#and even then he refuses to tell me most of the story

[mmso-notlikethat]

ten years (so sad) …. now what’s that you said about him dying and no one knows for 20-30 years…. 👀

(please please please i need more angst 🙏)

honestly i have no excuse except i wanted to write Tommy's pov and you wanted a longer coma-ish sorry no death (i couldn't)... but this is still way too sad even for me :)...

No MCD, but there is an OC death. / Heavy Angst :)

The first time Tommy realized he wasn’t dead—really knew he was still alive—was after what must have been weeks. Maybe a month. A nurse brushed his arm during a bed change, and he felt it. Faint, like a whisper on his skin, but enough to flood him with hope. He tried to speak, tried to move, but his body betrayed him. His voice was a phantom, his muscles silent.

The nurse left, oblivious.

He wanted to scream. He tried to scream.

Nothing.

After some time—Tommy couldn’t know exactly how much, a couple of months, maybe less or more—Buck showed up. Tommy thought, How…? But the question faded as quickly as it came. Instead, a warmth spread through him, a quiet, desperate relief.

Buck showed up almost every day. Tommy figured Buck must come whenever he wasn’t on shift. He could hear Buck’s voice, steady and warm, as he talked about everything and anything to fill the silence. He talked about Maddie having another baby, about Eddie moving back to El Paso for a while, and then coming back with Christopher.

Sometimes Buck would cry, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Please, Tommy, just wake up. Please.”

Those moments tore Tommy apart. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to wipe away Buck’s tears, to tell him he was still here. But his body refused to cooperate. All he could do was listen, helpless, as Buck poured his heart out beside him.

A year passed.

Tommy didn’t know how he kept track of time, but he felt it move around him.

The nurses would mention dates in passing, news reports played faintly on TV screens in the hallway, and Buck still came. Once or twice a week, like clockwork, Buck sat by his side, talking about the firehouse, Maddie, Jee-Yun, her sister, and the world outside. Tommy tried to listen, to hang on to those words. They were all he had.

But he also noticed the changes. Buck didn’t stay as long as he used to. Sometimes his visits were rushed, his words distracted. Tommy wanted to shout, Don’t go yet. I’m here! I’m still here!

But he couldn’t.

Five years passed.

The visits became less frequent. Buck came once a month now, bringing flowers that always wilted before the next visit. Tommy learned to brace himself for the quiet. He spent his days locked inside his own mind, desperate for some way to communicate, to show anyone that he wasn’t gone. The staff—the nurses, physical therapists, doctors—anyone… But especially Buck.

Whenever Buck came, he brought a presence to the room that Tommy clung to. He talked about everything: the 118’s updates, Maddie’s growing family, Eddie and Chris, and especially Alex, the little boy he had adopted last year. Buck’s voice lit up when he spoke about Alex—how he was starting to babble, how he smiled the brightest at bedtime stories, how he loved to play with his stuffed animals.

Tommy loved hearing about him. He loved Alex, even though he’d never met him. He clung to those stories like lifelines.

One day, Buck sat down heavily in the chair beside him, his voice quieter than usual. “I met someone,” he said, his words hesitant. “Her name is Amelia. She’s… she’s great Tommy. You’d like her.”

Tommy’s heart shattered, but he couldn’t blame Buck. What else was he supposed to do? They weren’t together when this happened. They hadn’t been for months. He shouldn’t have even hoped. Buck deserved happiness, even if it wasn’t with him. And Tommy had no right to feel like this—no right to feel the ache that settled deep in his chest.

Still, the words haunted him long after Buck left.

Ten years passed.

Buck came every three months now, sometimes less. Tommy had given up trying to track the days. He spent most of his time floating in and out of awareness, only rousing when someone touched him or adjusted his position. The staff rarely spoke to him except to comment on his care. He was just another body to them.

The next time Buck visited, his smile was softer, his voice lighter. “I married her,” he said, raising his hand instinctively to show the ring, even though Tommy couldn’t see it. But somehow, Tommy felt it. “Amelia. She’s amazing, Tommy. She’s good for me.”

Tommy’s chest ached, but also, he was happy for Buck. Genuinely happy. Buck deserved this, deserved someone who could be there for him—though he couldn’t move a muscle to show it. He wondered what Amelia was like, what it would feel like to meet her. But all he could do was listen as Buck described a life he would never be part of.

Buck stayed longer this time, the warmth in his voice pulling Tommy out of the haze he lived in most days. “Oh, and uh… I’m a captain now,” Buck said, almost shyly, as though he didn’t want to brag. “Took me long enough, huh? Bobby always said I’d get there. I wish you could’ve been there, Tommy. You would’ve laughed at the whole thing. I was so nervous.” He chuckled softly, the sound tugging at something deep inside Tommy.

Tommy wanted to tell him, Good job, Evan. You deserve that. I’m so proud of you. The words sat heavy in his chest, unsaid and unheard.

A few visits later, Buck shared something that lit up the room. “Amelia’s pregnant,” he said, his happiness spilling into the space like sunlight. “We’re having a baby, Tommy. Can you believe it? Me—a dad again.” He laughed lightly, and Tommy could almost picture the sparkle in his eyes. “I hope the kid turns out as awesome as Alex.”

Tommy was happy for Buck. He truly was. He just wanted to be part of it somehow, maybe in some small way he already was. But he wanted Buck to know—really know—how happy Tommy was for him. How much he wished he could say it, could share in this joy with him.

Fifteen years passed.

Buck’s visits came twice a year now. He still talked, but not as much. There were longer silences as he sat by the bed, looking at Tommy with guilt in his eyes. “Amelia and I… we had a little girl,” he said during one visit. “Her name’s Emma. She’s five now.”

Emma. Tommy committed the name to memory, repeating it over and over in his mind like a prayer. He imagined her laugh, her tiny hands. Did she have Evan’s eyes? His curls? Or maybe she had a birthmark just like him… His thoughts lingered. Maybe she looked like her mother.

He wanted to say, Tell me more. Don’t stop talking about her. But Buck’s voice trailed off, and the silence stretched between them.

Years continued to pass, and when Buck visited again, his voice carried the weight of something Tommy couldn’t place. Alex was 14 now, and Emma was 8. Buck sat heavily in the chair beside him, his words slow and uneven. “She left, Tommy,” he said quietly, his hands wringing together. “Another person left me. I know this time it isn’t anyone’s fault… but this hurts.”

Tommy’s heart twisted, confusion and worry gnawing at him. Who left? Buck didn’t say, and the silence that followed felt different—deeper, darker. He tried to reach out, to say anything, but his body stayed still, his voice trapped.

Frustration bubbled up in Tommy’s chest, followed by a wave of hot, searing anger. Why? Why can’t I move? Why can’t I tell him I’m here? He raged silently, cursing his own body, the years of silence, the cruel trap he was locked in. He wanted to scream, to reach out and shake Buck, to demand answers, to comfort him, to do something. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

The anger simmered as Buck sat there, quiet and heavy with grief. Who left, Evan? he thought frantically. What happened? I’m so sorry, Evan. Please, talk to me. Over and over, Tommy repeated the words in his mind, desperately wishing Buck could hear them. He didn’t understand what had happened, but he wanted to comfort Buck, to take away even a fraction of the pain he could feel radiating off him.

But Buck didn’t say anything more. He sat quietly for a while, then stood and placed a hand gently on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he said softly before walking out of the room.

Tommy was left with his thoughts, his heart breaking for Buck. Whatever had happened, Tommy wanted Buck to know he wasn’t alone—even if he couldn’t tell him.

And then, as always, the helplessness crept back in, wrapping around him like chains. He was powerless, and that hurt almost as much as whatever Buck was going through.

Twenty-two years passed.

