#but I want to write for the sake of writing

[maryellencarter]

There's this little cottage industry of far-right Christian films that are mostly direct to video -- commonly cheap animation for kids, like VeggieTales (one of the least right-wing of the bunch, which probably contributed to its wider popularity), but there's a subset that are live action for adult audiences.

That subset are pretty much always made by frustrated auteurs who would have flunked out of film school if they hadn't been prevented from going by fears of the woke left, and they're... bad. Very bad. Heavy-handed message writing, incomprehensibly artsy cutting and pacing, absolutely no humor to distract from the self-importance -- and occasionally one manages to wrangle a limited theater release, and people of the correct religio-political stripe parrot the advertising about how *this* one will Reach The Unchurched (okay, we were Catholic, we didn't actually say "unchurched", but the attitude was exactly that) and drag their large bundles of kids to sit through the show in a form of activism that's supposed to Show Support and win the film a legitimate wide release.

(I have no idea if you can actually get an art film to wide release by having enough ticket sales. Obviously none of these would have gotten there even if that's how it works. I am... dubious though.)

Anyway! Point is! There was this Catholic-specific one, a life of St Thérèse of Lisieux, and it turned out that its particular auteur was a frustrated *horror* director. It would have been fairly meh direct-to-video horror in a tame way -- ominous, creepy, vignette lighting on the flashbacks. Thérèse was a sickly child and the only interesting thing to do with her childhood is lean on the fever hallucinations. (Even written lives of St Thérèse go heavy on the fever hallucinations.) Which would have been just another crappy movie to sit through and I wouldn't remember it so vividly, but then at the end when she's dying of the tuberculosis -- you're supposed to go a bit inspiration-porn, right? The audience knows she's going to heaven, get some nobility of suffering in there, get the swelling string instruments, a couple of dainty coughs and let her "pass away in the odor of sanctity".

(Look, I didn't make up the phrase. She's legitimately supposed to have been surrounded by the miraculous and unexplained smell of roses when she died. It's a saint thing.)

Noooooope. Time for a graphic scene of coughing herself to death as her lungs fill with blood, like a *real* tuberculosis patient. No string instruments, just uncomfortably extended suffering for suffering's sake.

So the reason it stands out as the worst movie I've ever seen is that it actually changed my stance on assisted suicide. Previously, I was opposed to it in all circumstances, like a good little Catholic. But -- we know she's going to heaven, *God* knows she's going to heaven, her soul doesn't need further purification from getting the absolute last dribs and drabs of suffering available, just let her fucking die already!

Which is not at all what the movie actually wanted people to come away thinking. So it was the worst movie I've seen in the sense of the most abject failure to do anything it was aiming to do.

(A movie that did religious torture-porn on purpose and did it extremely well was "The Passion of the Christ", the movie associated with Mel Gibson in some way I don't remember now. When you actually have professionals, funding, and skilled editors working on a religious piece, it can be well made. Would I call it "good"? You'd need a clear definition of good. I wouldn't call it a movie most people should *watch*. But by god, it did what it was trying to do.)

What would you guys consider the worst movie you've ever seen? Not something that's fun to make fun of, nothing you ironically enjoyed, I mean just an absolutely miserable moviegoing experience that you paid for, hated every second, and wish you had walked out of and asked for a refund.

For me, no joke, Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. It did not even feel like a real movie to me. It made me see red! I was SEETHING with anger and annoyance throughout the entire thing, and I cannot for the life of me articulate why. I saw it once in 2012 when I was 15, I remember almost nothing about it now, but it struck a nerve with me like no other movie ever has before or since.

Tell me in the tags, which movie makes you disproportionately angry just thinking about it?

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ love

synopsis: you pass mattheo a book, barely looking up as you say, “here you go, love.” simple. casual. nothing to dwell on. except mattheo is sitting there, ears burning, heart stuttering, already spiraling. what does this mean? do you call everyone that? were you always something? is he imagining things? what were you guys now? merlin, he’s doomed content warnings: mattheo being the whippiest whipped guy in town, fluff overload—may cause uncontrollable smiling

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 586

The library was peacefully quiet, the soft glow of candlelight flickering over the pages of your books as you diligently scribbled down notes for your Potions essay. Across from you, Mattheo Riddle sat in his usual careless sprawl, lazily flipping through a book, though you were fairly certain he hadn’t actually absorbed a single word.

You barely glanced up as you grabbed another book from your pile and held it out to him as he took it, his fingers brushing yours. “Here you go, love. This one might help.”

Silence.

Complete. Utter. Silence.

You, completely unaware, continued writing, casually tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you skimmed the paragraph in front of you. But across the table, Mattheo had frozen. The book slipped slightly in his grip, his breath hitching as the words fully registered in his brain.

Did you just—?

He felt warmth creeping up his neck, pooling in his ears before spreading to his cheeks. His heart was doing this ridiculous little stutter in his chest, and his fingers curled against the book cover as if it could somehow ground him.

You, meanwhile, just kept flipping pages, completely unbothered, while he sat there losing his mind.

Did you even realize what you had just said? Did you mean it the way he wanted you to? Was this just a casual thing for you, or—? What were you guys now?!

Mattheo had no idea how much time passed before Lorenzo slid into the seat next to him in the common room later that evening, his expression nothing short of entertained.

“You’re pathetic,” Lorenzo announced cheerfully.

Mattheo, who was currently replaying the moment for the hundredth time, groaned. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Lorenzo said, grinning. “Just that you turned into a literal human tomato when she called you ‘love.’”

Mattheo sat up immediately, looking scandalized. “I did not.”

Lorenzo simply raised a brow. “Mate, you looked like you were about to pass out.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Pansy plopped down beside him, smirking. “Oh, you mean when she called him ‘love’ in the library?”

Mattheo groaned, shoving his face into his hands. “Merlin’s sake, does everyone know?!”

“Yes,” Theodore chimed in from the couch without looking up from his book. “Because you were absolutely useless for the rest of the afternoon.”

Pansy leaned forward, her grin widening. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Mattheo peeked at her through his fingers. “Do about it?”

“You’re not just going to sit there and hope she says it again, are you?” she pressed.

“…Maybe?”

Lorenzo let out a dramatic sigh. “Hopeless.”

Mattheo groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “She didn’t even notice! She just—she just kept going like it was nothing.”

Pansy, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. “That just means you have to make her notice.”

Mattheo frowned. “How?”

A slow smirk spread across her face. “Call her ‘love’ back.”

Mattheo blinked. “I—I can’t just do that.”

“Why not?” Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the confidence of a prince when you’re flirting with random girls, but the moment she calls you ‘love’ you turn into a puddle?”

Lorenzo snickered. “Pathetic.”

Mattheo groaned for what felt like the hundredth time that night, sinking further into the couch.

Pansy just patted his shoulder. “Cheer up, loverboy. I’m sure she’ll call you ‘love’ again eventually.”

Mattheo sighed, closing his eyes as a small, hopeless smile played on his lips.

Merlin, he hoped so.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[qiu-yan]

avoidance

if i had been in jiang cheng's position immediately after the fall of lotus pier, i probably would not have tried to strangle wei wuxian.

i don't like dealing with negative emotions, so instead i'd probably say some bullshit like "whaaat? no, it's not your fault and i don't blame you at all, so don't worry about it," and then just put all my energy towards trying to survive. except i would blame wei wuxian. i would very much blame him, from the depths of my soul. even if i tried my hardest to convince myself not to blame him, that i should not blame him, that i do not want to blame him - nonetheless, my subconscious would remain convinced that, were it not for him, my family and everyone i grew up with would still be alive.

and, because of that resentment, i would begin to pull away from him.

i would not save wei wuxian from that wen patrol. even if i did love that deeply, my resentment would still blunt my reaction time and i would not be able to act in time. for the sake of convenience, let's say that wen ning rescues wei wuxian from lotus pier anyways. wei wuxian lives. what happens then? on one hand, i still resent him for causing the deaths of all my family; on the other hand, though, now i also feel guilty for allowing him to be captured and tortured simply because i would not die in his place. how do i deal with these complicated emotions - these unsightly, ugly emotions? i don't. i bury them and pretend they don't exist, because running away from difficult feelings is how i've always lived my life - i run away from him, because whenever i see him, this twinned of resentment and guilt rear their ugly heads again.

thus, because of my emotional unavailability, the relationship tanks. maybe wei wuxian gets his core melted, somehow picks up demonic cultivation anyways, and is thus pulling away from me as well; maybe the avoidance comes from both ends. and if wei wuxian instead notices that something is wrong and starts pestering me about what's wrong - well, i have full faith in my ability to deflect. i am long-practiced in diverting the focus of a conversation specifically to imply that the other party's concern isn't welcome.

thus, by the time the sunshot campaign ends, our relationship would have severely deteriorated. and then, because of this, i would take wei wuxian leaving our sect to protect the wen remnants as the actual end of our bond. unlike jiang cheng, i would not even argue against wei wuxian's leaving, nor say things as sentimental as "if you insist on protecting them, then i cannot protect you" - instead, i'd simply write off our relationship as doomed and sever it peacefully.

after all, he owes me nothing. i am entitled to neither his labor nor his presence. if he wishes to leave, then he is free to go; if he wishes to no longer be family, the i will no longer think of him as so. in fact, the less familiarly i think of him, the better: it is at once much easier and much more comfortable for me to believe, in a post-hoc sense, that someone who has left me actually never wanted to be with me to begin with, and i therefore have not lost anything of value at all. and this loss would not hurt me as much as it hurt jiang cheng in canon. after all, i, unlike jiang cheng, am a veteran at avoiding all thought on topics that distress me; instead, i'd soon find something new and exciting with which to distract myself.

i would not visit wei wuxian in the burial mounds. if jiang yanli insisted on seeing him, perhaps i would accompany her there, but i would not make any conversation with him myself beyond what is absolutely necessary. i would consider the death of jin zixuan unforgivable. i would consider the death of jiang yanli unforgivable. but perhaps i would not feel as wretchedly betrayed as jiang cheng does in canon: after all, i in this scenario, unlike jiang cheng, have already given up on wei wuxian a long time ago.

i would probably lead the first siege of the burial mounds. i would not hold the same level of animosity against the wens as jiang cheng does in canon - in general, while i can hold onto subconscious resentment for a long time, actively clinging onto seething hatred for extended periods of time is difficult for me. perhaps i'd even speak up more for the wen remnants, out of purely some abstract moral concern for the wellbeing of POWs; however, i'd stand down the moment any of said speech put my own people in danger. perhaps i'd lead the first siege of the burial mounds because it is expected of me. or perhaps i'd genuinely want the man who hurt my sister to die.

either way, if i then encountered wei wuxian in the burial mounds battlefield, i would actually kill him. it would be easy for me to do so.

---

as you might have guessed, the "i" in this passage is not actually me (yanyan) from real life. if it were Me In Real Life in jiang cheng's position i would probably just die.

instead, the "i" in thjis passage is a different MDZS character. prize for you (bragging rights) if you can guess who it is!!!!!

[lightlyblooming]

What if it wasn't a joke?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: What if Natasha’s teasing wasn’t a joke? 

Words: 2.1k

I tapped my fingers on the glossy wooden table in front of me, following the tempo of the conversation around me. The cacophony of voices flitted through my mind, going in one ear and out the other. 

What was supposed to be a swift debriefing with the rest of the Avengers had stretched into its third hour. I’d lost my patience two and a half hours ago when Tony Stark started talking about possible technological improvements he could add to the Avenger’s headquarters. It had only gone down from there.

I stared down at my leather folder opened on the table, letting out a slightly too-loud sigh when I saw the two sentences of notes I’d managed to put down. Only two sentences of actually useful information. Three hours, two sentences. Three hours for two sentences. 

My fingers curled into a fist. I picked up my pen, if only so that my frustration wouldn’t show. I hovered the pen over the clean piece of paper, but that only caused my anger to grow because there wasn’t anything to write.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dropped the pen, grateful for the distraction.

I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my phone, ignoring the sidelong glance I got from Steve Rogers. Phones technically weren’t allowed during meetings, but confidential information had stopped being shared hours ago. I doubted it’d matter if I leaked a conversation over what type of flavoured water they wanted in the lounge this month.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I read the notification that lit up the screen. 

Natasha: Busy daydreaming about me?

I raised my eyes to Natasha, my smile growing further when I noticed she had already been watching me. Her blue eyes twinkled with humour, but her features betrayed nothing. Her expression was just as blank, severe, and stoic as it had been for the last few hours.

Natasha only held my eyes for a handful of moments before she turned away, returning her steady attention to the conversation.

I texted back: I’m just thinking about how this meeting could’ve been an email.

Natasha picked up her phone a few moments later. Her expression didn’t change, and I was too far away to notice any other minor changes. I looked back to the nearly blank paper in front of me. 

Every second I spent waiting for her response felt like an eternity. I started to tap my fingers again.

After what felt like forever, my phone buzzed.

Natasha: I wouldn’t have seen you if it was an email.

A second later, she added: And I do enjoy watching you when you’re frustrated.

