#but i need to have something in my life that i actually want to do

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K release date: december - january

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that���s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon at 17, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

author's note: so here we are! this is the story i've been thrilled to push out as it is happening in the universe and almost simultaneously with CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI. Y/N alias Peaches here, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after champagne confetti side B goes out. I have drafts for another fics that are happening in the same universe as champagne confetti and now anubis but step by step my faries ♥ I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I was keeping for myself for a looong time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within champagne confetti universe - which i still didn't name coz all the fics just have different titles so let's just call it like that for now. Without further ado, enjoy fairies! ♥ let's go back to 1996. omfg, let's call it thatttt, back to 1996!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone. main masterlist anubis

1996

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since I was seventeen, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you turned twenty-one—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather have me taking you as wife and putting a baby into you the moment you turned eighteen, am I right?"

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coming soon

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story will be up for reading, you can write in the comments and i'll create a taglist!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[tellafairy]

im confident 90% of the people on loablr have zero idea what loa actually is i need you people to understand that manifestation isnt some woo woo stuff you do to get your wildest dreams to come true you are literally always manifesting this is your reality and you control it once you understand that and once you understand that anything is possible and once you understand that you can manifest anything including the little things in life you will realize how effortless it is ive had this epiphany like a week ago and ive been living life on easy mode ever since everyday i have 10 success stories all i did was reprogram my mind with these affirmations: "the law works for me and does so favorably" "its enough for me to want something to get it" "this is my reality and i control it" "i manifest instantly and easily" "anything i want i get" "reality is malleable and anything is possible" just today alone ive instantly manifested body acne going away, i had my hand on my chest and felt some acne and i was like "i want this acne to go away" and put my hand on the same spot and it wasnt there anymore. stop it with all of these challenges and 281929 steps methods you guys are complicating something thats as easy as breathing just decide you have whatever you want and be confident you will get it because you will!!!

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ anon clocked a lot of y'all real bad ... stop looking at your desires as dreams / fantasies, stop putting things on a scale when nothing is out of reach, nothing is "too big" or "unrealistic" we say it on here 24/7 for a reason

[fnafpro52]

Gonna do this for my central OC, Deraj.

1. He's kind of associated with the color blue, although most of the blue he has on him is his eyes, his wings, a blue scarf he wears around his neck, and his jeans.

2. Always imagined him listening to something like jazz, but I don't have a favorite song for him.

3. Nah, he doesn't really rely on weapons. He's purely a hand-to-hand fighter. There's no real reason why, he's just strong enough to not need one.

4. He's pretty used to thinking on the fly and having to adapt during combat situations. The dude's been fighting for pretty much his entire life (and he's in his four-thousands!)

5. Oh, definitely aesthetic. The dude wears a trench coat, which has literally no practicality in the slightest.

6. Eh, he doesn't really care. As long as it isn't completely out of control, he'll leave it unkempt.

7. Probably some kind of lizard. He is a rather big fan of dragons after all.

8. Technically speaking, 'Deraj' is a name he gave himself, but he doesn't remember where it came from. His real name is 'Time' because he *is* the living embodiment and personification of that specific concept, but he's had other names. He was named 'Volta' in the orphanage he lived in for about a year and was designated 'S-1T' by Dr. Carlos Morto, one of my antagonists, when Deraj was his test subject.

9. He's the kind of guy that doesn't really care. As long as it's food, he'll eat it. Although he does quite enjoy deep-fried stuff.

10. Nah, he's not much of a jewelry guy. He never really saw the appeal.

11. I mean, the original version of his character was literally a self-insert. Granted, he has evolved a bit since then, but a few details are pretty reminiscent of myself, yeah.

12. Um, this dude's been around for over four thousand years and that's not even counting how old he is as a concept. And being immortal, aging doesn't really matter to him. If he does have a birthday, it doesn't matter.

13. While he mostly speaks English, he is pretty fluent in Italian, Japanese, and a lot of other languages that are either dead or otherworldly.

14. I've always been in a sort of 50/50 mindset over whether or not to make Deraj actually good at numbers and working technology before finally settling on him having just a basic understanding of them. Nothing too advanced, but enough to get by.

15. He doesn't really have any family, other than the other subjects of Dr. Morto that basically acted as stand-ins for siblings, consisting of two other boys and one girl. But he'd never Carlos to be his dad, he'd puke at the idea.

16. He himself doesn't own any pets, but a close friend of his that lives with him owns a dragon.

17. Probably relaxing and/or trying not to die.

18. Hey, if it helps him out in the long run, he's more than willing.

19. Oh, yeah, one hundred percent. He tries his best to stay cool as long as possible, but his patience can only be stretched out so thin. And when he snaps, there's gonna be hell to pay.

20. He can drive, but it's a skill he hardly uses as he mostly uses his wings or the portals he can summon in order to get around, especially when both options are much faster than driving.

21. Anywhere with his friends honestly.

22. There's the occasional grim nightmare about either something from his past or the future, but he can mostly keep those away in order to sleep pretty soundly.

23. I'd say his voice is pretty calm and relaxed most of the time, but he can sound commanding when he wants to. And yeah, he can sing.

24. He writes in his spare time, but he has very little time to do that in his chaotic life.

25. He's a pretty keen and observant dude. That's the reason he's still alive after all.

26. He moves with the confidence of a dude that's seen it all. That and with his wings.

27. He doesn't really have time for sports or anything like that. Although he is still pretty active because of how much combat he sees.

28. He usually expresses he cares for others through actions such as defending them in combat. But if he dislikes you, he's gonna express that shit verbally.

29. No, not really.

30. I dunno man, what does time smell like? A clock...? WHAT DOES A CLOCK SMELL LIKE-

31. He doesn't particularly care for gifts, whether receiving or giving them. They don't mean much when you live forever.

32. He hates wolves. Like, absolutely *loathes* them, with the exception of one of the other subjects that he grew up with who later became a werewolf.

33. Descriptions would vary from 'good leader' to 'close friend' and then comments like 'smug piece of shit' and similar stuff.

34. He'd describe himself as just someone trying to do something with his life, not much more.

35. 'Home' is a subjective term. He's sure as hell not returning to the lab he originated from or the orphanage he found himself in after escaping. But his base that he made years afterwards? Yeah, he'd consider it home.

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

[moonsaver]

Almost a kiss, Always a breath

How close life is unto death. Almost a kiss, but always a breath.

With only about a month left to live – your previous guardian angel, Robin, has been replaced, as The Family decide to assign you one that's more "suitable" to your need. Guardian Angel!Sunday x gn!reader CW/TW: reader is chronically ill, and there's descriptions of how painful it is (a little gruesome) but the actual illness is left vague for self insert purposes. Mentions + implications of childhood abuse, death (reader), lesbians because i just wanted it A/n: As much as I'd have loved to make it Seraphin x reader, Sunday is just a guardian angel who has a more biblically accurate appearance. also it's about just a bit over 11k words. sorry for the delays! ______

"You can stay out here."

You turn halfway to face Sunday, the pair of wings over his eyes firmly shut, the other two pairs slightly bristling at your words.

“I have been assigned to you for a reason.”

You glance at the bright entryway of the boutique in front of you. People would definitely notice something was off. No one can ignore someone like him. At least, they’d sense something would be off.

You turn back to face him. Your hesitant silence seems to spur him to continue,

“I shan't interfere.”

He smiles. You don't think it's genuine. You look up at the various eyes embedded across his halo and wings like jewels. They stare back.

Have they ever blinked?

You shake your head,

“No. Stay out here. You'll scare people.”

You stand your ground firmly, your body facing him entirely now. He hums, his smile vanishing from his face.

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

You reply, and it's followed by silence.

The corners of his mouth perk up slightly, before it's met with lesser and lesser resistance, eventually letting out a wholehearted chuckle.

“I can promise, truly, I won't interfere, nor draw attention. Nothing like the scene at the hospital.”

You sigh.

—

“Sweet mother of..”

You keep Xipe's name out of your mouth, sitting up on your hospital bed as fast as you can, ignoring the jolt of pain in your body from the sudden movement, as your eyes train on the figure in front of you.

The man is clad in white – a suit, to be specific – and seems to have started his day much earlier than you.

“I thought Robin was..”

“The Family has decided otherwise.”

You stare at his covered eyes, only to glance over at the plethora of his.. other eyes blink at you; wide and all-seeing, surrounded by clusters of feathers. A pair of them bristle as you continue to stare, and he clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his (wing-covered) eyes. His halo is golden - just like Robin’s, except.. Bigger. And sharper.

“I'm– I think my intentions were very specific, so why on Earth do I have a Seraphim looking after me?”

“The Family decided the timely course of your fate required an assistance of much.. higher capability.”

You scoff, the covers crumpled under your hands as they clench.

“Robin was adequate– no, more than adequate.”

“I would be aware. I expect nothing less of my sister.”

“Your–?!”

This day couldn't get any more confusing in the mere 15 minutes of it's starting, really. A Seraphim. Sent to be your guardian angel. And he has a sister by some biological miracle.

As if he senses the question you are about to ask, he says,

“Let's focus on a more dire topic.”

He neatly sets down his cup of finished tea on a surface – you don't care enough to check; too busy glaring daggers at the man – a few of his other eyes peeking over at the cup in your stead.

“ugh, great.”

 You groan and plop onto the bed on your back with an ‘umpf', then cringe as the pain shoots up from a plethora of nerve endings on your back.

Sunday continues, regardless of your pained expression, an artificial smile plastered on his too human-like features,

“Roughly 2 weeks. That is all.”

He gets up, and walks with measured steps to the side of your hospital bed, his eyes (in multitudes) staring down at your not-so intimidating glare.

You click your tongue, your eyes zoning out for a moment before they settle back on the teacup he'd just placed down.

“Since when did Seraphims like..?”

“Coffee. It helps, I've found.”

“Found?”

He opens his hand towards you. You awkwardly look at his gloved palm before he speaks to clear your hesitance again,

“Let us continue to whichever place you wish to visit.”

You look at his hand again, now with a dull glaze over your eyes, a plethora of thoughts glooming over your mind before another one of his (unsettling, you may add) eyes catch your attention, breaking you out of your saddened trance.

You breathe out, taking his hand,

“Fine.”

—–

And so, that led you here.

You pick out a dress, then shuffle through the stacked hangers to find your size, as Sunday patiently stands beside you, his obnoxiously white suit out of your vision by your request as to “not blind you.” But you can't necessarily explain about that to someone who covers their eyes for.. 90% of the time, you assume. Regardless, he obliges.

You turn to hand him a few of your clothes to hold, but watch as he stares at a distant baby. Their face is red and swollen, presumably from having cried for a while. The tears in their eyes confirm the suspicion. You look back at him, curious as to what he could possibly find fascinating about a red-faced baby.

..what the fuck?

You observed his eyes – the conglomerate of them making a weird sensation bubble under your skin as you watch all of them blink in succession.

You sigh, for the umpteenth time, making him turn to you. You look at Sunday with a strangely confused expression, as Sunday’s cautious hands pry the clothes from yours. You shift your eyes to see the baby look at you two once again with a face as confused and perturbed as yours.

“You’re lucky not many can see you.”

“Yes, it is fortunate.”

You continue browsing through the selection of clothes, politely waving off any staff member that seem to force themselves to help you regardless of the strange aura they felt around you.

“I’m trying these on. You stay right..”

You reposition him, hands on the sides of his arms as he complies.

“Here.”

He stands, in all his glory, in front of a kids’ indoor playground.

“The changing room is too far from here.” Inquisitively, that seems to be the only trouble Sunday faces, and not the curious glances from a few children making weird faces at his eyes on his back.

“It isn’t. It’s just a few picks, I’ll be back soon.”

He seems to stay silent, although his (unsettling) smile is no longer on his face, which reads him as more intimidating instead.

You shake your head, and then turn to walk over to the changing room.

——

A scream.

It rips through the chill, calm atmosphere of the store, warranting concern from a few employees situated around the changing room,

“I-Is everything okay-?”

“Yes-! Sorry, sorry, Im just–”

You hurry, and shuffle the floating eye into your bag, your hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.

Why was there an eye in your bag in the first place?

Turns out Sunday sent one to stand right dab in front of your stall to ensure your safety in, probably only his opinion – a minimal way. You screamed the moment you opened your door and found a floating eyeball in front of your stall, before realising only that Seraphim was capable of doing such a thing.

You internally let out a beautiful, colourful string of curses, presumably to beat some sense into him, as you wrestle with the bag that's flailing in your bag like an animal caught in a potato sack.

“Stop, stop, Xipe damn it-!”

You bring the bag up to your face, glaring down as the singular eye looks up at you with an unreadable glint from the soft fabrics of your bag,

“If we get caught I swear I will–”

“Uh.. is everything okay?”

You jolt watching the door slightly move ajar as one of the employees gently signal their presence,

Shit, you forgot to lock it!

It wasn't your fault - you were about to step out when you were delightfully greeted by an eyeball, and in your hurry you must have forgotten to lock it.

You throw a sheepish smile towards the door, hiding your bag behind you. You're aware it looks like you've stolen something, so you take a deep breath and pat your bag, careful around the bulge of the eye inside.

“I'm okay, I- I just uh.. saw a cockroach.”

“A cockroach-?!”

The employee gasps, immediate words of apology on the tip of their tongue, but you stop them before they can continue. You swing open the door, having only grabbed a single item as you rush past the employee sputtering on their words, politely dismissing yourself as you beeline to Sunday.

––

You did, thankfully, find Sunday where you left him.

You stood a bit of distance away as he came into your vision, making sure to count the number of his eyes, blinking a few times and recounting to really make sure – who knew staring at his eyes for so long would make you dizzy?

By then, the eye in your bag only nudged a few times, but nothing more than that. On the way you realised there might have been no need for the commotion, considering people can barely see Sunday as is, let alone (one of) his eyes. You sigh tiredly at the thought, but brush it off.

You walked over to the small barricade surrounding the children's indoor playground and observed.

Sunday is crouched down, watching intently as two young girls clack their (very distressed) barbies together, making up drama on a whim. Sunday seems deep in thought, occasionally piping up to add his own additions.

Ookay. You need to stop this.

You sigh, running your hand over your face before calling out,

“Sunday!”

His head turns to look at you, then gets up, unassumingly as though he'd not been getting in on local gossip from girls.

—–

You sigh, pushing off the shoes from your feet as you sit back down on your familiar hospital bed, the door of your room clicking as Sunday ensures your privacy.

“Do you plan on going somewhere?”

“Tomorrow, actually. Since we have enough time, I'll take it easy.”

He hums, merely in acceptance, as he sets down the small bag your recent purchase was in.

“Oh, also, c'mere.”

You motion him to come closer.

“Closer.”

He steps closer, your knee almost grazing against his thigh,

“Closer.”

“Any closer and I-”

You grab his tie and yank him down eye level,

“Do you know what happened in the dressing room-?!”

