected my brain with your ideas it's time I returned a favor with mine)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

Bill being so ready to use these kids as pawns and then he sees them and his heart instantly melts and 'I have only had these 2 for a moment and if anything happens to them I will burn the worlds down to the ground'

Him telling Mabel she can start her own cult is hilarious!

Dipper being like him fascinated by things out of his reach like the stars were for Bill and Bill encouraging him and making sure he can get all knowledge he wants.

Them breaking both magic and science is just perfection.

Bill giving hids a part of the world to have fun and sew their own chaos so he can have some me time, 'Ok kiddos go and do some destruction Dad is going to hang out with some friends and make a throne of human suffering ok'

OHH Ford's reaction to them is brilliant him being torn between wanting to protect his kids, but also these kids are Bill's and like him and raised by him. Probably twisted and manipulated by him and what if these kids are a trick a trap just a manipulation... he'd be in full paranoia mode.

This is so awesome!

[narcjsistx]

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night! I hope you're doing well<3 sorry for bothering you but can you do big brother Izana headcanons? Like what if Reader was getting bullied, what would Izana do?

HI! thanks for the request, hope you have a good day 🤎 and thx for the support!

— Izana Kurokawa as a big brother HCS ᡣ𐭩

To say he is possessive of you is an understatement. You are literally his last piece of biological family, he would never let you go anywhere without him or at most Kakucho

You are literally one of the most protected people in the world. I don't think anyone wants to mess with Izana Kurokawa and his younger sister, so bullying doesn't even remotely exist for you. In case there was someone who even dared to say something against you, well, this someone no longer exists. Murdered or suicide? Only Izana knows...

During the time in the orphanage with Kakucho and you, Izana often joked that sooner or later you would fall in love with Kakucho and abandon him. Paradoxically, for him Kakucho would be the only one who would leave you having half the problems he would have with someone he doesn't know. He knows how loyal you are to him and so you would still be protected

You are the vice captain of the Tenjiku. No matter your skills, whether you're great or terrible at fighting, the role is yours regardless. You are also called "the queen of Tenjiku" since you are the last girl, but since Izana is now known as "the king" you don't really like this nickname they gave you

Kind of brother who shows his love with pats on the head: it's a gesture that you've been doing since you were a child, and it remained until you grew up. We know that him is not the exact representation of contact for love, but this gesture moves him a lot

As a child he did everything, AND I MEAN EVERYTHING, to get you adopted. He wanted you to end up better than him since he already knew where he would end up, so he often intruded on visiting parents by pointing out that you were a lovely little girl. He even sent a letter to the director of the orphanage threatening him that if he didn't find you a family he would scratch his car

At first, he was afraid to let you meet Shinichiro. He thought you would become as fond of him as he did and that Shinichiro would become your favorite brother and not him. He only realized it was bullshit some time later, realizing that you too needed to have someone else in your family besides him. So yes, as children it often happened that all 3 of us went out together

He talks about you by the nickname "Bunso", which means "sister" in Tagalog. Since you were a child you have tried to learn your native language, and in the end, despite not living in the Philippines, you managed to have a good level of the language. It often happens that to communicate things in code with each other you speak in front of others using this language. Often at Tenjiku meetings Shion says something annoying, you turn to Izana and say "Ang tanga-tanga naman nito. Hindi ko nga alam bakit nandito pa siya" —> "This guy is infinitely stupid. I wonder why he's still among us". Shion laughed more than a few times thinking you were paying him a compliment

[hazzabeeforlou]

i had a question and i hope that it doesn’t sound rude. do you feel ashamed being in the fandom and being a shipper at 32? i ask because i am 27, and have been in the fandom since 2012, off and on. i haven’t rly been in it actively for the last two years or so, but when i want to come back, i feel embarrassed. i also don’t think i could handle the stress of it tbh! lol. i hope you are well <3

I was going to answer this yesterday but then remembered I had a 7 hour drive today and didn’t want to stay up later than I already was. Because I’m an adult, with (now one) previous multiple jobs, a pet, rent, vehicle, three post high school diplomas, and student loans, and there are many things in my life I get ashamed of, like when I answer “you too” when a cashier tells me thanks for shopping or when I let a whole bag of celery go bad in my fridge without ever cleaning or eating it. Shame? At my tax dollars funding death weapons and family members voting for strong men? Sure. Latent homophobic internalized shame from my upbringing? Yeah, sometimes.