My eyes shot to her. She merely stared back at me, watching, waiting. I blinked at her, hoping she’d offer any kind of reaction for me to read. Instead, she picked her phone up, her fingers moving across the screen.

I lowered my eyes to the paper and put my phone on the empty sheet. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. My leg, the traitorous thing, started to bounce. My body tensed with every moment that passed. My breaths grew shallow as I waited for that screen to light up.

What was taking her so long? She had to be writing an essay if it was taking her this long to finish. I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked leaving me waiting.

My heart skipped when the screen lit up, only for it to drop deep into my gut when I read the text.

Natasha: It’s even better when you get flustered and start blushing.

I shut off my phone and shoved it into my pocket.

My head thundered in my chest as heat prickled on my cheeks. I silently cursed myself for playing right into her hand. 

It wasn’t like it was a surprise. She’d joke far too often about how easy it was to throw me off and the enjoyment she got from it wasn’t a secret. She always pushed it and tested it, seeing what measure of responses she could get. One glance. One smile. One whispered word. One step too close. A touch that lingered too long. For fuck’s sake, one sentence that toed the line between friendly banter and flirtatious teasing would leave me dumbed down and unable to speak for hours.

I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, hating the way I shook. I focused on my breaths, reread those two stupid sentences written on the paper. I willed the heat to fall from my face. I counted through my breathing. I picked up my pen and clicked it over and over again.

I was a fool for being affected by her. It was nothing. It meant nothing. It was a game to her, just a way to fill time and push away excruciating boredom.

I reminded myself of all those moments Natasha had toyed with me, only to pull away a moment later. 

I remembered the hours we had spent crouched in some dark hole, waiting out a mission, her faint touches oh-so-clear in the pitch black. I recalled the way she had looked at me days later when I had brought it up, her face flush with confusion and eyes so cold it was like looking at a stranger. 

I remembered the first time we’d exchanged personal numbers after becoming part of the Avengers. It had only been a handful of years since we’d worked together in the Red Room, yet she treated me like she’d never seen me before.

I remembered the hours of texting we’d do in those fluid hours of the night when time lost all meaning. Then the absence of contact in the morning, followed by stilted small talk that’d build a chasm between us. 

I glanced over at Natasha. My heart stung when I saw her stoic expression fixed on Wanda Maximoff.

I closed the folder and got to my feet. The rest of the Avengers at the table glared at me, but I ignored them. There was no reason for me to stay. The important parts of the meeting were done. I hadn’t needed to chime in for well over an hour. And I didn’t feel like torturing myself with Natasha’s cold distance for any longer.

⧗

I stirred my half-melted cocktail with the metal straw. The metal clicked against the glass. A chill wind brushed over my skin and rustled my hair, causing goosebumps to prickle along my arms. 

The Avengers compound had long since settled into its peaceful night operations. All the lights had been dimmed, the large mass of day staff had been sent home or to their rooms, the headache-inducing sound of jets coming and going had finally stopped. These small hours of the night were the only time I got any solitude. 

I watched the tarmac from the balcony, taking in the quinjets that had been left out and the skeleton crew that maintained them.

They always had to be ready, waiting, should the sky fall open and the Avengers had to be on the other side of the world in an hour. I always had to be ready to answer the call, be prepared for anything at any moment. I hadn’t even left the compound for a non-Avengers related reason for… months. It was too risky.

I looked down at the cocktail in my hand and braced my arm against the balcony railing. I sighed and pursed my lips at it.

Despite the small amount of alcohol I’d had, I could feel the warmth of drunkenness spreading through my limbs and a delightful buzz that clouded my mind. I was already too far gone to fly, or fight, or do any amount of strategic thinking. Drinking more would only multiply that and make my recovery take longer. If there was an emergency and I got called out--

The door to the balcony softly clicked open and I whipped my head around, muscles going taught. 

The moment I laid my eyes on Natasha, who stood silently in the doorway, I let out a breath and allowed my shoulders to slump. The warm glow of the Avenger’s lounge silhouetted her form and took the sharp edges out of her appearance. 

She almost seemed vulnerable there, in her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid. The light caught the loose strands of her hair, making it look like strings of spun gold. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to the smooth plane of her neck. I couldn’t stop the prying thoughts that wondered how it would feel, how it would taste, if she’d just let me get close enough.

I pressed my lips closed and squeezed my eyes. I gave myself a moment to breathe and settle my system before I turned around and fixed my eyes on the cocktail cradled in my hands.

The stupid drink, wiping away every ounce of self-preservation I had.

The door clicked shut and Natasha walked up beside me, bracing her arms on the railing, mirroring my position. A beer bottle hung from her fingers, dangling precariously over the distant ground. Natasha took a swig and from the sound of it, she was quite far into her drink as well. At least I wasn’t the only intoxicated one.

I sipped at my now fully melted cocktail. I winced at the overwhelmingly sweet liquid. Without the ice to break up the taste, it had turned into a cloying mixture of syrup and rum.

“Too hard for you?” Natasha’s voice was low and heavy. 

Her voice tugged at something deep in the pit of my gut. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breaths shuddered. Heat prickled at my cheeks, and I prayed that Natasha thought it was because of the alcohol. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes and knew my prayers had fallen upon deaf ears when I saw the teasing tilt to her lips.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the illusion of sanctity the darkness granted, but the truth came out before I could even consider filtering my words, “A bit.”

Natasha’s ghost of a smile grew into a full-on grin. Her voice dipped into a sultry drawl that raked along my bones, “You should let me buy you a drink some time. I can show you what hard feels like.”

My hand tightened around the glass. I opened my mouth, prepared to spit out one of the million scripted rejections I had tucked in the back of my mind, but stopped short.

I schooled my features and turned towards Natasha. I took in her stance: her relaxed shoulders, fingers that fidgeted with the rim of the beer bottle, her ram-rod straight back, her attentive eyes, her welcoming smile, the way her head tilted just-so. She was expectant, waiting, and… nervous? A furrow ghosted in the space between her brows. Tiny fragments of uncertainty flashed across her face.

I swallowed and stared into her eyes. I tapped my thigh with my free hand. Silence stretched between us. My muscles tensed with every second that crept by.

I was such an idiot. A fool. My hesitation revealed more than I ever wanted Natasha to know. My growing silence stripped me bare and made me more naked than I would’ve been if I had merely removed my clothes. 

“Or--” Natasha’s words were slow, hesitant, searching, “--you can buy me one of those cocktails you always get, we can get drunk, and I can stop calling you a lightweight.”

I pressed my lips together and searched Natasha’s expression. All I found was a gentle vulnerability. There was teasing, yes, but behind all that was an openness I’d never seen in her before. 

What if, this time, it was a genuine offer? What if I said yes? Would she take me to a bar, let me order her a drink, and end the night with more than a painfully professional handshake? Or would she laugh and back off, making me look like a fool for even considering the offer?

My mind was too clouded to make a clear choice. I couldn’t discern anything more from her expression. I couldn’t calculate all the possible responses. 

I let out a shuddering breath and, with the type of courage I could only get from the alcohol coursing through my system, said, “Only if you promise to show me the best places.”

Natasha let out a breath and straightened. All signs of tension smoothed from her face. A light seemed to spark in her eyes, bringing a glowing warmth to her features. 

“Promise,” Natasha said, her voice strung with the softness and truth in her oath. 

[loomluna]

I think this is the first reblog on this blog for me (and I think my first repost on my old account was also a Wil Wheaton post; I think it was just a reblog of super hero themed condoms), mostly to come back and reflect on this a while from now.

But also because I've been in what I've referred to as a reading rut since late 2019; it was strange but also emotional to me to see this person I look up to (I know, Wil Wheaton is a normal person, but monkey brain fire at connection) having gone through a similar experience at around a similar timeframe as me. My reading is still small and far in between, but last year I finally read Erin Morgenstern's 'The Night Circus' and 'The Starless Sea', Chuck Tingle's 'Camp Damascus' and 'Bury Your Gays', and 'The Full Moon Coffee Shop'. I've picked up and started on the 'Cells at Work' manga and rereading a childhood favorite 'The Secret Garden' and I've been 'reading' those for months now in sporadic moments when the want arises. Even now, looking at them as I write this there's a part of me wanting- wishing I wanted to pick them up; but I don't want to push myself. My love of books and reading will not return to a voracious appetite if I force myself. Like building back up my energy, like a great many other things in my life right now, I need to remember that progress is progress, no matter how small.

For anyone who actually reads this, to answer Wil's question of casting people in my head; I don't find myself doing that too too often, probably due to a different media mix I tend to do. I often find myself pairing specific albums with books or series. From doing so, certain songs tend to start to hold these scenes that my brain can perfectly paint from these books that are absolutely intertwined to me in a way no one will ever understand.

Spoiling of various books ahead:

When I first read 'The Hunger Games' series, I had just seen Wicked on stage for the first time; so I had the soundtrack on repeat as I read the books. One Short Day from wicked makes for a PERFECT montage scene of Katniss and Peeta arriving to the capital (although not always in such the cheery mood). when I first hear the first whispered "one short day in the Emerald City" I see this sprawling metropolis at dusk, streets filled, chariots lining the street and all that enormity is absolutely drowned out by these two figures burning in the last chariot.

The Maze Runner series was accompanied by Imagine Dragons' Night Visions. Hearing Demons still brings out a dark dreary monsoon of a rain, a smallish group of boys (and girl) being herded onto a school bus by some official looking adults. The kids are mostly moving pretty automatically, still in shock. When, more or less a zombie is spotted in the darkness of the rain. I can still feel the fear and shock and the "what comes next" that Thomas and the others were feeling somewhere deep in the vibrations of the song itself. (side note, I loaded up Night Visions to listen to some of the songs I haven't heard in years, and as soon as Bleeding out started I brain went "Theresa's betrayal", so there's that)

More recently, Porter Robinson's Nurture paired extremely well with Camp Damascus. For the sake of not spoiling a more recent release, I won't describe it out as I have the others, but Something Comforting makes me picture the ending of Camp Damascus, and I am always warmed by how hopeful Dr. Chuck Tingle and Porter Robinson have made me feel.

And the last one I will share is the beautiful scenes from the Starless Sea my brain creates from The Midnight's Endless Summer Album. Bend is the relationship between time and fate. Lonely City is the ancient sprawling city below, the honey seas starting to glisten below, the air somehow sweet yet salty, dark but always just luminescent enough to clearly make out what's around.

it's in a book

Starting around 2016, when the world started going to shit, I woke up one day to discover that I simply could not read a book, except for work. This is about how I found my way back to reading for my own pleasure.

I know I am not the only person who experienced this, yet I have struggled for years to find any kind of logical explanation for it, or actionable advice to address it. Starting around 2016, when the world started going to shit, I woke up one day to discover that I simply could not read a book. Or a magazine. Or a short story. Or more than a news item, blog post, or some intellectual empty…

[movingmusically]

hiiii, i just wanted to say i read all of your austin fics and is unbelievable how good you write him!! like, it feels so real and so loyal to him and it made me fall even deeper for him.

I especially loved Feyd’s Darling and I was wondering if you could write a similar fic with actress!girlfriend but this time is austin who visits the set of HER movie and is present when she is filming and reminds her how proud he is of her 🥺 thank you <3

Word Count: 5,657

Masterlist

No Doubt, It’s Funny

You were barely through the door when your phone buzzed with an email notification, the familiar name in the sender line making you pause mid-step.

That’s weird.

It wasn’t unusual for actors to keep in touch after working together, but you and Paul Rudd had never been more than friendly colleagues—occasional social media likes, a warm greeting at industry events. You’d filmed together once, a drama, and you had always admired his work, but it had never gone beyond that.

Curious, you tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: I Think You’d Be Perfect For This Hey Y/N, I know this is a little out of the blue, but I just finished working on a script with some people I really trust, and I kept thinking about you for one of the lead roles. It’s different from what you’ve done before—more comedy than drama—but it’s got a lot of heart, and I think you’d absolutely crush it. I’m attaching the script—give it a read when you get a chance. No pressure, but I’d love to work with you on this. Let me know what you think. Paul Rudd

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. A comedy? That was definitely new. You loved a well-done comedy, but you’d never seen yourself in one—your career had been built on dramas, character-driven films with heavy emotions and intense scenes.

Before you could overthink it, you hit the download button and opened the script. You’d just skim a few pages.

Except, you didn’t stop skimming.

By page five, you were biting back a smile.

By page ten, you were laughing under your breath.

By page twenty, you were fully cackling, hand covering your mouth as you collapsed onto the couch, phone balanced on your knee.

The dialogue was fast, witty, smart. It had all the beats of a great comedy, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity—genuine heart threaded between the humour. It wasn’t just a joke machine; it meant something.

And the lead female role?

You loved her.

The character was a mess in the best way—sharp-witted but emotionally guarded, with a tendency to deflect with sarcasm. There was a moment in the third act, a shift from all the laughs into something real, that hit you so hard you actually felt your throat tighten.

You wanted to play her.

The thought was immediate, instinctive.

And terrifying.

Because you had never done anything like this before.

Your mind was already filling with doubt, What if I’m not funny enough? What if I ruin it?, but before you could spiral, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Alright, what’s got you giggling like that?”