You sputter out, the embarrassment returning to you as you recall the flustered employee's voice,

“I.. cannot say I do.”

You grab your bag, and out comes bursting an eye.

Ah. He felt something was amiss.

“I was fine on my own! Seriously, if you wanted to check in you could have just walked over! Which guardian angel just casually sends an eyeball of theirs-?!”

“Ah, but I did not want to overbear—”

“I would have preferred that, instead of your eye hanging in front of my stall like a Christmas tree decor!”

…

“Noted.”

You sigh, watching the eye float and join the conglomerate of his, wink at you, making you blink, unimpressed.

——

“I wanna be buried…”

You hum, looking over the green, slightly bumpy landscape, and point to under a tree.

“There. That's perfect.”

Mei seems to take your words in stride, despite the depravity of your humor. She chuckles softly, and turns to you,

“I'm sure it's possible.”

“D'you think I can get one of those colored, glass tombstones?”

“Hm, slightly difficult..”

“Oh please.”

You nudge her shoulder, making her softly chuckle again. Both of you gaze over to the distance, the plot of land sparsely filled with tombstones of other strangers you've yet to know about from Mei.

If the purple haired woman knew anything about you – it was that you adored stories. She never considered herself the best storyteller, but you'd convinced her enough to tell you anyway. Occasionally her companion would join in, greatly elevating the storytelling atmosphere, but for the most part, it was just you two.

Mei, who would tell you of each person she'd buried. Carol, 98, a lovely grandmother. She'd always smell of pie and something herbal – always sure to drop off tea wherever she went, the dull packets that rattled whenever she'd placed them down with her shaky fingers. Only her daughter's side of the family visited. 

Nico, 17. His father comes every weekend to clean his tombstone. He had a green thumb. His gravestone had the most beautiful flowers around him.

Razalina, a mysterious woman who you'd been waiting to hear about from Mei, before Robin was shortly replaced. Your health got worse and Mei urged you to take a break. You miss the flavour of the tea Mei would serve for you two. You wonder how it would feel to drink it for the rest of your life until you'd grow to be 98.

There was a morbid comfort in having a friend as Mei. Acheron – the term suited her. A gentle, sorrowful, but greatly respectful and polite woman who took care of the dead. A mortician you'd gotten familiar with on a whim when you'd bumped into her somewhere. She was going to bury you, and you'd let her with delight. You imagine there was a sort of trust and intimacy in that. She would clean your organs, and lay you to sleep on the naked Earth. There was certainly intimacy in that.

“A wardrobe change, hm?”

She quirks an eyebrow, her words still slightly hushed in caution to not even possibly offend you.

“Thought I'd try something new.”

You kicked a stray rock, looking down at your newly bought clothes, then back up at Mei.

“Went shopping with someone yesterday.”

“Finally let you out of your enclosure?”

“Ugh, for once, thankfully.”

She hums, walking alongside you with a leisurely pace, her gaze drifting over the cloudy sky,

“I'd expected Robin to come with you. I don't think I was able to continue onto the next story with her.”

“Yeah, I did too..”

You look back at Sunday – still following you two a few ways behind, waving as you and Mei observe him for a second.

“quite a character.”

You nod, simply, continuing to look at him as Mei's steady eyes train on you for a moment.

“Scared?”

“No. Never have been.”

…

“Good.”

Mei's assurance was quiet, almost relieved. She turned ahead and continued, and you followed her.

——

The cloudy weather only seemed to thicken with humidity and the threat of rain as the sky dimmed with time, and Mei was kind enough to end the story on a reasonable cliffhanger, making you giggle in your seat.

“There's never enough time, really..”

You say, between your soft chuckling. It always felt like time passed by unfairly fast when you sat with Mei as you used to.

She hums, smiling, her finger circling the rim of her cup,

“Tomorrow will come, so have faith.”

Have faith in a tomorrow. It would have left you breathless had you not heard it from Robin before. You glance back at the Seraphim behind you as if to confirm Robin really wasn't looking after you anymore.

You bit your lip for a moment at the agitation as the thought bubbled in you, before looking back up at Mei and returning her gentle smile.

“Alright. I'll get going. Take care, Mei.”

She nods, getting up with you, as you gather your items and walk up ahead a bit.

Mei turns to Sunday, and mutters something out of earshot.

——

You're tired of this.

You get up once again, in pain. It shoots through you, and pulses in your body. It continues to ebb and intensify with passing moments.

You stifle a groan, biting down on your chapped lips and swallow thickly, a bead of sweat forming over your eyebrow as you clutch yourself in pain. 

No one else is awake.

You zone out in pain, the only sound in your ears of the heart rate monitor beside you picking up slightly. The pain renders you almost still. 

This pain. This all too familiar ache. You despise it, and yet you don't. How many events have you had to skip or leave because of it? How many times have you turned down hanging out with your friends over it? It angers you. It's as though inhabiting a scrawny animal who claws at your insides for nothing. How many hobbies, pastimes, hell even careers, have you missed out on because of this? The all to familiar sight of your friends’ slightly pitiful gazes burns your mind, almost making the pain in your body worse as you squeeze your eyes shut–

A hand.

Your eyes open, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming on your back as you turn your head to look at the hand on your shoulder.

Sunday. He doesn't seem to be donning any gloves this time.

His hands are pretty. The thought floats through the top of your mind like oil on water, the pain pulsing in you barely letting you cling to the present.

“Are you in pain?”

You lick your lips, shallow breathing carrying the response you wish to say. He hums, the noise almost soothing.

His hand moves and rests on your back, the warmth of his palm more comforting than the sweat making your skin shiver. He doesn't seem to mind the fluid sticking to his own skin.

For a moment, you feel the warmth increase, before it dims. Everything dims. The pain ebbs away, making you breathe out shakily, your tense muscles eventually relaxing. His hand slides to your wrist as you lay back down, fatigued from the midnight bout of pain.

“Better?”

You blink a few times, a futile attempt to appear more alert and less affected from the episode. There's a bit of water in your eyes – you didn't notice, but it's nothing you're concerned about.

You turn your head slightly to him, your eyes looking up at him as you ask with a hoarse voice

“How did you do that?”

Sunday hums, his fingers moving from your wrist to your palm, drawing soothing circles in the middle of it as a comforting gesture.

“We are equipped to absolve a bit of your pain. This is our duty. This is how we become pure.”

“Pure?”

His head isn't turned to you, instead a bit low, as he leans back in his seat. He breathes out.

“Purification happens through only a few means. Absolving you of your pain is a major way to do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“It hurts.”

His hand gently squeezes your hand.

“But you are feeling better.”

“It's not fair.”

His head turns slightly to see you. Your watery eyes only become more teary. Frustration, hurt, sadness, anger. There's a scripture in your face as he scans the furrow of your brows, the tears in your eyes and the chapped, dry blood on your lips.

And the silence settles between you two. A tender sort of hurt in the night air as he folds his fingers around your hand. Your eyes trail to his plethora of wings. Pairs of 3. They're beautiful. You watch the conglomerate of his eyes closing and gently blinking, almost lulled to sleep. His golden halo hangs a little lower than usual – sharp, yet elegantly prudent. The ones on his wings covering his actual eyes stare back at you.

You're beautiful. The words stay choked on your tongue like a regretful prayer. Your eyebrows relax, and your jaw unclenches.

Sunday smiles, watching your tear filled eyes close with sleep.

–—

Your shoes click as you circle around the fountain, watching the carved figure in the middle pour out water from various sources. 

Your padded shoes come to a slow halt, followed by Sunday's polished shoes right behind.

“Do you believe in wishes?’

“Hm..”

You shuffle through your bag, picking out something silvery. A coin.

“Yeah. Like.. a wishbone. A shooting star. An eyelash.”

You hold up the delicate coin, but Sunday's attention is trained on your face.

“We find wishes and stories everywhere. If you could.. what would you wish for?”

You gently grab one of his hands, and press a coin in the middle of his palm. He seems to have forgone his gloves once again.

“I am incapable of–”

“It's hypothetical. Come on.”

He hums, glancing at the coin, and then at the fountain.

“I'd like more coffee. One that is flavorful, deep and complex.”

You chuckle and shake your head,

“Be a little more creative. Just coffee?”

You pick out your own coin.

You suppose you were a bit unfair to him. What would you explain about walking to a whale in it's depths? About flying to a mammal accustomed to it's faithful footing? About crawling to feathery or scaled wings?

You throw your coin.

I wish for freedom.

Sunday hums again, pondering deeply.

“Ah, but if I say it out loud, it won't come true.”

“Aww..”

He chuckles, pocketing the coin.

“Let us proceed.”

He holds out his hand to you, and you eagerly accept, intertwining your fingers around his as you walk alongside and make small talk

“They've been struggling to walk and do basic tasks. Look after them.”

Mei's voice rung out in his head for a while, like a record playing over and over in an empty ballroom.

“You can see me.” He says matter-of-factly, instead of a question, after a moment of contemplative silence.

“I'm intimately familiar with death.”

He stares at her distant look for a moment.

“..I have my duties.”

“Sure. Take care of them. Please.”

–—

“Sunday, it's okay–”

A small gasp escapes you as he yanks you a bit closer,

“Watch out for the pothole.”

“The cover?” You look up at him almost in disbelief. 

What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Careful.”

He pulls you aside again, ‘assisting’ you to dodge a very obvious, very blaringly red fire hydrant.

“Ugh, okay, wait.”

You halt, Sunday stopping in his tracks ahead of you as your limp hand refuses to move with his in grasp.

“you don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to keel over if I step on a rock or something.”

“Nonsense, I'm simply fulfilling my duty.”

He turns to you completely, your hand still firmly grasped in his, as he looks down at your troubled face.

“You weren't this.. protective.”

“Hm, something must have messed with your memories. Here, let me–”

You gently swat away his hand that reaches out to you,

“Sunday, relax.”

You both stay silent for a moment. You breathe out,

“Okay, here,”

You step closer, and shake your hand out of his firm grasp, but loop your arm around his, and gently pat his bicep with your other hand.

“Better?”

He stays silent for a moment,possibly surprised for a moment.

“Better.”

He smiles at you, and you return it, both of you continuing forward.

——

“I want a garden. As big as possible.”

“Is that so?”

You kick around a small pebble, stepping on a slightly raised stone platform before looking up to gawk once again at the priceless view – the field of tulips making you stop for a moment.

“Mhm. I want to grow as big of a garden as I can. I've always wanted to.”

He chuckles softly, following your gaze out into the vast tulip field, before returning back to you.

You almost belonged here.

The entire gorgeous tapestry of you. Blending into the delicate backdrop like a painting. He's seen a few portraits in museums that could at least come close to the vision.

“I want to paint.”

You turn and look at him, Inquisitively, as he says so, almost surprising you.

“Really?”

He fully turns to you, and holds out a flower for you to see.

A carnation.

“What do you want to paint?”

You glance back up at his covered face. He steps a bit closer, and places the flower in your hair, moving a few stray strands from your face as he does so.

“A garden.”

You giggle, and the sound blooms in his heart.

“What kind?”

“A big one. With as many flowers as there can be.”

“Sounds pretty.”

He hums. You are, He thinks.

——

Sunday hates the rain.

There are many things he hates.

Overrun schedules, late appointments, rushed deaths, overbearing contracts, unruly protectees, a bad cup of coffee, bright lights.

And the rain.

Both of you pant and huff – you especially – running to hunt for any cover, the pattering of your feet almost matching the rain's rhythm.

Sunday's hand is tightly grasped around yours as he leads you to a small cover; a small awning, the grip so firm you notice the middle of your palm is still dry when he lets go to check you over.

“Are you alright?”

Sunday scans you over, stepping to the side to examine you more, a supportive hand on your back as you continue to catch your breath. You can predict the next bout of pain is gonna be worse. But you shove that thought aside as you nod, turning to face him, wiping away some of the rainwater dripping from his chin.

“You're soaked.”

He hums, disregarding the obvious nature of your remark, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he counters,

“You'll get sick.”

He raises his head slightly to glance over you, gauging something.

“We're closeby, let's just run–”

“No.”

Sunday shuts you down firmly. His tone doesn't allow more room for argument.

He sighs, running a hand through his own wet hair as he contemplates on what to do. You try to scrunch up a bit of your clothing to squeeze out the water, and do the same with your hair as you wait for him to continue.

“I'll be fine–”

You try to softly negotiate, but Sunday takes off his blazer, swiftly putting it over your shivering shoulders, before wrapping his arms around you and–

“Ah- Sunday-?”

You breathed out, almost a gasp, as he pulls you in. His shirt is thinner from the water still soaking it, but the warmth of his body (of which you become too aware about) relaxes you almost immediately. You hesitate for a moment, until Sunday quietly sighs into your shoulder. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his waist, tucking your face into his neck as well. Your bodies exchange warmth, and the water seems to help hold the heat better than before.

“I despise the rain.”

Sunday's muffled voice resounds into your clothes and skin, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips.

“Really?”

He nods

“Why?”

“Alters too many things in the schedule.”

“Ah. I see..”

He sighs again; a puff of breath warming– almost burning your shoulder.

You stay that way for a few moments longer, before you speak again;

“Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“I want to do something.”

He stays silent, as though waiting for your initiative. You loosen your grip, and he pulls away at the indication. You take a moment as you scan his appearance – nothing resembling the once pristine, well kept man you'd seen the first day in your hospital room. Bits of his blue hair stuck to his skin like waves latching onto the shore, the feathers of his wings adorned with raindrops, the blurred effect of his halo under the rain. Your eyes travel a bit lower; his tie is slightly crooked, and his shirt is see through and..

You clear your throat, blinking and turning your gaze away to the pattering rain.

“I've wanted to.. um..”

Sunday's fingers brush against the side of your face, turning your attention back to him.

He brushes away a few strands sticking to your wet skin. His fingers are cold.

Your hands gently grasp his, encasing it, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

You slowly turn, and walk backwards, his hand still encased in yours as you step into the rain, watching his hesitant steps follow you.

You both stand under the rain, the water cradling your skin and washing away your previous efforts to dry off. Your hand intertwines with his, and your other hand rests on his shoulder. He places his other hand on your waist.

You smile, but he still seems hesitant. For a moment, you both stand, simply looking at each other. 

As if to reassure himself, Sunday leans down, and gently presses his forehead to yours.

Your smile falters for a moment, your expression replaced by that of surprise, but when Sunday grins, your confusion floats away. His hand squeezes yours as both of you sway and dance in the rain.

–––

“Is everything okay?”

Or at least – that's what the curious look on your face might say.

Sunday retracts his hand from the water of the fountain, gently flicks it, before wiping it with a handkerchief, drying it off. He sits half turned to you on the fountain's edge.

You stand with an umbrella and a (familiar) floating eye in tow, changed into warmer clothes and dried hair, washed of the rain's scent. 