But life is too fucking short to be embarrassed or hold shame about a FANDOM. Listen, I “ship” Johnlock, or Merthur, but Larry wasn’t a ship for me it was a discovery of queer joy. Like I’m so sorry but baby Larry was real. 100%, actually, seriously legit, like how else do you fucking explain any or all of that. We watched two boys fall in love with each other and okay we don’t know the devil or the details but we have how many albums and interviews, jokes made by media personalities etc, plus the fact that now, this many years later, their solo stuff is still haunted by a nauseating back and forth, these odd lyrical choices that are echoed in the other?

Yeah it’s not a ship. It’s a thing that happened, that we witnessed, and by virtue of it happening and us witnessing it something about gay love became dreamable, reachable, attainable, soft and puppy and exciting and wild. Their secret sign language and mimed blow jobs and jealous looks and touches when they thought there were no cameras, all those things made queerness not just something you saw on Glee. Not just something your parents talked about while wrinkling their nose up about ‘those people.’ It’s a generational thing, the world has moved on, we don’t NEED Larry anymore. And that’s okay. But we don’t need it because it happened. Not to be a brat but you exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.

And yeah, we wrote fics about highly characterized and publicized versions of Larry, often inserting our own traumas or fantasies, creating a kind of gay mythos around this witnessed event from the periphery, from the lens of the consumer, the only lens we have. But I’m not ashamed of that. You think stories are only ever written about people that don’t exist? At some point you have to acknowledge that in our world, celebrities are the deities of our popular imagination. I could write a thesis, but before I get into the weeds, suffice to say Harry and Louis have created a world of what can be, unburdened by what has been.

Yk? Anyways. Hope this made you feel better. And hope you come back to visit from time to time. I’ll be here.

[sosa2imagines]

The Dysfunctional Five!

The introduction-

You never imagined you’d end up living with these guys. But here you are, sitting in the oversized, plush couch in the living room of the enormous house, Ransom Drysdale inherited.

The grand space feels almost comically, too big for just the five of you, especially considering the fact that Ransom’s only contribution to the house is, well, existing.

After his grandfather, Harlan Thrombey, left him the mansion, Ransom quickly grew bored of the loneliness and came up with the genius idea of inviting his high school friends to move in. Oh, and let’s not forget the cherry on top, he actually had the audacity to ask for rent.

You’re Y/n—the only girl in this group of five. You’re a little bit of everything- the neat freak, the peacekeeper, and at times, the one who wonders why you didn’t just get a one-bedroom apartment instead. But then you love your boys.

First, there’s Ransom, of course. He’s the kind of guy who can charm anyone with a smirk and a clever word. When he first suggested you all move in, it sounded like a joke. But after a few too many drinks and a particularly convincing rant about “freedom” and “independence,” you somehow found yourself agreeing. And now you’re here, in his ridiculously huge house, with him asking you to pitch in for rent. And lord save you from his epic “Eat shit!”

Then there’s Mickey Henry. Carefree, spontaneous Mickey. He lives in the moment and tends to drag the rest of you into his chaotic adventures, whether you’re up for them or not. His spontaneous lifestyle fits in perfectly with the vibe of the house, but you know it’ll drive you crazy soon enough. Still, he’s one of the few who understands that you need order in this house, at least when it comes to your space. He is the best DJ in the whole world (you defend his job with serious dedication). And rides on his scooter is simply the bestest! By the way Mickey is the baby of the group.

Lance Tucker, is your troublemaker. His history as a gymnast might give him an athletic edge, but he’s never met a rule he couldn’t break. There’s always something happening with him. Whether it’s him setting up some elaborate prank, sneaking around at night, or just creating chaos for the sake of it. He doesn’t care much about cleanliness, but he knows you do and that’s usually when he pulls his "I’ll help you with chores!" routine, even though he’s already messed something up.

Oh, you and Lance are Mickey's fake parents. Don't ask how.

And then, of course, there’s Max Burnett. Smooth-talking, secretive Max. You’re not sure what exactly brought him to this point in life, but he’s got a knack for making everything look effortless, including his charm. Max knows exactly when to help you clean, when to let you vent, and when to just stay quiet and enjoy the chaos the others are creating. There’s an understanding between the two of you and your need for order makes him grateful, even if it means he has to endure Mickey and Lance’s antics. Max is the only responsible one in the group.

But no matter how different all of you are, there’s something about the five of you together that just works. Ransom’s occasional entitled demands, Mickey’s unpredictability, Lance’s stubbornness, Max’s cool-headedness, and your need for balance, somehow it all fits. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not always peacefully. But it's yours.

