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solxamber · 18 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

All Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #jade leech #twst jade #jade leech x you #jade

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lizbethborden · 5 months ago

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I have to assume that when you spend a lot of time making arguments that you should be able to perform sexual acts in front of or involving non-consenting individuals, you are, broadly speaking, not a person who respects boundaries and not someone anyone should feel comfortable being alone with. All of this behavior shows a basic indifference to the psychological effect of unwilling exposure and involvement in sex acts--to wit, an indifference to sexual harassment, to rape, to rape culture, etc. Environments such as nude beaches, nude spas, etc operate under the active rule that all there are consenting to be present in other's nudity. There is no parallel to this when a person is conducting a sex act in a public place.

Arguing that being disgusted, offended, or scared by such an action is parallel to being disgusted by an LGBT person existing neutrally in public, or arguing that legislation against public sex is functionally the same as legislating against LGBT people existing neutrally in public, are both fallacious arguments made in bad faith. Yes, public indecency laws have been used against the gay community. Yes, there were and are gay cruising areas where sex acts are committed in public. There are specific cultural and historical circumstances that led to both of these facts. Those circumstances have nothing to do with the issue at hand--whether or not it is OK to feel disgusted, offended, or scared by being involved in sex without your consent.

This attempt at a historical-legal argument is a false equivalence. It's a bit like arguing that since marriage regulations were used in the past to prevent interracial marriage, we should not have any laws about marriage at all and an adult should be able to marry a 12-year-old and if you disagree you're a cop. How can you say it's MORALLY wrong for me to marry a 12-year-old? Don't you know anything about how marriage laws have been used for bigotry? You're just like those people who said it was MORALLY wrong for a white person and a Black person to get married. It's not only offensive on the level of "stop using the entirety of tumblr to justify your fetish," it's offensive on the basic level of knowledge and logic.

#redacted.txt

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guardianspirits13 · 6 months ago

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I think one of the most overlooked factors in Netflix's cutthroat approach to deciding wether to renew a show is that they wholly underestimate the power of fandoms.

They seem to think that unless a show is record-breaking or award-winning it will not be profitable to renew but they fail to recognize that most people don't give a shit about the accolades as long as a show is good.

And even then, it is normal to take more than one eight-episode season to pick up real cultural traction. Plenty of now-beloved shows did not reach mainstream popularity until they were multiple seasons deep.

Netflix fails to consider the longevity of their IPs over the initial peak of interest, and have thus cultivated a self-fulfilling prophecy as people avoid starting new shows because they don't want to become invested in something that is more likely than not to be cancelled, and thus these new shows don't reach the ludicrous viewership standard they have set to justify a renewal.

Sure, they get new subscribers for new shows but what keeps them there? Maybe they'd actually stay subscribed if a new season of something they are invested in is on the way (barring the cost itself, which is a whole different can of worms).

Plenty of people subscribe only for one or two shows- I remember people cancelling their subscriptions when they took The Office off because that show alone was keeping them on the platform.

Supernatural did not get 15 seasons because of its exceptional writing or cinematography (ha), they got 15 seasons because of devoted fans who wanted more. Who kept rewatching and buying merchandise and paying for con tickets.

Daredevil is one of the best shows I have ever seen, and that was at the time where the "early" cancellation was common after three seasons (with 12+ episodes). Inside Job is one of the only adult animated series that I have ever thoroughly enjoyed, and it was lucky to have two seasons. Shadow and Bone had the potential to be a franchise based in the extended Grishaverse, and yet it also ended after two seasons.

Finally- not everyone watches shows the day they release! We don't all have that sort of time, and it's ok to discover a new show a week, a month, a year after it releases! Word of mouth and fan culture/communities have been the rock upon which lasing series are created, from Star Trek to Game of Thrones.

All this to say, @netflix yall get your act together and renew Dead Boy Detectives before you lose your captive audience 🫠

#netflix #subscription services #shadow and bone #six of crows #daredevil #inside job #dead boy detectives #the office #the sandman #renew dead boy detectives #renew shadow and bone #netflix orignal series #netflix original #fandom #fandom culture

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bluecrocss · 7 months ago

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Yes. You are racist. (Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one)

So approximately half a year since the premier of the Disney+ Percy Jackson show, and almost two years since the announcement of the Trio's casting, I would like to take this moment to look back at the insane, racist and anti-black backlash that was launched at Leah Sava Jeffries and a few other cast members from the PJO fandom.

I'm not concerned with the trolls who are openly racist, who resorted to racist slurs and outright threats, everyone agrees that they "took it too far". I want to talk about the rest of you, the "I'm not racist, but.." people, the "What's wrong with wanting book accuracy?" people. Just to let you know, for the unasked question... yes, yes you are.

I've noticed the Percy Jackson fandom has been lording some weird superiority complex over a certain *unnamed* fandom that has fallen out of grace due to their recently outed bigot of an author. But honestly, y'all are not much different. The amount of vitriol and anti-blackness I have seen from this fandom (beyond just bullying a 12 year old girl), y'all don't have a leg to stand on.

Below is a breakdown of the most common arguments I have seen used to justify y'alls absolutely insane bigotry. I am going to explain why none of these justify the amount of anger and vitriol y'all have sent towards Leah, Rick or any of the cast.

I am not here to argue, and this is not a democracy. I am giving you a chance for some self-reflection and to understand that this pattern of violence directed towards POC actors (mostly black women) has never been justified in the name of "book accuracy"/"comic book accuracy"/"ending forced diversity" or whatever other excuses y'all try to make up.

If you still try to justify or argue further for any of these points, I will just block you. I am not coddling you through your racism. If anyone has seen any other dumb arguments floating around that I might've missed, feel free to sound off in the comments.

She's not book accurate:

Neither is Percy, Luke, Grover, Dionysus, Poseidon, and just about every other named character.

Rick already made it clear that physical features were not the priority with casting, rather it was actors that embodied the role. So why are the biggest complaints about Annabeth and Zeus? 🤔

What? You're gonna say everyone else got backlash too? I see you trying to obscure the main issue by playing dumb 😉

See my friend, yes, there were one or two comments about how Percy's hair should be black or how Luke is supposed to be blonde, but as soon as Leah was cast, none of those actors got any significant backlash. In fact, Walker and Charlie literally have an army of fan girls at their beck and call, calling them the perfect Percy and Luke, despite neither being "Book accurate". But then again, have we not observed the pattern of White boy of the month vs WOC to hate for the year? (Yes, I know Charlie isn't white. Further adds to the irony, doesn't it).

Why include character descriptions if you won't stay true to them, you cry? Well, my dear sweet moron, see, books and TV are two different mediums. Because in literature, you can't *Literally* SEE the characters, the author has to add descriptions to paint a picture in your mind, in TV... that's not an issue. So unless the character's appearance is necessary to the plot (like Luke's scar, or Nico being Italian) the show runners can actually focus on more important things.. Like ACTING and PERSONALITY.

2. It's just not how I imagined her:

News flash, babe! ANNABETH ISN'T REAL. None of these character are. They are concepts that originated from the brain of Mr. Rick Riordan. It doesn't matter how YOU imagined her. There are millions of people who read these books that imagined her several different ways. When the creator of the character watched Leah's audition and said, 'Yes! She embodies the character I created!", your imagined version of Annabeth ceased to matter. And guess what? The books still exist... they have not been burned. Your version of Annabeth has not disappeared. Go read the books.

