#and ultimately there are more than 'two sides' of this

[marsprincess889]

The differences between women of the three Venus nakshatras:

If you're one of them, I suggest you read them all, not just yours. Most will read Bharani first, then P. Phalguni and lastly P. Ashadha, but a more interesting order would be P. Phalguni-P. Ashadha-Bharani.

Bharani:

The birth of Venus_ the intense and transformative place that determines the journey.

The most passive energetically, perhaps the most visibly defensive. Focused on self-preservation, on deeper causes of their desires, wants, needs, attachments and love, and protective of their energy while relentlessly using it to get "what they want". More compassionate then Purva Phalguni, for example.

The themes of Bharani are physical creation, preservation and decay, along with the overarching rules or "mysteries" behind beauty, desire, attachments and love. Since it's Venus channeled personally, and connected to the sign of Aries/the active manifestation of Mars and the first house, it IS Venus, and so it lays the foundation for the other two. What that means is that one of its main concerns is secrecy and gatekeeping necessary for cultivation of everything that Venus represents, more so than other Venusian nakshatras.

It's also the only one that is Outcaste(Mleccha), which gives it enormous power and energy free of conventions. There is also en extreme sensitivity here that is not present in the other two. There's an awareness of energy and the core essence of everything that leads to the understanding or embodyment of "the ultimate", whatever that is.

Bharani women are embodyments of mother nature. They seek someone who can give them exactly what they want and need and nothing else. There is definitely a broad worldview that is naturally deep in them_ Bharani is an elephant yoni nakshatra, it has deep and profound memory, and some consider it the last nakshatra (most consider its yoni consort_ Revati as the last nakshatra, so that's some great insight into Elephant yonis). Despite this broad and deep view, Bharani women have a determination and a drive that can translate into an intensity with a "one track mind". Intensity and depth is in them almost always.

Definitely have the potential to be spiritual, because of a love for depth and an understanding of purity. Their yoni consort_ Revati is perhaps the most spiritual nakshatra, connected with the theme of "Godhood". Bharani's spirituality can be fused with romantic or sexual love and manifest as fierce devotion. They have an inability to tolerate "impurity"_ the error or fault between worlds and energies between them, for example, between the inner substance and the outward manifestation, or between the masculine and the feminine, between this world and the other. This can translate to a radical love of and demand for honesty and justice.

Balance and harmony are necessary for Venus but its sign rulership of Mars is the energy that drives them and in a sense, grants identity. The fusion of foundational energy of Venus with the active Mars is the theme of sex and death so prominent in this nakshatra. Life is the result of the sexual act but the culmination of that act is called "a little death". Love and desire drive sex so they also drive life and death. So, if Venus is the equilibrium and the balance then Mars is the other side_ the need for release. Together, they grant life and rule over the two components necessary for existence_ identity and the loss of it through love. Bharani is about defining existence itself, their own or of the world, through love.

Bharani women can act in a very enthusiastic and driven way, but also have a side to them that is extremely serious, to an extent that neither Purva Phalguni or even Purva Ashadha really reach.

Archetypically they represent the "damsel in distress" or "the princess in the tower". Bharani is something or someone nearly impossible to get or even find, which could be also associated with its symbolism of the yoni. It's also connected to the Holy Grail, or "The Philosopher's Stone" (that one was said by Claire Nakti recently and I have always gotten that vibe energetically from Bharani but could not articulate why. It makes so much sense though. This can also be another confirmation of why I associate Bharani with Rapunzel's tale so much).

Another archetype that they remind me of is the princess with high standards in fairytales that is so common. A similar one would be a young women who is fearlessly defiant, especially about choosing her own love.

Out of all Venus nakshatras Bharani women need gentleness the most, since's it's the most high tension/triggering placement among them. Bharani women can feel defenseless and abused, especially from harsh or crude(mostly masculine) energies. This ironically increases their defensive nature and a need for protection, despite being naturally gentle and passive. There's a clear difference between when a Bharani women is given her justice and when she is not. Their fierceness and gentleness are, in truth, the same in spirit.

Bharani moons Claire Holt, Gaia Weiss, Isabel Lucas

Purva Phalguni:

Out of the Venus nakshatras, Purva Phalguni is the one that is the least expressive emotionally. At least, not obviously. They too feel a lot, but their Sun rashi rulership grants them an "unbothered" nature.

So Purva Phalguni is the Venus nakshatra of pure unashamed enjoyment. They have clear preferences and after establishing the foundation in Bharani, Purva Phalguni is free to be prideful about their love. It's connected to ease, contrasting Bharani, which is more full of melancholic beauty and the meaning of struggle.

Purva Phalguni women are connected to material things and love it. Their personality is more "Sunny" than other Venus nakshatras. It's the most "neutral" Venus nakshatra. Definitely very sexual along with Bharani. The difference is that Bharani is represented by the yoni and the passive feminine principle, but Purva Phalguni is represented by the phallus and the active, masculine assertion of self through Venusian themes. In this way, they have a connection that is reaffirmed by the "special relationship"(traditional texts say so) between their yoni animals_ the rat and the elephant.

Women of this nakshatra, being the feminine representatives of the nakshatra of masculine assertion, have a friendly and easygoing nature, due to being relaxed. They have an energy of being "provided for", but they're still ruled by the planet of mutual exchange(Venus), so they're very giving in their own way. They like to pamper their beloved with gifts and/or attention, they love to feel special and make them feel "special"(Leo/Sun rulership) in return. Their tendency towards fun (5th house association) makes them a memorable presence. They do love spotlight more than Bharani and Purva Ashadha.

One interesting association of Purva Phalguni is discernment, which leads to their tendency of favoritism. Bharani and Purva Phalguni both love being passive in a sense of having someone take the reigns that helps them relax into a receptive, feminine role but they both also love to give back. Bharani is more receptive though, hungrier and harsher than Purva Phalguni, which is more relaxed and willing to give. Because of this, in a way, Bharani and Purva Phalguni women might become great friends with each other.

Charisma is a big thing here, due to Leo/Sun/5th house associations. Venus here is expressed through soul identity(Sun) and shown in the most adorned light among all three Venus nakshatras.

An important association of Purva Phalguni is procreation. Bharani as also explicitly associated with the sexual act and bringing a life, but Purva Phalguni focuses on the pleasure aspect of it, on the leisure and continuing the bloodline. Its yoni consort_ Magha is associated with family trees and bloodlines and is also fully in Leo(5th house/children association). Bharani on the other hand, focuses on immortality of love, attachments and transition between worlds, and sex for them is the ultimate point of change.

Even though they're the most outwardly stoic and act the most unaffected out of the three, they're also most prone to dramatics. There's a side to them that loves to show off and display, even if they don't show everything to everyone.

The dramaticism is for self-confidence and enjoyment(mainly, their own). It's not a placement that is concerned with gossip or everyone else's lives. Quite the contrary. If they don't like you, they will just pay you no attention. In this way, they're the least personal of Venus nakshatras. They have an aversion to anything unnecessary(kind of similar to how Bharani can't tolerate impurity) and outward harmony and empowerment is essential.

The archetype that Purva Phalguni women represent is the loving wife/girlfriend or "the spoiled lady". Purva Phalguni is Brahmin(highest) caste and is associated privilege and the ease that comes with it. Partnerships are important to them(the second stage of civilization/others. Bharani is the first stage of the individual, and Purva Ashadha is the third stage of universal). They can also be seen as "the nice rich girl", but that one is not necessarily true. They value politeness and manners but they themselves are not nice as much as they're unbothered. They're just not mean. The combination of Venus and Sun ensures that they're too focused on themselves and their wants to care about most others. In short, they live by "I am what I love".

Purva Phalguni moons Taylor Hill, Jane Birkin, Mia Wasikowska

Purva Ashadha:

Venus nakshatras all embody classical traits that are associated with the planet's archetype, but none are directly associated to the Goddesses Venus and Aphrodite like Purva Ashadha. This is the nakshatra of Venus' universalization. Being in the sign of Sagittarius (ruled by Jupiter), it has an inner desire to share its Venusian ideals(Sagittarius/9th house) with others.