You looked up to see Austin, freshly showered from the gym, his hair still damp and a towel draped over his shoulder. His expression was amused, but there was something softer in his eyes—the kind of curiosity that came when he knew something had gotten under your skin in a good way.

You hesitated, then held up your phone. “I just got sent a script.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly as he walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s a comedy.”

Austin didn’t react at first—just reached for the towel on his shoulder and ran it through his hair. Then he glanced at you sideways, lips twitching.

“…And?”

You sighed, staring at the screen in your hands. “And I kind of love it.”

Now that got his full attention.

Austin sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. “Wait. Really?”

You nodded. “It’s so funny, but it’s not just comedy for the sake of it. It actually has heart, you know? And the role—it’s different from anything I’ve done, but I can see it.”

Austin grinned, already excited. “Babe, that’s amazing. Who sent it?”

You told him, watching as his eyebrows lifted in recognition. “Oh damn, Paul sent it? That’s huge. He’s a genius with this kind of stuff.”

“I know,” you murmured, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Which is why I’m freaking out a little.”

Austin frowned slightly. “Freaking out why?”

You exhaled slowly, tapping your phone against your knee. “Because I don’t do comedy, Austin. I don’t have that thing comedians have. I don’t know how to deliver a joke. I don’t—”

“Okay, pause,” Austin interrupted, holding up a hand. “First of all, yes you do.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Austin.”

He just grinned. “No, I’m serious. You’re hilarious.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “That doesn’t count. You laugh at me when I don’t mean to be funny.

“Which is exactly why it does count,” he argued, nudging your leg with his knee. “You don’t try to be funny, but you are. And that’s what makes it work.”

You shook your head, not convinced. “It’s different on screen.”

Austin tilted his head, considering you. Then he reached for your phone. “You want me to read it?”

You hesitated.

Then, with a deep breath, you handed it over.

You watch as Austin leans back against the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through the script with an unreadable expression. His brows furrow slightly in concentration, lips twitching at certain moments, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh as he reads. You try not to fidget, but the longer he stays silent, the more antsy you get.

“Well?” you press, unable to hold it in any longer.

Austin doesn’t look up immediately. Instead, he swipes to the next page, humming under his breath. “Hold on,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the screen. Then, out of nowhere, he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

You sit up straighter. “What?”

He turns the phone toward you and points at a specific line of dialogue. “That’s what.”

Your eyes skim the line—the character delivering a dry, exasperated remark after a ridiculous situation unfolds.

“Oh, sure. This is fine. I always wanted to be covered in spaghetti in the middle of a funeral.”

You roll your eyes. “What? That’s just—”

Austin grins. “That’s you. That is exactly something you would say.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue, but then you remember last week when you spilled an entire smoothie on yourself right before a press event and muttered something very similar. Austin had laughed so hard he’d had to sit down.

You groan, flopping back against the couch. “Okay, fine. But that doesn’t mean I can actually do it.”

Austin shifts closer, nudging your knee with his. “Babe. You are doing it. Just reading this, I can already hear you in the role. The way the humour is written—it’s natural, it’s quick, it’s sarcastic but in a way that’s not forced.” He taps the phone. “You don’t have to try to be funny. You just have to be you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, staring at the ceiling. The part of you that fell in love with the script wants to believe him, wants to think you can pull this off. But that nagging voice in your head keeps whispering that you’re not built for this, that you’ll fall flat next to someone like Paul Rudd, who could deliver a joke in his sleep.

Austin nudges you again, softer this time. “What’s stopping you?”

You sigh. “I just—I don’t know if I have comedic timing. It’s different when you’re doing drama. With drama, you just feel it, you know? But comedy—comedy’s like this whole other skill set. And Paul Rudd? He’s—he’s Paul Rudd, Austin.���

Austin smirks. “I am aware.”

You shoot him a look. “I mean it. He’s been doing this forever. He’s so fast, so sharp. I’ll be up there with him, fumbling, and it’ll be painfully obvious that I don’t belong.”

Austin studies you for a moment, then sets the phone down and shifts so he’s facing you fully, his knee brushing against yours. “Okay. You remember the first time I told you about Dune?”

You blink. “Yeah?”

“And remember what I said? How I told you I didn’t think I could do it? That I wasn’t sure I could be Feyd?”

You nod slowly, already seeing where he’s going with this.

Austin tilts his head. “And what did you tell me?”

You huff. “That you were already him, you just didn’t know it yet.”

His lips curl. “Exactly.” He leans in a little. “And guess what? I was terrified. I spent months overthinking every detail, worried I wouldn’t measure up, that I’d make an ass of myself. But you were right. I was him. I just had to get out of my own way.”

You sigh, arms crossing over your chest. “So now you’re throwing my own words back at me?”

He grins. “Absolutely.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. He knows it, too.

“Look,” he continues, gentler now, “Paul Rudd—yeah, he’s a legend. But you know what makes him so good? He’s reactive. He plays off his scene partners. He’s brilliant at making other people better.”

You exhale, your walls slowly cracking.

Austin moves even closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t have to walk in there and be the funniest person in the room. You just have to be real. And I’ve seen you—hell, I have been on the receiving end of your one-liners when you’re annoyed. Your comedic timing? It’s already there.”

You chew your lip, fingers drumming against your knee. “And what if I suck?”

Austin shrugs. “Then you suck. But at least you tried something new. And knowing you? You won’t suck.”

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of doubt. But there’s none. Just that steady confidence, that quiet certainty that somehow makes you feel like you can do anything.

Slowly, you reach for your phone, scrolling to the email from Paul.

Austin watches as you hover over the reply button, still hesitating. He reaches out, lacing his fingers with yours, squeezing once. “Come on, baby. Take the leap.”

You inhale deeply.

Then, before you can overthink it again, you type out a quick reply:

I’m in. Let’s do this.

And hit send.

Austin whoops, pulling you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile creeping up your face. “If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Austin just grins. “Deal. But when it goes amazingly right? You better give me all the credit.”

You shake your head, heart pounding, a mix of fear and excitement buzzing under your skin.

No turning back now.

You just agreed to star in a comedy with Paul Rudd.

And for the first time, instead of feeling terrified…

You feel ready.

The moment you hit send on that email, the real work begins.

You’ve never prepared for a role quite like this before. Usually, your pre-film ritual involves weeks of research, emotional deep dives, and long, introspective walks where you try to fully embody your character. But this time?

This time, preparation involves watching people trip over things on purpose.

Austin walks into the living room one evening to find you curled up on the couch, notebook in hand, staring at the screen in deep concentration.

His brows furrow. “Is that… Dumb and Dumber?”

You shush him, scribbling down something in your notebook. “Yes, and it’s important.”

Austin blinks, then grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

And it is—for him.

For the next few weeks, you dive headfirst into comedy. Your watchlist expands to include everything from When Harry Met Sally to Anchorman to old-school screwball comedies. You analyse timing, delivery, the way physical comedy blends with dialogue, the effortless way comedic actors lean into the absurd instead of shying away from it.

Austin? He’s thrilled.

Because suddenly, he gets to turn your living room into an improv class.

“Let’s do a scene.”

You groan, burying your face in a throw pillow. “Austin, please.”

But he’s already standing in front of you, dramatically rolling his shoulders like he’s about to step onto Broadway. “Nope. You want to get better? You gotta practice. Now.” He clears his throat, then delivers the most over-the-top, melodramatic line imaginable:

“I never meant to fall in love with you, Delilah, but the way you butter toast has changed me as a man.”

You deadpan. “Austin. What the hell.”

He points at you. “React. Go.”

You glare at him for a long second.

Then, with the flattest voice possible, you say, “I hope you and the toast will be very happy together.”

Austin collapses onto the floor, clutching his chest like you just delivered the most devastating monologue of all time. “You—you monster.”

You chuck a pillow at him. “This isn’t helping.”

But secretly? You love how much he believes in you.

He gets you out of your head. Helps you stop taking yourself so seriously.

And when you start rehearsing with Paul Rudd, you need every ounce of that confidence.

The first table read goes fine. The second rehearsal? Less fine.

Paul is effortless. Annoyingly effortless. He can take a single line and turn it into comedy gold with the smallest inflection, the tiniest shift in expression. You watch him riff with the other actors, improvising new lines that somehow land even better than what’s on the page, and you feel like you’re watching a masterclass.

And then you step in.

And suddenly, your brain is a void.

You deliver your lines, but they feel stiff. Like you’re trying too hard instead of letting them flow naturally. Next to Paul, you feel sluggish.

By the end of rehearsal, you’re convinced you’ve made a huge mistake.

That night, you flop onto the couch with a groan, burying your face in Austin’s thigh.

He barely looks up from his book. “Rough day?”

You mumble something unintelligible.

Austin sets the book down and pokes your shoulder. “Try again. In English this time.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back so you can look up at him. “Everyone else on set is so funny. I feel like the unfunny kid in a class full of comedians.”

Austin tilts his head, considering you. “You do realise that’s not true, right?”

You scoff. “Austin, I spent an hour watching Paul Rudd improvise lines better than the script itself. Meanwhile, I sounded like a malfunctioning robot trying to keep up.”

Austin shifts, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing absent circles over your knuckles. “Babe. You don’t have to be the funniest person in the room.”

You exhale slowly, still unconvinced. “Feels like I do.”

Austin shakes his head. “No. You just have to be you in this story. That’s what makes it work. They cast you for a reason. You don’t have to out-joke Paul Rudd—that’s literally his job.”

You bite your lip. “What if I just… don’t have it?”

Austin squeezes your hand. “You do. And the second you stop trying to be ‘funny’ and just be, it’s gonna click.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any trace of doubt. But—of course—there isn’t any.

There never is.

You sigh. “Okay.”

Austin smiles. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you confirm. Then, after a beat—“If I do crash and burn, you have to promise you’ll still love me.”

Austin grins, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Babe, if you bomb, I’ll be first in line to make fun of you for it.”

You groan. “You suck.”

He laughs. “But you love me.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand anyway.

And even though the nerves are still there, somehow—somehow—you feel lighter.

You’re running your lines in your head, hands clenched into fists at your sides as you pace the soundstage floor. The scene you’re about to film is one of the trickiest in the entire movie—fast-paced, rapid-fire dialogue, overlapping lines, physical comedy and emotional stakes all rolled into one.

Basically, it’s a damn minefield.

You love this movie. You love this character. But this scene? This scene is making you reconsider every life decision that led you here.

“Okay, places!” the first AD calls out, snapping you back into reality.

Paul flashes you a reassuring smile from across the set. “You good?”

You inhale deeply, nodding. “Yeah. Just… you know. Hoping I don’t completely humiliate myself.”

He grins. “That’s the goal, though. Comedy is humiliation.”

“That’s comforting,” you deadpan.

The director chuckles from behind the monitor. “Alright, let’s run it.”

You move into position, heart hammering in your chest. The scene is simple enough on the surface—your character and Paul’s are stuck in a ridiculously awkward situation, trying to talk their way out of it, but everything they say just makes it worse.

It should feel easy. Fun.

But all you can think is: Don’t mess up. Don’t kill the momentum. Don’t—

“Action!”

You open your mouth—

And freeze.

Because standing just behind the monitor, half-hidden behind the director’s chair, is Austin.

What the hell—

He catches your eye and grins, that wide, boyish smile of his lighting up his entire face, his cheeks bunching up just slightly, the way they do when he’s genuinely delighted by something.

Your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

The momentary distraction lasts less than a second, but Paul sees everything. He follows your gaze, spots Austin, and his grin turns downright wicked.

“Ohhh,” Paul drawls, smirking. “This just got interesting.”

You shake yourself out of it, shooting him a warning glare. “Paul.”

“I’m just saying, I feel like I should adjust my performance now,” he teases, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Amp up the charm. Really make you flustered.”

Laughter ripples through the crew.

Austin, still grinning, tilts his head and leans against the nearest set piece, resting his forearm on it like he’s settling in to enjoy the show. “Please. Like you could possibly fluster her.”

You groan. “Can we just do the scene, please?”

The director chuckles. “Rolling! Take two—action!”

You snap into character, locking into the rhythm of the scene.

And this time, it clicks.

The back-and-forth with Paul is effortless—his deadpan delivery bouncing perfectly off your exasperation. The lines flow like second nature, your reactions sharper, your confidence higher. And when the physical comedy beat hits—your character trying to subtly grab an object without breaking eye contact, only to knock over an entire table instead—you nail it.

The set erupts.

“Cut!” the director calls. “That was fantastic.”

Applause breaks out. Paul slaps a hand over his heart like he’s just witnessed a masterpiece. “Ladies and gentlemen, a star is born.”

And then—

From behind the monitor—

Austin laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained, before clapping his hands together.

“Holy shit,” he grins, shaking his head. “You’re good.”

Your face heats instantly. “Shut up.”

“I mean it!” He’s already moving toward you now, closing the distance with that easy stride of his, his hand immediately finding your waist as he leans in slightly, like he just has to touch you. “I knew you could do it, but damn, babe. You belong in this.”

Your instinct is to brush it off, make a joke—Yeah, yeah, tell that to my impostor syndrome—but the way he’s looking at you?