3. Zeus can't be black/Gods have to be Greek/*Insert Character* can't be black:

Y'all did not read the books, I swear. You have to be fake fans looking to troll atp.

The gods move based off the center of western civilization. They change their forms/environment to reflect the culture they are occupying (they did it with Rome, now they're doing it with America). The gods change forms all the time. How we see them is not their true form as a mortal would disintegrate if they were to see their true form.

America is a cultural melting pot (specifically NY where Mount Olympus is now based). If the god's choose forms that reflect the current society they inhabit, they could literally be any race (keep in mind NYC is only 33% white).

All of this is literally SPELLED OUT in the Lightning Thief.

Furthermore, if you're going to push the ethnically Greek thing... Poseidon is British with a British accent and Hermes is Latino. The only ethnically Greek actor is Dionysus (who still doesn't look book accurate). Y'all are sounding like some white supremacists because do you forget that race is a social construct?

Before the advent of the transatlantic slave trade, I can promise you that the Greeks and the Anglo-Saxons did NOT view themselves as the same people. Why are y'all not taking issue with Poseidon's actor then?

Also, Percy Jackson has canonically had a slew of explicitly black demigods since the second book (including Harriet Tubman, which I have mixed feelings about 😭), so I genuinely have no idea where some of y'all are going with this point.

4. She was our smart blonde representation:

Don't pmo. I swear to God!

White, blonde women have NEVER been excluded from Hollywood. Representation is not something you lacked. The dumb blonde stereotype was a simple branch off of a larger misogynistic "dumb woman" stereotype. It has not truly been relevant since the mid 2000s outside of childish jokes.

This iteration of Percy Jackson will probably not go beyond the first 5 books, based off pacing and the age of the actors. So here's a fun game: 5 bucks to the first person who can find me a quote in the first 5 Percy Jackson books, where Annabeth laments her insecurities about being blonde (hint: there aren't any).

Also, her blonde hair does not hold her back at Camp because she is head of the Athena Cabin who are highly respected (and guess what?), ARE ALL BLONDE!

Her insecurities about her hair color are two or three lines at most in the later books, not this fundamental, core part of her character y'all all of a sudden wanna pretend it was. And guess what, as a non-blonde black girl, I was able to read those scenes of Annabeth feeling undervalued because of her looks and relate to her even if she didn't look like me at the time.

Why all of a sudden can y'all not do that with a black Annabeth? By every metric black girls are undervalued for their intelligence in academia more than white girls are, regardless of hair color. So your little representation of a woman undervalued by her looks would still hold. Do y'all dehumanize black women so much, that you are incapable of empathizing with show!Annabeth's plight in the way I could with Book!Annabeth simply because she doesn't look exactly like you?

Your issue isn't that she isn't blonde, it's that she is NOT WHITE.

Furthermore, Becky Riordan had tweeted previously (before the show was even cast) that Annabeth never needed to be blonde (probably recalling the BS y'all put Alexandra Daddario through), so even if they cast a white Annabeth, the blonde hair was never a guarantee. the author and producers all agree that it was not a significant part of her character. It's been a non-issue since day one.

Also, stop acting like smart blondes are rare in media... If you don't go watch some Legally blonde, Iron Man (Pepper Potts), Zack and Cody (Maddie), Liv and Maddie, FMAB (Winry), Captain Marvel, She-Ra, Buffy, The boys (starlight) etc. etc., and go sit down somewhere 🙄🙄🙄 (those were literally all things I've watched recently, off the top of my head, btw 💀)

5. It's not about race, but...:

Yes it is. It was always bout race. No other actors got as much hate as Leah. Her grandmother and other family members on IG had to mute their comments because they were getting so many threats.

Alexandra Daddario had to come to her defense on Twitter. Rick had to put out an official statement on his website. This girl has endured years of psychological torment for simply having the best audition. No one else is book accurate, no one else is ethnically Greek (except Jason Mantzoukas). Walker literally has British and German ancestry.

Why was she being called racial slurs on reddit and in youtube comments?

I know what you're gonna say, "I actually had problems with the entire cast", "I actually had a bigger issue with Walker's hair color", blah blah blah. Then why aren't you in Walker's comment sections? Why are you only making your displeasure known on posts defending/advocating for Leah? Why is she always your first example of 'wrong casting"?

Well, she "looks the most different"... Look up the term "scapegoating".

"Oh, I don't agree with the harassment. I just don't like the casting." Guess what? She's already been cast. They are not going to uncast her. What do you get out of still complaining about it.

All the vitriol you're stirring about her when you complain about her on Social media, it is directing people to send her hate, even if you're not writing it directly. It's is not enough to "not agree" with the racism, it is your duty to actively prevent it. And btw, these are young gen z actors, they are active on social media. They see the edits of themselves (even comment on it) and they most likely see these little "harmless" complaints you're posting. Are your upset feelings really worth contributing to the racist dogpile on this poor girl?

6. Why couldn't they atleast give her blonde braids?:

Why should they? Y'all wanted blonde because of the "dumb blonde" trope... that doesn't apply to POC.

A blonde black girl is gonna be viewed the same as a non-blonde black girl (or at worst, someone might decide she's "ratchet" or some shit for wearing colored hair). What difference would it make?

Why shouldn't Walker dye his hair, then?

7. Annabeth has Gray eyes:

Less than 3% of the global population has "gray eyes". Even if they cast a white actor, they would've needed contacts. Her being black is not the reason Annabeth's eyes aren't gray. Simply put, it is a plot element they removed, like the whole "names have power" element, or Ares having flames for eyes, or Dionysus using his powers to grow strawberries at Camp.

That's how adaptations work. Unnecessary plot elements are cut to save time and budget. This has nothing to do with her casting. They probably also didn't want to make child actors wear contacts (not a new practice).

8. Even if Rick chose her, he was wrong/Disney is forcing him to be okay with it:

Where do I start? Rick created the character. He can't be wrong. Do y'all have no self-awareness? Death of the author has no place here, because y'all are hung up on an aspect of the character that is not relevant to her arc or development.

Y'all's justification for wanting a "book accurate" Annabeth is that she was such an inspirational and important character growing up, and yet your behavior is so in conflict with the character you claim means so much to you. You're narrow minded, dismissive of bigotry and injustice, and disrespectful to the wishes of the creator of your favorite character; everything that Annabeth would never be. Y'all were never genuine fans of the books. You're bigots that needed an outlet for your rage.

Keep in mind, Rick has said countless times that PercaBeth directly mirrors his relationship with his wife. Y'all think he would have allowed them to cast someone who doesn't live up to the woman who has been by his side for decades? The mother of his children?

Regarding Disney forcing him, show me one piece of direct evidence that proves Disney in anyway pressured Rick to cast her. Cuz if you can't, that's baseless speculation. And if you have to resort to baseless speculation, maybe try to examine why it's so important to you to hold on to this belief.

9. So, I'm racist because I hate "race swapping"?:

To start, there is a difference between "race swapping" and "color blind casting". Often times, when y'all complain about the former, you're actually mad about the latter.