Bharani is intense fire, Purva Phalguni is the fertile earth, Purva Ashadha is the relentless waves of water.

One obvious difference between Purva Ashadha and the other two Venus nakshatras is the lack of sexual associations.

When Venus is filtered through active Jupiter(sagittarius/9th house), then the action is sharing or spreading it. After the birth(Bharani) and the hedonistic pleasures(Purva Phalguni), Venus is ready and has an inner desire/neediness to make itself be heard.

The drive to spread its influence on this level is not present in other Venus nakshatras. Purva Adhadha women too know the importance of privacy, secrecy and gatekeeping, but they've come to a place where they've realized that beauty, love and all that is most precious cannot exist in a vacuum, but also cannot be ruined by what is below it in value. So the natural manifestation of that curcumstance is a constant tug of war between secrecy and sharing, between shutting off and spreading outwardly. Eventually, or sometimes immediately, they realize that they need allies to maintain their "Venus"(beauty, love, aesthetic preferences, all of them tied to morals and idealism), and then maybe, after strengthening, they can conquer all that is unworthy(in their eyes) together.

They can be extremely careful with who they choose to associate with, since to these women, people are either allies or enemies. In the end, whether they like to pretend otherwise or not, that's what it comes down to. They try to not show that they're trying to silently influence you, trying to get you to see that what they value is better or superior, that they'd like people to back them up in that way. It's still a Venus nakshatra, so they move in silence, but out of all Venus nakshatras, they're the most likely ones to break that "I'm just minding myself" Venusian attitude. They can become really triggered in general when something touches their ideals.

In friendships and with acquaintances they observe to see if they're worth trying to influence. Overall, these views may be why they like the idea of cliques or elitism that much.

Purva Ashadha women can be melancholic and intense like Bharani, but Bharani has a nature of fiery anger(active Martian/1st house/Aries), while Purva Ashadha is softer and watery. Another commonality they have with Bharani that Purva Phalguni does not is a creative drive to bring something out into the world. While in Bharani that manifests as literal birth/death and karmic changes, Purva Ashadha has a need to birth ideas, ideals, creative projects.

Their tendecy to look for allies and gather strength is further explained by its title as "the former victorious" one. It can be associated with revolutions, how the power of masses(Jupiter) empowered by fierce idealism(Venus-Jupiter) can grant said people victory. Their yoni consort_ Shravana, is associated with extreme receptivity and hearing everyone/everything. In this way, it is clear why they are consorts of Purva Ashadhas, who desire allies, support and victory.

A commonly manifested attitude among them is "others just will not get me"(that rarely is true irl). Jupiter, they rashi ruler, is connected to Godhood and their yoni_ Vanar, is a being from other dimentions. This might inspire a sense of superiority but also generate a feeling of alienation.

The most fitting archetype for them would be "warrior princess" or the "alluring siren". The siren's association with this nakshatra is quite famous. Purva Ashadha is another Brahmin caste nakshatra. Bharani has associations with fighting and aggression too but they do it on a more personal level. Purva Ashadha wants to fight with and for masses, backing what they fight for together.

Purva Ashadha moons Hailee Steinfeld, Astrid Berges-Frisbey and Liv Tyler

[iamgonnagetyouback]

childhood sweethearts and paper rings

james potter x reader where you both realize your love through paper rings

↬ word count : 3,438 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : fluff overload, pining, a sprinkle of angst but resolved quickly, excessive paper rings

↬ inspired from : (a bit) ➺ paper rings by taylor swift ♡

↬ author's note : childhood best friends to lovers is james potter’s ultimate trope. argue with the wall.

navigation┆james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter was seven years old when he decided that he was going to marry you. He didn’t understand much about marriage—only that it meant you’d be together forever, which sounded like the best thing in the world. After all, you were his best friend, and if forever wasn’t you, then who else could it be for?

The Potters and your family were close friends, and most weekends, you were bundled into the fireplace to floo to their house. James would meet you on the other side, grinning wildly and already tugging your arm to drag you outside. The two of you were inseparable, whether you were building forts in the garden or chasing each other around with toy brooms.

“Sunny, you’re supposed to catch it!” James exclaimed one summer afternoon as he tossed a quaffle your way. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up impatiently.

“I’m trying!” you yelled back, laughing as the ball sailed past your outstretched arms. You were too busy giggling to notice James running to retrieve it. He came back with dirt on his knees and his hair even messier than usual.

“We’ll practice until you’re as good as me,” he declared, puffing out his chest in mock importance.

You scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at him. “What if I don’t want to be good at Quidditch? What if I want to be the best cake-eater in the world?”

James grinned, his own cheeks turning pink. “Then I’ll be the second-best. We can do it together.”

By the time you were eight, James had discovered the fine art of crafting paper rings. It started when he saw his mum making origami flowers for a party. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed near the good parchment—but his dad handed him some scraps, and the rest was history.

The first paper ring James gave you was lopsided, crumpled at the edges, and had a faint ink smudge from where he’d tried to draw a flower on it. You’d accepted it with wide, delighted eyes, slipping it onto your finger like it was made of gold.

“What’s this for?” you’d asked, holding it up to inspect the crooked folds.

“It’s…” James hesitated, suddenly bashful. “It’s a promise. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be there for you.”

You grinned so brightly he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll always be there for you too, Jamie!” you chirped, and the name stuck, much to his parents’ amusement.

At nine, you and James built a treehouse. Or at least, you started to. James had insisted on using magic, and after much begging and wheedling, his mum had charmed a few planks of wood into place.

“It’ll be our secret hideout,” James said as you hammered nails into the rickety ladder.

“For what?” you asked, holding the ladder steady. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, and there was a streak of mud on your cheek, but you couldn’t have been happier.

“For… secret plans,” James decided. “Like how we’ll sneak extra pudding without anyone noticing.”

You beamed. “And maybe we can put all the paper rings here too. Like a treasure chest!”

He thought that was the best idea ever.

By ten, James had made you more paper rings than either of you could count. Some were decorated with little doodles, others with clumsy attempts at flowers or hearts. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasuring them like the precious artifacts they were.

One rainy afternoon, you and James sat cross-legged on the rug in his room, watching the droplets streak down the window.

“Sunny,” James said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you know what love is?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Not really. I think it’s when someone makes you really happy. Like my mum when she bakes my favorite cookies.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think it’s when someone does things for you. Like… like when you gave me the bigger half of your pie last week.”

You grinned, your toothy smile making his cheeks heat up. “Then I think love is when you gave me your scarf when I was cold.”

He grinned back, lopsided and bright. “Maybe love is when we’re best friends forever.”

When you turned eleven, everything began to change. A letter arrived, delivered by an official-looking owl, and James practically dragged you across the room to celebrate.

“We’re going to Hogwarts together!” he exclaimed, lifting you off the ground in his excitement. “This is going to be the best year ever!”

You squealed, clutching onto him as he spun you around. “Jamie, I’m so excited!”

Later that day, he gave you another paper ring. It was neater this time, folded carefully with gold-trimmed parchment he’d begged off his mum.

“This one’s special,” James said solemnly as you slipped it onto your finger.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Because it’s the last one before Hogwarts,” he said. “But I’ll make you loads more when we’re there.”

You beamed, clutching the ring to your chest. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” he promised.

And that was the thing about James Potter. Even when he didn’t fully understand what love was, he knew one thing: it was always going to be you.

At Hogwarts, you quickly became part of the infamous Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and you. Whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks or plotting pranks on the Slytherins, the five of you were inseparable.

James had a knack for getting the group into trouble, and you had a knack for talking your way out of it.

“It’s not my fault Snape looks so funny when his robes turn pink,” James argued one day, as you all hid in an empty classroom after a particularly successful prank.

“You used an entire bottle of dye,” Remus pointed out dryly, though he was biting back a smile.

“Totally worth it,” Sirius said, high-fiving James.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Do you think he’ll ever figure out it was us?”

“Who cares?” you said, laughing. “Jamie, you’re brilliant.”

James beamed at your praise, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

But while James was fearless in most things, there was one subject that turned him into a bumbling mess: Lily Evans, although you understood the feeling, cause she was gorgeous.