When Tommy finally woke up, it wasn’t dramatic—no gasp of air or miraculous surge of energy. His eyes simply opened, his body heavy and alien, and his first breath was shallow and labored. The nurse beside him gasped, calling for a doctor as Tommy’s gaze slowly wandered around the room. It was brighter than he imagined, and the world felt distant, blurry.

It took days for Tommy to understand just how much time had passed. He couldn’t walk. His muscles were too weak, his body unrecognizable. His reflection in the mirror was a stranger—lines etched deep into his face, his hair thin and gray.

The days that followed were a blur of tests and therapies. His muscles were too weak to move much, and his voice cracked like old paper when he tried to speak.

The doctor explained everything—how long he’d been in the care facility, the complications, and how much time had passed.

It wasn’t until the door opened, and Buck stepped inside, that it truly sank in.

Buck was older now, his face lined and his shoulders broader. His hair had streaks of silver, and his movements were slower but steady. He carried himself with a confidence that hadn’t been there before, though his eyes carried something else—something heavier. He looked just as Tommy knew he would—familiar in a way that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

Tommy couldn’t speak much yet, his throat raw from disuse. But he mustered all the strength he had, letting a faint smile curl across his lips. “Hey,” he rasped, the words barely audible.

Buck froze, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his chest. He blinked rapidly, his hands trembling as they curled into fists at his sides. “H-hey,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. He was holding back tears, but Tommy could see how close he was to breaking.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, two men who had been separated by time and silence. Buck pulled a chair closer and sat down, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on the edge of Tommy’s bed. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum and beeps of the machines tommy still needed.

After a long pause, Tommy rasped out, “She… left?”

Buck frowned slightly, confused. “What?” he asked, his voice unsure, like he didn’t quite remember. For him, he said that line years ago—he couldn’t know that for Tommy, it was as vivid as yesterday.

Tommy hummed softly, gathering strength. “You said… she left. Who?”

The realization hit Buck slowly, he sat back slightly, as though reaching into a distant memory. “Oh…” His shoulders sank, and his eyes grew impossibly sad. “Amelia—uh… my wife,” he said quietly, almost stumbling over the words, his voice hollow. “She died… a car accident.”

Tommy’s eyes softened, filled with sorrow. His throat ached as he struggled to speak, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Must’ve been… hard.”

Buck’s head shot up at that, his brows furrowing. He stared at Tommy, almost disbelieving, his lips parting in surprise. It was hard. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever gone through. Losing Amelia had left him a widower, his kids without their mother. It had left a hole he still carried, even now. But for a moment, he couldn’t process that Tommy—frail and still recovering from decades of silence—was the one trying to comfort him.

A faint, disbelieving laugh escaped him, almost reflexive. He shook his head, his voice soft and tinged with disbelief. “Are you really saying that?” he whispered, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

And then he froze, his breath catching as his eyes widened. His voice faltered when he spoke again. “Wait… y-you… you heard?”

Tommy nodded faintly, a small, almost fragile smile on his lips. “Everything,” he rasped, the word carrying the weight of decades.

And it hit Buck—all at once. Everything. Tommy had heard it all. The stories about Alex and Emma, the confessions, the heartbreak, the joy, the grief. Twenty-two years of words poured into a void Buck had thought was empty, but Tommy had been there the whole time, trapped and silent. Listening. Always listening.

The realization broke something in Buck. His face crumpled as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand covering his mouth as the first sob escaped him. His shoulders shook as he cried, the weight of twenty-two years crashing down on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Tommy wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay, but his body still wouldn’t cooperate. All he could do was whisper again, “Evan, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

But for Buck, the guilt and pain of all those years spent talking to someone he thought couldn’t hear him—and the thought of what Tommy must have felt, locked inside his own body—was too much. He thought how he had left Tommy alone longer and longer over the years, how his visits had decreased while Tommy was still there, still listening, still waiting.

He stayed there for a moment, head in his hands, as Tommy lay quietly, his faint smile never wavering.

Then Buck quickly wiped his face, taking a deep, steadying breath. He began to talk to Tommy about things—about Alex, about Emma, about life in general. He spoke softly, a little hesitantly, like he wasn’t quite sure where to start or how much Tommy could take. But he kept going, filling the space with the sound of his voice, just like he always had.

As Buck stood to leave, he turned back toward Tommy and leaned down slightly. “I’ll help you,” he said firmly. “No matter what, I’ll be here whenever I can. I promise.” He paused, his voice softening. “I’ll bring Alex and Emma to visit. They know you, Tommy. They love you.”

That lit something small in Tommy’s face—a faint glimmer in his eyes, the tiniest upward curve of his lips. He nodded weakly, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “Thanks.”

But later, when the room was empty again, and he was alone again… Tommy stared at the ceiling, his chest aching, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He thought about the years he’d spent hiding behind lies, about the fleeting years when he’d finally embraced who he was, and about the decades he’d spent trapped in silence, invisible to the world.

He’d lost so much time. Too much time.

And now he didn’t know if he’d ever get any of it back.

Thirty-three years pretending. Seven years living. Twenty-two years lost.

What was left for him now?

[derww]

the thing that bugged me the most after watching the wormhole video is actually that we never got the proper ending for the main plot line that was in it: parrot and spoke's personal relationship.

even though spoke showed that conversation from the end of wormhole, where parrot stood in front of spoke, clutching the handle of the hyperion, and said that he refuses to let people down even if it means he has to sacrifice something very important to him, this does not answer the question hanging in the air. from the point of view of the narrator, after losing op, parrot seems to lose his autonomy, both as an antagonist and, more importantly, as spoke's best friend, after spoke himself talked almost exclusively about their friendship for an hour, both as characters and, first of all, as real people.

"i didnt just exploit a game, i exploited a friendship i had built over the years.". speaking about both parrot and mapicc, spoke mentions several separate times how much it went beyond just playing on the server, that he abused their real, actual relationship in order to achieve his goal. at the same time, spoke does not tell what happened between them – both characters and people – after him receiving an op. in the jungle part, parrot literally has almost no lines – he just stares and stares and stares and stares. until the very end of the story, he follows the path that spoke paved for him, living in the conditions created by spoke.

we see only glimpses that everything is actually – at least relatively – fine. not only because parrot continues to play within the game, but also how he complains to spoke about the unfairness of using teleportation and that after the season ending he even suggests for spoke to become the new lifesteal owner. grains that do not reflect full image. was parrot horrified and shocked, was he angry, at least for a moment, when he realized how far spoke's manipulation extended, did they have to somehow solve and discuss it, or was he immediately like, "wow, you made a lot of awesome moves, there will be cool content!" and everything was fine? sure, parrot loves risk moves and adrenalin, but wasnt it too far?

can it even be "okay" if your best friend has been manipulating you for months for a personal goal? does this cross the line of what is truly acceptable, even in a lifesteal setting? even if it's all for the sake of shared content, even if the community has the right mentality, even if no real harm has been done, even if you're willing to trust a friend that he won't cross the line, does all this change the fact that it's, in general morality, just plain cruel?

although this is undoubtedly too personal to just insert into the video, it should be noted when the whole story is about abusing irl friendship. although i absolutely understand this decision, this is by no means a critical review, from the point of view of storytelling it is strikingly incorrect, as if in the middle of writing a book the writer threw out all rules.

of course, this is an important conversation to be had on the whole – with the rules never mentioned out loud, with an unspoken agreement that everyone understands what's going on here and how, and what everyone is signing up for, when the price is friendship and connection, how far is it too far? lsers are friends, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's almost inappropriate to answer "everyone has their limits" when a relationship is at stake. everyone, including spoke himself, agrees that what he did in s4 was too much, but there were many, many other moments where everything was not so clear, and, moreover, there was no discussion, even in private, which never solves the essence of the problem.