It makes your breath catch.

Because there’s nothing patronising in his praise, no teasing behind his words. Just pure, unfiltered pride.

You duck your head, suddenly feeling exposed. “You’re just being nice.”

Austin’s fingers press just slightly into your waist, grounding you. “Babe. No.” His voice is quieter now, softer, full of something real. “I mean it. You belong in this.”

You exhale shakily, chewing the inside of your cheek.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re finally starting to believe it.

The high from nailing the comedic scene lingers well into the afternoon. Between takes, Austin sticks close, teasing you relentlessly about your “secret talent for slapstick” and how he’s “never letting you live this down.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, his praise sits warm in your chest.

Still, as the day wears on, the mood on set shifts. The crew moves with a quiet efficiency, the easy laughter from earlier replaced with hushed conversations, a different kind of energy settling in.

Because this next scene?

This is the big one.

The moment where the comedy falls away, peeling back the layers of humour and quick wit until only raw, unguarded emotion remains.

Your character has spent the entire movie cracking jokes, covering every vulnerable moment with deflection, keeping the people around her at arm’s length. But in this scene—the emotional gut-punch of the film’s climax—there’s no more running.

It’s just her, standing in the wreckage of a relationship she’s spent the whole movie pretending didn’t matter. Finally, she breaks.

And suddenly, you feel all of those doubts creeping back in.

Comedy was one thing—it had structure, rhythm, a pace to latch onto. But this? This is the kind of thing that can’t be faked.

It has to hurt.

You shake out your hands, trying to focus, trying to shake the nervous energy building in your chest.

Then you feel it.

A warm, familiar touch at the small of your back.

You turn to find Austin, standing just behind you, his fingers brushing absent circles over your spine, grounding you.

He leans in, voice low. “You okay?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah. Just… trying to get out of my head.”

Austin studies you for a second, then exhales softly. His hand slides to your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to try to be in it. You’re already there.”

You meet his gaze, searching for something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of anchor. And, like always, he’s steady.

Like he knows you’re about to do something incredible before you even believe it yourself.

“Places!” the first AD calls.

You step into position, heart hammering.

The set falls silent.

“Action.”

At first, your character fights it.

She smiles through the hurt, makes a joke that doesn’t quite land. You feel the moment stretch, the weight of the silence, the tension building in your chest as she realises—maybe for the first time—that she can’t laugh her way out of this one.

Then, the dam breaks.

The words come out softer than you expected, like they’re unraveling her piece by piece.

She admits it.

That she’s scared. That she thought keeping things light, keeping things easy, would stop her from getting hurt. That it wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

And just like that, the scene stops being a scene.

It feels real.

The tears come hot and fast, the kind that shake your whole body, the kind that don’t need any forced technique or conscious effort. You feel the grief in your bones, in your breath, in the way you struggle to hold yourself together and fail completely.

And in that moment, it’s not just a performance.

It’s the best acting you’ve ever done.

“Cut.”

For a moment, no one moves.

No one speaks.

The air on set feels thick, like the weight of what just happened is still settling over the room.

Then, slowly, the spell breaks.

You hear a quiet, shaky exhale from somewhere behind the monitor.

A throat clearing. A muttered “Jesus.”

Then—

One by one, the crew starts reacting.

A few nods, exchanged glances, murmured words between the director and producers. A grip wiping at his face. The script supervisor blinking a little too fast at her notes.

Paul exhales sharply and shakes his head, letting out a low, stunned laugh. “Well, shit.”

The director looks from the monitor to you, then back again, before nodding once. “That… was perfect.”

Your heart is still racing, your body still humming with the ache of the scene, and it takes a second to pull yourself back. You lift a trembling hand, wiping at your damp cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt.

Then you see him.

Austin.

Standing off to the side, hand still covering his mouth, the other braced on his hip like he’s physically recovering from something.

His eyes are red at the edges, like he’s been holding back tears, but the shine is still there, still glassy.

And then—

He drags a hand down his face, sniffing, and lets out the smallest, most overwhelmed laugh as he walks over to you.

You blink, disoriented, still half-trapped in the weight of the scene.

“Did I just make you cry?” you ask, teasing but hoarse from the emotion still clinging to you.

Austin sniffs again, shaking his head. “You just made me cry in front of a whole-ass crew.”

You grin, even as your throat still feels tight. “Damn. This movie must be magic.”

Austin huffs out a laugh, still looking at you like he’s trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Then, without hesitation, he steps forward, cupping your face so gently it makes your chest ache.

His thumbs brush along your damp cheeks, like he can’t decide whether to wipe away the tears or just hold you there, exactly as you are.

“No,” he murmurs, forehead pressing lightly against yours. “It’s you. You’re the magic.”

And just like that—

Everything feels worth it.

By the time you finally make it home, exhaustion has settled deep in your bones—the kind that doesn’t just come from a long day, but from feeling everything so fully that it leaves you spent.

The emotional scene still lingers in your chest, but so does something else—something lighter.

Something like pride.

You can feel it in the way the crew looked at you afterward, the quiet nods of respect from people who’ve seen hundreds of performances but still seemed moved by yours.

You can feel it in the way Paul clapped you on the back, grinning as he told you, “You know, I’d be mad about you making me look bad if I wasn’t so damn impressed.”

But mostly—

Mostly, you can feel it in the way Austin hasn’t let go of you since you walked off set.

Even now, as you sit curled up on the couch in his hoodie and sweatpants—though really, they haven’t been his in a long time.

You claimed them ages ago, stealing them from his suitcase one night when he was away filming. They’d smelled like him, felt like him, and ever since, they’d become your go-to whenever he was gone for too long.

At some point, he stopped pretending he was getting them back.

Now, they’re just yours.

The fabric is soft and worn, the sleeves pulled over your hands as you lean into him, the weight of the day settling into your bones.

A half-eaten takeout container rests between you, forgotten. The TV is on, some mindless show playing in the background, but neither of you are really watching. You’re both worn down, full in a way that has nothing to do with food.

Austin’s fingers trace slow, absentminded circles over the inside of your wrist, like he’s still grounding you, still holding onto the moment.

You watch him for a second—how at ease he looks, how warm, his smile just soft enough to make your heart ache.

And suddenly, the weight of it hits you all at once.

“If you hadn’t pushed me,” you murmur, voice quieter than you meant it to be, “I would’ve turned this down.”

Austin looks over, brow lifting slightly.

You shake your head, swallowing. “I almost said no, Austin. Because I didn’t think I could do it. Because I was scared.” You exhale, fingers tightening around his. “And now? I think this might be my favourite thing I’ve ever done.”

Austin’s expression shifts—something softer, something almost knowing.

Like he’d seen this coming before you ever did.

Like he’d always known you’d get here.

He smiles, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

“I never had a doubt.”

Austin doesn’t let go of your hand, even after his words settle in the air between you, warm and certain.

I never had a doubt.

You swallow, something thick and unspoken lodged in your throat. He always says things like that—things that knock the breath out of you, not because they’re unexpected, but because he means them. Every time. Without hesitation.

And tonight?

Tonight, you need him to know how much that means to you.

You shift, carefully moving the takeout container to the coffee table, then turn back to him, watching the way his blue eyes flicker with quiet curiosity as you move.

Then, before you can overthink it, you climb into his lap.

Austin’s hands settle on your hips immediately, like it’s instinct, like he was already waiting for you to be closer. His brows lift slightly, amusement flickering over his features, but there’s something else behind it—something softer, something deeper.

You press your hands to his cheeks, fingertips grazing the slight scruff along his jaw, and he exhales, his eyes fluttering shut for a second like the warmth of your touch just levelled him.

When he opens them again, his gaze is nothing short of devastating.

“Hi,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like it belongs just to you.

You smile, stroking your thumbs along the ridges of his cheekbones. “Hi.”

His hands flex slightly where they rest against your waist, his touch warm, steady, like he’s grounding himself just as much as you are.

For a second, you just take him in.

The way his hair is still slightly messy from earlier, the way his expression is so open, so unguarded, like he’s letting you see everything he’s feeling without saying a single word.

Like you’re his entire world, and he’s not afraid to show it.

Your throat tightens, and you trail your fingers from his jaw to his temple, then through his hair, combing it back gently.

“I hope you know,” you whisper, voice thick, “how much you mean to me.”

Austin blinks once, his breath catching so softly you almost don’t hear it.

Then, his hands tighten on your waist, just slightly, like he’s bracing himself for the weight of your words.

You shake your head, swallowing. “I know I joke about it—about you being my personal hype man, about how I’d be a disaster without you—”

Austin smirks slightly, but he stays quiet, letting you say what you need to say.

“But, Austin,” you continue, voice dipping lower, “you believing in me—really, truly believing in me—it changes everything.”

His fingers press a little firmer into your waist, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s memorising every word, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“You make me feel like I can do anything,” you murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair again, watching the way he leans into it, the way his breath stutters just slightly.

Austin swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“You can do anything.”

Your chest tightens, a small, breathless laugh slipping past your lips as you shake your head. “You say that like it’s the easiest truth in the world.”

Austin tilts his head slightly, gaze unwavering. “Because it is.”

And God, he means it.

It’s all over his face, in the way his hands slip from your waist to your back, pulling you just that much closer, his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin, like he’s telling you without words that he’s here. That he always will be.

Your breath hitches.

“Say it again,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Austin’s gaze darkens, softens, sharpens all at once.

“You,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup your face, his fingers brushing so gently along your jaw that it sends a shiver down your spine, “can do anything.”

A slow exhale slips from your lips, and you don’t realise you’re closing the distance until your forehead is pressed to his, your noses brushing, his breath warm and steady against your lips.

And then—

Austin tilts his head, his lips catching against yours in the softest, slowest kiss imaginable.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—it’s something deeper. Something meant.

Like he’s sealing every word, every promise, into the way he kisses you.

Like this moment, this feeling, this certainty has been waiting to be spoken into existence.

Your fingers slide into his hair as you kiss him back, slow and deliberate, drinking him in, pressing closer until there’s nothing left between you but warmth, but longing, but the quiet, unshakable truth that Austin Butler is the safest place you’ve ever known.

His hands move, one slipping beneath the fabric of your hoodie, resting against the bare skin of your back, pulling you flush against him, his warmth sinking into you like a promise.

And when you finally pull back—foreheads pressed together, breathing uneven, hearts racing in tandem—Austin smiles, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your jaw.

“You always talk about how I believe in you,” he murmurs. But, baby… you don’t even realise what you do for me.”

Your fingers curl against the back of his neck, breath catching in your throat.

“You make me feel like I can breathe,” he continues, voice low, steady. “Like no matter what, I’ll always have a place to land. Like I’m more than enough, just as I am.”

His forehead presses lightly against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You make everything make sense,” he whispers. “Even when nothing else does.”

Emotion swells in your chest, too much, too big, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

Slow, lingering, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, letting the weight of everything unspoken settle between you.

And when he kisses you back—deep and certain, fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go—you know he feels it too.

[midnight-bay-if]

Saw an ask where what would the ROs react to a possessed MC. But what if the role were reversed, what would the ROs react if they were the one possessed and only managed to break out of it after they badly hurt the MC..

(I know you said 'badly hurt', but I didn't have the heart to write the ROs badly hurting MC, even if by accident. Umbra, for one, would never recover from such a mistake. But I had fun writing what the ROs see during possession. Hopefully, it will provide some useful insights.)

S: Their mind had been ticking like a clock; predictable, dependable, fast but organised. Then, a flash of light, and suddenly, they are unable to linger on a single cohesive thought. They tunnel vision on what lies ahead, on what they see... Rain, Taj, MC... all of them lying broken and bloodied. A howl of agony forces its way through their lungs as their legs push them forward.

How?! How could they have missed this? They should have prepared better - planned more thoroughly; what is the point in them if they cannot even protect the people they love?! They do not possess Rain's magic, Umbra and Taj's agility, nor N's strength; their brain is all they have.

"S! I'm right here! Whatever you're seeing; it's not real!"

The words sound muffled, distant, as if screamed through a pillow. But it sounds like MC. How? I see them... standing right in front of me... oh, god, no. They are so bloodied, so broken... I have to get closer, I have to reach them.

They feel a force pulling them back, ripping at their clothes to keep them away from their friends. The only explanation is that the evil that broke their friends has come to finish the job. So, they lash out and swing around with their fist to dislodge the menace from their person.

But now they hear it clearer. "Ouch! For goodness sake, S, it's me!"

MC.

They blink, and the black shutters that had separated reality from dream separate. They see you upright, alive and wonderful... holding a bloodied nose. "Darling!" They no longer care for propriety and immediately encase you in the tightest hug the left of their strength can manage. "I thought you dead." They pull away long enough to assess the damage. "I am so sorry, my love... I--"

"I'm fine. We're all fine."

They are. They are alive. All of them, alive. And S finally feels as if they can breathe.

Rain: They see home. More than that, they see it whole. How long has it been since they saw the river flowing through lines of crystal or heard the deafening waterfall glinting in the sun's rays? They kneel down beside the flowerbeds, desperate to inhale the familiar scent.

