#and all the other writers are like…fine

[kaelidascope]

On one hand, I'm relieved to see that it isn't just me suffering in the engagement department whereas I used to get flooded with comments and the like every time I dropped something. It isn't the only reason why I've moved from fanfic work to original work, but it is part of it. The last round of engagement on the latest MM chapter was abysmal, and while I know it's not a reflection of my quality in writing, I kept beating myself up over the possibility that I took too long to update it and people gave up on it/forgot/fell out of love with my work because I as a creator was not performing good enough. It drove me into a bit of a depression for a while.

On the other hand, this is making me rethink my stance on never telling my favorite authors how much they have inspired me to take off with my writing career. This is going to get a little lengthy but I want to talk about it so bear with me here.

Closed circles know how much of an insane, unhinged fan I am of certain writers, yet I have never actually said a word to them. I think I left one comment on maybe two fics that went unanswered (which is fine. They're not active in the fandoms I'm in anymore and I'm just some guy out of probably hundreds all saying the same thing. They're not gonna reply to me) but apart from that, you wouldn't catch me dead actually admitting how much the works mean to me. But why?

I guess I was far too proud and too terrified of being let down if I exposed myself like that. Despite the fact that these authors were literal catalysts for borderline impossible feats I have done within the last year, WELL RECEIVED FEATS at that, I swore I'd never tell anyone how inspiring they were for me. (Unless a casual friendship has been established. I have had the tremendous honor to able to talk to some of my inspirations one on one but under incredibly lucky circumstances)

I had a scenario in my head that these were the cool kids, and if you ever got picked on at all for admiring anything, you know damn well you never tell the cool kids about your admiration. I was afraid that they'd take one look at the work that was inspired by theirs and laugh at it in their enclosed circles. I wasn't going to risk having my confidence crushed and lose the motivation to continue working on my projects by being a fan.

I know not all authors do this. Every time someone comes to me and tells me I've inspired them to be a better writer, I literally frame it in a collection of screenshots I have saved on a hard drive. Every. Single. Time. And I know anyone else would tell me that if the person I admire would actually be cruel enough to mock an up and coming writer, then they're not worth admiring. Which I agree with! But try telling that to sensitive little Kaeli that safeguards their interests with the fiery defensiveness of a feral bear on cocaine.

But then I see posts like this, and I put myself in their shoes. I don't know them. They could be a jackass but they could also be like me - someone who bases a lot of motivation for project completion based off of whether or not people even care to see it completed.

This is all a very long, round about away to say that who cares if the author you build a mini-shrine for in your brain thinks your cringe for liking their work? Odds are they probably need to hear that you liked it so much, it inspired you to do something with that feeling. We all need to hear it. They inspired you and now you're making something that will inspire someone else. To be a creator is to share that passion everywhere you go. There's nothing cringe about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 5

Writer's Note: We will have a few more parts to this series, and then it's all over for this one! Any suggestions of who, or what you would like to see next, then drop me a line! Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

In the days leading up to the wedding, there was little to report. Everything was a-go. Aurelia hadn’t heard anything from her family in response to her letter – she only wished that they had received it. She didn’t see Geta or his brother in recent days either. Instead, she had spent her days reading, painting and learning how to do new hairstyles. She never had thought anything about her hair, apart from scooping it away from her features when completing her laborious tasks.

It had finally arrived. The day of her wedding. She hadn’t slept all night out of fear, anxiousness, and dare she think a bit of excitement? Alba stepped into her room, “Good morning My Lady. I trust you are excited for your big day?”

“Yes Alba, but I am extremely nervous.”

“Please! You have no need to be! Excuse me for saying, but I have known Emperor Geta for a long time, and I have not seen him in such a light before. You bring out the best in him. I hope it will continue.”

Aurelia smirked and blushed into her shoulder. Alba laughed, and made her way to the bathroom to prepare the bride’s bath. A short rap at the door made Aurelia jump, and when she peeped out to see who it was, it was Decimus and Faunus along with 15 other helpers to carry in all the materials and accessories.

“Lady Aurelia, our darling blushing bride. Are you ready for the happiest day of your life?”, asked Decimus.

“Yes, Decimus – I think I am. I must go and prepare myself; I will be out as soon as I can.” Alba followed Aurelia into her bathroom and began the bathing process. The dressers continued to faff in the main hall to organise all materials and ensure everything was good to go.

Bathed in her robe, she entered the main hall where Decimus and Faunus awaited. “Come, come My Lady – we have much to do.” They ushered Aurelia into her dressing room, while Alba waited outside for the dressers and assistants to complete their job.

Some time later, the dressing room door opened and out Aurelia walked. On her feet, a beautiful small heeled gladiator-esque sandal, in gold colour. Her dress draping around her body perfectly, with a slice right up to her high thigh. The bodice tight around her waist, with a laurel leaf belt attached. The sleeves are nipped at the shoulder by gold clasps, leaving her entire arm exposed. The dress was low cut, right down to meet the skirting, with the back mirroring the front. A crimson red shall was draped around her head, fell to her arms gently, and was embroidered with a small ‘A’ and ‘G’.

Her hair was full of tiny braids, along with luscious curls which had been carefully pinned up to show off her face shape and fine décolletage. Her eyes were lightly lined, as well as a fine blush on her cheeks. She radiantly glowed. Alba welled up. She knew Aurelia was beautiful, but something about today just made her look goddess-like.

“My Lady, you are beautiful. How do you feel?”

Aurelia breathed in deeply, “Pretty?” Alba laughed, as did Decimus and Faunus. “Aurelia, let’s get you to your ceremony.”

***

The group made their way down the hall toward the event, and the sweet sound of the lyre became louder. The nerves were at an all time high. The doors were about to open. When they did, Aurelia searched for her family. First row, not there. Second, not there. She started to fret, but then she saw four faces who she adored. Four faces who never let her down in her life. Never. She burnt up, and tears welled in her eyes. They were here. Her family. She was elated.

Zoning back to the task at hand, she focused to the bottom of the hall where her to-be husband. He looked rather special today. He adorned a robe the same colour as Aurelia’s shawl, embroidered with gold detailing. When she reached him, he lifted her shawl off her head to let it rest gently along her back. He smirked down at her, a gesture to which she returned. When she looked behind Geta, she found a grimacing Caracalla seated, with his ginger hair as unruly looking as ever, and an entourage of men and women around him – a scene which was not unfamiliar with the co-Emperor. Dundus sat perched on her little cushion, wearing a little gown and hat, which Aurelia had to admit she thought was pretty cute.

The ceremony began and didn’t last particularly long. Both parties were required to make a statement. Aurelia promised to devote her life to her husband and obey his every word. Geta promised to live a long reign and provide for his wife. In an exchange, they were offered the chance to give one another a gift as a token of their appreciation. Aurelia went first, gifting the Emperor a golden chain to wear around his neck. It was fine, coiled gold and when she reached round to put it on him, she felt an electric shock from the touch of their skin. Geta removed the ring he had on his left pinky finger and placed it on Aurelia’s hand. It had a large green stone in the middle, with metal entwined around the outside – it was beautiful. The final exchange was Aurelia to be crowned. A servant brought forward a cushion with a laurel leaf golden crown lying on it. Geta lifted it off the cushion and brought it toward his new wife’s head. It lay gently upon her, with Geta smoothing her hair that was strewn around it. “Beautiful…” he muttered. Aurelia stared at him with a half-open mouth. What was it about today’s light that made him shine in a particular way? The priest broke their thoughts and announced for everyone to gather in the dining hall for the beginning of the festivities.

Once seated, Aurelia asked Geta, “Emperor, may I pay my family a visit?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, “Wife, today you can do as you wish. Go to them.” She thanked him quietly as she made her way over to her family. They all hugged in a group, sobbing. Her mother started, “Dear, sweet Aurelia. Are you okay? Are they treating you well?”

“Yes, Mater – I can’t say anything so far. It has been grand, however I miss you all terribly. I am hoping when I get to know the Emperor a bit better, I can ask for you to come around more frequent.” The family nod in  agreement, knowing too well not to play the dice of the gods for both Aurelia and their own sakes. The family all had a pleasant catch up and laughed over memories from before when a glass clinking caught their attention. Caracalla stood from his seat.

“People. I have an announcement.”

Aurelia looked over at Geta in a bit of horror. What was he going to announce? Geta looked back at her, equally as confused.

“Subjects, I want to wish my brother and wife well. In a bid to celebrate, I wish to part them with a gift. A gift like no other. 100 days of games at the Colosseum! It is to be arranged. Aaaand, to make it even better – fresh blood. We are recruiting new gladiators as we speak! Ohhhh the excitement of it all!”

The room erupted into cheers and clapping. Geta looked quite pleased, he walked over to his brother, they hugged tightly with Geta thanking Caracalla. The brothers began discussing their plans for the games, where your family looked on also with a bit of excitement. “Aurelia, that will be pleasant for us all. We can go to be entertained and still see you from the Royal Balcony!” Aurelia smiled at them in return, but couldn’t help but think Caracalla had something more up his tiny sleeve.

Growing tired, she left her family and made her way back to her seat to find Geta. When he plopped down beside her on the bench, she looked at him, “Husband, I am growing quite tired.” He looked down into her pools of blue, “Okay, let’s leave.” He stood, taking her in his arm when the group erupted into loud cheers and jeers at the newlyweds.

They made their way toward Aurelia’s chambers when Geta stopped in his tracks. “Aurelia, I-” he sighed as he cut himself off. “I do not wish to pressure you. I didn’t even want to bare my lips on yours in front of the others in case it offended you.” Aurelia internally wept in happiness, where had this softness come from? He seemed to callus and cold toward you at other times, and other subjects? Treated like dirt. He began again, “What say you, wife? What do you wish?”

Looking up into his puppy dog eyes, you brought yourself slightly closer to him. “Well, I had a special garment made just for you… that’s only if you would like to see it?” He smirked, dragging Aurelia into her chambers. Stopping in the middle of the hall, he took her face in his hand, her skin was so soft. He looked at her intently, taking in her beauty. She truly was a sight to behold, especially with whatever magic the gods had sprinkled on her today. Aurelia looked to his soft pink lips, to his eyes, and back to his lips. He noticed how his wife stared at him with such intent, “May I? May I kiss you?” Aurelia didn’t answer him, but merely brought her mouth to his and joined their lips in union. The kiss was soft, dare she even say loving? There was no rush, both of them took in the moment and bathed in the beauty of it. Geta broke the kiss, resting his forehead on hers, “So, where is this garment you were so keen on showing me?” he taunted her. She smiled at him and dragged him to her chambers where she forced him down on the bed. He was taken-aback by her rash actions, but it ignited something within him.

“Sit there Sir, and all will soon be revealed…” Aurelia winked at him and turned on her heels to get changed. Once she got into her dressing room, she breathed out deeply. What had come over her? Where did this confidence come from? Taking a deep breath in, she began to change as the show must go on.

Meanwhile, Geta sat perplexed on the bed. What happened to the sheepish girl he married? Was he complaining? No, for strangely, this power dynamic was something that seemed to get Geta’s pulse racing, and the night was only beginning…

Part 6

[ghostgirl-22]

Hi! <3 You’re like my favorite writer for Artrick! I swear you characterize them perfectlyyy

I keep thinking about the idea of Art and Patrick going on a date when he’s at Stanford. Like obviously Art wouldn’t admit it’s a date, but I imagine it’s after Art reluctantly admits that he wants to hang with Patrick alone when he comes to visit and that he’s a bit jealous of Tashi. So they basically have an unofficial date night. How do you think this would go, and how would Art go about initiating something physical between them because he’s obviously not gay right?

Okay but you’re actually such an amazingly talented writer and I love your stuff so much! Thanks so much for this request I honestly don’t think I did this ask justice and I’m sorry it was so long but I hope this attempt brings you some amusement <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! 3.8kish words

—-

It’s not that Art is jealous. He’s not jealous. He’s not. But up until now Patrick’s always called him and stopped by on his little trips to Stanford. It’s not like he expects Patrick to stay long, he knows he’s not the main event… but he at least expects him to come by.

So when Patrick shows up at his door three days later, asking if he can stay in Art’s room, Art tries his best not to express his irritation that he hasn’t once come by his room till now. And it really stings because Art knows the only reason he’s here now is because of the limit on how many days he can consecutively “visit” her dorm.

“You’re saving me man,” Patrick says, patting his arm as he drops his duffle on Art’s designated chair full of stuff.

Art shrugs. “Yeah well. Happy to be an afterthought.” He mumbles.

Patrick raises his eyebrows and then gives him a crooked smile. “You are never an afterthought.”

“It’s fine,” Art says, already embarrassed that he brought it up. “You’re dating Tashi Duncan. It’s totally understandable dude.” He tries to sound nonchalant, hopeful that it’s how he comes across. He feels like he spends so much time these days swallowing down on feelings. Feelings he can’t name, feelings he doesn’t even really understand. None of them jealousy. He’s really not jealous.

He does often wonder what they do alone. He thinks about what they do in bed since the most he really knows is that they’re fucking. He knows Patrick calls her all the time because he doesn’t really call Art that much anymore. They used to sit on the phone for hours, barely talking or talking too much, sometimes till late in the night. The same way they did when they were sharing a room in high school. But gradually it became, Patrick leaving the call earlier and earlier. To Patrick not really calling that often at all.

“You know, you can help me with something actually,” Patrick says, flopping onto Arts bed.

“What?”

“I’m taking her on a date tonight, we’re going to get dinner and see a movie.”

“Oh,” Art says. “What movie?”

“The new Saw movie. What number are they on now? 11?” Patrick laughs.

“Oh I didn’t know she’d like something like that,” Art says carefully.

”Yeah well, she saw the first one and she said liked it. She never got around to the others. I asked her if she’d be scared to see it but she said even if she was… she wouldn’t mind being scared if I was there. Isn’t that kinda… hot?”

Art shrugs again, swallowing it down.

”Sorry, is this hard to hear?” Patrick asks, patting his cheek.

“Fuck off,” Art mutters. “I’m just… I’m thinking about my game on Sunday. I’m not really worried about your relationship actually.” He lies.

“Good cause I was just gonna ask for your advice on what to wear. She tends to dress up for this kinda thing and I don’t want her to be annoyed if I show up in shorts and a t-shirt again.”

“You want me to help you pick out an outfit?”

“Yeah… you’re always put together,” Patrick says.

“All your clothes are tailored. Just pick something.” Art says, dryly.

