#at a clearly frustrated anon who’s probably not actually upset at me and more upset at the topic yknow

[end-of-update-blog]

Thank you for your encouraging messages, anon. In Apex, where I currently draw a lot of fan art, there are ships that haven't become completely canon, but are clearly favored by the game developers, and when they sometimes come into view unexpectedly, it makes me feel very upset. I hope there are people who like the fanon art I draw.

And from here on, I'll once again be writing about my recent daily grievances on this blog, which I thought had stopped updating. If you don't want to read them, please ignore the following paragraphs (I'm feeling very lonely in my new place, where I've abandoned my old handle name, so please forgive me for wanting to vent my frustrations in such a visible place)

My sister, who was the direct cause of me abandoning my old handle, seems to have developed some kind of facial abnormality, and has turned down the job she was offered and is staying at home all this time. And, as hard as it may be to believe, she spends her time lazing around, dubbing the fish she keeps in a very harsh, high-pitched falsetto, and singing alone. Even when I ask my family if they can do something about my sister, they just brush it off by saying, "She has a disease that's causing her face to look strange." From my perspective, I can't understand why my sister, who doesn't work, devours sweets and juices that aren't included in the meals provided, and lives a life that reverses her day and night cycle, can't work. From my perspective, as someone who goes to work every day in the hot sun and works hard, my sister just seems to be relying on the family's savings. It really makes me sick to think that some of the money I've earned is being used to support my sister's lifestyle...

Although my work at the office is worthwhile, I often receive requests to do work that is outsourced, and my salary is not commensurate with my salary. My colleagues jokingly tell me that I should receive outsourcing fees, but if I actually asked for that amount, I would probably be fired.

Even though I draw pictures as an outlet for my frustrations at work, I don't have the skills to do so, and so my work doesn't get as many views as it used to (although maybe it just feels that way because I hate my sister so much). The work is hard, my hobbies aren't rewarding, and when I get home, the source of my stress is there. I have no way to release my stress!

Furthermore, my sister previously hid the fact that she was overweight online, which meant that she was unable to meet people even when they arranged to meet up offline, and as a result, people she had made plans to meet in the future got angry and cut ties with her, and now it seems she is repeating the same thing. It breaks my heart to think that more people will be hurt because of my sister.

I think the only way for me to escape this situation is to leave my parents' home and force myself to change my environment. First, I'm planning a reckless plan, but Nintendo has been recruiting for career graphic designers since December last year, so I'm going to apply there, even if it seems like a long shot. I'm also thinking of applying to other companies. I'm no longer at an age where I can be considered young, and I have no intention of getting married in the future, so I need to become independent in order to make a living with my skills. In that sense, I'm relying too much on my family, so I'm telling myself that I need to work harder.

And I think I need to get better at drawing. Of course I need a main job as a source of income, but if I can get some work from my drawing to a certain extent, nothing would make me happier. A long time ago, when I was drawing pictures of Wander Over Yonder, I had no intention of becoming famous, I was just expressing what I wanted to express. I want to get back to that feeling and work hard on art production...

[spaceorphan18]

Have you read the latest script of K&J's podcast about the Michael episode? I'm very interested in hearing your thoughts. They were talking about Jenna acting out and being forced to take time off. And they mentioned being upset because other people were acting out and getting storylines or being given time off to do other things. The later one is def about D since he went to do the musical but I can't believe he would act out for that, it's like totally OOC.

Same anon as before as I was just finishing to read the script. They did indeed talk about Darren being written off and I'm debating if I should listen this time because the way it's written they seem very jealous of him. I'm getting upset by just reading this. So I'm still very curious about your thoughts about it if and when you have the chance to read/listen to it.

I actually figured you guys were all tired of my opinions, lol.

Yes, I did kind of skim the transcript this morning because I saw people talking about it and was curious. And, I have a lot of complicated feelings about the whole thing.

First of all, though, I say this with love to all the Blaine and Darren fans out there -- Kevin and Jenna are never going to be able to be objective when doing this podcast. I keep thinking about all the other rewatch podcasts I listen to, and how all of them - even when discussing things that were hard to go through and/or things that weren't that great with the show - have a level of decorum that Kevin and Jenna just do not have. I do not know why they began this podcast, but digging into the show on a media analysis level just is not where their talents lie.

(Also, I don't think they love Glee the way those other podcasters genuinely love their show and that just colors how they see things. I'll get more into this in a moment...)

And I get that it's frustrating. Believe me, I do. There are plenty of Kurt things they do not talk about that drive me nuts. But at the same time, I feel like the 'recaps' have boiled down to praising Naya, Amber, and themselves; commentating on whatever BTS stuff comes up, and discussing shit on TikTok. I'm not sure why they're even bothering with the 'recaps', tbh.

But guys - if this podcast is upsetting you, if you're finding yourself this anxious or mad or whatever -- it's time to stop. They're not going to change how they do things, and at this point, I'm not entirely sure what you're waiting for from them? Maybe it's time to stop hate listening <3 <3

***

As for the acting out -- I think a lot of the cast probably did. I'm sure Lea was a terror to work with at times. I'm sure Mark probably wasn't easy either. I know Naya spoke up on a lot of things -- though the producers didn't take as much issue with her until the Season 5 drama. Chris was pretty vocal about choices with his character. I can imagine Amber being just as frustrated with Mercedes' lack of anything to do. Didn't Heather say she kept it all inward? And what about Diana who really seems to not ever want to talk about Glee again?

So - who knows what acting out means, tbh.

Keeping all of this in context -- this cast was very tired by the time Season 3 came around. There were too many characters to service, they keep adding ones in, and they were all very young. (And for those of you who are experiencing your early 20s right now? I hate to say this to you -- but you are all still very young.) Added on the fact that the producers clearly did not understand their mental health needs (as evident about how apologetic Ryan Murphy seems to be about all of it) you get a lot of young people expressing their frustration in a lot of different ways over a lot of different things.

I think that Jenna has some very, very complicated feelings about the show -- and in particular about this era because this is where she had a rather big break down. You know what, I do feel for her, because I can see where she's coming from. I can't imagine - feeling like you're tied to a job where everyone around you seems to be getting a better deal than you, and you're trying to be the nice one, and eventually, holding all of that inwardly will make you crack. I'm glad she went to therapy. I kinda hope she's still going to therapy because it seems as though a lot of this is still bothering her.

And I don't really think that Darren, specifically, is ultimately what led to Jenna's breakdown. I think it was a lot of things compounding on each other and Darren on Broadway might have been the last straw that caused her to crack.

I will say (again with all the love to Darren, I adore the guy) there was underground talk that when Darren first got there - he didn't exactly handle his newfound fame in the most eloquent of ways -- in that he was a little on the pompous side. But again, that was age, and by the time Season 4 came around, by all accounts that I came across, he was friends with everyone.

That said - none of this is Darren's fault. It's not Darren's fault that Ryan Murphy handled his young cast and their mental health very badly. It's not Darren's fault that he jumped on opportunities when they arose. It's not Darren's fault that through his natural talents Blaine became a way more popular character than half the original cast. And it's not Darren's fault that Jenna has her own shit to deal with.

***

So, yeah...

I guess those are my thoughts.

And I'm still here enjoying Kurt, Blaine, Chris, and Darren -- and believe it or not, a lot of the show in general. And I don't really listen to Kevin and Jenna's podcast anymore because they just don't care about the things I do -- and that's fine.

[edalynn]

i gotta admit that i have this habit of checking on ur blog every week or so just to read you+other anons expressing frustration w huntl0w. in a weird way it's like an outlet for me whenever i get annoyed by the constant ship content in the fandom. like vicarious venting. if that makes sense

i honestly don't mind it as a crack ship tbh. like if that was all it was, that would be fine, it's like ppl shipping camila/eda, or gus/mattholomule, or vee/masha, etc... like huntl0w, those are all totally normal pairings that (with the exception of camila/eda) have all gotten VERY brief moments that might *possibly* hint to it being a thing in the future. but that's the point, is that huntl0w falls into that category, but the sheer quantity of content that is/has been produced VASTLY outpaces all the other crack ships.

and that's what gets me about it i think . is that the fanon has elevated it to the point where if all you knew about TOH was what you saw in fandom spaces, any outsider would make the reasonable assumption that huntl0w is integral to the plot and has had several episodes worth of development in regards to their relationship

but it hasn't? ,... meaning there's this weird mismatch between universally accepted fanon-as-canon and what actually occurs in the show. and..... it's really, really weird, and i think the question should be asked: why huntl0w? why is this crack ship specifically getting this strange treatment, and having more attention placed on it than fuckin lumity, or raeda?

and let's be real. it's probably cuz it's straight.

there are prob other factors too, like hunter is the stereotypical attractive bad boy who switches sides, or in luz's words, 'i pretend i don't care but i secretly do' kinda guy. think zuko ,and the amount of ppl that simp for him lmao. so it's possible willow is being used as a sort of quasi-self insert (recall how in a lot of their ship art, the focus is always always always on hunter and his issues, with willow just sort of Being There to fluster him/make him happy). and obviously using willow like that is really weird! like seriously i've got no problem if ppl wanna do an oc x canon situation with hunter. that's fine. but actually use some brain power to make a self insert oc instead of using willow lol

anyway i hope that wasnt too much rambling for an ask i just had some Thoughts about huntl0w lol

YEAH, if it had stayed a crackship I could've just like. ignored it and let it be. I definitely still mocked it personally with my partner irl when we would see it because it just seemed so ridiculous to us, but I wouldn't be as vocally angry or have the trauma response it causes now. The content in the fandom for h/l vs. lumity and raeda combined is depressing to say the least. And yes, you're right. It's because it's straight or straight passing at the very least. It's really telling and really upsetting for a queer-based show's most popular ship to be a m/f ship that's not even canon and doesn't even affect the plot. Honestly, I'd go as far as saying it's disgusting and those artists that I see that ONLY draw hunt/low shouldn't even be watching toh in the first place because this piece of media is clearly not what you need.

And it's amazing actually, what you pointed out. It has literally the amount of implication that any other crackship in the show has aside from camila/eda. Like, I knew that but I'd never really thought too extensively on that point. There is seriously no supporting evidence more than for gustholomule that hunt//low will ever end up canon aside from a few blushes from only one side of the ship in the first place. In any other show it would be taken as just that, a little nod at a potential crackship. I don't know why hunt/low shippers are so aggressively convinced that it's already canon when it's barely past crackship level.