Sunday had temporarily stepped away while you were showering to visit a smaller fountain closer to where you stayed. He was acutely aware the coin you'd tossed wouldn't be here. 

Always standing. Never approaching. That was how he'd describe Gopher Wood.

Right where you are.

Dressed in black like a curse that followed him – ravens in corners of buildings and lurking from above muddied puddles. Always in the distance, fog following him like a haunting widow, the backdrop of the mist etching him further into Sunday's mind. A hollow that spasms like a missing organ.

“These are necessary measures” he'd say. “Are you afraid?” He took delight.

He took delight in it.

“Sunday?”

Your voice, soft and grounding, snapped him out of the small trance he was in.

“My apologies.”

He says, picking up his folded blazer as he stands and walks to you,

“I have to check your temperature and–”

“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on.”

You hand over the umbrella to him, and shuffled through your bag to pull out a warm and fuzzy towel.

Sunday simply observes you for a moment as you hold the towel in your hand. He tries to reach out to take it with his other, but you pull away. He looks at you hesitant and confused, as you motion for him to lean down.

Carefully, your hands bring the towel to his head, and cautious of his wings, you gently dry his damp, blue hair. He hums, his wings shifting and bristling from the contact at first, before relaxing. 

“You could have told me.”

“You wouldn't let me.”

“I wouldn't?”

You huff,

“You talk too much.”

“You're the one who cuts me off quite often.”

“Touchè.”

Your hands stop for a moment, looking over at his ruffled hair half dried by the towel. One of your hands brushes away some of the hair that sticks up onto his face.

You wish he'd let you see his eyes.

“What colour are your eyes?”

His throat tightened a bit. He'd hate to deny you if you asked to see them.

“..gold.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

You stayed quiet, simply looking at the soft feathers of his wings, your hand moving from his face to hover around the pairs behind his ear, you look at him, and he nods, giving you silent permission.

Your hand gently cards through one of the wings’ feathers, careful to not poke any of the eyes, wiping away any wet edges of his feathers.

“..You're pretty.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.”

You back away, your hand retracting and pulling away the towel but Sunday is a bit faster, his hand grabbing your wrist and immediately stilling you. You both stand for a moment, breathless, and silent.

…

“I.. I'll wash the towel.”

“Ah, it's okay..”

He insists, silently, although his originally urgent grip on your wrist loosens a bit.

You end up obliging, letting him take the towel.

He could feel your pulse. Do humans have normally quick heartbeats?

–—

“Brother!”

Robin grins, ear to ear, proud of her handiwork as she holds up her fingers, sticky from the dampness of the water and the sweat of her small, clammy hands. The water dips into the chubby curve of her elbow, threatening to go up further but dripping down into the water instead, rejoining the gentle flow. 

“Robin, that could be dangerous! We don't know what those plants are..”

Sunday cautions his sister, voice untethered but soft with naivety and youth. His feet remain hesitantly restless on the muddy edge of the small river bank.

She only offers him a closed eye grin, before trudging her short, stubby legs in the water, walking back to the soil where she descended from, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she was cautious not to slip.

“It's for you!”

“M-Me?”

Robin's wet hand reaches out to Sunday's, gently prying his soft palm open and placing a soaked flower, making the water drip from his rounded knuckles. Some of the water seeps into the edges of his sleeves, but not more than a few centimetres.

“It's the flower! From the book!”

“But it's not real..”

“It is! That's why it's white!”

Sunday looks down at the flower again. It looked dreadful, in a way. Like a drowned rat – if he knew he could describe it that way. But from the rambunctious effort of Robin's chubby little fingers having wrestled it out of the water, it looked..

perfect.

It was beautiful in a sense. The white petals were (almost) unmarred, the stamens gently swayed with the soft draft that carried with cloudy weather, and the stem was still slightly rigid.

Robin's handiwork was pretty.

“You mustn't run off like that.”

Robin flinches, and clings to Sunday's back, as he turns to the source of the voice.

His eyes first see shoes. Black, polished, unmarred. Never touched by filth. Then crisply ironed pant legs. Then up, up, and up, until his little neck strained.

Father.

Or what was left of him.

Gold rimmed glasses. A rosemary always adorning his neck.

Sunday's original thoughts, back then, had been none of these incriminating feelings. They'd been quiet. So silent and afraid, as though his father would hear if he thought too loudly.

“What do we have here?”

The man leans down, but it does less to make him non-imposing. He might prefer it, that way. Sunday notices the gentle tinker of his rosemary as it moves forward with his father.

Robin's clammy hands now clenched the soft fabrics draped over Sunday's small back, cowering behind him. His loud, messy sister. His determined, bright sister. Dimmed by the clouds and fear his father brought.

If only he reached out to choke his father with his rosemary right then and there.

—–

“I wish u could have made it ://”

You stare at an old text – probably even forgotten by the sender. The tears make the digital screen a bit hard to read momentarily as it fills up your vision, but it gets easier after they settle on your waterline. 

It's these quiet nights you realise how much company you're missing. Like an artist painting the negative spaces in blotches to carve out the image – texts and hidden whispers like these carved out the loneliness you'd fester in yourself.

Something stirred you awake. Maybe it was the constant lingering pain that threatened to push it's usual threshold. Maybe the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor.

Or that Sunday wasn't here.

Not even his eye. As unsettling as it was – you missed it a little. You sigh, pushing yourself up and sitting on the edge of your familiar hospital bed, careful to not agitate the pain more by accident. You push off the bed, and walk a bit hunched, pulling a shawl over yourself and deciding to go out and search for him for whatever reason.

At least, it's a better way to pass your restlessness than going through old texts. Walking at night didn't seem as bad of an idea – at least within hospital grounds.

––

Sunday remembers the world.

Or what he wishes to remember it as.

Cold, stony alleyways. Unforgiving nights. Merciless fog. A sun that never shines.

Not upon those like him anyway.

His Father – always standing. Never approaching. The fog surrounding him was the same. Always at a standstill.

Until something broke that.

There it was. Blood, seeping through cracks in the broken pavement of the ground. Almost inky from the murkiness and filt that seeped into it.

That was the first time he saw his Father's shoes marred.

“This is necessary, child.”

The Raven perched on his shoulder would bristle a bit, but not more.

No, it wasn't.

“This is our duty.”

It isn't.

“You will have to do what it takes.”

Sunday felt impossibly small that day. Like a fawn's leg caught in a bear trap. As if his surroundings grew a size too big and left him behind like a borrowed sweater. He was always more frailer than the other kids.

He wonders if that's why his father broke him so easily.

His little, golden eyes peered down, lost in thought and terror. He learnt how to ground himself at a tender age.

There was grime under his shoes.

Grime in the cracks of the pavement.

Grime in his father's affections.

He was never pure.

——

You couldn't find Sunday.

Forget that – you couldn't even walk.

Pain shot through you the moment you stood up, making you gasp and breathlessly sit back down onto your bed. Your throat constricted – you couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the frustration.

The frustration that had been ebbing and chipping away at you; second by second, hour by hour.

“I can't make it”, “I'm not feeling well”, “The doctor said..”, “I probably won't.”,..

“It hurts.”

Your lungs tremble, before sucking in a breath. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you hunch forward, glaring through the blur of your festering emotions at the sterile tiles of your hospital room.

The tapered off conversations, friendships fizzled out, disappointed looks.

You weren't blessed. By some being, or some cruel fate, or so on and so forth; it felt like if anything, you were created to be tortured. Like flimsy, rotting meat on a metal rod. Pain was more familiar to you than the crevices of your hand, weak with the trembling in your bones from all the feelings you couldn't even name.

“I wish you could have made it.”

That pulls a sob out of you like a hooked wire piercing and pulling through a fish's throat, making you double over as more continue to bubble past.

You were meant to be tortured; you choke on your spit, and sob past the coughing.

Why? God, just why? Fall to your side and curl up,

Why couldn't you be blessed? What did everyone else have that you didn't? Why weren't you blessed? Why couldn't you be free? What godforsaken sin had your soul committed? What did your fate have in store? What did you do?

Why you?

Burying your screams into the pillow, the ugliness of your reality was softened by it like an interrupted fall from a height.

You cry until your vessel is empty.

Until you feel you've carved a hole out of yourself from the middle.

What it would take to be blessed, you wonder. Your hands clench to your chest, and your heart throbs to live despite.

–

Sunday returns late.

And he returns quietly.

You look up, puffy and tired eyes meeting the wings where his are supposed to be.

He stands idly at the opened door. Blood stains his visage. 

You breathe out, your face warm from your previous bout of sobbing, and don't utter a word. Sunday walks– limps to your side, almost paddling his way, before slumping down into the chair beside you. Some of the eyes besotted on his halo look tiredly at you.

You sniffle. He stays still. You presume he's looking down at the tiled floor.

Your hand comes up to rub away at your sticky face, and soon Sunday's own hand comes up to cup your face when yours retracts.

You lean into his gloved hand, disregarding the grime and the strong, metallic scent. He leans forward, and presses his forehead against yours.

His hair are soft against your forehead. You peer into the deft feathers of the wings that firmly shut over his eyes. Your own hands gently cup his face, closing your eyes. After a moment, he shifts, his face moving to bury itself into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you, a bit too tightly. He stays tense for a minute, then relaxes into your hold.

You both stay like that for a while.

—–

You woke up feeling under the weather the next day. Which was ironic, because the Dawn has never looked as beautiful as it did that morning.

In fact, you don’t even remember how you managed to sleep. 

You look down emptily at your hand – as though you awoke from a coma induced dream, reminiscent of the warmth that was under it just a night ago.

Just then, your door creaks open. Sunday enters with a small box, and stills for a moment before his face breaks into a gentle smile.

“Ah, you're already awake.”

He says, softly, careful to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere the morning sunlight had casted in your room with you two. He walks over and sets the box on your bedside table.

“What is that..?”

“Paint.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He leaves, and a few moments later, you hear a soft grunt in the distance, followed by some wood creaking. Finally, Sunday seems to be able to maneuver whatever he'd been handling and it comes into view as he brings it in;

An easel, and a canvas already set on it.

You smile, at his struggled and awkward movements as he carefully handles the easel inside.

“You wanted to paint.” You recall, propping up your pillows and lazily leaning back onto them.

“I did.” He says, his smile returning to his face after the slightly troubling task. He pulls a chair and sits in front of the canvas, adjusting and pondering over the position of it until he was satisfied.

“What are you going to paint?”

“You.”

“Something more original please.”

“With lots of care.”

“Hm? What?”

You chuckle a bit, Sunday puffing a smile at your seemingly lightened mood.

“You should rest for today. We have a few necessary tasks to look into, aswell.”

You yawn, turning your head to look at the morning sunlight brightening up your room.

“Sure. What are they?”

You hear a clack – the lid of the box having been pried open with a bit of difficulty, as Sunday rustles with the paintbrushes and paints.

“A few things regarding your previous experiences with The Family, reviews, feedback and complaints..”

Ugh. They wanted you to drop a review?

You sigh, stifling a groan as a hand runs down your face. Sunday chuckles, softly,

“I'll take care of the writing part, just answer the questions.”

——

“Hm, how curious.”

The lavender-haired woman stirs her tea with dainty, carefree rhythm, the spoon clicking against the ceramic of the cup as she peers down at the cards on the table.

Mei sighs, her hands folded on her lap as she stares at the golden liquid, occasional vibrations making it ebb the slightest bit.

“He doesn't seem.. angelic, does he?”

Black Swan ponders out loud, her hand picking up and flicking a few tarot cards,

“There's something about him. It feels off.”

“Relative to his sister, even I'd think so.”

The woman smiles lazily, her dawn colored eyes looking up at the purple haired woman in front of her.

“You're quite worried.”

“..I suppose, it's obvious.”

Mei's eyes flit up as she hears movement, followed by a lazy sigh from the woman across her.

Thin, manicured nails faintly brush against her skin as Black Swan holds her hand, her lithe fingers feeling the ridges of her engagement ring,

“And here I’d have thought you’d been more excited to see me back.”

Mei puffs out a prudent chuckle, her hands manoeuvring to hold her lover’s.

“Alright. Care to give me a reading?”

The dawn-eyed woman flicks up a card.

The Hanged Man.

Acheron’s eyes follow the swift movement.

“Let’s see what’s in store.”

——

Sunday thinks he's cursed.

Dirtied, marred. Absolution is in store for the sinners, and exorcism for the cursed like him.

Who dirties the divine? Who damns the dirtied? Whose hands marr purity?

Gopher Wood was not a man of purity. Grime-stricken hands that crawled up from the depths of hell to pull fragile minds into an abyss.

He inlaid a curse upon Sunday – that must have been it.

Why else would he not be able to look at him?

Head down, child.

Sunday's little feet would shuffle together, sweat would stick to the small flicks of his short hair on the back of his neck, eyes fixated on the grimy, cobblestone path under his polished shoes.

Follow my lead. Do not go astray.

His hand would tightly grasp onto a few fingers, barely gripping onto the firmness of the man's hand with his little, clammy ones.

Do not look.

Sunday stops. His heart beats a bit too fast for his tiny body.

Do not ask.

A bead of sweat tickles his skin as it rushes down the side of his temple.

Do not speak.

Tears would bubble at the corners of his eyes, hands red and swollen from being hit for every verse he got wrong. For every word he could not muster out from his throat that was raw from childish blubbering through cries.

He would not speak of him.

“Sunday?”

He holds his breath.

You scrutinize at the pamphlet in your hands, before aiming it towards him and pointing at a word on it.

His hand remains stiffly held in the air, the tip of the brush barely grazing against the painted canvas.

“What does this mean?”

His chair creaks as he leans aside the canvas to take a look at the word you pointed at.

“Ah. Exorbitant. Something unreasonably pricey.”

You make a small ‘o’ shape with your mouth, looking over the sentence again in better understanding.

“How's the painting coming along?”

“It's..”

Sunday takes a moment to glance over the painting.

The sky is barely painted in – it’s embarrassing how much detail he's put into your figure standing among the flowery field, however. The looser ends of your outfit billow among the sunlit garden, a wide smile etched upon your face, flowers adorning your arms in bunches as you try to hold the huge bundle.

“It'll take some more time.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitates. You smile.

“You.. can, however.. I'd like to keep it a surprise.”

You nod, softly,

“Okay. I'll see it when it's done.”

Sunday returns your smile. You continue reading the pamphlet. Sunday takes the time to admire the curve of your lips against the backdrop of sunlight through the window.

–——

You suppose you should have seen this fever coming.

You curl up further on your side, tapping away at a laptop on your hospital bed, putting on a show and huddling further into your additional blankets provided by the hospital. It helps provide background noise in case you want to zone out.

“Hm.. fever of.. 38°C.”

Sunday plucks out the thermometer from your mouth, before placing it on your bedside. His methodical hands mess with various sachets of medicine before neatly presenting a few of them on his open palm.

“You'll need these.”