lifesteal is not unique, but it is a very rare system in how far people can be willing to go in a war against others, despite the fact that everyone is friends: most of the pre–lifesteal stories of this approach took place on public servers and against strangers, and friends' servers either remained frivolous to one degree or another, or were scripted. post-lifesteal, many servers of a similar kind have appeared, but only a small part of them are comparable in terms of the proximity of the players and the rigidity of the approach, because it is incredibly difficult to simultaneously allow yourself to get involved as deeply as possible and, at the same time, having received a knife in the back, not want to bury the traitor underground. It's about trust, and it's about content, and it's so strikingly different for different people, and there's obviously no right answer here.

when playing league of legends, one of the important skills that every player needs to develop is not to tilt. at the same time, take the game seriously, but be ready to let go of defeat, no matter how much effort you put into the game. don't go crazy when you lose a line and die ten times, and jungler yells at you as the worst possible being. it took me a few years to stop tilting, and it carried over to minecraft too – where my friends got upset, angry, and gave up, i learned to just shrug my shoulders and try again. but that didn't teach me how to deal with betrayal, even in-game, because the worst thing about betrayal is that it always comes from someone close to you. not from an accidental co-player in a match, and not as a simple accident, but as an intention to harm, even if only in the game. it is a lot to take, and the cost is too high. and, while parrot and spoke are still good friends, parrot left owner role because of the distress it gave him, so doesn't it show the presence of a real impact.

i like that we got only half-truth tho. because it is who spoke is. when he needs you to believe him, he says something actually truthful, and then – his lie and manipulation, and you eat it because believe everything to be true. even now, spoke continues to metagame. he's fine with showing that he was a dick, and he's using that to cover a part he never wants to explain. and he wouldn't.

spoke tells the truth saying he liked to do the impossible, but it is not a full answer. while s4 ending was supposed to be a relief for him, an opportunity to stop lying and being a villain, there remains something else – not only the showdown, but the guilt, the realization that you were so wrong that you hide huge chunks and you refuse to get them for another year and a half. when everything ends, when there is nowhere else to run, reflection and awareness remain. a year and a half later, from the season 6, spoke can end the video on a positive note, but for that long-time spoke, who had just released the god from his body, covered with lightning scars everywhere, absolutely not feeling like a winner, it was a bad end, and perhaps for his character, it couldn't be good.

how old was spokeishere when he did all this, 16? there is an irony that he is the worldender, the trickster, the manipulator, and he's the youngest of them all. sometimes i want to call him dumb for not being careful enough or anything else but then i do remember how he played everyone in s4. not in a big picture, but in smalltalks, toying people while they thought him to be completely harmless. spokeishere being smart is like lifesteal having its unspoken rules – you need to be too attentive to see it. often it is like a... circles on the water. you can't see a fallen pebble, but you can see the waves radiating from it. and, in the end, he is the one who did it, who succeeded, and who am i to judge him?

minecraft roleplay can do something very wrong with you, how any acting sometimes can break you apart and turn inside out. because while you are letting yourself feel like it's real, it is, at some capacity, can be real. and while it is a known factor of being an actor, it's not something you do think about when you go to play a game with your friends. sometimes it changes something very, very important in you, and sometimes you look back on that experience and realize that it hurt you. or not. everyone has their unique experiences, as always.

also, we finally found out the reason the fishing spot was so important. not only a place of friendship but also a place of the exploiting! yay!

[luvashli]

DANCING WITH GHOSTS

SYNOPSIS -> After a painful breakup, Y/N and Jake struggle to move on, haunted by memories of their love. She clings to the life they shared, while he tries and fails to forget her.

PAIRING: nonidol!ex!jake x fem!ex!reader

GENRE: oneshot, exes to lovers(?), angst

STARTED: 1/23/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 2.6K

Note: this story is based on the song “Ghost of you“ by 5 seconds of summer, I advice you to listen to it while reading :)

Also I wrote it for a friend of mine, cause she is a huge 5sos fan hehe.

Click here for the song

The house was too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t offer peace but instead carried the weight of memories. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a whisper of the past, tugging at your heartstrings in the cruelest way.

It had been months since Jake left, yet his presence lingered in every corner. His laugh still bounced off the walls in your mind, his touch still warmed the spaces he used to claim as his own. You stood in the middle of the living room, the coffee table still bearing faint scratches from one of his clumsy stumbles.

Your eyes fell on the couch, where the two of you had spent countless nights. There was a time when his arms were your home, his heartbeat your favorite melody. Now, the silence swallowed you whole.

"Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side..."

You muttered the words under your breath as you wandered into the kitchen. His coffee cup still sat at the back of the cabinet, untouched since the day he left. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, even though the lipstick stain you once teased him about had faded with time.

If you closed your eyes long enough, you could almost see him. Jake, leaning against the counter, his messy hair and lazy grin the first thing you’d see every morning.

"If I can dream long enough, you'd tell me I'd be just fine... I'll be just fine."

But you weren’t fine. You hadn’t been fine since he walked out, his words cutting through you like shards of glass.

You didn’t blame him, not entirely. You were both too young, too dumb, to know what love truly meant. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The rain was pouring outside as you decided to clean up the bedroom. You hadn’t dared to touch most of his things, but today, something in you urged you to. Maybe it was time.

As you pulled open the drawer, your fingers brushed against fabric. You tugged it out, your breath catching when you saw it—his old Led Zeppelin shirt. The one he wore the night he ran away from everything, from you.

You clutched it to your chest, the familiar scent faint but still there, like the last remnant of him refusing to fade.

"Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away..."

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. You sank to the floor, the shirt in your lap as you cried for what you had lost, for the love that slipped through your fingers.

Jake wasn’t faring any better.

He sat in his apartment, the dim light of the living room casting shadows that only reminded him of what he’d left behind. His phone sat on the table, your contact still pinned at the top, though he hadn’t dared to call.

He thought about you every day. How could he not? You were everywhere. In the songs he played, the movies he watched, the quiet moments when he was left alone with his thoughts.

He had tried to move on, but no one else felt like you. No one else made his heart race the way you did.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the last time he saw you. The hurt in your eyes as he walked away was burned into his memory, a reminder of the mistakes he couldn’t take back.

Back in the house, you stood in the living room, the old Zeppelin shirt now hanging loosely on your frame. It was far too big for you, but it felt like a hug from him, even if it was a ghost of what you once had.

You turned on the stereo, letting the music fill the empty space. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, you began to move.

Your feet shuffled across the floor, your arms wrapping around yourself as you swayed to the beat of the song.

"So I drown it out like I always do, dancing through our house with the ghost of you..."

The tears didn’t stop, but you didn’t care. You danced, remembering the nights you and Jake would spin each other around this very room, laughing and tripping over your own feet.

But now, there was no laughter. Only the memory of him, and the ache that wouldn’t leave.

Jake stood outside your house, the rain soaking him to the bone. He didn’t know why he was there, or what he expected to happen. But his feet had brought him here, as if they knew what his heart wanted even when his mind tried to deny it.

He peered through the window, and his breath caught in his throat.

There you were, dancing. Alone, but not alone. He could see it in the way you moved, in the way your arms wrapped around yourself. You were dancing with the ghost of him, and it broke his heart all over again.

"That my feet don't dance like they did with you..."

He wanted to go to you, to pull you into his arms and tell you he was sorry, that he’d been a fool. But he didn’t move. He stayed rooted to the spot, watching as you poured your heart into every step, every movement.

And when you finally collapsed onto the couch, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you afloat, Jake turned away.

He wasn’t ready to face you, to confront the mess he had made. But as he walked back into the rain, one thing was clear: he would never stop loving you.

And maybe, just maybe, someday he’d find the courage to tell you.

It wasn’t one singular moment that broke you and Jake; it was a collection of little cracks in the foundation. Tiny misunderstandings, unspoken fears, and the unrelenting pressure of life slowly ate away at the love you thought was indestructible.

Jake had always been the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve. He loved loudly, recklessly, and without hesitation. You loved him for that. But love, no matter how passionate, can sometimes falter under the weight of everything else.