And for better or worse, you’ve got the house, and each other to make it through.

Because you all have got each other's back.

And oh, the guys fondly call you "Cupcake". It was Ransom's name for you, but everyone just hijacked it.

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[thistlerock]

To me Riz and Adaine are both a-spec and it's a solidarity thing but it's also a thing that makes Adaine feel bad because they're not the same and Riz used the label first so clearly he's doing it "right" and yeah

I mean idek if Adaine is ace. I think she uses the label for a bit and then stuff like Oisin happens and it's oh. Maybe not ace maybe just started having interest in that stuff later than her friends. (Which is so fine. Just because you end up changing labels doesn't mean the time you spent thinking it fit is any less important and switching around while you're a teenager is so valid can we normalise that sometimes you're not sure and have to test the waters. And it's fine.) Aromantic allosexual rep to ME. I do genuinely think it feels like, bad to her? To change? Because she was "wrong" and the whole oh you're too young to know it was just a phase bullshit didn't directly get to her because her parents aren't in the picture anymore but it's still a general consensus in the air when it comes to queerness. And like, it feels bad to feel like those statements are "right". And she's the oracle isn't she supposed to know? Why can she never just know things about herself.

And honestly smaller part of her probably feels bad because she "claimed" (genuinely thought) she's just like Riz and there's a world where that feels disrespectful (he doesn't care at all. This kid did extensive queer research for two weeks after the nightmare king stuff had an entire clue board settled on a few labels for himself and then honestly didn't talk about it ever again.)

And being alloromantic but asexual is somewhat more acceptable than the other way around because those people still want relationships they're just "pure" (I'm saying this in a condescending way it's. Weird and a problem that asexuality gets infantilised or purity cultured sometimes like can we all chill) but like allosexual and aromantic? Gets a bad rep. She just. Feels bad for being. I think she doesn't really know what to do with herself. She can have a little crush and that's kind of an exciting feeling and she might be a little nervous or giddy but that's as far as it's gonna get. She doesn't want anything to happen about it.

She doesn't want to date, and she honestly doesn't really have interest in actually participating in physical intimacy it's just that she thinks about it and experiences attraction. Never wants to get married never wants to relationship and she's fine with that but it still feels like there's something she's doing wrong and she doesn't really know?? What to do about it? Cause, yeah. There's nothing to do about it.

And like a-spec is called that because it's a spectrum it's not like Riz is just both of the dials perfectly turned up to max. I'm sure aroace people like that exist but it's definitely not the majority. I think he's sex repulsed and the idea of romance is suffocating but he like, probably likes the idea of typically romantic intimacy outside of the restrictions and obligations and hierarchy that romantic relationships tend to bring? Like I look at Riz and go yeah man that guy would love to give you a little kiss on the cheek and tell you he loves you because he does he just doesn't wanna do all that crazy shit that would imply romantic commitment. The hierarchies are scary just let him love his friends. This does kinda place him in queerplatonic territory which yeah I do think that works but like also he doesn't have to be he just wants to exist in the same space as people. Adaine is not that at all she's averse to the stuff that in most contexts is romantic. Riz can ignore or outright refuse the usual context in his head Adaine has trouble separating it and also like, doesn't want to. And she doesn't have to. Neither of them is wrong in how they feel and they can still both be aro. Head in hands. Adaine still feels bad.

I don't think you can be "more" asexual than others but Riz is definitely "very" asexual in his aversion to. Well. Sexual stuff lmao. I think he experiences a flavour of tertiary attraction specifically towards men because something something Baron is masc and that's also okay. In some ways he absolutely does and in other ways he does not fit the simplified idea of what aroace ness is "supposed to" be to some people and that's like? Fine? He doesn't care. Again because he did such intense research that he knows that's normal. This kid is quietly a queer dictionary now and is super informed about a lot of issues relating to it and it just never comes up. He has things to say about monogamy and heteronormativity locked and loaded should it ever be a topic of conversation but like. Why would it be.

Riz is still fully "wow it's so cool to have a friend that's also aro" and happy to be here and Adaine has a small crisis about it every two weeks. This makes up for the very BIG and long winded crisis Riz had initially. Nervous besties with complicated feelings about romance and sex.

Full disclosure I wrote this at four am and it makes so much sense to me right at this moment but when I look at it again I'm probably gonna be like wow what the fuck were you saying. Posting it anyway because the voices. The voices. The aroace-spec demons in my brain.