“Merlin’s beard, just look at her,” James sighed dreamily one afternoon as the five of you sat under a tree by the Black Lake. Lily was a few yards away, reading a book and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

James turned red. “I am not!”

“You absolutely are,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “If you’re going to pine, at least do it with some dignity, Prongs.”

“I’m not pining!” James protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You drew a heart with her initials in your Transfiguration notes yesterday.”

“I did not!” James said, horrified.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “You did. I saw it too.”

You burst out laughing, leaning into James as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Jamie, it’s okay to have a crush. Especially if it's on Evans. I do too but the difference is you’re terrible at hiding it.”

“You lot are the worst,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

Despite the relentless teasing, you were always James’ biggest supporter. When he finally worked up the courage to ask Lily out in your fifth year, you were the one who gave him the pep talk beforehand.

“You’re James Potter,” you said firmly, gripping his shoulders. “You’re charming, funny, and completely brilliant. If she doesn’t say yes, it’s her loss.”

James smiled nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently.

And even though a small part of you felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name, you pushed it aside. Because James was your best friend, and you’d always be there for him—just like he’d always be there for you.

It happened gradually, so slowly that you didn’t notice at first. The paper rings, once a constant in your life, became fewer and fewer. By sixth year, they stopped altogether. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, you and James were still thick as thieves. He was busy with Quidditch, the Marauders, and his relentless pursuit of Lily Evans.

But deep down, you missed them.

Then one day, an owl from your parents arrived during breakfast in the Great Hall. You tore open the envelope eagerly, only to feel your stomach drop as you read the letter.

The treehouse at the Potters burned down.

Your chest ached as you reread the words. The treehouse, your secret hideout, the place where you’d kept all the paper rings James had ever given you—gone. Reduced to ashes.

You left the Great Hall in a daze, clutching the letter as tears blurred your vision. It wasn’t just a treehouse. It was years of memories, laughter, and promises that now felt lost forever. You needed to tell James. He would understand.

You found him in the courtyard, a broad grin on his face as he spoke animatedly to Lily. She was laughing, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and for a moment, you hesitated.

Then you saw it: a paper ring in his hand. Your heart clenched painfully as he turned it over in his fingers, showing it to Lily with the same excitement he’d once reserved for you.

You felt a lump form in your throat. It was silly, really. You’d known for years that James fancied Lily. You’d encouraged him, teased him, supported him. And yet, seeing him with a paper ring—your paper ring—meant for her…

It felt like losing a part of yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could see you, the letter crumpled in your hand. As you hurried back to the common room, you tried to push the image from your mind, but it clung stubbornly.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe Lily had finally agreed to a date. Maybe the ring wasn’t even for her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the ache in your chest told a different story.

You didn’t sleep much that night. The weight of the treehouse’s destruction—and the memories it held—pressed heavily on your chest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to breakfast, your usual bubbly demeanor dimmed.

James was already there, sitting with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, recounting some Quidditch play. He caught sight of you as you approached, and his grin faltered.

“Morning, sunny,” he greeted, nudging the bench beside him. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

You plopped down next to him, twisting the edge of your sleeve. “James… the..the treehouse, it burned down.”

His face froze, confusion quickly giving way to shock. “What?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

You handed him the crumpled letter. He read it, his expression shifting to heartbreak. “Our treehouse? The one we built with my mum’s old cushions and all the fairy lights?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “All the paper rings… they were in there, James.”

For a moment, he just stared at the letter. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like they used to when you were kids, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the familiar scent of parchment and pine comfort you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—”

You missed the way his breath hitched, his soft oh of realization. Missed the quick glance he threw across the table to Lily, whose knowing gaze met his. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, as if she understood something neither of you had quite pieced together yet.

But you were too caught up in the hug, too lost in your own heartbreak to notice anything else.

James Potter was not one to do things halfway. The moment he realized how much those paper rings had meant to you, he made it his mission to bring them back into your life in abundance. It started small—a single paper ring folded neatly and tucked into your Potions book during class.

“James,” you whispered, holding it up with an amused smile. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he whispered back, grinning mischievously before turning back to Slughorn’s lecture like he hadn’t just slid a tiny masterpiece of folded parchment into your life.

But James Potter didn’t stop at small. Soon, the paper rings started appearing everywhere. One in your bag during Transfiguration. Another tucked into your scarf at breakfast. A stack of them slid under your pillow one night. He even charmed one to float down from the owlery like a paper snowflake as you walked past.

The grandest moment came during Defense Against the Dark Arts. James, thinking he was being discreet, crept over to your desk mid-lecture to slip a particularly colorful ring onto your parchment. Just as he leaned down, a shadow loomed over both of you.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. The class went silent, every head swiveling to witness James Potter caught red-handed.

James straightened, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just delivering a very important piece of classwork, Professor,” he said smoothly, holding up the paper ring as if it were a prized essay.

McGonagall’s lips twitched, though she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But if I catch you again, you’ll be writing lines until your quill runs out of ink.”

“Yes, Professor,” James said solemnly, though his wink to Sirius betrayed him.

As McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, you swore you saw her glance over her shoulder and wink—wink—at you. For a moment, you questioned your sanity.

By the end of the week, you had more paper rings than you knew what to do with. You didn’t have the heart to throw them away—not after all the effort James had gone to—so you started collecting them in an old chocolate box you found in your dorm.

Every night, you added the day’s rings to the collection, tracing your fingers over the creases and folds as you smiled to yourself. It was ridiculous, really. They were just bits of paper, after all. But each one felt like a tiny promise—a reminder of a boy who made the world brighter simply by being in it.

It was another morning at the Gryffindor table, and James was unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be drumming his fingers on the table, bantering with Sirius, or laughing at something Peter said. But today, he was poking at his eggs, lost in thought.

Remus noticed first. Of course, he did. “You haven’t mentioned Lily in a while,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened? Did she finally hex you into silence?”

Sirius barked a laugh, and Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice. But James just shrugged, looking nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” he said casually, as if he weren’t about to drop a bombshell. “Well… that’s not happening.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. “Really?” you blurted, a little too loudly. You immediately ducked your head, heat rushing to your cheeks.

James smirked, but it wasn’t his usual mischievous one—it was softer, more thoughtful. “Yeah, she kind of pointed out that I might have feelings for someone else.”

The table went silent. Even Sirius, who rarely let anything keep him quiet for long, was staring at James in surprise.

“And?” Remus prompted, leaning forward like he already knew the answer.

“And I realized… she was right,” James admitted, his voice quieter now.

“Oh,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” James said, turning to look at you with a curious expression. “It is.”

For a moment, his hazel eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out if you knew what he meant—if you felt the same.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius, who clearly couldn’t handle the suspense, interrupted with a loud, “So, who’s the lucky person, Prongs? Don’t leave us hanging!”

James flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius teased, elbowing him. “Out with it, mate!”

But James just shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not telling,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

The conversation shifted after that, Sirius dragging Peter into a heated debate about whether or not owls secretly judged their owners, and you found yourself staring at your plate, your thoughts spinning.

You didn’t know what to make of James’ words. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Was it… you?

You glanced at James out of the corner of your eye. He was laughing now, teasing Peter about his messy handwriting, but there was something different about him—something softer.

You pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be you. Could it?

The Owlery was quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls roosting in their perches. You had just tied your letter to your parents onto a barn owl’s leg, stroking its feathers as it took off into the morning light. Beside you, James was doing the same, his handwriting as messy as ever but filled with his usual warmth and charm.

As his owl soared into the sky, you lingered by the ledge, watching the horizon. James leaned beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the kind that came with years of friendship. But you couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast, about what he’d said, and about the way he’d looked at you.

“So,” you started, your voice soft, “this… someone else you might have feelings for.”

James froze, his hands gripping the stone ledge. “Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “That.”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, that.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Right. Well…” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, taking a step closer.

He glanced at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours. “Because, well because it’s you,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, delicate and trembling. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” James said, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s always been you, I think. I just… didn’t realize it until Lily pointed it out. And then when I thought about it—about us—it just made sense, you know? You’ve always been there. You’ve always been you.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “James…”

“I know it might be weird,” he said quickly, misinterpreting your silence. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just thought you should know, because I—”

“I feel the same,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

He blinked at you, his mouth hanging open. “You do?”