It would be "race swapping" if Rick and the team decided ahead of time that they wanted a black Annabeth and ONLY allowed black actors to audition. But the actual reality was that they accepted auditions from everyone (there were white actors and non-black poc that also auditioned for the role) and chose the best person who embodied the role. They didn't "make Annabeth black" and they didn't "make Zeus black", they cast black actors for those roles.

Y'all think you're being slick with your wording. Dismissing that is implying that they did not earn their roles fair and square. Which is racist. It's the equivalent of going up to a black college student and telling them they only got in because of affirmative action. You're dismissing the achievements of a person solely because of their racial background.

For all you people complaining about "unfairness" and "forced diversity", I would think hiring based on merit would appeal to you 🤔

71% of theatrical Hollywood leads were white in 2024 in comparison to 29% POC and you still think "black washing" is a thing? You still get this angry over a black person fairly earning a role because you think in a time where Hollywood only knows to do remakes and adaptations, that the majority of lead roles still *have* to be reserved for white actors?

Once again, white people have never been excluded from Hollywood for being white. Representation has never been something you lacked nor is it something you can lose. Your anger comes from seeing a black face where you think they don't belong. Because you feel you are owed a disproportion of representation in Hollywood.

10. Woke agenda/DEI/Forced Diversity:

If you are unironically using any of these terms in a negative light, it's already too late for me to reason with you. Look up the term "dog whistle". If you are sharing the same terminology with Elon Musk and his fanboys, maybe reevaluate some things.

POC are objectively underrepresented and have been historically excluded through actual laws and policies in Hollywood. There is no such thing as "forced diversity", you have bought in to a right wing conspiracy theory.

"Woke" is a term that was intentionally appropriated from the black community. It originally meant being aware of injustice and systematic threats to the community and is now being weaponized by bigots. Good job.

Diversity and inclusion is a good thing.

11. But POC deserve to have their own stories told:

We do. And we have been fighting for it for over a century now, and we've made great strides, no thanks to y'all.

No thanks to y'all gaslighting us about how little representation we get or that representation matters at all. No thanks to y'all pushing the idea that POC can't sell globally and obscuring POC actors in international promos. No thanks to y'all continuing to whitewash even to this day (Bullet train, the beguiled, gods of Egypt, atla, every portrayal of Jesus ever, etc.). No thanks to y'all calling every piece of media that has more than one black lead and more than one queer couple "woke". No thanks to y'all throwing a fit every time a black person in a fantasy setting isn't a slave.

Fact of the matter is, y'all never cared about POC "getting their own stories", you're only parroting our own words back to us now as a politically correct way of saying, "leave white roles alone" lmao

Well fun fact, actors of color getting opportunities to play lead roles and allowing poc to "tell their own stories" are not mutually exclusive. If y'all cared that much, instead of bullying a 12 year old actress, you could actually support up and coming independent POC writers, directors, and studios 😱

12. Studios need to stop "setting up" actors of color:

Do me a favor and google the term DARVO.

Your racism is not the fault of the studios for giving a POC actor a role that they earned. It is not up to the rest of society to tiptoe around racists to avoid their vitriol. It is our responsibility to hold them accountable and protect minorities from unwarranted hate. At most, you can say it's the responsibility of the studios to provide adequate support to POC actors who face this backlash.

At the end of the day, Hollywood only allows very few spots for POC actors (especially WOC), while simultaneously pushing a new white boy every month to put in everything. Putting minorities in these roles that are usually closed to them, usually opens the door to more actors of color than before.

Brandy being cast as Cinderella did a lot to push her into the mainstream (yes, she was already extremely famous in the black community atp), Halle Berry being the first, black, bond girl literally shot her to icon status, and even going as far back to what Anna Mae Wong did for Asian American actresses with her "femme fatale" roles.

At the end of the day, even with the backlash, *some* rep does more good for POC actors than *no* rep. The solution to racist backlash isn't to take away those opportunities, but rather to not be racist??? 🙄

Also, for everyone that claims that "POC race-swapping" is just as bad as "white-washing", despite white washing having a longer history and objectively causing more harm, note how the backlash to white washing never lasts as long as the harassment that POC get.

Like, no one brings up Scarlett Johansson's ghost in the shell role anymore, but you can best believe Candace Patton is still fending off racist trolls. As much as people hated the atla movie, people moved on quick from Nicola Peltz playing Katara since she was just a kid that accepted the role (re: daddy bought her the role), but y'all would not have any of that consideration for Leah Sava Jeffries.

But I digress...

13. What if we made Tiana white? Wakanda white? Hazel white...:

Ah, my favorite inane point. I was so excited to get here :)

See, I could start out by pointing out how "White washing" and casting a POC actor as a traditionally white character are not equivalent.

I could point out the history of hollywood ACTIVELY excluding POC actors and POC stories. I could point out how grossly over represented white people are in hollywood. I could point out that POC characters are so few in comparison that whitewashing them causes actual harm, where white people have never lacked rep.

I could point out how, because poc characters and stories are so often tokenized that their racial/cultural background is often directly tied to their character's identity, in opposition to a lot of white characters, since hollywood treats white as the "Default".

See, I could make all those points, but the thing is, the people who make this argument already know all that. They are trying to waste time by drawing me into a pointless circular argument that will sum up to "fair is fair", while ignoring all the context and nuance I previously provided.

So you know what? Forget it. Let me play your game.

I am actually fine with a white Tiana. Would it make sense, for her and her family to experience Jim Crow era racism, in the south while white? No. But we can look past it. Disney was never known for historical accuracy anyway 🤷🏿‍♀️

However, in exchange, the live action frozen will have a black Elsa and Anna, live action Rapunzel will be black, live action Merida will be black, we're re-filming Cinderella and Beauty and the beast to cast a black belle and Cindy, snow white will need to be recast as black, and we also get aurora whenever the live action sleeping beauty is announced. But then y'all can keep Tiana, deal?

You want a white T'Challa? Fine! (I'm partial to Ryan gosling), in the meantime, we'll be recasting Iron man, Captain America (Steve version), Bruce banner, Thor, Loki, hawk eye, black widow, ant man, captain marvel, Bucky, Peter Parker etc. All the avengers and their side characters, then y'all can have Sam Wilson, war machine and the whole of Wakanda (will it make sense that a sole, hidden, African nation is randomly made up of white people? Who cares? We get the avengers!).

You want white Hazel? You got her! I hope you have no problem with us taking Percy, Nico, Will, Poseidon, Jason, calypso, Rachel, Tyson, Silena, the stoll brothers, Sally Jackson, Hades, Hepheastus, ares, etc. But y'all can have Hazel and Beckendorf.

If we're gonna do this, let's commit all the way. Fair is fair, after all.

14. Leah isn't as "pretty" as Book Annabeth/Movie Annabeth:

I wish I could say this wasn't a genuine point I had read, but when all else fails, they will always go for a woman's appearance.

Now first of all, as a rule, I will never hold black women to white beauty standards. Our hair will never be long and silky enough, our nose will never be narrow enough, our skin will never be fair enough and our eyes will never be light enough (Might I recommend Toni Morrison, when you get the chance?). But Leah is unfairly gorgeous idc what any of you say, and you're not gonna have me use my defense of Leah as an opportunity to bash Alexandra either because she is also beautiful. These two queens slayed to the best of their abilities within this toxic ass fandom.