“Okay but I want to wear something comfortable. Not something that makes me look like I’m about to donate a hefty sum at some stuffy fundraiser.”

Art sighs, “fine what’d you bring? Lay it out.”

Patrick empties his duffle on the bed, everything he has that isn’t training gear, playing gear and t-shirts is all wrinkled but Art has an iron. He helps Patrick pick something out. He’s still irritated, but he thinks he covers it well.

He’s actually stunned by how happy it makes him when Tashi calls and says she has to cancel. She does kids tennis lessons for extra spending money and a client wanted her help to prep for a game in the early morning.

Patrick’s talking to her, his tone understanding making her feel better about canceling last minute and promising to see the movie another time. He’s such a good boyfriend. It’s so weird that he’s not fucked it up by now. Art can’t remember Patrick ever dating anyone this long before.

Art’s sitting on his bed, back up against the wall, kicking his feet over the edge, listening to him.

“Sorry man, you’re stuck with me all night,” Patrick says after he hangs up. He knees the bed and sinks into it, settling down and leaning close to Art, he picks up his half ironed slacks and frowns.

“Mm… why don’t we go out?” Art suggests.

Patrick laughs and so does Art, feeling himself beginning to flush.

“Or… I mean… we could just hang out. Watch Hell’s Kitchen or something,” Art says quickly. He looks up when Patrick doesn't reply and Patrick is staring at him, a peculiar look on his face.

“Fuck it, let’s go out.” Patrick smirks. “You can be my date.”

“Yeah? Why not?” Art smiles. “I mean who says two friends can’t go out for dinner and a movie.”

Patrick laughs a bit, his expression flitting quickly between amusement and something Art can’t recognize. “Mm right. Platonic date night. Here we come. You have something nice right?”

”Yeah,” Art says. “I can wear that one shirt I wore to the awards dinner last year.”

“Oh yeah, you look so hot in blue, wear that,” Patrick teases.

“Shut up,” Art smirks, ignoring the weird feeling that blossoms in his chest after Patrick calls him hot.

They get dressed. Patrick’s clothes fit him so well. He’s in an outfit that might read as casual (fitted t-shirt, slacks, and a blazer) if not for the simple elegance of it all being quietly wealthy.

He’s also got a great body and anything fitted on him is going to bring that out. Art doesn’t think about his body often or anything like that, it’s just something he notices. The sky is blue, water is wet and Patrick Zweig has a great body. It just is.

They go to the movies first. “I prefer that when I go out on a date, so we have something to talk about over dinner or drinks,” Patrick explains as he drives them over to the theater in his jeep. “You know in case the date is boring. Not that that’s ever the case with Tashi. Actually, you know what’s crazy? I feel like she’s as easy for me to talk to as you are.”

“Hm,” Art says, swallowing down on something bitter in his throat. “Well I think you should try to find a balance. Talk to other people. You don’t want to scare her away by only ever talking to her.”

“Oh is that what you think?” Patrick says, smirking. “I don’t only talk to her actually. I’ve just got a lot of pressure on me. The only time I get a chance to rest I’m so exhausted— I got one phone call in me and so you know…”

“Oh,” Art says. “Well yeah I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Patrick asks.

“Mm, I mean… I think I might be interested in this girl on the team. She’s really good.” Art lies. He’s not really interested in anyone and he’s probably wasting his time, thinking more about Patrick and Tashi than he spends thinking about his own social life. He wants her so bad unfortunately every other girl he meets just pales in comparison.

—-

They’re actually on the 4th Saw movie, and it’s as stupid as Art might have expected. They laugh about it over dinner at Applebees. Patrick’s got this pretty realistic looking fake id so he orders a drink and they split it when the waitress isn’t looking. Not that she cares, she’s also a Stanford student. She’s been to a few tennis games to watch Tashi play but she knows Art is the number one singles player on the men’s team.

“You’re really good,” she smiles at him and he can feel his skin flushing as Patrick grins at him from across the table.

”Thanks uh— but Patrick actually plays professionally.” Art says.

“That’s so cool,” she says, she smiles at Patrick and then looks back at Art. “I would love to learn to just hit the ball over the net.” She laughs.

”He can teach you that easy,” Patrick says. Art kicks him under the table and he just grins wider.

“Can you really?” The waitress asks, flipping her pretty blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah I mean… whenever,” Art says, awkwardly.

“Cool, I’ll be back. You guys want anything else?”

Patrick gives Art a meaningful look and then orders a second drink.

“When were you gonna tell me you got number one singles?” Patrick asks, watching her as she walks away.

“I figured Tashi told you,” Art says.

“Yeah but you should have told me,” Patrick says. “She’s hot right?” He adds, gesturing back towards the waitress.

“I mean… I can tell her you think she’s hot,” Art says. “I don’t think she believes you’re actually dating Tashi anyway.”

Patrick laughs, “God you’re such a dick. I meant for you. That would be a fun night.”

“I guess,” Art says, rubbing his palms on his lap. It’s all he has to say for Patrick to keep teasing him throughout the rest of the night, getting her to come back over and flirt with Art. He orders more and more drinks which she happily brings over.

In spite of the teasing, it’s actually really fun. Of course Art has been to movies with Patrick before, even gone out to dinner with him and their friends or family before, but this feels different. Art can’t figure out why… maybe because he gets to be in Tashi’s place. Maybe because it feels like old times.

They probably spend two and half hours in Applebees talking about the movie, high school, tennis, their parents, video games, girls and anything else that pops into their heads. They only leave because its 12 am and the restaurant’s closing. By then they’ve split a total of six cocktails and Art is feeling so tipsy.

“How much is it?” He asks when the waitress brings the bill.

“I’ll take care of it,” Patrick says.

“Dude it’s okay we can split,” Art says.

“No relax, it’s our platonic date night, right?” Patrick pulls out his credit card. “I can give you this though.”

He hands Art the non singable copy of the receipt and on the bottom the waitress left a note: For whenever you decide to teach me how to serve, Jenny. Followed by her phone number and a heart.

“She drew a heart and everything,” Patrick teases.

”It’s for you,” Art says, shyly.

“It’s so clearly for you, Stanford boy,” Patrick smirks.

“We probably have to take a cab home,” Art hiccups. Changing the subject. He does slip the receipt into his jeans pocket though.

“Oh yeah,” Patrick says. “You’re so responsible by the way. I love that about you.”

Art snorts a laugh and Patrick starts laughing too. Patrick leaves a big tip and they call a cab. Art promises to come back with him to pick up his jeep in the morning and they share a cigarette while waiting for the cab. When it arrives they hop in the backseat for the 25 minute ride back to campus.

Art’s feeling sleepy, the combination of food, alcohol and a long car ride is lethal for him. He closes his eyes, head slipping to settle on Patrick’s shoulder. Distantly, he feels Patrick rest a hand on his thigh and he opens his eyes, suddenly wide awake. It should be a nothing feeling but Art goes rigid, he feels it all up and down his spine and even worse, his cock starts to wake up.

“Did you have fun?” Patrick asks, quietly.

“Yeah,” Art says, he stares at the meter on the cab. He feels so dizzy and confused as Patrick’s fingers play a light pitter patter along his thigh.

“I’m sorry I’m not… free all the time. Like in high school, you know?” His voice is soft, Art can almost feel the vibration of it from where he’s leaning. He can feel Patrick’s breath on his cheek. It makes no sense the way his body is reacting. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

“Uh,” Art sits up. “Don’t worry about it. We’re both um— busy.”

“I know,” Patrick says, he’s still playing the pattern on Art’s thigh. “But I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.”

Art feels anxious, he looks up front, he can see the driver glancing back at them in the rear view. “Look… obviously your girlfriend comes first. We can do bro stuff whenever…” Art says as he gently eases Patrick’s hand off his thigh even though it feels nice. His heart is racing like he’s running some kind of marathon he doesn’t know why but it’s probably just the drinks. All the alcohol making his head all fuzzy.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs. “Bro stuff.” He rests his head against the back of the seat and they’re mostly quiet for the rest of the ride. Arts mind is racing. All he can think about is how close they are but how much it feels like something is slipping away.

The halls are mostly empty as they get back to the dorm. There’s a few students still up. A couple talking softly to each other. One girl on the floor with her headphones plugged in watching something on her laptop. Some guy exits his room, talking on his cellphone as he breezes past them.

“You think I can sneak back to her room or no?” Patrick asks, one arm resting on the door frame as Art leans in to unlock his room.

Art feels his heart still beating oddly fast, probably because Patrick is right behind him. He’s never been able to manage personal space as long as they’ve been friends but right now Art is just so… aware of him. “You can stay here. It’s just one night. I’ll even let you have the bed all to yourself.” Art says.

“It’d be two nights. I leave on Sunday.”

“Okay, two nights then,” Art pushes open the door, breaking the closeness. It feels like a temporary bit of relief.

Patrick follows him in and slips off his shoes. “That’s the one thing I hate about dressing up. Fucking boat shoes.”

Art smiles. “I’m really drunk I think.” He says, kicking off his own shoes.

“Yeah?” Patrick smirks.

“Yeah, I don’t know how I’m gonna make it to practice tomorrow.”

“Isn’t it in the afternoon?” Patrick pulls off his jacket and then his t-shirt. He digs through his duffle for something to put on.

“Yeah but still.” Art realizes then he’s been watching Patrick undress, like he hasn’t seen him butt naked before. He shakes his head and goes to change into his own night clothes.

“Don’t be mad,” Patrick says as Art gets his jeans off.

“What?”

“I think I need a session, maybe I found that waitress hotter than I realized,” he’s in his boxers holding himself. His eyes fall over Art’s body.

Art looks down and swallows. He’s seen Patrick erect before… even touched it… But they were a lot younger last time. They’d actually grown out of doing it in front of each other a long time ago.

But ever since Patrick brought it up that night… ever since they kissed… Art’s mind would occasionally wander to what it might be like to see it again. And now there it was… just… right in front of him. Patrick holding it idly like it’s not ridiculous to be carrying all of that around. Art’s fingers twitch, his mouth is suddenly too wet and he swallows again. The worst part… he’s getting hard.

Patrick sighs. “I’ll go in the bathroom.”

“Um…” Art can hear his heartbeat in his ears, he sits on his bed just because his knees are shaky. “I thought… I think she’s hot too.”

Patrick is still for a moment watching him, before he smiles and approaches Art. “Right? I think it was the skirt. I mean those fucking legs.”

Art nods. He reaches for Patrick. His head is all fuzzy, his ears are ringing and Patrick straddles him on the bed. Art touches it through his boxers. It’s heavy and really, really full.

Patrick eases his fingers into Art’s hair. “And she’s blonde….I think I like blondes more than I should.”

Art grips him properly. It’s not just lengthy, it’s thick. The only thing he can think about is what it might feel like in— in— just in.

He rubs it up and down, like it’s his own. He’s never done anything like this before so he’s shocked when Patrick reacts, “Fuck,” he gasps, this quiet sound that makes Art shiver. Art grabs at the front of his boxers and eases them down, revealing a shock of dark hair and Patrick’s cock as it bobs forward. Circumcised, all pink, and all so real. So much bigger than the last time Art saw it like this.

He leans over and licks at the shaft.

“Whoa,” Patrick breathes and then he chuckles.

“I uh—‘m sorry,” Art looks up at him, anxious that maybe this is too much, too far. That he did something wrong.

“God Art. You’re so fucking…” Patrick breathes and settles down on Art’s lap. He takes Art’s face in his hands and kisses him. Art breathes in as their lips touch. It almost feels the way it felt that night. Something warm, almost on fire. Their chemistry overwhelming.

God, is he into this? Is he into Patrick? He thought it was all because of Tashi but this still feels good even when she’s not watching. And right now Art knows he wants to feel more of Patrick’s tongue. He wants to lick his cock again. His mouth hasn’t really stopped feeling wet, but the kiss feels good in spite of it…maybe because of it. He finds himself exploring every inch of Patrick’s mouth. His heart is still racing. He knows Patrick can feel how hard he is. The way he feels Patrick poking against his stomach. He grips it and gets excited when Patrick hums a pretty little moan.

Patrick eases them out of the kiss and looks at Art, fingers tangled in his hair. His cheeks are all flushed and rosey. His freckles are so vivid up close. He’s actually incredible. “You want to taste it again?” He asks, brushing up against Art’s lips.

“Mmhm,” Art nods.

Patrick takes a deep breath and he actually stands up in front of Art, so his cock is just right in front of Arts face. Art stares at him and nibbles on his thumb. Patrick’s got freckles on his tummy, just a couple spattered here and there. Art wants to lick those too.

He sits up and grips Patrick’s cock again. It feels so warm he must run at a thousand degrees. Art licks at him. He can see the way Patrick’s muscles tense. Hear his little breaths. Art starts licking more. Up and down, all over the length of him. He likes how it feels along his tongue. The heat of it, how soft and solid it is at the same time. He likes the taste and the smell, salty and heady. He sees the pearls leaking from the tip and tastes that. He really likes how it tastes so he sucks on the tip a little more. And it’s all punctuated by the way its affecting Patrick.

“Mm, fuck sweetheart, I know you want to explore but this feels insane.” Patrick breathes. “You’re gonna mess around and make me shove it in your mouth.”

Art feels warm at the way he says sweetheart. And the thought that Patrick might lose control over him.

He opens up and takes in more.

“Fuuckk,” Patrick sighs like he’s sinking into a warm bath. Art closes his eyes and runs his tongue over the length. He’s almost sure he can taste Patrick’s heart beating through it. It feels incredible and Patrick starts moaning for him which makes Art begin to lose himself in it. It’s too big to get it all inside at once but he tries to take a little more. His mouth is so wet that when he pulls back spit drips onto his thighs. He licks and then takes it in again, more this time.

“Oh shit,” Patrick gasps. He starts moving his hips like he can’t control himself and Art needs to grab on to keep him from shoving it too deep. But he likes the sliding feeling as it moves back and forth over his tongue. His own cock is aching. He feels like he might start pushing up against the air too. It’s so hot how he’s the one doing this to Patrick. It’s all him. His mouth. His tongue.

“Can you look at me?” Patrick gasps.

Art hums and looks up as it’s sliding out of his mouth, he takes a small breath before taking it back in again but his mouth starts filling immediately. Art feels it hot and thick slipping down his throat and he starts coughing. Which makes it start spilling everywhere, dripping off his lips and Patrick’s still coming so Art licks around the tip to try and taste it.