In the blink of an eye, the pleasant sun rays morph into a molten inferno. Fire rages around them, and the pleasant rain turns into a blood-red storm. Rain feels their porcelain heart, already cracked, shatter inside their chest. They want it to stop; they need it to stop.

"No! Stop! Ma! Pa! Where are you?!"

Their lungs with the intensity of their screams, but there's no answer amongst the black smoke.

"Rain! I'm here! It's okay!"

The voice sounds like a lie; they dare not listen. They shove their hands over their ears as they fall to their knees. It's only when arms reach out to them that they lash out. "No!"

"Ouch! Rain! It's me!"

The vision shatters, and Rain falls limply, the fire no longer blazing. All that is left is... you. "MC?" They wretch on your name, hardly able to believe their eyes. You're bleeding, and it's their fault. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't--"

You pull them into the tightest hug, and it's all they ever needed. Home is gone, but you are here, and that is more than enough.

Taj: This is what they have been reduced to. A species of parasites in dark caverns no better than the rats we live with. They swore they would never return to this; Selby promised they would never have to. They lied. How could they lie to them?! Where are they? Why aren't they here?

It's too dark. They don't want to come back here, back to this cage. They have to find a way forward, find their way back... find the sun.

They force their legs forward through the darkness, their eyes already well-adjusted to navigate it. The cavern echoes with each step, and their ears twitch, listening for any signs of other life.

Nothing. They are entirely alone.

They need to find a way through, out of the gloom, out of the cage.

Then, hope. "Taj! I'm here! I'm right here!"

MC? Of course! MC! Are they trapped down here with them? No, that can't be allowed to stand. Their legs push harder through the murk, but your voice is echoing from every direction, and Taj begins to panic.

"Koel! I'm coming! I will find you!"

Then, something reaches out through the darkness to grab their wrist, and Taj's fight-or-flight demands action. They duck low while kicking up in the direction of their attacker. The cry that follows sends their blood running cold.

"MC?"

The dark cavern crumbles to the light, and no longer are they trapped deep beneath the ground. Taj blinks, once, twice, before their eyes adjust to the scene around them. Then, they see you.

You're slightly hunched, cradling your face, brows furrowed. It hits them. It wasn't real. "MC, I... Fuck, I didn't--"

As impatient as ever, you do not wait for them to find the right words, instead pulling them into a tight embrace. They stiffen, then curl their fingers into your back, clinging on for dear life.

"Idiot." N: One moment, they are lounging on a chaise in a room of rich red and gold; the next, they are surrounded by hellish fires in razed villages and bloodied battlefields. They grimace as they burn the flesh off another soldier, and they count the number 212 before it is drowned out by the words 'failure', 'waste of space', and 'sycophant' repeating inside their head, goading them to further destruction. Power. What is left but that? They need more. Hesitating demonstrates weakness; they cannot afford to be weak. It will spell ruin for them all.

So, they will continue to count.

Then, they hear it; a different voice, serving as a liferaft in the darkness. "N! Stop! It's not real!"

It's not real? Ludicrous. The blood splatters on their face are more than real. Keep going; stopping now will only mean punishment.

Then, they feel it. A soft hand daring to touch their blazing skin amongst the carnage. Then, the screams; so loud, as if coming from inside their very head.

Wait. It is.

MC.

The fire burns out, and only you remain. You hold out your hands in front of you, skin already blistering.

N gasps. "My dear... I didn't mean--"

You shake your head. "I know. I'm just glad you are okay."

Umbra: Darkness; the abyss; the endless nothing. No pain, no touch, no freedom... They always guessed they would end up back here, but not yet. They still have a purpose... but more than that... they feel desire. Desire? No, no, no, no... that is not right. If they still have desire, they still have feelings.

MC? Where is MC? They can't move, they can't breathe... yet they yearn for them. Everything is wrong. It's all mixed up inside them. Take it all away. If they can't be with MC, they do not want it. Any of it. Let them forget. They will disappear into the shadows forever, only being pulled by the strings of their handler.

"Umbra! Look at me!"

They would recognise that voice amidst any darkness. "MC?!" Fear (they still fear) grips their heart. Why are you here? Where are you? They need to find you before you are swallowed whole.

Then, a hand. It grips their arm, and Umbra thinks their strings are being pulled. Away. Away. Away from you. Umbra turns, teeth tearing at the strings, desperately attempting to cut themselves loose.

You scream.

The light dispels the darkness instantaneously. Umbra's lip wobbles with the fear, but then they see you, grimacing down at a bite mark in your hand.

Umbra's hands shake. "I'm terrible... a monster... I can't-- I shouldn't--"You ignore the pain you feel, reaching out to pull Umbra into an embrace, but they pull away. "No, I can't... I don't deserve--"

"Enough, Umbra," you chastise gently, "you are enough."

[rosenclaws]

Lacy || Joel Miller x Reader

Like ribbons in your hair My stomach's all in knots You got the one thing that I want

warnings: jealousy, angst, drinking, light injury, happy ending

a/n: SO. I used to write Joel fics on here but deleted my account bc my mental health was suffering but it's been like a year and I'm in a better place and I really liked some of these so I'm going to post them again. Also my pedro obession had dwindled but with tlou s2 and f4 it might come back sooo. My old handle was toxic-seduction (its cringe I know I'm sorry). So if you feel like you've read it before you might have lmao.

Perfect Perfect Perfect. She’s just so. Fucking perfect. Your body moves on auto pilot as your brain spirals into the depths of hatred and loathing. All because of Joel’s new girlfriend.

Your mind is torn between raging jealousy and embarrassment. You and Joel were nothing. Just friends. You worked odd jobs in Jackson and would cross paths with Joel often. He wasn’t very friendly at first but soon enough you managed to break down his initial suspicion. You became closer than most. At least you thought you were. You’d only seen him joke and smile around Ellie so when he laughed at one of your jokes you felt your stomach flip.

He brought you little trinkets he found on patrols too. Small things, things that most people wouldn’t care about but Joel brought them to you so of course you cherished them like they were gold. Then she came to town. It was embarrassing how much you let your mind turn to jealousy and resentment.

Lacy was beautiful, strong, and the nicest fucking person in town. She’s sweet and helpful and so smart. She’s everything you feel like you’re not. So why wouldn’t Joel be attracted to her? They’re patrol partners too. You see them every morning and come back every afternoon.

You don’t go on patrol. Not anymore. Joel knew that, he never asked and you never told him. He doesn’t care though. You pull your weight just as much as everyone and Joel respects that. Some people don’t. So to have Joel tell you he doesn’t care what you do, it always makes you happy.

Still you wonder if he’d like you if you did go on patrol. If you could spend hours with him outside the walls, just the two of you. Maybe he’d compliment your shots or offer his jacket to keep you warm. Like he does for her. You saw them once coming back inside the gates. His jacket was draped across her shoulders and your heart cracked. You bet it was romantic too. He noticed she was cold and so he happily gave her his jacket. How cute.

You walked away from them and buried yourself into kitchen work. Helping stock and prep for dinner. Your brain is still thinking of her. The worst part is she isn’t someone you can even hate. She’s only ever been kind to you. Always offering her help to anyone who needs it. Her smile is so perfect and she makes everyone happy.

Especially Joel. Joel always seems to be talking with her which is a big deal for the man who only communicated in noises the first time you met. For fucks sakes she even bakes cookies in her spare time. You try to avoid seeing them but somehow it’s like they always pop up where you are. Tonight they’re patrons at the bar where you’re serving as bartender for the night.

“Hi there darlin’” Joel’s voice makes your heartbeat a little faster but you see Lacy standing right beside him.

“Whiskey on the rocks, right?” You blurt out without thinking. He looks surprised at first but nods.

“One for me too please.” Lacy asks nicely. You give her a tight smile and nod silently. It doesn’t take long to pour their drinks and Joel takes them both, gesturing to her to go sit.

“Thank you,” He says with a small smile.

“Anytime.” Though other people come and go, you can’t help but keep your eyes on them.

Every time they laughed or smiled or got closer, it made your blood boil. You were jealous, you hated this feeling. You hated feeling the anger that burned inside of you. You hated how much you hated her. It made you sick but you couldn’t get yourself to look away. It’s like you secretly wanted to watch your whole world burn. You watch as she says something and Joel leans in closer, his lips barely ghosting her ear as he rests his arm on the booth behind her. The chatter of the bar stops as the sound of a glass shattering.

It’s only when everyone’s eyes land on you do you realize you made the noise. The wine glass in your hand is now in pieces on the counter and your hand is covered in small cuts from the glass. You could feel Joel’s piercing gaze on you as someone moves to help.

“I’m okay,” You say quickly, grabbing a rag and putting it around your hand.

“I uh, I’ll be back.” You mutter, humiliation growing as you shrink under the looks of everyone.

You rush out the back door. Sighing you put your head down on your knees as you slide down the wall. Your jealousy got the best of you and it feels so ugly. You slowly pick the glass out of your hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” You look up and your eyes widen. There stands Lacy, the last person you expected to see.

“Are you sure? I can go get you some gauze.”

“I said I’m fine.” You snap. She takes a step back and you immediately feel the guilt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…I’m sorry.” You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping she leaves you alone so you can wallow in your misery.

“It’s okay,” She says gently. Lacy walks closer to you and you look up at her.

“I can’t help but feel like we’ve never really gotten along and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.” Her words are so genuine that it makes you sick. She’s just so perfect and nice and it makes you feel awful.

“No no, you did nothing wrong. I promise. It’s all me.” She looks down next to you and you offer her to sit.

“I’m sorry if I came off cold, you’re really nice and It’s something to do with me.” You explain.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to get to know you better if you want. Joel talks about you all the time.” She says. That catches your attention.

“He does?” You ask. She giggles and nods her head.

“Don’t tell him I told you but he really likes you, he just won’t admit it.” You can’t believe what she’s saying. It doesn’t make sense. He's so happy with her, and spends time with her. They’re perfect for each other.

“What? I thought you two were dating.” You look shocked as she shakes her head.

“We’re not. Me and Joel were both from the Boston QZ, I helped him out from time to time so we were kind of friends.” You guess that explains why he warmed up to her so fast but still.

“He won’t admit it to me but I know he likes you. He always wonders what you’re doing in town that day and when we go on supply runs he tries to subtly ask about things for you but he’s not very subtle.” She says, smiling as she remembers the shitty excuses Joel would make for picking up the tattered journal. He told her about you, that you used to keep one before the outbreak and you missed it. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t really seen him much lately…” You know it's partially your fault for avoiding him but he didn’t really make much effort to see you either.

“I told him to talk to you but he started to get nervous.” She says while rolling her eyes.

“Joel nervous?” “I know! He totally denied it when I asked. Said he doesn’t get nervous in that crabby voice he does.” She says while laughing.

“Oh my god he really does do that voice doesn’t he. Especially when he’s trying to reprimand Ellie.” You say while laughing with her.

“And she never listens.” Lacy adds. It feels nice to laugh with her. Though now you feel silly for feeling so jealous.

“I think I owe you an apology Lacy, the truth is I was jealous of you. You’re just, so amazing and cool and nice. I thought you were perfect for Joel and I just, I wanted to be perfect for Joel.” You admit sheepishly.

“You are perfect for him.” She hugs you and it takes you a moment before you hug her back.

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel’s voice makes you jump.

He’s come to check on the two of you. The butterflies you felt before come back in full force as you see him standing there. His eyes darting to your cut up hand.

“You should really get that fixed up.” He kneels down in front of you and checks your hand over. Lacy gets up and winks at you.

“I’ll leave you to it Joel,” She nudges him and he grumbles about something.

She smiles and gives you a thumbs up before disappearing back inside. Even though his hands are rough he handles yours with such care. Making sure not to hurt you as he checks for glass. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rag and wraps it around your hand.

“This’ll be okay for now but you need to put some salve on it and wrap it with a bandage.” Joel finishes wrapping your hand but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

His hands are so warm. You notice how tense he seems. He’s nervous. With the boost of confidence from Lacy you bite the bullet and speak.

“I like you. A lot.” You confess.

“I uh-” He doesn’t know what to say as you take him by surprise.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner.” Your voice gets smaller as you speak. Worried that you were right and he doesn’t feel the same.

“I got you somethin’” He reaches into his little bag and pulls out a small book.

“You told me about keepin’ a diary and well I found this and thought you could start again, if you wanted to.” He hands it to you, it's a little ripped but still intact. It’s clearly been patched up. The leather cover has been cleaned and there's a new ribbon around the center.

“Oh Joel, it’s perfect.” You run your hands along the spine in awe.

“I would love to go to dinner with you darlin’’” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Helping you up he takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders.

“Let me walk you back.” He places his hand on the small of your back.

You glance in the window of the bar and see Lacy talking with a few people. She makes them laugh and this time you smile. She catches your gaze and smirks, seeing Joel’s jacket and him so close. For once it feels like you can breathe, the bitter feelings are gone. It’s a new start, a new friend gained in Lacy and hopefully a new love that will last forever.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks as he notices you in your head. Looking over at him you smile and he pulls you closer.

“I’m perfect Joel, just perfect.”

[bvidzsoo]

Ehehehe, I see you gave in at last and read this, not that I'm complaining...