[daretoassume]

Hello , I hope you see this.

I might be a bit desperate.

So 2 years ago I wanted to kill myself but then I had a huge “spiritual awakening” where I say things beyond human comprehension. And from that moment I decided to give life a chance, I knew that life actually had a meaning and that was for me to discover what was beyond what I could think. It gave my so much clarity of the world around me and who I was. From that moment I also started to randomly consciously manifest things without knowing about manifesting. I’m not kidding when I say this but in that time I manifested 6 million overnight while I was just kidding about being a millionaire while listening to my rich music and then when I woke up my parents had the good news. I also manifested others things that I thought where extremely special. But I didn’t really put in effort it was just fun experimenting with my powers.

So then I decided to deepen myself in the laws. I started with law of attraction. And I ended up meditating so deeply everyday that I was so passionate about finding the ultimate truth of reality inside me, that I was extremely depersonalised from my 3D and basically lived inside my brain. I could ask things and receive answers on my questions, like the one time i asked how to invent something that could end humanity ( I still have a full doc on how to build to most effective machine that could end humanity in less than second) I also got the answer of questions about reality and my vessel. So that’s when I realised there was nothing but me. And that I was experiencing myself from the experience of myself ( if that makes sense!) I found that there really was nothing and everything at once while I was giving meaning to it. So that’s when I started with extreme anxiety and depression because I struggled so much with intrusive thoughts, not being able to ground myself in this reality and being so so scared of my thoughts. Still to this day my thoughts scare me so much that I can’t help but experience anything other than fear from myself. It’s like I’m living in a constant nightmare. I have watched so much law of assumption post and videos dedicating every second of my day on being focused and disciplined to affirming and being in the state of having what I want, but it makes me so fuckiyn angry and I don’t know why. Everytime I see a post I feel depressed because deep down I know everything but everyday I wake up in the same reality where everything fucking sucks ( I have been forcing myself to be kind self love gratitude letting go void state visualisation whatever exist I’ve done it all) and when I finally have build up that trust that everything is working out in my highest favour and I always get what I want and the 3D can’t tell me nothing yk I can delude myself into knowing I have it but it’s been over a year and I just can’t bear this reality anymore I know I’m meant for another reality and there’s just nothing for me to find here anymore. And I really don’t know what to do anymore I feel like I’m stuck in this reality where everything seems to get worse. And my thoughts are also getting worded everyday for the last year but whenever I tried manifesting a better self concept mindset etc it got worse when i don’t even want to be the person that is in conflict with themsef because that’s just a idiotic thing to do. But can you help me out?🫶

what you experienced, everything that you learned, was so profound. it is truly a gift to have such insight, so treat it as such. try to examine why it scares you so deeply. there is something within that fear that is asking to be understood.

you have seen how effortlessly you created before, simply by being playful and detached. you were experimenting, having fun with it, and not placing too much importance on the outcome. that is why there was no resistance. things flowed into your reality flawlessly. you already understand the law. you know how to apply it to your life. you do not need another blog post or video to teach you what you already know.

what you need now is to go deeper within yourself, to truly understand why you feel this way. these feelings are not here to torment you but to guide you toward something deeper. perhaps there is a message waiting for you, something significant you need to uncover, or even a realization that you are meant to share with others. your emotions, no matter how overwhelming, are part of your journey. they may be pointing you toward a greater understanding of yourself and your purpose.

if you feel an inner pull to create something meaningful, to express yourself, or to pursue something that sparks joy, do not ignore it. act on it. even if it feels small or insignificant at first, do it. follow what excites you, even in the simplest of ways.

i know it’s easier said than done, especially when it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. but remember, we both know the truth—what we focus on expands. even a small shift in focus toward what you prefer can create change. we often feel so much these days that we forget to acknowledge what we can be grateful for. take a moment and ask yourself: what are you truly grateful for right now? your family, your friends? doesn’t it bring you some happiness to know you’ve learned so much already? i am not saying you are ungrateful. i am suggesting that maybe starting with gratitude, even in the smallest way, could help shift your attention, even just a little.

as you take time for introspection to truly understand what is behind these emotions and why you feel the way you do, you might also set some goals for yourself. try doing something that excites you, even if it’s small. i know this reality can feel limiting, and maybe that’s why you feel like you don’t belong here. but if you see it as a curse, then that’s the experience you will live out.

what if you see it as an opportunity to discover something profound within yourself? what if the very limitations you feel are only reflections of the state you’re currently in, waiting for you to shift?

you don't have to force yourself to change everything all at once. just start small, day by day.

you already know how powerful you are.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

I find enemies to lovers TigerGhost pretty funny because I get the idea of Danny being between Taking Him Seriously and also Not Taking Him Seriously. Because yeah, Manny commits plenty crimes and Danny always assumes his enemies are willing to kill to get what they want, however, Manny’s still alive. He’d be so easy to kill if Danny either wanted to or had to, and then he’ll gladly kick his ass again no matter what he comes back as — skeleton or ghost.