I find it funny, however, that so many of you harped on the "blonde" issue because you thought it was important that Annabeth be seen beyond just her looks, but quickly devolve to bashing an actress's looks when it comes to why she's not right for this role 🤔

I would also like to sincerely apologize that the 13 year old girl they cast in the show, wasn't as sexually attractive to you as the 24 year old woman they cast in the movie and sexualized through like 25% of her screen time (I'm actually not sorry. You're very weird if this is an actual point for you).

15. I don't agree with sending hate to the actor, but she's just not right for the role:

Once again, what are you doing by complaining about her casting on no other basis than her race?

The creator of the character said she embodied the role. She has already been cast, and Disney would be in a legal/production hell to recast her atp. Just because you're not directly leaving comments on her social media doesn't mean you're not part of the hate mob.

No matter how you look at it, your issues with her casting come from a very entitled and narrow-minded place. When you join in on these dialogues you are bolstering a sentiment that pushes more people to harass this teenage girl. When you leave these "harmless" complaints, on show content, fan posts or posts defending her, she's liable to read them because the cast regularly interact with fans online.

What do you have to say that is so important that it trumps protecting a young girl from the long-staying trauma of racism, of being told she doesn't deserve something she worked for because of how she was born?

16. I can't even criticize the show without being called racist:

Get. Over. Yourself.

Y'all are not the victim. Have fans of the show gotten protective of Leah and the young cast? Yes.

With good reason. This fandom is unbearably toxic.

Racism outweighs your need for a "perfect adaptation", sorry.

If you explain yourself properly and keep your critiques fair (like, even I don't think this was a perfect season, and will be sharing my thoughts shortly), no one is gonna call you racist.

You're preempting with that because in all honesty, you're probably planning to use your "critiques" of the show to pivot to one of the many points that I just outlined, and you want to pre-empt the criticism.

If a black Annabeth is the end all be all for you, just don't watch the show, no one's holding a gun to your head. Geez.

17. I'm Black/POC and I don't agree...:

Hey, Candace Owens... No one gives a shit.

First of all, for all the "I'm POC and I don't agree" people, you don't speak for us. Anti-blackness is rampant in just about every culture globally. You being not-white doesn't somehow make you less prone to hating black people.

But for the "I'm black and I don't agree" leftovers (assuming you're not just a 👩🏼‍💻 behind a keyboard). Black people are not a monolith. You're not obligated to think a certain way because you're black.

But consider why you're putting yourself up as a barrier to protect this hate mob. It's one thing to just state why you don't like Leah's casting, but to start off your spiel with "I'm actually black" as a way to weaponize the very identity politics you're critiquing... very strange. Not to mention, what are you defending?

The black community is coming together to defend one of our own, a kid who has been receiving death threats since she was 12, and this is when you feel the need to back the opposition?

I mean whatever... sometimes the house slaves would snitch to the master. There will always be some of y'all in the woodwork. It is what it is.

But when the exact ideology you defend is turned against you, when a Baltimore elected official is being accused of getting his job through "DEI", when conservatives are claiming that they wouldn't "trust a black pilot", don't decide that's where you'll finally draw your line in the sand.

All that being said, This is my Annabeth:

May every tongue that rose against Leah Sava Jeffries Shrivel and die in 2025 🙏🏿 My girl will keep winning ❤️

(video by @/waleahhasmyheart on TikTok)

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percabeth #disney+#pjverse #pjo tv show #percy jackson fandom #rick riordan #riordanverse #leah sava jeffries #leah jeffries #walker scobell #camp half blood #pjo series #disney percy jackson #annabeth chase #mine

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skipper19 · 6 months ago

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Imagine this...

It was purely a coincidence when Toji pulled up right next to your car at the red light.

God, he hates traffic. It was the bane of his existence. On the highway people just drove like fucking idiots, and Toji was never one to back away from a challenge. You want to flip him the bird? He will flip you two. You want to try and race him? He will gladly leave you in the dust. It didn't help that he rode on his motorcycle more than his truck. It was as if people felt the need to anger him more when he was on his bike.

So yeah, he was already in a grumpy mood when he pulled up to that red light. He groaned as he leaned back in his seat and interlocked his fingers, popping them with a slightl stretch. His knuckles had been white on the handles ever since that old lady flipped him off a few minutes earlier. God, he hated old people, too.

But the moment he slows to a stop next to a familiar looking car and finally glances to his right, he has to double take. Of course, he just had to run into you. You've been his girlfriend for three years now, and he's admittedly grown obsessed with you. But at the moment, Toji was growing even angrier.

Sure, he has a temper, but it felt justified this time.

You told him you were staying home today, so did you lie, or did something come up? Tojis mind just happened to settle on the worst.

He continued to stare at you for a few seconds, but you were too preoccupied with whoever you were on the phone with. You looked concerned, maybe a little panicked, but he could tell you were mostly angry.

Finally, you glanced to your left, and thinking your eyes deceived you, you took another look. The confusion in your eyes shifted to shock as you registered who you were looking at. Toji, in his black leather and that shiny black helmet, sitting on his bike right next to you.

You apologized and hung up on whoever you were talking to before putting your phone away. You nervously smile as Toji crosses his arms over his chest. The "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Radiating off of him. If you hadn't known him for so long, you would be even more intimidated than you were, but at the moment, you felt more anxious than anything.

Toji flipped his visor up, and the heated glare he was shooting at you was enough to get your knees weak. But not in the good way. "Toji-," you attempted to say, but you were cut off by the sound of the backseat window rolling down. Tojis eyes widened in shock when he saw 12 year old Megumi sitting in the back, cuts lining his cheek, his busted lip and the bruise under his eye, as the boy stared at his dad with a deadpan expression. Tojis eyes shot back to you, and you swallowed your spit nervously.

Before Toji could even attempt to speak, a car behind you both honked, startling him. You flinched and faced the rode, shielding your face from Toji as you sped away. Toji only caught a glimpse of Megumi sticking his tongue out at him before you were off. Toji, normally the road rager he is, ignores the honking car and hits the acceleration.

It takes seconds before Toji has caught up with your vehicle, but he swerves into the lane behind you, tailing your rear. Toji didn't give a fuck about the car he just cut off, his mind was elsewhere.

Why the fuck was Megumi beat up for? Did he get into a fight at school? Did he win?

You, on the other hand, avoided looking into the rear view mirror. The look of Tojis helmet was enough to make you nervous, but you could tell he was angry. And as his girlfriend, you knew he was worried as well, even if he would never show it as Megumis strong dad. You could only prepare yourself for the scolding, the questions, the worry, the everything Toji was once you both got home.

Exactly how angry was he? Did he already know about Megumis fight, is that why he was coincidentally there at the light? Will he be proud that Megumi won?

-------------------------------------------------♤

It was a tense atmosphere around you three. You sat at the kitchen counter as Megumi stood by your side, and Toji was on the opposite end of the kitchen island, just staring. He hadn't said a word to you or the little boy as you both parked your vehicles. And you could see the intensity in Tojis eyes.

"Care to tell me what the hell is goin' on?" His voice was deep and gravely. You glanced at Megumi, almost as if you expected the boy to speak up and save the whole situation. Of course, the raven haired boy only stood there calmly. Your fingers itched to dab at the bruise under Megumis eye, you wanted to heal him so bad it hurt.

