#and this post raised an interesting thought

[totalswag]

podcast therapuss ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors notes first time writing influencer!reader, i like it so far. this idea popped into my head the other day after watching one of jake’s episodes. there's no face claim for influencer!reader, i added this picture for the ideal theme.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary joining jakes podcast talking about various topics then mentioning not getting the chance to meet drew starkey. clips of you talking about him goes viral which leads him to reaching out to you.

warning(s) none!

About a month ago, your manager texted you about doing a podcast with Jake Shane, and you quickly said yes. You contacted him shortly after your managers confirmed it, expressing your excitement. Since then, you've grown closer and spent the night before the episode was filmed.

The two of you went out to dinner and got to talking about various of topics. It was a great way to get to know each other. You consider each other as friends now.

You've used social media since you were fifteen years old. You began by posting YouTube videos, and you continue to do so. Tiktok became another source of content to promote, including daily vlogs, hilarious content, and so on. Nothing would make you change it.

Everyone was getting settled before filming began. Jake started off by talking about a few topics then you came in. You were super excited about doing this.

“Welcome to Therapuss! "We've got the incredible Y/N here today," Jake says, gesturing toward you as you relax into the comfortable chair across from him. You flash your characteristic smile, which your followers enjoy. The cameras roll, but it feels natural—just another day in your life, sharing your thoughts and experiences with the world.

"Stop it!" you chuckle, shaking your head. "But seriously, Jake, thank you very much for having me. "I am a huge fan of the podcast."

"You're too kind," he replies, smiling. "So, let us dig in. You've experienced an unimaginable rise on social media. Your vlogs are really addictive, your TikToks are continuously trending, and everyone adores you. "How does it feel?"

You enjoy answering questions like this. They are your favorite because you don't always get to discuss what inspired you for doing this.

"It's surreal, honestly," you acknowledge. "I started YouTube my freshman year of high school because I wanted to look back on the moments I made. I never imagined it would turn out like this. It has been a whirlwind, but I am grateful for it."

Jake takes it all in, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "Based on what I've seen, your content is incredibly diverse in your vlogs, TikTok, and lifestyle tips. Tell me, how do you balance all of that?" He asks, intrigued by what you do.

You respond to the question by explaining how you learned to draw boundaries over time. You prefer to keep a lot of things private that do not affect the outer world. As your audience grew, you formed a unique bond with them.

"Do you have a show you've been obsessed with lately?" Jake asks you while laughing and raising his eyebrows.

"Duh, Outer Banks pookie!" Before you laugh and toss your head back theatrically, you smirk. The statement, "I love all characters, Rafe is my favorite," leaves Jake speechless.

"Let me explain, his character is so interesting and yes, he's a psycho," you huff, putting your palms up in defense.

Jake and you keep talking about the show and his favorite show.

Jake nods in agreement. "Totally. Okay, switching gears to Pougelandia. Tell me everything."

You giggle and lean back in your chair. "Oh my goodness, that was incredible! The Outer Banks cast is as cool as they appear on television,” You gush, your excitement is evident.

Jake’s face lights up hearing you talk about the cast, “stop it that sounds so sweet, tell me more!”

You quickly point at him, “They’re so down to earth and so sweet. I got to meet practically everyone except for one person,” pouting then covering your hands with your hands.

Jake shrieks in surprise, "bitch who? "You must tell me!" He exclaims excitedly, settling into his seat.

“Drew Starkey. I was very disappointed since I'd heard he was the sweetest person, but our schedules didn't work out." you confess with a hint of disappointment. You were excited to meet him and start a conversation like you did with the rest of the cast.

Jake, of course, teased you about it, saying, “I feel like we’re setting up a rom-com here. Drew, if you’re listening, the universe is waiting.”

The remainder of the podcast you two continue to talk about various topics and even did the infamous NAME—someone will send in a question or mention something for Jake and the guest to answer the question on the podcast. There were lots of interesting questions.

A few days later, the episode is up—fans are talking about you talking about Drew and you wanting to meet him. TikTok is overloaded with clips of you talking about Drew, and your comments are full of hopeful hints about a possible meet-up.

You'd just completed editing your most recent YouTube video for your next vlog, and you were drained enough to fall asleep at your desk. The buzz of your phone buzzing from your bed, frowning but curious in who it could be.

You scream. Literally scream.

Drew Starkey followed you.

Drew Starkey sent you a message.

"Am I being punked?" Am I dreaming? "What the fuck is happening?" You ramble while holding your phone in your shaky hands and looking at the two notifications on your lock screen.

Allowing yourself to relax and compose yourself. You unlock your phone, tap on instagram, go to the messaging tab, you’re sure your jaw dropped to the floor.

Drew Starkey: Hey, I recently watched your podcast with Jake. We should get together sometime—finally make up for not meeting in Pougelandia!

What do you say?

How do you come off calmly?

Yourusername: Hi! Yes, it sounds perfect. Let me know when you’re free.

Fast forward two months later, you feel you’re still in a dream. Drew and you hung out together at a local coffee shop then went back to your place to talk more. Once you started talking you two couldn’t stop.

After hanging out the first time came more meeting ups. Drew asked you to be his girlfriend three weeks ago—you were shocked and excited all at once.

One day, while scrolling through TikTok in your kitchen, leaning on the counter, you came across the trend—wait they don't love you like I love you. You thought the trend was silly, so you decided to participate. 

You did a couple tries and posted your favorite one out of the four—not realizing Drew was in the background on his phone, unfazed about what you were doing. Your comments started blowing up.

Bestie you got some explaining to do 🤨

Causally dancing in your kitchen while Drew Starkey is walking around at the same time? Interesting

When worlds collide fr 😏

Alright where the cameras at...

I fucking knew it!!!!

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

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[the-baked-homos]

(the image reads is a tumblr post from radiant-system and it reads: Maybe the reason I can't really stand endo-neutrals is that I was here during the peak of ace discourse. I wasn't really into people not taking a stance on whether or not people like me deserved respect so I highly doubt endogenic systems are super into that either. end of image)

I have thoughts about this - although I'm not particularly well-informed, so this could just be me starting shit for no reason. That being said, I feel like there's a level of nuance to this.

Mostly: I think the terms of pro, anti, and neutral on the topic of endos can mean many things. Someone could be neutral with the opinion of "I don't care whether they exist or not" and someone could be neutral with "I don't think there's enough evidence either way" and someone could be neutral with "I think they exist but I think that maybe the terms that we use don't help with the situation". And maybe all of these could be reprehensible to the person in the screenshot, which I'm not necessarily saying is a 'bad' opinion - but I thought it'd be worth noting.

+ I don't know too much about the ace discourse but wouldn't it probably be different? One's less involved with like... medicine and disorders, and one is. One's more to do with identity and personal experience and one's more to do with symptoms? Maybe? Dunno how to word that bit specifically.

This isn't an argument against or anything? Just a thought from someone that looks at sysblr a lot.

(start screenshot)

(end screenshot) It won’t let me reblog for some reason so take a screenshot.

This completely. You don’t have to be active in syscourse but like. Just remaing neutral on the issue of “do we exist.” Is genuinely really upsetting.

[vibelladonna]

Hi!!! I love your stories, they really make my day better!! I have an idea about Crow×Y/N, if this order is not interesting to you, sorry for the disturbance!!

Is it possible to react to the fact that Y/N began to avoid Crow because of fear of unrequited love and rejection, but in the end Crow catches up with us and interrogates us why we behave so strangely and confess our feelings to him

Sorry if this order is very boring but in any case good luck to you!!

❛ 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You've been avoiding Crow lately, too afraid to face your growing feelings for him. But when he finally catches up with you, he demands to know why you've been acting so strangely, forcing you to confront the truth.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Anonymous asked! I really like the idea of fear of unrequited love and rejection—definitely something I’d feel in that kind of situation. Also, for some reason, the ask box isn’t showing up on my phone, but it’s working fine on my laptop! I’ll be posting a few fics this week—probably no more than three. 

Sorry for the absence; I’ve been taking a mental break, catching up on sleep, and getting ready to head back to campus for the spring semester next week. But don’t worry, I’ll still be working on fics during the weekends or whenever I have free time!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Angst, Unrequited Love, Emotional Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Confession, Avoidance, Self-Doubt, Internal Struggle, Miscommunication, and Fluff (towards the end—I’m not heartless)! Also, some spicy moments to add in!

It had been two weeks since you mentioned the research options for your major—the ones you promised would keep you busy, even distracted. You’d told Crowe that your time would be consumed with textbooks and endless articles, diving into opportunities related to your major. But as the days passed, something felt off. The absence of your usual messages, your familiar presence in the hallways, and the sound of your voice in class slowly began to gnaw at him. 

Crowe had reached out several times. Texts, DMs, and even a couple of voicemails. Yet, there was nothing. No replies. 

It wasn’t like you to shut him out.

You were always upfront—maybe too upfront at times—but that brutal honesty was something Crowe genuinely admired about you. And now? Silence. Complete, unnerving silence.

His mind kept returning to the same question: What happened?

"Have you heard from them?" Crowe asked his voice tight with concern. Brittney Claire—better known as Brit—had been the first to ask about you, her tall, tan figure framed against the backdrop of the student lounge one evening when she approached him. Her usually narrowed, indifferent eyes were now clouded with worry.

"No," Brit replied, her brow furrowing as she gave him a puzzled look. "Not since they said they were diving into research. You sure you’ve been trying to reach them?"

Crowe’s grip on the strap of his bag tightened, his fingers digging into the material as he suppressed his frustration. "Of course I have. More than once. They haven’t even texted me back, and you know that’s not like them."

Brit raised an eyebrow, her gaze scanning him for a beat before her face morphed into something unreadable. "Weird," she muttered, her voice laced with suspicion. "I thought you were always the one in the know, Crowe. You two are closer than anyone else. You should know where they are."

The comment hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t about being in the loop, or being ��close’—it was about making sure you were okay.

Brit took a step back, her expression softening as she saw the tension in Crowe’s shoulders. She sighed, exhaling deeply as if weighing the situation in her mind. "I can tell you're worried," she said, her tone gentler now. "Want me to help you track them down?"

Crowe shook his head immediately, a quiet, unspoken tension hanging in the space between them. "No. I’ll find them myself."

And he would. Crowe was never one to back down, especially when it came to you. He knew better than anyone that you didn’t just vanish without a reason, without something pulling you away.

Something was wrong.

And he was going to find out what it was—no matter what it took.

Crowe didn’t waste any time before setting out for your usual spots—those places where he knew you’d be if you weren’t anywhere else. First, he hit the quiet corner in the library where you both spent hours lost in books, your heads bent low over pages in comfortable silence. 

Then, he headed to the small café where late-night study sessions were more the norm than the exception, the place where caffeine-fueled discussions lingered well past midnight. 

Lastly, he checked the campus bench you’d both claimed as your own, the one that had become a quiet sanctuary, a place for shared moments and unspoken understanding. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of you. No flicker of movement, no trace of your presence. 

The sky was darkening as Crowe made his way back to his dorm, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing the frustration he couldn’t shake. His mind replayed every moment, every conversation, trying to find something, anything, that could explain where you were. He pulled his phone from his pocket, a small distraction from the weight of his thoughts. It buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down at the new message from Brittney.

Britt: Still no word from them, huh?

Crowe: Nope. Can’t find them anywhere on campus. It’s like they vanished.

Britt: Wow. I can't help but feel like they're avoiding us.

Crowe’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the phone. He froze in his tracks. The thought of you avoiding him felt wrong, so foreign it stung. The words on the screen replayed in his head, each one sinking deeper into his chest.

Avoiding them? Avoiding him? Was that really what was happening? Was that what this was about?

He wasn’t blind. He could feel it too—the subtle yet undeniable shift between you and him. Maybe it had been slow, so gradual that it had escaped his notice at first, creeping in like a shadow until it had grown large enough to demand attention. Or maybe it had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface, like an undercurrent quietly pulling at the edges of everything. 

But whatever it was, it had become a wall. A barrier neither of you could ignore. And the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that it wasn’t some external force—it was a wall *you* had built. It was as if you had crafted it with your own hands, piece by piece, and now it loomed between you two, tall and impenetrable. 

He couldn’t understand why it was there, or why you hadn’t said anything about it. The silence only deepened his confusion, turning it into something more tangible, something he couldn’t shake off. Every attempt to breach it seemed futile, like reaching for something just out of his grasp. 

With each passing day, the weight of the uncertainty pressed down on him, a burden that grew heavier with every thought, every glance exchanged in passing, every conversation that no longer felt like it used to. It gnawed at him relentlessly, demanding answers he didn’t have. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that nothing had changed. 

Something had to happend. 

Something had to give. He felt it in his bones, knew it with a certainty he couldn’t ignore. And as much as he tried to deny it, he knew it had to happen the last time he had seen you.

Two weeks ago. The night had started like any other. You and Crowe had settled into your usual study spot in the back corner of the library—your quiet sanctuary, where the world outside felt distant, far away. It was familiar. Comfortable. The soft hum of overhead lights was the only sound, broken only by the occasional rustling of pages as you both worked in your own quiet spaces. 

The books were scattered across the table, the glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as you juggled between tabs. Crowe sat across from you, flipping through his notes with the same casual air he always had, the same easygoing demeanor he had perfected over the years. 

But there was something different that night. 

Even though everything looked the same, and felt the same, there was a tension in the air—a subtle crackling energy, just beneath the surface. It had been there for a while now, but on that night, it had reached a breaking point.

You were buried in your research, absorbing every detail of your thesis like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed when Crowe’s voice broke through your concentration, sounding unusually thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future recently,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that was different from his usual playful tone.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his for a brief second before you quickly looked away. “Oh?” you murmured, distracted as you tried to focus on the data in front of you. You weren’t expecting this turn in the conversation. Crowe didn’t usually get into those heavy ‘future’ talks unless he was in a reflective mood, and even then, it was usually all about abstract goals or vague aspirations. 

Nothing serious. 

“Yeah,” Crowe continued, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as though bracing himself for something weightier. His voice softened, carrying an introspective tone that felt rare for him. “You know, we’re already in our third year, right? Time’s flying faster than I ever expected. And… I’ve been thinking, by the time I graduate, I want to have things a bit more figured out. Like, I want to be in a solid relationship. Someone to share things with, someone who’s… there.” 

His words hit you like an unexpected gust of cold air, leaving you momentarily stunned. You blinked, once, twice, the weight of his admission sinking in slowly but steadily. 

A relationship? 

Crowe—the same Crowe who treated most connections with a kind of playful fun—is talking about settling down? The concept felt alien, foreign, and yet it lodged itself uncomfortably in your chest. 

You cleared your throat, more to buy time than anything else, carefully composing your response. “That’s… ambitious,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt, though there was a sharpness to your words that you couldn’t quite dull. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you, a half-hearted barrier between the two of you. The flickering light cast an impassive glow over your face, but inside, your emotions churned in a quiet storm of confusion and irritation.  

Crowe didn’t seem fazed—or maybe he was just good at masking it. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, searching for something unsaid. Then he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his expression stayed contemplative. “I don’t know if it’s ambitious,” he said after a pause, his tone lighter but no less sincere.

“I mean, it just feels… right. We spend so much time trying to figure out majors, careers, all the practical stuff, but at the end of the day, I want someone to share the milestones with, you know? Graduating, finding a job, moving somewhere new… I don’t want to do all that alone.”

His words pulled at something deep and unwelcome inside you, a stirring that you couldn’t quite name.

Irritation, yes—but mixed with something softer, more vulnerable, something that whispered of fear and longing.

The idea of Crowe sharing those moments, those significant pieces of his life, with someone else clawed at the carefully constructed walls you’d built around your thoughts.  

“Isn’t that kind of distracting?” you asked, keeping your tone deliberately neutral, though there was an edge to your voice you couldn’t fully mask. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather focus on making sure you’ve got everything in place first before worrying about… all that?”

Crowe tilted his head, his expression thoughtful now, as though weighing your words. “Maybe,” he admitted, his gaze softening as he spoke. “But I don’t think it’s about having everything perfect. Life’s always messy, you know? I just think it’d be nice to have someone who gets it, who’s there to celebrate the wins and help carry the weight when things aren’t so great.”