Also because of the difference between Amity Park and Miracle City, Manny would probably try to flirt with Danny during fights and they make me think of these lines;

Manny: Danny, I…

Manny: I love you!

Danny: Not my problem.

That’s just how they are in the beginning. What are your thoughts on Enemies to Lovers TigerGhost?

Okay. So I've had a lot of thoughts on this and I'm starting a multi chapter fic on this.

It's so messy and I'm screaming my head off.

Anyway here's chapter 1 of enemies to lovers teenage tigerghost!

Rating T

Title: Messy like a Pollock Painting

Danny was tired.

Sure, that was his default state, but today felt worse. Another sleepless night, another rogue ghost, another morning dragging himself through school like the walking dead.

It was only the second week of junior year—barely September—and Danny was already convinced he wouldn’t survive until summer. Honestly, he was amazed he’d made it this far.

"You know, the mullet really isn’t helping your case, dude." Tucker snickered, ruffling Danny’s hair like a proud older brother.

"You’re the one who told me to 'embrace Fun Danny,' Tucker," Danny said, swatting his hand away.

Tucker chuckled. “The hairstyle is not what I meant, and you know it.”

"It’s a start. Take what you can get," Danny shot back.

"I mean, we could get a bit more personality out of you," Sam chimed in.

"Now you’re asking for too much. My personality is already peak perfection," Danny snorted, flipping his mullet like a Disney princess.

The trio burst into laughter. Maybe he could survive this school year after all.

Danny dragged himself into his first class, flopping into a desk squarely in the middle.

Not too close to the front—where teachers actually expected things from you. Not in the back—where it looked like you were hiding something.

The middle was the sweet spot. The place where people forgot you existed.

Sam and Tucker were scattered across different schedules this year, which sucked. But at least they had the same lunch period—which was all that really mattered.

Because if there was one universal truth in high school, it was this: eating alone was social suicide.

As he pulled his notebook and pencil from his bag, a snippet of conversation made his ears perk up.

Paulina and Star were top-tier gossips. Every piece of school news passed through them first.

Danny wasn’t interested in Paulina like that anymore, but as a student just trying to survive—and as a hero always looking for an edge?

Gossip was power. So he listened.

"Did you hear about the new exchange student?" Star asked, filing her nails like it was the least interesting news in the world.

"I did!" Paulina squealed. "I heard he’s from Mexico."

"Oh, yeah. Apparently, his parents are rich and famous and pulled some serious strings to get him in," Star said, chewing over the words like even she didn’t believe them.

Danny barely held back an eye-roll. That made zero sense.

What kind of parents sent their rich, Mexican nepo baby to Amity Park, Minnesota?

"Oh, yeah! That’s right," Paulina hummed. "Too bad he’s a sophomore. Otherwise, he’d be total A-list material."

Danny shook his head and let the conversation fade into background noise.

Because yeah. That was exactly what Casper High needed.

Another rich, snobby A-lister.

Danny hadn’t spared a second thought for the new exchange student—not until he saw him in the hallway.

He looked out of place.

Short but stocky, dark skin kissed by the sun, freckles dusting his face. A noticeable scar over his left eye. A leather jacket.

And a wide, cocky grin as he laughed with a group of underclassmen.

Yeah. Danny knew that look.

That was just another Dash Baxter.

Danny rolled his eyes.

He’d bet money Paulina would be all over him by the end of the week.

Danny flopped down at the trio’s usual lunch table outside. It was still warm enough to be tolerable, and he planned to soak up every last bit of sun before the inevitable northern cold set in.

Sam and Tucker hadn’t made it out yet, but Danny settled in anyway. They’d show up eventually.

He’d barely taken his first bite when someone sat down across from him.

Danny looked up, expecting Tucker or Sam—and promptly choked on his food.

Because that was not one of his friends.

It was the new exchange student.