And it's definitely all those reasons you mentioned that it's far more popular even than canon queer ships- it being m/f, hunter being the typical attractive bad boy-secretly good character, and Willow being easy to morph into a type of self-insert made to coddle said bad-boy character because that's the type of relationship and validation they want. 🙄 But for real,, if that's the reason you think you like hunt//low,, you don't actually like hunt//low or even Willow's character specifically- you just want a pretty bad boy to like you and you're using hunter as your outlet lmao. Seriously, just make an OC at that point. It does less of a disservice to Willow's character and can be molded into canon however you'd like. I'd prefer to see everyone's canon insert OCs than constant out of character hunt//low in the tags constantly.

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia,

I need some advice. I've been writing a story and posting it online and it's acquired a decent amount of readers.

I have this one character who is a secondary character, not a main, but they've become very popular with my readers and I've been getting many asks on when I'll be writing a story for this character, where they are the mc.

The problem is I don't feel the same way about this side character as my readers do. In fact I don't care much for them at all which I suppose is weird? I care about my main characters obviously but this side character is like... honestly I have no idea why they've become so popular. I've been trying to see them the way my readers see them, because surely there's a reason they've become a fan favourite, but I just... can't. It's so upsetting and frustrating because I love my main characters and want to focus on them but then I feel like I'm betraying my readership because they clearly want me to write a story about this character.

And then I feel angry at myself because why the hell can't I feel the same way about a character that I myself created? What's wrong with me?? Do I just need time to sit and flesh them out more? Will it take time for them to grow on me?

Anyway I would just really appreciate your thoughts on this. Have you ever created a character that you don't hate but don't particularly love either and then that character becoming extremely popular with readers?

How do you deal with that?

Thanks for reading my rant.

Hi anon,

There's actually a very simple answer to this which is (probably) going to make my response a lot shorter than your ask (probably not given how long my responses are).

You cannot make everyone happy because you are not all the same person. That's just...normal. It's normal. You're a human person and therefore have your own likes and dislikes, and other people who are not you have their own likes and dislikes, and our job in life isn't to make sure we all share exactly the same likes and dislikes.

Therefore all you have to do when people start talking to you about this other character is just go 'that's cool that you like them so much! I don't feel the same way though.' And if people are becoming too pushy in your comments, just make an author's note like 'please stop asking me to write stuff about (second character) because I don't want to and I'm getting tired of saying so, thanks!'

That's it. Done. You can find 100 ways to put down the boundary, but the idea that there is something wrong with you simply because you have preferences, is like, nope. Nothing wrong with you, stop giving yourself a hard time for being a human being.

Like in this instance, you are just a plain ordinary human being who has preferences like the rest of us and all you need to say is 'that isn't my preference' in the way that feels natural to you.

And yes, this happens to me a lot re: some of the characters I've made, in different permutations, and I'll I say - and have said in comments, ask responses and more - is 'that's cool that you like them so much, unfortunately I just don't feel the same way.' It's happening these days when people keep asking for Augus/Gwyn and I smile and say 'you have 1.5 million words of them, please go read it or write your own.' It happened all the way back when people cared way more about Bunnymund as a protagonist than I ever did or have since. And for every single really annoying 'will you ever make one of them get pregnant and have babies' request, I lay down a boundary.

That's a normal part of life, anon. People are different to you and have likes and preferences of their own. Sometimes they'll try and persuade you to share in those likes. And sometimes you will and you'll feel inspired. But not sharing in them is completely normal.

You deal with it by having boundaries, anon, that respect your preferences. :)

Tl;dr - You are not other people. Stop trying to become other people. Stop giving yourself a hard time for not being other people. Respect what you like and dislike, and set your boundaries accordingly.

PS: You invented the character as a secondary character, that's probably why you don't feel like writing them as a primary character; as it was never their/your intention in the first place. It's normal to not feel the same way for them / about them!

[a-tale-of-legends]

One thing that really annoyed me about the anime was the fact Charizard kept getting new gimmicks like not one but TWO megas in gen 6, a ride taxi in gen 7 and a gmax in gen 8...and yet they never used Ash's Charizard specifically to demonstrate them. like why keep introducing so many random characters with Charizards of their own as opposed the one Charizard who everyone is most attached to thanks to his compelling backstory and character development?

Because sometimes it ain't about Ash's Charizard lol. Charizard has already done a lot for Ash in the anime if I remember correctly, way before these gimmicks were introduced. While Ash having mega evolution in the gen 6 anime would have been dope, but the fact of the matter is that it wasn't about Charizard. It was about Greninja and his bond with Ash. Simple as that. And yes Greninja doesn't exactly mega evolve, but Ash Greninja is a mega evolution equivalent, essentially. And thus, the anime ends up focusing on that and the struggles with that.

In my eyes, Ash not using all the Charizard gimmicks was ultimately to make room for his newer pokemon and giving them time to shine. If Ash's Charizard kept coming back for every single gimmick that it was clearly not meant to be showcased with, it'll get real tiring. Real fast. It would make the writers seem like they're just trying to build up height with Ash's Charizard over and over and over again, when the poor thing already did its thing. It is essentially in retirement until Ash needs it again. And by that point, Ash would have gotten his own arsenal of pokemon to use.

The big caveat to all of this is something you mentioned anon: There's just. So. Many. God. Damn. Charizard trainers. So many. As someone who used to hate Charizard ( I don't anymore lol) That shit is annoying. Especially when they're ultimately just there to show a gimmick. Alian? Okay sure, he's our gateway into mega evolution, so I guess it's fine. Charizard X is probably the most popular mega ( design wise) so sure, make a character around that. Kiawe? Very odd choice. He never had one in the games, but okay???? Someone in the main group had to show the Charizard Ride pokemon. I guess. Leon? I'm actually not upset by this since I like game! Leon and just wish the Galar stuff in the anime was just well written ( and the entirety of journeys tbh), but at this point, I can 100% understand it feeling like Charizard is getting too much and too many random trainers are getting it. Also Friede has a Charizard and I don't know why. I mean I guess it's big enough for him to fly on. Like I'm not against it,but damn. Anyway, Ash isn't in that anime so let's move on. It's 100% understandable that one would feel like it would be just better if Ash's Charizard had these things, but again the problem ( at least in my eyes, DO NOT take this as fact) is that Ash has other pokemon to explore gimmicks with. Greninja with it's weird mega but not mega form, then later Lucario as an actual mega. Ash's Pikachu was honestly the biggest highlight of him using Z-moves, but so was using his other pokemon with Z-moves if I remember correctly. And Gengar being the main dynamax pokemon was so cool to see too. So yeah, they ( the writers I guess) didn't need to bring in Charizard when they had other pokemon to fill that role. Again, it ain't about Ash's Charizard. But again, the price to pay is Charizard trainers popping up. Way more than one would like.

Of course, this is all just my opinion! And I hope I didn't come off as invalidating your frustrations anon( and sorry if I did!) I'll be honest, I'm actually not. Super into the anime as I was a kid. I keep up with like. Blog posts and stuff. What I'm saying is that you can always take my stuff with a grain of salt. Or ignore it completely lol. But as always, thanks for the ask!

[ace-pierre-bezukhov]

sorry for sounding aggressive, i was actively in love with comet when the show closed because of him so i thought it was common knowledge. and there’s the fact that oak was responding very condescendingly and aggressively to criticism of any type (including from me!) around that time. seeing him praised as pierre given all of that + personal experience with him just pisses me off. maybe he’s changed, but i will never be able to see the show with the original cast because of his behavior lmao (and i was a huge fan of him before this happened which sucks)

Hey that is a totally valid and rightfully upsetting experience! I’m really sorry that he ruined it for you, and im also really miffed about the show closing way too soon.

I think i got defensive because when i heard about the show’s early closing, the controversy i had heard surrounded the end was the backlash over Mandy Patinkin replacing oak as pierre. I had heard a whole lot about people saying it was racist of the casting directors to pre-maturely replace a black actor with a super famous white guy because they were afraid he would underperform. And i heard that as a result, well-meaning people ended boycotting the show and, well, you know how that story ended. So my feelings about oak’s pierre have pretty much always been a result of the idea that he’s a talented and underrated actor of color who never really got a chance to show it in this role.

At least, that was how i understood it. It’s absolutely hearsay and therefore probably not the whole truth, but it was important for me that you knew where i was coming from with my defense, just as it was important for me to know where you were coming from!

[solemnly-mischievous]

"you are naked aren't you" with Sirius? I'm curious with how you're going to use this prompt lol

thanks for the req anon! hope you like it :)

Contains: Banter, dirty talk, d/s undertones, (kind of) orgasm denial

Word count: 754

-----

There's a joke that goes, "Is it just me, or do people only start texting you when you're jerking off?".

Yeah. No, that's probably a universal experience. And you're not exempt from it in the least.

"Jesus Christ," you swear as your phone buzzes with a call for the third time. You're laying on your bed, the blinds drawn and door locked, at four in the afternoon, naked and freshly out of the shower.

And you have a finger buried inside of you, your head thrown back against the pillows as you fuck yourself slowly.

Your thumb is rubbing your clit slowly but surely, working your way up to a well-deserved orgasm after what's already been half an hour of build-up.

You're well aware that four in the afternoon isn't an ideal time to get off... but, to be fair, it's been a really fucking stressful week. This is the first time all week that you've had time to yourself, actually.

So when your phone rings for the third time, you're really pissed.

Without looking at the caller ID, you grab your phone—with your free hand, of course—and pick up angrily. "What. What."

"Oh, er, bad time?" Sirius' amused voice drifts from the other side of the line, and you freeze.

"Sirius!" You can't help but grin, your boyfriend's voice a welcome thing at any time.

"Afternoon, sweetheart. Care to share why you sound bloody murderous?" Belatedly, you realize you're still touching yourself, and you remember why you're upset.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm... busy," you say, which is a terrible excuse. "You better have called me for a good reason."

Sirius huffs out a laugh. "What? Can't it be that I just missed you?"

And then your phone vibrates with the request for a video call, and you could almost throw it, cursing Sirius for being someone who actually uses the video call function. Instead, you settle for declining the request and managing a, "I can't video call right now."

"What? Why? You're home, aren't you?" From his end, you can hear that he's sure not—he sounds like he's making his way home on public transport. Even more the reason why you can't video call.

"Yeah, but..." Excuse. Now. "I'm cooking."

"You can pop your head in and say hi, can't you?" Another request. You decline it, frustrated and still annoyingly turned on, because Sirius' voice is not helping.

"Sirius," you complain.

"Sweetheart," he mocks right back. "What? Are you naked or something?"

You take too long to splutter and come up with an answer, and you hear him draw in an intake of breath. When Sirius speaks again, his voice is lower, clearly trying to not be overheard by anyone else on his bus or the Underground.