He said it so earnestly, so casually, that it made your chest ache. Crowe—so confident, so carefree—talking about sharing his life with someone as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

And yet, for you, the very idea felt impossible, like a weight pressing down on something fragile inside you. 

You forced a small, humorless laugh, hoping it masked the way your pulse quickened. “You make it sound so simple,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “Like finding the right person is just another thing to check off the list.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow at your tone, but his smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. “It’s not simple,” he said quietly. “But I think it’s worth it. Don’t you?” 

The question hung between you, heavy and unspoken, as if he were asking something far deeper than his words implied. And for the briefest moment, you wondered if he already knew your answer.

It was like you were looking at something through a window that you couldn’t reach—this whole world of connections, of intimacy, of people who could be close to you in ways that didn’t make sense to you. Maybe that was the problem. 

You didn’t really get it. 

You didn’t need it.

You let out a breath, trying to steady yourself, and forced your attention back to the work in front of you. “I don’t know about that,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “I think I’d rather focus on things that I can actually control.”

There was a brief pause as Crowe looked at you, his gaze shifting. You could see the curiosity flicker across his face, but he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat. “Like your thesis?” he asked, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You nodded quickly, relieved that the conversation was shifting to familiar ground. “Yeah,” you said, a little more briskly than you meant to. “I’m thinking about neuropsychology—studying the effects of plants on the brain. There’s so much to dive into. I’ll be swamped for a while.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in topic. “Sounds intense. You sure you’re okay with taking on that much work?” He was leaning forward now, his tone lighter but with an edge of concern.

You offered a quick smile, trying to hide the irritation that lingered beneath the surface. “Yeah. I can handle it. Besides, it’s something to keep me occupied, right?” The words came out a little too dismissive, a little too defensive. 

But you weren’t about to admit that you were irritated—especially not to him.

Crowe nodded, but there was something unreadable in his expression as he pulled back, falling into a more relaxed posture. He didn’t seem to press the issue further, and the silence between you grew. 

It wasn’t the comfortable silence that usually settled over the two of you; instead, it was filled with strange tension. That was the last conversation you’d had. Since then, the silence had stretched on, thick and unyielding.

Crowe stared down at his phone screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He'd sent you another message—another question, another attempt to bridge the gap. The usual routine had gone on for two weeks now: he'd reach out, you’d read it, and leave him on read. No replies. Nothing.

Crowe: We need to talk.

He stared at the text, as the three little dots appeared and disappeared, signaling that you'd seen it but hadn’t bothered to respond.

This time, something felt different.

The pit in his stomach had grown heavier, gnawing at him with each unread message that followed. We need to talk was simple enough. He wasn’t expecting an essay, just a sign of life. He’d gotten used to the silence, but now it was starting to feel like something was seriously wrong.

Each message, each time he saw you’d opened it but not replied, made him worry more. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. What happened? Why weren’t you talking to him?

Crowe: Please, just let me know you’re okay.

That message had been sent hours ago. And yet, still nothing. He stared at his phone in disbelief as his frustration built, a mixture of concern and something else he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was fear. Fear of whatever was keeping you away from him.

He had tried everything. Texts. Calls. Even showing up at your usual spots: the library, the cafe, your dorm. Every time, nothing. Your absence was unsettling, but the worst part? The silence that surrounded him, like you were intentionally shutting him out.

Crowe sat in the student council room, reviewing papers, His phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t from you. It was from Brittney.

Britt: Still nothing? You’ve been trying for days. You okay?

He rubbed his temples, rereading the message. No. I’m not okay. I need to figure this out.

Crowe’s mind raced as he trudged across campus, his pace uneven, his steps quick and deliberate. The cool evening air bit at his skin, but the sting was nothing compared to the ache of frustration twisting in his chest. 

For two weeks now, his messages had gone unanswered—a deafening silence where there used to be light and warmth. Each time he saw that familiar “read” receipt pop up without a reply, it hit him like a sucker punch, leaving him reeling in confusion and hurt.  

He couldn’t piece together what had gone wrong. What had he said? What had he done? It felt like you’d vanished behind an invisible wall, one he didn’t know how to break down. He clenched his fists as he replayed the situation over and over, searching for clues he might have missed.  

Crowe: I’m worried about you. Please respond.

His messages were a litany of concern, a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to his growing desperation. The most recent ones hadn’t even been opened. That unread status haunted him, the silence stretching out between you like a thick fog, impenetrable and cold.  

He left the campus library, his latest attempt to find you failing. His bag felt unnaturally heavy, burdened by more than just books. Instead of heading straight to the bus stop, his feet carried him toward the campus greenhouse—a detour he often took when his mind felt too crowded. 

The greenhouse was typically locked this late, reserved only for students with keys. Yet when he tested the handle, it gave way. His pulse quickened as he slipped inside, pausing just long enough to turn the lock behind him.

The quiet click echoed in the humid, earthy air as if sealing him in with the weight of his thoughts.

The rich scent of soil and greenery enveloped him, mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers. Rows of plants stretched before him, neatly arranged under the muted glow of hanging grow lights. Dew clung to leaves, sparkling faintly in the dim light, while vines traced languid patterns along wooden trellises. The indoor greenhouse was alive in its quiet way, untouched by the busy outside world.

He moved cautiously down the tiled paths, the soft rhythm of his footsteps blending with the distant hum of machinery and the occasional drip of water. The tranquility should have been soothing, but tonight it felt oppressive, amplifying the ache that had settled in his chest. 

This had been your sanctuary once. He could still picture you here—curled up on a bench, book in hand, the golden light casting a soft glow over your features. You had always seemed at home among the plants, as though the gentle stillness of the greenhouse mirrored something deep within you. 

But it had been two weeks now. 

Two weeks of searching, of hoping, of finding only emptiness where you used to be. Each familiar corner he passed seemed to taunt him with your absence, the memory of you lingering like the faint, fading scent of flowers.

Crowe sighed, ready to turn back, when a soft sound broke through the stillness. Footsteps. Light, deliberate, almost hesitant.  

His heart jumped, a flicker of hope sparking as he turned—and there you were.  

You stood near the far wall, surrounded by rows of delicate plants, their green tendrils climbing along lattices like silent witnesses. Your back was to him, your posture slightly hunched as you scribbled something in a small notebook. The sight of you, after weeks of absence, stopped him in his tracks.  

You weren’t the picture of confidence he was used to—sharp-eyed and self-assured, quick with a remark or an unshakable glance. Instead, there was a fragility in the way you stood, as if the weight of something unseen pressed heavily on your shoulders. Your usual energy seemed dimmed, your movements slower, your presence quieter.  

He froze, his throat tightening. The relief of seeing you mingled with an ache he couldn’t name. He’d imagined this moment so many times, playing out conversations in his mind, planning what he’d say. But now that you were here, just a few steps away, he felt unmoored.  

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncertain. He wanted to call out to you, to say your name, but the words lodged in his throat. He wanted to reach out, but something in your demeanor held him back—something almost sacred in your solitude.  

Then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet his. For a moment, the world stopped.  

Your expression was unreadable, but your eyes told him everything. They looked tired, shadowed with a weight you hadn’t shared, a depth of exhaustion that even your usual composure couldn’t mask. There was an emptiness there, a hollow ache that mirrored the one in his chest.  

Crowe opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stand there, caught in the stillness of the moment, hoping you wouldn’t disappear again.  

Here’s the revised version:  

“Crowe…” You called out, your voice tinged with surprise and a hint of weariness. Your widened eyes betrayed a subtle attempt to mask the dark circles beneath them. “Hey! I haven’t seen you in forever…” Your words tapered off as your attention shifted to a nearby potted plant. Lifting it delicately, you turned it in your hands, inspecting its leaves. “I’ve been busy—almost done with my bio project,” you added, a faint glimmer of pride flickering in your tone.  

Crowe stepped closer, his gaze narrowing with concern. “What? I thought you were focusing on stuff for your major,” he said, crossing his arms as he watched you.  

“I am,” you replied matter-of-factly, not looking at him as you set the plant down and moved to the next one. “If I can show the professor my research and notes, I might have a shot at getting into the advanced program.”  

Crowe’s frown deepened as he trailed behind you through the rows of greenery. “So this is what you’ve been up to? Holing yourself up in the greenhouse since the last time we hung out?”  

“Pretty much,” you said without missing a beat, brushing your fingers over the delicate leaves of another plant. “It’s amazing in here. Did you know some plants can grow perfectly well without direct sunlight?” The question left your lips effortlessly, your voice infused with an enthusiasm Crowe hadn’t heard in a while.  

The greenhouse air was thick and humid, imbued with the earthy scent of soil and vegetation. Rows of plants, thriving in various stages of growth, surrounded you both, their shadows shifting under the soft glow of artificial grow lights. The hum of machinery underscored the space, a quiet reminder of the technology keeping this verdant haven alive.  

As you wandered deeper, Crowe’s eyes scanned the surroundings until something caught his attention—a small corner transformed into a makeshift workstation. Papers were strewn across the desk, dense with notes and diagrams. A microscope occupied one corner, and a row of glass beakers filled with vibrant liquids gleamed under the lights.  

Nearby, a neatly folded blanket rested and pillow on a couch alongside a half-empty thermos and an open textbook. Crowe stopped in his tracks, realization hitting him. “Wait… have you been sleeping here?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.  

You paused for a moment, glancing back at him. “Only when I need to finish something urgent, it’s only been one night,” you said defensively, turning back to your work.  

Crowe was filled with concern as he watched you move with quiet determination. His voice softened, almost pleading. “You need to take a break, you know. You can’t keep running on fumes like this.”

You didn’t look up, your focus fixed on a delicate orchid in need of pruning. “I’m fine, Crowe,” you replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with the back of your hand. Your voice was calm, but the tightness in your posture betrayed you. “I just need to finish this. The professor trusted me with the key while she was on vacation. She wanted me to keep an eye on the plants, so I need to take advantage of the time.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, glancing around the space. “Really? This room?”  

“It’s an indoor greenhouse,” you corrected, leaning over the desk to jot something in a notebook. Your tone was matter-of-fact, but Crowe’s sigh carried the weight of words unsaid.  

“What did I do wrong?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You froze mid-sentence, pen hovering over the page. Slowly, you turned to face him, guilt flickering in your eyes like the max-out lamp on the desk beside you. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

Crowe stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his shoes. “Then why does it feel like I did? Did I offend you somehow?”  

“No,” you said quickly, your gaze darting away.  

He pressed on, his voice firm but not unkind. “Then what is it? What’s going on with you?”

“I told you, nothing,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your tone as you turned back to your open notebook, pretending to be absorbed in its pages.

Crowe’s frown deepened. “Nothing?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Right now, it feels like you’d rather talk to these plants than me.”

You straightened, finally meeting his gaze with a sharp look. “I didn’t say that—”

He cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “You’ve been locked away in this room—”

“Indoor greenhouse,” you interrupted a touch of defensiveness in your voice.

“Fine. Indoor greenhouse,” he shot back. “While I’ve been searching for you all over campus, worried out of my mind. Do you have any idea what went through my head? I thought something had happened to you. I was this close to filing a missing person report—hell, I almost called the police.”

His words landed heavily, the rawness in his voice stopping you in your tracks.  

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper.  

“What do you mean why?” he countered, his confusion evident.

“Why do you care?” Your voice cracked slightly, though you tried to mask it with a pointed edge. “I’m perfectly fine, Crowe. Or should I say Jericho Ichabod—known for being a pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to leave me alone…”

You trailed off, avoiding his gaze as silence settled between you like a heavy fog. For a moment, all that filled the room was the rhythmic drip of condensation falling onto a metal tray, a haunting reminder of the tension lingering between you both.

Crowe’s jaw tightened, his silhouette imposing against the faint glow of the lamp. Yet his eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, softened with an intensity that made your heartache. “I care,” he said quietly, each word deliberate and weighted with emotion. “Because you matter to me. More than you seem to realize.”

The words hit you like a jolt, your hand instinctively seeking the edge of the desk for support. The rhythm of your hands tending to the plants—the careful snip of pruning shears, the gentle brushing of leaves—had always been your refuge, your shield. Now, it felt paper-thin against the storm of emotions his words unleashed. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, not yet.

 Instead, you turned back to the orchid in front of you, its delicate white petals trembling faintly in the stagnant air. Perhaps its quiet, fragile beauty could offer you the clarity you desperately needed.

"Okay. You found me. Now you can leave. Satisfied?" Your voice was firm, but the undercurrent of vulnerability was unmistakable.

Crowe didn’t flinch at your sharpness. Instead, he took a measured step closer, his gaze never wavering. He could see through you—through the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the desk’s edge as if it could anchor you, and the faint tremor in your voice. Every detail told him more than your words ever could.

“Don’t push me away,” he said, his tone resolute as he closed the distance between you. There was no room for argument in his voice, no hesitation in his movements.

You let out an exasperated sigh, your free hand rising to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” you muttered, exhaustion creeping into your voice. 

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” you snapped, the frustration breaking through as your body trembled faintly from a volatile mix of fear, fatigue, and something you didn’t want to name. Your gaze locked on him, irritation sparking in your eyes, but only for a moment. Something softened—just enough for him to catch it.

Crowe’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the change, no matter how subtle. He was used to your fiery tone, your biting words, and the walls you built so meticulously. But this? This was different. There was a crack in your armor, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before—or maybe hadn’t allowed himself to see.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ve always been good at reading you. I was just too stubborn to notice.”

A scoff escaped your lips, and you tried to glare at him, but the sight of his infuriatingly smug smirk only fueled your irritation. “Oh, spare me that look,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you turned back to the potted plant. “You sound so cocky right now. It’s irritating, you know that, right?”

Crowe let out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly though the tension lingered in his stance. Despite the sharpness of your words, his expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability betraying his resolve. His gaze held yours, unwavering and searching. “What’s irritating,” he began, his voice low and threaded with something almost pleading, “is how you bury yourself in these plants and shut everyone out.” 

His eyes flicked toward the sprawling greenery that surrounded you as if accusing them of stealing your attention. “You’d rather lose yourself in them than face what’s right in front of you.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air, but you refused to let them settle. Your instinct was to flee, to escape the tightening web of emotions he was weaving. Turning slightly, you made a move to step away, your eyes darting toward the shelves of plants that lined the room, hoping for some distraction to anchor you. 

But Crowe was quicker. 

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted into your path, his body a deliberate barrier, solid and immovable. The swiftness of his actions left you no room to maneuver. You took a reflexive step back, only to feel the cold edge of the desk press into your lower back. 

Crowe loomed closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity. His hands came down on either side of you, palms flat against the desk, framing you with an authority that made escape impossible. The subtle tension in his arms betrayed his restraint, his effort to control the storm beneath his calm exterior. His proximity brought the faint scent of rain and earth, grounding and disarming all at once. His breath was steady, but the fire in his eyes made your pulse quicken.

“Stop walking away from me,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat of his presence wrapping around you like a vice. 

Your heart pounded as you met his gaze, the storm in his eyes mirroring your own. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction. 

“Because you matter,” he said again, softer this time but no less intense. "And I'm not going anywhere until you believe it."

“I do not want you.” Your voice was sharp, trembling with restrained anger. “Just leave, please.” 

You stood firm, glaring at Crowe, yet your body betrayed your nerves—hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. He remained rooted in place, his tall frame looming over you, the dim light casting sharp angles across his face. His presence was suffocating, an immovable barrier that trapped you against the desk behind you. 

“No. I will not. Please, just talk to me,” Crowe’s voice was low but resolute, carrying the weight of someone who wasn’t going to let this moment slip away. His tone was steady, like a calm storm brewing beneath the surface. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch, your carefully built walls trembling under the force of his presence. You took a shaky breath, your resolve faltering. “Jericho—”

He cut you off, moving closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can’t just force me away,” he said firmly, his tone unwavering. The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant, and his proximity felt suffocating, but not in the way you expected. It wasn’t fear or frustration—it was the sharp, overwhelming realization that he saw through you. 