“No… wait, fuck, fuck… that’s too sensitive just… relax,” Patrick gasps, breathlessly. He pulls his shorts back up and stumbles to sit on the bed next to him. He rubs his thumb over Art’s messy lips, Art licks at it and Patrick smiles letting him suck it for a minute before pulling it away and sucking it into own mouth. “Come here.” He rubs his thighs.

Art stares at him for a minute and then moves to straddle him. “Sit,” Patrick says, softly.

Art settles on his lap.

“Have you ever done that before?” Patrick asks, rubbing him over his boxers.

“No, is it okay?” Art asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“So fucking okay,” Patrick says and he starts kissing him immediately. It feels so satisfying, rubbing his tongue along Patricks after having a mouth full of him. He feels Patrick’s fingers ease into his boxers, gripping his cock where Patrick starts jerking him off properly. That combined with the stimulation from the kissing makes Art finish embarrassingly quickly all over Patrick’s fingers and in his shorts.

“Mm I need another cigarette,” Patrick laughs, licking his fingers and gazing at Art.

Art swallows hard, mildly panicked now that he’s back in his right mind. He climbs off of Patrick’s lap.

“What?” Patrick asks. ”And don’t say sorry.”

Art bites his tongue and takes a deep breath. “I think I drank too much.”

Patrick grins. “I don’t know. You kinda spilled some of it,” he gestures to Art’s lap, a bit of pearly liquid settled there.

“That’s not funny,” Art says, biting down on a smile.

“Oh it’s really funny.” Patrick says, getting to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Art asks. Strangely enough he just kinda wants to be near him.

“I’m gonna wash my hands,” he says. “And clean up a bit.”

Art bites his lip.

“You want to come?”

Art nods and gets to his feet. “I’ll just brush my teeth and um… change my…” he gestures vauguely.

Patrick smirks and beckons for Art to lead the way. “So,” Patrick says. “Where do you wanna go tomorrow night?”

[cherrybomb107]

After making that essay about all my gripes with act three, I wanna delve into what rubbed me the wrong way about episode seven. Now, don’t get me wrong, it is my second favorite episode of the season (right behind episode four) but everything just felt off, and now I’m able to explain why.

It felt fake. Artificial. Too good to be true. Too polished. Everyone in Zaun was basically a Piltie lite and I hated to see it. I know Zaun doesn’t even technically exist, as it never did officially get its freedom, but Piltover and Zaun are known as twin cities for a reason. They are intertwined, yes, but also completely different. Zaun has its own vibe. It’s punk, patchwork, unpolished, mismatched. But also vibrant, brilliant, thoughtfully crafted and beautiful in its own way. It’s unique. It feels so real, and for the au to strip all that away and make Zaun feel like a shell of its former self was not it.

Zaun has such a rich culture. Not without its own host of flaws ofc, but what culture is perfect? And obviously there are political reasons for why Zaunites do things the way they do (it’s because Piltover’s oppressions forces them to get creative). While I resent the reasons as to why Zaunites have to be so resourceful and creative, I adore the things they were able to build in spite of their hardships. Makes me identify with Zaun even more. The au took all that away. Everything that made Zaun what it is wasn’t there, and I didn’t care for it.

Furthermore, the whole au falls apart if you stop and think about it. Why would Vi’s death be anything more than a drop in the bucket to Piltover? They had been oppressing Zaun for centuries? Vi is not only a Zaunite, but she was also a teenager. There’s a lot to be said about how teenagers aren’t really seen as kids by a lot of folks, and are “less innocent” and their lives are seen as “less important” (though ofc no one would admit that have that kind of bias). Plus when you consider that by virtue of being a Zaunite, Vi would already be considered “less than”, her life would not matter to Piltover WHATSOEVER. Best case, and I do mean best case scenario, they give Vander some financial compensation so he could afford to give Vi the proper funeral she deserves. But I’d bet money they never would’ve even considered doing that if I’m being realistic.

Also, that’s just a horrible message to send. Vi, the parentified child, who spent her whole life fighting like hell to protect her loved ones, had to die in order for not just her family, but her city to flourish. HUH??? That’s an awful thing to imply! Vi dying would NOT have lead to everyone else being fine. It would not have led Vander and Silco to forgive each other. It would NOT led to Zaun prospering economically. It would not have led to Zaun becoming just like Piltover in the worst of ways. That doesn’t even make any sense! Correlation does not equal causation, but those two things have no correlation to begin with! Obviously I know that’s not the message the writers meant to convey, but that’s what they ended up doing imo, and I don’t like that.

Lastly, why are we acting like Hextech is the problem? The oppressive system of Piltover existed way before Hextech came along, so why would its lack of being there affect things that much? Cause if not Hextech, some other revolutionary technology would’ve been invented that somehow only benefits some and hurts everyone else who isn’t as privileged. And yes, ofc I know Hextech only exists precisely BECAUSE of the systemic inequalities between Piltover and Zaun, but it is by no means wholly responsible for these inequalities. Responsible for widening the gap between Piltover and Zaun? Yes! Responsible for the existence of the gap in the first place? Hell no! And it felt like it was framed that way.

Anyways TL;DR I wasn’t a fan of the au episode because I felt like it unintentionally sent a horrible message and didn’t stay true to what makes Zaun, Zaun. It ripped out all its best parts and functionally turned it into Piltover Jr. and a fan of that I am NOT

[figurantedefilme]

— boyfriend!sam winchester headcanons.

pairing: sam winchester x gn!reader

summary: how sam would act if he were your boyfriend.

cw: friends to lovers, some details of romantic relationships, brief mentions of fighting, but lots of cuteness. poorly edited.

a/n: hiiii, so, these are some of my hcs of how sam would be dating his best friend ;)) these headcanons were very inspired by some of my favorite writers!! english isn't my first language. enjoy it ♡

— send me a request!! <3

▪︎ before you started dating, you were best friends, you did everything together. you were always in love with each other, you just hadn't realized it yet.

▪︎ dean always teased you about it, especially sam, saying he was too slow to not realize the obvious, you, of course, ignored it completely, thinking that the other didn't feel the same way or that you would never have the chance.

▪︎ after, this became difficult, hiding the heart-shaped looks whenever the other looked away, always trying to disguise it but failing miserably.

▪︎ sometimes you shared a bed and by some chance you woke up hugging or with your legs intertwined and this resulted in almost an entire day of tension, you barely talking to each other or making eye contact until you intended that nothing happened and continued to be the same as always. but then, unable to bear having to hide all this "unrequited" love any longer, one of you tries to distance yourself, thinking that these feelings could ruin your friendship and you don't want to lose each other's affection.

▪︎ this ends up leaving the other confused, thinking that they did something wrong, and doing everything to understand what is happening. after all this confusion, you understand each other, talk and finally confess your feelings to each other.

"i thought you hated me."

"i could never hate you, sammh. it's just that my love for you is so great that i couldn't stand being around you anymore."

"i ove you too, i'm so relieved about that, but promise me that you'll never hide anything again, no matter what it is."

"i promise."

▪︎ ever since you started dating, he always needs to touch you in some way, whether it's intimately or just holding your hand on a cold night. with that, know that he will never be able to sleep well again if he is not hugging you or at least with an arm around you.

▪︎ over time, he began to show his clingy side, sometimes needy just for your touch, your hands in his, or his somewhere on you, usually an arm on your shoulders or a hand on your hips.

▪︎ he also likes to always tell you how beautiful you are, that he loves you and how much you matter to him. even if he doesn't say it directly, he always tries to show it by doing something for you, even if it's small things like picking up your change of clothes when you take a shower, or when you're sick, he's by your side, available for whatever you need, buying you a drink that you like at the coffee shop, buying you a book that he knows you would like to read or simply paying attention when you talk, and making mental notes about little things that you do or like.

▪︎ he definitely loves it when you reciprocate or do similar things, in your way of showing your love for him.

▪︎ he won't admit it, but he feels so good when he sees you wearing his shirt, and how big it looks on you. he thinks the height difference between you is cute and sometimes he gets annoying.

▪︎ he's become more overprotective, but he tries not to suffocate you. this has also made him more worried about you during hunts, and the same goes for you.

▪︎ sometimes you fight because of his overprotectiveness, sometimes he doesn't want to let you go on a hunt because he thinks it's too dangerous and you get upset. dean tries to give sam advice about how he should stop trying to exclude you because you're too strong and can handle yourself, so he apologizes later and you're still a little upset, but then everything works out and everything's fine.

▪︎ dating sam can be complicated sometimes, especially as hunters, but you always support each other and know that everything will work out.

[eerna]

Thank you for posting all your takes on Arcane season 2, reading them has been helping me process what a disappointing shitshow it was and not feel so alone lol. I'm popping in to your asks to vent a bit about how messed up Jinx's ending was. They really led us on all season with themes of redemption and forgiveness and healing from trauma, showing us Vi finally accepting her for who she was, and Ekko showing up for her and saving her because she's worth that. They gave her Isha to love her unconditionally (and then took her away for shock value and tragedy porn), and demonstrated that Jinx's death wish should be something the people around her fight against and work on proving to her that she actually does deserve to live and heal and be loved ......... only to end on her killing herself anyway. She makes one big grand gesture by showing up for the final fight, and then sacrifices herself for Vi. As if in the end, she did deserve to die. As if that's the only way to redeem herself. As if that's a better ending than her processing her trauma and healing, and finally allowing herself to be loved. And we were robbed of Vi and Jinx healing their relationship and finally being in each others' lives. For what, exactly??? A death scene that wasn't even sad because it was just so ridiculous and out of place? That didn't fit the narrative themes AT ALL?

I'm just heartbroken that they did our girl SO dirty. It's unforgiveable. It doesn't even matter to me whether the fan theory that she survived is true or not, because even if she's somehow alive and will show up in a future show, the writers still chose to end this show with the message that the traumatized suicidal girl who never felt like she was worth anything and made violent choices because of the system she was born into actually did deserve to kill herself at the end!!!! And that it was the right choice and led to redemption for her!!!!! Gah!!!!! (sorry for basically yelling, I'm just so sad)

Awh, I'm glad you enjoy reading them, and feel free to express your sadness~ Jinx is definitely alive, it is spelled out by the show, but you are right, it doesn't change the fact that the framing device used in the scene was saying "Vi should just let Jinx kill herself already, we have been heading this way for quite some time and she should just let it happen after all this time". But that was only there for the emotional extortion!!!! And the fact that Jinx chooses to survive and start a new life proves it. Today I was listening to the soundtrack and found out that the song that plays as Jinx' suicide montages roll actually has a final verse and chorus where the singer decides she actually wants to keep living because she is no longer alone, and asks "don't let me go". And this makes sense to me!!! I assume they wanted Jinx to be heroic and remove herself from Vi's life so Vi can live happily and she knew the only way to force her to do it is to fake her own death.. but why??? They are fine now, they are a team and she has other people who care about her as well??? What did Vi, or the others, gain from not having Jinx in their life anymore????? Idk man it is so weird

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 5

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: So this is it. The journey has come to the end and I'm a bit sad but also very happy. This fic has a lot my own struggles within it and it has helped me to think over and let go of certain things that had accumulated. But before Sihtric and reader can look forward into the bright and shiny future they have to resolve some unsorted questions. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: it's emotionally tense with some angst and self reflection but still sweet

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 7,8 K

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

You felt a surge of betrayal twist through you, an uncomfortable déjà vu that made your stomach drop. The whole scene was surreal, and your mind spun, trying to piece it all together. But before you could say a word, Sigtryggr's hand found yours under the blanket, his grip firm and panicked.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like, I swear,” he stammered, his face pale and clearly horrified by the scene unfolding. He scrambled to sit up, looking between you and the woman standing in the doorway. “This is… this is Stiorra, my ex-girlfriend.”

Stiorra crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised as she regarded him with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “And in case there’s any doubt,” she interjected, “I’m the one who threw him out.” Her eyes flicked to you, and a slightly sheepish smile softened her expression. “Told him to never come back, actually.”

Sigtryggr winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly a high point in our relationship,” he muttered. Then, as if desperate to regain some semblance of control, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Stiorra, why don’t you, uh… wait in the kitchen? Give us a moment?”

With a sigh that suggested she was equally exhausted by this awkward situation, Stiorra shrugged. “Fine. But we’re talking after,” she said, shooting him a look that clearly communicated there was unfinished business between them. She turned on her heel, retreating to the kitchen and leaving the two of you in a tense silence.

You exhaled, still feeling the sting of surprise. “So, let me get this straight. Your ex-girlfriend who kicked you out now has a key and comes barging in?”

Sigtryggr’s cheeks flushed as he stumbled over his words. “It’s… complicated. We broke up months ago. She kept the key for emergencies, but I didn’t think she’d actually use it. I mean, she made it pretty clear she never wanted to see me again.” He shook his head, his eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation. “I had no idea she’d be coming by today, I swear.”

You let out a breath, half-amused by his genuine horror at the situation. Despite everything, there was something undeniably ridiculous about it all. Here was this cool, collected artist, now completely rattled by his ex-girlfriend unexpectedly showing up while he was in bed with someone else.

You finally cracked a small smile. “You couldn’t make this up if you tried.”

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “This really isn’t how I imagined our morning together going. I’m sorry.”

Before you could respond, Stiorra’s voice called from the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. There’s milk and sugar somewhere—if Sigtryggr actually bought groceries this week, that is.”

Sigtryggr’s eyes met yours, full of sheepishness, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension starting to dissolve. “I’ll take that as a hint to get dressed,” you said, sliding out of bed and grabbing your clothes, feeling his gaze following you apologetically.

“Take your time,” Stiorra called again, her voice faintly dripping with irony. “I’ll try not to make it more awkward.”

As if more awkward was even possible, a stifled laugh escaped you as you slipped into your clothes, feeling like you were in some strange, twisted sitcom. Sigtryggr joined you, tossing on his shirt and jeans quickly, his eyes darting nervously between you and the kitchen.

Once you were both dressed, you headed to the kitchen. Stiorra was there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, her lips twisted in a wry smile. She looked at you and Sigtryggr with an expression that was part curiosity, part thinly veiled irritation. Two other steaming mugs waited on the counter and you grabbed one like a life saviour.

"Well," she drawled, swirling her coffee. "I see you’ve wasted no time finding a replacement." Her gaze flicked from you to Sigtryggr, her tone razor-sharp. "Or were you just waiting for the perfect moment to jump into someone else’s bed, Sigtryggr? Good to know you’ve been so… resilient."