"You're naked, aren't you?"

Sighing, you concede. "Yeah."

"Why are you naked, baby?" Sirius sounds knowing. Of course he does.

"I'm touching myself, okay?" you say, exasperated. Without another word, Sirius hangs up the phone, and you blink in surprise.

But then your phone lights up with a text from Sirius, and you tap it hurriedly.

Sorry, hung up because this old lady just shot me a dirty look. I think she overheard, he texts, and you can't help but snicker.

For the best, though.

What does he mean by that? You start typing, but then he sends a third text.

Can't have the rest of the Underground hearing what I want to do to you.

Oh. Oh.

I'll be home in ten minutes. You better not get dressed. Gonna fucking ruin you. It's been a long week for us both, hasn't it?

You don't know how to respond—you're torn between Sure has and Oh bloody hell please fuck me, but you settle with a very expressive Yes.

What's that now? and you can practically hear his smirk, know just how bloody smug he gets when you start getting needy for him.

Yes, please, fuck me, you plead. Your fingers almost have a mind of their own—you start pressing in and out of yourself, imagining it was Sirius doing it to you, prepping you for his cock.

Aw, begging already. That's cute. We haven't even started yet.

I'll be home in five.

Five minutes. You could wait five minutes. Your fingers quicken, as if in anticipation, and you whimper to yourself as you start getting close to the edge. You were already close with your earlier touches—now, you feel like you're a harsh thrust away from coming.

Your phone buzzes. Sirius is typing.

And, sweetheart?

Hands off.

[koushisatori]

if you can't believe in others, at least believe in us

kyoutani x gn!reader

genre: as ordered: a bit of angst w a touch of comfort

warnings: one (1) big jealous idiot, miscommunication

word count: 5.4k

note: this is smth an anon asked me to do (but like...nearly a year ago, I'm not sure if anon is still there or if they remember and my dumbass deleted the ask so I just beta-ed through whatever I had but I know they called me out on enjoying jealous characters so here we go) I'm sorry, mysterious anon, I'm stupid </3 Anyway, that's that. I don't remember if reader was supposed to be female or not so I made it gn!reader (but if I forgot to change something, pls tell me so I can fix any errors c: It's also my first attempt I apologize in advance)

In the beginning, you weren't sure why your boyfriend is ignoring you

You can't remember doing something that would annoy him, nor do you remember an instant of anger in his eyes that would give you a hint about his reasoning to stay away from you

He explained early on that sometimes he just needs a day of distance because Kentarou could feel the anger simmering right under the surface, enough that something small could tick him off already, and he would hate if you were on the receiving end of this unexplained fury

Both of you also made sure to promise each other to clearly communicate, the relationship between the two of you would not last long if you're not properly telling each other what might be bothering or hurting...just in general cross a boundary

Communication probably was one of the most important aspects of your relationship

cue to the actual situation: your boyfriend avoiding you

So, Monday evening you think maybe it's this overwhelming sensation of unexplained anger and that something at morning practice ticked him off completely

But then Tuesday comes and goes, and your boyfriend had avoided you all day long, did not even bother to read your messages,

on Wednesday, you try to talk to him, but all he does is glaring at you with a look that leaves you speechless and kind of heartbroken,

Thursday is the day you're replaying everything you did on Monday, trying to find something that he could have misunderstood, yet no matter how hard you think about it…your brain won't come up with a reason that explained why Kentarou was so upset with you!

So you decide to make him talk to you on Friday

Enough is enough, right? For gods' sake, he is your boyfriend! You miss him and his strong arms that give hugs so warm that you melt right into them

You don't get a second alone with him until school ends

you practically sprint out of the school building over to the gym, knowing that he had a free hour, which means that he is probably the first person there - your only chance

There he is, sitting with his back to you, aggressively chewing on a bun filled with chicken - his usual that reminded him of his favorite dish - glaring holes into the ground

After taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you carefully aks: ''Kentaro…Ken…?'', slowly stretching out your hand, wanting to rest it on his shoulder to maybe help to soothe him a bit

he flinches instead and his heated, agitated gaze meets your eyes, making you recoil in return

''…will you talk to me, I miss you…'' you say softly, realizing how it hurt being ignored by him

''Ah, suddenly you miss me…'' he spits, narrowing his eyes ''…didn't fucking seem like it the last time I saw you…''

''Kentaro, baby, I have no idea what you mean,'' you plead, keeping your voice low to hide the desperation lacing it, confusion written all over your features

all Kyoutani does is growl, hopping down from where he's sitting while shouldering his gym bag

''...shouldn't have been so flirty with Shittykawa like that then-'' he grumbles - ''Ken, I didn't-'' you insist, but he continues ''twirling your hair, batting your pretty eyelashes at him, fuck you Y/N, if you want him, then feel free to take a fucking leave" Kyoutani cusses, not even listening to you

You shake your head, ''Kentaro, no, you totally misunderstood the situation,'' you follow up, panic seeping into your voice now that you knew what he referred to, ''I love yo-''

''Tsk'', he moves to leave

you try to take his hand but, instead of turning around, Kyoutani just rips it away from you, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket

from behind you, you hear Yahaba and Oikawa approaching (talking about Volleyball and Captains duties)

once they guessed what must have happened, they offered you their help (they both swear that Kyoutani will never ever find a ''cute s/o as you are, y/n-chan, I'm worried for my little angry pomeranian kohai'' )

Usually, you would try to talk to him, but after enduring a week of radio silence and now this treatment, you were tired of upholding something that seemed like a lost cause

you just wave both setters off and leave the school grounds, a frown plastered onto your lips and tears swimming in your eyes

Kentarou had not listened to you, did not even really look at you, and the few seconds he did, his eyes were filled with rage instead of the warmth he had usually reserved for you (and only for you)

If your boyfriend thinks avoiding you for a week and blaming you for something ridiculous without hearing you out is how you handle a relationship…maybe you would have to consider not pursuing it any longer

Which is easier said than done

The whole night you wait for a message, anything, and then all Saturday morning

you still had hope left

You get one from Yahaba, who tells you that Oikawa tried to clear up the situation as well after the reason for your fight dawned on him (Kyoutanis piss poor mood and behavior towards him a strong indicator) but Kentaro, again, just ran off

The future team captain even called you after your lackluster answer, listening to you getting the frustration and sadness out of your system

It didn't matter, right? Your boyfriend decided to unofficially call it quits by implying that your feelings for him were not genuine instead of using his mouth to talk to you and disregarding everyone involved

as if he wanted to ignore the truth as a convenient excuse to get out of your relationship

that's the conclusion your brain came up with

You softly sniffle in the privacy of your room, clutching a pillow to your chest (which has seen more tears in the last two days than in the past three years), deciding that it would be a good idea to go into the city to treat yourself

knowing that your mother has a hair-dresser appointment somewhen today, you go and announce that you would join her to finally buy the latest season of your favorite series

once there, you additionally get microwave popcorn, chocolate, and ice cream, as well as a pretty shirt you saw on a mannequin while window shopping

you feel a lot better after spending some money and ignoring the lingering sadness of your presumable break up with Kyoutani (who you love ok, it is not that easy)

In between your stops, you meet Iwaizumi and Oikawa munching on fatty burgers (celebrating your cheat days like a holiday and indulging in whatever your heart desires, is what makes it easier to stick with healthier habits the rest of the time was the questionable explanation coming from the brown-haired setter, pointing at you with a soggy potato fry)

after a moment, the setters eyes turn sad, a frown replacing the smile on his lips

he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you from going just yet, apologizing for being the cause of your fight and for being unable to talk some sense into him

(you assure him that it is not his fault, knowing that your friend will probably brood over it otherwise, which wouldn't be fair)

Iwaizumi adds that Kyoutani will come around and that his cooldown time is just longer than those of other people (and if not, he will give him one of his famous volleyballs to the head and use his status as only truly respected senpai to talk some sense into him) but you again decline their suggestions

after saying goodbye (and seeing Iwaizumi give his best friend an assuring gentle pat on his shoulder, the secret softy in the usual harsh ace shining through)

If Kentaro was willing...able to throw away your relationship this easily, he can't possibly really love you, and you'd accept this even if it's hard and painful

Now remembered of what you had attempted to forget about, you feel your eyes sting with unshed tears (you thought there was no possibility of you having more tears to spill, yet the impossible seemed to be the case) you look down at your phone to text your mom and frown

Kentaro 🥰: we need to talk. Kentaro 🥰: meet me there [location]

For a second, you hesitate, biting your lower lip harshly…you really want to go and talk to him but…

The tears still sting in your eyes and blurring your view reminded you of what you had gone through the whole time, and that it was his turn to finally come to you

break up or makeup, the ball was in his court now

so while walking to where your mother would be waiting for you, you begin to type

You: No.

You: I waited for you all week, even though you ignored me, and now you expect me to run the moment you choose to stop being a childish idiot?

You: if you decide to speak to me then comqjdkn

Kentarou wouldn't say he feels particularly bad. Not at all! If someone was to ask him, he would probably answer fucking peachy, what the fuck are you asking for or growl angrily. No one would bat an eye and further question him, nor guess that maybe he wasn't as great as he pretended because he missed his gorgeous better half, but…it was his fault, wasn't it?

Of course, he originally thought he had a valid reason to be upset. And if he had just spoken to you about it, everything would be solved now. Instead of being a decent boyfriend, though, his pride overtook his thinking processes once he realized that his behavior wasn't even the slightest bit justified. Not that he knew this when he saw you speaking with Shittykawa right before school. All he could see was his gorgeous s/o shyly fiddling with her fingers, conversing with a leaned forward, very involved Oikawa Tooru. He would have fetched you away from the brown-haired setter. He had no qualms about showing his possessiveness. God, Kentarou wouldn't have hesitated to growl at the tall, brown-haired boy if not for the question he heard coming from the Captain.

''Y/N-chan, how is it that you, an adorable, charming individuum, is with a brute like Mad Dog-chan? I really-'' Well, that's where he decided to leave you with the setter. He didn't need to hear your answer. Didn't want to witness an excuse or maybe the truth. If both of you were so fucking smitten with each other to flirt this blatantly, why don't you just go and cheer for him, hold his hand, and kiss his cheek goodbye? It was his choice to distance himself.