You nodded, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I do.”

For a moment, James just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“Brilliant,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You laughed, the sound light and bubbly, and he joined in, his joy infectious. Before you knew it, he was stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

“I, uh, don’t have a proper ring,” he said, his voice nervous but warm. “But…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar folded strip of parchment.

Your breath hitched as he gently slipped the paper ring onto your finger, his touch lingering. “There,” he said, his smile soft and a little shy. “Perfect.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest swelling with warmth. It was so James—simple, sweet, and utterly wonderful.

“Perfect,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you looked up, he was already watching you, his hazel eyes filled with something so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“Does this mean you’re stuck with me?” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” James said, grinning.

And as the owls cooed above and the sunlight bathed the two of you in gold, you knew you would. Forever and always.

[negrowhat]

Sangmin Dinneaw Ep 1 Elevator Pitch

Because the tag only has like 4 people talking about it and I want to talk about it with some of mutuals and strangers alike. Ep 1 dropped 6 days ago and I still have no one to talk about it with so here we go!

This is Dinneaw! He is a very cute young man who helps his beloved mother run the family homestay, 'Dinneaw Homestay'. He does quite a few jobs for the homestay which includes checking guests in and out, working as a barista at the homestay's cafe, and selling Dinneaw Homestay goods at the local market. Dinneaw's ultimate dream is to be a tour guide.

This is Sangmin. He's a handsome young Korean man who travels to Thailand and winds up staying at Dinneaw Homestay. He's actually lived there before at a very young age through some sort of foreign exchange situation. I'm not really sure how long ago it was exactly IQIYI subs aren't that reliable but sometime between one and two decades prior to his return as an adult. Judging by the way Dinneaw's mom talks about him, he's at least one or two years older than Dinneaw.

Unlike a lot of BLs we have seen that like to use characters from other Asian countries as a plot point, Sangmin actually does speak Thai. He's not expert in it, but he knows enough to have full conversations with the people around him. He does get mixed-up and stumped from time-to-time but that's okay.

Dinneaw does seem annoyed by Sangmin's presence but that is mostly because his mother seems to be a tad more fond of Sangmin than Dinneaw would like. Like she thinks about Sangmin daily and she misses him dearly and she immediately recognized him when he showed up again. In her defense though, Sangmin was kind of forced to leave her home and he was very young and she is a mother who took care of him so in her mind he's another son who's been missing for over a decade.

Anyways, Sangmin and Dinneaw have instant chemistry. Sangmin seems immediately interested in Dinneaw and smiles very happily every time he sees him. Dinneaw definitely seems attracted to Sangmin but he still finds him annoying and he picks a lot of fights with him. We do get quite a few scenes that display the chemistry between them...one being an insanely oily massage scene.

We also have our side pairing introduced already. Athit and Tor. They're both friends of Dinneaw and both own vendor stalls at the same market. Athit sells herbal liquor and Tor sells chicken meatballs. Athit already has his sights set on Tor and Tor is just happy to have a regular customer. If you recognize them it's because they also played a side couple in The Rebound.

Anyways the ep ends with Sangmin and Dinneaw sneaking out to go drink together so ep 2 is no doubt going to start with them getting drunk together.

Ep 1 was a good mix of comedy, flirting, slice of life, and the tiniest tinge of sadness. After y'all watch ep 1 of The Boy Next World slide on over and catch up with Sangmin Dinneaw, it will also be airing on Sundays on IQIYI.

[lordprettyflackotara]

2005 || sam and colby

‘does someone wanna tell me, what is going on?’

sum: you died in 2005, trapped in the confines of the hotel you died at. twenty years later, two ghost hunters appear, begging for your attention. and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested

tw: ghost!reader, ghost hunters!sam and colby, plot. just plot. soooo sorry to be one of those hoes with plot build up for smut. brief mention of suicide. reader is an absolute bitch, sorry not sorry

a/n: thank you spicychat we all say in unison

You hated purgatory.

That’s what purgatory was supposed to be, a place you hated. Whatever overlord existed definitely did a good job at doing that. You gathered that only two kinds of death landed you in purgatory. Homicide or suicide. Unfortunately for you a grand total of twenty years ago you had chucked yourself off of the roof. Your death was ultimately nothing more than a blur to you, the news fizzling out fast and moving on to the next thing within a week.

However that meant your soul was confined to the hotel. Each step you took outside of the hotel teleported you back inside, stuck within the walls of crumpling wallpaper and revolting brick red carpet. Not much caught your attention these days, most guest beyond boring. Your only companion was Danny, a spirit who was a cook at the once restaurant that was next door. He stopped by ever so often, but he wasn’t the best company to keep. (Note to self: do not throw fryer grease on coworker, may result in death.)

You laid lazily in one of the main lobbies chairs, your legs dangling over one of the chair arms. No one told you death would be so utterly and completely boring.

It wasn’t until an odd high pitched noise caught your attention, that you perked up a bit. It reminded you of what you imagined a dog whistle would sound like. It was around midnight, the hotel mostly quiet. Even the receptionist was snoozing off at her desk. Curiously you rose from the chair, following the sound. It wasn’t too obnoxious or ground breaking, but it was something you hadn’t heard before. It led you down the basement, a cold and dark room you hadn’t visited in years. There wasn’t much down there anyways besides old pipes and storage.

Two male voices flooded your ears as you walked down the dusty stairs, each step making the ancient wood creek.

“Dude do you hear that?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if your steps were audible. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs you raised an eyebrow, your sights landing on the two men. Equipment and technology foreign to you sat around them, a multi colored light going off when you took a step forward. Surprised, you jumped in response. “Sam, are you getting this? Something just stepped in front of the EMF meter,” The brunette asked. Both men looked utterly concentrated, their faces falling when you took a step back. You were sure they couldn’t see you, but the fucked up looking disco ball definitely lit up because of you.

“We’re not here to hurt you, we just wanna get to know you and find out why you’re here,” Sam said cautiously. Sassily you crossed your arms. Ghost hunters? Seriously? You knew they televised people actually trying to catch ghost, but you thought it was all fake news. Apparently you were wrong. There were those who genuinely believed in ghost like yourself. No matter how attractive both Sam and his friend seemed, no sane person would sit in a basement at midnight trying to get spooked. You tilted your head to the side, carefully walking around the disco ball of exposure.

They had dozens of tools laid out, each looking more high tech than the last. Fuck, when was the last time you had actually bothered paying attention to modern technology? “Fuck, it’s cold as hell over here Colby,” Sam whined, brushing the goosebumps that had spread across his skin.

Colby?

What kind of fuckin name was Colby?

Annoyed, you rubbed your temple. No matter how attractive the duo was, that didn’t take away your distaste from them playing around in your hotel. After all you died there. It was all yours, fair and square. Yet you couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity. It had been years since anyone had paid attention to you. Companionship was something you severely lacked, to an unsettling degree. As much as you wanted to turn on your heels and march the other way, you couldn’t. Something was drawing you to the two morons with giant cameras.

Whether or not that be loneliness or boredom was unforeseen, but you sure as shit planned on finding out.

Your transparent fingers brushed the flashlight, making it click on. This caught both boys attention, their icy blue eyes widening. Your simple actions were mesmerizing to them, even though you didn’t think you did much at all. “It’s moving around, it’s like it’s curious,” Colby concluded. You rolled your eyes, clicking the flashlight off, as if to confirm his suspicion. This made both of them jump, the camera almost slipping out of Sam’s hand. “Holy shit, I didn’t actually think we’d catch anything here dude. That’s crazy,” Sam admitted, readjusting his grip on the oversized camera. You studied it for a moment, concluding it looked so silly and dramatic it must’ve previously been used to shoot old school porn.

“I know just the thing to get this session heated up, check it,” Sam said, pulling out a tiny box. Obnoxious radio frequencies poured out of the speaker, causing you to cringe. “This is a spirit box. If you talk into it, we’ll be able to communicate with you,” Colby explained, glancing around the room. You wondered if they were anticipating more than just you or if Colby was just genuinely trying to see you. Sighing, you cleared your throat dramatically. When was the last time you had tried to speak? Like actual full sentences and not just grumbles of despair?