Danny forced the traitorous bite down and scowled. "Can I help you?"

The guy grinned—wide and almost sharp. "¡Sí! First day, new school, I didn’t see you sitting with anyone—so I figured I’d join you!"

Danny glanced around.

Plenty of open seats. Underclassmen. Popular kids. Literally anywhere else.

He turned back to the intruder and frowned. "I’m not alone. My friends are just getting their food."

"Ay, okay! You can introduce me when they get here." He said it like it was already decided. Then he stuck out a hand, grinning like they were already friends. "I’m Manny! Manny Rivera!"

Danny’s lip curled as he eyed the outstretched hand with pure disgust. "Don’t you have someone else you can bother?”

If it discouraged Manny, it didn’t show.

His hand stayed in place. "Maybe. But you seem like the most interesting person here."

Danny let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "Wow. Okay. No need to commit this hard to the bit. Who put you up to this? Dash? Kwan?"

Manny blinked. "Uh?" He ran a hand through his hair—like he was trying to act casual. "I don’t even know who those people are." His voice slowed, confusion creeping in. "I just wanted to say hi."

Danny opened his mouth, already lining up another cutting remark—but that’s when Sam and Tucker arrived.

Both of them had trays of food in their hands. Both of them looked pissed.

"What do you want?" Sam snapped, immediately clocking Manny as trouble.

"Yeah," Tucker chimed in, his tone sharp as he backed her up.

Manny blinked, glancing between the newcomers. "A place to eat lunch," he said, like that should have been obvious.

Danny leaned forward, resting an arm on the table, his eyes narrowing. "Go do that somewhere else."

Manny stared at him.

For the first time, he actually hesitated. His face darkened, and Danny thought—was that a blush?

"¿Qué carajo?" he muttered under his breath, standing up abruptly. "Sure. I can do that."

His eyes flickered—Danny swore they flashed green for a second.

Then, with zero warning, Manny’s arm snapped out, lightning-fast—and Danny’s tray went flying off the table.

Danny blinked.

Sam gasped. "What do you think you’re doing?!" she barked.

But Manny was already walking away. "Going somewhere else," he said coolly, throwing one last glare over his shoulder.

Then, with narrowed eyes, he added, "Enjoy your lunch, gringo."

And just like that, he was gone.

Danny turned to Sam and Tucker. They had matching expressions of shock.

Slowly, all three of them looked at the upturned lunch tray.

"Well. That’s another missed meal." Danny finally broke the silence, voice flat.

Sam and Tucker sat down, immediately offering up pieces of their lunches.

Danny smiled. He had good friends.

"I’ll just show Mr. Lancer the crime scene," he muttered. "He might take pity on me."

"Probably," Sam snorted. "Though, what the fuck was that?"

Danny threw his hands up. "You know as much as I do! I was just starting to eat when the nepo baby exchange kid sat down next to me."

"What a jerk," Tucker parroted. "You must radiate ‘Bully Me’ energy, dude."

Danny snorted. "Isn’t that the truth."

He stood up, sighing. "Let me try to grab another tray before he comes back and throws that one too."

Then, with the distinct aura of a pissed-off teen boy, he stomped off toward Mr. Lancer, already piecing together the best excuse for a new meal.

Danny managed to score another lunch, thanks to Mr. Lancer.

The man was more than familiar with Danny’s stupid, never-ending streak of bad luck. Thankfully, no fight required.

Sure, Danny could have survived without eating. Didn’t mean he wanted to.

He was more annoyed than usual as the day dragged on—tired, stomach still unsettled from eating too fast.

But at least he was surviving.

Maybe, if he was really lucky, he’d make it to the end of the day without a ghost attack.

"So, your name is Danny, right?"

Danny yanked his locker open too hard, startled by a voice behind him.

His eyes snapped to Manny Rivera—leaning against the lockers like he was starring in a cologne commercial.

Pure, effortless confidence.

Danny frowned, irritation from earlier doubling down. "Yeah. Don’t get used to it."

Manny nodded, eyes glinting with something wild. "Ah, that’s okay! I can come up with plenty of nicknames for you instead!"

"I think I’d rather die," Danny said flatly.

Yeah, years of ‘Fentina’ and ‘Fenturd’ had not warmed him to the idea of getting nicknames from the kid who literally threw his lunch on the ground.

Manny chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning in like he was actually interested in Danny’s response.

"Are you sure, guapo?" He dragged the word out, like he was testing it.