Your lips parted, searching for words that refused to come. “Please, Jericho,” you murmured, your voice breaking as the tension between you coiled tighter, threatening to snap. 

He leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate and careful, as though he knew he was treading on fragile ground. His head dipped until his face was only inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and his gaze burned with a fierce determination that left you feeling utterly exposed, as though every unspoken thought and hidden feeling you harbored was now laid bare before him. 

“I won’t let you push me away,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with steel. His hand rose, hesitating for a moment before brushing against your cheek, his touch featherlight. His fingers trailed along your jawline with a gentleness that sent a shiver through you. It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you like he was piecing together something he had only just started to understand.

Your instinct was to retreat, to shut him out like you always had, but you couldn’t move. You were caught, your body betraying you as your heart raced and your mind screamed at you to say something. 

“I’m far too busy for this—” you stammered, grasping at the only excuse you could find. But even as the words left your lips, you knew how weak they sounded, how unconvincing. They were a shield made of glass, and Crowe saw straight through it.  

His expression softened, but his determination remained unshaken. “Do you love me?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting through the air like a knife. The question left you frozen, your chest tightening as if the world had stopped spinning.  

You stared at him, your mind racing, but there was nowhere to hide. His gaze held yours, unyielding, and in that moment, you knew he had already figured it out. 

He wasn’t asking because he didn’t know—he was asking because he wanted you to say it.  

“Jericho…” you whispered, his name barely audible as it escaped your lips. You tried to look away, but his hand cupped your cheek gently, guiding you back to face him. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, his tone impossibly tender, but there was a gravity to his words that made your throat tighten. “I need to hear it. From you.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his question suffocating yet electrifying. And as you stared into his eyes, so full of quiet intensity, you realized there was no way out—only through.

He was so close, too close.

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver coursing through your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His voice, low and edged with a weight you couldn’t quite place, wrapped around you, constricting your thoughts. The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating in the space between you and him, stealing the breath from your lungs.  

The indoor greenhouse seemed to shrink, the walls pressing inward as the gravity of his words settled over you. Your heart stuttered, then raced, pounding against your ribs with a force that made your chest ache. The air grew dense, thick with the kind of tension that threatened to pull you under, to drown you in its unrelenting grasp.  

"That's—why would—How—" The words stumbled out of you, clumsy and fractured, like they were trying to claw their way past the rising storm inside your mind. But they faltered, leaving you grasping at nothing, caught in a silence that felt deafening.  

You stared up at him, eyes wide and searching, your mind blank and racing all at once. You were frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, powerless under the weight of his gaze.  

“Jericho—” you started, but your voice faltered, barely a whisper, your plea cut short as his own words sliced through the air.  

“Do you love me?” he asked again, this time softer, yet somehow more insistent, like he was peeling back a layer of armor you didn’t realize you were wearing.  

The world seemed to tilt, the ground beneath you unsteady as his question echoed in your ears. Your breath hitched, catching somewhere in your throat as the air in your lungs grew impossibly thin. Your heart hammered wildly, a chaotic rhythm that you were certain he could feel in the charged space between you.  

You wanted to look away, to break free from the intensity of his gaze, but you couldn’t. His eyes held you captive, locking you in place, stripping you bare of pretense, and leaving you exposed. The words trembled on the edge of your lips, aching to escape, but you pressed them back, swallowing them down with a trembling resolve.  

Not yet. Not now. 

Not when you weren’t even sure yourself.  

"Jericho, please stop." The words fell from your lips, fragile and unsteady, betraying the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to keep hidden. You hated how your voice trembled, how it quaked under the weight of your emotions.  

His expression shifted, the faintest flicker of hurt flashing across his features before his voice came, steady yet raw, cutting through the silence like a blade.  

“Is it because you don’t believe I can love you?” Crowe asked, his tone carrying quiet desperation, as though the question itself cost him something to voice.  The words hit you like a blow, unraveling the fragile threads of composure you’d clung to. His presence was suffocating, his question heavy with a truth you weren’t ready to confront.  

“Because I love you,” Crowe began, his voice trembling slightly, raw with sincerity. “I love you so much that I’ll do as you wish. If you don’t love me, all you have to do is say it. Say the words, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll go home and pretend this never happened—for your sake, not mine. I will do that for you.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “But first, you have to say it. You have to tell me you don’t love me.”  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, pressing against your chest like an unbearable burden.  

“You have to tell me I’m a horrible friend,” Crowe continued, his tone growing more desperate. “Call me out of my name, say anything to show you don’t love me. Please—just say it.”  

His plea echoed in the silence, raw and unfiltered. The two of you stood frozen, your eyes locked in an exchange that said more than words ever could.  

For a mere second, your gaze locked onto Crowe’s, your mind spiraling into chaos. Thoughts crashed and tangled in your head, an unrelenting storm you couldn’t silence. Your heart clenched, each agonizing beat echoing through your chest like a dull, relentless ache. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill, blurring your vision. But they couldn’t obscure the pain carved into his face—the rawness, the unguarded ache that mirrored your own.  

Your throat tightened as emotions warred within you. You wanted to shout at him—to scream that he was a fool, reckless and naïve for loving you, for entrusting his heart so willingly into hands you weren’t sure could hold it. A bitter part of you itched to turn and walk away, to put an insurmountable distance between you, to bury this moment so deeply in your memory that it would never have the power to resurface.  

And yet... his face. That look.  

It stopped you cold.  

His dark skin seemed to glow under the dim light, his deep blue eyes shimmering with an unspoken plea. The loose braid draped over his right shoulder swayed slightly as he shifted, and a few wayward strands framed his face, carelessly tucked behind his ear but now slipping free to shadow his gaze. He stood just inches from you, head tilted downward, his presence overwhelming in its intimacy.  

It shattered you.  

The vulnerability in his expression, the quiet desperation painted across his features, and the faint tremor in his breath pulled at you, unraveling every thought of escape. His hope, fragile yet unyielding, clung to you like a lifeline, binding your feet to the ground.  

Your hand rose instinctively, trembling as it hovered in the space between you. Hesitation held you captive for a moment longer before you closed the gap, your palm pressing gently against his chest.  

Beneath your touch, you felt it—his heart.  

It beat unevenly, a raw and unsteady rhythm, a testament to the weight of the moment. That rhythm echoed the truth of what he had laid bare before you, fragile and precious as if daring you to break it.  

And you, stood there, caught in a fragile silence, suspended between everything you wanted to say and everything you feared to admit. Your voice, when it came, was soft, fractured, barely more than a whisper. “...I can’t.”  

The words slipped from your lips, fragile and small, but they carried the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.  

Crowe’s breath hitched, his entire frame trembling under your touch. The silence between you deepened, heavy with the unspoken truth, and the tears that finally spilled down your cheeks mirrored the storm raging inside you.

He took your trembling hand in his, his thumb brushing delicately over your knuckles in slow, comforting circles. The warmth of his touch was steady, but his heart hammered in his chest, betraying the calm façade he was trying to maintain. The words you had spoken hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing down on him.  

“…you can’t?” His voice was soft, and gentle, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you. Yet, there was a quiet desperation in his tone, an unspoken plea for clarity, for something to hold on to amidst the confusion.  

Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. It burned with a mixture of pain, hope, and an emotion you couldn’t name—something you couldn’t allow yourself to name. Your entire body trembled, caught in a storm of emotions too overwhelming to contain.  

A shaky breath slipped past your lips, your chest rising and falling unevenly. Your free hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it as though it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. The weight of your unsaid words felt unbearable, pressing against your throat, yet when you finally spoke, your voice was no more than a whisper.  

“I’m not what you want,” you admitted, each word laced with anguish. “You don’t wish for a life with me. I see it in the way you look past me... in the things you don’t say.”  

His brows furrowed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the unsteady rhythm of your breathing.  

“I didn’t care to tell you,” you continued, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Where we were... what we’ve shared... it’s enough to show. Isn’t it?”  

Your grip on his shirt tightened as if holding on might keep your heart from breaking apart. “I don’t...” The words caught in your throat, suffocating you with their weight. You faltered, unable to finish. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall, as the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to suppress came pouring through the cracks in your resolve.  

Crowe’s heart clenched painfully with every word you spoke, each syllable carving deep into his soul. The sight of you so conflicted, so hurt, was unbearable. It was as if the weight of your pain had reached out and wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing tightly until he could scarcely breathe. 

“That’s not true…” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. The gentle firmness of his tone carried a quiet desperation, a plea hidden beneath his words. His fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly, as he cupped your chin. His touch was tender like he feared you might shatter under his hand. Slowly, he guided your gaze to meet his, needing you to see the depth of his sincerity. His own eyes, usually so steady, now brimmed with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

“I do want a future with you,” he said, his voice cracking ever so faintly, betraying the storm of emotions swirling just beneath his carefully composed exterior. His hands trembled slightly, fingers curling into fists at his sides as if bracing himself against an unseen force. “I don’t care where we are, as long as it’s with you.”  

His gaze faltered for a heartbeat, his lashes lowering as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The weight of the words he was about to utter seemed to press down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the vulnerability he had tried so hard to avoid. Lifting his eyes again, he locked onto yours with a piercing intensity, the oceanic blue depths searching your face for a flicker of reassurance, of hope, anything that might ease the ache of uncertainty in his chest.  

“But I need to know…” His voice cracked, trembling as if it might break under the weight of the question. “Do you want a future with me?”  

The air between you thickened, heavy with the tension of unspoken fears and fragile truths. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Even the faint rustle of the wind outside stilled, as though the universe itself held its breath, waiting for your answer. His eyes—vulnerable, pleading—bore into yours, searching desperately for something he couldn’t bring himself to articulate. His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, a muscle feathering in his cheek, betraying the storm within.  

And then it broke.

“I do! I love you!” The words tore from you, raw and unrestrained, your voice shaking with the force of emotions you could no longer contain. Your hands flew to your face, trembling as tears spilled over your cheeks in hot, stinging rivers. Each tear carried the weight of all you had suppressed—the love too overwhelming to admit, the fear of losing him, the doubts you had wrestled with in the quiet hours of the night.  

Your chest heaved with each breath, a desperate attempt to steady yourself as you took a trembling step closer. “I’ve always wanted to be with…” you sobbed, your voice cracking with the vulnerability you had fought so hard to keep hidden. The admission felt like tearing down walls you had spent years building, leaving you exposed, bare, and utterly honest.  

Crowe’s breath caught, his chest tightening at the sight of you unraveling. He gently cradled your face, his thumb brushing away the hot tears as they fell, his heart torn between elation and heartbreak. He’d longed to hear those words, but seeing you like this—so broken, so unsure—left him feeling utterly helpless.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, as if he could hold you together with sheer will alone. His lips pressed softly against your hair as he murmured, “I’m yours,” his voice steady now, “Always.”  

But your body stiffened against him, and you pushed him away, your touch hesitant, almost apologetic. The distance you forced between you felt like a knife twisting in his chest. 

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. The word was small and quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm. “I don’t want you here with me.” Your voice wavered, each word like glass splintering in your throat. “I… I’m not worth it, Jericho. I never was, and I never will be.”

You looked away, your hands trembling as you struggled to explain. “You and I… we’re too different. Your life—it’s so full of light. And me? I’m just… I’m a shadow. A burden. Every day, you’re so kind, and so patient, and I don’t know why. What do you even see in me? What do you want from me?”

Crowe’s heart broke into pieces at your words, the cracks spreading like ice on a frozen lake. His hands shot out to grip your arms firmly but gently, grounding you as he fought to steady his voice. 

“How can you say that?!” he exclaimed, his tone carrying a sharp edge of pain. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he searched your face, desperate to make you see what he saw. “You are worth everything to me! Everything.”

His grip tightened, not to restrain, but to hold you steady, as if he feared you might slip away entirely. “I don’t want anything from you. I never have. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath, trying to push down the swell of frustration and sadness that threatened to consume him. “Why do you think you’re a burden to me? Don’t you see? You’re not. You never were. You’re my world. And if I have to spend every single day proving that to you, I will. But please…” His voice softened, his forehead resting against yours. “Please don’t push me away.” 

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by his words, by the intensity of his gaze, by the unwavering devotion in his voice. 

For the first time, you let yourself feel the enormity of his love—a love that terrified you as much as it comforted you. "Stop it," you whispered, but your voice trembled, barely a breath against the thick air that seemed to surround you both. 

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, burning as they streaked down your face. You tried to pull away, to escape the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding you—emotions you couldn’t bear to face. 

Why was this happening? Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

You didn’t want to look at him anymore. The pain in your chest tightened, a suffocating weight that threatened to drown you. You didn't want to hear him confess how he felt, didn't want to let yourself believe for even a second that it could be real. You couldn’t afford to give yourself any false hope, not now. 

“It’s... I—” Your voice cracked, faltering as the words tangled in your throat. It was as if everything inside you was shattering, and no matter how hard you tried to hold it together, it all slipped through your fingers. 

You couldn’t think. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

And you couldn’t say what needed to be said, not when every part of you screamed to get away from him, to make him leave. Make him stop looking at you like that, as if you mattered as if you weren't just a burden.

He could see it in your eyes—the desperation, the fear, the overwhelming need to push him away. And yet, despite every effort you made, he didn’t understand. 

Why couldn’t you see?

He refused to let go of your arms, his grip tightening with a gentle yet unyielding force that pulled you closer until your bodies were pressed together in the most intimate way possible. He refused to let you turn away, refusing to let you hide from him.

“No,” he murmured, his voice soft but unwavering, searching your face, his eyes piercing through the walls you’d built around yourself. “Tell me, why do you think you’re a burden to me...?” His voice softened, yet there was a quiet strength in it as if he needed you to hear this, to understand that this wasn’t just about him—this was about you, too.

You fought desperately to keep the sobs from breaking free, but with each word he spoke, your resolve unraveled, crumbling into a thousand fragile pieces. It felt unfair—the rawness of what he was making you confront, the painful truths he was forcing you to voice, truths you’d hidden deep inside, locked away where no one could see them.

The weight of everything pressing down on you became too much, and the tears finally fell, unbidden and unchecked. They streaked down your face, each one like a silent confession, and the words that followed were sharp, jagged, and full of the hurt you’d buried for so long. 

"I...I’m always too much. I’m...I’m not enough... That’s all I’ve ever been."

He couldn’t understand why you believed it—why you thought you were too much when all he saw was someone who was everything. But the anguish in your voice told him this was no simple admission; this was a revelation, raw and real. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his arms unyielding, encircling you in a protective embrace. His chest pressed against your trembling body, his warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside.

"You’re never too much," he said, his voice thick with conviction, with a fire that burned through the pain. "You’re always more than enough."

He rested his chin on your head, the words settling between you both like a fragile promise, as he felt the weight of your tears soaking into his shirt, your body shaking with the intensity of your emotions. 

In his arms, you felt exposed, your vulnerability laid bare in a way that terrified you. Every tremor in your body was a reminder of how small and helpless you felt, and it made you want to pull away. But Crowe held you tight, his embrace a lifeline that both soothed and shattered your heart.

You buried your face against his chest, unable to stop the flood of emotion, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke through your tears.

"You’re an idiot," you choked out, your words soaked in sorrow, self-doubt, and shame. 

Crowe let out a soft, almost tender chuckle, his fingers gently threading through your hair as he held you even closer. "Maybe I am an idiot," he murmured, the weight of your pain heavy in his words. "But I’m an idiot in love with you."

His confession hung in the air, and your heart skipped, the words reverberating in your mind like a distant echo, soft and haunting. 

In love with you...

It was a truth that seemed too unreal to accept, but your heart fluttered painfully in your chest, trapped by the weight of it. It felt as though it were desperately trying to break free, like a bird clawing at the bars of its cage, yearning to take flight but held back by everything you’d ever believed about yourself.

And yet, in his arms, something shifted. The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened, mingling with a strange, bittersweet warmth—hope and despair tangled together, impossible to untangle.