It began with the arguments—petty at first.

“You’re always busy with work,” Jake had said one night, his voice tinged with frustration as you sat hunched over your laptop at the kitchen table. “It’s like I don’t even exist anymore.”

You sighed, trying to keep your temper in check. “Jake, I have deadlines. I don’t have the luxury of just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to hit like you do.”

His jaw tightened at your words. You didn’t mean for it to sound cruel, but it did. Jake was an aspiring musician, chasing dreams that seemed so far out of reach sometimes. You admired his dedication, but there were days when it felt like he was still a boy while you had to be the responsible one.

“I’m not sitting around,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Just because my job doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean I’m not working hard.”

The argument spiraled from there. Neither of you really wanted to hurt the other, but the words came out anyway, sharp and biting.

Then there was the night you missed his big performance.

It was supposed to be a milestone for him—a showcase for local artists that could have opened doors to something bigger. He had begged you to come, to be there in the crowd cheering him on.

But your boss had called an emergency meeting, and by the time you made it to the venue, the show was over. Jake was sitting on the curb outside, his guitar case by his feet, the smile he’d worn earlier completely gone.

“Jake,” you said, out of breath. “I’m so sorry. I tried—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, standing abruptly. “Don’t bother. You didn’t try hard enough.”

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, tears stinging your eyes. “You know how much this project means to me.”

“And what about me, Y/N?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Do I mean less than your job? Because that’s how it feels.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the pain in his voice. “Jake, that’s not true. I love you.”

“Do you?” he asked quietly, his shoulders slumping. “Because I don’t feel it anymore.”

The final blow came weeks later, during a late-night argument that neither of you saw coming. It wasn’t about work or performances this time—it was about the fear that had been building in both of you, unspoken and festering.

“You don’t even see me anymore,” Jake said, pacing the living room. “I feel like I’m just... here. Like a placeholder in your life.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, exhaustion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you think this is easy for me? Balancing everything? I’m trying, Jake!”

“Are you?” he shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s already halfway out the door.”

The words cut deep, but you refused to let them show. “Maybe you’re right,” you said coldly, your voice trembling. “Maybe we’re just holding each other back.”

Jake’s face crumbled, and for a moment, you wanted to take it back. But the damage was done.

“So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

And with that, he left.

The days following the breakup were a blur. You threw yourself into work, trying to fill the gaping hole he had left behind. But no amount of deadlines or distractions could stop the memories from creeping in.

Jake, on the other hand, buried himself in his music. His songs became darker, rawer, filled with the pain of losing you. He played at dive bars and small venues, pouring his heartbreak into every lyric.

Both of you pretended to move on, but the truth was, neither of you did.

You still reached for him in your dreams, only to wake up to an empty bed. Jake still caught himself glancing at his phone, hoping to see your name light up the screen.

And so, the two of you drifted further apart, held together only by the memories that haunted you both.

As you stood in the middle of the living room, his old Zeppelin shirt in your hands, the weight of it all came crashing down.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

You whispered the words to yourself, tears streaming down your face. You had loved him. You still did. But love wasn’t always enough to hold two people together.

Jake, drenched in rain outside your house, couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing you said to him.

"Maybe we’re just holding each other back."

He wondered if it was true. Or if you had only said it because you were scared—just like he was.

As he walked away, his heart ached with the knowledge that no matter how far he tried to run, he would always find himself coming back to you.

Jake thought she would help him forget.

He met her at one of his gigs, a girl with a warm smile and a laugh that filled the room. She wasn’t you, but maybe that was the point. He was desperate to move on, to stop seeing your face in every passing thought, to stop hearing your voice in every song he sang.

At first, she was a distraction. Her presence was easy, uncomplicated. She laughed at his jokes and told him his music was amazing. She never argued with him about late nights or missed texts. She was everything you weren’t.

And yet, she wasn’t you.

The first time Jake realized it wouldn’t work was when she sat beside him in his apartment, humming along to a song he had written.

“That’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Did you write it for someone?”

Jake hesitated, his fingers faltering on the guitar strings. “Yeah,” he said softly, his mind immediately going to you.

She didn’t ask for more details, but the guilt that weighed on him was suffocating. He was using her, trying to patch a wound that only you could heal.

One night, she invited him out to dinner. He agreed, thinking that maybe if he gave it enough time, his feelings for you would fade.

But as they sat across from each other, her laugh ringing out, he couldn’t help but notice how different it sounded from yours. How her smile didn’t reach her eyes the way yours did. How her perfume wasn’t the one he’d memorized from all those nights you fell asleep in his arms.

He was quiet the entire night, his mind drifting back to you. To your shared moments, your arguments, your laughter.

By the end of the evening, she looked at him with sad understanding.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Jake’s heart sank. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “Then go to her, Jake. You’re wasting both our time trying to convince yourself otherwise.”

The walk to your house was long, the cold night air biting at his skin. He had no plan, no idea what he would say when he saw you. But he couldn’t go another day pretending he didn’t still love you.

Jake’s thoughts raced as he approached your front door. His heart pounded in his chest, each step heavier than the last.

What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you had moved on, just like he had tried to?

But the thought of not trying—of letting you slip away for good—was unbearable.

When he reached your door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the wood. The light in your living room was on, casting a warm glow that reminded him of all the nights you spent curled up together on the couch.

He could hear faint music playing inside. It was one of his songs.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked.

The sound was soft, tentative, but it was enough to make your heart stop.

Inside, you froze, your breath catching as you stared at the door. No one else knocked like that. No one else could make your pulse race with three simple taps.

Slowly, you stood, your legs trembling as you approached the door.

When you opened it, there he was. Jake, drenched in the cold night air, his hair slightly messy, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but not empty. It was full of everything you had left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it,” Jake finally said, his voice shaking. “I couldn’t move on. I tried, Y/N. I really tried. But it’s always you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Jake…”

“I’m sorry,” he continued, stepping closer. “For everything. For leaving. For not fighting harder. I was scared, and I let that fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your heart was a mess of emotions—anger, love, sadness, and relief all blending together.

Jake took another step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me it’s not too late. Please.”

And in that moment, you didn’t care about the past or the mistakes or the pain. You only cared that he was here, standing in front of you, asking for another chance.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

Masterlist

[the-crooked-library]

Ellen from Nosferatu is disabled? .o. Can you tell me more about that? I was already interested in watching the movie, but hearing the main female lead is disabled makes me ever more excited to see it! Do they say/imply what she has at all?

Yes, she is - though it's a mix of real-world and horror genre things! There are some details the film says outright and some it implies. To sum it up: Ellen is neurodivergent and psychic at the same time, which results both in social isolation and outright medical abuse. If you don't mind some spoilers (all regarding Ellen's condition rather than the plot), here's a brief overview of it!

From the beginning of the film, Ellen is implied to be in some way neurodivergent. Naturally, since most of the action takes place in 1838, there is no specific term for what she is; personally, I would guess her to be autistic. As a child, Ellen was considered odd, "running wild" in the woods near her father's property and struggling to follow established social conventions; she mentions at one point in the film that her father forcibly isolated her in the house when she failed to grow out of it; and she continues to struggle as an adult, as well, unable to fully understand or conform to the rules that everyone else considers per the course. One of the characters is actually shown to hate her for it - though his sense of manners prevents him from acting/saying anything on that subject until a certain point. Once it's out in the open, however, he admits that he dislikes her specifically because he could always tell (even before the story begins to unravel) that she is actively faking her propriety - in essence, masking.