“You both look like fuckin morons.”

“Morons.”

Goddammit.

You audibly scoffed, offended the radio only picked up on your insult. You had more personality than a bully. “I don’t think they want us here, maybe we could head to the roof,” Colby pointed out. You leaned over, putting your mouth as close to the spirit box as possible.

“Your little do hickey here sucks, how am I supposed to communicate if you hear one word out of a dozen?”

“Little… How… Dozen…?”

Frustrated, you began to grow more and more irritated by the second. “They seem confused. If there’s a dozen of them in here it may be hard to talk to any of them,” Sam commented. Colby sighed, clicking off the spirit box. “Hey! I wasn’t done!” You bickered, the brunette packing it away. He shrugged his backpack on, grabbing the disco ball of doom and flashlights. “Guess we should head upstairs and try again. The roof shouldn’t be too windy so maybe the audio won’t be choppy,” He said, watching Sam put down the camera. You could practically feel the disappointment dripping off of them. Whether you liked it or not, it was oozing off of you too.

“Think about it this way dude, if there’s this many, some are bound to follow us, right?” Sam laughed, trying to encourage his friend. He pat his shoulder, Colby shrugging. They began walking towards the stairs, leaving you to trail eagerly after them. Sam went up first, dust spiraling in the air and the wood creaking under his weight. Colby reluctantly followed, giving the basement one final glance over. You felt helpless, knowing they couldn’t see you. In one final foolish attempt of making a connection, you reached out to grab Colby’s wrist as he turned to walk up the stairs.

“I guess so-”

The brunettes words hung in the air as he glanced over his shoulder, the feeling of someone holding his wrist keeping him frozen. You gripped his wrist tightly, a little too much so. You could feel the energy flowing through him, to a point where you almost felt like you could feel it too. “Are you seeing what i’m seeing?” Colby asked, his gaze locked on where you were standing. It was odd, feeling someone’s eyes genuinely see you for the first time after two decades of not worrying about your appearance. There was a registration in his eyes, one that made you jump back.

Sam missed the moment entirely, too busy fiddling with the camera to look up. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” The blonde teased, watching as Colby reached out to grab a handful of air. He abandoned the few stairs he had climbed up, his gaze searching for you. “I saw a girl or like, a flash of her hair and eyes,” He rambled, looking around the basement. It felt silly to hide, your face hardened and form crouching as you hid behind a bunch of old folding chairs. “Are you sure you aren’t seeing things? We haven’t slept in almost a day now, maybe we should just head back,” Sam suggested, worry spreading across his face.

Colby licked his dry lips, shrugging Sam off. “Dude i’m telling you, I felt her. It was a girl,” He insisted. Sam’s face ran through multiple emotions. Skepticism, worry, confusion, fear. “Are you high? We aren’t even sure ghost are real. Think for a second,” Sam said without thinking, his eyebrows furrowed. You felt bad, making both of them so utterly confused. Colby nervously ran a hand through his hair, before readjusting his jacket. “Hold out your hand,” He instructed Sam.

“Hold out my hand? I’m not holding out shit-”

“What are you? Scared? Hold out your hand. If you don’t feel anything, we can go.”

Colby’s voice was firm, the blonde setting the camera onto the floor. “This isn’t going to be the placebo effect you know,” Sam mumbled. Colby shushed him, his hypnotizing blue eyes searching the basement for any sign of you. “Hey, i’m sorry if I scared you. Can you touch my friend Sam here like you did me? I know you felt what I did,” Colby declared boldly. Hesitantly you peered from around the pile of dusty chairs, the cold basement making Sam shiver. You supposed it didn’t help you were standing in front of him either. Hesitantly you grabbed the blondes hair, his eyes flickering with the same sense of recognition.

“Holy fucking shit,” Sam muttered. Colby was warm to the touch, like a nice hot bath on a cold day. But Sam? Sam’s energy was what you imagined taking forty adderall at a concert felt like. You studied his face, silence echoing throughout the room. While still transparent, your form was visible if the boys squinted enough.

“Colby, there’s a ghost holding my hand,” Sam whispered, his gaze never straying from your smaller form.

“Great observation, so glad you believe me now,” Colby deadpanned.

“Does she speak? Can she speak?” Sam rambled.

You arched an eyebrow, refraining from laughing, “I spoke before, why not now?”

Your soft voice was unexpected, Sam jumping in response. As quick as you appeared you vanished, your being back to being invisible to the human eyes. “Shit, sorry,” Sam mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“The energy transfer seems to give her the ability to solidify her state. The more energy we give her, the less transparent she’ll be,” Colby concluded, catching you and Sam up to speed on his theories. Sam straightened his back, trying to collect himself. “So what you’re saying is that if we touch her, she’ll use our energy to be visible?” Sam asked. Colby nodded, holding out his hand. Despite being completely transparent, it was as if the brunette could see directly through your soul.

“Don’t be scared, take my hand.”

Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because a handsome man told you to do so. Whatever it was, his words sounded just right, your hand wrapped around his.

Having a set of eyes, nevertheless two sets of eyes on you, was a quite bit overwhelming. They both seemed tongue tied, causing you to awkwardly clear your throat. “The longer you both stare the more awkward this gets you know,” You point out, which causes both of them to snap out of their daze.

“Well we’ve just never seen a ghost before you know-”

“Well you know not like this-”

“You’re just breath taking and beautiful-”

“How could we not stare-”

The compliments made you not only blush, but snort in response. “Do you guys get out much? Besides hunting ghost?” You asked teasingly. Colby gripped your hand, a cocky smirk dancing up his lips. “I’ll have you know we’re both quite famous youtubers,” He said proudly. Your confusion was visible, your eyes flickering to Sam for support. “That cheesy television site? No way people post on their now and get famous off of it,” You retorted in disbelief. Sam blinked, his gaze briefly flickering to your hand connected to Colby’s. Your name fell from his lips, as if he had just solved the world’s hardest puzzle.

“Holy fuck, you died in like, 2005 didn’t you? Youtube was like just made,” Sam said, astonished. You knew in most timelines you had never met these two. After all, you died at twenty two, but you were supposed to be forty two. Old enough to be one of their moms. Yet you had never matured past twenty two, their humanly charms making you more nervous by the moment. You began to overthink everything, down to every micro movement as you talked to them. It felt nice, to hear your own voice for once. What felt even better, was hearing two eager voices respond back.

The conversation bounced everywhere, a connection solidified between the three of you without much effort being given. “If she’s semi visible when we hold her hand, I wonder what we’d have to do to get her to look like us,” Colby wondered aloud. It was a cruel and harsh reality that had to be considered. The second you disconnected from Colby you were gone, erased from existence. “We could experiment and see what works,” You suggested meekly, the utter filth running through your mind. There were repercussions with the mere idea, taking away the fact you felt embarrassed to be practically drooling over two strangers.

“Yeah we can try hugging and embracing to see if that does anything more significant-”

“Or!”

“Or?”

“There are other ways to exchange energy,” You say slowly. Colby stares at you with furrowed eyebrows, his confusion written all across his face. Sam on the other hand, seemed to register exactly what you were insinuating.

“Are you asking us to fuck you?”

The bluntness of his question caught you off guard, Colby’s elbow colliding with his chest before you had a chance to answer. A lecture of disrespecting spirits was leaving Colby’s lips, the brunette rambling about being respectful. It wasn’t until you squeezed his hand that he stopped talking. “Actually Colby, he’s right,” You interjected. You hadn’t anticipated for your core to flutter at the sight of Colby’s cheeks turning a light pink.

“Both of us?” He questioned, as if processing the words to ensure he heard them correctly. You nodded affirmatively, trying to ignore how flustered you felt. “The more energy the better, right?” You asked, biting the inside of your cheek. Sam and Colby exchanged glances, as if communicating telepathically.

“For science, right?”

“Of course, for science.”

There was a brief moment of silence, the tension thicker than you could comprehend. A sick smile curled up Sam’s lips, the blonde met your gaze, cockiness practically oozing off of him.