You saw a flicker of hurt cross Sigtryggr’s face as he tried to respond, his gaze darting briefly to you before returning to Stiorra, as if caught in some unresolved pull. He shifted beside you, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Stiorra," he managed, his voice tight, "you know it’s not  like that. It’s been almost half a year..."

But she didn’t give him room to explain. She looked down at her coffee, a hint of sadness breaking through her sarcasm as her fingers tightened around the mug. "I didn’t come here to make a scene," she murmured, her tone softening. "I just… I thought I wanted to move on. But maybe I was wrong."

You swallowed hard, your eyes darted from Sigtryggr to his ex-girlfriend and truth be told the only coherent thought was the increasingly intensive wish for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. Facing lions in the Colosseum would have been a more appealing option than drinking coffee in what you’d thought was your new boyfriend’s kitchen, watching it turn into a stage for a soap opera. Whoever said, "If something looks too good to be true, it probably is," had clearly known exactly what they were talking about.

Stiorra lifted her gaze to meet Sigtryggr’s, her defiance melting into something softer, tinged with regret. 

"Siggy, baby, I’m so sorry!" she blurted, her voice cracking as her teary eyes searched his. The sudden burst of emotions startled you both, leaving the room steeped in uncomfortable tension. "Leaving you wasn’t what I thought I wanted," she continued, the words tumbling out, unrestrained and unguarded. "It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I just hoped you… you might feel the same. I couldn’t wait any longer—I just needed to tell you this." Her gaze darted back to the steaming coffee in her hands, as though she couldn’t bear to face him anymore. “I never imagined you’d move on so fast, not after everything we had together.”

You glanced over at Sigtryggr, who looked as if he’d just been slapped with a cold fish. The usual calm, steady demeanour he carried so effortlessly was gone, replaced by a vulnerable uncertainty you hadn’t seen before. His mouth opened as if to respond, then closed again, his mind clearly spinning in too many directions to form coherent words. He looked at you briefly, but his attention was drawn back to Stiorra, as if caught by an invisible thread that still connected them.

His eyes softened, a hint of that old, unguarded affection surfacing as he stammered. “Stiorra, I… I didn’t expect this. I thought… we were over. I thought you’d moved on.”

The longing in his voice was unmistakable. You felt an odd pang, a mixture of empathy and unease as you watched him struggle. The way he looked at her, his gaze clouded with both confusion and something undeniably tender, told you more than his words ever could. And strangely you didn’t even feel betrayed. You felt a deep understanding, even sympathy kindling within you. 

It was clearly time to make an exit before this scene turned into a full-blown tragicomedy. But before you could even think of a polite way to excuse yourself, Stiorra’s gaze shifted to you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, I know who you are,” she said, her tone casual—almost too casual. “You must be the mysterious girl who broke Sihtric’s heart. I’ve seen your picture, actually. He still keeps one in his wallet.”

“What?” The words hit you like a frying pan to the face, and you nearly dropped your coffee mug. This was beyond surreal; it was a nightmare layered with unwanted revelations. You glanced around, looking for any possible way to evaporate from the room as a wave of nausea crept over you.

Stiorra caught your reaction, her gaze sharpening as if sensing your unease. “No,” she said, her eyes assessing you calmly. “Not like that. Sihtric and I were never… involved.” She gave a casual shrug, one that seemed both reassuring and indifferent. “But I know him well enough. He worked for my father, Uhtred, for quite some time. And we have some mutual friends—Finan, Osferth. They’re close, practically brothers.”

You swallowed, still processing the shock as she spoke, and noticed the way her gaze flickered, slightly more empathetic now. Sigtryggr shifted beside you, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading, his gaze moving between you and Stiorra.

“Stiorra,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a mixture of discomfort and quiet insistence, “I think we’re all getting a bit caught off guard here.”

Stiorra shrugged, but her expression softened as she looked back at him. “Maybe,” she admitted, voice gentler now. “But some things are better said than left hanging.” She turned her attention back to you. “Haven’t seen him in a while, but… he never really got over you, you know.”

The words landed like a stone in your chest, and for a moment, you felt the weight of everything you’d tried to put behind you pressing in. 

“Wait, hold on!” you blurted out, the words escaping faster than you could stop them and surely much louder than you wanted. “I broke his heart? What the hell are you talking about? He was the one who found someone else less than a week after I was out of sight.”

Stiorra’s eyes widened at your outburst. She hesitated before responding, her voice softer, almost cautious. “Wait… really? I don’t know all the details,” she admitted, glancing away briefly, “but I know for sure that Sihtric has been a mess since you left. Osferth and Finan have been trying to get him back on his feet, trying to knock some sense into him. But he’s just… shut everyone out, suffering in silence.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but something in her expression stopped you. There was a subtle reproach that made you falter.

Her words stung. You knew them—Osferth and Finan—Sihtric’s closest friends. Meeting them had felt like a significant step, almost as if you were meeting his family. Sihtric barely spoke about his parents or any siblings, but these two were an inseparable part of his life. The night he’d introduced you to them still lingered vividly in your memory.

Finan had taken to you right away, looking at you with an approving grin, clapping Sihtric on the shoulder and saying, “Finally, he’s found someone who might actually keep him in line.” His easy laughter and quick wit made you feel like you’d known him for years, and there was a warmth to his acceptance that had meant more than he probably knew.

Osferth, meanwhile, had been a bit more reserved, a touch of shyness in his gentle eyes. But there had been a sweetness in the way he’d talked to you, always quick to ask if you needed anything, checking that you felt included. You’d quickly learned he was the steady, caring presence in their group, looking out for both Sihtric and Finan with a brotherly devotion.

Those early evenings with them had been filled with laughter and endless stories from their nights out. You’d felt embraced by the friendship, a part of the easy bond they all shared. But when Sihtric walked out of your life, that sense of belonging had vanished too. They had been his friends, not yours, and your connection with them had ended as abruptly as your relationship with him.

“Look,” Stiorra continued, her voice pulling you back from your thoughts, “there are always two sides to a story. But only one truth. If you want to know more, maybe… maybe you should talk to Finan and Osferth. They know him better than anyone and could probably tell you more than I can.”

Without another word, you stood up, the urge to leave overpowering any sense of decorum. Sigtryggr reached out, his face a mix of surprise and worry as he tried to get your attention. “Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?”

You shook your head, barely able to meet his gaze. “I just… I need to go. I need…” The words trailed off, but you didn’t even bother to finish the sentence as you hastily grabbed your purse and headed to the doors without a single look back. 

You knew that Osferth worked as an assistant stylist at one of the top fashion studios, and Finan had a reputation as a brilliant set designer, always moving between shoots with an infectious energy. They were well-known figures in the industry, so it didn’t take long to track them down at a nearby studio where they were scheduled to prepare for an upcoming campaign.

The studio was bustling when you arrived. Assistants hurried about, racks of clothes lined the walls, and the hum of people preparing for a major shoot filled the space. You spotted Finan first, standing with his hands on his hips, joking with a lighting technician, his signature grin lighting up his face. Beside him, Osferth was focused on arranging a set of accessories on a table, his usually reserved expression serious as he worked.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, and Finan caught sight of you. His grin faded, replaced by surprise that quickly gave way to guarded curiosity. He nudged Osferth, who looked up in shock, the familiar softness in his eyes now laced with uncertainty and distance you hadn’t expected. The two exchanged a look before approaching you, their movements careful, almost wary, as if they were unsure of how to greet you.

“Hey,” you managed, your voice catching. “I… I need to talk to you. About Sihtric.”

“Well,” Finan said, crossing his arms, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “If it isn’t the ghost from Sihtric’s past.”

The jab landed harder than you’d expected, his accusatory tone sinking into you like a heavy stone.

Finan’s gaze was steely, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he fixed you with an unforgiving look. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?” he said, his voice thick with frustration. “Twice now, you’ve come crashing into his life—first, tearing him apart, and now, strolling back in like a stranger, as if he doesn’t deserve even a shred of understanding for everything he’s been through. The least you could do is thank him for what he did for you.”

“What he did for me?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, caught in a haze of disbelief. You couldn’t even process the meaning behind his accusations, feeling as if you’d just walked into an ambush. You regretted coming here, every instinct screaming at you to turn and leave, to escape this room and the anger that pressed down on you from all sides. Blinking back tears that threatened to spill, you took a shaky step back, but Finan didn’t relent.

He moved closer, his gaze piercing, his voice unyielding. “Do you know how long it took him to get his life back together after you left?” he continued, his tone unwavering. “To even begin piecing himself back together? And then you show up out of nowhere, with no idea what he’s been through, and somehow make him fall all over again.”

Stunned, you stared at him, but he wasn’t finished. “We’ve been trying to help him move on for ages. Osferth and I—do you know how many nights we’ve spent picking him up after he shut everyone out, barely holding on? He’s been carrying this burden alone since the day he let you go.” Finan scoffed, his voice low and dark with exasperation. “And you—you have the nerve to walk back and judge him?”

You wanted to move but you felt rooted to the spot as you couldn’t keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks anymore. “Thank him? For what? For dropping me and finding another less than a week after I wasn’t in sight? For ruining my life, leaving me gathering the shards?”

Finan drew a deep breath, but Osferth interrupted him, placing a calming hand on Finan’s arm, though his face still held traces of disappointment as he looked at you. “Finan wait. Something’s not right there.” His eyes shifted to you, his expression softening, but only slightly. “And that’s all you know about what happened?”  he asked, his tone measured but no less serious. 

“What else is there to know?” you snapped, frustration simmering in your chest. “I thought he loved me, and the next thing I know, he’s moved on like I never existed. I think I have a right to be a little angry.”

Finan exchanged a glance with Osferth, as if confirming something, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “So, Gisela never told you why he did it?”

You felt your stomach clench at the mention of Gisela. Confusion gave way to a creeping unease, your mind racing to piece together what they were trying to say. “Gisela?” you repeated, barely masking the surprise in your voice. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

Osferth shifted uncomfortably, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Gisela came to him. Said it would be better if he… stepped aside. She told him about that offer you got, the scholarship and the contract – that once in a lifetime opportunity for you. She’s the one who convinced him to let you go. She told him it would be best for you to focus on your future, that he was holding you back.  And Sihtric… well, he thought he was doing what was best for you.”

“Best for me?” The words felt hollow, ringing with an irony that cut deeper with each syllable. You felt a wave of disbelief crash over you, your stomach twisting as you processed his words.

Osferth nodded, his gaze sombre. “He figured if he just… cut ties, you’d have no reason to look back. He tried to bury how he felt, make you believe he’d moved on. But we both know it tore him apart. He’s never been the same since you left.”

You felt your knees weaken, the ground beneath you seeming to tilt as the truth settled over you, each piece of information landing like a blow. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal—all of it twisted into something else, something that left you feeling hollow. Your legs gave way, turning to jelly, and you would have surely hit the ground if Finan and Osferth hadn’t steadied you from each side.

“Easy there!” Finan’s voice had softened, a warmth returning that you hadn’t expected as he guided you, his anger replaced by concern. He quickly waved to a set assistant walking nearby. “Get a chair—and some water!” he called, his tone firm but urgent.

You barely noticed the assistant rushing off. A chair was brought over, and Finan and Osferth eased you into it, the world around you blurring as you tried to comprehend what you just heard. Osferth knelt beside you, his eyes steady and full of sadness as he handed you the water.

“I… I didn’t know,” you stammered, the words feeling small, inadequate. You looked at them, your voice cracking. “I thought he… I thought he didn’t care. I thought he wanted me gone.”

Finan shook his head, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “It was never about him not caring. He thought he was doing the right thing—for you.”

“He’s been living with that choice,” Finan added quietly, his eyes meeting yours, “because he thought it would give you a better life.”

Osferth placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his tone gentle. “Sometimes people make the hardest choices for the ones they love. Doesn’t mean they don’t hurt just as much.”

“Maybe… maybe it’s time you hear it from him,” Finan said softly, his tone no longer accusatory but understanding.

—---------------------------------------------------

The worry gnawed at you, growing with each unanswered call, each message left unread. Sihtric had vanished after the fashion show, and as the hours without a word turned into an entire day, you found yourself pacing around your apartment like a caged animal, restless and frustrated.

You hadn’t wanted to go to his place—not at first. The idea of stepping into his space felt like giving up the neutral ground you’d hoped to keep. But as your concern deepened, it became clear that there was no other option. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed your things and headed out, finally making your way to his apartment.

When you arrived, you looked up to see a warm glow coming from Sihtric’s window. Relief flooded over you—he was home. You exhaled deeply, feeling the tightness in your chest ease, if only a little. You deliberately chose the stairs over the elevator, hoping the walk up would give you time to gather your thoughts. But even with the extra moments, your mind remained frustratingly blank, and your heart raced like a drumbeat in your chest.

Standing in front of his door, you raised your hand to the doorbell, trying to ignore the nervous twist in your stomach. But instead of ringing, you pressed your palm and ear to the door, straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side. Come on, you can do this, you urged yourself, taking a deep, steadying breath. Finally, you lifted your hand and pressed the button, feeling your pulse quicken as you waited for him to answer.

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as there was only silence on the other side but you refused to give up. You pressed the doorbell again, then again, determined to get some response. Still, nothing.

“Sihtric,” you finally called. “I know you’re in there. I can see the light. Please, just talk to me.”

Silence stretched, pressing down on you. Frustrated, you balled your fists and pounded on the door, the echo of each hit ricocheting down the empty corridor. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open, and you glanced over your shoulder to find a pair of curious, disapproving eyes peering at you through a crack. But you were beyond caring about nosy neighbours. Ignoring them, you turned back to Sihtric’s door and knocked again, your voice catching slightly as you called his name once more.

Just as you felt the last shimmer of hope begin to slip away, you heard a faint shuffle behind the door, the sound of hesitant footsteps drawing closer. Relief flickered through you, only to fade as his voice, rough and bitter, cut through the silence.

“Just… go away,” he muttered, his tone carrying a heaviness that felt like a punch to the chest. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sihtric?” you called, pressing a hand against the door. “Please, open up. I just want to talk.”

Silence. But you knew he was there, so you waited. A bitter, muffled voice finally answered. “Why? There’s nothing more to talk about,” he replied, his tone rough, barely masking the exhaustion in his voice. “Just… leave me alone.”

Ignoring his dismissal, you leaned closer, unwilling to let him shut you out. “Sihtric, please. I was wrong. I was wrong not wanting to listen to you, shutting you out. Please open the door, so we can talk. I just… I need to understand.”