That said, her psychic symptoms are more of a focus (it is gothic horror, after all). During her astral projections, Ellen experiences altered mental states and seizures. This leads her father to threaten her with institutionalization; and later in life, the other characters tie her to her bed and drug her for days on end after witnessing several of her episodes. These symptoms are visible - and, in fact, impossible to hide, as they have a distinct physical component; and the story centres this as one of the primary reasons her surrounding society abuses and rejects her. It is also important to note that the film reiterates several times that she would be subjected to this regardless of the vampiric aspect of the plot; she was born this way. She cannot be cured of it. It is, for all intents and purposes, a chronic condition that can only be managed and accommodated for - which the bigoted, misogynistic, industrialized society around her refuses to allow. Despite the genre, the horror of Ellen's life is painfully mundane, and all the more brutal for it.

The medical aspect of it is absolutely explicit. It is heavily stressed throughout the film (intersecting with the running theme of misogyny, as well). As in Stoker's Dracula, two of the characters are doctors; and even the most benevolent of them pushes a needle through Ellen's arm to demonstrate that her soul "isn't there" during one of her episodes. All human characters are complicit in this - either through perpetrating that violence themselves, or by letting it happen unimpeded. She's infantilized when people around her are feeling benevolent, and demonized when they're inconvenienced. Considering the history of the horror and gothic genres, and their numerous tragic and/or murderous madwomen, I think Nosferatu is a fascinating subversion of the trope. For a genre that so often frames the "lunatic" from the perspective of a horrified narrator, its centering of Ellen is rather unexpected; but, according to Robert Eggers, that was quite blatantly the point. He mentioned in some interviews that he'd wanted to make a film that actually explored the story from her POV - and god, did he deliver.

If you do end up watching the film, I hope you enjoy!! It is, truly, breathtaking. As a longtime fan of gothic horror, I could not have asked for more.

[glowingreads]

One of my favourite things about mdzs is the fact that we have juniors. Idk but I just love when we have a relationship child/parent figure in books is making all the story so much emotional in a way that make my heart melt and hurt in the same time. And in mdzs we have a lot of them.

But what I like the most are the juniors that we have after Wei Wuxian is board back to life (I like the period when the main character are juniors to but the quartet hits diferent)

Like the angst and heart warming moment between the characters and juniors is almost to much. And I swear I don't cry to much at books or movie but Jin Ling and his uncles, your honor it me.

Though a thing that I feel about is not talk enough is the relationship between Lan Wangji and the juniors.

I know all we love Wei Wuxian with them or Wen Ning with them or Lan Xichen with them or Jiang Cheng with them been the somehow uncle to all because Wei Wuxian adopt them all and he will not let the bar low been a good uncle even though he refuse to admit that he forgive his brother ( you can not tell me that after some 10 or so years after the temple he doesn't try to catch back the fact that Lan Wangji hide that he have another nephew, Jiang Cheng have some spoiling to do )

But what not very much cover is Lan Wangji with the juniors other then Lan Sizhui or Lan Jingyi what is fells very rough because every junior knows Hanguang-jun not just the Lans and all look after him in night hunts or respect his commands even if they are from other sects even before Wei Wuxian is in the picture. And I'd you look closely somehow when the junios are not fighting they actually make a very good team and that makes me think that they fight enough times together to be good at that.

And here comes my theory what if in that 13 years where Wei Wuxian was dead Lan Wangji really stars adopting not just tone of bunny's but children's to. And Wei Wuxian explain that the juniors are spoiled and we know that Lan Wangji is not as severe as the other Lans pure example Lan Jingyi ( if that chid was actually disciplined like a Lan he will not be that an-Lan ) and there are the moments where if you go in the second episode of sez 1 from the doughua when Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng have that tense discussion where Wei Wuxian just fight Jin Ling, Lan Wangji don't talk to Jiang Cheng at all but at the final of discussion he warned Jin Ling personally about the hand and to take care ( and that shown that he cared and not because off Wei Wuxian they don't even know yet that Wei Wuxian is back and Jin Ling really looks like he listen and pay atention so this to where in night hunt without Jiang Cheng before enough for Jin Ling to actually listen to Lan Wangji, just go and watch the beginning of the episod ) and what I want to go with that is, what if Lan Wangji actually in this years start to pay much more attention to the juniors that just ar guardian but more as a adult figure to make them safe? What if he actually have moment when he take Jin Ling in his grup ( because both Sizhui and Jingyi are comfortable with him to not keep just appertains)? What if Lan Wangji really let them much more free outside of Cloud Recesses? And why we don't have more fics with the 13 years gap between Lan Wangji and the juniors. My heart need it.

[letherightonein]

Correct response: men are uglier than women

I have seen this graph more than two dozen times in the last week. The first time I saw it was about five years ago, but people seemed fascinated by it long before that. I remember what I thought back then: “Duh? Yes, and? Have you seen men? Have you seen women?” But no one obsessed with this graph seems to share my impression, not even its very author. Christian Rudder says in his book Dataclysm:

Sex appeal isn’t something commonly quantified like this, so let me put it in a more familiar context: translate this plot to IQ, and you have a world where the women think 58 percent of men are brain damaged.

Bryan also echoes this sentiment in his article:

The OkCupid results are far from unique. But the graphs are stark enough to inspire mutual anger. Common angry male reactions include: “Women have absurdly unrealistic standards” as well as “Women are just cruel.” Common angry female responses include: “It’s not our fault that most men suck” and “Why should I settle?

It’s not that women are telling a hard truth about men; it’s that they perceive reality in the wrong way. Even though no one, not even Rudder, provides an 'objective' measure of men’s attractiveness and actually proves that women are wrong. Somehow, people assume that men and women are the same when it comes to facial attractiveness. Therefore, men’s ratings should also follow a bell curve.

Nevertheless, when men and women are asked about both their own and the opposite sex’s attractiveness, both groups agree that women are more attractive than men. This gives us another example of a male-driven narrative fueled by relentless projection onto the opposite sex. Men are the ones who overestimate themselves the most, not women.

As Aella explains in one of her articles:

Women’s self-rating for their average photo was 6.2, but men rated those photos, on average, 5.0 - a gap of 1.2. For women’s best photos (self rated 7.3), men rated those 5.3, for a gap of 2.0 points. Men, with a self-rating for their avg photo of 6.3, got rated by women as 4.4, meaning they were off by 1.9. Their best photo was even worse - that 7.3 self perception got knocked down to 4.6 by women raters, for a staggering gap of 2.7.

I also question the uniqueness of the OKCupid graph, because every person who wants to point out this divergence between the sexes seems unable to back up this 'ugly truth' with another source that provides the same results. In my experience, when this 'truth' is explained, that ten-year-old graph is brought up for the thousandth time, with no other source provided—almost as if it were the only one.

And most of the time, it’s assumed to be self-explanatory. When discussing men approaching women in person, this graph is presented without any additional commentary. It doesn’t mention rejection, nor does it discuss whom women partner with. It’s just... there, and you’re expected to conclude the only possible truth: women are wrong/delusional, and most men are incels/single/rejected/buzzword-of-the-moment because of them. Women should lower their standards and control their 'ick.’

Just like Bryan says in his article:

The typical man disgusts the typical woman. You can expand this to: The median man moderately disgusts the typical woman, and the bottom quarter of men strongly disgust the typical woman (…) The good news: Once we all accept these ugly truths, we can replace fruitless anger with mutual understanding and empathy (…) Men should stop taking rejection so personally. When the typical women rejects you, the problem isn’t so much that she finds you unappealing. The problem is that the typical woman finds almost all men unappealing (…) Women should stop taking unwanted advances so personally. When the typical man pesters you, the problem isn’t so much that he refuses to see that you’re out of his league. The problem is that almost all women think they’re out of his league (…)

Yep, always the same ol’ story. But with a particular twist this time:

(…) Most women eventually accept a guy who isn’t visibly attractive. Much of the reason is that superficially unappealing guys win them over with charm, humor, and devotion. So instead of crinkling your nose in physical disgust, it pays to be on the look-out for the winning psychological traits of charm, humor, and devotion.