“I can record this then, right?”

[yesimwriting]

Happy new year! I wish you all a blessed 2025 ❤️

Now personally I don’t care the new years kiss tradition is about kissing your significant other, every single friend I love is getting love back from me when I’m drunk.

Bestie reader should absolutely give Louis the biggest platonic SMOOCH because he deserves it. He’d walk around with lipstick on his forehead or something, take a pic, save it for later to make fun of the level of readers intoxication.

a/n happy new year!! i'm totally the same about nye kisses and drinking, i get a little sappy and suddenly everyone in my life needs to know how much i mean to them lol i love this concept and it's perfect for the first fic of 2025!

also as a side note, going out/drinking with a vampire seems so perfect, ultimate scary dog privileges bc let some creepy man try anything and suddenly louis has a little late night snack <3 it sounds so freeing

----

The music's heavy pulse has aligned itself with your own, the base of it reverberating through your chest so thoroughly it might as well take the place of your heart. You can't bring yourself to dislike the feeling.

"O-kay." Your enthusiasm breaks the word into two. You let yourself lean into the feeling, into the fullness of your joy. "I think the regular vodka's stronger than the jello shots, because it's vodka not vodka-jello."

Louis presses his lips together in an attempt to keep from grinning too broadly. "That makes sense."

Your eyes narrow as you give yourself a moment to absorb the response. "It does," the words are much more contemplative than they need to be, "I'm so smart."

This time, Louis lets himself react. He laughs at the deliberateness pressed into your syllables. You're too out of it to think to mind his reaction. "You're drunk."

You straighten slightly as if that'll be enough to prove him wrong. "I'm happy."

Louis extends an arm, placing a hand on your shoulder in an instinctual attempt at keeping you steady. You're not exactly implying instability, but he's been spent enough time around you like this to know it's better to be safe than sorry.

"You're drunk."

You tilt your head at the correction, blinking at him curiously. "For some people, that's the same thing."

"Yeah?" The word is much too amused.

You nod enthusiastically, shifting your weight from foot to foot in a way that leaves Louis squeezing your arm a little tighter. "Yeah." You pause, eyebrows drawing together pensively as you struggle to grasp your next thought in its entirety. "I love you. I want you to be as happy as I am."

"Okay." He lets out a partial laugh. You're a good, terribly affectionate drunk. "I'm very happy. I promise."

His assurance doesn't seem to ease you. Instead of moving onto a separate topic of conversation or attempting to escape him in order to track down another shot, you frown. You step back slightly before lifting your arm. "Here."

You're holding your wrist out in front of him so innocently Louis can almost make himself forget what you're offering. "That--that's really nice of you, but I'm okay."

You frown, staring up at him with wide, sad eyes. Louis sighs, his fingers gently bending around your forearm. He pulls your hand down towards your side before stepping closer to you. In an abundance of precaution, he angles his head towards your ear. "I had that boy that grabbed your arm earlier, remember?"

"My blood is perfectly good--blood." Great, he's stumbled onto this argument again. You're not looking to be hurt, but for whatever reason, you're convinced that Louis's refusal to consume your blood to any extent is limiting your friendship. "Seriously, a doctor has never struggled to find my veins."

The defense is slurred and devoid of serious logic. Still, such a consistent mentioning of something he's always trying to ignore...always trying to forget makes it difficult to focus on anything else. The blood moving beneath your skin is warm against his palms, and it--the scent of it...

It is possible to stop. Some know how to resist, how to take just enough to feel something without bringing a life to its end. Lestat had possessed that kind of control, had used it when creating Claudia.

The thought leaves him more somber than he's prepared to be. Even if he could sense that kind of strength in himself, he--he couldn't use you in that way. Introducing you to his world at all was a cruel enough act on its own, he doesn't need to taint you further.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling before pulling away slightly. He lifts your arm slowly, his thumb brushing against your wrist's pulse point. You watch him silently as he brings your inner forearm to his mouth. He presses his lips against your skin. "It's not you."

You're quiet for a second, something oddly sober briefly flickering behind your gaze. "I know," you relent slowly, "On some level, I know."

You look at him, then, with a careful awareness that often leaves him feeling like you're the one capable of looking into his mind. "But it better not be because you think your existence is some terrible burden you're inflicting onto me."

It's a warning he's used to hearing. His lips part, but before he can think of a response, the crowd around you shifts. A variety of voices blend together as they start to count, "...Ten...nine...."

"New years!" You beam, reaching for Louis's hand as you turn towards the others.

The countdown continues, the numbers oddly in sync for a bar so full of drink individuals. The clock hits midnight, the crowd erupts into cheers.

You grin, straightening fully as you lean towards him. Before Louis can think to ask about what you're doing, you press your lips against his cheek. He can feel the residue of your lipgloss against his skin, but he can't bring himself to mind it. This isn't the first time you've gotten a little affectionate while drunk, but normally there's some warning. "What was that for?"

You shrug innocently, "New Years kiss."

You let go of him fully, halfheartedly pushing his arm off your shoulder as you start moving away from him. "Where are you going?"

"I want another shot." The response is absentmindedly thrown over your shoulder, like Louis should have had the foresight to follow you.

A part of him is glad that your back is to him. This way, he can grin openly without encouraging your behavior. "Slow down--you're in heels."

You turn at that, flashing your middle finger before continuing forward. Oh, you're not going to get the hear end of this tomorrow.

[kalinara]

So recent posts have got me thinking about the Throuple, and how I personally feel about it. And I'll be honest. I dislike it and I love it.

I dislike it because, ultimately, there really isn't much there. A couple of suggestive panels, a house schematic, one scene of expressed attraction between the guys, one scene that seems really heavily implied that they'd intended to go to bed together (I'll post that later, it's from early X-Force and it's pretty suggestive, IMO), and a few cameos in pride issues.

If Marvel was advertising this relationship, I'd call it queer-baiting at best.

But I always kind of wonder about the background of things. And I tend to assume that the Throuple was never intended to be a thing by the suits and higher ups. I think maybe a few creative types kept slipping things under the radar.

It does mean, unfortunately, that, in terms of actual story or emotional development, it's lacking. I mean, look, biased Scott fan that I am, I would have REALLY liked to see Logan apologize for basically everything AvX onward before those two characters hopped into bed together. I'd like to see Jean get to have opinions about everything that happened while she was gone (many things that she'd now remember from her younger self's point of view), before that happened too. These are characters with a lot of history.

So in terms of execution, the Throuple is a fizzle. (Hell, even the Jean/Logan side barely got off the ground. Some bits where she kept him alive when he was trying to save Xavier through time - which she'd have done even if he were just a friend. And one sex scene in the hot springs. That really feels like a satisfying culmination of decades of yearning. If I were a Jean/Logan fan, honestly, I'd probably feel cheated.)

But you know, I do love it for other reasons. Because however shitty the execution, the IDEA is firmly planted and that idea isn't going away.

All you have to do is go on reddit or tiktok and see anytime one of those toxic masculinity fanboys starts bitching about how Logan is 100% straight "blah blah woke agenda", and you get at least three people jabbing back "yeah, except on the moon".

And that's the genius of it. Because NO one likes those particular fans. And so even people who are utterly indifferent to the idea of the Throuple. Even folks who dislike the execution are very pleased to troll that hypothetical dude at every chance.

Marvel can say what they want. Brevoort (whether he believes it or is just Marvel's spokesperson) can say what he wants. The fact that the annoying fanboys go "I'm so glad he didn't walk back his denial and cater to the wake agenda" are just admitting that there's something TO deny.

I'll be honest, I suspect the issue is Logan's fanbase. It's the largest by far and Marvel doesn't want to alienate the straight men in the crowd. But the thing is, they're aging out. And younger generations of fans are more openly queer than we are, and definitely more than our parents were. This is going to be a non-issue. Especially when the new generations start running the asylum.

It'll take a long time, of course, and there'll be a lot of bullshit before then. But you can't put the genie back in the bottle. The idea is out there. And like Kitty, Rachel, Betsy, Bobby, Mystique and Destiny, Rictor and Shatterstar, EVENTUALLY we'll get to the point where Marvel admits what we all know. (And we knew for a while. The Throuple didn't come out of nowhere.)