I don't even know where to start, to be honest. You really know how to make me feel like I'm in the exact setting as the characters. The warmth of the coffee shop mirroring Mingi's personality when he gives the MC a drink, him checking up on her, the little brush of their fingers, her asking him about his glasses, her fixing his glasses for him — it’s so domestic, but with an undertone of complexity that we are still in the dark about. You don't call someone a friend who would defy gravity for your sake 😭 Also, through the first few paragraphs we can evidently see how good relationship they have, just by them knowing each other's every move, fussing and worrying about one another, it's very cute and I like how you didn't need a whole backstory to capture the weight of their "friendship".

Ahh, I'm really glad I managed to bring you into the setting because I really wanted everyone to see the vision I had in my own head ACK. Their small interactions have me dying ngl, I know I'm the one writing it but I feel like flipping my desk whenever they act a little bit too domestic for my sake ahahaha. I'm glad it's obvious even with little background information just how close these two are. They are so endearing (for now) ahhh

Another thing I love about your stories, your MCs are never dull. They always have interests or occupations that are new or "unusual". I don't think I've ever read a fanfic where the MC makes jewellery for a living (that could just be me not being good at finding fics, but I stand by my words!)

Gonna scream into the void for a second over here, then...because THANK YOU! I try to mix up things and not keep them too repetitive, so I'm really glad my MC feels unique and interesting. I don't have vast knowledge about jewelry making, but I am trying!

Girl, did you just pull a Stan Lee moment on us and include yourself in your fic? Because if you did, you're a genius and this is amazing 🩷

Did I or did I not? AHAHAHA, maybe...yes. Okay, kind of yeah, it wasn't intended but when I realised what I was doing, I decided to just go for it LMAO. Who is gonna be their nr1 supporter if not me, huh? I'm glad you found it entertaining ahahaha

The whole scene where they are first watching a movie and cuddling together on the couch then making out is so sweet and domestic, and I think it's so funny how the MC refers to Mingi as a good friend. I'm really intrigued on what Mingi's view of this whole relationship/friendship is, and if he sees the MC as a friend too? I doubt it, but I mean, it's still the first chapter so I can't really draw any conclusions.

Hm hm, the good ol' question whether Mingi also sees her as his bestie or perhaps harbors deeper feelings for her...? I can assure you that he also considers the MC his best friend but...is that it all? Ahahaha, you'll find out in the 4th chapter!

A great first chapter, Ari 🩷 I'm really excited to see what the other chapters will have in store for the MC and Mingi. This is just the beginning and I can't wait to see more of their friendship/relationship progress through the chapters. I'm already dying for the domestic setting and couple like exchanges between them, like I need more.

It's just the beginning but twists are soon coming, I must keep you on your toes somehow, no? Hehe, you'll get to read the second chapter in just a few hours! ^^

Every time I see you...chapter 1 ↰

...my throbbing heart rate spikes up

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

☆ Warning: none ☆ Word count: 5.3k ☆ Rating: sfw ☆ Genre: slice of life, established situationship, post university setting, fluff ☆ Summary: There was nothing exclusive between the two of you, but somehow you didn't mind being in Mingi's arms, in his presence. A day spent well gets rewarded by a movie night with the person you're the most fond of.

☆ Visuals ☆ 

M.list

A/N: And so, the first chapter is here! It's a slow ease into their relationship, it will pick up as we proceed, I promise. I hope you find it intriguing, let me know what you thought of this part, I'm curious to hear your opinions! I think this is very different from what I usually write, but soft!Mingi is so dear to me that I sob anytime I write for this series LMAO. The Mingi from this story is canon Mingi, and you can't convince me otherwise lol. Next chapter coming next week around this time! ^^ Check out the vision board I made for this story, as well as Giselle's Dopamine song! Taglist is open for the story! Enjoy! ^^ divider

Taglist: @spicxbnny @hongjoongspoetry

🎧 𝘭 𝒹𝜎𝑛’𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝛼 𝓂𝛼𝑛, 𝒿𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝛼𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝜎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 / Ⴘ𝑒𝛼ℎ, 𝑦𝜎𝑢 ℓ𝜎𝜎𝑘 𝑠𝜎 𝑔𝜎𝜎𝒹 𝑠𝑡𝛼𝑛𝒹𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝘹𝑡 𝑡𝜎 𝓂𝑒 / 𝛮𝑒𝘹𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝘭 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐷𝜎𝑝𝛼𝓂𝑖𝑛𝑒 / 𝘊𝛼𝑛’𝑡 ℓ𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝜎𝑢 𝑐ℓ𝜎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝜎 𝓂𝑒 🎧

            The scent of ground coffee was potent as the grinder disturbed the otherwise serene atmosphere of the modest coffee shop, located in the heart of the city, right under a publishing company. Thus, it was famous among bookworms, office workers, or high school students who loved to skip their last class of the day, the school was located just a bit further up on the street. I loved this area because it was always busy, littered with people and various shops on both sides of the boulevard, housing hidden gems and other popular hot spots like the Moon & Stars Coffee Ground coffee shop that Mingi worked at part-time. His back was turned to me as he worked the coffee grinder, his exposed biceps bulging as he screwed the top of the lid back shut, finally stopping the grinder. Silence fell upon the coffee shop once again, giving way to the quiet jazz music playing through the speakers. Mingi had the opening shift today, the shop wasn’t opened yet, but I had a few privileges by being his friend, so, I was allowed in as long as I helped with dusting the tables off and changing the flowers which were withering away in the small, cute, orange vases placed on top of each round table.

The coffee shop was an explosion of colours, the walls painted a deep green with low-hanging retro chandeliers that gave the place a moody vibe even during the day. Plants weren’t scarce either, giving the air inside a much-needed refresh from the polluted air coming from the outside. Abstract paintings hung on the wall from artists even I didn’t know, and the counter I was leaning against was a deep maroon, sturdy and able to withhold a few splashes of the drinks placed atop it. A few delicacies were displayed in the window to my left, most of them were still being baked in the kitchen located straight behind the counter, and I picked at the leaf of the small plant absentmindedly as Mingi’s silver rings collided against the shaker he used to combine different coffee grounds. The sun was just rising on the horizon, coating the inside of the coffee shop in an orange hue, a single sunray falling onto Mingi’s dark brown hair, making it appear lighter than it was. I continued watching him in silence, my eyes still heavy from having woken up not even an hour ago.

The world was still quiet outside, but those who started their jobs early or had to travel longer were out and about, all quiet and not bothering each other as they walked down the sidewalks. The coffee shop had half an hour before it would open, and by that time I would be gone, headed to the store I worked at. We were lucky that our workplaces were relatively close to each other, if we were in a hurry, we could make the walk last roughly ten minutes. The thought of having Mingi just around the corner was comforting for some reason, perhaps knowing that if I texted him that I needed him for something, he’d come running around the corner brought a sense of security with itself. I was used to having Mingi by my side, ready to drop everything if I needed his help or assistance with something. He was a good friend, dependable and trustworthy, loyal beyond what could be considered healthy. I smiled as Mingi lightly swayed his hips to the music, the dark green apron tied around his waist accentuating the tininess of it. The sweet scent of salted caramel made saliva gather in my mouth, and I knew Mingi’s intention before he had even turned around.

“You haven’t dozed off, sleepyhead?” He asked with a chuckle, his voice quiet and a deep rumble in his chest. It had always been like that, gravely with a rasp to it, yet warm in tone and used with gentleness. Mingi wasn’t the type of person to shout, perhaps if he got too excited his voice would raise a few octaves as he was carried away by his exhilaration, always eager to share it with someone as his eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear stary night.

“Not yet,” I answered, chin resting in my palm as Mingi leaned his hip against the counter, searching for the right lid for the cup he held, “It would be a bit difficult while standing up, I’m not like you.”

That made Mingi chuckle as he threw me an amused glance, his heavy and sharp eyes friendly as they crinkled at the ends. He found the right lid for the cup and placed it on top of it, pressing down thrice to make sure he had placed it on correctly. Then, he slowly pushed the warm container towards me and I smiled, accepting the coffee wordlessly. Our fingers brushed together and I felt a rush of warm tingle through my hand, making my smile widen as did Mingi’s, his eyes becoming smaller with the action.

“Thank you,” I muttered as I raised the sweet coffee to my lips, taking a cautious sip since it was still hot. Mingi hummed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and his taut chest muscles pulled at the form-fitting white tee he wore. It was warm inside the coffee shop, but I wondered how his exposed arms weren’t covered in goosebumps yet. My cardigan was warm, yet I didn’t look forward to when I’d have to step outside into the crisp morning air once again. Mingi’s necklaces were nicely layered, his outfit simple but put together with a good eye for fashion, “Did you forget your glasses at home once again?”

Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed and he reached up with a hand to touch the bridge of his tall nose, having to check physically that his glasses were missing or not. I shook my head with amusement as I took a small sip of the salted caramel-infused drink, “Seems like you are the sleepyhead.”

“No, it’s here,” Mingi argued, leaning down and reaching forward, arm getting lost in the counter as he felt around for his glasses. His thick eyebrows furrowed, and from his position, they framed his eyes, making his already sharp features sharpen even more. He liked wearing his hair brushed back and out of his eyes lately, the length not quite ready to require a cut, but annoying enough to make Mingi complain about it every once in a while, “See?”

He stood up straight, his height almost intimidating as he leaned forward, shaking the glasses in front of my face before he wore it, the rim thick, boxy, and black. The shape suited his face and softened the intimidating features he was born with, making him look cute. I reached forward, hip digging into the counter, to push the glasses further up on his nose because he had a habit of looking above the glasses instead of through like he was supposed to. Mingi pouted at the action but leaned into my touch, his plush lips jutted out reminding me of our adolescent days when he was nothing but a sulky boy, hating his round-rimmed glasses and always complaining about his school uniform, which didn’t fit him because it was a hand me down. It had taken a few years of maturing for Mingi’s muscles to grow out, strengthened by Pilates, his guilty pleasure as he liked saying. The few classes I accompanied him had me convinced that Pilates was invented for those who craved to have their muscles burning for days, a sort of masochism that I found no joy in.

“You should wear it more often,” I noted, raising an eyebrow as Mingi playfully rolled his eyes, “before your eyesight worsens, of course.”

“Right,” He mock-saluted, leaning just a bit over the counter to be closer to my face, “You’re starting to sound more like my mother each day, Y/N, it’s a bit freaky.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, reaching out to flick his forehead, but he knew me too well and dodged my inoffensive attack in time. But before I could retract my arm, he grabbed my wrist with his large hand and brought it down to the counter, gently keeping it in place as his larger hand caged mine against the surface. It was a small effort to make physical contact and I didn’t hate it, I rather enjoyed the small moments of intimacy we could share freely when it was just the two of us. Mingi was an affectionate person, he didn’t shy away when he needed a hug or just a little bit of support, arms wide open and eyes soft as he batted his long eyelashes at you. I hummed and basked in the peace that enveloped us around, something we both enjoyed on quieter days. There was no need for loudness or boisterous behaviour, we already knew who the other was, and there was no need to show off anything.

“Let me play the role of a concerned mother for a bit longer, then,” Mingi snorted, glancing at the clock on the wall to make sure he didn’t keep the coffee shop closed for longer than the program said, “Did you start your research on your final coursework?”

Mingi liked to stay ahead of his assignment deadlines, but sometimes laziness got to him like to any other person. But he hated having to hurry and half-ass his work so that rarely happened. Unless he was loaded with coursework, his assignments would be handed in weeks before their deadline.

“Yes and no,” Mingi sighed, his soft fingertips gently tracing my skin, “I’m supposed to meet with my coordinator this week so that we agree on a subject, I have too many ideas to choose from and I know he’s not fond of research that goes past the twentieth century.”

I nodded, taking a larger sip of my coffee, I could already feel it rejuvenate me, the sleep was gone from my eyes and my body felt less sluggish. It’s a wonder I even managed to get out of bed today, “And let me guess, you want something that deals with the nineteenth century, huh?”

“You know me too well,” Mingi chuckled with a shake of his head, taking his hand off mine as he reached out, swiping his thumb over the corner of my mouth. I looked down at my cup of coffee and ignored the skip of my heartbeat, my cheeks feeling a bit warmer than before, “Maybe I’ll manage to convince him, who knows…what about your day? Do you have a lot of work to do?”

“Not that much, we got three commissions this weekend for five pieces, I’m hoping to get the larger necklace done today,” I answered, glancing at the clock on the wall, and realised I’d have to leave in five minutes if I wanted to make it to the store before it opened.

“You’re always quick, I’m not worried about it.” Mingi winked with a bit of a struggle and I smiled, humming because I knew he was right. I had been making jewellery for a long time now, I was becoming faster and faster at crafting lately, it was rather a blessing since we could have plenty of orders coming in on busier days.

“I’m going to go now,” I said as I grabbed my bag off the floor, throwing it around my shoulder as Mingi nodded, grabbing the keys to come and unlock the entrance door for me, “Are you coming over tonight?”