With a shuddering breath, you clung to Crowe, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for some tangible connection that would ground you, that would prove the words he spoke were more than just fleeting assurances. You needed to believe them, to feel the truth in them like a lifeline, even if every part of you doubted your worth.

"Why…?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the vulnerability in your tone betrayed the fortress you’d built around your emotions. It quivered, heavy with a question you had long tried to suppress. "Why are you even in love with me...?"  

The air seemed to hold its breath.  

He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. His response wasn’t in words—at least, not at first. Instead, it was in the way his hands slid with unspoken reverence along your thighs, warm and deliberate, his touch leaving a trail of electricity that ignited every nerve in its path. His fingers curled slightly, anchoring you to him, as if you might disappear if he let go.  

He leaned in closer—closer than you thought possible, his movements smooth and deliberate, as though every inch he bridged between you had been planned in his mind a thousand times before. The faintest brush of his breath ghosted against your cheek, and then your lips, leaving you breathless before he even touched you.  

With a soft but insistent motion, he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, the cool surface grounding you amidst the rising storm inside. His hands remained steady, one firm at the curve of your waist, the other lingering on your thigh, his thumb tracing gentle circles that felt almost reverent. The act wasn’t rushed, nor hesitant—it was as though he were grounding himself, tethering both of you in this shared moment.  

Your faces aligned, the closeness so profound you could see every detail in his expression—the way his eyes held yours, unwavering, filled with something raw and consuming. That intensity rooted you in place, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the weight of his longing.  

"Because," he finally murmured, his voice low and full of conviction, "loving you isn’t a choice. It’s like breathing—unconscious, instinctual, something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to."  

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and as his lips hovered millimeters from yours, “There are so many reasons I love you..." His voice was soft, a low murmur that seemed to echo in the silence between you. 

His sincerity cut through the space, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "You're so kind, so gentle... even the parts of you try to hide from everyone else."

Your chest tightened, every word he spoke seemed to reach deeper, stripping away the layers of doubt and fear you had built up over the years. But there was more—there was so much more that you weren’t prepared to hear.

He paused, his breath catching, and for a moment, it seemed like the weight of his emotions almost took him off guard. He exhaled slowly, his words coming out, "You're beautiful, smart, strong... and," he hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heartache. "From the moment I saw you trying to protect yourself, even when it looked like everything was going against you... when those guys tried to hurt you, and I ran in, only to get beat up myself—but the way you smiled after... after you had avoided me for so long... I realized then that I had fallen for you. Desperately. I love you more than I can say."

His confession knocked the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered in your chest, your mind reeling with the intensity of his words. He had seen that moment—the one you thought you could bury forever. The moment when you’d been cornered, vulnerable, and yet, somehow, you found the courage to stand your ground. 

He had seen it all, no matter how long you avoid him, and still, he loves you. 

Tears welled in your eyes, but they fell freely now, no longer hidden behind the walls you’d spent so long building. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the emotional tidal wave crashing through you, leaving you breathless. Your hands remained clutching his shirt as if letting go would mean losing this feeling, this unspoken truth you didn’t know you needed.

"And my heart calls for your name. Every day…" you mumbled, your voice trembling under the weight of emotions you’d tried to suppress for what felt like forever. "No matter how many times I tried to stop it, it didn’t listen to me."

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it met yours, though worry flickered at the edges. His lips curled into that familiar, dumb smile, the one that always seemed to deflect his deeper emotions. But his voice betrayed him, low and tinged with a concern that sent your stomach into knots. "If that's true, then why have you been avoiding me?"

The space between you was electric, the kind of silence that pulled at your chest, threatening to unravel you completely. You bit your lip, hesitating as your fingers brushed against the leaves of a nearby plant—something to ground you amidst the chaos inside. When you finally spoke, the words barely rose above the suffocating warmth of the greenhouse. "I didn’t know what to say."

His brows drew together, his smile faltering into something more genuine, more raw. "What do you mean? You’ve never had trouble talking to me before," he said, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze this time, even though it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. "It’s different now," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly.

Crowe’s eyes searched yours, desperate to understand. "What’s different?" 

You took a shaky breath, the humid air thick in your lungs as though the weight of the moment mirrored the dense foliage surrounding you. His presence was overwhelming—the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers fidgeted as if resisting the urge to reach out to you. 

It all only made it harder to speak, but you forced the words out anyway, your voice fragile, each syllable trembling with the weight of unspoken truths.

"Because I…" you began, swallowing hard. "I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel like you owe me something. You’ve always been so… you. Full of ambition, full of drive, building these milestones for yourself that are so much bigger than anything I could ever imagine for me. I don’t want to… I don’t want to be something you’re burdened by." The confession tumbled out like rocks, sharp and heavy, scraping against your throat.

Crowe’s eyes softened, his dumb smile fading into something far more sincere. "A burden?" he echoed, as though the very thought was absurd. Slowly, he reached out, his hand hovering for just a moment before brushing against yours. "You think… that’s what you are to me?"

You shook your head quickly, even as your eyes burned with the threat of tears. "I’m scared, Crowe. Scared that one day, you’ll look at me and realize you deserve someone who doesn’t second-guess everything. Someone who can keep up with you."

He leaned even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. "You don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "Every time I look at you, I don’t see a burden. I see someone I want to protect, someone I want to be around. Even when you overwork yourself, even when you’re too hard on yourself—hell, especially then."

His words made your chest tighten, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "But why? Why do you care so much? I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that."

Crowe chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief, and that dumb, lopsided smile returned. "You don’t have to do anything to deserve it. It’s just you. And you’re worth every second of it."

You swallowed hard, his words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into deep water. His gaze never wavered, holding you captive in its intensity. Slowly, he stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if he were drawn by an unseen force he could no longer resist. His hand, strong and steady, found yours, his fingers curling fully around your own in a gesture so simple yet so profound. 

“And for the record,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air between you, “you’re the reason I’ve been able to keep going. So stop thinking I’m looking out for you because I feel like I have to. I’m looking out for you because…” His words trailed off for a heartbeat, his breath brushing your skin, before he finished with a raw vulnerability that left no room for doubt. “...you’re my reason.”

The world seemed to pause, the weight of his confession pressing against you like the tide before it crashed to shore. 

You barely had time to process it before he closed the remaining distance. His lips met yours in a rush of fervent need and quiet tenderness, a perfect contradiction that stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was a confession in itself, fierce in its certainty yet impossibly gentle, as though he feared you might slip away if he wasn’t careful. 

His hands moved, one sliding up to cup the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, the other resting firmly at the small of your back, pulling you closer still. His touch was unyielding yet reverent like a vow made flesh. In that instant, all the doubts and fears you’d carried crumbled, falling away like ash in the wind. 

His kiss whispered truths your heart had longed to believe: that you were wanted, needed—not out of duty or pity, but for exactly who you were.

When the kiss finally broke, it wasn’t an ending but a breath—a moment to steady the hurricane of emotions swirling between you. Your lips tingled, your skin alight with the memory of his touch, and your heart felt as if it might burst from the sheer intensity of it all. A laugh bubbled up unbidden, light, and full of wonder, even as tears clung to your lashes, threatening to spill. This time, they weren’t born of sadness but of something brighter, fuller, more beautiful than words could hold.

Crowe’s forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space you now shared. His eyes searched yours, unguarded, their depths brimming with affection so profound it made your chest ache. 

You closed your eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to wash over you, grounding you, anchoring you. “I wanted to tell you that I was afraid... afraid of being rejected,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaky but full of truth. “But I still wanted you to know." The words felt like a release, as though admitting them was finally freeing you from the weight that had been so familiar. 

“This... this burden, of never feeling perfect enough... it’s been with me my whole life.” The words escaped in a near whisper, barely audible, but Crowe caught them. He stood so close that his presence felt like a storm, powerful and inescapable, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place.

His hand lifted with deliberate slowness as if savoring the space between you before his fingers brushed against your cheek. The warmth of his touch was gentle but firm, commanding your attention in a way that made your heart stutter. 

He tilted your chin upward, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw as his eyes locked with yours.  

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, vibrating with an emotion that reached into your very core. You couldn’t look away, trapped by the sincerity and hunger that burned in his deep blue eyes. “You’re perfect to me. All of you—the fears, the flaws, the cracks you think make you weak. They’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

Your lips parted, the protest forming on your tongue—words meant to warn him, to remind him of the risks of being with you—but they never found the air. He leaned in, his forehead just brushing yours, his breath warm and intoxicating as his lips hovered over yours.  

“…The door’s locked,” he whispered, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth, “and there aren’t any cameras in here. No one’s going to interrupt us.”  

The promise in his words hung heavy, a shield against the world outside. But his nearness, his unrelenting presence, stole the air from your lungs. His lips found your neck with an aching tenderness, trailing a line of fire across your skin that left you trembling. His hands slid to your waist, unyielding, guiding you backward until the desk’s edge pressed against the backs of your thighs.  

“Crowe,” you breathed, your hands resting against his chest, trembling in the heat of the moment, a last, fragile barrier against the pull between you. “We can’t—”

He cut you off with a kiss, gentle at first, teasing, as if tasting the hesitation in your words. His lips were soft, coaxing, but with a hunger that grew the instant your resistance faltered. The kiss deepened, and the world seemed to tilt, the gravity of him drawing you in with an undeniable force. 

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing against yours with each word, his voice was a low, quiet storm, vibrating through your senses.

“We can,” he whispered, his breath warm and intoxicating against your skin. His hands moved to your hips, firm and confident, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. His movements were fluid, a control that felt almost predatory, but also purposeful, as if he knew exactly what you needed before you did. 

"Just this once, please—let me show you," he murmured, his words a promise, a challenge. His tone was unwavering, leaving no room for doubt. 

He carried you, each step deliberate, each movement smooth and unhurried, like a predator securing its prey—except this felt different. This wasn’t a conquest; it was an invitation, of surrender and longing. As he set you down on the couch, the soft cushion beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the tension that radiated off him like an electric charge.

You leaned back into the plush fabric, the weight of his presence pressing against your senses, his fingers moving with practiced precision, undoing the buttons of his vest one by one, each motion slow, deliberate. He let the clothing fall to the floor, the sound of it landing barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

The air between you thickened with anticipation, the pull between you undeniable, each movement a promise, a slow unraveling of everything you had thought was impossible. And yet, here you were, caught in the storm of him, your breath quickening, the crowd of your desires finally, relentlessly, yearning for his touch.

The sound of his long-sleeved shirt buttons coming undone echoed in the stillness of the greenhouse, each one a deliberate step toward vulnerability. His shirt hung open, revealing the faint lines of muscle and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He stood before you, unguarded, his raw vulnerability on display.

His gaze bore into yours, dark and intense, as if every unspoken word between you had finally come to life. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of this," Crowe murmured, his voice thick with yearning, each syllable laced with a deep hunger for the moment that had been building between you both. "To be here with you, to love you without restraint—no games, no walls, just this, just us."

The weight of his words washed over you, the raw emotion in his voice striking a chord deep within. You could feel the air crackling with something undeniable, something that had been brewing for longer than either of you had admitted. His proximity, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, made it hard to breathe. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, every beat erratic, every second stretching between the two of you.

His lips crashed against yours once more, but this time it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release. Each movement, every brush of his lips against yours, was a confession, a surrender of everything he had kept locked away. His mouth moved with a fervor that left you breathless, as though he was desperate to pour out everything he had been holding inside. 

His hand slid slowly up your thigh, warm and sure, sending an electric shock through your body. The touch was both possessive and gentle as if he was claiming you yet cherishing you all at once. He shifted slightly, tilting you back with an ease that made your pulse spike, deepening the kiss further, and pushing you to the edge of your control.

A sharp breath left your lips, your hands trembling as you placed them against his chest, trying to regain some semblance of space. "Crowe, we can't do this here," you whispered urgently, voice barely audible, but filled with a tension that threatened to break. You attempted to pull his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unwavering, pulling you closer.

His eyes locked onto yours darkened with desire, yet there was something else there—a rawness, a vulnerability that you hadn't seen before. 

"Don’t move," he commanded softly, yet there was a quiet power in his voice that made your heart race even more. His touch never faltered, never wavered. "Not now. Not when I’ve waited so long for you to say the truth.”

The weight of his words, coupled with the heat of his body against yours, held you in place—trapped, but not unwilling. Every inch of you ached with the yearning he had revealed, the long-suppressed need to be close to you, to love you, to finally let go of everything that had kept him distant.

His forehead rested softly against yours, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine as it brushed against your lips. Your senses were overwhelmed by the moment, your gaze drifting downward as the dim, ethereal light of the indoor greenhouse wrapped around him like a cloak. 

Shadows danced across his dark brown skin, accentuating the depth of his features, and his deep blue eyes held you in an almost hypnotic gaze. His hair had come loose from its braid, falling around his face with a carefree messiness that made his presence feel all the more magnetic. 

The undone buttons of his shirt revealed just enough of his toned chest, the closeness between you thick with an unspoken intensity.

His eyes briefly flicked down to your legs, lingering for a moment before he returned to meet your gaze. Without a word, he moved closer, gently parting your legs with a subtle gesture that spoke volumes of his intention. 

"For you to not feel like a burden," he whispered, his voice a soft blend of desire and reassurance, "I need to show you, don't I?"

The words lingered between you, charged with emotion as he moved even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that made your heart race. 

"After tonight," he continued, his voice steady yet tender, "you'll never feel like that again." His words, though simple, held a weight that made your breath catch, a quiet vow to erase every doubt and every insecurity that had ever haunted you.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What are your thoughts on the possibility of Petunia redeeming herself or atoning for her abuse of Harry? This is more ramblings and musing then coherent ask, sorry.

You mentioned in a previous post that while she might not love him, she is concerned for her nephew’s safety - as well as that her emotions towards Harry are quite complex (similarly to her emotions towards and relationship with Lily, post-magic revelation).

There are many fics where Petunia does eventually break the cycle of abuse she and Vernon perpetuate on Harry (but usually this is the result of either divorcing Vernon or her husband outright dying), but I’m kind of curious as to what you think in your analysis of her character.

Petunia is a tough nut to crack for me when it comes to fics where she is redeemed.

At the very least, the extreme neglect and enforced silence that Harry is raised in just…it’s terrible when you look at it more deeply than the early books intend.

Which is made worse still by later on, when she swings a frying pan at his head (Chamber of Secrets, I think?).

In the first books, I get that as the target audience was young kids, not much gravitas was placed in Harry’s treatment in the hands of the Dursley’s - they were the bad family he escaped into the magical world from, the anti-thesis to the Weasley family later, meant to seem more caricature and buffoonish.

If that frying pan had hit Harry, though? Depending on how hard Petunia swung it, no matter that she was concerned for Dudley (after Harry didn’t even use magic, just pretended to), that could have killed him.

We know Dudley beat Harry quite often with his friends, and Vernon at the very least threatened to do so (and from some of Harry’s lines, likely went through with said threats at times), but little about Petunia’s abuse of Harry is mentioned except in the very early books - her shaving his hair except for his bangs for example, leaving him to go to school mortified - so there’s no indication that she regularly threatened him physically over the emotional abuse, but still.

Not to mention the potential for neglect/abuse that Petunia herself went through, Lily being their parent’s favored child over her, how that in turn also affected her relationship with her sister, and then how that is turned on to Harry…

Petunia’s character, and redemption/atonement for Harry’s abuse is such an interesting concept.

Personally, I was never interested in a Petunia redemption arc. I think she's just as bad, if not worse than Vernon. So I'm going to have to disagree with you.

It's not that Petunia's sitting there feeling bad about how she and Vernon treat Harry and wish she could stop it — she doesn't. It's very clear throughout the books that she isn't remorseful at all.

Her feelings about Harry are complex because Harry is Lily's son. And as bitter and jealous as Petunia is, I think, she used to love her sister. Used to even be protective of her. So, deep down, I don't think she wants Harry dead or seriously hurt (to her standard), but at the same time, she feels justified in hurting him and treating him as subhuman.

See, Vernon truly does hate wizards. He fears magic, he loves normalcy, and he despises the "freaks" that essentially represent everything he hates. He's straightforward and completely honest in his approach.