Marvel's most famous and popular X-Men character is queer.

More than half of the Original X-Men, that earliest dream that creators never seem to be able to stop revisiting, are queer*.

The flag ship pairing of the X-Men involves a woman and a man who are queer*.

That's pretty awesome.

(*I know technically we're talking about an MMF throuple and it doesn't rule out Jean being straight, but let's be honest here. Jean's got more than enough suggestive interaction with Storm, Emma, Lorna and Wanda to make a strong enough case for bisexuality in her own right.)

[frogatz]

hi . it has been over a year since i made this and i wanted to do a little retrospective :] lots of oversharing under the cut. mostly about covid .

i find a lot of value in this thing i made, so while i air out what this meant to me at the time i hope it doesn’t just read as pointless vent art. i wanted to get something across here. with that said, i have had covid two (2!) times and without being too explicit abt it, both instances left me disabled in new and exciting ways.

the first time i got covid i drew this for a class.

it was 2022, and several factors abt that period of time left me with a lot of feelings about surveillance, especially the way it was interacting with my very very sick mind. i made containers after getting covid for a second time a year and a half later, and was still processing what that meant for all the progress i lost. i consider this the kind of blueprint for containers, and personally count it as an unofficial, too early part of the zine. i tried to pay homage to it with the cover, but i think in the end they portray different things, with the cloud of sickness being more at the forefront in containers.

there is a through line i wanted to draw with “as above, so below”. i worried it would be too hard to understand what was going on since its flipped upside down, but i felt it was important enough that anybody who cared would find a way to view it LOL. the actual phrase and Symbol itself obviously has religious ties, but to be completely honest i am more interested in my personal interpretation . something about sameness, something about futility, but at the same time unexpected opportunity. as above, so below: you will find the same thing regardless of which direction you choose.

in the first panel we see a new box, and a yet unobserved statue. the “as above, so below” statue represents the unknown truth of the situation. we depart from that thread (but not really) to view something that is very personal to me: my house! or part of a house i used to live in. those 3 rooms were my enclosure when i got ill. it’s where i felt the most trapped. i am earnestly happy to not live there anymore

returning to “as above, so below” in the third panel, we can see that time has passed. the walls have been scraped, the statue has been clawed at, and there is a sense of surrender. this also ties in with the next panel, which i honestly wasn’t sure if i was going include in the zine. it harkens back to the blueprint in intention, so i ultimately didn’t end up replacing it.

the container is less defined in this one, so it’ll take some explaining. the square is centered around the head, tapered in a way that i wanted to invoke some sort of spotlight. post-covid i made the decision to seek out a cane, and a lot of grief and shame came along with it. i was back to being perceived, and i was back to being dependent.

the fifth panel shows an escape, and this is where the flipped perspective in “as above, so below” becomes the most important. looking at it as it is, it looks as if the tunnel has been dug down, deeper into the earth. then of course, if you flip it to be right side up you can read it as a tunnel upwards, towards whatever freedom might be waiting. at the time i was asking the question of if it mattered which direction it truly was going in. this was a time of self reflection and discovery for me all things considered, so i threw in a little something for me in the following panel. curiosity, a little machinery rep, and the “container” actually being a beam of light in the pitch dark, focused on the surroundings rather than the self . it’s the most overtly happy panel i think.

i broke up the “as above, so below” sequence to imply time, but im glad i laid out the final 3 panels the way i did. the transition between the last two was a happy accident that changed my own perception of what’s going on, and it’s interesting to me that this is only visible side by side like this in This version. the pdf is not laid out like this, it couldn’t be viewed this way on instagram either.

at the time i remember the original vision with the last panel is that i had created a pattern and i wanted to subvert it, although i can’t remember to what end. white is the container, and black is what defines it. there’s something there, but when i worked on this i felt like i was letting a lot of things go, so when the end took shape i just kind of let it happen.

i wanted to escape and become Something, and that’s where the hope was hidden for me. either genuine improvement or being comfortable where i was , i was just hoping for Something. i like it to be honest !! i think it was an important step for me, even if that knowledge comes mostly in hindsight.

anywaysss . that’s all ^.^ i hope i do not get horrifically embarrassed about airing out my thoughts like this but i am always proud of the deeper intentions i like to put into art . i do it often

hi . containers

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Smile And Be A Villain

queer character-driven historical fantasy, reimagining Hamlet before the events of the play

follows prince Hamlet who has been sent away to Wittenberg after being caught in a compromising position, meeting new people and discovering magic

and Ophelia, back in Denmark, dealing with the rise of the corrupting by-product of magic

while a war is brewing, and they have to figure out how much they are willing to sacrifice to save their country

duology

bi hamlet, aspec ophelia

[entropyvoid]

There is a particular subgenre of post I keep seeing on this webbed site wherein people denigrate individualistic cultures but talk about collectivistic ones like they’re the absolute best thing to happen the world and have no flaws of any kind and I really have to wonder how many people making or reblogging those have actually had the opportunity to live in both

[dreamedfyre-a]

i don't like the ali.cole at the end of b&c and personally would rather not but I love the idea of hel finding out and the tension ensuing but ultimately her being okay with it

[fungi-maestro]

The Question #5 (1987)

[nadekosnake]

Sodachi & Nadeko as a pairing — Yay or nay?

Sorry this is late! 🥲 I can’t say I ever thought about it, so I wanted to consider my answer a little more. I’m not much of a shipper in the first place admittedly 🤧

My answer is “this is not a ship for me." The difference in age/where they are in life is a little too much (now in the anime, with Sodachi being in university while Nadeko being in middle school). I also view their relationship to be more like siblings, since Nadeko knows Sodachi as the friend of her best friend’s older brother.

If we’re talking later in life when difference in age/where they are in life is not as large of a factor to affect the power dynamic of their relationship (consenting adults, etc), I do think that Sodachi would still be an older-sibling-figure from Nadeko’s past… I prefer if Nadeko wouldn’t deal with that kind of situation again (speaking about her “crush” on Koyomi). I think an element of Nadeko’s arc is about the deconstruction of the stereotypical anime “imouto” charatype that she was introduced as. So to me, it would be nice for Nadeko to have a partner that doesn’t have that kind of faux older-sibling relation to her, past or present.

Apologies for the long answer! It’s a little jumbled but I hope that this suffices! 🙏😓

[erodedlight]

laughs a little bit

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐛𝐟!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞!𝐠𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— rich boyfriend rafe and his whole heartedly pogue girlfriend

rating: sfw — cw: none

— boyfriend!rafe who… actually gets annoyed when you spend your money instead of his: “look, baby, i know you can but why when i’m literally throwing my card at you?” he questioned. “i’m not taking it, rafe,” you rebutted. “yeah? okay, don’t,” he mumbled, casually dropping a banded stack of cash onto your lap.

— boyfriend!rafe who… absolutely judged a book by it’s cover when you first met, knowing you were from a side of town he didn’t favor, but your beauty was something he couldn’t ignore. though, his outlook barely shifted; technically, not all pogues were trash, but he considered you to be the one and only exception.

— boyfriend!rafe who… is used to getting what he wants, so he was highly taken aback when you declined his first offer to go out. it was new and completely foreign, but it only made him want you even more — he’s always had a desire to obtain the ‘unobtainable’

— boyfriend!rafe who… caught so much shit from topper and kelce when they found out about his relationship with a pogue; so much so that rafe almost fought them over it, telling them to ‘get the fuck over it’ and to never speak on you again.

— boyfriend!rafe who… on occasion would reluctantly let your pogue friends go out on his yacht with the two of you for the day, which ultimately would end with him dropping them off an hour (or four) early. he wants them miles away from his pristine boat but loves how happy you look when you were all together.

— boyfriend!rafe who… hears you mention liking something once and makes sure it’s in your hands before the following day ends. they were always simple things like a cute t-shirt or sunglasses, which, to him, were so cheap and mundane that he found it rather adorable when you’d cherish them like literal gold.