Kyoutani couldn't help the feeling of betrayal and hurt washing over him. Maybe you just used him as a stepping stone to get closer with Oikawa, and Kyoutani has been too blind to see it. He never doubted you or your relationship before, but it's not a secret how eruptive Kyoutani could be. It has always been beyond his imagination how someone so cute and sweet like you could love a person like him. Your friends thought so. The teachers. The whole school! Everyone questioned your poor judgment. And when you came running up to him, you're cheery voice calling out for him, everyone present looked at you like you grew a second head. It's the reason why seeing you with Trashykawa ticked him off so bad. It catered to his biggest insecurities and fears. He knew that all those skeptics would be delighted to see you, everyone's darling, with the schools' star setter. They all would agree that the pretty, handsome young man is a better fit than the always hostile-looking troublemaker.

While Kyoutani didn't take Oikawa seriously in most cases, he undoubtedly was one of the most devoted people Kentarou had ever met. If Oikawa wanted to get a new serve right, he wouldn't stop trying and repeating it until his legs gave in, and Iwaizumi dragged him out of the gym. When he wanted to find more advanced players to practice with, so he could, in return, give this new knowledge to his team, there was no way he would not manage to make it happen. Even if his ideas, wishes, and plans cost him blood, sweat, and tears (like getting Kyoutani to actually train), Oikawa never backed down. Kentarou had heard that Oikawa's last girlfriend dumped him because of his passion for Volleyball. Yet Kyoutani couldn't help but think that, in you, the ambitious setter would have found someone that would be able to handle it. You usually came over to watch the team when you knew that Kyoutani was there to play. You sat on the stands with your homework in your lap and a Seijoh-coloured pencil wiggling between your fingers, not bothered by the noises coming from the court. You play with your earlobe while you frown at whatever problem you came across. You patiently wait for practice to finish. Kentarou was sure that you'd be someone Oikawa would actually try for. You weren't one of his squealing fangirls, hanging from his arm on every opportunity, but his friend. You didn't pester him to take selfies with you while pushing cute bentos into his hands. When you bring food to practice, then it's for the whole team to share. If he wanted you, Oikawa would probably have to win you over and make sure that you'd stay. Courting and all that jazz. In all seriousness, Shittykawa would be a fucking idiot if not.

The dyed-blond wing spiker had been so sure that he was rightfully mad that he didn't stop to think twice before he reacted this coldly towards you. But, and this made it even worse, Kentarou knew that he was wrong the moment you asked what happened after an entire week of enduring his silent treatment. The second he heard your shaky voice and saw the tears welling up in your eyes, his brain rebooted, and suddenly he wasn't so sure of his own reasoning. You two were together for about half a year. Kyoutani - by now - was confident in his ability to identify most of your expressions. All he could decipher in your eyes was pain, paired with a need to understand, but…if he was in the wrong…it would mean that he had hurt you the whole week, which in conclusion implied that Kentarou had been the world's shittiest boyfriend. Fuck, he thought, I don't deserve y/n.

His situation didn't get any better the moment Oikawa entered the gym. The person Kyoutani thought he had a real reason to despise now tried to mend the rift between the two of you.

''Mad Dog-chan, I think you misunderstood something there. Well, no, you decided to not listen-'' The taller male says, hands gesturing wildly. While his voice still had that annoyingly cheery tone, it had something commanding hidden underneath. And oh, how Kentarou hated when someone demanded something of him, even if it was for his own good. ''Don't want to hear it.'' the blond mutters, already aggravated. The brown-haired setter resolutely puts himself in the way again. ''Oh, but you have to! That morning, Y/N-chan literally declared her love for yo-'' - ''I don't fucking care.'' Kentarou barks, not looking Oikawa in the eyes.

After another fruitless attempt to get properly into the gym, he growls and turns to leave. Already on his way to grab his stuff and take a leave, he hears Oikawa yelling. ''You answered and justified why I asked Y/N-chan to begin with!" And then louder, even though he could make out Iwaizumi trying to wrestle his childhood friend back into the gym, "APOLOGIZE, YOU IDIOT! YOU BETTER GROVEL FOR Y/N'S FORGIVENESS! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS SHOW YOU'RE PUTTING ON, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

This happened on Friday evening, and the guilt was gnawing away on him ever since. On his way home, Kyoutani had automatically taken the detour to your house. Kentarou enjoyed bringing you home (and more often than not, you pulled him inside with you, making him cuddle you!). It makes him feel like a good boyfriend, and he knew that you arrived there safely. He would never tell anybody and deny it if you ever decided to share this, but Kentarou relished in the feeling of your hand holding his all the way while going on about your day. He admired that you'd pet every cat and every dog you meet on the trip home together with him. You were perfect for him…why again did he act like this?

What caused Kyoutani's attempt to apologize - in his usual overly blunt and partly aggressive kind of way - was Yahaba, though. Both boys denied being remotely something beyond 'not really enemies'. But his future team captain was definitely one of the very few people that could and would tell him to his face that he fucked up without real repercussions. He would presumably even help Kyoutani to get it together.

After Yahaba had called you and listened to your heartbreaking rant, the setter realized that you, his friend, and his 'not really enemy' needed to talk ut out. Totally immersed in your tirade, you accidentally let slip that you couldn't endure Kyoutani's treatment any longer. That being pushed over by your boyfriend with brash and hurtful words after handling the cold shoulder was too much. That you expected Kyoutani to break up with you on Monday either way. In-person, if he had mercy on you or continue his treatment as a silent method of doing so. While you told Yahaba about your planned ''get over it-self-care'' weekend (involving tons of ice cream, movies with crying guarantee, lots of blankets, and no smartphone), the setter had already put on his jacket, shooting a message to Kyoutani.

From Yahaba: get your stupid fucking ass outside to meet me, or I'll bench you the complete season next year

Even though the wing spiker was sure that Yahaba's words were nothing but empty words, Kentarou allowed himself to accept this threat as an excuse to put his pride aside. Because, even though Yahaba annoyed him to no end - not as bad as Oikawa but still - Kentarou was also aware that you and he were friends. If someone could help him gaining your forgiveness, Kyoutani had to accept and admit that it was Yahaba. Meeting his light brown-haired teammate was kind of awkward. Kyoutani was unsure what he had to expect, though he should have seen the rough treatment coming. Yet, getting told that you, the person Kentarou was undeniably in love with, felt so neglected and hurt that you deemed this relationship to be as good as over allowed the guilt monster in his chest to grow. Shitty Oikawa was probably right ordering him to grovel and beg on his knees for you to even hear him out.

Your answer to his message was partly unlike you. Well, the last sentence. You usually were pretty forward with him to avoid miscommunication and uncalled-for moping around. And while you sometimes send keyboard smashes to express the chaos you felt, they were always in a separate message and not so…random. The text definitely meant something like ''then come to me'' but somehow, Kyoutani had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing.

Besides, he couldn't just wait till Monday and hope that you'd accept his apology! You may send him away today already, but he still had a teeny-tiny bit of hope. If he let the thoughts of him leaving you or the other way around fester in your mind for two whole days, though,…you'd probably realize that leaving him wasn't that bad of a decision. You'd come to the conclusion that all your admirers could treat you better than Kyoutani did. And he was too selfish to let you leave. Even though all he did the whole week was being self-centered and stuck up, he would be damned to begin being a saint now and let you go. That you at least were willing to talk to him was…a relief, to say the least. Kentarou hoped that this translated to you being willing to put up with him a little longer if he apologized correctly. That you're not opposed to giving him another chance to make things right.

At your house, he was greeted with darkness. Not even a single light illuminating any of the rooms he could see from his spot on your front lawn. And the ones he saw were your and your mom's most-used rooms. Your room window, your mothers' workroom, and the living room area with an adjacent kitchen. All of those rather significant rooms and the lack of light in them seemed to be a dead giveaway for Kyoutani that no one was home. Kyoutani guessed that you were probably out with your mom, glancing over to the empty spot in front of the garage.

Oh god, your mother had been the only supportive person of your relationship. Maybe it's in your family to see the best in everyone, even in shitty people like him. But if you told her about his behavior, she'd most likely not welcome him with a smile ever again, no matter if you forgave him.

There weren't many things Kyoutani could do in this situation, but it wasn't as late as nature let it on, and after a few seconds, he had decided to sit down at the front door and wait for you, hoping that it wouldn't take too long for you to come home. As if fate wanted to tell him something, the wing spiker had put on the jacket with the half-full power bank. He had worn it to the shelter when he visited it this week while distracting himself from your absence in his daily life. You had gifted him the piece of clothing, which is probably why he unconsciously had decided to wear it to everything he did after school in the first place.

Kentarou passed the time by snarling at people eyeing him for a moment too long to not be judgmental, petting the neighbors' cat wandering over to him, and watching videos. Every time he thought ''Y/N would like this'', his heart stuttered guilty.

To Kentarou, it felt like an eternity until your mother's car finally drove up the entry. To avoid your mother's potentially deadly stare, he nervously checked his mobile, realizing that he had waited for a little more than 3 hours. Yet, the wait had done nothing to soothe his nerves. They instantly spiked up again while his heart threatened to jump out of his throat.

She will hate me. Your mother would hate me, she'll hate me, she'll ha-

''Ah, Ken-chan! Good evening.'' Your mother greets him with a tired, yet still gentle smile. Oh. The blond blanches. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed the treatment he received from your mother more than he should. Being spoken to without suspicion and receiving a warm smile every time without fail was a welcome change to his daily life. Your mother didn't listen to people trying to bad-mouth him. To her, he simply was the boy that - normally - treats her child the way a mother wished for. Even if he pulled a face as long as a fiddle.

''I didn't know you were coming, Ken-chan, or I would have messaged you…but now that you're here, maybe you can assist us out and help Y/N inside? It would help a lot.'' His gaze immediately flitted over to you on the passenger seat. With your arms crossed in front of your chest and that stubborn but endearingly cute pout on your lips, he nearly missed the tiredness your body emitted. Kentarou wanted to rush over to your side immediately but was stopped by your mother again. ''I don't know what you two are fighting about…but please talk to each other. I don't want my baby to be this sad. Especially now, and…'' she rests a hand on his shoulder, her eyes kind and comforting ''…I also don't want to miss you here, alright?'' He stiffly nodded and watched your mother carrying in plastic bags filled with various medicine packages and food.

After coming back to his senses, Kyoutani finally stumbled over to your side, practically ripping open the car door. This new perspective revealed a plaster cast wrapping your whole left leg and a removable wrist brace on your right hand. ''Bab- Y/N…what the fuck…happened?'' His honey-brown eyes continued to wander over your injuries, and with every second, he found more. Scratches and scrapes, bandaids and bandages peeking out from underneath your clothes. ''I'm so sorry,'' he whispered, hanging his head low.

All your intentions to fight his helping hand and limp over to the door by yourself disintegrated into nothing. You never witnessed such a devastated, beaten expression on his face before. Instead, you settle for ''Will you help me?''. A question asked quietly to your fingers picking at a loose band-aid edge on your arm and pressing it back onto the irritated skin.