The reason I sometimes consider Petunia worse, is becouse she isn't honest, she's a fucking hypocrite.

She wanted to be a witch. She wanted to be special and go to wizard school like Lily. She was jealous of Lily that she got to do magic and go to Hogwarts.

Petunia started calling wizards freaks and latched onto normalcy as a way to cope with not being special. I mean, she was told that magic exists, that there's a whole special world of magic out there, but that she isn't special enough to become part of it.

So young Petunia coped by going in the opposite direction. She became as normal as can be. Started claiming anyone special was a "freak" even when deep down she fucking knows that if she got a chance she'd leave and go to Hogwarts in a heartbeat. That deep down she wants to be special.

She transferred that jealousness and bitterness, then toward the wizarding world as a whole onto Harry personally, which is so unfair. Like, I find it disgusting, I find it disgusting how righteous she feels treating him the way they do. She is very similar to Snape in this regard (projecting her problems with Harry's parent onto Harry), just without any of the redeeming qualities since she isn't even all that smart, and she wouldn't give a shit if all her neighbors died one day (Snape would). And Snape was better to Harry than Petunia, let's be real, being an ass to a kid is not the same as starving a kid and locking him in a cupboard.

But I do want to point out, that she doesn't have the excuse of a cycle of abuse (I'm saying excuse because that's what it is. Tragic backstory can be used to explain characters' actions but it doesn't absolve them) becouse Petunia wasn't abused or particularly neglected. We have no indication she was, and I think it's more likey she was treated well.

We're told their parents loved having a witch in the house by Petunia in PS, but when we see Snape's memories, apparently their parents urged a pre-Hogwarts Lily not to do magic. They feared it until it was explained to them. Petunia is biased in what she says. Because while they were supportive of Lily once they understood, I don't believe they ever mistreated Petunia, and I don't think she is meant to be read as neglected.

I mean, Lily wasn't even home most of the year, Petunia was getting all of their parents' attention year-round, and during the breaks, they probably dotted on Lily because they hadn't seen her in months. This isn't neglect or abuse. This is Petunia being a petulant child who didn't get to be showered in attention all the time because her parents wanted to hear from the daughter they only got to see, like, 3 months a year.

I don't think either Lily or Petunia were abused or neglected, and I find it somewhat silly to try and justify Petunia by giving her a tragic backstory when the books make her reasons to hate Harry very clear. These being jealousy and pettiness.

So, I'm not interested in a redemption arc or atonement arc for Petunia or Vernon for that matter. I think neither of them deserves it and the only atonement I'd be interested in for them is a prison sentence for child abuse and neglect.

Yes, Petunia may not beat Harry physically as often as Vernon or Dudley, but she lets them. She watched him be chased by Marge's dog and laughed. She approved of Vernon's and Dudley's treatment of Harry because if she didn't, she wouldn't have let it happen. She stopped Vernon from throwing Harry out of the house when Dumbledore sent a threatening letter to her in OotP; if she cared to stop the abuse she didn't actively participate in herself, she had the power to do so, but didn't. Becouse she thought Harry deserved it. She mistreated him just as much. Looking at him with disgust and scorn and calling him a freak is abuse. Starving and locking him up is abuse. She isn't any better than Vernon.

The only Dursley I can see redeemed is Dudley. He started his journey in the books (btw, in that scene, Petunia thinks Dudley is "too sweet" for telling Harry he isn't a waste of space) and he actually was a child, like Harry. He did what his parents did like every child does. But he shows signs of improvement after Harry saves him from the dementors. He realizes his parents are full of shit.

So, yeah, Dudley is the only Dursley I'm interested in a redemption for. Petunia and Vernon deserve a prison sentence.

[maysileeewrites]

playing cupid | teaser

movie! Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader

Synopsis: When Fiyero suggests a group date activity with Galinda and Elphaba to try and quell the tension between the two, you agree, not knowing that these two might have a common goal in sight as well. (And maybe playing matchmaker wasn’t the only thing on Fiyero’s mind when he suggested the idea …) 

AN: based off of this concept post. I'm so sorry that it's taking me this long to write this, but this story is turning out to be a beast, I'm nearly 4k words in and the actual group date hasn't even happened yet. I might have to split the final shabang into two parts, we'll see. please be just a bit more patient with me <3

Your doubts didn’t seem to phase Fiyero in the slightest. Actually, it seemed that the more vocal you became in voicing your concerns, the more determined to see this through to the end - and see it through successfully - Fiyero became. 

Not even Elphaba’s irritated expression, when he cornered you and her after dinner the following evening, seemed to intimidate him, which, you had to admit grudgingly, was a feat in and of itself. Because while you liked Elphaba very much - when she wasn’t using her breath on venting about Galinda that was - and valued her friendship, she could be quite intimidating. 

If she’d looked at you the way she was currently looking at Fiyero, you were sure that you’d have already crumbled under her withering glare. 

As it was, Fiyero merely shrugged, smirking, when she said, her voice dripping with irritation: „And why in Oz’s name would you do that?“ (Fiyero had just announced that he wanted to invite you two for dinner in a fancy restaurant in town the next evening.) 

„Because I want to spend some time with my best friend’s other friends - get to know them myself, you know“, he said, an easy smile on his face, as he walked closer to you and slid an arm around your waist, the gesture so casual, so natural, almost as if it was something he did all the time. 

It wasn’t. Because while Fiyero had always been extremely affectionate and not even your sister’s irritated glare when he’d casually grab your hand and lace your fingers together or gently touch your arm to get your attention could discern him, he usually didn’t do something like this. 

This felt new and dangerous and thrilling and - you liked it. 

You liked being this close to Fiyero, feeling his body right next to yours, heat radiating off him, even though it caused your heart to start beating frantically in your chest, your palms to sweat and your cheeks to flush. 

Sweet Oz, what was happening to you? 

Because this really wasn’t the moment for you to be this flustered and confused by Fiyero’s shenanigans, not when Elphaba’s irritated, hostile glare was still fixed on him. 

„I see“, Elphaba said dryly, her tone clearly indicating that she didn’t understand at all and that she wasn’t very interested in hearing more. 

„I mean - I already know you’re great, I’ve already heard so much about you, but I thought that we two should get to know each other as well, get to spend some time together, if you know what I mean.“ 

At this, he actually winked at Elphaba. 

Elphaba was having none of it though, raising her eyebrows pointedly. „And what if I happen to not share that sentiment?“ 

„Well, then I’d be very disappointed“, Fiyero said, shaking his head. „I mean, I was quite looking forward to discussing Dr. Clover’s lecture over dinner with you - I happen to admire his work as well -, but no can do, I guess …“ 

„You want to go to Dr. Clover’s lecture with us?“, Elphaba said, the surprise in her voice mirroring your own. You hadn’t heard of this particular aspect of Fiyero’s plan yet, and his satisfied smirk told you that he knew - or at least thought so - he’d won Elphaba over.

tagging: @angel-starbeam @matt-patt-engarde @hazbingirliexoxo @tn22220-blog @crisis-unaverted @graham-mackrackers @a-quick-request @tattooed-galaxies

[psychoticallykind]

Okay, so I just read @noblehouseofgay's post about character flaws and it's brilliant, but I had thoughts and I wanted to share.

So, specifically Sirius and Lily. I love these ideas, and I also think that it gives us some interesting writing opportunities.

Because Lily is smart, yes. She's clever and we know this, but going off of this characterization, she occasionally (maybe accidentally, depending on what you want here) puts others down while proving her own points/intelligence.

But Sirius is also rather smart (all of the marauders are, but Sirius is the focus here) and I think he would be a bit prideful. He's more likely to react to Lily's (accidental or not) condescension because he was raised in an environment where he was expected to be better than everyone else. Not only was it expected, but it was generally achieved. Sirius is clever and powerful and he knows it, but when you live in a household with narcissistic/abusive parents, you learn what it feels like to be dismissed. And I think he would hate that feeling.

I think that in many occasions - even when Sirius doesn't particularly care about the subject - Lily will say something that's just a little bit too high-and-mighty (to Sirius, to James, maybe to Remus) and Sirius would react.

I think they would have the most verbally vicious, intense arguments and debates, because Lily is smart and comes off like she thinks she is better than the others, and Sirius is smart and hates the idea of anyone placing themselves above him.

Okay, I'm mostly better now.

The post I mentioned at the beginning is here, by the way.

[e-vay]

Hi!! First of all, I'm a BIG fan of yours and I love your work! My question is, do you still have your first reference sheet or your first design ideas for Aurora? Or maybe the names you have thought to give her? I'd love to know more about our girl!

Thank you so very much! I really appreciate that 🥰

A long time ago I posted a compilation of Aurora's designs throughout the years. She started out pink, then she was purple, then powder blue, then back to pink haha.

I'll give you the full rundown of Aurora's history but it's not all sunshine and rainbows, so buckle up!

When I very first started drawing her, her personality and background were COMPLETELY different. She was more of a reflection of all the shit I was going through at the time and she was my coping mechanism (🎶childhood trauma🎶). She was from a mechanoid, dystopian future and she was orphaned at a young age, so she was a very jaded character. She ended up traveling back in time and actually getting to meet Sonic and Amy (during the time we see them in the games), but she was really bitter and resentful towards them. I only have this one scan of a drawing from that era, I lost everything else:

I really do not know when this was drawn, but based on the art style and trying to recall what my living situation was like at the time, I am guessing this was probably around 2001.

Then between 2004-2006, things in my life started to drastically change again and so I don’t know, I guess I decided to reevaluate things? I don’t remember a lot from this time —again, childhood trauma—so I don’t remember exactly what sparked the change. But I think I was like "Wait a minute, Sonic and Amy and Aurora don't deserve this. I’ve been making this all about me. Let me try again." So then I rebuilt Aurora the proper way, thinking about what traits she’d inherit from her parents and the way they would raise her, and thinking about just how fun a family the three of them would be (because the ideals of “fun” and “adventure” are so important to both Sonic and Amy so of course they would make for a fun family). So that’s where her personality and relationship with Sonic and Amy became what you know it as today.

I fell out of the Sonic phase for awhile and was focused on other interests for several years, and then around 2014 I came back to Aurora and that’s where I ended up with her current design. Even then I was experimenting with her interests and motivations, and this is when I gave her the power of light. It just seemed to really suit her and I thought both Sonic and Amy are just such pure sources of light and love that it made sense for it to physically manifest as a power in her.

The one thing that's never changed was her name. She was always named Aurora, even from the very beginning.

I know this was a LOT of personal info about my own life, but my history played a huge part in the initial concept of Aurora which is so insanely different from the Aurora you all know, so that’s why I figured I’d explain.

[coyle-and-co]

dolly and franco as kids, i think they would’ve understood each other

pretty much the rest of this post is oc ramblings !! stick around if you find that interesting haha

So obviously i’ve stated in this post that Dolly cross dresses, but i did also say i hadn’t figured out why but now i have !!!

Dolly was born into a household with a single teen mother, his father had left once he’d found out about his existence. His mother had wanted a girl, more than anything, so when Dolly was born a boy she was ,,,, less ,,, than happy ,,, for sure …

Since there was no male figures in Dolly’s life to say otherwise, he was raised for the first 10 years of his life as a girl. He knew no better, he was dressed as one, given girls toys etc. Even learnt how to do makeup. He didn’t question a thing.

Eventually, since his mother couldn’t find a stable enough job he had to be turned over to authorities and was sent away to an overtly more than evangelical local orphanage. Everyone always said how he was rather tall for a girl, but he was naturally feminine so once again no one really questioned much about him. Aside from teasing about his misalignment in his right eye, life was peaceful enough. Until he reached his teens and then you know what bodies do around that age.

He was confused, terrified more than anything about why he wasn’t growing up like the other girls were, and tried his best to hide it, however one of the boys who’d always picked on him noticed and well..it didn’t ,,,go very well for my poor boy 💔he was beaten pretty significantly, no one knew his mother had raised him as a girl so they assumed he was some freak 😞

After that he realized he’d been lied to for pretty much his entire childhood, but now a lot of things made sense, how he never felt like a woman really, but hey, how would he know?

The next few years at the orphanage were horrible, he’d lost any friends he’d had and the staff (given the time period) weren’t very understanding, even if he had accept that he was actually a boy, he was still gay, since he’d never been interested in girls.

Up until the age of 18, he had become recluse. Spending all his time making gadgets with a tool box given to him by one of the few staff members who was actually nice to him, the grounds keeper. He spent hours watching war time films, feeling an odd affection towards the bombs and weapons used.

Of course, he’d never forgotten how he was treated by his peers, and years of that built enough resentment that he thought of just — exploding the building. and well he did, in the end. He was thrown into prison, but his talents didn’t go unnoticed by a certain group (dun dun!! murkoff…)

However, even if he no longer has to dress feminine, he still enjoys it enough and likes to feel pretty:) even if coyle gives him grief about it

anyway ,,, i hope this is as interesting to my followers as it is to me making it, i love to ramble i apologize

dolly’s my sweet boy really, he just needs a friend i think

[randomfoggytiger]

Hello Tiger,

I've never spoken out on this subject and I'm not going to again, but seeing Sunday's discussion, I can't remain silent. We have different concepts of what it means for a young woman to “thrive” and what it means for a man to assume a relationship openly, without looking like a deer in the headlights every time he is seen with his partner. So far, so good. As for the glaring age difference, it's controversial, but it's not the end of the world either. But what about the fact that a 55-year-old rich man goes after a 22-year-old girl, enters into a sexual relationship and brings her to live with him? 22 years! Do we have a different concept of that too? Is a 55-year-old man with a 22-year-old girl acceptable to you? For me, there's no justification - I'm still a fan of Mulder, but only of the character. For now. Please don't be offended: I'm a long-time reader of your site and even though I don't agree with your position on this subject, I enjoy reading it very much and I appreciate your willingness to write about the series. I wish you a happy 2025!! 🙏

I'm not offended, don't worry. :DDDD Age gaps relationships boil down to whether an individual can stomach that sort of dynamic or not; and no amount of logic or reasoning is going to dissuade a gut reaction. So, I get it when others can't stand it.

And thank you for the compliments! I try to keep church and state (my irl opinions and the series' meta) separate. ;)))

My Thoughts

I don't mind age gaps because I've seen/heard them done successfully-- however, those successes are incredibly rare. Stereotypically, it involves someone younger with someone older, and there's usually money to some degree. Exploitation is a huge risk to watch out for; and I've found the toxic relationships have two prominent factors in common: A. they quickly lock down a younger individual by knocking her up, thus making it harder for said individual to leave; and B. they dangle and lie and push off the type of commitment the younger individual expected, dragging on the process as long as possible while demeaning and belittling the younger person's sense of identity.

Why am I okay with David and Monique?

First off, we don't know how old Monique was when she and David began dating. She first appeared publicly at The X-Files premiere (with her friends and boss from the smoothie shop) in 2016. The two didn't appear publicly together until 2017; and I'm pretty sure she was on set a time or two while S11 of the Revival was filming. She would have been 24 or 25 then.

However, let's assume they began dating in 2015 when she was 22 (after she followed Brad on Twitter or Instagram, I can't remember which): I would immediately raise my eyebrows and go on the defensive. That would lead me down a long rabbit hole of questioning and double questioning; and I would have to arrive at a final conclusion with some sort of evidence to indicate if this was a predatory, creepy, weird, neutral, positive, or healthy relationship-- part of that process would include looking at relationships outside of the two primary "targets": kids, family members, exes, etc. Which I did, because there was a lot of ruckus (on Tumblr, sometimes Twitter) about the nature of their relationship. Next, I would look at the individuality of the people involved: was there an improper balance between the two-- was one beholden to the other? Speaking of which--

Secondly, I long suspected Monique had independence of some form apart from him-- her Instagram posts didn't change substantially after they moved in together except to now include him; she hangs out regularly with her friends; she has hobbies and interests outside of the relationship; etc., etc.-- and confirmed my suspicions yesterday with an old interview. Her parents, per the interview, were well-off enough to give her horse riding lessons... and ice skating lessons... and tennis lessons... and violin lessons... and soccer lessons, all at once (?) She traveled the world for tournaments before meeting DD.