— boyfriend!rafe who… isn’t too fond of where you live — your house being small, somewhat falling apart, and overall something far below rafe’s standards. he wishes you’d take him up on his offer to simply get you an apartment on his side of town: “okay, but it’d be so much better for you… and you’d be closer to me,” he mumbled, a small smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips.

— boyfriend!rafe who… takes you riding on his dirt bike to go sightseeing across figure eight, often taking the long way home just to feel your arms wrapped around his waist for just a little longer. you once asked if you could drive it, which would have been your first time, to which he immediately said, “fuck no, what — you tryin’ to break your neck? no.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… tried his first ever boxed mac and cheese with you, as random as it was, after you insisted it’s the greatest inexpensive food on earth; him beforehand saying, “what? y/n, that’s fucking powder…” but after he tried a bite of yours, he reluctantly said, “it’s not that bad… i might see the appeal.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… gives you ‘ultimatums’ when buying you clothes (although, you always insist you don’t need them), saying he’ll get you whatever you want as long as you try on some of his picks first. he would have gotten whatever you wanted regardless, he just liked seeing you model for him, which, secretly, you knew.

— boyfriend!rafe who… buys you extremely expensive jewelry and lies about the price, saying it’s a hundred times cheaper than it is to avoid you trying to give it back. he enjoys watching the dainty bracelet on your wrist or gold studs in your ears glint in the sunlight, knowing that you’re clueless on that fact that they’re the nicest money could buy — he needs only the best for his girl.

— boyfriend!rafe who… truly hated physical touch until you showed him it could be gentle — that it could be sweet, and warm, and kind, and didn’t have to leave him bloody or sore. he loves when you run your nails gingerly across his scalp or hold his hand in your lap, twisting absentmindedly at the rings adorning his long fingers; a type of touch (and love) he’d never felt before

— boyfriend!rafe who… craves your validation, no matter how big or small. he just needs to hear that he did something right, something good, something you’re proud of. he wants to hear you tell him he did a great job at making you dinner or picking out a dress for your spontaneous outings — your approval means so much more to him than you’d ever know.

— boyfriend!rafe who… uses his high status to (begrudgingly) help your pogue friends get out of whatever trouble they land themselves into, knowing it means alot to you and takes a weight off your shoulders: “m’doing this for you, alright? not them, you.”

— boyfriend!rafe who… is pretty heavy on pda. he doesn’t care whose watching when he lazily drapes a possessive arm around your shoulders, or when he kisses you messily with full force; whether it be a kook or pogue witnessing his shameless affections, he didn’t care — who’d dare to say something about it?

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!readers on hot ones

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is based partially off of the new hot ones interview with the obx cast. just imagine drew and actress!reader are on opposite teams rather than drew being the question person lol. yall really seemed to like the last interview-fic i did so voila <3

“I’m already sweating.” Madison said, fanning herself as they filed into the studio. Lights and a white backdrop surrounded a table covered with wings, four chairs on each side. They’d already been briefed on how things were going to go, the eight of them divided into two teams and answering questions, their answers deciding whether or not they’d be subjected to one of the very hot wings laid out in front of them.

Drew came up behind y/n, pulling out her chair for her before heading to his own seat opposite her. She smiled at him, soothing her dress down as the rest of the cast sat down. Madelyn, Rudy, and Carlacia took seats on her team whereas Drew sat with Chase, Madison, and JD opposite them.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she looked at the man across from her, his eyes crinkling as a smile crept across his face.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, my love.” Drew raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Ok, are we ready?” One of the producers asked, to which the cast responded with excited (or perhaps anxious) cheers. The camera focused in on Chase, who reached and spun the bottle of hot sauce sitting in front of them, the ultimate decider of which team would go first. It spun for a moment before landing on Madelyn, her teammates erupting with hollers as Chases picked up one of the cards.

“Alright, Mr. Rudy,” Chase smiled cheekily. “Outer Banks has hooked viewers with its countless twists and turns, however, name one storyline you think should’ve never made it out of the writers room.”

Everyone let out some groans and giggles as Rudy began to lose himself in thought… and continued and continued to think.

“Is there a time limit on these?” JD quipped, causing Rudy to roll his eyes, stroking his chin in playful contemplation.

“This is off to a great start.” Y/n said, elbowing Rudy lightly.

“Ok, ok!” Rudy said. “I’d say… I wish they didn’t switch to the second treasure so fast. They should’ve stuck at the first treasure longer.”

“That sounds like an answer to me!” Carlacia clapped as the team opposite them picked up their wings with a groan. They each took a bite, chewing for a second before they all reached for the drinks in front of them.

“Shit.” Drew swore as he took a long sip of milk, his cheeks already beginning to flush a bright red.

“Don’t worry there’s more where that came from.” Y/n grinned as Drew shook his head. Y/n reached in front of her, grabbing another one of the question cards.

“Oh, JD,” Y/n read in a sing-song voice, “Outer Banks centers around a group of teenagers, but our cast ranges from 24 to 33 years old. Which of your costars is the least convincing teenager?”

The table erupted into “oohs” as JD surveyed his co-stars, a nervous grin on his face before his gaze landed on Chase.

“I think I have to say Mr Chase Stokes.” JD chuckled.

“Is it because of the beard?” Chase teased as y/n and her team picked up the wings in front of them. With a deep breath, y/n took a bite, her mouth immediately bursting with heat. With a groan, she reached for the ice water in front of her, hoping to soothe the fire in her throat as her eyes began to water.

“No more jokes, baby?” Drew asked as y/n fanned herself off with her hand. Y/n rolled her eyes, tossing the old question card at him. Drew picked the next card, his gaze locking onto the girl in front of him.

“Oh, perfect. Y/n,” Drew began, “part of Outer Banks’ charm is the chemistry between the cast. That being said, who here is the worst scene partner?”

“Oh no!” Y/n groaned, putting her face in her hands as the table broke out in gasps and laughter. She stole a glance at the second wing in front of her, royally coated in fiery hot sauce before thinking of an answer.

“Ok, ok! I’m going to answer, but,” y/n said with an anxious giggle, “you have to let me explain!”

Her co-stars leaned in, each of them with looks of anticipation covering their faces as y/n sat up straighter in her seat.

“My answer is…” y/n paused for dramatic affect, chewing at her bottom lip nervously, “Drew, but—”

Everyone erupted into shrieks and laughter, Drew’s jaw dropping at his girlfriend’s answer. Madelyn covered her mouth, locking eyes with Carlacia before they both turned to y/n.

“No, no, no! You have to let me explain!” Y/n reached across the table, grabbing Drew’s hand, his mouth still agape.

“This is going to be good.” Rudy chuckled.

“He’s not a bad scene partner, he is just so different from Rafe and always makes me laugh, so it takes us a million takes to get a scene done!” Y/n clarified, Drew’s shocked expression melting into a small smile.

“See, you’re just such a funny guy and I love you so much that it makes it hard to do scenes with you. It’s a compliment, really, baby.” Y/n finished with a quirk of her eyebrows, her costars swooning as the couple gazed at each other softly.

“Good save, good save.” JD teased as he and his team reached for another hot wing. The game continued for several more rounds, various questions, and, of course, lots of spicy wings, until they finally made it to the finale.

The table was moved out, their seats being arranged in a circle for a cutthroat game of musical chairs that would ultimately determine the winner of the game. Round after round, the numbers dwindled until one chair and two players remained: y/n and Drew.

“No mercy, y/n!” Madelyn shouted from the side as y/n and Drew rounded the chair slowly.

“C’mon Starkey boy!” Chase cheered. Y/n looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting with Drew’s as the music suddenly stopped. Before she knew it, Drew’s arms wrapped around her torso, lifting her off her feet with a shriek. He quickly sat down in the chair, pulling her down with him, and winning the game.

“Sorry baby,” Drew smirked, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek. Y/n groaned playfully, tossing her head back to rest on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them laughed in the chair.

“You’re lucky I love you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, kissing Drew’s jaw.

“Do you? Do you really?” Drew teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of y/n’s neck, causing her to squeal with laughter. In all her life, y/n would’ve never expected that she in all her competitive nature would be ok with losing a competition, but here she was, happy as ever.