After you loosened your seatbelt, he waits for you to carefully place your arms around his neck. It is followed by Kyoutani lifting you out of the car so gently as if he was afraid you might break. This whole situation in itself already contradicting his brash appearance and usual behavior. It would give whiplash to all the people pretending to know him. But he was always caring in his own way when it came to you. It's why you loved him after all. Because you usually knew that he loved you, too.

For a few moments, the atmosphere between the two of you felt awkwardly tense, both of you unsure how to interact with each other. The mostly blonde wing spiker breathed out a sigh of relief when you fully leaned into his chest once he stood upright, resting your head against his shoulder. A bit of maneuvering through the front door eventually lead to Kyoutani passing through the hallway and taking you to your room, where he was gently lowering you down on the bed.

It was a now or never kind of situation. For the both of you. While Kentarou was trying to find out where to begin his apology, he took a few steps back in case you wanted space until everything was cleared up.

You unconsciously helped him making a decision by impulsively grasping onto his shirt the moment he started to withdraw, stopping him in his retreating movement. Kentarou saw your lower lips wobbling, teary eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

''Please stay,'' you say weakly, which is enough for him to throw the whole thinking process away and simply sit down next to you, intertwining both your hands. ''I'm staying. I'm not leaving. Not now nor this relationship if you still want...an ''us''. The wing spiker took a deep, shuttering breath. '' I'm sorry, Y/N…'' he finally manages to say, honey eyes locked onto your linked your hands. ''I have been fucking stupid all week. 've been a fucking terrible boyfriend, the worst to ever exist.''

As if to encourage him...to show your boyfriend that his apology was not for nothing, you shuffled around until the last bit of distance between the two of you was closed. You hum, acknowledging his words while leaning your head on his shoulder.

''I didn't think you're cheating or something, …'' Kyoutani immediately assures you. There was no way he would allow you to think that he would accuse you of something like this. ''I had no reason to be jealous, but I was insecure. Let it get the best of me. Despite our promise to communicate, I was sulking. 't was easier. I'll do whatever the fuck you want for you to not give up yet…'' he says, taking his time with every sentence.

With a sigh, you squeeze his hand. ''It will probably take a lot of cuddling and attention from you...'' you say thoughtfully ''...but I forgive you…if you promise to not do this again…'' you murmur, tilting your head upward to press a chaste kiss to his jaw. ''Otherwise, I'll accept Iwaizumi-san's offer to get your thinking process restarted.'' For a moment, your voice had its usual joking edge. But you knew talking out everything was necessary. ''But, in all honesty, 'Tarou....please, never do this again. I am honest. I will not endure this a second time. When you tell me that you need a day or two for yourself then that is totally fine. If you feel yourself giving into whatever insecurity, talk to me about it. I am sure there will be an explanation or a solution but don't leave me in the dark. Don't treat me like that. I love you. Only you and no one else. But the time love can withstand straight-up ignorance by your partner is limited.''

Slowly, your boyfriend nodded, squeezing your hand to tell you that he understood. You would probably cling to him for a while but were sure that he would survive the extra closeness. Not even half a second later, his head leans onto yours cautiously.

''…and try being nicer to Oikawa-san, Tarou, he hasn't done anything to you.'' You add humorously before small giggles started to erupt from your lips. ''Also...Baby…'' you start, being interrupted by choked-up hiccups and giggles. By using your nickname for him, you take away another persistent fear of his. What he does not miss, however, is how you wince in pain before you continue, ''…who helped you put this into words? I mean…I loved it, but…,'' You leave unsaid that words usually are not his strong fort.

Biting back a smile, he frowns, huffs, and puffs…, but the way you are looking up at him, eyes shining with relief and adoration, allows him to admit defeat. He sighs ''…it's how Yahaba said I should say it…'' It usually would be an odd enough statement to make you throw yourself all over him with laugher. As a slight replacement, you squeeze his hand a bit, still shaking with suppressed laughter. ''I promise…that I will talk to you. Can't promise the Shittykawa part.'' Another soft chuckle leaves your lips before you look up at him again. ''I hope you try nonetheless. You should not let Iwaizumi-san hear you calling Oikawa-san that, though, I don't think this would turn out well for you…so...maybe stop this at least.'' Kentarou rolls his eyes at you, but in the end, he nods.

You wait for another second to clearly distinguish the two topics before you continue. ''…Thank you…for coming and finally speaking with me instead of break-'' A hand on your lips muffles your words.

''Don't say these words. I'd never break up with you,'' Kentarou grumbles, a light, uncharacteristic light pink settling on his cheeks. You stick your tongue out, which leads to him taking his hand off of your face with a surprised noise, rather dumbfounded that you had licked his hand. It gives you the chance to lean up and finally press your lips against his. ''I'm not leaving you either,'' you murmur, feeling his lips twitch upwards slightly. You decide to leave the teasing for another day.

Moving back into your previous position was enough of a hassle to hiss in pain. It brought back Kyoutani's awareness of the second problem at hand. ''What did happen to you?'' Kyoutani asks in an attempt to tamper down the excited, happy beating of his heart.

''Oh, this...uh, when I answered your text, I got driven over by a dude on a bicycle,'' you casually drop. It was kind of entertaining to watch his expressions change at an unequaled pace while processing your words. In the end, it settled into something akin to passive-aggressive worry. The way he was immediately fretting over you while cursing and cussing out the bicycle dude was his own way of caring. As you watch him retrieving the food your mother bought, while mumbling about how you're a dumbass for not paying attention to your surroundings, how he'd come over every day until you could go to school again to bring and teach you the stuff you would miss and how he would fucking murder the bicycle idiot if he ever finds out who dared to drive you over, you can't help the smile forming on your lips.

Once again, you are proven that loving him - while occasionally troublesome and demanding - was everything but wrong.

[thequibblah]

This message was why I turned off anon, but then I was like, wait, I can actually give a measured, point-by-point response to this. I blocked this person so presumably they won’t see it, unless they’re dedicated enough to check back in, but for any others still here who might share these sentiments, I’m not worried about being unable to answer them. Here goes!

Sis, what the fuck type of high school passive aggressive—

No. Just kidding. I suppose that joke will already be a strike against me, since a significant problem you seem to have isn’t what I or my friends have been saying, but how we’ve said it. I don’t know how to explain to you that this rhetoric about politeness is constantly used against marginalised people speaking up about their discomfort. If we don’t sound polite, kind, and forgiving, anything we say is automatically dismissed as aggressive bullying. As you say, you experience marginalisation too, so you probably know what I’m talking about.

I think we have a difference of opinion about what constitutes dismissive and passive aggressive and rude — the latter two, I’m not interested in arguing about. I was and am frustrated, snark slips through. Again, if the snark matters more to you than the sentiment, there’s nothing I can say to you. (Also, not to quibble, ha, but I don’t think I was passive. I thought I was and am quite frank!) 

Dismissive — I’m not sure how much of the conversation you have seen, but let me assure you it did not begin with the reblogged ask about Bought. Whole days before that was a teeth-grindingly frustrating conversation in the server in which a Jewish fan and a fan of colour were talked over and around, separately, after very politely expressing concerns. So, again, the issues run deeper, dismissiveness began early, and you can pretty clearly see it if you’d like to scroll up in the same conversation. If you are dead-set on disbelieving me, again, I can’t help you.

As to the calling-out and “shaming” people and the “you know who you are,” nonspecific criticism of this trope got us exactly nowhere, and it’s been happening since at least August 2021. More than one creator who has written this trope has said something to the effect of I wish I’d known how many people were upset by this. So…which is it? Am I supposed to shout my thoughts into the ether, as I have been, and hope they somehow pick it up? Are people supposed to contact them anonymously, only to be dismissed because it’s faceless criticism anyway, what does it matter? I guess you think I’m supposed to direct message them and lay out my complaints, though never through all this have I felt that I would be listened to rather than just politely told well, don’t like don’t read, says so in the tags.

The most specific call-out that I saw was about a spiteful, mean-spirited response to reader concerns. Again, if you’re wondering what an unsafe environment might be, look no further than that post.

People felt uncomfortable chiming in, not because they didn’t agree but because of our tones — again, love to be told how to voice my own frustration. Personally this strikes me as indefensible. If you agree with me, and not with my so-called “methods,” and said methods are apparently enough to turn you off stating your own opinions — not mine, YOURS, phrased the way you want to phrase them — you might as well disagree with me for all the good it does. Or since you are so concerned with politeness, simply express your polite opinion, and feel free to tell me privately that you think things are getting out of hand. I assure you that plenty of people felt comfortable reaching out privately to apologise unprompted, and some even to ask for resources and labour it is not my job or anyone else’s to provide.

And re: people feeling uncomfortable — good. No one was comfortable for that conversation. Not me, not the people expressing frustration alongside me, not those gently supporting us, not those disagreeing with us. Good. This is a conversation meant to address discomfort, and can’t do so fruitfully without causing a little along the way.

You guys made people feel unsafe — about what?? My lack of safety? The ability to express your polite opinion? The ability to disagree? God knows people were doing both of the latter. If I made someone feel unsafe or uncomfortable about the notion of being silent, this is the cost of this conversation and I can’t help it. Like I said earlier on this blog, it seems patently clear that some of you only care about what I have to say when it’s easy to listen to.

Also, the server is not a safe space. I have never made that claim. The entire point of this discussion is that the server is not a safe space and has not been for months. I am the last person who would say that.

Re: apologies, I certainly haven’t asked for any apologies about writing or reading this trope, though plenty were given. (I would like apologies for how people have been treated and spoken to in the server and here on tumblr, not for being a fan or reader.) As I’ve stated repeatedly, apologies about this trope are immaterial to me. So is remorse in search of my (or Kat’s, or Clare’s) forgiveness. Sincere reflection, if you are interested in continued engagement with me, is what I ask for. If you don’t care about engagement with me, go ahead and don’t apologise. It’s that simple and I don’t care, and I don’t want apology anyway.

The patently false part of this is my ���gushing,” lol. I can only speak for myself, but I’ve been frankly skeeved out and horrified by the trope since day one. I have countless date-and-time-stamped messages to support that (as far back as August of last year, I’ve literally just checked! The first conversation I had about this almost exactly matches what I’ve been saying this past week, my consistency surprises even me!). But even if I were to share any of that as if it’s your business at all, I would have scores of people up in arms about how I am bashing other writers’ fic. (Which is it, by the way? Am I a horrible person who talks smack about other people’s writing, or a secret fan who for some bizarro reason did an about-face to join a flaming garbage can of a conversation on the weekend of my birthday while on vacation? Like, why on earth would I do that? The only part of this that has been remotely enjoyable for me is finally being able to express my distaste and cement my limits.)