Danny had no idea what that meant. He frowned anyway. "Take your nicknames—" he gestured vaguely at all of Manny "—and leave me alone."

Then he slammed his locker, maybe too hard, and stalked off to class.

~

Manny blinked slowly, watching Danny retreat.

He glanced around, half-expecting someone to pop out with a cue card or a sign from the universe.

Nothing.

He sighed, running a hand through his curls.

"Okay. Strike two."

Manny shook his head, trying to piece together what went wrong.

He was just trying to befriend this broody, untamed, wild-energy-having guy.

It didn’t make sense.

He’d never had trouble making friends before.

Why was this time different?

He went through the checklist:

Was it his English? No, his English was fine.

Was he rude? Probably not. Then again, he wasn’t in Mexico anymore.

Did he have something on his face?

He checked a mirror.

Nope. Still hot.

So what was it?

Maybe Danny was just having a bad day.

Yeah. That was probably it.

Manny sighed, rolling his shoulders back.

"Alright, Rivera. Next time, be more gentle. Soft. Like a cloud." He was not soft. Or gentle. Or cloud-like.

But he had to try.

He was in a new place. A new school. Away from everything familiar.

And if he didn’t make a worth while friend soon… This was going to be a long, lonely year.

Manny walked away from the locker, plastering his usual grin back on.

Danny Fenton was officially his next challenge.

Manny had annoyed his way into plenty of friendships before—this wouldn’t be any different.

People could only resist the Rivera Charm™ for so long.

As he headed toward his next class, someone fell into step beside him.

"Danny isn't exactly the friendly type."

Manny glanced to the side to see Paulina Sanchez, easily the most popular girl at Casper High.

She was one of the only other Hispanic kids in the school—though she was American-born, and she carried herself like a queen.

She was watching him with sharp, assessing eyes, clearly interested.

"Him and his friends are losers of Casper High," she declared, like she was doing him a favor by warning him.

Manny raised a brow. "Eh, he just seems interesting," he said, still turning over the conversation in his head.

Paulina laughed, raising a manicured hand to her mouth like some cartoon villainess. "He's about as strange as they come!"

Manny nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. You sound like you really don’t like the guy."

Paulina flipped her hair. "He used to follow me around like a puppy. Kind of pathetic, honestly. He’s been quieter lately, but he’s still a loser. And that mullet?" She wrinkled her nose. "Definitely not an improvement."

Manny hummed, only half-listening.

If Paulina was this against him, Danny must be way more interesting than he thought.

Yeah. He was definitely doubling down on this friendship.

~

Danny yawned as he walked toward his locker, mentally bracing himself for another school day.

Yesterday had been a bust.

At least he’d gotten a little more sleep last night, so he was slightly more prepared for another long, miserable day at Casper High.

Coffee always helped.

He took a slow sip from his thermos, books balanced under one arm as he trudged toward first period.

Then he heard it.

"¡Hola Danny!"

Danny paused mid-step, exhaled sharply, and looked up at the ceiling. "Ancients help me."

He turned, already glaring, and found Manny Rivera, grinning like an over-caffeinated maniac.

"What do you want?" Danny asked. He did not trust any teenager with that much energy this early in the morning.

Manny blinked, then immediately rearranged his face into something softer.

It was probably supposed to look warm.

"Oh, I just wanted to see if I could walk with you to class!" His voice was noticeably calmer.

Danny narrowed his eyes. "You’re not even in any of my classes."

Manny leaned in slightly, still smiling. "Well, it’s polite to walk with people!"

Danny opened his mouth to protest—And then, suddenly, his books and coffee were airborne.

Danny watched in stunned horror as his coffee thermos hit the ground, lid popping off—hot liquid splattering across the floor.

His science textbook took the brunt of it.

Pages soaking, curling at the edges.

Ruined.

Manny blinked down at the disaster. "¡Mierda! ¡No quise hacer eso!"

Danny’s eye twitched. He turned to Manny, voice snapping like a whip, "What the actual fuck is your problem?!"

The hallway went dead silent.

Several students froze mid-conversation.

Danny Fenton did not yell.

Danny Fenton was a sigh-and-pick-it-up kind of guy.

Manny, however?

Manny looked delighted. "Oh! So you do talk to me!"

Danny saw red. He shoved Manny back. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Then he dropped to his knees, aggressively scooping up his ruined textbook and empty thermos.

This was going to cost him.

He’d have to pay for a new textbook.

He’d have to track down the janitor.