He scoffed from the other side, the bitterness in his voice cutting. “Understand? You want to understand now? Why? You have your perfect little life, your perfect job, your prince charming.” His words were laced with sarcasm. “You want to judge me? I already gave you the chance for that at the show. I saw it on your face. I don’t need more of that.”

You pressed your forehead against the door, your heart pounding as you tried to will back tears slowly gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. Sihtric, can you hear me? I’m so sorry. And I wasn’t judging you, Sihtric. I was just… surprised. I’m not here to make things worse. I came because I care.”

On the other side of the door, Sihtric stood still, barely breathing, his entire body tense. He could feel the ache in his shoulders and neck, the result of hours spent tossing and turning through a sleepless night, haunted by thoughts of you and his own spiralling decisions. Every muscle felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, regret and anger.

He wanted to open the door. Part of him ached to see you, to hear your voice without the barrier between you. But another part—larger, stronger, the part that had convinced him to let you go years ago—held him back. That part reminded him of everything he’d become, the mess he’d made of his life since then, and the humiliation of his drunken, jealousy-fueled outburst at the fashion show. He clenched his fists, fighting the shame that burned inside him, wondering if he could ever face you again.

His heart pounded, each beat reverberating with the bitterness that had taken root within him. What did he have to offer you now? He was broken, he knew that much, and he’d spent too long building up his defences to believe someone would want to come close enough to help him pick up the pieces. Especially not you—the one person he’d hurt most by pushing you away.

Drawing a deep shaky breath he slowly slid down to the ground, resting his back against the door. His elbows propped on his knees he buried his face in his hands, the world reduced to the darkness behind his closed eyelids. 

The memories of the fashion show flashed in his mind—your face when he’d approached you, the shock and disappointment in your eyes, the way he’d stumbled through his words, lost in a haze of jealousy and alcohol. The regret was a deep wound now, throbbing with every word you spoke on the other side of the door.

What could he say to you? That he was sorry? Sorry didn’t even begin to cover the tangled mess he’d made of things. 

The sound of your voice, pleading, coaxing him to open the door, tore at him. He could feel you there, so close, and it made everything hurt more sharply. Sihtric let out a shaky breath, feeling the first sting of tears pressing at the corners of his eyes, but he held them back, unwilling to let himself break down, even now.

“Why are you here?” he muttered under his breath, as much to himself as to you. His voice was rough, barely hiding the bitterness he felt, not even toward you but toward himself. “What good can come from this?”

He sat there, torn between the urge to stand up, unlock the door, and reach for you, and the dark, cynical voice in his mind that told him to stay hidden, that he didn’t deserve whatever you were here to offer.

And yet, through it all, he couldn’t help but listen, couldn’t ignore the hope in your words, the softness in your tone. He could almost feel you on the other side, feel the warmth you brought, a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. 

But that hope was terrifying. Because if he opened the door, if he let you in… The very idea of you seeing him like this—broken, regret-filled and barely holding it together—filled him with shame. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to do that. He probably wasn’t. 

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Sihtric’s breathing grew uneven, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d even heard you. Then, his voice cut through the quiet, rough and worn, tinged with a bitterness that struck you like a physical blow.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he muttered, the words laced with frustration. “I don’t need anything from you. Just leave me alone—I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Sihtric,” you called softly, pressing your hand flat against the door. “Please… just open the door.”

When he didn’t respond, you clenched your fists and banged against the door, louder this time, not caring who heard. “Sihtric, I’m not going anywhere! You don’t have to shut me out. I know… I know what you did for me. I know why you left.”

There was a pause, so deep and tense you could hear the faint sounds from the street outside, muffled and distant. Finally, his voice broke the silence, barely audible, fragile. “Who told you that?”

You took a steadying breath, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your tone. “Finan and Osferth,” you replied. “They told me everything. How you thought leaving was best for me, how you made it look like you’d moved on just so I wouldn’t come back… how you suffered through it all because you thought it was the right thing.”

There was another pause, and then he laughed, a hollow, defeated sound that twisted painfully in your chest. “So, what?” he said, his voice wavering, barely holding steady. “You came here to pity me? To see what a mess I’ve made of myself?” He sounded tired, as if the words themselves were an effort. “I don’t need your pity either.”

For a moment, all you could hear was his unsteady breathing. You imagined him, standing just on the other side, close enough to touch if only he’d open the door. It was driving you mad—having him so close but so far away at the same time. You silently cursed yourself for turning him down, for refusing to listen when he had tried to talk to you before. Why had you been so cold? Why had you let fear take over?

But it wasn’t just your fear that had brought you to this moment. Gisela. The thought struck like a dagger, bitter and sharp. Why had she meddled? Why had she pushed Sihtric into making that choice without ever telling you? All those times she’d been there, comforting you, assuring you that moving on was the right thing to do—she had known. She had known the truth and had kept it from you. Why, Gisela? you thought bitterly, your hands balling into fists against the door. Why did you do this to me? To us?

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against the door, the whirlwind of emotions inside you felt unbearable, but amidst the chaos, a single thought began to crystallize with startling clarity. I’m not letting this go. Not this time. You had spent too long blaming others for what had happened—Sihtric, the universe, now Gisela. Too long nursing your pain, placing it on a pedestal like some kind of shield to justify not moving forward, not letting yourself feel again. But you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. This wasn’t just pain or regret—this was love. It had never stopped being love, and it was time you faced it.

You straightened slightly, you weren’t going to let the past define what was left of your future. This was your chance, and you weren’t going to let fear or pride hold you back any longer. Sihtric deserved the truth, and so did you. He needed to hear it, to know that you still loved him—not the sanitized, half-forgotten version of love you’d pretended to bury, but the real thing. The kind of love that ached, that fought, that refused to let go.

And he needed to know the part you’d played in letting it all fall apart. The anger you’d clung to, the walls you’d built to protect yourself, all of it had driven you away from him when you should have stayed and fought, and you needed to own that. 

“I’m not giving up on this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, though you hoped he could feel the determination in your voice. “Not this time, not again.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the door as your only support as you leaned against it. “Sihtric,” you began, your voice trembling, but there was no hesitation in your words. “Please, just listen to me. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Please, I’m begging you just hear me out. I’m here because… because I never stopped loving you.”

You could feel his breathing hitch on the other side, but he didn’t say anything, and you went on, needing him to hear everything.

“I wanted to hate you,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “I tried. I thought that if I could just hate you, it would be easier. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate you, not really. Even when I tried to move on, to make a life without you… I couldn’t let go of you. No one else could replace what you mean to me.”

On the other side of the door, Sihtric let out a ragged breath, his hands covering his face. 

The weight of your own words took their toll, and slowly, your legs gave way. You slid down to the ground, sitting with your back pressed against the door, your head resting against the wood as you stared at the empty hallway in front of you. 

“When you wanted to talk to me that day at the shoot… I was so cold because I was scared, Sihtric,” you whispered, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop it. “I was afraid that if I let you in, even a little, I’d break. That all the walls I put up to protect myself would come crashing down.”

Sihtric listened, his face buried in his hands, feeling every word you spoke burning holes in his soul. He wanted to reach for you, to say something, but something kept him still, the knowledge of everything he’d put both of you through holding him back. His breath was shaky, his heart pounding as he imagined you there, only inches away.

“I tried to move on, Sihtric,” you continued. “I tried to make a life without you. I even tried to love someone else, to find what I had with you with someone new. But it didn’t work. No one… no one ever felt like you.”

Sihtric’s hands dropped from his face, and he pressed his palms flat against the door, his fingers splaying out as if they could reach you through the barrier between you as he felt his resolve breaking, his walls crumbling bit by bit.

“I thought letting you go was the best thing I could do for you,” he murmured. “I thought that if I hurt you enough, you’d decide to leave me behind… and you’d never look back. I wanted you to be successful and happy, even if it meant I couldn’t be.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you listened, your heart breaking all over again. “Don’t you see?” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I was never happy without you. I kept telling myself that I could be, but deep down, I knew… I knew I’d never feel whole again.”

For a moment, the two of you sat there, separated by inches of wood and miles of unspoken feelings, both of you held captive by the same painful memories and buried longing.

“You don’t understand…” he continued, his voice breaking. “I’m not who I used to be. I’m not… I’m not enough for you, you need someone better. I don’t even know who I am anymore. You should be out there, living that life you’ve created and earned, not here… with someone like me.”

You swallowed hard, tears pooling in your eyes but refusing to fall. “I don’t need someone better, Sihtric. I need you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “The real you, flaws and all. I can’t pretend anymore that everything’s fine without you in my life. I don’t care about perfect, Sihtric. I just… I just want you.”

The silence behind the door was deafening, stretching longer than you could bear. Your chest tightened, every second dragging on like an eternity. You strained to hear anything—a shuffle, a breath, even the slightest indication that he was still there—but there was nothing. The hollow quiet seeped into your heart, threatening to shatter it into a thousand pieces again.

Was this really the end? The thought weighed heavy, pressing against you until you couldn’t sit upright any longer. Slowly, you laid your head down on your knees, clutching them tightly as if to hold yourself together. You felt the sting of finality creeping in, the cruel certainty that you had done everything you could. It was time to stand up, to walk away, and this time, not look back.

But just as you started to gather the strength to rise, a faint, almost imperceptible sound reached your ears. A click. Your breath hitched as the unmistakable sound of the lock turning echoed softly through the silence.

You turned your head at the sound of the door creaking open, and there he was. Sihtric stood in the doorway. He looked exhausted, dark rings encircling his beautiful large eyes, face shadowed and tired. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was rumpled, hanging loosely on his frame, but you didn’t care. All you could see was him, standing there, finally letting you in.

You jumped to your feet, propelled by a wave of relief and emotion, and lunged at him before you could think twice. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and the two of you stumbled backward into the apartment, the door swinging shut behind you. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, holding on as though he might disappear again if you let go. Tears streamed down your cheeks, soaking into his rumpled shirt as you buried your face against his broad, muscular chest.

For a moment, he stood frozen, his hands hovering uncertainly by his sides. Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms came around you, pulling you closer. He let out a shuddering breath, the tension in his body giving way as he held you tightly, like he was afraid this was just another fleeting dream.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against him, trembling with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry, Sihtric. For shutting you out. For not fighting harder. For letting my anger win.”

His chest rose and fell beneath you as he struggled to steady his breathing. His voice was rough, as he finally spoke. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was me… all of it. I pushed you away. I thought it was the only way.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. 

“I should’ve fought for us,” you said, your voice breaking. “I should’ve seen through it, through what you were doing. But I didn’t.”

His hand came up to cup your face, his touch tentative, almost disbelieving. “You couldn’t have known,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I made sure of that. I wanted you to move on, to be happy.”

“I wasn’t happy,” you said, shaking your head. “I could never be happy without you.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against yours as a tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can fix this. If I can fix me.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the stubble along his jaw as you steadied your voice. “You don’t have to fix anything. We’ll figure it out together. Just, please, don’t push me away again.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just held you, his hands trembling slightly as they clung to you. Then, he leaned in and his lips brushed yours in a soft, lingering kiss that carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

Sihtric's lips trembled against yours, as you pressed into him, your hands clutching harder the fabric of his shirt, silently telling him that you were here, that this was real. You kissed him back pouring all your emotions into that one single gentle touch of lips, getting more heated and desperate with each passing moment.

When he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, he began to press a trail of kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and low. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I tried to forget… when I tried to move on, I couldn’t.” His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, as though he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

“I tried to find someone else,” he admitted, his voice breaking as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath was warm and unsteady. “I thought I could replace what we had. But it was never the same. No one could ever be you.” His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but gentle. “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t. It’s always been you, and it will always be you.”

Without warning, he scooped you up into his strong arms, holding you effortlessly as though you weighed nothing. You gasped softly, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unrestrained.

“I need you,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I need you in every part of my life. And right now… I need to show you how much I love you.”

You smiled through tears, you fingers tangling in his thick, disheveled hair. You pulled him closer and with a low almost desperate growl his lips captured yours again as he carried you further into the apartment.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The soft hum of voices and the gentle clinking of glasses filled the air as you arrived at the exhibition, a feeling of anticipation settling in your chest. Gisela was waiting for you near the entrance, her ever-poised demeanor slightly off-kilter as she scanned the crowd. When her eyes landed on you, a flicker of something—relief? Concern?—crossed her face, and she hurried over.

“There you are,” she said, taking your hand as though to steady you. Her tone carried an edge of urgency, and you could tell she was gearing up to say something important. “I’m glad you came. But listen, before you go inside, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her voice lowered conspiratorially as she leaned closer. “Sigtryggr… he’s here. And he brought someone. A girlfriend, apparently.” Her words were careful, but her gaze flickered with unease, clearly gauging your reaction.

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement rising in you. “That’s fine, Gisela,” you said, squeezing her hand lightly. “Sigtryggr and I… we weren’t meant to be. I’m happy for him.”

She blinked, slightly taken aback by your calm response, but pressed on. “Well, I thought you should know. But I also have someone I want you to meet.” Her voice brightened slightly, as though trying to distract you from the potential awkwardness waiting inside.

You tilted your head, an affectionate smile creeping onto your face. “Actually, Gisela, I have someone I want you to meet first.”

Before Gisela could respond, Sihtric stepped forward from behind you. He wasn’t dressed to blend into the crowd of sharply tailored suits and polished shoes that filled the gallery, yet somehow, he looked effortlessly striking. 

A dark, fitted leather jacket hung perfectly over his broad shoulders, paired with a simple, black t-shirt that clung to his lean, muscular frame. Fitted jeans and scuffed boots completed the look, adding a touch of ruggedness that made him stand out in all the right ways.

His dark hair was neatly tied back, but a few rogue strands fell across his sharp cheekbones, softening the intensity of his piercing eyes. He looked effortlessly cool, the kind of man who drew attention without even trying, and the subtle smirk on his lips only added to the effect.

Sihtric slipped his hand into yours, your fingers intertwining, and the look on Gisela’s face was priceless. She was frozen, her gaze locking on him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her usual poise faltered, and for the first time, she seemed genuinely at a loss for words. Her eyes flicked between you and Sihtric, wide with shock, her mouth opening and closing slightly as though searching for something—anything—to say.

“Sihtric,” you said warmly, your voice filled with affection as you glanced up at him. He responded by slipping his arm around your waist, his hand resting at the small of your back.