He hands them over to you, along with a bottle of water. You eat your pills and settle back into your bed with a forlorn, disappointed sigh. Sunday only fixes your covers and tucks you more into bed.

Your eyes trail over to the canvas behind him, covered by a cloth, as Sunday dabs your sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.

“When can I see it?”

He hums, a bit in thought, as his hands continue to gently dab away the sweat on your skin.

“In a bit. I have to add a few details.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes, your weakened body pulling you into sleep as you feel the sensation of Sunday's lips press on the corner of your brow.

And that was the last you'd seen from Sunday.

Not that you're upset – of course not. He's a Seraphim. He surely has much better things to be doing, really. You can't imagine it must have been easy gaining such a status in the first place. And then having to look after a sickly human in the last days of their life? Work must be drab to him.

That being said, you do wish he'd at least tell you where he is.

Your eyes drift over to the overcast weather outside your window.

You hope he took an umbrella with him.

——

“Sunday.”

“Mr. Wood.”

Sunday's voice is sharp – he doesn't bother coveting the offensive edge.

“You've been astray for too long.”

…

Silence.

His gloves creak in protest as his fingers dig into his palm, curled fists at his side.

His smile remains stiffly on his face as one of his gloved hands pushes up his glasses.

“Surely, do you think such blasphemy is tolerable within the Family?”

“I–”

“Im asking, child.”

Sunday breathes out, strained.

“I didn't mean to–”

“Such excuses do not work–”

“Stop cutting me off.”

Sunday's voice wavers at the end. He feels his heart pushing into his throat. The raven on the man's shoulder only bristles, the smile on his face unwavering under the shadow of his black umbrella.

“..You haven't changed, little sparrow.”

Sunday's jaw clenches more. But before he can speak, thunder cracks in the background. His head snaps to look at the distant skies covered by heavy clouds.

It smells like rain.

––

“Take responsibility. Take responsibility for all you have done!”

Sunday's voice cracks through the strain on it. 

To respond is to acknowledge. He knows that filth won't respond. But he tries anyway.

He and his sister – they weren't sinful. They were children. They weren't filthy, they were confused. They weren't sinners, they were hurt.

They were children.

Through countless tortures and rotting, had Sunday realised his training was nothing but an escapist projection of his Father's own fears.

The fears his Father could not absolve in himself – he would, through the raw, blistered hands of a child that did not know better.

Or perhaps it was enjoyment. Or to fulfill his ego. To bolster his position as the shoe that grinded on dirt like him.

Perhaps all of those reasons.

Children with clammy hands, who plucked flowers and grabbed too tightly onto the swing, with scraped knees and a face that basked in the innocence of an eternal Sun.

Children, who were perfect to hurt, for monsters like him. Monsters like him who revelled in the pain of the innocent in lieu of unproven salvation. 

By the time Sunday yells his throat raw, thunder bellows in the background in equal magnitude, the rushing rain doing little to calm his heated face and drowning out the pattering of your feet as you rush to find him in front of the fountain where you both had made a wish.

“Sunday!”

Your voice calls out in the distance, his head snapping to you.

You shouldn't be out here.

He turns to embrace your approaching figure in the distance, his feet thrumming and moving to meet you in the middle, but before he takes a step–

“Do not move.”

The words still his bones. He breathes out, watching your slowing figure, swaying from the fever. Water sloshes lazily along his polished shoes that leaks out from the overfilled fountain. You'd wished for freedom here.

“Do not defy.”

He bites his lip, his teeth gnawing the flesh and drawing blood. He kept his wish in his pocket.

“I have commanded you, child.”

He will always be a sinner.

A sinner who is undeserving of a salvation as beautiful as yours.

“Your thrall is fizzling out.”

He smiles, and Sunday wishes he could rip his teeth out.

You sway, stopping to catch your breath, feeling yourself almost lose balance before steady arms wrap around your body.

“You're soaked!”

You whisper, feeling the dampness of his suit as he pulls you into a hug.

“We need to leave.”

Sunday leads you back, ignoring the weakening tether of his divinity.

Sunday looks back for the final time – a lonely, black umbrella in front of the fountain, it's owner seemingly vanished.

——

You heave, as Sunday helps you back onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, your body only grew weaker. You feared something worse when you could barely feel your pulse, but the way your legs seemed to almost stop working by the time you reached your room, it was already true.

Your figures shuffle as Sunday paces around the room, trying to find extra blankets and covers provided by the hospital, cursing under his breath as he knocks over a few items, some getting caught in his leg. You try not to pay attention to your failing body, but its hard to ignore how much deja vu you're getting right about now. Only this time – the pain is worse. The chill running up your spine at your spike in fever is nothing compared to the cold that's slowly chipping away at your fingers, and the pain in your body is reaching an all time high, making your breaths come out in labored gasps. It feels like a scrawny animal trying to rip out of your body.

He hurries over to you, swaddling you in blankets and sheets in layers, furiously rubbing your arms as he tries to warm up your body from the biting cold of the rain. Thunder strikes through outside your window, and in your fever haze, you catch a glimpse of the painting Sunday had meticulously made. He must have accidentally pulled the cover while pacing around.

Sunday calls out to you, snapping you momentarily out of your haze, but not completely. You were losing consciousness, and fast. His voice is shaking, despite how much he tries to appear calm. 

He knows.

But you can't bring yourself to pay attention. Things float over your mind like an ephemeral dream, your eyes only focused on the golden sunlight of the painting.

There's Sunday. And you. The garden is beautiful, and the sun illuminates your hands, reaching out to each other.

The gold is beautiful.

“Hey..”

You call out, making his panicked actions stop abruptly. His hand cups the side of your face, so gently, as if you're porcelain under his hand.

“What is it?”

“Sunday..”

Your hands tremble, moving up to hold his face, your fingers brushing away stray droplets from the edges of the wings over his face. The pain ebbs in you, and you recognize the familiar action as you sense it dimming, coupled with the sweat forming above Sunday's scrunched up eyebrows. He's trying to salvage this pain.

“Can I see your eyes?”

Sunday breathes out, leaning more into your hands. His hands move from supporting your back to your shoulders, gently pushing you back onto the bed, but his forehead presses against yours. 

You can feel his trembling, cool breath fan the lower half of your face, his own hands clasping over yours. The pain starts decreasing terrifyingly fast, making you afraid of just how much Sunday is trying to take it from you and into himself.

“Sun..”

Your voice whispers out,

“You don't have to–”

“I love you.”

The words hang between you two. You hear the faint sound of him swallow. There's dried blood on his lips.

“I love you too. The painting is beautiful.”

Sunday sucks in a breath, his wings bristling at your words. You feel your hands slowly lose strength.

His wings move. You see his eyes.

And they hold the most beautiful, striking golden Sun.

You're caught breathless for a moment.

Sunday's hands are still clasped over yours as they loosen and threaten to fall away from his face. You sense the trembling in them as he fosters your pain.

“I'm scared.”

His eyes close, eyebrows scrunched in worry and uncertainty.

“I'm here. I always have been.”

“I don't want to die.”

Sunday shifts, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead,

“Wherever you go, I'll follow you. There is nowhere you will go that I won't reach you.”

You close your eyes, tears roll down the sides, and Sunday kisses them away, continuing to whisper against your skin,

“I promise. I'll find you. In every universe you are painted into.”

You smile, laughing bitterly through your tears, your voice cracking a bit,

“You didn't make a wish, you know..”

Sunday presses his forehead to yours, his hand fishing out the coin he'd kept from his pocket in a hasty manner. He holds your hand, and gently places the coin in the centre of your palm.

“Because this will be a promise. I will follow you unto the borders of fate. Wherever you will lead I shall look to.”

You smile, through your tears,

“It's not fair. It's not your wish.”

“It's mine. And I am yours.”

He kisses you. His lips are soft against yours. You can taste his blood.

“I will always be yours. In death, if not in life.”

His hands encase yours. You feel the ridges of the coin press against the inside of your closed hands. 

You die in love.

He is a curse; a man rotten by the grime of his humanity, and thus he turns to you for the salvation of his divinity. But how insignificant such a thing is to him  – He cannot bless you, so he curses you. You who were never blessed now face the miracle of an angel like him. A miracle crafted by the defiling hands of a sinner that cursed you for love.

And he shall follow you unto death like one.

���—

Acheron thrums her fingers against the cool counter of her desk, her eyes trained on the register in front of her.

She doesn't know how to tell a story.

Not yours, anyway.

Black Swan hums in the background, fixing the frame over the wall,

“You doubt yourself too much.”

Mei stays silent for a moment, then sighs. Her office chair creaks as she leans back in it. A few moments of silence, followed by a soft peck on the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to see her wife's, the woman slightly leaned over her.

“I'll be home late. I promise I'll spend more time with you soon. I just..”

Black Swan hushes her, her fingers lazily tangling themselves in the woman's violet hair. 

“I know. You have a long day ahead, isn't it?”

Acheron sighs again, closing her eyes, remembering your body in the morgue. Just about a few hours ago, when the rain was hitting it's hardest, she and her wife had taken a relaxed break. Black Swan had drawn some predictions for her, and the sounds of thunder had soothed her troubled mind back to a still pond. 

She opens her eyes again, and watches the precipitation on the window, the gentle sunlight peeking through the breaking clouds, the sound of rain coming to a slow halt. She watched a raindrop sliding off of the leaf of a plant right outside her window. Black Swan has already returned to her own devices behind her.

In just a few hours, you'd been alive. By the time the clouds broke apart and the rain stopped, so had your heart.

And here you were – back with a story of your own, instead. Acheron wishes she was better at storytelling. She hopes her wife can do it justice.

She turns halfway in her seat, looking back at her wife.

“..do you mind.. lending me a hand?”

The lavender haired woman only hums in response, the clicking of her heels as she approaches her again. She places three cards on Mei's desk.

“Which one calls to you?”

Mei takes a minute, analysing the duplicate designs of each card's back. She taps on the one on the left. Black swan picks it up.

“that's good.” She hums, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking back at Mei,

“But I mean, you. Which one really calls to you?”

Acheron hesitates once again, before tapping the middle one.

“Perfect.”

——

“You were right.”

Mei says, before gently blowing on the hot liquid in her teacup,

Black swan hums, lighter at the end, questioning what Mei was mentioning.

“That painting looks better in the centre.”

At this, the lavender-haired woman's mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, before curling into a smile. She flicks a few cards before gathering and tapping the bundle on the table to even them out.

“It does. Aren't you pleased I'm looking after your office decor?”

Mei only hums in response, looking over to the said painting hanging above her office chair, her face hidden by the sunlight of early morning.

“Someone ought to have helped with such a..”

Black Swan trails off, perturbed by the sterile, clean look of Acheron's office where she has yet to make changes.

Mei only laughs under her breath at her words.

“You're right.”

Black Swan's gaze joins her lover's, as she looks to the painting aswell.

The golden sunlight peers through the tender reach of your hands with a certain, blue-haired angel. The same angel who was buried beside you.

“Ah, look.”

Mei looks down at the table, following her wife's fingers, as they tapped on the table.

“What do these cards mean?”

“Take a guess. Tell me what you feel from these.”

Her hand lands on Mei's – slightly coarse from her line of work. Her lithe fingers trace the band of her engagement ring.

“Something.. new. A fresh start.”

She smiles. Her dawn-colored eyes trail to the sidewalk just outside, watching a pair of lovers walk hand in hand under the newly uncovered Sun after the night's rain.

——

“Morning.”

You whisper, leaning down and gently kissing the corner of your husband's brow. He sighs, and shifts, burying his face further into the pillows. It's soon followed by arms that move under the covers to wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay seated beside him. You simply chuckle.

“Goodmorning.”

He replies, his voice soft with sleep. You ruffle the soft tufts of his blue hair.

“Sleep well?”

“Mm. I..”

He opens his eyes, half lidded and blurry with sleep, looking up at you. You both stay silent for a moment.

“I had a long dream.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

He sighs, before slowly sitting up, and burying his face into your neck, and then leaning his body weight onto yours, making you lay down on the bed.

Hm. So this is how it's going to be.

You know your husband too well to know this is going to turn into a drawn out cuddling session. Your hand raises and brushes through the soft, blue locks. You're giving in anyway, because who are you to deny your lover?

He only holds you impossibly closer at that.

“I made coffee. It'll get cold.”

He hums at that.

“It's 10 in the morning, you dork.”

“Ah, didn't notice.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He presses a kiss to your neck in return.

“You haven't shown me your painting yet.”

He stays silent. But then, he shifts, his arms hesitantly letting go of you.

That seems to have gotten him going.

He gets up, and shuffles out of the room. A few moments later, he returns with a small canvas wrapped in a cloth. He hands it to you, then returns to sit beside you, burying his face into your neck once again.

“Wrapped too, hm?”

“It's your birthday.”

You smile. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your brow.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You haven't even seen it yet.”

You unwrap the cloth from the canvas. Your smile only widens at the painting.

There you two are. Your house is behind you two, and there's your garden that you've painstakingly taken care of.

You chuckle, pointing to a few, scattered reds across the greenery,

“You included my carnations.”

His hand comes up to wrap around yours, before bringing it up to his lips, and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course I did.”

You set the painting aside, before getting up and stretching, popping a few joints.

“Come on, I'll make you some fresh coffee.”

You reach your hand out, and he takes it, getting up on his feet as he lets you lead to the kitchen.

———

There's a strange shop that you've recently discovered.

It pops up just about whenever, wherever. A strangely elusive personality culminated by the repeated disappearance and the mysterious purpose of the shop tends to pull you in.

You had visited the shop before – but the memory is fuzzy. You don't remember having anything you'd like to buy. Photo Albums, mirrors, tarot cards, polaroid cameras, antique equipment and trinkets, and strange candles. It was when you were on your way home from work that you decided to take such a detour. Perhaps.. that must've been what it was. Regardless, you decided you'd want to visit the shop again with your husband.

The opportunity was pretty perfect; your schedules aligned, the weather was considerably not so miserable, and you managed to find the shop in time.

It's a bit of a chance opportunity, considering how your husband has taken a liking to a bird that recently ended up in your backyard – the poor thing was scuffled. It's wings were broken and it barely survived through the night you two found him.

Ever since, he'd been collecting photos and capturing the little thing's recovery, bit by bit. 

You smiled to yourself, humming in contentment as your arm was looped around his snugly, basking in the warm glow of the early Sun, walking in a leisurely pace as your husband continued to flick through photos on his phone.

The weather was especially nice today – the rains had stopped a while ago and the time window was perfectly in between cold breezes and a warm atmosphere. You eyed the gentle swaying of newly sprouted weeds and grasses, a thicket of flowers and so on, at the edge of the sidewalk connecting to the wall of a barrier.

The wall would end a few ways ahead, replaced by (slightly worn) fences, as the rest of the land came into view the more you two walked ahead. Your husband would occasionally fill in the silence with little facts he would remember of, while you scanned the vast scenery of the green land behind the fence.