Regardless, I just don't see David as the type to leave an ex high and dry after they part ways-- he went above and beyond to pay alimony and his kids's expenses post divorce (at apparently higher rates than is usual for his $$ bracket in NY, if I recall), and he brings all his past associates, exes, and family forward in his projects. Even if one wanted to write off their relationship as a sugar baby transaction, MP would still have the ability to network as DD's ex after taking the assets both would split post- (potential) separation.

Now, for the moral/ethical aspect: while many are against and few for the idea of age gaps, I-- personally-- weigh each case individually. Most celebrity age gaps are based on transaction, but knowingly. Leonardo DiCaprio, for example, dates only women younger than 25; but his girlfriends seem aware of that fact, and he markets them and their careers pretty generously (comparatively) so that they're established as models or socialites or etc. etc. etc. by the time the relationship comes to a close. (I've never heard one speak badly of him, but there's always that possibility.) If there is exploitation there, it's at least propagated by both parties.

In David and Monique's case, she hasn't used her relationship with DD to market this or that venture-- despite speculation that she would-- but doesn't hide it, either. He, meanwhile, brought her everywhere with him; introduced her to friends, acquaintances, and professionals along the way; and snapped countless photos of her and let her snap countless photos of him. They seem-- on a surface level-- to be attached, in love, and secure in each other. Not to the same degree that he and Tea had, but he's not the same man post- public "sex scandal" and (especially) divorce. And having gone through countless paparazzi pics of the two of them over the years, I've noted that he doesn't treat her differently than any previous "private citizen" ex, and initiates more physical contact in public than she does.

Swinging back around to the moral/ethical argument, is it right that a man thirty years MP's senior should date her-- one with kids, no less? It depends, to me. What is the health of the relationship? What is the health of their relationships outside of that relationship? Are they growing and changing or stagnating and regressing? I've seen both seem to progress rather than regress-- he and his directorial and podcast efforts, she and her arts and crafts and flower business. He and his kids seem to have a solid, loving, loyal relationship even after she joined his life; he and Tea have a cordial, publicly supportive, even loving relationship after their divorce; and he never seemed to abandon his responsibilities to his mom in her last years on earth. As for Monique, she and her friends and family seem (don't have too much information to glean from here) to still have a solid, loving, loyal relationship; she seems to keep out of business that doesn't concern her (DD and Tea's co-parenting); and she seems to not push his kids into compromising or uncomfortable situations.

As far as age gap relationships go, this appears pretty drama free, even-keel, and seemingly positive and healthy-- 'healthy' as in there are numerous signs of personal growth from both parties.

Personally, I think people settle into relationships where they feel most at home, or ones that reflect where they are in their personal lives. Those dynamics could be healthy or wickedly unhealthy; but they're where the person wants to be. (It's up to family and loved ones to rescue an abuse victim, of course, but that person picked someone who reflects how they feel about themselves in their minds, for example.) I don't know what initially drew Monique and David to each other-- maybe she makes a mean green smoothie. Maybe he has a ton of money she likes to spend (though their rather unglamorous lives, factored in with her parents' more-than stable finances, leads me to take this with a grain of salt.) All I know is what I've seen written up on the internet-- that Monique "saved him, in a way" (said a close friend-- who was not a bootlicker, because she also had biting criticisms of David to share)-- or leaked online-- that DD is MP's world and she loves him.

So, in conclusion: I'm very skeptical of any relationship-- age gap or otherwise-- and need to see proof before I believe that two people are actually in love or thriving. Furthermore, it's their business; and as long as his kids aren't feeling neglected, abandoned, or "less than", and as long as there isn't abuse, manipulation, or control, then I figure let the two in the relationship sort themselves out. ;))))

[notomys-mordax-blog]

Regrettably, I have not gotten all of my feelings about Veilguard out of my system. I've decided to cope with this by continuing to post novels regarding my thoughts about the narrative. Since I'm generally here for the characters, I'm organizing my thoughts on a character-by-character basis. I'm going to include my general opinions about the characters, things I liked and disliked about their involvement in the game, and thoughts I have about how I may have improved upon their narrative or things that might have made their stories more effective (for me). 

Part 1 Lace Harding

Overall: 5/10

She's a really cute character with an adorable design. Say what you will about the change in art style, but I find the ladies of Veilguard to be absolutely gorgeous. I also liked the visual storytelling that we had with her design. I could really imagine her adding the little embroidered details to her clothing while away on a scouting mission. 

Lace is our returning companion. When this was revealed, I thought that she was a good choice. She was a fan favorite in DA:I and struck the right balance between being familiar, without having too much pre-existing plot that would need to be incorporated into the story. She's the cute girl-next-door, with some really interesting undertones of having been raised in a farm with all of the bloody pragmatism maintaining a farm requires. 

Before we dive into her story arc, I think it's worthwhile to address her personality. While I don't disagree with the sentiment that she'd be different around Rook (a co-worker) versus the Inquisitor (a literal holy figure), I don't think they've struck the right balance between bubbly and cute with the salt-of-the-earth pragmatism we saw when she was younger. This feels odd, because the situation in veilguard is just as, if not more, pressing than the situation in inquisition.

The romance between Taash and Lace didn't really do it for me. I think there are some interesting parallels between the characters, specifically they are both bicultural (although have very different experiences with what this entails). I also think it's interesting that Taash is very much a person who has gotten comfortable with their own anger, while Lace (who hypothetically has this anger) isn't comfortable with letting her friendly and bubbly mask drop. I like the implication that Lace is the kind of person that people underestimate and mischaracterize, Taash has a very direct kind of sexuality that seems at odds with the "girl-next-door" persona that Lace usually carries, but unfortunately I just didn't buy the chemistry between these two.  

Her story arc consists of getting whacked with a magical MacGuffin and obtaining mysterious magical powers. These powers reveal the painful history of the dwarven people, in which the proto-elves magically lobotomized their ancestors in order to create physical bodies. The dwarves in the DA series suffer a problem that seems pretty common to a lot of dwarves in fantasy series. They have the most fascinating lore and interesting culture, but they never really seem to fit properly in the narrative. The role of the Deep Roads with the wardens helped tie Orzammar to the main conflict better in DA:O, but one of the main problems I had with Harding's story was that there was this really fascinating lore reveal that has been hinted at since the beginning of the series, but it's never really tied back to the main conflict. There is essentially a throw-away line in which harding muses about how messed up it is that the entire economy of modern dwarven society is essentially (unknowingly) mining the bodies of their ancestors. 

The end result is an interesting narrative beat that doesn't really hit right. It feels disconnected with the main conflict, and literally absorbing her race's entire ancestral trauma without any real consequence or impact on her characterization. I'm of the opinion that the lore reveal was really interesting, and something that the series has been building up for a while. 

This is where I'd put my thoughts about Lace's Faction, if it existed

Lace is the only companion who doesn't belong to a faction. 

She's also well positioned to be a bridge between South Thedas and the North, she could have acted as a proxy for the player and been used to explain differences between how the previous games characterized Northern Thedas (especially Tevinter!) and what we experienced. While I believe she has a line or two about how poorly elves are treated in the south, I think this was a largely underutilized aspect of her character.

This post is already upwards of 2k words, so I'll save a more in depth analysis of my feelings about what happened with Southern Thedas and the Inquisitor. Let's just say that I laughed (negative) when Emmrich and Harding decided to go on their camping trip almost immediately after I received notice that the South was completely overrun with Blight and on the Brink of collapse. 

I think part of my longing for a dwarven faction is that in fantasy stories, dwarves often have super cool lore that isn't really explored. DA:O was a bit of an exception, because of the importance that the Deep Roads had to the story, but in the later games ... it doesn't really feel like the dwarves are super related to what's happening in Thedas. With all of the big worldbuilding reveals about the Titans, it would have been nice to have a dwarven faction, and Kal-Sharok is right there. I've been dying to see more of this society since they were first introduced, and I feel like they really would have been an interesting thematic inclusion, given that the entire world is in danger of being blighted. I go into more depth about why I think a dwarven faction would have improved Lace's story later. 

How would I fix this?

Whenever I find something narratively unsatisfying, my brain immediately jumps to fix-it mode. 

So I think the first problem has to do with the characterization of Harding. As mentioned earlier, I always understood her as being a character who is outwardly really bubbly, but also very ruthlessly pragmatic. I don't think this characterization was really well portrayed in Veilguard. Making it more clear that Lace has a brutal side would really go a long way in making the Titan's anger and grief feel more impactful, and making it more clear that she has some darker impulses that could make her embracing her anger dangerous. We get a taste of this in some of her banter's with Taash, but I think I would have liked to see her act on some of these impulses. It's odd that Neve and Lucanis are the only companions who can be hardened. This feels like a perfect place to Harden Harding (heh). 

So, we tweak Harding's characterization and add some gameplay impacts. Better, but Harding's story still feels like it's dangling in space. 

My first impulse was that Harding was the wrong character to tell this story. Narratively, the story doesn't really take advantage of her connection to the Inquisition or Southern Thedas. After all, Lace Harding is a surface dwarf with no real connection to her dwarven heritage, she identifies much more strongly with being ethnically Ferelden than being dwarven. Furthermore she is the most devoutly Andrastian member of the party. Surely a character who identifies as more ethnically dwarven would be better suited to tell this story, why was the Lace chosen when Dagna was right there? 

Given the overall narrative of Veilguard, I think the best way to make the story of the Titans feel connected to the main plot would be to have a dwarven faction as described above. However that would involve some heavy narrative shifting. Without shifting too many major beats, I feel like Harding's story could have been made much more impactful if we were asked to choose "what's next?" for her. She's been given the burden of learning traumatic ancestral knowledge for a group of people she's ethnically related to, but not culturally related to. I think it could have been much more interesting if we gave Taash's choice to Lace. Once the Gods are defeated and the heroes can go home, what does she want to do? 

Taash will probably get their own novel later, but I found it really thematically goofy that the thematic thesis of their character involves "gender isn't a binary, but culture is (apparently)". While thinking about Taash and Lace as a couple, I considered that one of the commonalities the two characters have is the fact that they are visibly part of an ethnic minority that they don't really fully relate to. If anything, Lace would probably experience this to a greater degree than Taash because she's a surface dwarf. Unlike Taash who was raised by a person with a very strong connection to their culture, Lace and her mother feel very integrated with Ferelden society (as mentioned, they've even adopted the majority religion of the region). 

Does Lace Harding return to her mother and the country that she obviously loves, or does she embrace her role as an "oracle" and return to dwarven society (either Kal-Sharok or Orzzamar would have worked)? Unlike Rivaini or Qunari culture which could easily exist in a blended capacity, the cultural taboos of dwarven societies could explain why this needs to be a binary choice.

I also think that this could have made the choice to sacrifice Harding a little bit more impactful. Part of the reason why it hurts to lose Davrin is that you lose Assan too. I think if it was more clear what Harding's future looked like, it would have been more impactful to lose it.

Closing Thoughts

Lace Harding is a good example of a few of the problems with Veilguard. Taken on her own, she's a likeable and fun character, but her characterization feels somewhat shallow compared to what is right there, simmering underneath the surface. Objectionable aspects of the character are smoothed down. In Cullen's bad ending it's implied that Lace straight up mercy-kills him! My girl gets stuff done (with a smile, even if those things are ... emotionally challenging)  If you squint you can kind of see that the implications are still there, but it's so subtle that it truly feels like head-canons are doing the heavy lifting. 

As an aside, two aspects that I think negatively impact Lace's character are the general omission of the Chantry in Veilguard's story, as well as the narrative decisions made around the Inquisitor and Southern Thedas. 

Her freckles are cute tho.

[peachjagiya]

Hello, I am a casual reader of your blog as well as other blogs about BTS, Ateez, and Stray Kids ships. I’m particularly into these three groups (mostly BTS) and enjoy reading about ships from shippers’ perspectives. While I wouldn’t consider myself a shipper, I do enjoy fanfiction and occasionally indulging in the more far-fetched romance theories some shippers come up with.

I haven’t followed BTS ships as closely as I used to, but from what I know, Taekook and Jikook remain the two most prominent rival ships within the BTS fandom. Having read your blog for a while now, I’m familiar with many of your theories and beliefs, and I’d like to challenge you a bit, just for discussion sake.

I recently came across one of your posts from last year where you debated with a Jikooker. One of the points you made was that Jikook couldn’t possibly be a couple because Jungkook didn’t invite any of Jimin’s friends to his album release party, whereas he invited Taehyung’s friends. However, by this same logic, aren’t Eunwoo and Mingyu also considered Jungkook’s close friends? Yet, I didn’t see them at the party either. In fact, I don’t recall hearing about any of his 97-liner friends attending. Do you think this means Jungkook is closer to Wooga Squad than to his own group of friends since they were present at the party while his 97-liner friends were not?

Additionally, wasn’t Wooga Squad also present at J-Hope’s album release party? I’ve seen many Taekookers argue that the only person Taehyung has brought into his friend group is Jungkook. If that’s the case, why were Wooga Squad members at J-Hope’s party? Wasn’t there also speculation about Taehyung hanging out with Wooga Squad and J-Hope during Chapter Two of BTS?

Another point you raised recently was about Jungkook’s closeness to Park Hyo-shin, particularly when Jungkook referred to him as “hyung” in his last livestream. You seemed to highlight this as significant. However, if I recall correctly, Jungkook also referred to Taemin as “Taeminie hyung” on AYS when he mentioned that Taemin and Jimin used to spend a lot of time in pool parlors together. Similarly, didn’t Jungkook also speak about Taeyang on his Live right after Jimin and Taeyang collabed on “Vibe” with Jk’s calling him a cool hyung?

Speaking of shared friends, didn’t Jimin mention on AYS, that he went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends a few years ago, even when Jungkook wasn’t present which shows that Jimin had/ has a relationship with Jk’s friends enough to hang out with them even without Jk being present?

I was reminded of these points while reading your recent discussions about Wooga Squad. These are a few things I’ve come across on your blog that didn’t quite add up for me. I’ve noticed that shippers often emphasize certain aspects of their ship as unique while overlooking similar dynamics in rival ships. Since I read from multiple shipper perspectives, I tend to notice these things more easily which one party usually doesn’t mention because they’re unaware they happened or just don’t see them as significant.

Jungkook’s friendship with Wooga Squad and Taehyung’s friends seems to be a major point that taekookers especially newer Taekookers, rely on as evidence of their ship being real. However, I find it interesting that the first instance of Jungkook being seen publicly with another member’s friends on multiple occasions was with Jimin’s friends. In fact, signs of Jungkook’s friendship with Taehyung’s friends only started to appear around 2022. Meanwhile, Jungkook has been seen with Jimin’s friends since 2017, and we now know that Jimin has even spent time with Jungkook’s friends without Jungkook being present. So I wonder what these people would have thought about this friendship angle pre 2022 where there was little or no proof that Jk knew or hungout with Tae’s friends even though there was enough proof of him knowing and hanging out with Jimin’s? It was a big deal for Jikookers at the time because out of all the members, the only two we knew hung out with each other’s friends were Jimin and Jungkook.

I’m genuinely curious about your thoughts on this and would love to hear your perspective. This is purely for discussion and not an attempt to challenge or change your beliefs. I’m just interested in your reasoning. Lastly, just to clarify, I’m not a Jikooker. Mentioning this because I know someone is about to call me a jikooker because of all the Jikook comparisons but as I said earlier, only doing that because Jikook and Taekook are still the biggest rival ships and share so many similarities in my opinion.

Sure. Why not.

One of the points you made was that Jikook couldn’t possibly be a couple because Jungkook didn’t invite any of Jimin’s friends to his album release party, whereas he invited Taehyung’s friends.

I think I probably implied it was interesting that Taehyung had his friends but Jimin did not have rather than "couldn't possibly be" but without the link to the post you refer to, I can't really hunt it down right now and my tumblr search isn't providing. If you can quote me directly, I'd be interested to see what I actually said.