But you weren't a sorcerer. You couldn't use any sort of technique on your boy. As if he needed it. For a kid his age, he's certainly tough.

You looked back at Toji with a timid smile. "Well.. Megumi got into a fight at school today." You started softly. Toji cut in, "No shit Sherlock." And you glared at him in response. He wanted to be mad? Fine. But you refused to have all this attitude from him. Fortunately, Megumi spoke up before you could throw an attitude right back at him.

"Some kid said something about mom..so I punched him in the face." Megumi said it so casually. Every time he would call you his mother, your heart would do leaps in your chest.

Toji scoffed and crossed his arms. He stared at Megumi for a few seconds before looking back to you. "This true?" He said, bringing his thumb to his mouth, probing his nail to his teeth. You couldn't help but soften at his obvious worry, but you also couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "Yes Toji, the principal said that Megumi started a fight with another boy. It took two teachers to get Megumi off that kid." You further explained.

You looked back at Megumi with a soft smile before gently rubbing your palm down his cheek. "Even though I wish you wouldn't have gotten yourself hurt." You mumbled, a slight scold forming on your tongue. Megumi shyly tilted his head away from your touch with a scowl. "Yeah, well.. he should have kept his mouth shut." Megumi retorted. Toji sighed and rubbed the pads of his thumb and pointer finger against his eyes.

"Does it hurt, kid?" The question was soft and hesitant. Toji has never been good at comforting others. Megumi shrugged casually and mimicked his father's pose, arms crossed over his chest. "It burns a little, but I can handle it." It sounded like a challenge from Megumi. As if he was saying, "doubt me, I dare you." And Toji only nodded. "Go to your room for a few minutes then.. I need to talk to your ma." Toji mumbled, eyes locking with yours.

Megumi silently looked between you both before nodding and walking to his room. You nervously look down at your fingers, fiddling with the cuticles around your nails. "Toji, I'm sorry -" You started to say. But Toji had begun to make his way around the kitchen island. He stood in front of you and pulled your head to his chest.

You were surprised, to say the least, but that didn't stop you from melting into his chest. "Thank you for taking care of Megs. You're a good mom." He mumbled, his breath fanning over the top of your head. Tears welded up in your eyes, and your shoulders sagged in releif.

Toji always knew what to say and what you were thinking.

"You're not mad?" You questioned timidly, wrapping your arms around his waist. Toji only hummed as he shook his head no. "No.. it's not your fault there's some asshole kids at Megumis school. And it's definitely not your fault that Megs had to defend your name." Tojis words sounded like pure sugar to your ears, with a bit of spice. "But he's hurt -" "He's a tough kid, like his daddy. Some douchebag kids can't hurt our son." Toji reassured you.

His confirmations were all you needed. You had been stressing ever since you picked up Megumi early for school. You couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed, like it was your fault Megumi got into trouble. Not only that, but he was actually hurt. Maybe he didn't fuss about the pain, but you certainly would.

Toji could feel your tears soak his shirt and let out an amused huff. He kneeled down so he was eye level with you, and he gently swiped his thumb under your eye. "Stop your crying, will ya? Megs is fine, and no one is mad at you for anything. You're a good mom, even if it's not biologically." Tojis, not so normally soft, voice rang through your head like a mantra. A deep breath entered your lungs, and you exhaled it after a few seconds. He was right, after all. Megumi was fine, a little bruised, but okay. And as long as Toji wasn't mad at you, your heart finally gave peace to the whole situation.

"Now.. how about I go up to Megs' school and have a chat with the principal?" God bless the poor soul.

#toji x you #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #megumi x platonic reader #some fluff #jjk fluff #fluff #tiny itty bit of angst #jjk comfort #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji

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yesimwriting · 4 months ago

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thinking about bsf!logan, who thinks the title is ridiculous. best friends are for little kids trying to justify who they invite to their birthday parties, not for anyone like him. but there's something about the way you say it, voice measured as your attention shifts between him and the nail of your thumb as you picks at your nail beds.

there's a shyness to the silence that follows that does't suit you. it means something to you, he realizes, and that--that might mean something to him.

you, who seems to have the world at your fingertips because no one ever manages to say no to you. you, who is never missing from movie nights or impromptu training sessions or anything because you're the first person invited. you, who everyone is so fond of sometimes logan can feel their communal warmth burning him out of your life, like some beast that's only vulnerability is light.

it's a reality he's been aware of from the very beginning. it's part of the reason he promised himself that he'd never take anything you didn't offer him willingly. and here you are, giving him something.

so he accepts it with a teasing, "i'm the best you could do?" that's a lot gruffer than it needs to be. you beam regardless, sitting up a little straighter as you tuck your knuckles beneath your chin.

you mumble something about having limited options, the answer a little flatter than you usually are. it is late, and you are the type to push against your own tiredness to make sure someone's awake to greet your friends when they get back from a mission you weren't needed for.

with a sigh, he looks back to his nearly empty beer bottle. "isn't it late for you to be up?"

you're immediately protesting, swearing that you're fine and that you just want to talk to him. the lack of tact in your reaction only proves his point further, but instead of pushing it, he downs the last of his beer. your eyes narrow. the openness of your skepticism is another indicator of the drowsiness you're ignoring.

logan sighs, pushing himself to stand so that he doesn't have to look at you as he says this next part, "c'mon." it's flat in its stiffness, maybe even a little awkward. he keeps his gaze focused on what's directly in front of him. "if you want to be 12, you should have a sleepover."

there's a beat of silence, of hesitation, and then you're moving to stand. you remain there for a second, silent and still. regret burrows itself somewhere between his lungs and ribcage.

then, you scoff, the sound light and familiar. "having a best friend isn't that 12-year-old."

a part of him is glad that his back is still to you. "i know, bub, you're completely grown up."

you let out a breath that might be a laugh, or a yawn, or some odd combination of both, as you step forward. "don't make fun of me when i'm too tired to defend myself."

once you're by his side, he begins to walk away from the kitchen table. "i thought you were fine."

you turn your head enough to glare at him. "don't start."

without thinking, he reaches forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as a reminder that he can. "i'd never."

----

a/n take this concept/drabble hybrid while i work through both writer's block and an overwhelming amount of homework <3 also if u liked this pls feel free to send me asks with thoughts for this concept, i love secretly-pining-best-friend trope :)

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #xmen x reader #x men x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader

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matan4il · 7 months ago

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In today's edition of "The UN is complicit," we now have proof that this "respectable" organization has been sweeping under the rug a crucial report on the situation in Gaza.

On Jun 5 this year, headlines based on false statements from the UN released on that day were still being published, claiming that by mid Jul over 1 million people (about half the Gazan population) could be facing the highest level of starvation if the war continues. This was when we've been going through 8 months of war, in which the UN constantly made claims of imminent genocidal starvation, now, right now, truly, any moment now, if the war doesn't stop.

Except, it turns out that on Jun 4 already (a day earlier than the UN's starvation claims were being made and published), the IPC (an organization made up of several NGOs and UN bodies) has had to admit that there is no reliable evidence of starvation in Gaza, or that its existence is even plausible. This is particularly significant because it was actually the IPC's own Mar 2024 report that many of the claims regarding starvation relied on!