The real good news here is that women don’t have to read Bryan’s advice. The same OKCupid data shows that women send messages to 'below average' men. Women have seen men their entire lives, and by default, they know they can’t expect a Ryan Gosling or a Jeremy Meeks for a boyfriend. That possibility doesn’t even cross their minds. I would say their expectation is to be the prettiest one in the couple, since beauty is associated with femininity and women’s role in heterosexual relationships.Women rate men below the midpoint of the scale and send messages to men below the midpoint of the scale. Shocking.

But even when it’s not hard at all to find this graph, and how this ‘discovery’ of men being uglier is not new, the speculations about what can explain women’s 'bad judgment' don’t take long to appear. Bryan continues by saying:

Since women’s maximum reproductive capacity is strictly limited, they’re evolved to be hypergamous, with a strong preference for mating with the best of the best.

Hypergamy, the act of marrying someone with more income or more education than yourself, is brought up with a 'new' definition, and it is stated that women have a 'strong preference for mating with the best of the best.' The way people like Bryan reconcile that idea with the reality that, every year, the majority of men are having sex, and how any mission to touch grass ends up showing normal people dating each other, will always be a mystery to me.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

It's a good sign I'm recovering from my creative slump that I was able to brainstorm a story that makes me laugh.

[phoenixcatch7]

The One Fact Pact

I want to see a fic where the chain is rigorously keeping their secrets and stories hidden, but they've all learned to trust one another. Like, it's past time they should probably be sharing things because it's beginning to get annoying, they all agree, but it's sorta become a habit by now? They kept those secrets and now no one really wants to share first?

So, to keep things interesting and get some momentum going, they make a deal.

Whenever they come across something that reminds them of their travels, their quest - be it an item, a familiar name, a location - they've got to share ONE fact or story about it.

But only! When they're in other people's time, because otherwise it'll just be a staged tour and one person infodumping and that's exactly what they're trying to avoid (and it won't be a fun competition they can make bets about).

And then either they go through worlds slowly building trust and understanding of each other through a long drawn out and incidental series of tidbits....

Or they immediately get stuck in wild's hyrule for ages.

Everyone's arguing over who the latest ruin belongs to. Time and wind are getting into an argument about the kokiri. No one can agree on the zonai. Wars is taking immense pleasure in pointing out anything someone else might have missed. Legend is resolutely ignoring eventide. Twilight claims the entire faron woods until they step into the hot and humid jungle for the first time.

Wild thinks he's immune because it's his world so he legally can't answer questions, but everywhere they visit there's a piece of his own story in the rubble or on the wind.

Wild: *happily making tea and checking his slate with the other hand* okay, looks like tomorrow we can reach the breach of demise and to new serenne stable. Just past that- Sky: *choking on his drink* the what?? Wild: the breach? Sky, weakly: Why's it uh, called that? Wild: oh, it's an old story. Apparently eons ago it's where a demon godking came up from underground to the surface world... *suspiciously* Why? Sky: gimme the slate. *squinting at the shape on the map*... I can neither confirm nor deny. Wild:... What do you mean? Sky, remembering the One Fact Pact: I can neither confirm nor deny. What's important is that I killed him. The entire chain, variously: YOU KILLED A DEMON GOD?!!? Sky *recalling the hardest fight of his life*: what, like it's hard?

And then he just refuses to elaborate.

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[whatremained]

exactly! like even if we WANT to see a character as good, we can’t, or were quite literally ignoring the plot of the show!!

for evan, yes, he isn’t an ill-mannered person. he wants to do good for the murphys and make them feel better, but while doing that, he actively lies about a friendship with a person who committed suicide, and this, while allowing the family to rebuild, just likely traumatizes them more.

for connor, yes, he’s very much a victim when it comes to the fact he was put in rehab. rehab is terrible. he’s been through a lot mentally, ever since he was like… young young (book as reference), but none of this excuses the fact that he threatens zoe while he’s alive, and this builds up fear and hatred within her because yes. it is scary when someone is on the other side of the door screaming that they’re going to kill you. even if you know they won’t actually, it’s terrifying. if we ignore this fact, requiem has no meaning behind it and that’s not what the show intends.

for zoe, she’s literally just trying to make it through her family life as well as she can without trying to cause anything. she’s constantly ignored by her own family, and she’s coping with it the best she can. but she’s still flawed. zoe refuses to realize things are more than just bad or good for a long while in the show. i argue not fully until the end of act one. zoe can also come off… rude towards her parents and connor, but then again… she’s sixteen so. do we expect much more? though i will say calling your mentally ill brother a psychopath when… he probably does not have the mental disorder to be considered that kind of term (i’d either argue he has autism or both an anxiety disorder & major depressive disorder [autism is commonly misdiagnosed as that, BUT many people do just have anxiety and depression.] though it’s hard to say because… we barely see him on stage and we don’t see much of his symptoms. in the book, where we hear from him the most, to me at least, as an autistic person, he reads as autistic… but it’s really up for what a person believes). zoe to me comes off as one of the least morally grey characters to me, as she isn’t… actively causing harm in the story. if she’s harming anyone by these thought patterns of good and bad, black and white, she’s harming herself.

alana is very similar to evan in that she comes with good intentions with almost everything she does… maybe not her shoving her way into positions (as we see with the connor project), but a ton of the things she does is for a good cause and though it seems performative, it isn’t. still, alana constantly speaks over people, ignoring them, and publicly posts something she believes to be someone’s suicide note. though she believes the latter is beneficial… it just… wouldn’t be? as we see because with the presumption that it is connor’s note, everyone begins to harass the murphy’s. did evan share it to alana to keep up a lie? yes… but did evan say to publish it…? no. that was a VERY odd choice coming from alana.

jared is a character i… hate. a lot. but you can’t deny that what he really craves is a friendship. we see him distraught after evan ditches him. we see him trying to incorporate himself into the story evan has made up, and it’s likely because he desires a friendship. and to a point, that can make a person sympathetic… still… he helped evan keep up a lie. and was a complete asshole to evan before and after the lie began because…? who knows.

heidi genuinely wants whats best for evan, even if she has to work all day and attend classes and study all night. this is NOT something i will blame her for because… she’s a single mother. it is HARD to live in this economy. she’s trying her best. she also is flawed. she doesn’t REALLY try to reach out to her son (she does say that she shouldn’t have needed evan to tell her he was hurting), she insults evan’s stepmother for…? no reason? also she does tend to come off as rude (in the arena stage 2015 version as well, but…) in good for you and a little before that. blowing up on your son because… he found comfort in other people besides you and getting mad at him because you believed he begged the other family for finical help is… odd! (he didn’t even say anything about it to cynthia and larry, i’m pretty sure…. zoe did. zoe’s the one who wanted heidi over in the first place). i’m not saying heidi is this terrible parent, but she’s not a good mother either. my thing with heidi though… she’s one of the only characters who admits their faults (including evan, somewhat). she IS morally grey, but she is actively working towards being a genuinely good person.

cynthia is also someone who wants to be a good person. she actively tries to treat connor not as terribly as most parents would, and i do applaud her for that. problem is, the way she goes about it is harmful, so much so that (at least in the book) connor basically feels like he’s just a lab rat to the hundreds of different treatments she puts him through… not to mention she ignores zoe and how zoe feels.

and lastly, larry… who i feel gets ignored FAR too often. larry is not this terrible guy. he cares for his children. and he cared son. he did. that’s the WHOLE point of to break in a glove. it shows that he did what he thought was right… but similar to cynthia’s method… it just didn’t work for connor. it traumatized connor MORE. along with the fact that he has the reaction of 75% of parents when their child says that they want to die… the reaction being that the kid just wants attention. also, just… generally… a bit neglectful of both connor and zoe.

all that being said, it pisses me off how a lot of people don’t realize dear evan hansen is NOT supposed to have a good side and a bad side. and a lot of people forget dear evan hansen isn’t.., supposed to be a nice story? it’s supposed to be fucked up. the original idea for it was literally based on a terrible thing.

and there’s this weird section of people who act like the story is unrealistic when it just. isn’t?? the story is based off something similar that happened at pasek’s highschool. and i mean, the same thing happened at MY high school (not when i was there, but when my older brother was there). a student passes away and people pretend to be their friend, and they sell stories and things to get profit out of people’s death. attention and/or money (whether that’s because they’re bad people, or if they feel alone too is up for debate on every person because… we don’t know most of these people personally). and then people forget about the student in a couple weeks. it’s VERY common, and it’s cruel, gross, and terrible. but the story is FAR from unrealistic. though it can be said that dear evan hansen is an exaggeration of such… most stories are.

and though i do argue the marketing for dear evan hansen can be odd at times, the story itself is not meant to be seen as nice. it’s supposed to be cruel.

sorry for the ramble… i just wanted to go into more depth with what the post was saying. :]

[weaselle]

i want to talk about real life villains

Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.

Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.

I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"

I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.

And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.

He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.

John Hammond.

probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.

If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.

Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.

book spoilers below.

In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.

He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.

In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.

THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.

I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.

In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.

I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.

Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.

And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.

I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.

Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[ashton-ryder]

He should've never said anything, he should've accepted JP's rage and walked away, because here he was, back again, like with Ria, saying something he's kept quiet about for years so as to not lose JP as his friend and brother the same way. And he's never felt closer to losing him completely than now. He remembered the way Ria looked in horror the day he told her everything and the very next day she stood by Sada's side, looking in horror at him. Somehow ending up the villain for causing Ria pain. He couldn't take it if history repeated itself with JP. "..Isn't it?" Ashton choked out, giving up holding back the words that convinced him to never tell JP anything, "because who am I?? Who even am I to you guys, compared to her? Just some fucking guy hovering around your family for a couple of years, trying to fit in hoping I belonged. And she's been there for you practically your entire life."

Ashton may not have realized how much Sada's persistent comments and actions over years tainted his own lowly view of himself within the Roses. No matter how much Charlie and JP reminds him he's family, no matter how many moments of love he had with Jeremiah - who was he to even dare think he was important enough to them over Sada, more important for them to believe over her? More important for them to ever put him in priority? Sada reminded him time and time again that they'd never would, and the cost of him even trying to find out, would be losing all of them from his life. He'd choose the alternative of taking the torment alone and keeping them in his life, every single time. "It would've been easier losing me than her." Sada should've just killed him early on and they would've been able to go with their lives just fine. There was no bite to any of his words to the anger JP had, only the lack of fight stood out as he bulldozed through the mess he made for opening his damn mouth.

He only met JP's gaze again when he said his name, pulling Ash back out of his messy, ugly head, eyes darken at the alternative laid out to him if JP was to not believe him. "They're not." Ashton said with resolute, deep watery blues staring straight into the other's gaze, unwavering. Whatever JP thinks of him after tonight, he refused to let the narrative that he said all those things himself come out on top - the only reason he said anything in the first place. "--I could never." And perhaps in those simple words had indirectly answered JP's previous question he avoided.

"Everything.." Ashton lightly scoffed as he murmured the echo of it, there were too many things, too overwhelming to even think about it all and Ashton barely knew where to begin. Not many knew everything. Ruth knew almost everything, Jeremiah knew a lot of things, Charlie knew only some things. He slid his back down the railing as his legs gave out to sit, pulling his knees towards his chest as his buried his face between them. No more fucking secrets, huh? He felt like he was already losing JP one way or another. What's one - or a hundred - more way to push him further away with what he knew Sada will gaslight away into her own story the next morning? "..she's made my life a living hell, JP. I don't even know where--" to start.

And so he began with the most painful things, "she got a stalker on mom, made her seem crazy when the local sheriff didn't believe her, Dawn went crazy everyday and night when she knew someone was by our house, never inside when she's home because a military dog would've shredded them. But when they went on walks, things go missing, bypassing all their alarms. Just to mess with her." Ashton paused to look up revealing the tears and pain in his eyes reliving it in his head, "that's just the worst one, she has ways into my apartment, she's spread destructive rumors on my campus till I almost lost my PhD program.. she's-" he gets the picture, right? "And she always take her claim on it, I know it's her because she always makes a comment about it before anyone knew." He desperately tried to tag on before the painful question was even asked to him again to question his sanity on his experience.

"I-- I once made the mistake of telling Ria this, we were friends and I was ranting to a friend. And Ria, bless her heart, thought the best way was to ask Sada about it and the next day, I was made the liar. She was convinced I was doing it for attention, trying to hurt her with lies, me pinning her against Sada. I just wanted to avoid that happening again with you." Ash dropped his head back again the railing as he went on, "remember Charlie started trying to raise pocket change to help get me a new telescope? She knew I didn’t drop my old one like I said I did, Sada smashed it, as a warning for 'even trying to turn her people against her', for just confiding in my friend." His friendship with Ria was forever strained from that to the point that they just ignore it all and moved on as if it never happened. Ashton from there on did not dare do something that would lose him his closest people that were closer to family than friends. "It never stopped, JP, I've thought so many times about just quitting and leaving New York for good, but then I'm with you and Jer and Charlie, and Mal and Ruth and I-- I just couldn't leave. I just couldn't."

Ashton was lost in all the words he spoke, almost dissociating from them not remember a single word of what he spouted out, . But he tried to wipe away any evidence of pain from the wetness of his face, "I don't know what else-- you want me to say."

"Easier?" he asked quietly in disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You think..." His brow furrowed in renewed confusion and he couldn't control the ironic huff of a laugh that fell between them. His drunken mind was trying to wrap itself around how, arguably since his return, every shitty, chaotic, traumatizing moment fuel moving destiny faster and faster toward the implosive moment of revelation back at the party and Ash thought it was easier to choose to lose his friend during all of it.

"You think it's easier to lose you as my friend? Which, if I choose to believe you made all that shit up just to spite Sada, I would. And you think that is easier than what's already happened." The scoff of realization over how little Ash seemed to think of their friendship freely escaped him. "Wow," he added with a raise of his brow, shifting his grip on the railing as he swayed slightly.

How the fuck did he get dragged into all this...shit? The night was supposed to have been a few hours of forgetting the world had gone to shit outside their doors. It was meant to let them all feel normal again. Even if just for a little while. It hadn't been meant to rip apart everything they knew and loved. Fuck! "

"That has to be some kind of joke. You want me to just make you the bad guy and be done with it," he went on with a purse of his lips followed by a quick, feigned smirk masking his barely controlled anger and a short laugh to go with it. Bile began rise in his throat at the thought of now having to confront Sada over all of this.

"Ash," he started, shutting his eyes and sighing as he raised his hand and paused, turning it into a fist before dropping it back down. Big emotions in check. "I don't want to believe Sada would ever say that about me and Miah," he pushed out, opening his eyes to find his friends again. "I don't. But then that would mean that those are your words. Not Sada's," he told him with a point his way, swaying along with the motion. "And I have an even harder time believing you would ever say anything that shitty about my brother or call Charlie a whore," he told him knowingly, the word whore especially quiet as he muttered it.

After years of constantly being volleyed back and forth between the woman he considered a mother and his chosen brother he was honestly sick of the shit with him and Sada. It was going to end once and for all. At least with John-Paul. "You want me to believe you, then quit pussy footing around what the fuck is up with you two. And I want to know everything," he went on, his anger spilling forth gently. "No more fucking secrets," he reminded him.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

We NEED more soft!Rafe after the new season. He moved out and got a whole house to himself maybe he could ask his girl to move in? Becasue he wants her there and to be part of his life...his new life where he's a better person

Request: SOFT RAFE PLSSS

I don't know when I found time to write this, but enjoy soft!Rafe asking his girlfriend to move in with him! Feel free to send more requests, I'll write when I find time

Warnings: soft!Rafe, relationship moving quickly, mention of Ward's death

—

‘’Rafe, I truly can’t see. I’m not cheating,'’ you promised as you walked with Rafe’s hands over your eyes.  