However, by this same logic, aren’t Eunwoo and Mingyu also considered Jungkook’s close friends? Yet, I didn’t see them at the party either.

Do you think this means Jungkook is closer to Wooga Squad than to his own group of friends since they were present at the party while his 97-liner friends were not?

Having just looked it up, Eunwoo was there.

As were Seventeen so Mingyu is a firm educated assumption.

We didn't see pictures of anyone except BTS members in attendance (minus Yoongi and Jin as they couldn't be photographed), Peakboy, Daul and Hyesung. But it's been confirmed that Bada, Winter, Seojoon, Jung Haein, Kim Soohyun and a limited number of others attended. No photos ≠ no attendance.

Especially when it's a no cameras small guest list event. Which leads nicely to the next point:

Additionally, wasn’t Wooga Squad also present at J-Hope’s album release party? I’ve seen many Taekookers argue that the only person Taehyung has brought into his friend group is Jungkook.

J-hope's party was HUGE and notably star-studded. In fact, weren't there some reporters and influencers invited? I don't think Hobi was that picky with the guest list and it was definitely more public and better publicised than Jungkook's private party.

Wasn’t there also speculation about Taehyung hanging out with Wooga Squad and J-Hope during Chapter Two of BTS?

My understanding of this might be wrong so please correct me, people who know better: I believe someone thought Hobi was at the snowboarding due to a pair of shoes that Hobi also has. It turned out to be Hyungsik. Considering Jungkook mentioned himself going with "Taehyung and his friends" and didn't mention Hobi, I think we can assume it was mistaken identity. Unless they went snowboarding together more than once. That's a possibility, I'll wait for Jungkook to tell me about it. 😂

Another point you raised recently was about Jungkook’s closeness to Park Hyo-shin, particularly when Jungkook referred to him as “hyung” in his last livestream. You seemed to highlight this as significant. However, if I recall correctly, Jungkook also referred to Taemin as “Taeminie hyung” on AYS when he mentioned that Taemin and Jimin used to spend a lot of time in pool parlors together.

Hey, you got me there: Jungkook uses hyung. I still think hyung combined with time spent and phone calls made is notable though.

Speaking of shared friends, didn’t Jimin mention on AYS, that he went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends a few years ago, even when Jungkook wasn’t present which shows that Jimin had/ has a relationship with Jk’s friends enough to hang out with them even without Jk being present?

Jimin mentioned going snowboarding many years ago with them. I think it was around 2017, someone calculated? Jungkook began to interact with 97 line in 2016, as far as I know. (they were interacting at 2017 ISAC in the January so reasonable guess.)

This is going to sound like I'm making excuses but the fresh friendships when you're 19 are not the same friendships as the very established best friends you have at nearly 30. I do think it's different the older you get and I would have a different opinion of Jimin hanging out with JK's friends these days. Still not a romantic one but I would find it more notable probably.

I also think a lot about the context of Wooga and Jungkook. You can look at so many things on the surface as "oh this is the same as Jimin hanging out with Seventeen." but you can't just seperate things out into detail ABC matches detail XYZ therefore detail ABC doesn't mean anything.

What's the context? The context is important!

The context is that Taehyung feels safe and unguarded with Wooga. He says this to them. His walls are down when he's with them. Not only is this very sweet and meaningful but it carries a weightier implication that he doesn't feel unguarded everywhere.

The fact that Taehyung brings Jungkook into his safe space is SOMETHING. It just is. Not even proof of romance by itself but it's certainly something. You can't just gotcha it away because Jimin snowboarded with an unknown friend of JK's one time. These grown up feelings don't have scoreboards where one point cancels another out. You simply have to look at the WHOLE wider picture.

Similarly, if Hobi had been welcomed into the safe space by Taehyung, that would be NOTABLE to me... but still not romantic because there is no romantic wider context.

Jikook and Taekook are still the biggest rival ships and share so many similarities in my opinion.

I don't see the similarities that strongly but nor do I see the need to disregard Taekook moments just because Jimin did something similar. The wider context for Jimkook doesn't exist for me so the details don't have a context that I find compelling.

[definitelynotshouting]

saw this post assigning devastating quotes to each life series members, got incredibly inspired, and decided to try my own hand at it but specifically with snippets of the poetry ive personally written throughout the years :] thoughts and musings on several of my choices will be under the cut if you're interested in that sorta thing!! Enjoy<3

Bdubs: "it's all so blue. so blue, so wet, so cold, but you've got a fire in your heart like a hundred rockets. you aren't hungry, but you could eat the dead, / cut your teeth on a rotting corpse."

BigB: "SOMETHING HAS FRACTURED HERE AND IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. EACH DAY YOU WILL CHASE THE FAULT LINES LOOKING FOR A BRIDGE ONLY TO FIND IT ALREADY BURNT."

Etho: "I am above myself, hovering, pressing pale fingers into the dull bruise of yesterday to test its lingering ache. Is this all that's left?"

Gem: "what are gods if not the mothers of our own inventions. we are the avatars of violence and love and hope and fear in equal measure."

Scar: "I think I want to live. I know one day, I must die. In the cosmic wheel of fortune, I am a gamble in the making, gentle breath washing a little luck over the dice."

Grian: "Within the shape of my clawed fingers are knives: scrabbled dirt; scarlet lines; the escape route / Between a fence and / Tall grasses."

Impulse: "Life's bitter, stilted offering / Is that every person we meet / Will one day become a perfect stranger."

Martyn: "Dangerous beasts must earn / Their survival. / You are no different than a knife / In the hands of murderers."

Lizzie: "When I think of the egg-tooth, / I revel in purple glass; the lightning; the shatter; the knife-slip between / Death, and a wake."

Mumbo: "This is your life now, / Found in the cracks and crevices, scraps pried between laughter and reckless abandon."

Pearl: "I am begging, raw in the face of absolution— do not hate me. Please, keep watering me in your garden, / Despite how closely my heart resembles a weed."

Ren: "— and sometimes hearts are forged in violence /— and sometimes blood cannot form scabs / — and sometimes wounds carry half-hearted sutures / — and we are all but living fragments / —"

Skizz: "Just a little longer. Please. / There is light pooling at the bottom of the flower vase."

Scott: "I can only hope that with the rising of the dawn / I will pass through darkness and return to day, / Where I am a solar ray blinding— teeth and claws sharpened, the stretch of my skin carrying gold / Above the dull, dug out earth"

Joel: "Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; / Yes, there is a loss."

Jimmy: "for year after bloody year, i clung to life with aching fingernails, grasped at every straw, took every scrap of double-barrelled hope and shot myself in the chest with it."

Tango: "every time you claw yourself from the ashes you insist it will never happen again. every time you reach the breaking point, it happens a little bit faster."

Cleo: "It's about catharsis, not letting go. / Because a part of me wants to hold this, / A swelling hurt deeper than tides, / Hotter than stars. The kind of rage / A mother might raise against her own child."

I dont share my poetry on here very often, partially because it tends to end up coming from a very personal part of me, but since this was actually a lot of fun maybe i'll start posting my poems more often here :]] i think what i found most interesting about this exercise was that as i scrolled my notes app and cherry-picked quotes for each character, it felt like the ones i chose naturally became part of a larger conversation-- as if the characters were speaking to me through my own words about their lowest points, about their ultimate views on the games filtered through the lens of a red life.

It felt enlightening; i dont often feel like im speaking to characters or being informed about their plots/preferences, etc. the way many other writers discuss in workshops or casually online, but by the end of this exercise i felt like i just... understood them, better than i had before. There's something inexplicable about reading your own words and consciously finding ways to apply them in a way that encapsulates them down to a character's core that just... truly highlights the specific qualities that resonate most with you. And i think stumbling upon that organically was a very vivid and incredible experience for me

Admittedly, i did struggle on Scott, Ren, and Etho a lot-- im not as familiar with them as characters, and for a while i couldn't quite pinpoint what exact themes they tend to carry with them throughout all their life seasons. But when i started to really look at everyone's quotes as a whole, i realized they felt like a story, like the response to a question-- as if i was being TOLD what they felt and how, and that that was how i needed to frame the rest of my selections. So Scott's ended up being about control, and the desperate hanging onto of it; Ren's is about the acceptance and bitterness of what he cannot change; Etho's is a quiet resignation rounded out with softer disbelief. The more i looked at these choices, the more they felt correct to me-- and while i still think i have a ways to go before i fully understand these characters, i feel like this has helped me a lot with that ultimate goal :]

Of all these poetry snippets, though, i think Scar, Skizz, and Joel's are my absolute favorites. Skizz's poem is actually the whole poem in its entirety (as is Cleo's, funnily enough)-- it's a short, very simple poem that is incredibly close to my heart for many reasons, but the main one being because it was written at one of my lowest points a few years back. Its about clawing for hope when there isnt any, and finding even the smallest of beautiful things to hold onto, and begging yourself to keep holding onto that at any cost. The pure, clean beauty of watching light refract through a vase of flowers, and knowing that sometimes, that's all there is to live for-- I felt like that really spoke to Skizz's life series character as a whole: finding the beauty in every tiny thing, no matter how small, and scrabbling for more time to appreciate it.

Scar's snippet comes from a much longer poem of mine about the difficulty of reconciling the idea of a future when you havent had to think of one before (incidentally, Etho's snippet comes from this poem as well). I think out of everyone, this quote encapsulates him the best; i like how it subtly references that inner well of vivacity he draws from that many other characters struggle to find, and how that in turn ties in with the lore that he never died a final death during Secret Life. And i love how it simultaneously manages to encompass the way he utilizes the social game in each season as well-- Scar's an incredibly intelligent social player, and i think the imagery of a gambler breathing their luck over the dice as they cast it, and as he casts himself at others for alliances and enemies, truly does fit him.

As for Joel, the full poem his quote comes from is one im particularly proud of, especially for its final lines. I think, quite honestly, i can let this poem stand for itself in its entirety:

They say transformation is letting the light in, But in my mind it's a violence. A coarseness, a fracturing, the bloody vowels between a scream And a howl. How do you transform without killing yourself? When I am a lion, my hands and feet Grow claws; my teeth sharpen. No longer do I spark— I ignite. Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; Yes, there is a loss. To transform is to leave behind a body And eat its still-breathing corpse.

I find myself referencing this poem a lot even in my daily life-- as longterm readers of mine already know, one of my favorite themes is that of replacing yourself and permanent transformation. This poem really is just about how changing, in any shape or form, alters you forever; how you can look back on yourself from even just a few months ago and feel like a completely different person despite remaining the same. Connecting it with Joel's character, and how he acts during his red lives in each season, was a natural and intuitive progression once i really sat and thought about it.

Alright thats enough yapping from me 😂😂😂 im not used to writing meta nor delving into my poetry on here, so this was a bit of an experimental post for me. If youve read up until this point, i both applaud your patience and really hope you enjoyed this window into my personal works and thoughts on them :]] cheers, and thanks to @/chipperchemical the op of the original post for inspiring me!!!❤️❤️❤️

[rainbow-scarab]

Sly's Past in the Crossroads

I coulda sworn I put this on my blog but perhaps I mix it up with all those times I've told people on Discord so XD here we are. Theory post time.

Sly used to live in the Crossroads, in that little village where you first find him. I think this for a few reasons.

First, I must speak of Sly's age.

The stasis seems to have some odd effects on bugs, some of which seem to have lived a long time. I'm just assuming that aspect of stasis for this post. Sly trained the Nailmasters, and is almost certainly older than them. Some of Sheo's dialog has him speak of the Great Knights (and sculpt them). He seems quite familiar, at least for someone with an interest in the kingdom's warriors. But according to Lemm, "Both [the Great Knight's] names and appearance seem to have been expunged from history." So it seems Sheo, and by extension Sly, are old enough to have been around during Hallownest's heyday, perhaps centuries ago.

This raises an interesting contradiction. The game manual calls Elderbug "the oldest resident of Dirtmouth". Dirtmouth, it seems, has been living on the edge of the Kingdom, free of the stasis. Elderbug looks and acts old, but he's just....normal old, not supernaturally old like Sly. He doesn't know what Hallownest was like long ago except in stories. When you open the stag station in Dirtmouth, he says "That building lay silent since before even my time."

So, what to do with this discrepancy? Surely Team Cherry could never make a mistake, could they?? If Sly was originally from somewhere else, perhaps that could explain the wording that Elderbug is Dirtmouth's oldest.

(I've heard some say there are some mistakes in the game manual as compared to the game XD it could be for this but that's not all I have here for my theory)

We find Sly in that little village, the same one where we find Gruz Mother and Salubra, in a house that's falling apart. He's partially infected, though Ghost is able to break him out of his haze. Bugs become infected through their dreams. Bardoon says:

I resist the light's allure. Union it may offer, but also a mind bereft of thought… To instinct alone a bug is reduced…

We see reference to the instinctual state of bugs as well in a few entries of the Hunter's Journal, such as guards continuing to act as guards. Sly is not as far gone, but I had to wonder. Why does dream lead him there? To a village that's mostly dead? He thinks of Oro, his past pupil, and whoever Esmy is (I think another prior (and probably dead) pupil, but that's for another post). When Ghost breaks him out of his early state of infection, he says:

…I see. This old village. What a strange dream, to have led me down here! If you hadn't found me, I don't think I would've ever woken.

He seems to recognize it instantly, even from the inside of a broken house. I think he used to live there, in that same house. A place he knew well, ingrained in him deeper than his current house (and life) in Dirtmouth. Where even if half asleep his feet could carry him there on instinct.

...Lastly. I think. I think Sly and Salubra used to be dating XDDDDDD sorry I am subjecting you all to this. But I have reason to believe it. Or at least that they were flirty in the past.

I think Salubra talks to Ghost somewhat like she used to talk to Sly. She calls Ghost a "gadfly" a couple of times. And this word has a few meanings. One is literally a kind of fly, and Sly is a fly as well. Another is "social butterfly", which could be what Salubra is thinking of (especially with calling Ghost "stylish" and "dapper" alongside the word). BUT THE THIRD DEFINITION--

WHO'S MORE OF A BLOODSUCKER THAN SLY LOLLLLLLL

I rest my case, Salubra used to call Sly her dapper gadfly, Slylubra canon

.

.

(ahem, my primary evidence is mostly the dream instinct aspect as far as Sly's former home, but shhhh Sly/Salubra is clearly the most important outcome of the lore XD)

[graysparrowao3]

2024 Writing Reflections

Thank you @little-paperboat, what a nice tag to receive, really interesting to reflect on these questions. I'm not sure who may not have a tag, here are some no pressure ones if you would like to join and an open invitation (no seriously, I really like this one I want to tag everyone lol)💛 @wakacreations @thylyre @faetouchedfool @barbwillbrb @lolliputian

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

To embrace the joy of writing. This meant trying new things or putting them out there or just writing what spoke to me. Writing "easy" and not worrying about my prose - if I just wanted to write fun dialogue with the same damn dialogue tags, then go for it babe, let those blorbos yap. If I wanted to put in the most cliche, in-your-face metaphor, smack that literary device on the arse and send it out! If I had a short idea that I thought was fun, I could share it as a fic, or a post, or even just a message amongst people who like similar things. The more I embraced the joy of it just for its own sake the less anxious I felt about it.

How has your writing developed this past year?

Writing sexually explicit content. I'm very cautious about the explicit content I consume for my own psychological comfort, and it was quite liberatory to be in control of the writing and know what was going to happen, and definitely allowed my writing to grow in depth, gain a new skill, and explore more heavy and intimate themes.

Bad writing habits?

I get impatient and want to be done with something even when I know the editing isn't quite finished and then spend the next hour frantically making edits after it's uploaded.

Favorite thing you wrote?

I feel like this changes every time I reflect on it, probably because I like them for different reasons.

For now, I'm going to say Part 10, the main "concluding" part of the NB series. I was absolutely exhausted after I wrote it.

I'll also say chapter 10 in The Elturian Prodigy, because in it Rolan begins to figure out the events of Descent into Avernus, and I was proud to be able to come up with how he might do it that didn't seem super obvious but that an intelligent character could reason through.