(please read the linked article if you can, it also links to researchers like Mark Zlochkin, quoting the findings of the Famine Review Committee, which are compelling in showing that there is no starvation in Gaza)

This means the UN has known for two weeks at this point (in an official capacity) that there is no starvation, but proceeded to ignore and even contradict its own people on this.

It means Israel has been slandered by false accusations of causing intentional starvation when there is no evidence that there even is one for EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS, it means that the "clearest piece of evidence" of the supposed genocide in Gaza has never been substantiated, it means every Israel supporter accused of being pro-genocide has been deeply wronged, it means every antisemitic abuse of a Jewish person attacked over the situation in Gaza has been based on an antisemitic libel, it means countless anti-Jewish crimes have been justified using a lie that the UN has been actively enabling for two weeks (if we only count the time they've known about this on an official level, but since the UN has 13,000 employees on the ground in Gaza, it surely knew even before the Jun 4 report)...

And I find it particularly gruesome that I found out about the IPC report on the same day I learnt a 12 years old Jewish girl in France was gang raped as an antisemitic hate crime. This is the second time a Jewish female has been raped in France due to antisemitic motivation in recent months, when during the first rape (that we know of) the rapist was clear about his anti-Israel motivation. And we all know where the inspiration came from, to rape women just because they're Jewish, and knowing they will be victims who will not be listened to, or worse, whose rape will be justified as "resistance"...

IDK how anyone can have a conscience and not be bothered by this. All of it.

The UN is complicit.

The international NGOs are complicit.

The news sources that have not published the report are complicit.

The people who didn't believe rape reports from Oct 7 just because they came from Jews are complicit.

They all prove that Jews are NOT protected, or even just treated with basic human decency, as we should be.

My heart breaks for this girl. I wish I could do something for her, but there is nothing, except to scream here over this abhorrent injustice, and to beg people to raise their voice. Our sister's blood is calling out to us from the ground, and we CANNOT be silent.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #antisemitism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #un

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xclowniex · 3 months ago

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Re a post going around about someone's feelings towards the Palestinian flag and them working on it and getting unfairly dunked on (forgot who made it but please tag them if you know who):

What I'm going to say is going to be controversial to a certain crowd.

It is not abnormal for jews, both in Israel and the diaspora to have gut reactions to the Palestinian flag. This is not because of Palestinians and is literally psychology.

For Israeli jews, they get attacked by Hamas. They have to run to bomb shelters, hide and hope that they or any of their loved ones don't get killed. So many Israelis either knew a victim of Oct 7th or knows someone who knew a victim. And Oct 7th wasn't the first tome Hamas or some other group has attacked Israel.

Whether you like it or not, Israelis are human beings. Regardless of the Israeli government's actions, Israelis are human beings. It is not abnormal for someone to develop a gut reaction to seeing the flag of a country where SOME people from that country have tried to kill you, regardless of what the government of your country has done.

For diaspora jews, we have seen so many people, often times people who are not Palestinian, weaponsize what is going on in Gaza to hurt us. And that fucking sucks for everyone. It sucks on the front that people are finding ways to excuse and justify their antisemitism, and it sucks on the front that people are weaponizing Palestinian suffering full stop.

I have been harassed by strangers who wear a Palestinian flag pin, who do not know my opinion but see that I'm Jewish and will walk up to me or past me and call me slurs and insult me. It has gotten to the point where I've almost been attacked.

Then you see online a 12 year old Jewish girl being raped. Jews being attacked for simply walking past a pro Palestine protest in Germany as they have a destination which requires them to walk past the protest. We see at counter protests how it's mainly the jews at these protests who get hurt and rarely pro Israel goyim.

You see all of that done by people who claim to support Palestinians and use their flag.

It is hard not to have a gut reaction.

I can imagine that it is the exact same, if not worse, for palestinians and the Israeli flag.

And the thing with all of this is, all of us are allowed to feel fear, anxiety, at seeing flags. It does not indicate that we hate the people from the countries those flags represent, or that we want them wiped out. It is a survival mechanism that our brains have learnt to keep us safe.

Where it matters is our actions and wants.

It is never okay to harm people for holding or wearing the Israeli or Palestine flag. It is never okay to want people dead because of the country they're born in. And that's where it really matters.

I and so many others on both sides actively work to get rid of this gut reaction. For me personally, I am grateful that I have a good foundation to start from in that I only get the gut reaction when a non Palestinian person wears, holds or has it in their bio. But it is okay if you're not there yet.

It is honestly disgusting to have this moral purity that you have to have started with no gut reaction and that working on it and changing doesn't matter. Because it does matter.

Calling whoever made that post a bad person for actively working to fix that gut reaction is wrong and doesn't do anything to help them improve.

#antisemitism #jumblr #israel #i/p #palestine #i/p war #gaza #jewblr #am yisrael chai

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bloatedandalone04 · 3 months ago

Text

Tell Me What’s My Flavor

➪the one where jake is a college professor and also your boyfriend.

Warnings: smut, fluff, age gap (12 years), past student/teacher relationship, oral (f receiving), swearing, unprotected sex, crying during sex bc it’s that good

Word Count: 4k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 5.4K FOLLOWERS

Jake’s fingers were dusted with white chalk, his old-fashioned ways refusing to let him use the laptop and projector to teach his lessons. Maybe he’d upgrade to a white board and marker one day, but that’s as far as he was going.

His back was turned to his students as he wrote out the lesson plan for the last half of the class, which was pretty much textbook questions since he actually wanted people to use the things they paid for, and he knew for a fact that his colleagues didn’t use the textbooks much in their classes.

He knew he liked his job a bit too much and/or was getting a bit too old since the soft scratching of the chalk on the black board was soothing to him, while he was sure the seventeen twenty year olds behind him were getting a tad irritated at the sound.

Jake’s button up was slightly wrinkled from this morning, when you bunched it up in your hands as you made out in his car outside of campus for a good twenty minutes before class, and he hoped it wasn’t extremely obvious as to why the fabric was so scrunched up. The last thing he needed was for there to be gossip about what he got up to in his free time, and who he got up to with.

God, you were so sexy and so beautiful, Jake still couldn’t believe you had chosen him to be your boyfriend when there were hundreds of younger guys on campus. But you told him you had a thing for older guys, and he had a thing for you.

He’d been teaching at this school for about five years now, and he met you in his fourth year here. A year and a half ago, you were actually one of his students, and you were so confident and so stunning, he didn’t stand a chance. Though he tried not to, he fell for you hard, and thankfully you fell for him back, despite the twelve year age gap, with you being twenty three now and him being thirty five.

It was hard to be both your boyfriend and your teacher, and fuck if it didn’t make him feel fucking guilty at times, but the two of you manged to keep it a secret so you didn’t get expelled, and he didn’t get fired. Secret kisses here and there, sleepovers at his apartment and quick hookups in his car were what you did for a good year, but that semester was over, and it was a bit easier now that he didn’t have to worry about his girlfriend getting offended if he gave her a justifiably bad grade since you weren’t his student anymore.

That was one thing he made sure to do; treat you as equal in class so, one, no one questioned why he had a soft spot for you, and two, because you were there to learn and be graded fairly, and that was the least he could do, really.