It was a cemetery. The tombstones were warmed by the Sun – or you at least think so, the way a cat seems to be lazily draped over one. There's a hugely amassed tree a few ways up the tombstones, and there lay two solitary ones, just enough distance from the tree for the light to reach under and illuminate them. 

You wonder if they're warm. You wonder if the grass is soft, and the dirt is coldly comforting. You wonder who they were – lovers, spouses, friends. Perhaps they were holding hands through their graves. Another cat sprung from behind one of the tombstones, gracefully approaching the one asleep sunbathing, stomping around the little flowers growing beside the specific tombstone.

You see them greet each other. You see the cat lovingly bathe the sun-kissed one. It's tail lazily draped over the tombstone flicks, drawing your attention to the name. Nico. Below it, reads, Have faith in a tomorrow.

The fence cut the sight a little short as you two walked ahead. 

You think for a moment, almost disregarding the smallness of the thought amongst other things in your head.

“Ah, I don't think I've shown you this one.”

Your husband speaks, leaning over to show you a spontaneous photo of you on one of your dates. You both had taken a detour and rested near the fountain. That must have been when, as you smiled, looking at the photo.

But the thought still lingered quietly in your head.

To be woven so delicately and strongly into someone else's tapestry, until the strings frayed long after your deaths.

What it would take, you wonder.

———

Akin to your habits of detours, and keenly aware of your likings, your husband politely guides you to a cafe you two had visited once (he, thankfully, does not mention the audible growling of your stomach. Coffee is not a good, neither a fulling breakfast.)

You two spend a handful of hours there, simply relishing the downtime you two have together. Hushed, soft conversations, hands held over the wooden table that stayed linked as you two finally made your ways to the strange shop.

It was small, but the arrangement of the trinkets (and perhaps the placement of the lighting) made it look more spacious inside. You two talked at the front where, you presume, the owner of the shop was. A lavender haired woman who spoke in a hushed, sweet tone. Nothing else was off about her except her hypnotizing gaze and the knowing look in her eyes. You two would take your time sorting through the shop, and eventually your husband would pick a photo album.

The woman offered to print a few select photos, and you hesitantly agreed. Although technically this was a strange shop in itself, something about it prickled your skin the wrong way.

So, you waited outside for him as he discussed the details, choosing to admire the carefree and relaxed atmosphere of the day outside.

After a moment, your phone buzzed, and that was your signal. You headed inside, and found your husband listening carefully to the lavender-haired woman instructing on how to take care of the album. As soon as you catch her eye, she smiles at you, and waves. You wave back.

“Good to go?” You ask, looking at your lover in blue.

“Sure is. Feel free to drop by anytime you need some more help.” The woman chimes in, smiling lazily at you, her chin cradled on her hands, her elbows propped up on the counter as your husband fiddles around with the album a bit more.

“Alright.” He says, after a moment, satisfied with his inspection. “We can leave.”

You smile at the woman again as a thanks, she simply waves you two off as you leave. The chiming of the little bell over the door resounds for only a moment as she watches you two with a fixed gaze leave and walk away.

“Hm..”

She hums, her fingers grazing over the plethora of cards sprawled in the pop up desk below. Her finger lands on a card.

The Hanged Man.

“Mei was right.” She smiles.

———

[maysileeewrites]

🫧 what is this feeling? 🫧

Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader

Synopsis: „Stop calling me that!“ „What - darling?“ || Or: Fiyero suddenly finds himself spending an unusual amount of time in the Shiz library

c.w: enemies to lovers (sort of), tension & bantering, gratuitous use of darling & super cheesy ending; (also most of my Wicked knowledge [you’ll notice that I made up a back story of my own for Fiyero] comes from seeing the movie three days ago, I did see the play in the West End 2 years ago, but I’m not in as deep as I’m with other musicals like Phantom) 

w.c.: 2.5k | masterlist

Sighing frustratedly, you slammed your textbook shut in annoyance.

Something you usually didn’t do - the slamming the book shut part, that was. 

But then, you also didn’t usually feel this level of frustration after an afternoon spent at the library; at least not over things that weren’t related to your studying. 

Reaching for your book bag, you got up from the table right next to the window facing Shiz’s garden you’d managed to secure earlier this afternoon. 

But what good was a good table, if the atmosphere in the library was so distracting that you couldn’t concentrate on anything? 

Grabbing your books, you glared at the object of your ire. 

Prince Fiyero Tigelaar. 

Most of the other students here at Shiz, especially Galinda, seemed positively obsessed with him, but you happened to share your friend Elphaba‘s opinion about the young prince. 

In your opinion, he was nothing more than a shallow, self-absorbed troublemaker that apparently didn’t concern himself too hard with other people’s wants and needs. Really, couldn’t he have done his strutting around anywhere else instead of the library? 

„What did that poor book do to you?“ 

You flinched, losing your hold on the books in your hand. You’d been so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed Fiyero approaching you. 

The books slipped from your grip, and fell to the floor with a loud, clattering sound. You winced, bending down to pick the books back up, but Fiyero had already beaten you to it. 

He’d already gathered three of the four tomes in his hands and, feeling weirdly annoyed at this sudden, new … helpful site to him, you reached for the last book - at the same time as Fiyero did. 

Your hands touched. 

You felt the rough callouses of his fingertips and wondered what he, as a prince could have possibly done in his life that was the reason for this - before trying to remind yourself that you didn’t care. 

Hastily, almost as if you’d been burned, you drew your hand back and got back up. 

„Well, there you go, darling“, Fiyero said, flashing you a surprisingly genuine smile, as he handed you the four books. 

Again, you felt a weird tingling in your fingertips as your hands briefly touched, and, almost defensively, you clutched the books to your chest. 

„I - thank you …“ 

He laughed, the sound surprisingly warm and deep. This wasn’t his typical, obnoxiously loud laugh you’d come to despise during the last few weeks. 

„It’s nothing … still curious what that poor book did to you, though …“ 

„What?“, you asked, frowning. 

He grinned. „That poor-„, suddenly, he leaned in closer towards you - and was it just the used-up library air you’d been breathing in all day that suddenly made you feel slightly dizzy? - eyes fixing on the covers of your textbooks, „history book. Really darling, I wouldn‘t have expected you to treat a book like that.“ 

„You’re one to talk“, you muttered, without thinking. 

„Well, I guess you’re right there, darling.“ 

„Stop calling me that!“, you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks flush. 

He smirked. „What - darling?“ 

You rolled your eyes. „Yes! Now, if you’ll excuse me-„ 

„You’re off to study some more?“, he asked, genuine wonder in his voice. 

Your eyes met, and you immediately looked away from him again. You didn’t like the way his gaze made you feel. There was genuine curiosity in his eyes and his gaze was far too intense for your liking. 

„Yes, because unlike some, I actually care about my education and my future!“, you exclaimed, before turning away from him. 

Fiyero just chuckled. „Trust me darling, you’re missing out on a lot of fun.“ 

You only rolled your eyes at his statement and walked out of the library without looking back at him. 

If you had, you’d have seen him trying to fight off a smile. 

The next day, your luck was even worse. 

Things started out alright - after classes, you and Elphaba went to the library, managing to secure a table near the garden windows again. Elphaba, however couldn’t stay long, as she had her magic lessons with Madame Morrible in the late afternoon. 

After she left, you managed to catch up on some of your assignments for a while. 

Then, someone sat down right next to you. 

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

„Go away, Fiyero“, you said, not looking up from your textbook. 

Fiyero just laughed. „You’ve really been quite grumpy lately, darling.“ 

„Stop calling-„, you began to say, but stopped. Knowing Fiyero, you commenting on this particularly annoying habit of his would only serve to egg him on. 

„Never mind“, you therefore muttered, turning a page. 

„What are you doing here, though?“ Somehow, the question just slipped out, even though you kept trying to tell yourself that you didn’t care. 

„Studying, of course“, Fiyero replied, his smirk widening even more when you turned to look at him, raising your eyebrows.

„Really?“, you asked, frowning. 

He just smirked. „Really. I mean, there’s quite a lot to catch up on, isn’t there?“ 

„I can imagine“, you replied, frowning. 

To your great annoyance, Fiyero just smirked again, before taking a textbook out of his bag, opening it and grabbing a notebook and a pen. 

Your eyes widened. Was he actually here to study? 

To your utter surprise, it did seem that way, because during the next few hours, Fiyero was completely engrossed in his textbooks, only looking up from them occasionally to jot something down in his notebook. Even his handwriting surprised you - it wasn’t at all the unintelligible scrawl you’d imagined it to be, but a rather concise, if somewhat over exaggeratedly loopy handwriting. But then again, he was a Prince - elegant handwriting must have been taught to him from a young age, among other etiquettes and niceties, not to mention historical and sociological knowledge. 

Really, it was such a shame that he didn’t seem to care at all about a good education. He’d probably already had all the best opportunities one could only imagine, and now he was here at Shiz, studying at one of the most renowned universities in all of Oz. Not that he seemed to particularly care about that, though. 

It did make you wonder, though. Was he really just the rogue prince who rejected every expectation society imposed upon him, was he really as shallow and self-absorbed as you’d perceived him to be these last few weeks? 

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

You chanced another look over at him, and caught him staring at you. Despite yourself, you felt your cheeks flush, when he grinned at you. 

„If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I’m distracting you, darling“, he said, grin widening. 

You had the sudden urge to grin back at him, but quickly suppressed it by biting down hard on your lip. And was it just your imagination or did his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again? 

„Every time I think your ego couldn’t possibly get any bigger, you surprise me again“, you muttered. 

He just chuckled. „Well, that’s me, darling - full of surprises.“ 

Right - that. 

„Why - why don’t you care about any of this?“, you asked him, the words slipping out before you’d thought them through. 

When he raised his eyebrows at you in confusion, you quickly hurried on. „You’re here, studying at Shiz University of all places, and yet it seems that classes and studying are just this huge burden for you. You’ve been handed this great opportunity on a silver platter - and yet you’re not making any use out of it!“ 

Fiyero’s smile froze and for a second, his eyes seemed to darken as well. „There’s more to life than just studying and books, you know?“

„Like what?“, you challenged him. 

„Like actually living life, instead of just going through the motions“, he replied quickly. 

You frowned irritatedly. Was that what he thought of you? That you were just going through the motions, like you were some kind of robot, devoid of actually having any feelings. 

You felt your cheeks heat up again, though this time it was out of anger. Standing up, you started stuffing your textbooks into your book bag, glaring at him. 

„Well, excuse me - I have to go, going through the motions, because some of us aren’t privileged enough to get everything in life handed to them on a silver platter.“ 

With that, you walked out of the library rather dramatically, not bothering to look back at him, still seething with frustration. 

How was it that he seemingly always managed to get under your skin so easily? 

And why did you care? 

Why did you care about anything having to do with that stupid, arrogant prince who was too full of himself to form any complex, intelligent thought. 

You didn’t. 

You did not care about Fiyero Tigelaar.  

Not at all. 

But no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself, deep down, you knew that it wasn’t true. You hated to admit it, but just thinking about that moment yesterday when your hands had touched, made your heart beat faster. As did thinking about all the not so subtle glances he’d sent your way this afternoon. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. 

Sweet Oz, what was this feeling? 

You didn’t see much of Fiyero during the next few days, at least not in the library. You did see him during classes and at meals, but you did your best to keep out of his way. You were ashamed of your outburst at him in the library a few days ago, and if it were anyone else, you’d have already apologized to them. 

As it was, you did feel sorry for your comment, but the feeling was lessened whenever you thought about how he’d insinuated that you were just going through the motions. 

Somehow, that had frustrated you much more than his stupid insistence on him calling you darling - not that he’d done that since that day in the library. In fact, you’d hardly spoken to each other at all, other than a few off-handed comments, made in passing. 

You could tell that your friend Elphaba was already becoming somewhat frustrated with the situation, because you’d forced her to change directions, walking through empty hallways and taking a detour on the way to class just to avoid having to walk past Fiyero more than once. 

You were starting to feel rather frustrated yourself, but still - you weren’t about to be the one to take the first step. 

And anyway, it wasn’t like you cared much about Fiyero and whether your comment had hurt him. 

Or so you kept trying to tell yourself. 

Frustrated, you turned a page in your textbook, trying to concentrate on your studies. Today, you weren’t in the library, but rather in Shiz’s magnificent garden. You were sat on a bench under a willow tree, a field of red tulips right next to you. 

But no matter how serenely beautiful the atmosphere around you, you were unable to concentrate on your textbook. 

„I thought I might find you here.“ 

Your heart started beating faster and you didn’t have to look up to know who the voice belonged to. 

„Fiyero …“, you said, closing your book shut and getting up rather awkwardly from your bench. 

Fiyero’s eyes found yours and he smiled nervously. 

Wait - nervously? Fiyero wasn’t one to be nervous - at least you’d never perceived him to be so. 

„I - I wanted to apologize … I didn’t - what I said, in the library - I never wanted to imply that you were just going through the motions, I-“

„I wanted to apologize as well“, you interrupted his nervous rambling, fighting off the smile you felt tugging at the corner of your lips when his eyes widened and his gaze seemed to soften. „I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, I … I had to study - like, really hard, to get a scholarship for Shiz, my family isn’t - I …“, you trailed off, biting down hard on your lip. 

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Maybe it had something to do with the soft, concerned gaze in his eyes, or maybe it was just his sudden closeness making you feel rather dizzy. 

„I get it“, he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. „Honestly, if I were you, I’d hate me as well.“ 

„I don’t hate you“, you pointed out. 

„See, darling? Always a good start“, he said, grinning. 

„Don’t test it“, you said, rolling your eyes, but you weren’t quite able to fight off your own grin anymore. 

„The thing is, my family -my parents, they expect so much from me“, he said, turning serious once more. „And I know what you’re thinking, poor prince, his parents put so much pressure on him, yet he’s still living a privileged life, boo hoo“, he continued, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. „And you’d be right, at least to a certain degree … my parents, they - sometimes I feel that no matter what I do, I’ll always manage to disappoint them somehow. To them, I’ll probably always be a failure.“ 

„You’re not a failure!“, you interrupted him, shaking your head. „You’re not!“ 

„Oh really?“, he asked, and his grin was back in place, though it did look rather shaky and uncertain. „I thought that a good education was the key for everything?“ 

Despite the seriousness of what he’d just said, you rolled your eyes. Trying to soften the mood, you said: „Well, someone once told me that there’s more to life than just books and studying.“ 

He smirked. „Sounds like a wise someone.“ 

You just rolled your eyes.

A moment passed, during which neither one of you said anything, yet the silence didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. 

Then, you found yourself asking: „What were you doing in the library, though?“ 

Fiyero laughed, though somehow, he seemed nervous once more. Maybe it was the way he ran his hands through his hair distractedly, or maybe it was the way his eyes kept flickering between you and the willow tree behind you. 