I have had not just the trope tag blacklisted, but also the names of each fic, and in some cases the URL of the writer. So, I don’t even see when other people engage with this content. If my friends have bought anything or gone inside anywhere for the past however many months, I literally would not know. I stopped interacting with and reading stuff by people who interact with this fic aside from a number of writers I can probably count on one hand. That is how thoroughly I have shut myself off from this trope.

Re: the deleting comments, I haven’t so much as liked a post to do with this trope, let alone engaged, reblogged, kudos’d, or commented. (Friends of mine who did read these fics could tell you i very quickly shut down conversation about it even in private messages. Because I didn’t want to talk about them. Because I don’t like them.) But I can’t very well prove I didn’t delete something that never existed, so if you want to disbelieve me on this front too, go right ahead.

As to the other people who did engage with this trope despite their discomfort, some of them have spoken very openly about why. Go read their posts about it. Or hell, go through my ask tag and you’ll find a number of other people who say they “went along” with it despite initial discomfort because the writers who wrote it are well-known, and assumed everyone was cool with it. I have received messages from people who say they did not initially see why this trope could make people feel the way it did and does, but having heard us out, they get it. I have had friends who have apologised for being flippant about it, knowing now how much of my fandom engagement over the past few months has been within lines I’ve had to draw for myself to avoid content I don’t want to see. 

I don’t know how many times I have to say this: this is all fine. I care more about your response to this conversation, now. But of course people want to paint me as unforgiving and hell-bent on shaming those who disagree with me, so.

Re: the conversation about disability, please do not strip it of its context. Kat has spoken clearly and eloquently about how the response in question was not relevant to the discussion, which was about antisemitism and racism. Knee-jerk reactions of defensiveness are not helpful, and derailing a conversation about one type of marginalisation accomplishes nothing.

Re: your marginalisation — I have never claimed to speak for you and would not expect you to speak for me. I don’t know you. Throughout this conversation, and the parts of i have facilitated, I have centred my thoughts entirely around myself, with the backing of those who agree with me. I haven’t said we all feel this way. I have said some of us feel this way. Your disavowal of me is, again, irrelevant. I’m not surprised by it, since we disagree.

I think in my screenshotting hurry I cropped out a bit of that ask by accident, now that I look at it — I imagine that last line was something like we do not condone the discussions you have about how to be an ally. To that I say, okay. Again, I never said I spoke for you.

Since apparently this needs to be said time and time again — I don’t care what other ships you read. By all means read a different HP ship featuring a Death Eater, I don’t care. I have zero stake or investment in those spaces, nor do I care to apply my opinions that are grounded in this space, the Jily space, to them. I don’t demand an apology from anyone. In fact I’m pretty sure the mutual readers I have with DE James fics have unfollowed and unsubscribed by now without a word, which is good. That’s what I asked for. This is my personal line.

I am okay with being called insensitive and abrasive. I’m okay with this so-called popular opinion you cite. I’ve received support where I could count on it and even where I didn’t expect to, and that’s way more than enough. And I don’t say this for sympathy or to prompt people to tell me no, really, they want me to stay, as nice as the sentiment is. I cannot overstate this — I have been disengaging for months, and I don’t much care about how the spaces I’ve left behind see me.

[guardianofrivendell]

Reckless

Meludir x gender neutral reader

Requested: Yes! Anon asked: “Hello, can i please get a oneshot between meludir and reader where reader is injured from an orc attack and meludir is looking after them?”

Warnings: I tried to write something fluffy, I really did, just a normal fluffy kind of oneshot but the force of sarcasm and sass is too strong! 

A/N: I didn’t know Meludir that well, and there isn’t much information about him besides that he’s from the Mirkwood guard, so I just went with my own interpretation of his character. This was also a request that was long overdue (by now all of my requests fall into that category, I AM SO SORRY).

“I can’t believe we’ve waited so long,” Meludir chuckled, gently wiping the hair out of your face.  

You were both relaxing together at the edge of the forest, right at the other side of the bridge where the trees stopped and the palace grounds began. It was one of the more quieter spots in the kingdom, away from all the hustling and bustling of the palace, but still close enough so you would notice if something was wrong. Your sense of duty as a member of the Mirkwood Guard was never far away, even if you had some time off.

Meludir was sitting with his back against a tree, your head resting in his lap, your eyes closed. One of his hands was intertwined with yours and the other one was now lazily going through your hair. For a moment it felt like it was just the two of you, and time stood still. 

“Maybe we were a little too blind to see what was right in front of us,” you said in response, and brought the hand that was going through your hair to your lips to kiss it, marveling at the softness of his skin. “But I’m glad our eyes finally opened, Meludir. I don’t think I could have gone another day dancing around each other, meleth nin.”

Meludir hummed softly and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I could not agree more. Gi melin, mîr nin. An uin.” (I love you, my treasure, forever)

He then started singing to you, his voice soothing and barely above a whisper. You focused on the caresses of his thumb on your hand, and when his fingers started gently scratching your scalp, you felt yourself slowly slipping away. 

“Sleep, meleth nin. Sleep, my one true star.”

The high-pitched scratching of a chair dragging across the floor pulled you out of your more than pleasant dream. 

You desperately tried to focus on the last images which were still lingering in your mind but alas, the loving words sung by Meludir were slowly replaced with the soft thumping of a massive headache and your head was no longer resting on his comfortable lap but on a fluffy pillow instead. Which was also nice but, you know, not the same. 

Someone took your hand in theirs, followed by a soft squeeze. No, no, no, you weren’t ready to wake up yet! You weren’t done with that dream! Who needed the cruel reality where your best friend was just that, your best friend - with the emphasis on friend - while in your dreams he was your intended? So hello dreamworld it was! 

You tried to turn on your side so you could try and go back to sleep, but as soon as your right leg shifted just the tiniest bit, a shot of pain went through it, setting it on fire and making your body go rigid. 

Okay, so moving was a big no no. What happened to you?

You inhaled a little deeper to try and breathe through the pain, when the scent of herbs and starched linen filled your nose.  Wait a minute... The pain in your leg, the smell of herbs and linen…  This was not your own comfortable bed you were lying in! 

You were in the healing wing! 

Okay… Maybe you should open your eyes and check? Just to be sure?

But you were rather comfortable if you were being honest - if you didn’t count the slight throbbing in your head and your leg that was still hurting - and as long as your eyes remained closed, you didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of whatever happened to you. 

Better make the most of it and try and sleep some more! 

But alas�� there was no rest for you when flashes of what had happened shot through your head, making you forget about the pain for a moment. 

You had been on a patrol through the deeper parts of the forest with your friend Meludir and a few other guards when you’d stumbled across a couple of spiders. Despite being far outnumbered by the vile creatures, you came out victorious, but you couldn’t prevent some of the less experienced guards from getting hurt. While you were taking care of their injuries, Meludir had spotted an orc pack in the distance. 

So of course you had to go after them… By yourself, leaving a very upset Meludir with the wounded. You’d deal with him afterwards. He will come around eventually, he always did. That’s why you were such good friends. 

You were all about impulsive decisions. It’s what made you join the Mirkwood Guard in the first place and usually that turned out for the best. This time? Hmm… not so much. 

You were caught off guard during the fight and suffered a stab wound in your leg because of it, there were simply too many Orcs for you to face alone. Oh you could almost hear Meludir’s ‘I told you so’! While you were distracted trying to get the dagger out of your thigh as soon as possible - afraid it was poisoned - one of the remaining Orcs saw its chance and charged at you. Your reflexes were too slow and you failed to deflect the hilt of his sword. That’s when the lights went out. 

“Y/N?”

Another squeeze in your hand. 

Seriously, how impatient can someone get? You were sleeping! Or trying to, your leg was still hurting after all. Didn’t they teach them how rude it was to wake a sleeping, injured person? Not good for the healing process! 

But the sounds surrounding you were getting louder, reverberating against the insides of your skull and making your head throb even worse. Guess that blow to your head actually did do some damage there. Better keep those eyes closed for a while longer, you thought. 

But you were also curious, and you couldn’t help trying to concentrate on the sounds closest to you. You could hear a voice talking softly to themselves, it sounded oddly familiar, it had sung to you in your dream not ten minutes ago. Meludir…

You suddenly remembered who exactly you were dreaming of a few moments ago. Oh Eru, you didn’t talk in your sleep right?!

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

Yeah, that was Meludir alright. You could almost hear the smirk coming through his voice. The hand covering yours was probably his too. 

Oh, he was not going to like this. He’s probably worried sick, or angry. Or both. Either way, you were in trouble. 

You opened your eyes a little to take a small peek. If there was even the slightest hint of anger on his face, you were going to pretend to be asleep for a little while longer.

Meludir seemed relaxed at first sight, his elbows were resting on his knees, his hands holding onto your left one. He was still wearing his uniform, covered with blood stains from the encounter with the spiders, and you noticed some black Orc blood as well. But he was unharmed, thank the Valar. 

His dark eyes were already staring at you as soon as your eyes met his, boring into yours with such an intensity that you couldn’t help but look away in shame...  Busted.

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” you tried to joke, trying to assess his current mood. He looked like he was relieved to see you awake. This might not be so bad after all.

Oh how naive could you be...

“Now that you’ve finally opened your eyes...” he began. 

The relief that was etched on his face slowly turned into anger. Uh-oh. 

“What were you thinking, Y/N?!” he whisper-shouted, smacking your arm. 

“Hey hey, no assaulting the injured!” you protested, grasping your arm.

“Your arm is fine! Wish I could say the same about your leg and your head,” he huffed.  

You rolled your eyes and let go of your arm. 

“Both are still attached to my body so clearly you are overreacting, Meludir!”

“I am overreacting? Who exactly went after an entire Orc pack by themselves?! You! And without even telling me, you just ran off!” he ranted, seeming to forget he was in the healing wing. “You could’ve died, Y/N!”

“But I didn’t,” you countered. 

Meludir rushed to stand, his swift movement unbalancing the chair. 

“But you could have! I could have lost you!” he snapped, his hands going through his dark hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know if he said that last sentence to himself or not, but this was the first time you saw him in such a state and you didn’t know what to think of it. 

You hated it when Meludir was angry at you. He just had to get it all off his chest, you knew that, but that didn’t mean you liked it when he yelled at you.

One of the healers nearby reprimanded him for raising his voice, and that seemed to calm the Mirkwood Elf a little. He looked at you apologetically.  