“Yeah, want me to bring anything?” Mingi asked as he came around the counter and linked our pinkies together while we walked to the door. I quickly did a mental check if I had everything we’d need for our movie night, then remembered that I was out of popcorn…the most important snack of the night.

“Buy some butter-flavoured popcorn, I forgot to grab some yesterday.” Mingi nodded as he unlocked the door, playfully tugging on my pinkie when I went to open it. I glanced back with raised eyebrows and he shrugged, looking down to the floor like a kicked puppy. I chuckled and squeezed his pinkie back, pulling my hand away as I finally pushed the door open, “Don’t pout, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Mingi hummed as he came to the door and leaned against it as I exited, giving me a small smile, “See you, have an easy day.”

“You too, Mingi.” I waved before turning around to head down the street, which was slowly filling up with cars and people as the city awoke, the sun higher in the sky. I could feel Mingi’s eyes on the back of my head, and I didn’t have to turn around to know he’d stay in the doorway, watching me until I crossed the crosswalk and turned the corner, disappearing from sight. The thought of having someone who cared for my safety and looked out for me wasn’t too bad, but I thrived on my independence and wouldn’t have struggled if Mingi wasn’t so sweet to look out for me. Even so, the lingering warmth in my chest due to his attentiveness wasn’t too disheartening.

            By noon, the city had fully awoken and was bustling with restless people going on about their day. The jewellery store I worked at was on a side street, so, we were away from the rambunctious traffic and the impatient drivers that honked their car’s horns at the smallest inconvenience. That didn’t mean, however, that our store was one filled with quiet and calm, it was quite the opposite if our clients proved to be teenage girls looking for beaded friendship bracelets, or colourful rings with gemstones of which attributes they didn’t know about so they asked me or my boss, who was a lovely lady in the forties. She had untameable ginger hair and fiery red lips, her earrings always colourful hoops and her outfit the colours of the rainbow. She was full of energy and life, filling the shop with her radiance much like the sun filled our hearts on a cold winter day. I loved working with her, she saw beauty in everything and offered anyone a chance when they felt useless or good for nothing.

Her store, much like herself, mirrored the same brightness its owner carried. The walls were a light orange with yellowy rays painted on the opposite wall to the entrance, mimicking the warm sun beaming down on Earth through the clouds. Wooden shelves were set up across from the front desk, framing the walls with quirky designs that held the handmade jewellery we worked on day, and sometimes even at night. The floorboards were a rusty copper, and much to everyone’s surprise upon a first encounter with the store, a gorgeous Persian carpet was laid down with intricate design that just brought the aesthetic of the whole place together. The back room was small and hidden behind a beaded curtain right behind my back, offering a perfect escapade when the day was getting too long and the customers were too demanding. Incense always burned, coating the store in a woody scent that felt refreshing but sometimes nauseating if my boss left it on for too long, the ceiling fan thankfully dispersed the strong scent evenly.

The store wasn’t huge, but it felt inviting even upon one glance, and our customers felt cared for whenever they entered and we listened to their requests closely. Having landed this job was just as random as me deciding one day that I wanted to attend a Fine Arts course, focusing more on crafts and clay making. The few vases I had designed were displayed on the higher shelves where it was harder to reach and accidentally break them, my boss was more than happy to sell those too in her store. We both contributed with a little something of ours to the store and that’s why it worked out so nicely, just two fundamentally different people who enjoyed the same arts were brought together to attempt to make something beautiful and long-lasting.

I was tying the knot to the custom-made bracelet one of the teenagers had asked for when her friend walked up to the front desk, eyebrows furrowed and phone in her hand. She held two crystals in her palm, looking at them sceptically.

“Which one is the rose quartz?” She asked, her voice loud and a little rough as she let the crystals fall onto the glass counter. I glanced down at them and pointed at the clearer one on the left.

“That’s a clear quartz, the other one,” My burgundy nail pointed at the pinkish crystal, “is the rose quartz. Which one are you looking for?”

“Rose quartz,” She answered quickly, pushing at the rose quartz with narrowed eyes, “Is it true that it attracts love? Will I find a boyfriend if I wear it all the time?”

“Depends, are you a Taurus or Libra?” I asked as I leaned back in my chair, my boss was on her break and, meanwhile, she knew more about crystals, I had learned this and that from her throughout the years I’ve worked here.

“Not really…” The girl muttered as she shared a look with her friend, who had taken the bracelet I made for her to try it on. The strings I used were yellow and brown, a nice combination of colours, personally not my favourite, but it worked well with her complexion and it was also what she had asked for.

“Well, I heard it’s better if you have Venus in your chart if you want to wear a rose quartz,” I hummed, looking up at the ceiling in thought before I shrugged, “Rose quartz is good for emotional healing too, not just attracting love. But if you think it will help, you could try it out…”

“Do you believe it works?” The girl asked, her eyes just slightly widening. I chuckled, deciding to be honest with her.

“No, but that’s just me. Maybe it’ll work for you.” The girl just nodded, looking at her friend for another opinion. She just shrugged and told the girl to do whatever she wished. Their third friend walked up to the counter and told them that she wouldn’t buy anything today, so they could head out if everyone was ready to leave.

“I’ll buy it.” The girl said as she placed the crystal on the counter and I nodded, grabbing a small plastic wrap for her to store it in until she got home. I scanned the items and told the two girls the price of their purchase, watching them with amusement as they left the store in a hurry, words leaving their mouths in a hurry before they were even out of the store. I settled back into my chair and grabbed my bottle of water to take a gulp, my fingers aching just slightly from the various jewellery I had managed to make until now. The shop was rather busy today and my boss was excited as she whirled around, helping customers out with choosing items for themselves or as gifts.

My phone pinged before I could reach for it, and Mingi’s name lit up my screen as I unlocked it. I tapped on our messaging app and opened our conversation, gasping quietly when I was presented with a picture of a black and white spotted cat, emerald eyes staring curiously into the camera, head tilted to the side in wonder. Its ears were pointed backwards and I could practically hear Mingi cue at it. He loved kittens more than anything and had always wished to buy one, but he thought he was too busy right now to care for another little life besides his.

Mingi: Look how cute she is!! I’ve been feeding her for two weeks now, I’m 100% sure she knows who I am. I’ve named her Genie, isn’t she just so adorable? Me: Man, she really is adorable! I wish she was around when I’m at the shop, pet her in my place too! Genie because she grants wishes?

Mingi: Not more adorable than me, right?? I bet she’d love you too…but I’m her favourite, I just know it. I wanted to name her Greenie at first, but that felt weird. Genie, however, isn’t too bad. No reason for why I gave her that name, though… Me: I think she might be more adorable than you, Mingi… Wait until she meets me, you won’t be her favourite anymore, mister… Your mind sometimes is a mystical place, Mingi, I wonder what goes on inside of it

Mingi: Well, right now I’d like to be in your arms sitting on the couch or something… Something like…being the little spoon because I fall asleep faster when you wrap yourself around me… That’s what I’m thinking about right now instead of making sure I don’t burn the next batch of apple pies, do you want me to put some aside for tonight? Me: You are so cheesy, Mingi, anyone else would block you… I knew you liked being the little spoon, now I even have receipts of it, hah! I had muffins yesterday, so no thank you! Now stop texting and focus on your work, man. Mingi: Right, see you later, woman. Muawh

I chuckled and shook my head, setting my phone to the side with a smile on my face as I opened the new email we had gotten while I was texting Mingi. Seems like the week just started and we’d barely have any time to breathe between all these commissions.

            My living room was covered in darkness aside from the flashing lights of the TV, the movie playing at an acceptable volume to not disturb the neighbours or deafen us. The blanket was fluffy and draped over our legs, mine pulled underneath me while Mingi’s were propped up on the coffee table. His legs were long enough to reach it if stretched out, and I might have envied him for that for a long time. Our hands were intertwined underneath the blanket and placed on Mingi’s thigh, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against my knuckle every once in a while. Our shoulders brushed together and I would shift around from time to time, to try and keep my ass from going sore. Mingi, on the other hand, had no issue keeping his initial posture for hours on end. The blackout curtains were drawn together to offer us privacy since I only lived on the second floor, and the butter-flavoured popcorn Mingi had brought had been long eaten.

We had been watching the movie in silence for over an hour now with the occasional commentary coming from Mingi about how cool Captain America was. No matter how many times we’ve seen this movie, it never got old or boring. Perhaps it was Chris Evans’ face that made the viewing more pleasurable, alongside Scarlett Johanson, but we were both pretty hooked on the plot despite knowing what came next. There were small easter eggs that we hadn’t noticed before, so there was always something new that one of us accidentally discovered during our rewatches. I felt warm all cosied up next to Mingi, a bit even sleepy as his familiar cologne eased my tense muscles after the long day I’d had. My wrists were sore from all the crafting at the store today, I had even brought home a bracelet that I had to finish for tomorrow. I was too tired to work on it now, but I could thankfully get it done in the morning in thirty minutes.

As if Mingi had read my thoughts, he grabbed my wrist with both hands and slowly started rubbing it, creating heat and gently massaging the tense muscles of my hand. I smiled and playfully grabbed at his fingers, making him chuckle under his breath as the Winter Soldier appeared on the screen for the first time, the car the characters had been using now nothing but a mess of scrapes. I could see Mingi angle his body towards mine from my peripheral, and he licked his plump lips before he cleared his throat.

“I’ve been thinking…” He started quietly, his forehead slightly creasing as his eyes bled into the side of my head. I turned my head away from the TV, familiar with the scene already. The light lit up Mingi’s face, his glasses creating a tiny shadow over his face as I raised my eyebrows at him to prompt him to continue, “So, we’ve both been working hard, and I could use a vacation before my last exams come up. I know I should be studying, but at this point, I feel like I could recite any textbook you hand me, I really need a break. You’ve also been working a lot, and you didn’t take vacation off last year, so…”

I hummed, curious as to where this was headed, “So?”

“Let’s get away for a few days, I’ve been looking for a nice little cabin somewhere in the mountains. Not too far though, I know you don’t like long car rides.” Mingi grabbed my other hand and started massaging that one too, making me sigh in contentment as my hands now tingled with warmth, the tenseness gone from them.

“Just the two of us?” I raised an eyebrow, the idea actually sounded appealing. I could use a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

“Yeah, just us.” Mingi nodded, smiling a little as I contemplated his offer for a second. I would have to visit my mother before we left, and I’d have to let my boss know in time, but other than that, it sounded like a plan to me.

“Sure, I’d love that.” I smiled and Mingi’s eyes lit up, fingers intertwining with mine as he squeezed our hands together. I chuckled at his excitement and let my eyes run over his face, taking in the softness in his eyes and the curve of his gorgeous mouth. Something in my gut coiled as my hands continued tingling with electricity, and I licked my lips as I leaned forward, eyes set on Mingi’s parted lips. He mirrored my actions and leaned forward, closing the distance between us confidently. His lips were warm as always and faintly tasted like the marshmallows he kept stuffing himself with not even half an hour ago, another guilty pleasure he seemed to have. This one, however, I could understand and even support.

Our bodies leaned closer as I raised my free hand to hold his jaw, tilting his head slightly back so that our lips pressed together a bit firmer. Kissing him always brought a wave of excitement, an electrifying spark running up my spine as our lips moved languidly, taking their time since there was no reason to hurry. He was sweet and gentle even with his kisses, always allowing me to set the pace as his teeth nipped at my bottom lip, his long nose digging into my cheek. Mingi wasn’t a messy kisser but he had never shied away from a little saliva, and there was nothing he loved more than tracing his tongue against mine, sucking on it to deepen the kiss even more as he brought me halfway into his lap. Our hands parted as I grabbed his shoulder and swiped my tongue against his, a content sigh catching in the back of Mingi’s throat as his hand pressed into the small of my back, warm and burning through the fabric of my thin blouse. I could never get tired of his lips, sometimes kissing Mingi was so disorienting that we’d lose track of time, our lips almost as if glued to each other.

Inhaling through my mouth, I let Mingi press small kisses to my chin and mouth, muttering something I couldn’t understand before I captured his lips again, adding just a bit more passion into it as I felt a suffocating emotion build in my chest, heavy and demanding as if having Mingi like this wasn’t good enough. I had always craved more despite having everything I could ask from him, it seemed that I hadn’t been fully satiated just yet. It was a peculiar feeling, but I couldn’t ignore the fire and knot in my stomach anymore as he lapped at my tongue, his fingers gently holding my jaw as if he was afraid I’d slip away. Tonight was a slow evening, I was content with being in his arms, content in wrapping myself in a cocoon of safety that helped me forget the hardships the day had brought with itself. Pulling apart, I pressed a chaste kiss against his swollen lips and cradled his cheek, feeling how warm it was. Before I could completely pull back and sit back next to him, Mingi grabbed my arm as he readjusted himself on my spacious couch, opening his legs up so that I could sit between them. I climbed over his leg and settled down, adjusting the blanket around us so that it would keep his legs warm too as Mingi’s arms wrapped around my torso, nose nuzzling into my nape as he exhaled loudly.

“Do you think Natasha and Steve should’ve ended up together?” He asked quietly, mumbling it into my skin, and I laughed, looking back at the TV.