He’d have to beg the librarian for a replacement.

And now he was late to class.

And he had no coffee.

Danny did not even spare Manny a second glance as he marched off toward the library, seething.

"Did you see Danny shove the new kid?"

"Yeah, what the hell?"

"That's not like him!"

"What a dick!"

Danny heard the whispers following him down the hall.

He was not having this.

What was that fucking exchange student’s problem?

His brain immediately pulled up the gossip he had overheard.

Manny’s parents had to pull strings to get him into Casper High.

That meant he must’ve gotten kicked out of his last school.

Great.

Just what Danny needed—a troublemaking nepo baby who was clearly targeting him.

Maybe the shove and the yelling would scare him off.

It worked on Dash.

The one time Danny shoved Dash back, the bullying got way less physical.

Sure, the meathead jock still bothered him, but now it was mostly verbal.

Plus, Danny was taller than Dash now, which probably helped.

Then again… Manny was tiny.

Easily eight inches shorter than Danny.

And yet, he didn’t seem bothered by that at all.

Because Manny was built.

Like, actually built.

Danny had a sinking suspicion this guy lifted weights for fun.

He sighed.

What a fucking waste of his morning.

And his coffee.

Danny had missed the entire first half of class thanks to the clusterfuck in the hallway.

His teacher was not pleased.

Thankfully, the librarian had actually given him a note for once.

The teacher looked genuinely surprised that Danny wasn’t just late for no reason, like usual.

But that barely mattered.

Danny was coffeeless.

Fifty bucks poorer.

And a headache was already forming behind his eyes.

Then, something smacked the back of his head.

Danny’s eye twitched.

Slowly, he turned—just in time to see Paulina blinking at him, all wide-eyed innocence.

Great. The A-listers really did stick together. This day just keeps getting better.

~

Danny’s headache from this unreasonably stupid morning had finally started to fade.

He’d caught up to Sam and Tucker in the cafeteria and was ranting about his insane morning.

"That Manny kid knocked my coffee out of my hand and ruined my textbook that I had to pay to replace!" he huffed, grabbing an empty tray.

"Yeah, what the hell?" Tucker frowned. "That really escalated quickly."

"You’re telling me," Danny groaned, shifting forward in line. "And to top it off? I didn’t even get more than a couple sips of my coffee."

"Lame. Well, I heard you yelled at him." Sam elbowed him playfully.

"I did!" Danny declared. "I don’t want him thinking I’m an easy target. The last thing I need is some underclassman making me his problem."

Trays full, the trio headed outside—Then they stopped dead.

Manny Rivera was sprawled out on the picnic bench, tray in front of him.

A comically large bottle of hot sauce sat open next to his plate—His mashed potatoes were practically drowning in it, a violent red mess that looked like a crime scene.

His backpack took up the rest of the seat.

He had been waiting for them.

Danny’s eye twitched.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Sam bit out, clearly as over this as Danny was.

Manny didn’t even flinch. "Am I breaking some sacred American seating law, amiga?" he asked, stirring his crime scene potatoes.

"YES!" Sam snapped. "We sit here. You sit over there—with Paulina and Dash and the rest of the A-listers."

Manny blinked. "But I want to sit here!" His grin was all teeth.

Danny clenched his jaw. "You’re in my seat."

Manny glanced around dramatically. "Huh. Your name’s not here, Billy Ray."

Danny’s temper flared. "You did not just call me that."

"You’re the one with the mullet," Manny grinned, twirling his own hair mockingly.

Danny took a step forward. Loomed. "Just… just go sit somewhere else."

Manny just tilted his head, smirking.

Then, deliberately, he threw his legs over the bench—gesturing to the empty space next to him. "You could just sit with me. Since you guys have claimed the table."

Danny’s fists curled. "No. You need to leave!"

Manny shrugged. "Aww, but messing with you is fun, jenga."

Sam also stepped forward, eyes darkening. "I will punch you into next week if you don’t move."

Manny blinked. He looked between the two of them, then sighed dramatically.

He stood—suddenly very, very close to Danny. His smirk widened. "You’re cute when you’re angry."

Then, with a flash of movement, Manny grabbed his stuff and strode off—toward the A-listers, who had been watching everything.

Danny was still frozen. Still flustered. Still pissed. "What the actual fuck was that?"

Sam slumped into her seat. "I have no idea. But he’s gone now. Let’s just eat before he comes back."

Danny had a sinking feeling this wasn’t over.