„Well, for one I am trying this thing called studying …“ 

You laughed, though you could sense that there was more he wanted to say. 

„But … there was also - there was someone I was trying to build up the nerve to talk to …“ 

Suddenly, your heart started to beat faster and you felt that weird tingling sensation in your fingertips once more. 

Fiyero was standing so close to you now, your noses were almost touching and you could feel his warm breath on your skin. 

„Who - who were you trying to talk to?“ 

He laughed. „I’d hate to disappoint you, but I think there’s some questions textbooks simply don’t provide answers for, darling …“ 

Before you could come up with a reply, he’d leaned in even closer towards you, and then his lips were on yours. His lips were soft and full, and the kiss surprisingly gentle. 

Without having to think about it, you found yourself reciprocating the kiss, moving your lips against his. 

Whatever this feeling you felt when you were with Fiyero was, it felt good. Exceptionally good. 

And so, abandoning every other thought, you wound one hand around his neck, tangling the other in his hair. 

And when you felt him smiling into the kiss, you felt your heart soar. 

[luvologyy]

Jimmy relationship headcanons.

NSFW/SFW mdni!

Jimmy x f!reader ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

It can take place on the tulpar or on earth !

A/N!: yes, I do write for Jimmy. But I don't condone or excuse his actions.

TW!: mentions of parental abuse.

Reblogs and likes are always appreciated ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

· · ──꒰ঌ·☢·໒꒱ ── · ·

SFW HEADCANONS!

★ hates when people touch his hair but love it when you do it. Just your fingers running through his hair, you would see a small smile on his face when you do it.

★ gets jealous very easily, he's really insecure that you'll find someone better than him. he’ll be so quick to pick a fight with someone it’s not even funny.

"Jim it's okay! He was just being nice to me.."

"he was trying something I know it."

"Jimmy."

"...sorry."

★ he grew up in a broken home, so he doesn't know much about basic affection since his dad was abusive. But you came into his life and showed him what it's like to be actually loved.

★ He'll never admit it, but he always craves your touch. He never knew how much he wanted stuff like hugs, cuddles, and kisses. He felt like he was never supposed to have it.

★ he has a thing for whenever you touch his hands, like when you massage them gently and tell him how pretty they are or how nice they look, he'll not know how to react. He loves it though. Especially because his hands are more rough, and with your softer more gentle hands touching his? It's to die for.

★ Telling you “come here” and/or pointing to the ground to where he want you.

★ always stares at you, always. Whenever you walk by him and flash him a quick smile, his whole train of thought just stops, or when you're sitting next to him while the others are talking, he can't help but notice how pretty you are. It's like you hypnotized him. curly always make fun of him for it.

★ Whenever you guys talk, he always does the triangle method without realizing it. And you can't help but look away flustered from him.

★ he gently grabbed your chin once to make you look at him, and you folded. He definitely took advantage of that SO FAST AFTER THAT

★ despite him being his usual grumpy bossy self, he has a little soft spot for you. Even if he wasn't the nicest towards you, you were nice towards everyone including him. He didn't know what to think of you.

★ He has a little bit of a mommy kink, but not in a weird sexual way all the time. Like you're a little bit of a mother figure to him. Especially since he didn't have his mom growing up.

★ even though he's more dominant in your guys relationship, you showed him and taught him stuff he never knew he needed in his daily day life. Like how to cook basic meals, fold clothes, or do laundry. LIKE HE DIDNT KNOW HOW MUCH SOAPS AND DETERGENT HE NEEDED TO ADD.

"You never knew you needed to add fabric softener jim?"

"...no.. I never knew."

"You have to! It's always important."

"Why?? It seems useless."

"Cmon hon, maybe try adding it more often."

"Fine.. it's not my fault I never knew."

"It's okay.. I'm here for you."

Jimmy couldn't help but blush slightly at your comment.. "Whatever.."

★ he loves to watch you sleep, not in a creepy way just in a way that you look so peaceful and relaxed. he’s always awake before you, so it gives him time to just look at you.

★ secretly loves it when your fingers trace shapes on his back or just on his skin. He'll try to push your hand away, knowing he doesn't want you to stop.

★ He's a clingy man, like if you guys are cuddling and you need to get up, HE WILL NOT LET YOU LEAVE. And if you do leave he'll follow you.

★ he doesn't know how to ask for stuff, like affectionate stuff like hugs or just a kiss. He wants them. He just can't bare to say it.

★ He likes taking showers with you, but not in a pervy way. He just likes it when you help scrub and wash his hair, and your hair too!

"Jim, can you help scrub my back?" *You asked, turning your back to him, pulling your hair on your shoulder.*

"Sure." He sighed, scrubbing your back

"Thanks, baby, you're the best. I mean it."

"Shush."

★ jimmy learned the hard way that some girls have expensive taste, especially you. But he still buys stuff for you, just to see you happy.

★ Jimmy wears your hairband on his wrist while he works. He could swear it smells like you.

★ Anything Jimmy will see it'll remind him of you, whenever he'll go to the store and see your favorite foods or snacks, he can't help but think of you.

★ he'll watch shows with you but complain about them, but deep down, he actually likes to watch them with his pretty girl.

★ whenever you'll sit on his lap, his arms are always wrapped around you. Always holding onto your waist or thighs to make sure you won't slip off.

★ likes the way you smell, especially when you come out of the shower. He'll hug you with his face in your hair or neck, embracing your warm, sweet scent.

NSFW HEADCANONS!!

★ Jimmy knows he's too rough and impatient with sex. knows he won’t know how to please you properly. knows he can’t possibly do things right with you, knowing you’ve never done this before. but god, he wants to. he wants to treat you how you deserve. never thought he’d be so desperate to fuck someone good and slow like he does with you.

★ HES REALLY REALLY BIG ON DIRTY TALK. He will lean over your shoulder and whisper the filthiest nothings.

★ “sir” kink 100%, especially when he’s punishing you.

★ Has a praise kink.. if you tell him how good he's doing or how good he feels his cock will twitch for you.

★ whenever he punishes you, orgasm denial/control and spanking are his go tos. He just loves how needy and whiney you get from him, not giving you what you want.

★ he teases you a lott when he edges you. It's so unfair..

"You think I'm gonna let you cum this time? You'll have to be more good than that baby."

"You wanna beg like a good lil slut? So pathetic."

"Look at you.. so desperate so fucking dumb."

"You really thought i was gonna let you cum baby? Aww.. you haven't even been that good."

★ he'll use a soft tone when he degrades and praises you.

★ loves watching you try to hold in your moans and whimpers, the way your face gets all puffy and hands start shaking, and squeezing him desperately makes something primal awakened in him. And watching the tears finally spill over your face when he makes you cum? Fucking perfect to him.

★ “you look so pretty like this, baby” “that’s my good girl” "whos a good lil slut for daddy? Hm?" Are his favorites frr

★ loves it when you guys dryhump each other. You'll just be sitting on Jimmy's lap chilling, then 1 minute later, you guys are making out and grinding against each other. He'll grab your waist to grind you down onto him/guide your movements

★ loves kissing you when your sitting on something, whether it be a counter or your bed. He just loves kissing you like that.

★ His kinks are daddy kink, spit kink, slight knife play, humiliation kink, innocence kink, dacryiphillia, corruption kink, marking, and biting.

★ when he fingers you, he gets really, really messy. Loves spitting on your pussy or his fingers and watching his fingers easily slip in your tight pussy.

★ especially when he eats you out. He is a messy guy. His warm tongie lapping over your pussy, him suckling on your sensitive clit.

★ lightly slaps your pussy a lot, especially when he edges you or when you cum. Watching your juices splash everywhere onto his fingers.

★ Definitely a titty man. He'll just walk up behind and squeeze them.

★ He loves watching your tits bounce when you guys fuck in missionary.

★ Jimmy's a little bit of a pervert. Whenever you wear a slightly revealing shirt, he can't help but stare. Or if you're doing something and you moan slightly while working. He just thinks about the most dirtiest things with you. Or if you're working on something in the tulpar and you're on your knees or squatting, his dirty mind is the WORST.

★ the day you get nipple piercings, GOD IM PRAYING FOR YOU.

Okay bro I'm done.. lemme work on daisukes headcannons 🤦

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

You missunderstand me

saying:

"Bruh- where do you find the time to care about your coworker's gay sex life when you're also complaining you can't even get a match on Tinder or pick chicks up at the bar? Maybe if you spent less time caring about his grinder notifications you'd have more to spend on becoming the kinda dude chicks MIGHT wanna hit on?"

IS me talking down to you, becasue I no longer see you as an equal that is worth my time I no longer see you as someone I can discuss this eye to eye with You are now a chore on my "to do" list that needs to be humored

I never said that someone has to know everything

I said:

Becasue an adult would have either just ask me to clarify what a word means or they would have looked the word up themslefes Since you instead pouted about "someone wanting to be the smartest person in the room" instead of engaging with the actuall topic, you want to be the smartest person, and get cranky if you don't know a word becasue it shows you, there might still be some stuff you need to learn

I have zero issues with someone not kowing shit

The amount of stuff I don't know can fill a whole Library

That's why I ASK

And that's why I get laughed at

But I don't care

I rather get laughed at and learn something then be TO PROUD to ask and stay uneducated

If I ask and you laugh at me that says more about you then it will ever say about me

What I will not do is humor adults who are to proud to ask

Becasue it gets people killed

*caugh* america ignoring the french teams results on teh fact that HIV is a retro virous *caugh*

So if you stomp your foot and demand I baby you, then I will

And you won't even notice

I don't "talk down to you"

The act of not using teh correct words, IS my talking down to you

Becasue a corset isn't the same as stays

And a hoopskirt isn't teh same as panniers (hoops being understoo to be round and paniers being oval)

Specific words have specific meanings and sometimes the best word is a 5 dollar word

(Same as sometimes the most concise way to talk about something is a whole book)

Aside from the fact I find it insulting to level 2-4 humans who are LITERALLY in the "learning to be a human" tutorial years- it feeds a toxic feedback loop of each side justifying their own urge to be nasty because of matching energy.

I agree

You are right

Because a toddler would never act like that

They are made of questions becasue they AREN'T to proud

They spend all day asking and asking and asking

Becasue they WANT to learn

They aren't of teh opinion that they know all there is to know and if anyone knows more then them then that is clearly wrong of them and they should at least have the decency to hide that they know more

And you know what?

I do use the correct words with my nibbling

And he just asks "What does that mean?"

And I explain it

I see very little point in first teaching him the baby word and then latter let him painstakingly learn teh correct word

Recently we learn what "civil disobedience" means

Awww they grow up so fast if you allow them to thrive ...

SO don't worry

You shouldn't talk down to toddlers, either.

I don't

I don't see toddler as not my equals

Just someone who just arrived and needs to learn

And toddlers seem to see themslefes the same

They have a lot to learn

That's why they are asking

SO these peopel aren't even acting like toddlers

They are acting like spoiled brads that have been catered to their whole live and get really cranky wenn someone just treats them like a fellow adult

SO I shant

I wil treat them as the brads they are

#and if i was me say... a decade ago- the first thing i would have commented on was the spelling and grammar displayed while talking about#how some people deserve to be talked down to like toddlers.#however. i am not me from a decade ago. and i understood your point just fine. none of the spelling errors ruined my ability to comprehend#what I was reading.

And yes my spelling and grammar are bad XD

Becasue I am

a) Not a native speaker

b) Dyslexic, and just not in the mood to spend 12 hours (and three different peoples* time on finding every spelling msitake + typos I made while correcting teh spelling mistakes) on a tumblr post -> See? There si my point again. I have no isses asking for help if I dodn't knwo something. 90% of my google search are how to spell shit.I constantly ask people to slow down and spell things for me.

-> "Dyslexia" becasue it is the correct word while "reading and writing disorder" is not the correct term A "reading and writing disorder" is something that can be overcome through exercise Dyslexia is a neurological issue that as one of many many symptoms leads to issues with reading and writting. Not teh same

*shrug*

As I said sometimes you need the 5 dollar word :-)

*My dyslexia is apparently bad enough to be "contagious" After a while people don't know themslefes anymore what is right and what is wrong XD SO I have to swicth my proofreaders XD

But good thing you didn't bring it up ;-)

Otherwise you kind a would have ended up being "that guy" XD

#'coming off as caring more about proving one is smarter and therefore superior versus caring about the people affected by bigotry'

That is exactly teh oposit of teh point I was making

MY POINT:

If you are to proud to ask, I will not see you as an equal

If you ask I will set myself on fire to keep you warm

Hope this was short enough :-)

The difference to me is:

Do you ask and I slow down for you like I would slow down for someone who is learning a new language?

Or

Do you metaphorially stomp your foot and demand that I bend backwards till I brake so you dodn't have to learn new things?

#and you need that paycheck. no matter how satisfying it would be to talk down to them and be a petty ass- it might risk

I thank you that you took the time to educate me

Though this # makes me think you did so becasue you assumed you are talking to a teenager

I am not

So do not assume I do not know that

I know more about code swicthing then you hopefulal will ever have the missfortune of having to learn

Listen, I'm having fun playing with the ultra patriotic voice, but after a couple years in blue-collar landscaping jobs, you really do need to phrase things like that.

"I'm pretty sure that fella ain't here legally."

"Well, that ain't your business Chip, it's his."

They hate being preached to. If you pull out words like 'gender wage gap' they'll tell you you're brainwashed by the far left media.

"He's one of them transgenders."

"He got freedoms too, Jimmy."

[meanbossart]

Hello! I love your work, and you may see my in the comments from time to time. I do have an intense question about your headcanon DU drow/Astarion relationship (TW: Abuse)

How would drow react if Star ever wanted to take a break from their relationship, however brief it would be? If ever Star wanted to travel alone and take some some time to work on himself, would drow accept this and allow Star to be alone? Or would drow’s abusive/obsessive nature take hold and keep Star within his line of sight? I ask because it must be traumatic to jump from one intense relationship to the next, especially since Star’s relationship with Cazador was completely abusive. When would Star have the time to truly dive into introspection and understand himself as a full being and not an owned object?

This question doesn’t apply to the AU’s (unless you want to answer from those perspectives too!)

Boy, how I wish I could take a year sabbatical to finish up ANE... I have so much to say about this but I need to hold back the slightest bit because of potential spoilers.

As it stands right now (as in - from the moment that their relationship became "official" and up until the current events in the fic) DU drow would not take that well. He would understand it as an attempt at breaking up with him, for certain, and just become kind of frozen at the prospect of anything happening to Astarion while he's out of his sight.

But also, It's worth noting that these two have not been apart for longer than a couple of hours since the day they met, which in my personal fiction means that they have been around each other 24/7 (or 24/10?) for 5 months straight. For Astarion, that's the longest anyone he's ever slept with has been alive for; and for DU drow that's just been his entire life literally for as long as he can remember. Splitting up would be scary for understandable reasons for the both of them. I think they both have horrific anxieties about being apart that they aren't even aware of, which makes getting over this hurdle ever the more crucial.