With that being said, because of the twelve year age gap, it sometimes felt a lot bigger when Jake realized that you were in pretty different places in your lives, with him well into his career and you trying to get started in one. Still, he wouldn’t change a thing (except for maybe falling for you while you were his student, because he still didn’t know how to explain that one to his friends), because he was in love with you, and you loved him right back.

You also made sure to remind him that you were so happy that he was so much more mature compared to all the losers on campus, and that shouldn’t make him feel so full of pride, but here he is.

You still had to keep your relationship private for now, since you were still a student, just not his anymore.

By day, Jake was a somewhat strict but also very easygoing college professor, and by night, he was your older boyfriend who would gladly spend hours on end fucking you into his mattress before falling asleep with you in his arms.

He had just finished writing the instructions on the board when he glanced over at the door to the classroom, the small window revealing his favorite person standing in the hall. You gave him a flirty smile, tilting your head as you brought your hand up and waved your fingers at him, making his grip loosen on the piece of chalk.

Even though he had just seen you this morning, your short skirt and cropped top still made him bite down on his lip as he tried to keep his cool. You curled your index finger, beckoning him into the hallway with you, then you brought that same finger up to your lips in a gesture for him to be quiet about it.

He raised a brow, smirking over at you as he dropped his arm down to his side. He knew exactly what you wanted, and he knew he wanted it too. Badly.

The rational part of his brain screamed at him to turn away and apologize to you for it later, and reminded him how you and he needed to be careful, but the rest of him didn’t give a fuck.

Jake turned to the class with a tight smile, tossing the piece of chalk onto his desk. “Sorry, everyone,” he said, giving his best natural smile. “I need to step out for a few minutes. Get started on these and we’ll pick up where we left off when I get back.”

That was a good cover, right?

After he got a bunch of mumbled responses and heard the sound of multiple pages being turned, he quickly walked over to the door and stepped out into the empty hall with you. Almost instantly, your hands were on his shoulders and your mouth was against his as he pulled you into his arms.

“I missed you,” you mumbled in between kisses, your hands bunching up his shirt again, similar to how you did it in the car earlier. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to interrupt your classes like this, but mine ended early, and I missed you.”

Jake groaned, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips. “Don’t apologize, you can interrupt me anytime,” he murmured against your lips. “And fuck, I missed you too, baby.”

He nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away and looking down at your outfit that was driving him as wild as it did two hours ago. Fuck, it had only been two hours and he missed you like crazy. What was wrong with him?

“God, you look so fucking pretty. So fucking sexy,” he huffed out, turning his head to make sure that the hallway was still empty as his hands slid up to brush against the gap of skin between the hem of your top and your skirt. “How am I supposed to focus when all I can think about is bending you over my desk and fucking you senesless?”

You grinned, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you hummed. “Well, we have fucked on your desk more times than I can count on both hands,” you mumbled, your fingers coming up to smooth out the collar of his wrinkled shirt. “I’m surprised you can even focus in there at all when you know that you’ve made me cum so many times on that very desk.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned quietly, placing a soft kiss to your jaw, “Every time I sit at that desk, all I can picture is you bent over over it while I rail you from behind.”

You laughed quietly, covering your mouth as you also looked around the hall again. “That’s a really pretty picture,”

Jake nodded in agreement before lifting his hand to caress your face. “Dinner at my place tonight? I’ll cook and clean up, and then we can pick up right where we left off here,” he offered, eyes darkening a bit at the thought of getting you all to himself later.

“You know I’d never pass that up,” you reply, leaning up to steal one last kiss. “Am I sleeping over again tonight?”

“Absolutely,” he answered, “I plan on keeping you in my bed all weekend long, baby.”

You grinned in excitement, “Sounds fun. I love you. Think of me during the rest of your class,”

“I will,” he laughed, stealing one last kiss of his own before stepping away from you. “I love you too. Now get out of here before you get us both in trouble.”

You gave him a firm nod, a poorly hidden smile on your lips as you turned around and quickly made your way towards the exit doors at the end of the hallway, and Jake was already counting down the minutes left until class was over and he could have you back in his arms.

After Jake finished with his classes for the day, he returned home and spent the rest of the afternoon tidying up his apartment before getting started on dinner. In the year and a half he’s been with you, he learned that you have a rather plain palate since you usually just skipped meals or ate out (he remembered he was a similar way when he was in college and barely had time to actually make himself a proper dinner), but you liked pasta quite a lot. Which, to be fair, is a pretty simple dish, but he’d make it for you as often as you wanted it, and you wanted it tonight.

Just after six, he heard the door open and close quietly, before your voice called out to him. Then you were peeking your head into the dining room, a pretty smile on your lips as you met his eyes from across the room. “Hi,” you murmured just as he set the plates down.

“There’s my girl,” he grinned, reaching for you once you entered the dining room and pulling you into his arms. He peppered your face with kisses as you set your bag down by the chair, your quiet laugh making his grin widen. “I missed you. Dinner’s ready when you are.”

You gave him a grateful smile as you pulled away. “Now? I didn’t get to have breakfast and I skipped lunch, so I’m kinda starving,”

Jake hummed, raising a brow at your lack of care for yourself, and he was actually very happy that you had him to look after you since he was sure you’d forget to eat a lot if you hadn’t started dating him. “Of course, but first,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist before you could turn away. He pulled you back to him and pressed a deep kiss to your lips, his fingers cradling your jaw. “There. Now we can go eat.”

Your face was red as you sat down at the table, your eyes raking over the simple yet tasty looking pasta. “God, you’re so romantic,” you sighed dramatically before smiling up at him as he pushed your chair in for you. “Your exes are so fucking stupid for letting you go. But now I got you.”

You leaned up towards him and he moved down to meet you halfway for a chaste kiss.

“Thank you, Jake, this is perfect,” you whispered against his mouth before pulling away. “Just like you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about perfect,” he laughed as he sat down next to you at the table. “Perfection is overrated, flaws are interesting. Luckily for me, I have a lot of those.”

Jake was aware of just how fucking stupid that sounded, but he’s spent the last seven years of his life as a teacher. It was kind of impossible for him to not over-analyze and over-explain things at times.

He was also very aware of just how domestic this whole thing felt, and he would be lying if he were to say that he hadn’t been craving this feeling for quite some time now.

“Besides,” he added, not wanting to sound like a total fucking geek in front of you, even though he kind of is one. “If I was perfect, I probably wouldn’t have ended up with you in the end because I wouldn’t have gotten broken up with.”

You laughed and shook your head as you picked up your fork and took a bite. “Speaking of…” you trailed off once you finished chewing, and your leg brushed against his under the table. “We haven’t really talked about that much. How many girlfriends did you have before me?” Your voice held no hints of jealousy, just curiosity, so Jake knew this wasn’t a test and he didn’t have to be careful with this topic.

He reached for his beer he opened before you got here. “Um…there was Jenna for about two years, then there was Hannah for just under one. I had a few short flings here and there, but nothing all that serious. Not until I met you,” he answered, “You’re different, someone I actually connect with in more ways than one, even if you are a brat sometimes and pull me out of my classes.”

You hummed and smiled over at him, leaning your chin on your hand as you purse your lips. “Am I…you know, the youngest girlfriend you’ve had?” You asked, and this time you sounded a bit hesitant.