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was just- Never mind…” He took a seat on your bed this time, carefully as to not hurt your leg. “Tell me, how are you feeling?” he asked, taking a deep breath. 

Oh. Okay, we finally have worried Meludir. That’s a good thing. You could work with him.

“Killer headache and as long as I lie still, I should be fine. I’ll be back up in no time.”

“You had me- and us, you had us worried there, Y/N.”

Meludir’s hand wrapped around yours again. Weird, since when did you guys start to hold hands this much?

“Awww, you were worried about me?” you teased him, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach when you looked at your joined hands.  

“Y/N, I found you unconscious and bleeding on the ground with Orcs leaning over you. Of course I was worried!” he raised his voice, his eyes wide in concern. “You were out for several hours!”

After a few seconds Meludir let go of your hand and sighed. 

You finally got a good look at him and you noticed his hair was messy, some strands sticking to the side of his head. He looked tired, you didn’t think you ever saw him tired before. He was a complete mess. Very unlike him.

The poor Elf had probably been at your side the whole time. Guilt started settling in your stomach.

“I’m sorry I made you worried,” you apologised, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Meludir chuckled. “Yeah, we both know that’s not going to happen.”

You lifted your head a little to look around, and you were surprised to see the other beds empty. Where were the other guards?

“How are the others?”

“Some scratches and minor injuries, a few spider bites. Nothing the healers couldn’t fix. You were worse off than them,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

You let your head drop back into the pillow dramatically, relieved to hear the others were fine. But something still bothered you.

You rolled your head to the side to look at him and pointed at his chest.

“Why is there Orc blood on your uniform?”

“Well, someone had to finish what you started.”

Is that a smirk you saw? The cheeky bastard!

“Oh, just you wait until I get back on my feet, I’ll happily remind you who’s the better fighter,” you challenged him. 

“That’ll take some time, the healers said you can go to your own chambers once you wake up, but…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead looking at you in apprehension. 

“What? What’s with the dramatic pause?”

“You have to stay off guard duty for at least two weeks. Orders from the healers and King Thranduil.” 

“What?” you gasped, and you winced when you sat up a little too fast and careless, hurting your leg in the process. Your hand flew towards your thigh and you saw Meludir’s hands doing the same. 

“Don’t hurt the messenger! Or yourself!” he joked, but you didn’t miss the slight hint of fear and worry in his eyes. Good.

“Meludir,” you whined, dragging out his name, “you don’t understand! I’ll die out of boredom!”

“Your wound needs healing, Y/N. You cannot use your leg and you need your rest.” 

He grabbed your hand and traced your knuckles with his thumb. 

“And in the meantime I’ll be there to take care of you.”

Oh. Oh.

Well in that case...

He squeezed your hand again, and smiled at you. It lit up his entire face, and you couldn’t help but mimic his expression. Maybe with him as your private nurse it wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of being carried around by Meludir all the time made it all seem almost enjoyable. 

“But before I carry you to your chambers, I need you to explain something to me first, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, what is it?”

The corner of his lip twitched and his entire demeanour changed. 

“Why did you call me ‘meleth nin’ in your sleep?”

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[iwillbeinmynest]

What Happened in Belfast - Sam Wilson x Reader

Author’s Notes: Thanks Anon! I had fun writing this one!

Prompt: 8. I want my best friend back!

Word Count: 825

 “Y/N!” Sam ran to where you laid on the ground. He signaled Red Wing who took out the enemy with his gun fixed at your head.

 With him gone, Sam could focus on you. He pulled you to him as you tried to refill your lungs after getting the breath knocked out of you.

 “Are you okay?” he asked.

 You nodded and coughed until you were finally able to take a full breath.

 He pulled you close his and pressed his forehead to yours. “You scared me.”

 You looked at him. 

 He looked at you.

 You leaned forward and-

“Wilson! Y/L/N! What are you two doing?” Steve’s voice sounded strained on the coms.

 You pulled away fast from where your lips had nearly touched Sam’s. Your cheeks felt hot but you tried to play it off. “We should go.”

 Sam looked hurt but he nodded. “Yeah, we probably should. Listen, y/n-”

 You didn’t let him finish. You jumped up and ran towards the rest of the team. 

 “On my way!” you informed the team as you ran through the streets of Belfast.

 It had been three months since you and Sam had almost kissed. You were trying to convince yourself that it was a good thing that it didn’t happen. You and Sam had been friends for years. I mean, yeah, you liked him, but was it worth risking your friendship? 

 If you and Sam dated and then you broke up you were certain you’d lose him forever.

 You walked towards the briefing room and passed by Sam in the hallway. You nodded and kept walking.

 You found a seat between Wanda and Bucky and said good morning.

 Sam walked in and sat beside Steve. He didn’t look at you.

 Good.

 “Alright,” Tony began the meeting with a sigh, “We’ve got intel on a Russian gun runner making deliveries down at the harbor but no one seems to have hard proof. I’m only interested because he’s claiming to have old Stark weapons. Now, for all I know it’s all smoke to move products, but I need to know.”

 You nodded. “I’ll go stake out the docks.” Anything to get away from Sam. You just needed a little time to figure out how you felt about Sam and what to do about it.

 “Thanks.” Tony nodded. “Take Wilson with you.”

 “What?” You sat up in your chair. “It’s recon. I can do that by myself.”

 Tony wasn’t having it. “My op. My way. Wilson goes.”

…..

 You sat in the dark room and looked through the scope down at the docks. “I’ve got movement to the right.”

 Sam grabbed his binoculars and walked to the window. 

 You both relaxed when you realized it was just a car that had made a wrong turn.

 “It’s been three days with absolutely nothing more than some pigeons and a lost Uber.” Sam groaned and plopped down on his bed.

 You pursed your lips and took a silent breath. “You can go anytime you’re ready.”

 Sam shook his head. “You hate me that much, huh?”

 You didn’t respond.

 “I don’t get it, y/n. What happened to us?”

 Now you shook your head. “There wasn’t an ‘us’, Sam.”

 “Wow,” he huffed. Sam got up and began packing his bags. 

 He was clearly upset by the way he was stomping and throwing his things into his bags, and it was getting on your nerves.

 “Can you be quiet?” You turned to him. “One of the key factors to a stake out is not being detected. Keep on like that and the Russian mob will come knock with a Glock.”

 “Maybe they’ll come put me out of my misery,” Sam mumbled.

 You turned to him swiftly. “What do you want from me, Sam?” Your voice was louder than it should have been. 

 Sam shouted back. “I want my best friend back!”

 You didn’t know what to say.

 “I want to talk to you again. I want to look at you and for you to actually look at me. I want to have breakfast with you and train with you and to sit on the couch for hours trying to agree on something to watch until it’s so late that we settle on The Office, again.”

 Your frustration faded as he went on.

 “I want to laugh with you and worry over you on the field. And I want to finish what I started in Belfast!” Sam stood and let his words settle for a moment. 

 You had to choose, and you had to choose now. 

 You looked at Sam, who’d mistaken your pause for an answer, and said, “Then finish it.”

 He looked at you hard, making sure to understand you clearly, then he walked up to you, took your face in both hands and kissed you.

 You fell into him and set your hands at his waist. 

 He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead on yours. 

 “I missed you,” you whispered.

  F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice scared you and Sam just enough to aggravate you. “Mr. Stark has called the mission a success and requests that you two join him back at the compound at your earliest convenience.”

 “This wasn’t a mission, it was recon.” You clarified, still in Sam’s arms.

 “That is what he told you.” If F.R.I.D.A.Y. could smile she would be.

 Sam chuckled and you shook your head.

 “I’m gonna kill him,” you muttered.

 Sam weaved his hand up your neck and hovered his mouth over yours. “Later.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending. 

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands. 

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore. 

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems. 

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house? 

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements. 

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like. 

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly. 

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment. 

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins. 

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher. 

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?” 

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before? 

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?” 

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow. 

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always. 

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow.  "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry? 

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing. 

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous. 

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard. 

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself. 

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room. 

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway. 

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows. 

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation. 

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Are you excited about tonight and tomorrow bachelor finale? I heard that alums think that it will be the most dramatic finale in franchise history and it will rival all others. i don't believe it's going to blow every finale out of the water. LMAO. the alumni are being ridiculous. i AM excited to see claydough get dumped. and i'm not sorry about it. Like If I’m Rachel and Gabby and you slept w me to “test our sexual chemistry” and yet the one who wasn’t giving you any cookies is still the one you say want most? And ALWAYS wanted most as you took me to bed and screamed, ILY? Oh I’m cussing you out, but that’s just me.

IT BETTER BE DRAMATIC, ANON. I DESERVE IT.

(Unclear if any finale could beat Arie with how godawful uncomfortable it was. I have never been more on the edge of my seat during this show than that. Not in a good way though)

I've calmed down a bit since last week, though I'm still frustrated with the way everything went down. I want tonight to be dramatic but not frustrating, because after last week & Love Is Blind, I'm very over reality shows. I couldn't even watch the new regency-era based Bachelor knockoff that I was so excited about.

Also, I think my week last week didn't help how upset I got over the episode. It was a very stressful week and it honestly hasn't gotten better lol so I'm sort of dreading tonight. Like I'm already stressed & upset about personal things and now I have to watch THIS STUPID SHOW? And I have to do it all without my Bachelor bff because she's away on a work trip and I have to live text her what's happening while she's at a business dinner.

And so because I've had a week to think about it and I'm TRYING to be a bit more diplomatic, here's where I land regarding last week's episode:

1) yes, Susie probably should have brought up how important sex was to her, but also... is that solely on her? Why isn't it also up to Clayton to tell her how important sex is to him (in the opposite way, that he thinks sex is important to a relationship and so he wants to explore that with all of them, which is fine). Either way, it probably should have been brought up prior to the fantasy suites.

2) I wonder if Susie was prompted a lot by producers. Like maybe she wasn't THAT dead set against it until they got in her head. I wouldn't be surprised. I've also heard it posed that she didn't say anything as a sort of test to Clayton, which I hate the idea of because it really reinforces the manipulative woman stereotype, but... it also could be true (whether she was aware she was doing it or not)

3) I do NOT think Clayton was gaslighting her, which I do feel the need to bring up because when I posted the texts between my bach bff and I, she did use that word while we were both live reacting and very upset. I haven't rewatched the episode, but I don't think it actually applies. I still don't like how he responded, but I don't think it was gaslighting and I want to be clear on that because I think that word gets thrown around a lot. Same with "abusive".