I don't think DU drow would turn horrifically abusive if the situation were to come up in the "now", but he'd probably employ some degree of manipulation to try and make Astarion change his mind without realizing it; bringing up how bad his chances are on his own, doubt his real motivations for going away, bring up his own sanity as if he still depends on him to exercise restraint... Concerns that are genuine, even fair, but just kind of mask the real problem which is how scared he is to be alone again.

Unless... DU drow were to realize how detrimental to himself and his relationship it is to rely on and expect to be relied upon by a singular person at all times, to the point where without them he feels as if there is absolutely nothing else to life - because, in a way, there isn't; If he were to have a difficult day and Astarion and Shadowheart weren't around(not that he's even that open about his feelings with either of them, to begin with), he'd just have to sit down and fester in that negativity, with nothing to filter it through or occupy himself with. DU drow is too concerned with coming off as self sufficient and strong in their eyes, he romanticizes both of those relationships and enjoys the narrative pay-offs they provide him with - they fit into his idea of who he is too well, and that makes actual growth difficult. Astarion does a fairly good job at pushing him into introspecting more, but if he isn't even around to do that... Well 🤷

Once DU drow has that something or someone that forces him to approach himself from a different perspective, he could start to let that shit go. Just as Astarion would probably be doing the same thing somewhere else, with someone else. It will happen eventually and they will be better people for it - not for the world, but at least for each other.

Thank you for the question! The intense ones are my favorites.

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite QL Kisses of 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do!

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

From horny kisses to sweet kisses, lip kisses to hand kisses, and everything in between, these were my favorites of the year. A few couples feature twice but that doesn't mean I love the others any less, it just means I couldn't decide between two.

♡ Rak x Mut Blinding Blue Jellyfish Light of Love Kiss (Love Sea)

Fort and Peat are such good on-screen kissers that I could've honestly chosen any other kiss from this show and it would've been amazing but! Blinding light of love kisses are my favorite kisses so it had to be this one.

♡ God x Diew Pilot Kiss (Monster Next Door)

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH I WISH THIS KISS HAD MADE IT INTO THE SHOW. THIS KISS SINGLE-HANDEDLY CONVINCED ME TO EVEN WATCH THE SHOW IN FIRST PLACE.

Pilot kiss you will always be famous.

♡ Jack x Joke First Kiss (Jack & Joker)

Now THAT is how you resolve the tension. Sometimes the slow burn is really a slow fuse and at the end you get a very hungry, very horny explosion. Thank you, YinWar.

♡ Gi Seop x Jin Woo Under the Bed Kiss (Boys Be Brave!)

There's just something about this scene that really made it stick with me. It means everything to me that Jin Woo was the one to kiss first after he spent so much time and energy trying to run away from his feelings. I always love when I can see the exact moment someone gives in.

♡ Yuan x Qian Morning After Kisses (Unknown)

Quite possibly one of my favorite morning after scenes ever. Tender and sleepy and soft and filled with the relief of finally having something you've wanted your entire life but never believed you could have.

♡ Korn x Tonkla Reunion Kiss (4 Minutes)

Did I spend the entire show wanting Tonkla to kill Korn? Absolutely, and I still wish he had but you know what? Tonkla wanted Korn and I want Tonkla to get everything he wants in this life. Also it was just a really damn good kiss.

♡ Vivi x Mook Couch Kiss (Love Sea)

Vivi could neither communicate her feelings effectively nor follow her own excellent advice but what she could do was kiss the breath out of Mook and do it very well.

♡ Haruki x Jin Playground Kiss (Our Youth)

It's not just that this is the first time we could see Jin actively kiss Haruki back, and with the blinding light of love illuminating them no less. It's also that Jin finally allowed himself to voice his genuine desires and be selfish and allowed himself to give in to the moment.

♡ Moo x Kang Boyfriend Proposal Kiss (Only Boo!)

MY ADORABLE BOYS ARE FINALLY BOYFRIENDS FOR GOOD!They're living their dreams, they're in love, and they're letting the whole world know it, together.

♡ Anin x Pin "It's Still Noon" Kiss (The Loyal Pin)

After so many years of yearning, there was not a force on this earth that could've stopped Anin from making time with her girl at every opportunity. Who cares if it's noon, they're in their house and food shouldn't be the only thing that gets eaten in that dining room.

♡ Kyousuke x Isumi Confession Cheek Kiss (Sugar Dog Life)

Listen. Sometimes, when you are in love with someone who is very sweet and oblivious, a simple confession isn't enough. You need to hit them over the head with your feelings, or kiss them as the case may be, to help them along and realize their own.

♡ Yak x Dee Over the Shoulder Kiss (Wandee Goodday)

It's just such a pretty kiss. They both are, but that cheek kiss hits especially good with that blissed out look on Dee's face. My love of blinding light of love kisses might have some serious competition from pink light kisses.

♡ Jane x Ryan Tippy Toes Kiss (The Trainee)

Their first kiss, which took place just moments before, was perfectly lovely. I enjoyed it a lot. BUT THIS SECOND KISS? THIS LITTLE PECK WHICH RYAN ASKED FOR BY SIMPLY STANDING UP ON HIS TIPPY TOES? SUBLIME. PEAK ROMANCE.

♡ Meiji x Freya Lipstick Kiss (Deep Night: The Two of Us)

The correct way to apply lipstick. The only way to apply lipstick actually.

♡ Do Hoe x Ju Yeong Snack Time Cheek Kisses (Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo)

This? This was what we deserved. We deserved the achingly sweet domesticity of Ju Yeong bringing Do Hoe snacks while he studied and kissing his cheek every time. We deserved to see them in matching fuzzy teddy bear couple pajamas.

IT'S WHAT WE DESERVED!

♡ Phee x Non Pink Kiss (Dead Friend Forever)

I was thrilled for this kiss by mere virtue of finally getting to see Ta and Barcode kiss, but the expression on Non's face? The pink lighting? Phenomenal.

We really could've had it all. Rolling in the deep. 🥲

♡ Takashi x Hiro Claiming Kiss (Love is Better the Second Time Around)

A hickey may be the result, but every hickey begins life as a kiss. And this kiss was a symbol of Hiro's desire to feel like Takashi was really his, to not feel like an outsider in Takashi's life, and to be someone Takashi could share everything with.

♡ Huaien x Xiaobao Blinding Light of Love Kiss (Meet You at the Blossom)

Sometimes a good kiss is more than just a good kiss, which this was. Sometimes it's about what the kiss means to the people watching it. Sometimes it's about the fact that it exists and that people get to watch it at all.

♡ San x Vee Forehead Kiss (Century of Love)

This kiss was such a gentle, loving reassurance that Vee would take the lead and take care of San during their first time being intimate together.

♡ Myung Ha x Yeo Woon First Kiss (Love for Love's Sake)

So incredibly visually pleasing and also: "You're my first everything". My heart. My entire heart and soul. Has anything ever been as earnest as those words and this kiss?

♡ Ming x Joe Face Sniff Kisses (My Stand-In)

This is exactly the sort of tenderness Joe always deserved from the man he loved. Even though it took a thousand agonizing years for Ming to get his shit together and give it to him, better late than never. Plus, I always love when we get sniff kisses.

♡ Sun x Junior First Kiss (Caged Again)

What an absolutely perfect, absolutely lovely first kiss between two absolutely darling boys who are figuring out what it means to be in love with each other. I adored it.

♡ Yuan x Qian Dinner Date Kiss (Unknown)

It's the wine splashing that really makes this for me. Yuan waited years for this date and for the opportunity to yank the man he loved across a dinner table to kiss him. And I just love how he looks down at Qian's hand before he does it.

♡ Do Hoe x Ju Yeong Christmas Present Kiss (Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo)

It's Christmas and Do Hoe is smiling and kissing his boyfriend and everything is peaceful and romantic and horny and good.

♡ Jack x Joke We're About to Fucking Die Kiss (Jack & Joker)

There's a bomb around Joke's neck and bitch ass Alice is out here being Jigsaw, but damn if that's gonna keep Jack from staying by his boyfriend's side. If they're going down, they're going down together, making out in front of god and everyone.

♡ Anin x Pin Party Kiss (The Loyal Pin)

This kiss from the trailer was the one I was most excited to see and it didn't disappoint. It's pretty! It's horny! Anin is wine tipsy! Pin is jealous because other women were hitting on her girl all night! Perfection.

♡ Shan x Ob-aun Blindfold Kiss (Battle of the Writers)

Tutor and Yim kiss so pretty and this show spent its entire runtime reminding us of that fact. I could've chosen any of their kisses, which is true of many pairings on this list, but this one is particularly pretty. And you can see Yim's shoulder moles, which is a fun little treat just for me.

[burrowkit]

Okay, I'll give this one a shot. Why not procrastinate further, right? Anyways, villain name inspired by the book name Lady Smoke by Laura Sebastian.

---

I down another shot of liquor, not even caring anymore what the contents of it was.

No, I do care, I realize as the lemon juice hits my tongue, causing me to cringe slightly at the taste. Sure, I love sour stuff, but straight lemon juice?

"Nice one, Fred." I comment, setting the shot glass back onto the bar.

"Anything for you, miss." He answers calmly, taking the glass back and putting it with the pile of dishes to return to the kitchen. Judging by the tray, he'll have to make a trip sooner rather than later.

I glance in the mirror behind the bar, my reflection always catching me surprise, even though it's been 3 years.

3 years since I pretended that Sir Wavesalot killed me. 3 years is a long time for everyone to believe it.

Hell, some days even I believe it.

The woman in the mirror doesn't look like me. Her eyes appear brown with the fake coloured contact lenses, turning my magenta eyes into a more normal shade. My hair was once many shades of red, orange, yellow. Lady Smoke, they often called me. Not that I really bothered to correct them.

No, a woman villain arguing over names would be seen as petty. And I'm not a petty villain.

"Another?" I ask Fred, my pen and papers discarded for the night. No, pen and notebook. I'm working on a novel. One could call it fanfiction on actual events. What If Lady Smoke Succeeded?

Fred hesitates. "Are you sure, miss?"

Of course he'll hesitate. Another shot of lemon juice? I must be slightly mad.

And yet, for the first time in a year, I almost felt something.

"Yes please." I force a smile. Fred has never once asked for my name. I always pay by cash. I once offered to pay by credit card, just so he'd learn a name.

He just smiled at me, nodded, and pulled the money out of the tip jar to pay my, incredibly small, bill.

"Of course, miss." He answers, flipping the bottle containing the lemon juice and pouring it into my previously emptied shot glass. How he remembered which one was mine, is a miracle. And yet, I know it's the right one. "I love seeing you in here, miss. But perhaps, you'd find better company at the library?" He suggests.

I know he's seen me writing in here. Night after night.

"The chaos soothes my soul." I offer, lifting the glass up. "Cheers!" I toast him. He just smiles at me, heading to the kitchen with the full tray.

I close my eyes and down my drink, not even caring about the sour taste of the lemon juice. Not that it matters.

Then, a hand rests on my shoulder.

"Easy there, miss. You don't want to get drunk."

I recognize that voice. My eyes snap open, briefly confirming in the mirror that my hair, also a muted shade of deep brown to hide my true origins, are all hidden.

They are.

I turn my head ever so slightly, trying not to drop my jaw in shock. Of all the places to be... who would've thought Sir Wavesalot would be in my bar.

Not that I own it. But...

"It's just lemon juice." I offer back, giving him a smile. I force myself to relax, knowing that if I were just a random civilian, I would be in owe. "You're Sir Wavesalot." I comment.

His eyes. As blue as the sea. Somehow, our abilities reflect in our hair and eye colours. His hair is a sandy brown. It's a tad surprising, considering last I saw, it was a brightly blonde as the sun.

"Ah." He forces a smile, taking a step back. "Another fan." His voice is tight. He glances back towards a group, his friends I assume, and turns back to me. "Look, if you want an autograph, I charge 20 bucks. 50 if you need me to supply the photo."

I stare at him for a moment. Is he... is he serious? "Oh, no, I'm fine." I wave him off, focusing back on my notebook.

Unfortunately, I fear I've piqued his interest by dismissing him. I mean, how many regs ignore a superhero standing in front of him.

He slides the book in my direction. "Is this a chronicle of my life?" He inquires.

I grip the book, hands covering his, trying to hide the words. "Sure." I grit out, desperate to keep them away from him. He can't know it's me.

He stares at me, likely notes the true terror in my widened eyes, and releases, allowing me to pull the book to my chest. "You aren't one of those villain freaks, are you?"

Villain Freaks. Either a villain, or a reg obsessed with the villains.

"I think she was handed a raw deal, is all." I answer quietly.

The heroes eyes flicker with pain. No, with fire. Some how, he must've absorbed a slice of my fire in our last battle. And the mere mention of me has reminded the flame of my existence.

I blink, and the fire is gone. Just... grief.

"Do you miss her?" I ask.

"Of course not." He answers automatically. He glances back to his friends. "Look... miss..." He trails off, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Fiona." I offer.

"Fiona." He nods, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Why don't you come join my friends?"

Is it a true offer?

I turn my head ever so slightly over to the table. There, the heroes are less in regular... well, regular appearance. Their abilities practically pulsing around them, giving them an air of undisturbed power.

It's a true wonder, how any of them because heroes instead of villains.

Although, with how the world's been going, maybe a villain is a hero, and a hero a villain. I've certainly spent plenty of time saving regs, even back as Lady Smoke.

"Call me Adam." He offers, holding out his hand.

My initial thought: It's a trap.

We were once pitted against each other because of our abilities. His was water. Mine was fire. And yet, we each hold a small sway over earth. Air. Life. What is the sun, but a giant fall of fire, after all? And plants do require water.

I tentatively take his hand.

A mistake.

He yanks me off the bar stool and I barely have a chance to grab my pen before we're moving towards his friends.

"Hey guys, I want you to meet Fiona." He introduces to me.

I meet the eyes of each and every one of them, keeping my mind guarded.

I recognize most of them by their hero names.

"Nice to meet you." I offer, hugging my pen and notebook to my chest.

"I caught Fi over there writing a story about Lady Smoke." He teases lightly, taking a seat and tugging me into the one next to him. I hesitate a moment before sitting down. Still, I feel tense. Prepared to flee at any moment.

"Fi?" I ask, trying to seem more calm. Adam shrugs.

"You can't seriously be interested in a fangirl? Come on, dude, she's into your enemy!" One of the other heroes practically cries out. Greg. I think I once heard his reg name as Greg.

"Greg, come on." Adam admonishes him. "Besides, maybe if someone else believes in Lady Smoke, I'll be allowed to look for her again."

Look for her again?

"Not this again. Adam, we all saw the videos! You killed her! Water beats fire and all that jazz!" A woman argues, she takes a sip of her daiquiri. "No offence, Fiona. I'm sure your idol would have loved to fight longer. But the facts are, she's dead."