“I think they were too different for it to work out, and Steve was still in love with Peggie,” I answered truthfully, watching Chris Evans lean against the doorframe in nothing but a muscle white tee, a few bruises here and there, jeans, and a white towel to clean his hands in.

“I think Natasha would’ve been able to show him a new world, I wanted them together.” I didn’t have to look to know that Mingi was pouting, I could hear it in his voice.

“You say that every time we watch this movie.”

“Right, my thoughts won’t change on a random afternoon.”

I chuckled as silence fell upon us once again, wrapped around in the blanket and Mingi’s warmth, with his arms around my body, I felt the safest. It was a weird feeling that never developed into something I could completely understand, but there was something about Mingi’s presence that made me feel at ease, like the earth outside us would keep on turning around its axis and we wouldn’t miss out on anything because here, in each other’s arms, we had everything we needed. It was something I had never felt with anyone else, not even with my ex-boyfriend I thought I would end up marrying. There was something so gentle about the silence between Mingi and me, the understanding without spoken words, the warmth of a simple caress, the reminder that we were there for each other by the simplest things only made my chest tighten as the TV screen blurred, making me wonder whether I had gotten teary-eyed or just extremely sleepy.

Here in Mingi’s arms, in a dark living room lit up by the movie that we were watching for the nth time, I wondered if I could ever again trust that love existed, trust that there was indeed a person that was yours, meant to be with you without hurting you. I wondered if Mingi ever thought about it, if he wondered where his person was. Perhaps he didn’t care about such things and that’s why he wasted his days away by my side, smiling from ear to ear with glimmering eyes full of hope and something I could never truly understand. I grinned when I felt his feet rub against mine playfully, it was his way of letting me know that he wasn’t so lost in the movie that he wasn’t aware of me anymore. I sighed and relaxed into Mingi’s body, letting the doubtful thoughts and feelings simmer in a deep cavern of my heart for the rest of the evening.

 >> next chapter

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[doodler16]

im sorry but why the FUCK Is Stolas so... Fucking STUPID??? 😭😭��� I can't take it anymore. I hate how he just gets everything he wants handed to him from vivs sake of her horrible ass writing prowess

💀 I mean this is Stolas we are talking about. This is the same man who took almost an entire episode to notice his daughter is upset with him in Loo loo land.

[drdemonprince]

hey there! in regards to ur last ask (about adults in kink spaces online having status quo ideas about kids in those spaces and such, sorry this isn’t a great summary), do you have any ideas on how to combat that? this is a genuine question - those disclaimers of ‘no minors can follow’ and such have always made me a little confused whilst i understood the statement behind them objectively you know? and now that i’m adult (legally - i turned eighteen a couple of months ago), i’m having trouble figuring out how to talk about kink and sex online in a way that doesn’t hurt kids or exclude them. like, i want to post some explicit stuff i’ve written on my blog or ao3, but i know that i have kids subscribed to me since i used to post relatively bland kids stuff for years before that. so like… how would one navigate kink spaces online and general spaces with an attitude of understanding that trying to close off these spaces to kids completely is harmful but that kids can also be harmed by people in these spaces? if that makes sense?

I think it is a really challenging thing to navigate. The way that I handle it personally is that I don't regard it as my responsibility to monitor and police the ages of people following me. I want the information that I put out into the world to be freely available to the people who need it most; one of the ways that I ensure that is by not paywalling any of my writing, and another is by not age restricting things except for when circumstances mean that I absolutely have to. for example: during some of our live streams that have been particularly focused on kink or sex, Maddie and I have flagged the stream as 18 plus out of necessity, and if a member of our chat identifies themselves as being under 18 during such streams, we have to ask them to leave. but in terms of my own private attitudes, I recall accessing porn and sexual writing from a very young age and learning a great deal from it, and I don't think there is anything wrong with a young person doing so. and if a young person has questions around sexual health and safety and they direct them to me, I would generally be comfortable answering those questions or at least directing them to resources. I do all I can to normalize talk about these things and de-exceptionalize sex, and I don't let myself get intimidated by puritanical accusations about that being inherently evil and improper. but I also have really firm digital boundaries in terms of not giving a stranger on the internet much access to my life or getting too overly involved in theirs. I do this because I'm a public figure and people can be very inappropriate with me, but another benefit of this approach is that I'm never really having any kind of conversation with an internet stranger that would immediately turn inappropriate if I would find out that they were a minor. strangers on the internet are strangers. I can pass along resources and share my opinion if they ask me for advice, but I am not developing a close relationship with them or developing anything involving emotional or sexual intimacy with them. or with any, like, fan either. obviously some of this is different from your own situation, but you can probably see the logic here and how you might apply it to your own ways of relating to the subject online. I think there is never any harm in making information available, being aware of what a platform's terms of service are just for the sake of protecting yourself, and maintaining good boundaries with people you do not know while still being friendly, helpful, and cordial.

[frankys-wife]

Is anyone else so uncomfortable with canon x canon of your f/o it physically hurts?

Anyone else have a canon x canon ship involving your f/o that the entire fandom treats like canon, so much so that it makes you scared that your f/o will end up with them?

Every time I try to look up anything Franky related, that ship is there. Any time I try to make myself feel better by looking up any kind of justification that it won't happen, I'm met with all kinds of fan theories and "reasons why people ship it". Hell, even people who don't actively engage in shipping within the fandom say they can see Franky ending up with her.

Even though nothing is "canon" between them because the creator doesn't want to write romance between the main cast, there's subtle moments between them everyone reads into that makes me scared it'll become canon when it ends.

And the worse part is that I can't do anything to make myself feel better about it.

I love Franky so much, and I don't wanna give up for his sake, but this is so painful.

[eatsbooks]

yeah that’s why i said there’s plenty to be critical of in these books. i’m not excusing behaviors or defending abuse. my point is that while the actions listed are objectively things to find fault in, sjm wasn’t thinking of that when writing it. which is not giving her a pass. it’s calling her out on the fact she’d rather romanticize sensitive subjects for the sake of being horny than handle them well, an occurrence i think is more exogenically reflective than endogenically reflective in the narrative. hate on whatever character you want as much as you want idc — i just think folks are nitpicking things and attributing elements meant to be straight smut as character flaws when they are writing flaws

can i say something . can i be brave . a lot of y’all are trying to find endogenic reasons for characters in acotar doing things when the reason they did them was not because they are abusive / morally bad characters but because sjm wanted to make the books horny. did rhysand have to paint feyre and waltz her around the parties under the mountain basically naked? did he have to distract the hewn city by making feyre a pet and touching on her in front of everyone? no. sjm wrote it to be horny. did azriel need to be a cringecore emo fuck (affectionate) talmbout sad shower jerks and the cauldron giving him elain? no. sjm wrote it to lay the tension for being horny later. did cassian have to do anything he did in acosf? no. sjm wanted to be HORNY. all these things are shitty not great things for the characters to be doing, but the characters aren’t doing them because they’re inherently problematic; they’re doing them because the author wants to be horny, and they become problematic as a byproduct. there are plenty of actions and plots and decisions to be rightfully critical of in these books — trust me i want to 1v1 the inner circle in a pit — but some of the takes i’ve seen on this hellsite are trying to apply nuance to things done purely for the sake of being horny and it’s driving me crazy

[this-user-is-new]

nah, actually i can say that here. many people agreed with me.

but anyway, ekko is just a boundless well of compassion who exists solely to make vi look good, right? his entire life shaped by the violence, oppression and systemic cruelty of the enforcers is completely irrelevant when it comes to how he should feel about vi actively choosing to become one. because apparently, his trauma and lived experience just disappear when it’s about her. none of that matters when vi decides to throw on an enforcer uniform. he’s just here to be vi’s emotional support, right?

even if you want to use ekko to make vi look better with how he put everything aside for the greater good in the finale—fine (i'll go back to this tho). he can save her life. he can even work with her out of necessity. but let’s not pretend that means he agrees with her choice or respects it. his entire worldview is built around resisting piltover’s oppression, and the enforcers are literally a tool of that oppression. acting like he’d just set all of that aside for vi’s sake is incredibly stupid *cough* sorry, i meant reductive.

and don’t even get me started on the jinx argument. season 2, as plenty of people have pointed out, skips over a massive chunk of character development, and now you’re using their rushed resolution as some kind of "gotcha" moment to prove ... what, exactly? that because ekko forgave jinx off-screen, he’d do the same for vi? that logic is incredible. not in a good way. you’re actually using a literal writing flaw, one that leaves a major gap in ekko’s character arc to push your agenda. because yeah, let’s take a gaping hole in the show’s writing and use it as proof that ekko would just roll over and be totally fine with vi working for piltover. genius. but acknowledging that would require you to admit that season 2’s writing has issues, and unfortunately, i don’t think you’re there yet because that would require actual critical thinking.

i'm sure you’re fine with how ekko is abruptly removed from the storyline, how the oppressed are suddenly fighting alongside their oppressors, how the show prioritizes an alternate-universe ekko instead of developing the one we’re actually supposed to be following in his own universe, and how ekko and vi don’t exchange a single conversation—not even for him to confront her.

anyway, i recommend reading more about ekko’s actual lore. he’s so much more than what arcane shows you. hell, just listen to his LoL voice lines and then tell me if this boy "understands" vi becoming an enforcer. i’ll wait.

[nyapawr]

"Y/n."

"Rindou."

you look at him, not showing one ounce of emotion. He looks at you, guilt fills his whole body as he sees you standing right there in the middle of the room.

It's been so long since you've guys parted ways. Afterall, he did betray you. "I haven't seen you since....." Rindou stops speaking for a second, hesitating to finish his sentence.

"you look like your doing well." You stare at him, not wanting to stay there any longer. Words can't describe how much Rindou has hurt you in the past. He looked the same. Blond and blue streaks with the same mullet haircut he has always had since back then.

His heart pings in guilt, Rindou knows what he did was wrong. "y/n..." he says softly. For the first time, his face softened. You say nothing as you stand there, he could see your very dark eyebags circling underneath your eyes.

"Rindou where are you we have to go!" Ran, his brother yells across the room. Rindou stays silent as he takes a good look at you.

"Rin."

"yes y/n?"

You stop talking for a bit, looking down until you slowly made your way up, finally looking at him straight in the eye.

"you need to let me go."

His eyes widened, shocked at what you just said. "w-what.." You look at him, he noticed you looked very pale.

"Rindou for fuck sakes what are you doing!" Ran comes up to him, looking very annoyed. He flinches due to his brothers presence.

"ran move your in her way!" He says angrily, ran turns around to find nobody there. Ran looks at Rindou weirdly. "Are you okay dude..." Scratching the back of his neck Rindou glares at his older brother. "yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Dude......."

"Nobody is there."

authors note: dude i was like so emo so i decided to write this and the song that made me write this was mr loverman isn't that crazy.

[j3lly-fish]

I'll probably lose followers for this, but fuck it.

"Why are people so negative about this pack?", "If you don't want it just don't buy it.", "If you hate this game so much why do you still play it?"

I love this game. I have been playing sims 4 since 2017. I know for a fact a lot of you have played for FAR longer than I have and share these same feelings. I have spent over 1000 dollars on this game in terms of DLC. I cannot name you a single other fucking game with DLC that adds up to 4 digits like that, and that has somehow been normalized over the years because people keep indicating to EA that they want to keep spending like this. I stopped buying dlcs when they seemingly forgot Game Packs existed almost 3 years ago and just started going down the god forsaken Expansion/Kit route they're still going with to this day. Around that time I saw the quality of these packs go down, funnily enough. That being said, I look forward to these features! I love the tattoo shop, the candy shop, the at home businesses, we've been BEGGING for some of these features. Yes I'm excited!

But look me in the eyes and tell me this surface level amount of features is worth 60 canadian dollars. THAT is what I'm negative about. That is why I'm 'hating'. Some of you need to understand the difference between hating for the sake of hating something, and hating something based on the way EA has treated our love for this game in the last few years by delivering these dlcs for the price of a full game. Y'all say 'fuck EA' until a pack drops and you give them exactly what they want. I am convinced we haven't had a game pack in years now because they've noticed people just buy these game pack-sized expansions regardless.

If I genuinely hated this game so bad, I wouldn't be playing it at all and I'd have moved on by now. I am being 'hateful' because I love this game. I WANT to see it thrive, I want to see it have the charm it used to have, and for an accessible price for all. Critiquing something we enjoy is completely normal and I'm not sure where the opposite mindset stemmed from, how else are corporates and game devs supposed to learn about their audience's likes and dislikes??? Do you wanna hear critique from a guy who's not opened your game once, or from a guy who's now got 4000+ hours on it??? I was talking with my friend about this cause he joked about the fact that if you now want a cat café in the game, that's essentially 120 Canadian dollars, $180 if you consider Get Together's coffee mechanics. That, to me, as funny as it is, is also beyond ridiculous when put into that perspective, but its technically true. With that money I could go buy 5-6 indie games and have the trajectory of my life changed forever instead, which im debating now after writing all this LMAO.

Anyways, stop giving EA your money, you're feeding the machine.

Once again asking people to not buy this shitty get to work reskin pack but I know you're all gonna ignore me because some other person will share a creator's code or something