Jake set his beer down and reached for your hand instead. “Well, yeah,” he replied, “But don’t sell yourself short, baby. Yeah, we have a bit of an age gap, but that doesn’t really mean anything. I may be a bit older, but you bring out a side of me I didn’t even know I had, and I reel you back in when you need me to. We balance each other out damn near perfectly, I’d say.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand. “Yeah, we do…and you…see us lasting?” You murmur, looking down at your half eaten plate with a faint blush on your face. Now you sounded vulnerable, and Jake hated it, but you didn’t let him answer before you continued, “I know we’re at different places in our lives, but I know that I want you, Jake. You’re the first boyfriend I’ve had who’s made me feel like this; so good and seen and, well, you don’t treat me like a child. You treat me like I’m your world, and I just…I love you, more than I thought possible, and I want to know if you see a future with me. Could you see yourself, you know, marrying me?”

Jake’s eyes flickered between yours, and he knew that you were putting your heart on your sleeve right now, and he wasn’t about to say the wrong thing. He set his fork down and got up from his chair, only to kneel next to yours. “Baby, I see a lifetime with you. You’re not just my girlfriend, you’re my partner. Yeah, my life has been pretty fucking great, but then I met you and I don’t see a future without you in it,” he took your hands in his, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. “Yes, I do see myself marrying you. That would make me so fucking happy, but further down the road, when we’re both ready for it.”

The uncertainty in your eyes faded, and you smiled down at him as you turned to face him properly. “So this is a real thing?” You asked, leaning down to press your forehead to his. “We’re good?”

Jake laughed under his breath before nodding. “We’re more than good. We’re solid, baby. You and me, and I’m not going anywhere,” he nuzzles his nose against yours, murmuring the words he’s known since he met you. “You’re my forever girl, now and always.”

A soft whine left your lips, and you seemed to have forgotten all about the rest of your dinner as you pushed him back onto his heels before you got up and moved to straddle his lap. “I love you,” you whispered, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as you kissed him deeply. “It’s so stupid how much I love you. You’re all I think about. When I’m in class, all I can think about is when you were my teacher and we’d have to pretend we weren’t fucking in your bed the night before.”

Jake groaned, kissing you again as his hands settled on your waist. Your words had him also thinking back to when he’d have to make sure he didn’t spend his entire lesson looking at just you and thinking about how you’d be at his apartment with him once the class was over. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he grunted, his hands sliding down to grasp your ass. “The things I wanted to do to you. Fuck, I need you. Right now. Fuck dinner.”

You squealed as he easily stood up with you clinging to his front, his lips pressing to your neck as he made a beeline for the hallway. “Are you going to make love to me, Jake?” You whimpered as you pulled at his hair, trying to rub yourself against his abs as he carried you into his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby. I’m going to kiss every inch of you and make you feel so good,” he promised, laying you down gently on his bed. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor before he crawled on top of you, one of his knees sliding between your thighs as he connected your lips again. His hands pulled up your sinful little crop top and tossed it aside before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Once your top half was bare, Jake pulled away from your lips and began placing open mouthed kisses to your skin, whispering anything that came to mind. “You’re so beautiful, my gorgeous girl. My forever love.”

“Jake,” you gasped, leaning back on his pillow as his hand slid up your skirt and brushed along your clothed core at the same time his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples. “Please…please.”

Your hands pulled at his hair in a way that had him groaning against your soft skin. “Patience, baby,” he murmured, pulling away from your chest as his hands tugged down both your skirt and panties and let them join the rest of your clothes on the floor. Then he was burying his face between your thighs, parting your folds with long, slow strokes of his tongue and moaning at the sweet taste of you.

His nose bumped against your puffy clit as his tongue slid inside your warmth, his hands wrapping around your thighs to spread them even wider as he ravished you. “Fuck,” you cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Oh, God…just like that.”

Your sounds were music to Jake’s ears, and they only spurred him on. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucked on it, coaxing more and more of those sweet sounds from your mouth until your back was arching and your hand was pulling harder on his hair. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, flicking your bundle of nerves with his tongue. “Cum for me. Let me taste you.”

Not long after he said those words, you were writhing against his bed and coming on his tongue. Your sweet taste coated his mouth and chin, and he licked up every drop until you were shaking and softly crying his name.

He pulled away from your sensitive core and crawled back up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep kiss as he muttered, “So fucking beautiful,” and ground his erection against your hip.

You moaned against his mouth, kissing him back messily as you pulled him impossibly closer to you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your shaky fingers unzipping and pushing down his jeans as you bucked your hips against his. “Please,” you whimpered, still shaking in his arms.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Jake hushed you softly, cradling your face with one hand while his other reached down to grip the base of his cock, and he slowly entered you with one smooth thrust. “Fuck…you’re so tight.”

He held still for a few seconds before beginning to move, finding a steady rhythm as he rocked into you with deep, slow thrusts. His hand slid beneath your knee, hiking your leg up higher on his hip as he found an even deeper angle, and the soft whine you let out went straight to his head.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he rasped, keeping your leg wrapped firmly around his waist as he sped up just a bit, his eyes fixed on the gentle sway of your breasts.

“Oh, God,” you cried out, squeezing your eyes shut as your head tipped back on the pillow again. Your moans were loud as you turned your head and buried your nose into the fabric that smelled like his shampoo and body wash. “Jake.” you whimpered, and he could see the tears gather along your waterline as he fucked you slowly into his mattress, letting you feel every single inch of his cock.

He leaned down, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth as he cradled your head. “I’m right here, baby,” he whispered, “I got you. You’re so perfect.” He knew that made him a hypocrite since he said that perfection was overrated, but here you were; stunning in every way possible and so damn right for him. That was the only way he could describe it. You. Perfect.

Jake’s hands were all over your body, caressing every curve he knew so well as your moans got louder and more frequent. “Fuck…I’m not perfect, Jake. You are,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead against his.

“Shh, yes you are. You’re so fucking perfect, flaws and all, and everything that makes you the woman I fell in love with,” he grunted, peppering kisses along your face as he thrust a bit faster into you. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. You’re everything, baby. And I promise, no matter what, you’ll always have me.”

Jake was sweating a bit, his release creeping up on him from how good your body felt, and he wanted this to last forever.

“Jake, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warned quietly, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as you tugged on his hair. The slick sound of your bodies meeting over and over again grew louder as you let out a soft cry of his name, then you were shaking in arms once again.

His heart had never felt this full, his whole body thrumming as he rocked into you until he came deep inside of you, his vision blurring a bit at the intensity of it all. “Fuck,” he groaned, burying his face against the side of your neck as he shuddered through the aftershocks. “I love you.”

Jake wrapped you up in his arms, cuddling your body against his chest as you both tried to catch your breath. “I love you too,” you mumbled, tangling your legs with his. “Thank you for dinner…even though we didn’t actually get through all of it.”

His lips turned upwards as he laughed, brushing his nose against yours. “Our priorities shifted,” he muttered, running his hand up the back of your thigh as he nuzzled his face against your shoulder and closed his eyes. “Need to rest my eyes for a sec, baby. Wake me up when you’re ready for round two.”

Your soft laugh had his smile growing, and that’s how he fell asleep, wrapped up in the arms of the person who had quickly stolen his heart, and he hoped like hell that you never gave it back to him.

Because as long as you had it, he knew he’d spend the rest of his being so fucking happy with you by his side.

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