Gisela finally found her voice, though it was a touch higher-pitched than usual. “I… didn’t realize…” she stammered, her gaze darting to you as if silently questioning how, when, and why this had happened.

You cut her off with a gentle but firm nudge to the side, brushing past her with a smile. “Gisela, we’ll catch up later. Right now, there are a few people we’d like to say hello to.”

Sihtric’s arms wrapped securely around you as you walked into the exhibition together, his warmth grounding you. You caught sight of Sigtryggr and Stiorra in the center of the gallery, standing close, their heads tilted toward each other as they shared a quiet laugh. Whatever lingering awkwardness might have existed between you and Sigtryggr seemed to dissolve as you approached, Sihtric at your side.

“Sigtryggr,” you greeted warmly, your smile genuine. “It’s good to see you.”

Sigtryggr turned, his expression flickering with brief surprise before softening into a polite smile. “And you,” he replied, his gaze briefly darting to Sihtric before settling back on you. “I see you’ve… moved on as well.”

“Seems like we’ve both found where we’re meant to be,” you replied, your tone light, though the weight of those words resonated deeply within you.

Stiorra raised her glass with a mischievous grin. “Well, well. Isn’t this a picture-perfect reunion?” she quipped, her tone teasing but kind.

Sihtric’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “A reunion, maybe,” he murmured just for you, his voice warm and low. “But what matters is where we go from here.”

And as you stood there, surrounded by art, by people who had once been tangled in your past, you couldn’t help but smile as for the first time in a long while, the future felt beautifully, wonderfully yours.

[dragonbma]

🌲 !25 Days of Blockmas! 🌲

The holiday spirit is almost upon us! Starting December 1st, please enjoy this little board of activities I’ve cooked up for the MC:SM community. Blockmas features a handful of fun ways to partake in the fandom along with festive drawing prompts scattered in. Please note everything is optional and you do not have to complete every day to partake! Feel free to use the #25 Days of Blockmas tag so I can see your posts! Have fun and happy holidays!

✏️Day 1: Snow Day!

Toss characters into a nice chilly landscape, snowball fight, or the Icy Palace of Despair. Or perhaps just give them a nice cup of cocoa. ^^

Day 2: Scribble challenge!

Pick a character to draw using only one line. Once you lift your pen off the paper, that concludes the one line! (Feel free to color underneath the scribble!)

Day 3: Secret Admirer!

Slip an ask into the inboxes of your favorite creators and tell them how much their work means to you! Remind your beloved artists why they bring you comfort or inspiration, tell the writers how much their stories made you laugh or cry, etc.

✏️Day 4: Winter Clothes!

Wrap a character in a nice, snug sweater, puffy coat, scarf, or other festive apparel!

Day 5: Storytime!

Grab your blanket and start reading a fic you’ve been wanting to try for a while.

Day 6: The Good, ��Ol Days…

Vibe and watch a playthrough of your favorite episodes of Minecraft: Story Mode. Alternatively, play the game yourself!

✏️Day 7: Ice Scream!

Turn a character into one of those cursed ice cream treats…

Day 8: AU Appreciation!

Send an ask to a creator about an AU they’ve crafted. You never know what may help them develop the story!

Day 9: Why is this here?

Slip some memes into a mutual’s inbox. Or many mutuals’ inboxes… Or a stranger’s inbox!

⭐️Day 10: Free Space!

Day 11: The Pen is Mightier…

Write a festive snippet about the holidays anywhere in the game! (Beacontown, Sky City, The Underneath, etc!)

Day 12: Kind Comments!

Leave appreciation on a few fanfics of your choice! Tell the authors how much they mean to you ^^

✏️Day 13: Cozy…

Time to keep warm during the snowstorm outside. Snuggle up in a blanket, sip some cocoa, or stay close to the fireplace!

Day 14: They would NOT say that—

Have fun with incorrect quotes or draw over images!

Day 15: Repetition!

Repeat any day of your choice or try one from the remaining list!

✏️Day 16: Gift Giving!

Share the holiday spirit with a few fun presents!

Day 17: Time Machine!

Revisit one of your favorite fics to enjoy the tale all over again.

Day 18: Classic Minecraft!

Have fun mining and crafting! Perhaps play with friends—

✏️Day 19: Ugh, Fine. <3

Give one of your least favorite characters appreciation. (It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a small doodle will suffice.)

Day 20: Well-Deserved Break! Take a rest. The coming days will be rather artsy so get your pencils ready!

✏️Day 21: OC appreciation!

✏️Day 22: AU art!

✏️Day 23: Doodle a scene from a fic you enjoy!

✏️Day 24: Your choice!

^ For the prompts above, you may use OCs/AUs that belong to others!

🌲Day 25: Recap!

Sit back, relax and take a look at all you accomplished! Enjoy your holidays! If you would like, use this day as another optional Free Space!

[rainbowwrare]

So I've seen a lot of discourse around some of the arcane ships and I felt like throwing my opinion into the ring too

I will preface this by saying I think shipping is fine, I am a casual shipper of both Jayce/Viktor (Though I think a queerplatonic relationship could work lovely for them) and Vander/Silco (yeah this ones a lil silly I guess but i just think it's funny so)

So firstly, Viktor and Jayce. I have seen lots of people (mostly on reddit but some here too) saying that we shouldn't ship them because guys should be allowed to be close and affectionate without being called gay. That is a valid viewpoint until it comes to the point where one is invalidating LGBTQ relationships. There is definitely a sore lack of healthy, close affectionate m/m friendships in the mainstream media. However, there is also a MASSIVE lack of good M/M, and same sex couple representation in general and there has been for many years. When people try to say "why is everything gay nowadays" it comes across as rude and condescending because it's really not true. The LGBTQ community has fought so hard just to reach the level of acceptance that we are at today, and even that is the bare minimum and below in some places. I think we should be allowed to have both of those things, they should be able to coexist, but people aren't making it better by just attacking anyone else who shares a slightly different opinion.

By all means criticise JayVik for it's faults (Mel?? My girl?? Jayce fumbled you so hard and the writers did too) (Also Skye, they deadass brought her back this season just to get rid of her again) but don't make it about that.

I think let people ship whatever they want to ship, and as long as it's not harming real people and if it's something that could potentially trigger people then keep it to yourself/make sure it stays within circles of people that it won't trigger.

Same applies to Vander/Silco, though I knowww this one is a bit more controversial. Way I see it, the "brothers" that they refer each other to applies more in a "comerades" sense, as I believe it was translated as such in the other language dubs? Anyway yeah, I just think they'd be funny together and they have a lot of angst writing potential so...

Yeah. Just let people ship who they wanna ship, shippers, don't force anyone to believe in it if the writers deliberately left it ambiguous (JayVik ending scene). At the end of the day they are all just fictional characters and That Is Okay. It's all chill.

[alexanderwales]

I finished the rest of Save the Cat almost in a single sitting, not because it was particularly riveting, but because I had time to kill, so this pseudo-liveblog is at an end.

Chapter 6 and 7 are basically the same, collections of small tricks and tips. Neither of them are terribly helpful, and all the tricks have terrible shorthand names like "Pope in a Pool". There's very little in the way of any thematic cohesion to these bits of advice, and no grand theory of the Laws of Storytelling emerges, in spite of the laws being invoked a number of times.

The advice itself is, I think, generally good:

give the reader something to root for early on to kickstart investment

spice up exposition with something entertaining

only one kind of magic per plot

don't tell a story that requires too much setup

don't tell a story with too many moving parts

include a ticking clock

have character arcs

keep the scope limited to the characters we care about

make the hero proactive

show, don't tell

make the bad guy very bad

the plot should go faster the further in it goes

use the whole spectrum of emotion

make sure each character has a distinct voice

make sure desires are "primal"

give characters something that makes them stand out

I don't endorse this whole list, and I especially don't endorse the way that Blake Snyder talks about them or the examples that he gives. And if I endorsed the list, then I would include a lot of caveats, and some general principles of storytelling that should be followed, rather than these specific pieces of advice, which are all conditional. Like ... okay, here's an example:

Exposition is a broccoli that the audience doesn't want to eat. There are very different ways of dealing with this, but we can start with "minimize exposition" as the first "law" of storytelling, and from there, we have different strategies:

Spruce up the exposition, making it into a mini-story, delivered in an entertaining way, so that people aren't bored.

Run something alongside the exposition so that people aren't bored, like sight gags in a comedy or an action scene in a thriller.

Have the exposition delivered through implication and clues, rather than stated outright, like having a character limp rather than explaining to the audience that they were wounded in the war. This is show, don't tell, and it's harder than it seems.

But while Snyder lays out some of this advice, it's all in different sections even though it's dealing with the same fundamental problem, and I'm not sure that he really understands that. If he does understand it, then he's not making that clear for the reader.

My thesis is that to understand storytelling, you want to understand root issues and classes of solutions. I have not written a book on writing, nor do I think there's a market for that, nor do I think I'm qualified, but it's the kind of thing that I would strive to deliver. There are a lot of writing problems that are parallel to each other, and there are a lot of structural elements that are mirrors of each other, so why not try to put it all together that way?

But Snyder makes basically no attempt to put even very related problems together, it's just little bits of advice to gnaw at the most common problems, and ... maybe that's fine, but it felt lazy to me.

Chapter 8 was the final chapter, and was mostly about trying to sell screenplays. This was irrelevant to me, but kind of interesting, and also made me feel like Blake Snyder is a better marketer and salesman than a screenwriter, and also maybe just got lucky to be working at a time when scripts were getting huge bidding wars for no good reason. The efficient market hypothesis gets clowned on again, I guess.

I'll probably write up some overall thoughts, a short review: I think I am unsuited to liveblogging because I go long. But the even shorter version is that I think I picked up a few things that were interesting to think about, and while Blake Snyder is a hack, he's an entertaining writer.

[dr-spectre]

After 19 years, they finally let Shadow use a gun again.

Let's. Fucking. GOOOOOOO!!!!!!! WOOHOOO!!!!!

Im gonna be for real with you guys, I'm cautiously optimistic about this movie. Because on one hand, everything to do with Shadow and Adventure 2 looks absolutely spectacular and everything i wanna see out of an adaptation of an IP that I hold near and dear.

But.... when this blue fucker talks... UGH.

"Somebody better call Google Maps."

"Konichi-whaaaaat?"

"Trickshot!"

"Dude... I'm standing right here."

"Okay he took us all at once."

SHUT UP!!!!! GOD JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! SONIC DOESN'T TALK LIKE THIS!!!! HE NEVER DID!!! CAN YOU STOPPPP!!!! Sonic is a guy who knows when to take shit seriously but always has a feeling of fun around him. He's like "aww yeah bring it on! Let's go!" He's not making references to fucking god damn google maps or olive garden.

"But it's an adaptation and they are gonna make changes." And I think those changes fucking suck and movie Sonic feels barely anything like game Sonic. Movie Tails is fine, movie Knuckles is okay and it's clear that they mixed in a lot of different elements across his appearances into a single character, movie Eggman is good because it's fucking Jim Carrey, and movie Shadow looks absolutely phenomenonal... but Sonic? No man... nuh uh...

Knuckles is written perfectly decently and I liked the Detective Pikachu joke because it sorta makes sense and fits because they are in Japan and Tails is a fluffy yellow creature. But everything to do with Sonic is just... no. Stop. Enough. God damn.

Im not saying Sonic can't have fun and can't make jokes, I'm just saying that they need to handle it better, because one of my least favourite things in media is when you have something with a lot of emotions and personal stuff that's so intriguing and interesting, and it gets undermined and trampled over by awful jokes.

It's like this movie is being written by two different writing teams, one team that loves Sonic and the Adventure titles, and another team who's just a bunch of Hollywood writers that have been fed a diet of mediocre action comedy movies and Joss Whedon movies.

I really wanna fully love what I'm seeing here, but I can't ignore the blue stain that's bringing it down....

Im also really worried about what they are gonna do with Gerald Robotnik but I have a feeling that Eggman is slowly gonna realise that Gerald is more crazy than he first thought and that there's gonna be a twist in the movie. There HAS to be one and we're gonna see the insane Gerald we know from SA2, right?.... RIGHT?!??!! I HOPE SO!!! OR ELSE IM GONNA GET REALLY MAD!

Sorry if I seem negative, I'm just voicing my opinions and i don't want others to get swept up in the hype and think that this movie is gonna be a masterpiece and have their thoughts muffled. Because this movie won't be a masterpiece, no movie can be.

Im not saying that if you are excited for this movie then you're a dummy, fuck no, IM EXCITED TOO!!! I GREW UP WITH THE BLUE RAT! IM A LONG TIME FAN!! BUT IM ALSO REALLY NERVOUS!!

All I'm hoping for is that I walk out of the theatre and I feel satisfied and happy. I dont wanna feel mixed, I don't wanna feel like my time has been wasted, I wanna feel like this movie is fucking great. And I'm praying with all of my damn heart that it is.

[cripplecharacters]

Hey folks, fully abled writer here! I've got a question about nicknames/descriptive names related to physical differences and abilities. I write a lot of fantasy fiction with differing name and language systems than the real world. I'm also fond of using compound names, such as "Dawnbringer, Hardcutter, Bluemark, Bearhunter, etc." So in a fantasy world where much of this society has given names and clan surnames following a specific theme of strength and durability, I have a character that has both his given name but also a nickname many people call him. This nickname is "Firebrand," and I invented him many years ago when I wasn't very critical of my writing or biases and just wanted a cool-sounding fantasy name. He is is a city guard in a city that is regularly attacked by fantasy animals for plot and environment-related reasons, and as I developed this character more I decided that rather than his original dark edgy backstory where he was called Firebrand because he was tortured, he now gains the name Firebrand because he survived a dragon's fire breath and came out of it with burn scars up his chest neck and arms, particularly on his hands that limits some of his movement and dexterity. I intend to make it clear in the story that it isn't a derogatory name, it's part of their society's theme of having names that signify how people survive things.

He likes the nickname and the meaning it has in his culture, because to him it means he's good at his job and he has survived hard times. Right now, the story is told through third-person P.O.V, and he is primarily referred to in non-dialogue narration as his nickname. In dialogue, he usually introduces himself with his given name and surname, but many people including the rest of the city guards refer to him with the nickname . His family and boyfriend will use either name for him depending on the context and company. At a later point in the story, when he and some others end up in a situation where they are dealing with fairies and the magical rules about giving them your name, his nickname gives him an advantage against the fairy rules.