He had picked you up in late afternoon and refused to tell you where you were going. Just that he wanted to show you something...and that you had to close your eyes during the whole drive. 

Rafe laughed a bit, trusting you. ''Okay, okay.'' 

You walked a few more steps, then he stopped and removed his hands from your eyes, revealing a large two story house. 

A frown formed between your eyebrows. ‘’Who's house is this?''

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. ‘’Mine,'' he whispered in your ear, giving you a gentle kiss on your jawline. ‘’As of this morning.'' 

Surprise filled your face. ‘’You bought a house?’’ 

Every time Rafe showed up to your place after a fight with his family — most often his father —, needing a bed to crash in for a few days, you tried talking to him about getting his own place. It would solve a lot of conflicts. But Rafe always said he wasn’t ready to leave the family nest. 

Behind you, Rafe hummed. ‘’I bought it with a part of my dad’s inheritance money. Sharing a house with Rose is not possible anymore. Too much has happened...’’ 

You covered his hands with yours in silent support. You’d heard the ugly stories about Rose and Rafe. He hadn’t always made the best decisions in the past, but Rose constantly blamed him for everything bad that happened to the family. Rafe may have deep personal issues, but it was wrong of her to villainize him.

‘’Do you want a tour?’’ he asked, his voice brimming with excitement, and the eagerness in his eyes made it impossible for you to refuse.

You followed Rafe up the steps to the porch of his new home. He fumbled briefly with the key before pushing the door open, but just as you were about to enter, he pulled you to a sudden stop.

“Wait,” he ordered, his strong arms wrapping around you as he effortlessly lifted you up.

You squeaked, startled by the sudden move. ‘’Rafe, we're not married, you know,’’ you said with a soft laugh, looping an arm behind his neck. ‘’You don't have to carry me over the threshold."

He set you down gently on the wooden floor of the entrance hall and shut the door behind him. 

Inside, the house felt big and empty, its openness accentuated by the sunlight streaming through the uncovered windows.

‘’I don’t know why, but I expected it to be fully furnished,’’ you admitted, glancing towards what you assumed was the living room. 

Rafe chuckled, his fingers lacing with yours as he guided you further in. ‘’Some people do buy them furnished, but this one wasn’t. You’ll have to help me pick out furniture because I suck at decorating.’’ 

The kitchen was massive and even had two ovens — a rich people thing. It was unfortunate Rafe didn’t cook. The backyard had a large patio where Rafe mentioned wanting to set a barbecue and a firepit, and maybe one of those large daybeds. He wanted his house to be cozy and feel like a home, not look straight out of a fucking magazine.

As he led you into the last room upstairs, the master bedroom, Rafe's voice grew soft. The words were burning on his tongue, but he didn’t know how to say them. 

‘’And here's our bedroom. I mean, the bedroom.’’ He made a mistake on purpose, just to see your reaction. 

You tried to hide the smile that spread across your lips, your heart beating fast in your chest. The slip of his tongue hadn't gone by unnoticed. Did he truly mean for you to live here with him? Was this why he took you to the house and insisted on making it a surprise? 

‘’There’s a big bathtub in the master bedroom, and—’’ Rafe continued, moving toward the bathroom to show you the bathtub, but you were not listening. 

Moving in with someone is a huge step in a relationship, not something you can decide on a whim. You and Rafe had only been together for a few months, so it felt a bit early to take that step. But then again, everything in your relationship had moved quickly from the start. He met your parents two weeks after your first kiss, and said ‘I love you’ after twenty-six days of dating — yes, you had counted them. 

When Rafe glanced back at you, he noticed you seemed deep in thought. ‘’Is everything okay?’’ he asked, an eyebrow raised in concern. 

You snapped out of your thoughts, shaking your head. ‘’Yeah, everything’s good,’’ you replied, smiling at him. ‘’I was just thinking of all the time it’ll take us to christen our house.’’ A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you walked toward him. ‘’Maybe we should start now. It’s a big house.’’ 

Rafe’s eyes flickered with surprise as he heard what you were implying. He expected you to refuse, to say it was too soon. 

‘’You’ll move in with me?’’ he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. 

You nodded, and a smile curled on Rafe's face. He's never been happier.

—

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[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[avelera]

Parallels between Jayvik and the Phantom of the Opera

I can't believe I haven't seen any discussion yet around the musical theater influences in Arcane S2 so far (besides my one mention of its parallels with Les Miserables).

So as a basic, Phantom of the Opera-loving bitch, can we please take a moment to examine the Phantom of the Opera parallels that are literally shoved in our faces during this opening sequence and what that means for Jayvik?

Viktor is the Phantom. The show opening outright says it. The parallels are there. They're impossible to miss.

And then, when you dig a little deeper, hooo boy those parallels become even more stark. Especially if you read Viktor as romantically pining after Jayce, which 99.9999% of humanity does.

To quickly summarize, Phantom of the Opera is the story of a deformed genius who falls in love with an opera singer, Christine, and then nurtures her talents, only for her to in turn fall in love with a nobleman, Raoul. The ensuing love triangle is the heart of the plot, with Raoul and the Phantom both vying for Christine's love.

This shouldn't be a hard one to see the parallels for.

Viktor = The Phantom. Literally a genius born with a disfigurement, in this case a disability he sees as a weakness and a disease that is sapping away his life and hope of a legacy. He is riddled with jealousy for the person trying to pull his scientific/musical partner away from him, a person who happens to be beautiful and live a life of privilege that Raoul/Mel could offer to Jayce/Christine instead.

Jayce = Christine. Instead of sharing genius in music, he and Viktor share genius in science. Like Christine, he is tugged between the glittering world of politics and privilege, vs his genius and love at a more esoteric skill, in this case science instead of music.

Mel = Raoul. Literally an aristocrat who is far more beautiful than the Phantom/Viktor, who steals away his partner's attention and offers them a glittering life of privilege in the public eye instead of the wonders of their joint musical/scientific pursuits. Whether or not Mel meant to embody this, or steal Jayce from Viktor, this is the role she fulfills in Viktor's view of the world.

But the most profound moment for me of, "Oh wow, they're doing Phantom of the Opera! Actually, they're not just doing Phantom, they're doing Phantom fixit fic?!" was this:

Which, if you'll forgive the potato quality of the screenshots, is literally the moment Viktor has his mask knocked away and then cringes in on himself to hide his exposed face from Jayce.

Which... is literally a scene in Phantom of the Opera? Just after "Music of the Night"?

But we're already in Phantom fixit territory, because Jayce doesn't recoil like Viktor expects! Instead, he embraces Viktor and loves him for all his self-perceived flaws.

And then, AND THEN, in a moment that made my Phantom-loving heart sing, Viktor tells Jayce to go!

And Jayce doesn't.

In the final song of the Phantom of the Opera musical, Christine is forced to choose between Raoul and the Phantom. She chooses the Phantom and kisses him. Flooded by remorse, the Phantom then relinquishes her to the man he knows she truly loves, and when Christine hesitates to leave, he shouts at her, "Go!" and then, of course, she and Raoul leave together.

Viktor is expecting that to happen! I think his order to Jayce very clearly implies that he thinks Mel and Jayce are still together. It's the classic, "Go be with the woman you love instead of staying here and dying with me," trope that we see over and over again in dramas.

But Jayce. Defies. The Trope.

Unlike Christine and just about every buddy war movie out there, he stays with Viktor. He chooses his scientific/artistic partner over the life of aristocracy and privilege that Mel would theoretically offer him. He chooses the masked genius with the disability and calls him perfect. He refuses to go when he is ordered to leave. He stays with Viktor until the end.

And I still can't believe that no one else is talking about this!