4) I still sort of think he used the I love you's as a get out of jail free card. He said them so deliberately to all 3 women, even using some of the same language & phrasing to do it. With Rachel & Gabby, he turned around and yelled that he loved them as he walked away the next morning in like... the same exact way lol. And then his "I knew something like this would happen", he clearly understood that some of the women might not be ok with it, but thought "well I love them too, just a bit less than you" would get him out of it. Again, this is a theory and maybe not something he knowingly did, but... still

5) I sort of wish the conversation between Susie & Clayton hadn't been focused on the sex part. I don't even think that's the biggest deal breaker (though maybe it is for Susie). The fact is, he still told all 3 women that he loved them while knowing he could only pick one, knowing he HAD to break two of their hearts. And again, it was a decision he made, he did not blurt the words out. He made grand speeches.

6) no matter how this was handled and how it went down, it seems like Clayton and Susie don't have compatible views on some things and it's probably best they aren't together.

7) Still completely blindsided that it was apparently Susie? I swore it was Rachel.

8) there's no way Rachel or Gabby could get past this. Even if they're both totally fine with the sex stuff (which I think Gabby is), how do you get past him saying he loves all of you, but he loves the one that isn't you more? I don't think there's a way past it, tbh

9) Gabby for Bachelorette, please. PLEASE.

[oatmilkovich]

I'd really love if you made a post about Noel's acting this episode! If you still want to

hey!! <3

this episode reminded us (not that we needed the reminder, looks at the writers) what the show is missing out on when they reduce the characters and their storyline’s down to comedy with very little substance. 

this is the first time in a long while that it feels like mickey’s trauma surrounding terry has been giving the time, space and the dialogue it deserves. I’ve been waiting many, many years for this sort of resolution for mickey...

my thoughts on noel’s performance under the cut (it’s a little lengthy!)...

as always, disclaimer: this is all my opinion, but i did go to drama school and have a degree. there’s a pandemic and nothing else to do, i just like talking about it. 

firstly, something I’ve always admired about noel’s work is his ability to tell us a thousand things without saying a single word. we’ve seen it from the very first season – there’s very few other actors on the show that consistently carry that much power with their silence and noel really did the most this week. let’s look at this moment:

mickey doesn’t say anything until prompted by ian and yet because of the intensity in noel’s look and the sheer amount of tension he’s carrying, we’re completely aware of mickey’s feelings in the moment without having to hear any dialogue. his physicality tells us more than any dialogue would. his shoulders are tense, his face is fight – it’s a deep, visceral reaction to seeing his father. noel has clearly thought about mickey’s pov here – not only about terry, but about this moment in general, about the first time he sees him after coming home from the hospital, about watching the man who tortured him for years finally be met with even an ounce of the same pain he was subjected to. immediately, we’re thrown into the heavy weight of the moment and when mickey does speak, it only echoes what we already know from his physicality. the dialogue complements noel’s performance, rather than solely carrying it. he’s managed to tap into the perfect balance of allowing the lines to come from truth — they don’t feel planned out or rehearsed but delivering them in a way we can tell that mickey has thought about it – mickey’s history with terry is lengthy and incredibly complex and that’s completely embodied in how noel delivers each line. It’s important to me that we can feel the history there, but that history is left at the door when it comes to his work in the scene. he’s not displaying the history, he’s existing in it. 

my personal ‘acting theory’ (to avoid sounding like a wanker) is that you don’t act as your character, but that you exist as yourself under those circumstances. mickey’s circumstances in the scene are noel’s circumstances and he reacts — as he would — in the moment. prep work for this is key. noel has said in previous interviews that when approaching mickey in the earlier seasons, he focused on having a secret and lengths he would go to protect it. knowing this, we have a small idea on how he approaches mickey now. he clearly has taken something in his own life and used it to personalise this situation with mickey, he’s thought about how he himself would react in those circumstances, because he is himself in mickey’s circumstances — this is why it feels so personal, this is why his performance is still so consistently nuanced all these years later. this is why he can tell us so much in a simple shift of the eyes. 

take emma’s performance during this episode – in the moments she’s talking about sandy and how upset she is (eg: inside the ambulance with ian and mick) she’s very much really going for the oh my heart is so broken blah blah, but it doesn’t land because you don’t believe her heart is broken. the lines are empty. you compare that to the subtleties noel shows us throughout the episode and it’s almost unfair that they have her scenes next to his. this isn’t to roast her, but just to highlight the differences in nuance and depth. allowing dialogue to carry a performance vs actually living in the performance. 

discomfort played a huge part in noel’s performance in 11x06 too and discomfort in scenes can bring wonders. mickey is uncomfortable — he’s faced with some horribly difficult decisions. we see a stark difference from his easy going ‘just pull the plug on him’ energy vs when he’s actually given the chance to. the stakes in the scene and situation are extremely high – mickey is quite literally battling with an opportunity he’s been waiting his entire life for. the weight of those stakes are heavy on his shoulders and the highlight of the episode for me was the physical journey on noel’s face as he holds the gun to terry's chest. noel gives us mickey’s internal battle – there’s the pent up rage he clearly had been carrying with him on the ride over, then the irritation, the fear, the sadness, the frustration. you can almost see everything mickey has ever had to go through because of terry in the way he looks at him. 

this shot above in particular has really, really stuck with me. the way he doesn’t respond to ian, keeping his eyes firmly planted on terry – he’s lost in his thoughts, in his history and you can feel everything behind noel’s eyes. 

it’s such a fantastically layered performance that he makes it impossible to look away. he allows the moment to play out and live and doesn’t speed run to achieve anything in his performance. he doesn’t push. noel doesn’t walk into the scene and go ‘oh i’m gonna make mickey feel this on this line and this on this line’ – he gives the emotions their time and place to land, we see and feel mickey’s journey without a single word. it all comes from his natural reactions to the circumstances. he doesn’t try and show us what mickey is going through when faced with the option to kill terry — he lives it, he sits in it and he exists in it. 

we also had a great example of noel’s range this ep. he delivered his funny, usual one liners like he has done throughout this season but really hammered home his talent when given dramatic scenes. it was a refreshing balance. 

overall, noel’s performance in this episode is a great example of how a well acted scene doesn’t have to contain screaming or crying or overt, obvious dramatics in order to be categorised as ‘good’. similarly to what I said in my post about ian’s vows, some of the smallest and subtle moments can carry as much as a 5 minute monologue or an intense shouting match. 

this is long and probably a little boring, but I could honestly talk about his work for ages. thanks for the question (and the other anons too!) and please feel free to send me anymore – especially as we now have a 3 week break before the next episode <3

[becausethathappens]

Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon.  🤞  Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live 

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose 

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

&

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights. 

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits. 

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. 

 “I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment. 

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry. 

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for. 

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion. 

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

I dont even know the character but if your Donna rants are as amusing as your Dumbledore rants, then Id love to hear them

Your kindness is much appreciated, anon. Honestly, Donna Paulsen isn't nearly on the level of someone like Albus Dumbledore. She would probably hate him. Hard to say, given how different their worlds are. Still, there are many different ways for a character to frustrate the audience. Donna isn't a horrible person. She's just...very annoying.

The main issue is that she is one of those characters that the show simply refuses to call out on her nonsense. In fact, it really, really wants you to like her, and attempts to portray her as this flawless superhero, this total badass...and it does this mostly through her own mouth. Half of her lines are just her stating that she's "awesome" usually because she figures things out or already knows things about other people. She always acts like she knows everything and tells other people what's right and wrong. So it's sort of like BBC's Sherlock in that sense. This would already be something that could get old after a while, but what truly kills Donna's likeability is how she totally doesn't actually meet that standard, like, at all. She massively fucks up all the time. At least once per season. It would be one thing if she grew from these incidents, or her portrayal changed because of them. But this doesn't happen. Every time, the show either A) treats her as the victim, B) tries to argue that she was right, or C) goes with the interpretation that yes, she was wrong, but it's a one time thing, and shouldn't be held against her with all of the good that she's done. Seriously, the line "One mistake in thirteen years." Comes up in Season 7 and I have to say...really?

In Season 1, she goes behind Harvey's back on the Cameron Dennis case, a betrayal that upsets him so much that he considers firing her. All she says in response is "You're welcome." In Season 2, she shreds that document and gets fired for it. She never accepts responsibility for this and to the end, keeps insisting that she did it for Harvey. In Season 3...eh, I'll give her a pass on the whole Stephen thing. He fooled everyone. But Season 4, oh boy. The Liberty Rail fiasco is one of her worst outings, especially considering that at the end of it all, Harvey got her out of it...and then she left him and went to work for Louis. And all because *checks clipboard* he wasn't sure if wanted to be more than friends? She literally just hires herself back as Harvey's secretary when Mike gets caught. "You saying you're coming back to me?" Uh Harvey, you do realize that you get a say in that? In Season 6, she has the whole "The Donna" storyline, which is...probably the worst arc on the show. It is just so beyond pointless. It reeks of seasonal rot. In Season 7, she gets herself appointed C.O.O. by using reverse psychology and asking for a Partnership she knows she can't have, and causing all kinds of drama...instead of just, y'know, asking. Then she kisses Harvey while he's dating Paula. And has the nerve to criticize how he reacts, and the choices he's made in his relationship. In Season 8, she breaks privilege for personal, selfish reasons...and gets away scot free. Harvey doesn't even care that she betrayed him at this point, he just minds that she "lost faith in him." And this? This is what ultimately gets them together? Please.

I stopped caring about Harvey and Donna's "will they/won't they" in Season 5. It was definitely the season that gave them the most development, before hitting the damn reset button by having Donna hire herself back. Because every "will they/won't they" ends the same way - yes, they will, in the last few episodes or the finale. Harvey and Donna's relationship in Season 9 was wholesome, sure. But it was too little, too late. In general, Donna has a lot of issues about her contributions to the firm. She feels unappreciated, clearly, because half of her lines are just her demanding other people (usually Harvey) recognize what she's done. Even after she found out that he paid her salary and even gave her raises that no other secretary got. There's definitely something to be said about Donna being led to believe she was more important than she is. That clearly affected her and they could have done something interesting if they explored it more. But I think all of the examples I provided are proof that she can be selfish. She loves to dig in her heels and insist that she's put Harvey first again and again for years. Trouble is...I can remember a lot of times she said this, but not that many times that she actually did it. Her actions speak louder than her words. She just feels like a very clear example of a character who the story really wants you to like, and practically instructs you to. Rose Tyler also comes to mind. Yet I don't feel like Donna came close to earning the pedestal that she was placed on.

The other characters made mistakes as well, but they were treated as human beings, not superheroes.