Is this a reasonable concept at all, or is it all very weird to use an injury and acquired physical difference to identify someone with? Or, if the concept is alright but the name itself is bad, do you have any suggestions for how I might want to come up with a different nickname? I'm thinking if the use of the word "brand" in the nickname has too much of a negative connotation, I could try to replace it with something like "Firehand" or "Firebrave" that might have a clearer positive connotation to readers as well as his in-story society.

And although it's not the purpose of this question, I have been doing research about burn scars and treatment; this blog has been helpful! Since the burns were deep and he has limb tremors and cramps as well as scars, he has exercises and ointments to keep his scarred skin flexible, and he takes care not to take long tasks that will strain his hands with fine motor skills or whatnot. When on duty, his uniform includes gloves and a high collar for protection, but in casual clothing his hands are bare and his clothing doesn't hide his scars unless it's for weather protection. I may come back in the future with more questions about that, but I've determined what I need to start with about the physical effects his injuries have on him.

Thank you, and I hope you're all having a good day!!

Hello!

This sounds fine and pretty cool to me. The most important part is that the name isn't intended to be derogatory and that he actually likes it.

As a different disability-related example, "Wheels" and all its variants is a surprisingly common nickname that wheelchair users use (mostly younger guys). Sometimes you have a few of these dudes in one group and three people look at you when you try to call for one of them, it's just a fun nickname. Could it also be a cartoon-bully level derogatory insult if it was used for a character that hates it? 100%. It's very context dependent.

That's the same sentiment that's crucial here I think. Your character likes it and is proud of it? Go ahead. It makes sense in his cultural background and his nickname falls under a similar naming convention so it fits. I like the mention of how it reminds him that "he has survived hard times", since it's something that I've heard from burn survivors who explain why they choose "survivor" over "victim" to refer to themselves.

To answer your actual question: yes, I think it's a reasonable concept that makes sense in the character's setting. In another context yeah, it could be weird to identify with an acquired physical difference like that, but other people will do it anyway, you could as well make it "yours" and be proud of it, wear it as a positive. I don't think it's something that is an automatic "no" even if kinda weird. I'd go case-by-case and in your character's case it seems great.

As for the actual name, I agree that "brand" does have a negative connotation in English, all the criminal/cattle/label associations are less than ideal. I don't think it's detrimental to the concept like some other potential nicknames could be (looking at all the No-Faces and Half-Faces, which I do think are strictly derogatory) but if changing it to something less loaded wouldn't be an issue I'd probably do that. Both -hand and -brave are pretty awesome (the latter kinda reminds me of a warrior cat name but that's definitely a me problem), since they're either neutral or very positive in their connections.

Personally I care more about the fact that you're researching your character thoroughly, don't think that him being a burn survivor comes with some intrinsic negative traits, nor seem to put him in one of the Four Boxes. That's more important than terminology and vice versa - one could use the most up-to-date correct terms to refer to their OC and still make them into an offensive nightmare with bad execution. It doesn't mean that specific words aren't important but they (generally) aren't what breaks or makes representation that people want to see.

You seem to be doing good: my advice is to rethink the -brand part due to its connotations, and just keep researching as you write him.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[19catsncounting]

Hey I think there's something that I have to keep reminding myself and maybe you also need to remind yourself of sometimes and that's that it's actually really hard to Fandom wrong.

Like there's a lot of writers and creators who produce works better than I could. Frankly, I suck at meta. And that's fine! I'm not gonna get called to the Fandom Principal's Office to be told that I'm failing in Fandom and need to get my grades up or I'll lose my spot on the posting team. I can commit to the most wildly OOC portrayal of a character and people will just not like it and that's!!! Okay!!!

No one is getting paid for this! You can't get fired! It's nice to find like-minded individuals but you don't have to change your mind for the sole purpose of finding community!

We are playing in sandboxes and it is Normal and Good to play in your corner and see other people playing differently in theirs. You should fight any urge towards conformity in your mind because it is the final sanctuary where you can be free.

And while this is mostly a "Hey feeling insecure about how you participate in Fandom is something you can and should challenge" I do also mean "Hey people who make Fucked Up content and people who make Fixed Wholesome content are not and never should be enemies."

I tend to make things leaning towards Fixing and Found Family but that will never earn me a place in heaven and has no weight to my own morality and does not make me a good person and I would drive any Noncon Torture Sadist Darkfic creator to the airport at 5 AM and bring us both homemade lattes. I have taken so many pieces of great characterization for my domestic hopeful comfort fics from Really Fucking Dark fics because those fics break open characters in new and intense and beautiful lights. The ONLY reason I don't write hurt/no comfort is because that's not the enrichment I'm looking for, it isn't the treatment I need for my personal psychic wounds but it is perfectly! Beautifully! Worthy! As a trope all the same! And it is beneficial for people who are not me!!!

Fiction is morally neutral in every way - no matter what you create, whether it is hopeful or tragic, or beautiful, or mediocre, you are allowed and encouraged to make it.

[melmedardasworld]

So I edited this post a few times since what I wanted to convey just couldn't come out, and then I stumbled across this explanation.

And all of this!

To continue with my own thoughts.

I'm not sure where the takes of Mel is more than Jayce's girlfriend or being reduced to just being at a man's side is coming from that is being spouted.... Meljay shippers know this?

People are annoyed and confused to see what was set up from S1 until S2 Act 1 and the sudden a disconnect of how we got to know the relationship was handled and their final conversation. Most of us would've been fine (I know I would) with the breakup if it wasn't so off and lackluster.

It didn't feel like Mel and Jayce, granted they went through the trenches both physically and mentally, but that understanding is only being applied to Jayce in how he behaves. Mel is just a bystander and has to take it, and she was never like that. Or did her time trapped by the BR just make her numb to everything because she feels so much and hasawakenied as a Mage and empath? If so, the writers did shit to make it clear, and we have to fill in gaps and explanations with headcanons.

Most importantly, Mel only gave and gave to others (professionally, non proffesional, platonical, familial, etc) but got nothing of the sort in return.... not even a hug, a hand squeeze, a how are you nada. That apology she got was, again, so offstandish. I didn't expect Jayce to cry out or be a lovey dovey anything, but he was more heated to scold her a beat. Mel barely got a word out there, too, to explain her side. She doesn't even fully understand her powers...

Also, in regards to interactions, why didn't we see a moment between her and Caitlin? When her mother died, Mel told Jayce to go to her, and had she seen how Ambessa did what she did, Mel would've shut things down, too. But we couldn't see the two of them bond over having lost their mothers?

No one in Piltover was concerned with their influential councilor who went missing for weeks/months? It would've been nice had we seen her and Shoola as the last ones standing or talk about the future of Piltover and the convo moving to Mel returning to Noxus and leaving it in the people's/their hands, but not a lick.

We just see her board a ship because she now has the weight of the Medarda line (who she needs to build from the ground up while the Black Rose is still out there and likely has to deal with more politics in Noxus that is more on the violent side) on her shoulders to a country she's been exiled for who knows how long.

Mel is getting to terms with her powers, her legacy, but even with her mother, Kino, Elora and now going back to a country she was exiled from, AND having to lead a faceless army. WHERE IS HER COMFORT!?!?! Who does she have to share all of this with above one minute.

It also doesn't help that people (yes, shippers mostly cause one scroll on your page they barely talk about Mel outside of ship. Not even about the popular 'she has a larger storyline' takes. Just invalidate why Meljay doesn't and never would work or was always doomed takes in response to OG shippers sharing their grievances.

There is weird and fake trolling in the meljay/mel tag when the same people never had something to say about her/ any of her relationship up until the finale and the last few Meljay scenes.

But now everyone can supposedly yap as some fake intellectual and shade others' people being annoyed, sad, and disappointed in the WAY it was written to THEM for their ship.

Meljay shippers literally had to create a niche tag because the main ones are being spammed with bad take after take and where Mel/Meljay is undermined while claiming it is all in balance in the end. Is that not insane?

Please, miss me with that. It is irritating and condescending.

Shippers in fandom love love and just a relationship in general. This is nothing new so why all these bad fate takes? They are allowed to vent their frustration on how the story for their ship is handled. Most of the same shippers also have an analysis of the characters' they ship and larger storyline that was set. Act 3 plot lines were squeezed in such a way with so many minutes left. I am still of the opinion that we should've gotten either 3 or 6 more episodes to tie all the stuff together properly since the writers themselves decided to introduce all these storylines. There was just a disconnect and OOC behavior in Meljay that wasn't expanded upon in a better way imo.

[thenationofzaun]

It's after 1:32:00. Here's what she says:

"For me personally it was a moment to be like, oh we can actually kind of reclaim this trauma for Vi. We can help her heal in a lot of ways because I think that was for us something that Vi's arc really did for her, like I've mentioned that we wanted Vi to be able to ask who she was if she had no one left to protect and that meant Vi saying what does Vi want instead of what does Vi do for other people, and sort of one way to do that was for me was getting to sort of process that trauma and reclaim it for herself and work through it and now be able to move forward from it in a healthier happy way."

Incredibly bizarre for a number of reasons. Firstly, the only trauma she talks about is Vi feeling like she has to protect and do things for other people. And the "reclamation" in question is Vi finally being able to choose something for herself, in this case, eating Caitlyn out in the prison cell. Not once does this writer mention the trauma of, you know, being jailed as a teenager then enduring almost a decade of abuse, beatings, solitary confinement, and the grief of thinking her whole family dead. It's like this massive and torturous part of Vi's life that should realistically have a huge impact on her character doesn't even cross her mind. You have a character who endured teenage years in a comically evil prison. And when it's time to write a scene with her in a prison cell, a sex scene at that, the only trauma you feel it pertinent to dissect is a nebulous feeling of obligation? And not the borderline child torture?

There is also no mention of Caitlyn assaulting Vi in S2 episode 3. A rich Piltovian cop beating Vi, who suffered physical abuse at the hands of cops her entire life. This is another trauma that is never mentioned by this writer. Does being in a prison cell stir up any nasty memories of being beaten by wardens as a teenager for Vi? Did getting beaten by Caitlyn stir up those memories? Why, in a scene where she stands with Caitlyn in a prison cell, is none of this brought up? Did this truly not even cross the writers' mind? Or did they think it wasn't that important or significant to Vi's character?

Second, she says that Vi in this moment chooses something for herself instead of doing something for other people because she feels she has no one left to protect. Is she forgetting that this scene takes place directly after her little sister confesses suicidal thoughts to her? Even if Vi didn't pick up on the blatant suicidal implications in Jinx's words (she's not the brightest character after all), she still feels like she doesn't have to protect her clearly grieving and mentally unstable sister who ran off barefoot, unarmed and alone, in a city teeming with armed enforcers? Okay fine, I guess Vi really doesn't care about Jinx nor does she think much of Isha's death.

But then there's the entire idea of this "protect people" trauma being such a big deal for Vi's character arc. So we're supposed to find it empowering when she stops protecting her family and chooses intimacy with Caitlyn. Yet in the show, does this really land? In Season 1 Act 1, Vi definitely tried her best to protect Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. A significant moment was the ending of episode 2, when Vi turns herself in to the enforcers to protect her loved ones and the undercity at large from Piltover's crackdown. A truly selfless, brave, and protective act. But post Act 1, her protective nature is focused entirely on Caitlyn.

In Season 1 Act 2, her stated goal is to save her sister from Silco. Yet she agrees to aid an enforcer to hunt down her sister and is actually very helpful the entire time. She never even tries to hinder or redirect Caitlyn from finding Jinx, even though her Act 1 self was constantly hindering enforcers from getting to Powder. She reveals the name "Jinx" to Caitlyn, then leads her directly to Jinx without considering the consequences. In Act 3, she leaves Ekko to fight Jinx to the death, choosing to protect Caitlyn instead of either of her little siblings. Later, she gives up the name Jinx to the Council. Then she goes on a rampage on Silco's soldiers without ever looking for Ekko or Jinx to see if they survived the bridge fight. So protecting them clearly wasn't on her list of priorities. The next time she protects someone in Season 1, it's again Caitlyn, during the dinner party. Post Act 1, there is never any significant moment of Vi protecting anyone other than Caitlyn in Season 1.

In Season 2 she joins the enforcers for Caitlyn, gasses Zaun with Caitlyn, lets Caitlyn take multiple kill shots at Jinx. Again, she never looks for or even thinks of Ekko. She doesn't do anything to protect the Firelights. She does protect Isha and by extension Jinx. But again, this is after allowing multiple kill shot attempts at Jinx and gassing Zaun. Sure, she states out loud that she thinks the Grey was protecting the people of Zaun, but the narrative itself calls her out via Jinx. So we're not supposed to agree with Vi's assessment that the Grey was protective, are we? In Act 2 we see her protective nature towards her family return when she protects Jinx and Isha from Warwick. (Fun fact: in the leaks she says "he's gonna kill us" before charging at Warwick. In the actual episode she says "he's gonna kill you." Presumably they changed the line to be a bit more selfless). Then she also protects Vander, and later when Isha explodes she protects Jinx from the blast.

But these moments pale in comparison to how much she protects and does things for Caitlyn throughout both seasons. If you keep track of every protective/selfless action Vi takes throughout her run on Arcane, Caitlyn takes the cake as the recipient. At times she either passively doesn't do anything to protect Jinx, Ekko, the Firelights, and Zaunites in general. At other times she is actively the one causing harm to Jinx and Zaunites. So this supposedly profound moment where she "breaks free" of the burden of protecting everyone and chooses to be intimate with Caitlyn........... just falls flat. Because it's just more of the same of what she's already been choosing to do for the last season and a half. This isn't a huge turning point for her character. She's doing the same thing she's been doing for most of her screentime. Choosing Caitlyn over her family.

It was just so baffling hearing this take from this writer because it's so incongruent with what's actually onscreen. There are many moments in the show where it really feels like the story in the writers' heads and the story we all watched don't add up. And many, many moments where it seems the writers don't really grasp the disturbing gravity of some of the things they wrote into the show. Like Vi's time in prison or her being hit by Caitlyn. It's like they sprinkled those things in for spicy drama with no thought to how they would impact Vi as a person. Very shallow and bizarre writing choices.

An Arcane writer saying Vi had sex with Caitlyn in a dank prison cell to "reclaim her trauma"

[h0ney-mochi]

I'm thinking of a subby!xiao x dom!Afab!Reader, where it's xiao's first time and he starts crying because of the extreme pleasure he is receiving lmao

(I wanna hear his moans, whimpers, whines, crying, I wanna feel him squirming as he begs me to go faster on his cock lmao)

Anyways thanks! I hope you have a wonderful day :D

sub Xiao x dom afab!reader

SMUT/NSFW CONTENT (sub!xiao, dom!reader, afab!reader, riding, dacryphilia?, praise)

Summary: You've started being more intimate with Xiao a few months ago. Make-outs, some touching, but nothing too far... And then, one night, he tells you his thoughts on wanting to do more.