Biggest win?

Finding support and kindness that uplifted me to such an extent that it has changed the trajectory of my life. I'm part of the many folks who have found their joy and creativity again thanks to fandom writing and the overwhelming and unexpected kindness of people in the online community spaces. I even had some people in real life remember I was trying to write again and ask how it was going and I had to not be a big emotional mess about it. Thank you online writing friends <3

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

Everyone is always breathing in various ways. Lots of deep breaths, huffing, snorting, air catching in throats. Or chuckling in various dry, wry, ways. Or brows doing various things; raising, creasing, cocking.

This is a ridiculous sentence, but I had to take a moment in the middle of the NB series and check I wasn't overdoing twat, bastard, and feck and turning it into a caricature. (There's a part where Rugan says "Every other word out of your mouth is 'feck this' or 'bastard that'" which was absolutely me calling myself out lol).

Goals for the new year?

I think I responded to this elsewhere, but in this moment I am thinking...

Just don't stop reading and writing, keep practicing and growing.

Always remember the kind words of internet friends that have made you have faith in yourself.

Keeping working on the ongoing WIPs.

I think, if I'm being honest, I would really love to finally get something original self-published or close to it by the end of 2025. As the saying goes, the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago, but the second best time is now.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Well I'm in the middle of a couple of interviews, so getting hired would be good because life has thrown a lot around recently that won't be letting up any time soon. Fingers crossed.

I got some books for Christmas and my anniversary before that I'm looking forward to reading. Just finished the First Law trilogy.

Getting through some more of my fic WIPs and moving towards completion of those projects.

Some more cheeky tags because this is a great tag game if you are interested @vera-king-hrfl @beesht @ashprince-of-bel-air @alpydk @dutifullylazybread

[benzodiazepinica]

Alexandre Bissonnette edit + infopost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The edit is for you to see some photos of him!

I want to say I don't support any actions !!

My content is because I love true crime and political cases ~~

if I like the person is for him/her personality, appearance or manner. But I do not support hate crimes or murders

Event summary

Alexandre Bissonnette, 27, entered a mosque armed with a pistol and killed 6 men, injuring 19 more, one of the victims was left paraplegic for the rest of his life

Family, social life, curiosities

Bissonnette has a twin brother with whom he shared an apartment four miles from his parents' house. But Alexandre Bissonnette often slept at his parents' house on weekends.

He was Canadian, born and raised in Quebec City. He was always described as a simple and ordinary man. Bissonnette had already taken antidepressants, but it was stated that his mental state had absolutely no influence on the crime, as he was considerably stable and fully conscious.

He had a Facebook page and also a Tumblr page, where he posted about his daily life, food, etc. However, on Facebook, he made a lot of political comments. Emails from Alexandre and his father were also found that spoke negatively about Muslims. Many people believe that Alexandre received this prejudiced upbringing from home. He and his father used to practice shooting at an outdoor range and Alexandre would often hang out with old friends. However, he did not have a girlfriend, and was described as a shy and somewhat introverted man.

The father, and also Alexandre himself on social media, stated about the problems the boy had with alcohol. However, according to a blog by Bissonnette, he had stopped drinking because, according to him, it "is very bad for your health!" and he reported, with these words, that he was "very happy about it!" However, even with this abstinence from alcohol, the shooter told the authorities that he drank sake the entire day of the massacre.

Security camera footage from a depanneur shows Alexandre Bissonnette buying a drink minutes before the Quebec City mosque attack on January 29, 2017

"Throughout his life, until January 29, Alexander had never demonstrated violent behavior in words or actions toward anyone. "Alexander is the last person we, and all those who know him, could imagine doing something so out of character," Alexander's father said.

Bissonnette was a political science student at Université Laval in Quebec City. He also works and had a steady job, but was on three weeks' leave when the shooting happened. Alexandre had a history of bullying, probably because he was quiet and reserved, but this did not seem to have a direct impact on the case. In any case, he was described as an "ordinary" man.

about the bullying he suffered his father said: "Realizing that nothing was getting better, Alexandre simply stopped mentioning it to us. I can't tell you how much I regret not doing more to make sure Alexandre was safe at school."

In 2014, Bissonnette was introduced to firearms by a friend. He went on to apply for a license, falsely reporting that he had no history of mental health issues or suicidal thoughts. Over the next few years, he would legally acquire six guns.

Bissonnette told psychologists during interviews that he had always had thoughts about mass shootings. Interestingly, Alexandre was fascinated by the Columbine Massacre.

Alexandre had also thought about carrying out a massacre in a shopping mall, carrying weapons in his bag and everything, but he gave up.

ideologies and thoughts about Islamists

Alexandre was an actively political person in his speeches and discourses. He seemed to be very interested in the subject, and it was no wonder that he was studying Political Science. However, Bissonnette's political positions always leaned towards a more extreme side, related to violence. He was a nationalist, but a nationalist who preached the unity of white people only. He also supported Marine Le Pen's party in France and Donald Trump in the United States. He frequently posted on his Facebook page against immigrants, against pro-immigrant policies, against Muslims and against feminists.

Historical context of the city and the mosque

Before talking about the massacre, it is essential to talk a little about the state of mind of the city and the mosque that suffered the attack.

Quebec City has always had questionable positions on ethnicity, immigration and Islam. The mosque has previously suffered an Islamophobic attack, in which a pig's head was placed on the mosque and a note reading "Bon appétit" in French (the local language).

The Quebec City mosque mass shooting on January 29, 2017

In the month leading up to the shooting, Bissonnette was on leave from his job at Héma-Québec with an anxiety disorder following an altercation with a co-worker. During this month, he obsessively visited the Twitter accounts of several right-wing media personalities, including Tucker Carlson, Laura Ingraham, David Duke, Alex Jones, Mike Cernovich, Richard B. Spencer, and Kellyanne Conway. Bissonnette checked Ben Shapiro's Twitter account 93 times in the month leading up to the shooting. He was also on leave from his university political science program. He was scheduled to return to work the day after the shooting. During his free time, he regularly visited Islamophobic websites and searched the web for information about mass shooters.

When Alexandre Bissonnette heard about Justin Trudeau’s famous tweet welcoming refugees to Canada, the frail-looking 28-year-old political science student told police he went crazy. A few hours after watching a television report suggesting that Canada would accept immigrants rejected by President Trump

On the day of the shooting, Alexandre spent the day drinking and finishing his research on mass murders, immigration and Islamic terrorism, including checking news reports on crimes committed by Muslims in the country. That night, he went to his parents’ house for dinner and then sat in a corner, fiddling with his computer. At 7 p.m., he left the house armed with a 9 mm pistol and a Czech semi-automatic rifle of .223 caliber. He left home in his parents' car, saying he was going to practice shooting. At 7:37 p.m., he hesitated to continue shooting, so he went into a store and drank some vodka. Then, afraid of being seen carrying a large weapon, he decided to return to the mosque to carry out the attack.

He arrived at the mosque around 7:53 or 7:54 p.m. Outside, there were two brothers, at whom he pointed the rifle, which failed, jamming. Alexander appeared relaxed, smiling, throwing the rifle on the ground and pulling out his pistol. He fired several shots at both of them, in the arms and abdomen, then got close and shot the brothers in the head, with the pistol pressed against them.

Two more mosque worshippers announced that there was a shooter, and chaos soon broke out. Alexandre entered the room, firing ten shots, then reloaded. Bissonnette re-entered the prayer hall. He would fire 30 shots in 30 seconds during the second wave, and would target mainly people trying to take cover.

Aymen Derbali, crouched near the gunman, attempted to distract him from the busier areas of the mosque by staggering toward him, but was shot in the knee and chin.[31] As Derbali fell and crawled on the ground, Bissonette shot him 6 more times, but Derbali would survive.[32] Bissonnette then targeted 44-year-old Aboubaker Thabti, murdering him at close range with three shots to the skull.

The gunman returned a second time to the lobby to reload his weapon, then returned to the prayer hall and killed some of the worshippers who were already wounded and others who were wounded. He then pocketed a bullet, intending to take his own life in a nearby forest, and then left the mosque at 7:57 p.m.

According to an initial report, a man who came forward as a witness said that two assailants dressed in black and with a Quebecois accent entered the mosque and shouted "Allahu Akbar" before opening fire. Police later determined that there was only one shooter, and that was Alexandre.

Later, at 8:10 p.m., Alexandre Bissonnette called emergency services (911) and turned himself in.

Alexandre Bissonnette was sentenced to life in prison for the 2017 Quebec mosque attack. He was originally scheduled to serve 40 years before being eligible for parole. However, in 2020, the Quebec Court of Appeal reduced that sentence to 25 years, ruling that 40 years without the possibility of parole constituted cruel and unusual punishment. In 2022, the Supreme Court of Canada upheld that decision, maintaining his eligibility for parole after 25 years. Therefore, Bissonnette will be eligible for parole in 2042.

Victims

The six murder victims were Ibrahima Barry (39, an IT employee for the Quebec government), Mamadou Tanou Barry (42, an accounting technician), Khaled Belkacemi (60, a professor at Laval University), Aboubaker Thabti (44, a pharmacy technician), Abdelkrim Hassane (41, a computer analyst for the Quebec government) and Azzedine Soufiane (57, a grocery store owner).

[ferditheas]

Every FE3H ending with children

I could ramble a bit here about why I love ending cards in Fire Emblem games - and 3H especially - but this post is going to be long enough already. So, in this post: I comb through every ending in FE3H and see which ones mention the characters having children.

Some endings are a bit ambiguous on if there are kids (like Ferdinand & Mercedes) - for the sake of this post, only explicit mentions are included. Please let me know if I missed any!

Here are some interesting facts:

Mercedes has the most, with five endings (not counting variations) mentioning children - due to the fact she starts orphanages in many of her endings.

Overall, the Black Eagles seem to be the most baby-happy house - but interestingly enough, NONE of them have kids with Byleth. Blue Lions, Golden Deer, and Ashen Wolves each have two students who have kids with Byleth.

Azure Moon seems to lead to a baby bust. Felix & Ingrid + Sylvain & Byleth, who have kids in all of their other endings, don't have any kids in AM.

Dedue is the only retainer to not have any kid endings. I initially thought Dimitri didn't get any kids either, but I was later corrected - he does have a son in his Gilbert ending.

Edelgard & Ferdinand

"Their children, born to those who had torn down the old social hierarchy, were encouraged to choose their own paths."

Hubert & Petra

"Their shared home in the western Fódlan village of Nuvelle was filled with their many children, suggesting a loving union."

Ferdinand & Dorothea

"It is said that their children filled their loving household with beautiful music ever after."

Ferdinand & Manuela

"[...] Ferdinand stayed behind, minding his own lands and looking after their child."

(in Crimson Flower, Manuela travels as the Prime Minister - in other routes, she's doing other political work.)

Ferdinand & Constance

"They had many children, including one who became well-known in her own right for the advancements she brought to her mother's research."

Linhardt & Petra

"It is said that the couple maintained a healthy and affectionate relationship, and that they raised many happy children together."

Linhardt & Flayn

"Over a decade later, well after the Officers Academy had been rebuilt, something strange happened. A sleepy young girl with antiquated clothing and the Major Crest of Cethleann enrolled. Over the next two years, a young boy and girl with that same Crest also enrolled. Though Crest scholars deduced that they must be siblings, the truth of their lineage was never definitely proven."

Caspar & Bernadetta

"Among these Articles was the provision that, when counting their large quantity of children, Caspar was not to accidentally count his wife among them."

Caspar & Hilda

"The couple raised many children, and were said to have a notoriously lively household."

Dorothea & Hanneman

"Hanneman also became a father in more literal sense, by raising many children with his wife, Dorothea."

Dimitri & Gilbert

"Though he bristled slightly at Dimitri's request to look after and tutor the young prince, it is said that Gustave took on that duty with due patience and solemnity for the remainder of his life."

Felix & Ingrid (NOT Azure Moon)

"They skirted the line between life and death countless times in their dangerous work, but once they had a child, they settled down in a small farming village far from their homeland. With all but each other left behind, they began a warm and tranquil life as a family."

Ashe & Hapi

"They were also blessed with many children, and their home was always so busy and full of merriment that there was never an occasion to sigh. It is said that Hapi took such delight in recounting Ashe's stories to their children that it became hard to believe she had ever despised knights."

Sylvain & Byleth (Verdant Wind/Silver Snow)

"Sylvain happily settled down after marriage and became a gentle and devoted husband and father. The two had many children whom they doted on equally, regardless of whether or not they bore a Crest."

Sylvain & Byleth (Crimson Flower)

"In time, the two had a large and loving family. They lived happily and loved their children equally, regardless of whether or not they bore a Crest."

Sylvain & Mercedes

"The couple built a loving home life, surrounded by happy children, and when Sylvain at last passed away, he was succeeded by his oldest child, who bore no Crest."

Sylvain & Ingrid

"The couple had many children, and while not one of them bore a Crest, they were all equally and wholeheartedly loved."

Mercedes (Crimson Flower)

"Mercedes left home and opened a small orphanage in the Faerghus region with her mother. There, she took in and raised children who had lost their families in the war, regardless of their blood or circumstances of birth. It is said that, in the town which grew around this orphanage, the children never failed to smile."

Mercedes & Byleth (Crimson Flower)

"When at last the fight was done, they moved to a small village in the Faerghus region and started an orphanage. There they took in and raised children who had lost their families in the war, regardless of their blood or circumstances of birth. It is said that Mercedes was never happier than when she was surrounded by smiling children, free of all worry."

Mercedes & Annette (Crimson Flower)

"After the war, Annette and Mercedes lived separate lives: the former as a teacher at the school of sorcery in Fhirdiad, the latter as the proprietor of an orphanage in a village in the Faerghus region. Though they lived apart, they exchanged letters so frequently and shared their lives with one another in such detail that it was as though they were side by side. After many decades, Annette decided to resign from her post and move to the village where Mercedes lived to help run the orphanage."

Mercedes & Ignatz (NOT Crimson Flower)

"Mercedes left home for a life as a cleric at Garreg Mach. There, she took in and raised children who had lost their families in the war, regardless of the circumstances of their birth or bloodline."

Mercedes & Ignatz (Crimson Flower)

"Mercedes left home and opened a small orphanage in the Faerghus region with her mother. There, she took in and raised children who had lost their families in the war, regardless of their blood or circumstances of birth."

Ingrid & Claude

"The couple must have loved one another deeply, for they happily raised many children together."

Lorenz & Byleth (Verdant Wind/Silver Snow)

"The queen followed, entrusting the throne to the prince. It is said that he was the spitting image of his father."

Lorenz & Byleth (Azure Moon)

"Lorenz and the archbishop resigned their positions, entrusting rule of House Gloucester to their son. It is said that he was the spitting image of his father."

Lorenz & Byleth (Crimson Flower)

"Byleth followed suit, and they entrusted House Gloucester to their son. It is said that he was the spitting image of his father, right down to his signature red rose."

Lysithea & Byleth (Verdant Wind/Silver Snow)

"When the rebuilding effort was complete, the couple and their children enjoyed long and peaceful lives."

Lysithea & Byleth (Azure Moon)

"Once the rebuilding effort was complete, the couple and their two children enjoyed long and peaceful lives in the lively household they built together."

Yuri & F!Byleth (NOT Crimson Flower)

"Constantly at her side during that time was her husband, Yuri, whose policy proposals led, time and again, to better education and opportunities for the less fortunate—a legacy that was later taken up by the couple's children."

Hapi & Byleth (Crimson Flower)

"Afterward, the couple vanished without a trace—at least until someone claiming to be a descendant produced a chronicle of their lives."

Flayn & Byleth

"When Fódlan was finally restored, the couple left the throne to their children and retired to a royal villa on the Rhodos Coast of western Fódlan."

Manuela & Byleth (NOT Crimson Flower)

"The happiness of the couple and their children was plain to see on the faces that were immortalized in family portraits."

Shamir & Byleth

"As a couple, their daily lives were busy indeed, and both were famously taciturn, but it is said that they cherished their quiet time together—especially once they began to have children."