A/n: YR SO RIGHT... he'd be whimpering and whining for you to speed up, go harder, he wants more!!! <3 Hope you have a good day as well, anon! I haven't written in so fucking long that I'm scared this isn't that good... gosh help

Minor writer, dni if uncomfortable!

It's another night of you and your lovely adeptus boyfriend. He's still not used to the title of that, especially when you run up to him muttering the words with a huge smile on your face. You've asked him if he's uncomfortable, that you can change the nickname up, that he can tell you if he doesn't like it— Before seeing the blush on his cheeks that he's trying very hard to hide. He'll say it's fine, avoiding your teasing gaze, not wanting to admit that he does like the name. Especially when it comes from your lips.

Another one of those nights of you laying in the grass, kicking your feet in the air while reading a book in the pale moonlight. Xiao is beside you, looking over the hill. It was calm and quiet. Occasionally, you could hear some bird making noise in the distance, but other than that, it was peaceful. You flip another page and smirk at a sentence.

Xiao has already moved his attention away from the fields, looking down at you now, watching your eyes move across the words on the page. He slightly furrows his eyebrows, deep in some thoughts. It's fascinating how you have so many sides to you. Just in the early morning of the same day, you had him against the wall, messily making out. And now you're giggling at a book you picked up from the library days prior.

He feels the same weird feeling in his stomach that he felt in the morning when you had your tongue down his throat. What was it? What is it? You two never went far. You guys started getting sort of intimate a few months ago, maybe. He was inexperienced. It all always was too much, making him light-headed. Even a slightly heavier make-out session was enough to make his knees buckle. He doesn't know if you've been with someone else before him... You do it so easily. You always take the lead. Is it because you've learned it with someone else or.. or...

Oh, how he wished he would be the first one.

"Xiao?" Your gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he meets your eyes. He stares at you for a moment before looking away, answering you with a simple 'What?'.

"You seem pretty deep in thought, something bothering you? Do you need to go already?" You ask him while sliding a bookmark on your page and closing the book. Xiao grunts, shaking his head, "No, I'm fine." You won't let that go. You sit up and scoot closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. He moves his head to the side so you can lay yours comfortably. Your two fingers do a walk on his leg, and you smile. "Xiaooo," you drag out his name, chuckling at the end, "Tell me what's up."

Xiao sighs in annoyance, looking away. You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He tenses up and slowly turns his head to look down at you. He's met with your eyes already staring at him. "Come onnn, you know I won't judge," you continue your sentence. Xiao stares at you with an annoyed look. Some silence passes, and he blinks a few times before looking away again.

"It's nothing, I've just been thinking... about us. About what we... do." He finally says, absentmindedly moving his thumb against your hand. You hum in a bit of confusion before straightening your back, and he looks at you when you do that, eyes slightly widening in some fear. You take both of his hands in yours and look at him, "That's what's bothering you? Am I going too fast? I'm really sorry. You shouldn't keep these things to yourself, honey." You speak, furrowing your eyebrows, slightly chewing on your lip. Have you really been pushing too hard on him? Well, it would make sense that it would be too much for him... But it's the first time that he's bringing this up. How long has he been thinking like this?

"Oh, what? No, no, I-" Xiao's eyes widen at your words, and he quickly shakes his head, sighing again, "No, you got it wrong. You're not doing anything wrong, [name]. I was just thinking that..." I want you. I need you. I need more.

He feels his cheeks start to burn at his own thoughts. How is he supposed to say it out loud?

You stare at him with a tilted head. You try to think of what he's trying to tell you right now and make sure you won't be getting anything wrong, that you won't be misunderstanding... but his blush is really telling.

A small grin tugs at your lips. "You were thinking?" He swallows, breaking eye contact to look to the side. It's not like him to feel all flustered, but you always manage to mess with his head. Never in a million years would he admit to needing you in a way that is incredibly strange, at least to him. Yet you're willing to listen, you're grinning. You have a hunch on what he could say, and it makes him feel embarrassed.

"...That maybe we could..." He starts, feeling his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry. How is this so hard to say out loud?

He breathes in and then slowly exhales. Quickly glancing to you, he sees your grin. He's not sure if he should continue looking at you or look away — what can save him from these feelings right now?

"Maybe we could do... something more?" Xiao finally continues after a moment of silence. The way he worded it made him feel hot, nervousness creeping in. He starts to think again, staring in your eyes, of what you're going to say. Then he feels you squeeze his hands, and he feels his heart slowly slowing down. You let out a quiet chuckle before responding, "Yeah, we can. How far do you want me to go? Will you tell me when we're there?" He sits there, blinking at you. You hear him mutter an 'um...' and he's glancing to the side again.

"It's okay. You'll tell me when you'll need to then," You reassure him and lean in to give him a quick kiss. He feels your lips for a second, but before he can do anything back, you've already pulled away, and he feels some disappointment. You put your head back on his shoulder, speaking up again, "Just tell me when you want to try something more, or you want it to just happen in one of our moments?"

He moves his hand away from yours and coughs into it, not being able to handle your questions. How are they working him up already? Guess he's just letting his mind wander far too easily...

You noticed. Of course you did, so you spoke on it. Moving your head again, you lean into his ear and whisper, "Or do you want to do it right now?"

He lets out a breath before swallowing. It doesn't take long for him to reply, shaking his head up and down to your question. You let out a small laugh and move away, moving into his lap instead. You take your hand away from his and put both of them on the sides of his face, letting one move down to his neck and go further into his soft hair.

He stares at you with wide eyes, breathing through his mouth. He can't hide his nervousness. Or was it excitement? Neither of you knew right now.

He's already leaning closer to you, glancing down to your lips and back up to your eyes, so you only do the same. You lean in and press your lips against his once again, and his hands freeze up for a moment, before he moves them to sit on your hips, gloved hands slightly digging into your clothing.

He kisses you back, letting his eyes close shut in the process. You move your lips against his, and you feel his mouth slightly part, and you take it as a chance to slide your tongue in. You move your thumb against his cheek while running your other hand through his hair. He sighs through his nose, kissing you back, slightly melting from it as you move your tongue. And he can't help, but imagine where else he could feel it..

His hands slightly tighten on your hips, and he pulls you closer to him. He needs you closer, closer... And you let him, shifting slightly in his lap so it's a bit more comfortable for you. And that's when you feel it.

You move your hand away from his hair and slowly run it down his neck to his chest, feeling his heart beat against it. Xiao makes a tiny sound when you move your hand further downwards over his stomach. You've always trailed your hand there, but it felt different this time. Probably because he said that the two of you could do something more, and you're moving towards said wish.

You smile against his mouth and pull away, earning a tiny whine from the man in front of you. His eyes widen as his own reaction, and he glances away. You tap his cheek with your thumb, and he looks back to your face. "Eyes on me," you whisper in a soft tone. The way he looks at you and the nod of his head makes your heart skip a beat. It was cute.

"You want me to go further, yeah?" You ask, and he nods again, not confident in his voice right now. You move your hand over his pants, slowly feeling him through the clothing, and you see his eyes slightly shutting before opening fully again. You're not doing a lot, just rubbing your hand up and down, feeling his dick pulse from your movements. Yet to him, it already feels a lot, but not enough. He tries to stay still, but as a small noise falls from his lips, he bucks his hips forward, trying to get more friction from your hand. You smile, and he stares back at you with pleading eyes.

In a quick movement, you pull your hand away, and he sighs at the loss. But you had other plans anyway. Using both of your hands, you push on his chest, making him fall down onto the grass beneath the two of you. Xiao watches your movements as he props himself up with his elbows, wondering what you've got in mind for him. He's met with your eyes that seem to have a dark glint within them. Your fingers hook onto his pants, and you're slowly pulling down his clothing, making him jump slightly. It wasn't that cold, but if you're showing lots of bare skin, it does send a few chills down your body.

The flush on his cheeks gets darker as he realizes just how excited he's got from you, but he doesn't dare to look away, no — he needs to see what you're going to do.

You don't make him wait, immediately moving your hand over his underwear, wrapping your hand around his hard-on. Slowly moving your hand, same motions as before, just with a slightly tighter grip. You move your head down and leave a small kiss at the top of his clothed dick and he pulses in your hand. Hearing his breathing get shaky already makes you only wonder - how is he going to sound when he actually feels you?

"[name], please..." You hear him quietly speak, letting out a breath right after, "Can you...?" You lid your eyes at him, asking with a smirk, "Can I what?" He balls his hands into fists, knowing very well that you were teasing him.

"Please, you know- you know what I mean.." He mumbles, slightly moving his hips. You let out a small laugh, nodding. You pull his underwear out of the way, further down his legs, and he shivers from the cool air hitting his dick, getting some goosebumps in the process.

Wrapping your fingers around him again, you feel his warmth on your palm. You let some of your spit fall on his dick and you start jerking him off. Xiao lets out a moan, immediately jumping at the sensation. You kiss his tip before leaning away and climbing on top of his body. One hand bent enough so you can still jack him off, you put your other hand on the grass next to him, so you wouldn't fall over. He's the one to kiss you first, already opening his mouth for you.

It doesn't take that long for him to already start moving his hips in the same motion as your hand, hands gripping at the grass and loud moans spilling in your mouth, getting swallowed down by you. From the way he's reacting and getting more desperate, you could tell he was close.

So you slowed down your hand, and oh boy, the disappointed moan he let out in your mouth made butterflies fly in your stomach.

You pulled away from his lips, and he opened his eyes to stare at you, confusement visible in his expression. "Why- why did you stop?" He asked, but then his question was answered once he saw you pulling down your own pants, along with your underwear. His mind doesn't process what's happening right now until you're towering over him again, rubbing his dick against yourself. That sends a spark through his body, and he whines, breathing heavily. And then you look at him.

"Is this okay?" You ask, teasing his tip with your fingers, and he only nods in response. "Can you say it out loud?" You tilt your head at him and watch him stutter. "I mean- Yes, it's fine- okay-" Xiao speaks, eyes darting between your face and his dick, "Please-"

And then you lowered yourself down on him, moving your hands on his chest. Xiao's breath gets caught in his throat, and he goes quiet, mouth agape. It was fairly easy to take him in since his reactions and noises always made you get wet. Still, it felt foreign since this is the first time both of you are going to enjoy each other. Your hands clutch onto his clothes as you let out a soft moan, fully sitting down on his lap. It felt nice.

Xiao, on the other hand, was digging his hands in the grass, plucking a few off the ground from the harsh grip. He lets out a strangled moan, chest rising from a few quick breaths. Oh, you were so warm, he was inside of you, oh dear Archons, he was inside of you. Holy fuck.

You move a hand up to cup his cheek, making him zone back into your eyes. In a gentle voice, you ask, "Are you alright?" He nods slowly, unable to form proper words. And you take that as your cue to start moving. Using the strength you had in your legs, you lift yourself off his lap, leaving the tip of his dick inside you, before moving back down, slightly hitting his stomach. Xiao groans, his eyes almost closing from the feeling.

"You- you're so warm... You feel so-" He chokes out, interrupting himself with a shaky breath, "So good, fuck." You smile and grip onto his clothing, riding him at a quicker pace now. Xiao's back arched, and he let out a gasp. His hands shot up to your waist, holding on for dear life as you moved up and down his dick, moaning in the process.

He can't stop his noises now, that's for sure.

"Fuck, ah, you're- fuck, you're so warm, gaH—!" He whines, digging his hands into your skin, "Please- please go f-faster, [name], please..." You lie down on his chest, pressing your head into the crook of his neck and did as he begged. Crashing your hips up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin, combining that with the pure pleasure... Xiao couldn't hold back. His head falls back against the grass and moans flow freely from his throat as he tries to calm down. He feels tears prick at his eyes and his fingers dig harder in your waist, toes curling against the ground.

It felt so, so fucking good.

And then you moaned in his ear, and his eyes shot open towards the night sky. You moved one hand under his shirt, trailing it up his chest as you continued your movements on his dick. Through your moans, you managed to let out some proper words. "You like that? That feels good, doesn't it?"

He tries to nod, but he can't move from the pleasure, pressing the back of his head down against the ground. "Yes, ah-! Yes, feels good, fuck, feels good, feels so, so fucking good- Please, please-"

He's not sure what he's begging for, but he needs it, and he wants it so bad. He sniffles, feeling tears leave his eyes. There's something building up inside him, and he needs that release, whatever it is — he needs you to free him.

Your lips meet his neck, teeth grazing his skin. Your hips slap against his stomach, the noise from your wetness making it sound so much louder. Both your moans are mixing together, yet Xiao's are so much louder than yours. He's already sensitive, but he does not want to pull away, he can't, he feels something, he doesn't know what it is, but he fucking needs it. And so he begs with tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please, fuck- Please, I need- I need to- Fuck, [name], please, I want to- Haah- [name], please—!" Xiao moans out, his hands digging harder, daring to leave bruises on your skin and you groan in response, biting down on his neck.

"Mhm, you can do it, come on-" You say, detaching from his neck and straightening your back, quickly moving your hips ups and down, feeling your legs starting to sting, "Make me proud, Xiao. You're- fuck, you're doing so, so good."

And that's enough to have him snap. His eyes shut close, pushing more tears out, and his head falls back again. His dick pulses in you and you smile, staring down at his fucked out face. Wet streaks illuminated by the moonlight. His tight grip on your hips slightly loosens as he cums, letting out a sharp gasp. You don't stop yet, still trying to reach your own high and he slightly trembles beneath you, letting out broken moans.

His eyes are blurry and his mouth is dry, his heart is racing and he's sensitive. When you finally lean down to his face, it takes a bit for him to focus in on you. "Xiao?" Your voice sounds slightly distant, followed by a small chuckle, "Did that feel good, baby boy?"

He feels a small smile tug at his lips. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him, thumb brushing away his tears. He kisses back with the energy he still has left, and he meets your eyes when you pull away. He looked so pretty in the moonlight. His face was messy, red eyeliner stains, wet streaks from his tears...

"Yeah," his voice feels sore, "It did."

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy the taste <3

© h0ney-mochi 2024 / Please don't copy or repost my work and writings! <3