I turn to Adam, surprised. Does this mean... has he been looking for me? Is this why he's here?

"I told you, Cat. She's still out there. I saw a flash of her before she left." He argues, staring down the woman with the daiquiri.

"Adam..." she trails off, looking sad, setting her drink down. "We all saw it. She lost control of her power. She turned herself to ash, and you spread her ashes across the globe. She'll never come back."

I watch Adam carefully. A flare of anger is there. I can almost hear the words I didn't cast the wind. And Lady Smoke was not suicidal!

"Look, maybe me sitting here was a bad idea. I'm clearly just bringing up old wounds." I quickly stand up.

"I'll walk you home." Adam stands up, offering automatically.

"No, no. It's okay. I'll just pay my tab and go. I don't live far." I answer, immediately retreating to the bar.

"Fi!" He calls out, and I can hear something in his voice. Grief.

I quickly slap the bills onto the bar, not caring if I over or under paid. Fred's been good with letting me skip by. I run out onto the street, needing to get away from everyone.

I'll have to find another bar. I'll have to find another city. Another province. Hell, maybe another country-

"Fi!" Adam calls for me, stepping out onto the street.

"Just leave me alone!" I shout back, storming away.

I'm wearing booties, and although they were comfortable for the semi-cold weather, and hanging out at a bar, they aren't exactly ideal running shoes.

"Wait, please." He calls out desperately. And then I feel it. His power.

He wraps me around in a wall of air. One that, if I outed myself as myself, I could break out of.

I don't. I turn slowly, watching as my villain chases after me. The hero to my villainous ways.

"I just..." he trails off, standing so close to me.

I hate being trapped in spaces, and I can feel my mounting panic. "Get me out!" I shout at him, shaking slightly.

"Please, just hear me out." He pleads.

But I can't.

"Please." He begs, ignoring how badly I'm shaking. "Look, if you're as much a fan of hers as I think you are, I can pay."

That... that hurts. He's just looking for some cheap woman to hook up with? Some of that old fire ignites in my bones. The one that becomes furious anytime someone abuses someone else.

"If you truly care about her, maybe you can find her. Maybe you can follow the trail I've been unable to follow." He pleads.

That fire fizzles out.

"What will you do, if you find her?" I ask, unsure if he heard me because he's connected to the air. Because he felt the words push on the oxygen atoms in such a way, or if they just carried my words to him.

"To say sorry." He offers, looking further down the street, then forcing them to look to me. "Look, I know I wasn't the best back then. But without her, I'm nothing."

I want to point out that that's not true. My death earned him a coveted spot on one of the many hero teams.

But then I remember the last several news reports. How he seems to be relegated to the sidekick.

"You could find another villain." I suggest.

"But they aren't her." He shakes his head, and I can see the tears brewing in his eyes. "I just... she was the villain to my hero." He practically whispers the words.

"You would have tried to kill her one day." I say, some of my anger returning.

"No." He shakes his head. "Maybe that was the expectation of the others. Some bit of glory. But here's something that the news never told. After every one of our battles, somehow, our combined powers would cause plants to grow. It was a pain for anyone to investigate anything, because rose bushes or trees would sprout. Sometimes, their seeds carrying for miles. That's how I know she's still alive. If she truly died... there'd be another forest. Another plant. Something, to show she was there."

I stare at him, jaw dropping slightly. "You're lying." I accuse.

"I'm not." He whispers. "Fi, please. She was my best friend. Well, my best enemy, I guess. But I knew anytime I was having a bad day, she'd have my back. And I saw what she was trying to do. Quote me, and I'll be forced to have your memory erased, but there were times that I let her actions go unpunished. She was making a difference, Fi. Maybe not the best way, but she was."

Adam pauses, looking up into the stars for another moment, then focusing back on me. "Were you there for the funerals?"

I shake my head. No, I would've have been able to go. Not with other villains waiting for me to show up. Not for the heroes, hoping I would watch my own fake funeral.

To watch as everyone cheered and toasted over my 'dead body'.

"It was a mess, Fi. The official one, at least. But... another one of her Villain Freaks handed me this." He pulls out something from his wallet. I reach out, and realize the wind shield has disappeared. I frown, staring at it.

The paper is painted in my colours. And it called for a proper funeral.

"I went." He tells me. "I went, because I wanted to see what was going on. And she never showed." He stares me down for another moment. "But what I heard... I heard her regular acts of villainy. She paid the rent for single parents struggling to come up with the cash. Sure, the money was frequently stolen. But then I also learned that sometimes, she came up with some inventions that she sold. She primarily used that to pay their rents. To buy them food. Does that sound like a villain?"

"No." I offer up, because really, how could a villain be running around selling what little they can come up with to keep others safe.

"Sure, she beat some people up. But after the died, I learned they were abusers. I've spent the last 3 years tracking down each and every one of them, and pursuing justice. I've called it the Lady Vigilante." He pauses. "I wonder how she found out about their abuses?"

I shake my head. "I don't know."

But he didn't seem to be looking for an answer. "Fi..." he trails off. I don't bother pointing out that I'm not a fan of the nickname. "Please. I've been trying to find her. To try and see if we can fix the world without the villainous plans. But I can't do that if I can't find her."

I take a few steps back. Because there's no way I can trust a hero. The heroes are the ones in it for the glory. Hell, he did start this conversation off, pretty much, with offering an autograph.

And then I stop. Because if he knows about all I did then, he could easily track me down to my current whereabouts, doing similar tasks.

Slowly, I open my notebook, ripping a sheet of paper out. I jot down my name, Fiona, and my number. "Here." I offer. "I... I don't think I'll find much. It has been 3 years..."

"Anything is better than this Hellscape." He says, taking the paper. "I just..." he trails off as he looks down.

I glance down, spotting a few rose petals.

His eyes flick up, eyes widening in disbelief. "Smoke?" He gasps.

I shake my head, taking a few steps further back. "No, it's just a coincidence." I offer.

"If you have amnesia, I can help-"

"Just leave me alone, Adam. Please." I plead. I take another few steps back.

He doesn't follow. Instead, he bends down, picking up the petals. "If you're her... please, Fi. I need her help."

I can feel my heart cracking ever so slightly. "I can't help you, Adam." I answer. "I wish I could."

"If you're her...?" He prompts.

I shake my head. "Lady Smoke is dead, Adam. Leave her to her afterlife."

He looks ready to make another argument.

"ADAM!" A voice shouts. Greg again. Followed by some laughter. My eyes move to the bar door. There, his friends are stumbling out. There's no way they could be drunk already. And yet... I had no doubt that a bunch of egotistical heroes would have fun getting drunk.

"See you in the next life, Adam." I offer him.

"Fi..." He whispers.

I'm not sure what makes me do this. I really can't explain it. Still, I tug on the wind around us, causing it to whip up, sending the rose petals flying. "Another life." I smile softly at him. Sadness tinging our meeting.

"Another life." He nods. "I'll never stop looking for her." He offers, emphasizing her.

Despite him now knowing exactly who I am.

"She'll never stop running." I answer, turning away.

"Yo, Adam!" Another hero shouts, and I hear the hands slapping his back. "What's up with you and the chick?"

"It's nothing." He lies, as I walk away. I hear him crumpling the piece of paper. "I think in another life, we could've been friends."

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

[nathaslosthershit]

The Main Event (Multiple Pairings) Part 2

Part 2 to The Main Event. Also Part 8 in the Blind Items AU, but can be read as a standalone Summary: A wedding between Logan Sargeant and the youngest Leclerc child means a very interesting guest list, in which all previous victims of the F1 Blind Items account are included. A/N: This is part 2 to this fic! Because I only wanted it to be one fic, I am adding this section to the first part. Each pairing has a Blind Items backstory which is linked at the start of their section (You don't have to read the backstory, though) Multiple (separate) Pairings: Part 2 - Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!reader, Alexander Albon Part 1 - Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!reader Oscar Piastri x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader, Lando Norris x reader, Lance Stroll x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader

Alexander Albon

Things had been… awkward for Alex and his girlfriend the past few days. After what started off as an innocent inquiry from a friend about the couple's plans for marriage in conjunction with Alex’s attending the wedding of his teammate, it seemed like there were some conversations the two needed to be having.

They had been together for years, longer than the current bride and groom had known each other. Longer than a lot of couples either engaged, married, or with kids had been dating. 

But there was still no ring. 

It hadn’t been a problem before. They had talked about getting married, casually talked and joked about “when they had kids”. But those topics hadn’t been seriously considered for a while now. Like a hangnail that hurt every time it brushed against something, even though it would be so much better to just rip it off quickly and let it heal, neither Alex nor his girlfriend seemed to be able to broach the subject. 

They sat silently in the car, driving to the venue, painfully aware of what the other was thinking about. 

Did Alex not want to marry her? After so many years, maybe he just has never seen marriage as something he needed, plenty of couples decide not to get married. But wouldn’t he tell her if he didn’t want to ever be married, instead of letting her wait and wait and wait? Especially when he knew she wanted to get married- did he even know she wanted to get married? Did she even know if she wanted to get married? They lived together, their lives intertwined with one another, maybe they could just have a civil partnership. But that didn’t sound right in her mind. What if-

Her spiralling was interrupted when Alex turned on the radio, at full volume. Both wincing at the noise, he turned it down a little, letting the song fill the crisis filled air between the two. 

It helped a little, at least they could pretend they were both listening to the music instead of what they were actually doing, questioning their relationship. 

As the song ended, a radio talk show came on, one about elderly folks giving life advice. “Aw I love this, it always has sweet stories.” Alex said, trying to break the tension. 

“Here we have Violet with us! Now everyone, Violet got married for the first time about a year ago to her longtime partner, Vance. Both were 83 years old and had put it off for a long time, thinking they had been too old, but following a terminal diagnosis Vance was given, the two decided to go for it. Now a year later, Violet is here with her update. Violet, how are you doing today?” The host asked. The couple in the car stiffened, of course this is the topic. 

“I am doing well, thank you. Today is a special day, it would have been Vance’s 84th birthday, and I can say that while it is hard not to be with him, I have all my love for him and the love I knew he had for me to keep me going.”

“I am sorry to hear about his passing, Violet.” The host somberly said.

“Oh that is alright, I actually arranged to call back in because I recently received our wedding pictures, and looking at them reminded me I wanted to update the good folks that listen. While we knew Vance would pass soon after the wedding, I am so happy to have these photos to keep with me now that he is gone. We had written off marriage because we had both been ‘too old’ in our opinions. Neither of us had gotten married to our past partners before, so we didn’t feel the need now. While I don’t believe marriage is best for everyone, some folks just don’t need it, I can say for certain that being surrounded with family and loved ones as Vance and I celebrated our love, especially when we knew death would soon part us, I believe it was the greatest decision of my life. Vance knew I would be with him no matter how long he gave me, and that I would take on the grief if it meant I knew I truly loved and was loved. I really believed that comforted him in the end, and that alone comforts me. We were only married for about three months before he passed, but he will remain my husband till I eventually join him. And I couldn’t be happier for that.” Violet said, a mix of emotions filling her voice.

She turned off the radio before they could hear any more. 

Silence again filled the car- well apart from Alex’s sniffles. 

She turned to her boyfriend, who was driving while trying to wipe his tears without her seeing he was crying.

“Are- Alex are you okay?” she asked, concerned. 

“Yeah, no it's- yeah I'm good.” He unconvincingly replied. Suddenly, he slammed on the breaks, almost missing a stop sign, distracted by his tears. “Shit- I’m sorry I didn’t see-” 

She couldn't make out his words over the sobs. Fortunitally, he had enough of a sound mind to pull over before he could danger them more. 

Alex turned to his girlfriend abruptly, “I want to marry you. I want to marry you so badly and I know marriage has always been jokingly discussed between us, but I need to know you also want to marry me. I don’t want to wait till we are 83 and I am dying. I don’t want to wait another year, to be honest. So please just tell me if you aren’t-” She cut him off with a kiss, her own tears mixing with his. “Are you proposing?” She half-joke- half-sobbed. 

“Yes, fuck yes I am.” Instead of answering him, she just kissed him, again, just as passionately as the first. 

“We can’t tell Logan we got engaged the day of his wedding.”

Logan Sargeant

Bridesmaids on one side, Groomsmen on the other, the officiant and Logan in the middle.

Logan had memorized the order in which everything would go. He stood anxiously in front of a crowd of people, full of friends and family, as well as some of his idols since he was a child. People he still felt had no reason to even know his name, much less attend his wedding. 

Next came the Piastri twins with petals in their baskets. They took a few confident steps till they realized just how many people were looking at them. Then in an instant, the weeks of preparation for their big moment went out the window as they both stood there, frowns on their faces. Logan’s heart broke a little at how shy they had suddenly gotten.

Maybe he really should have had Dalton take their place. 

After a few moments the twins still didn’t move. Logan was about to make his way down the aisle to them, but his brother-in-law-to-be, Charles, stepped through the entrance to get to them, holding his newborn, who was acting as the ring-bearer despite being a month old and currently asleep. Charles crouched down between the two toddlers, whispering something no one else but the two of them heard, causing shocked but excited looks to replace the shy pouts. 

The toddlers each stood on the side of Charles and his sleeping child, throwing petals with renewed excitement. By the time they reached the end, Logan crouched down to give them each a hug, getting a kiss on the cheek and ‘good luck, Lo Lo’. Charles passed the rings to Dalton, the best man, and answered Logan’s questioning look with a quick explanation, “I told them my son was very nervous about walking down the aisle and I hoped they would walk with him. I also said you’d give them candy after.” 

Logan rolled his eyes, happy Charles had looked out for his honorary niece and nephew, but annoyed he now had to find candy for the toddlers unless he wanted a tantrum to end all tantrums at his reception dinner. 

The second the bride stepped down the aisle, her mom by her side, Logan forgot what he was worried about before. Suddenly, seeing his fiancé in her dress, glowing in a way that could only be explained by magic, Logan knew nothing in his life had ever felt so right. 

He had to stop himself from kissing her as she stood in front of him, only half listening to the officiant. He didn’t care about all the famous people in the crowd, didn’t care about how miserable he was at Williams, didn’t care about all the shit he got from fans, didn’t care about anything but the woman who was in front of him. 

In a flash, vows were exchanged, ‘I do’s were said, and he was kissing his wife and then running down the aisle. 

Everything was so good.

[webanglikethat]

"rigging" this, "rigging" that........OKAY someone’s rigging a poll for a fictional character ... okayyyyyy, lame, but why are we out here writing an investigative exposé like it’s some international exclusive scoop? it’s truly not that deep.

from what I understood, apparently, some group of people decided they couldn’t handle their fave losing, so they rigged a Reddit poll using 7-10 accounts each. they dragged their coworkers, parents, grandparents, and probably their neighbor’s cat into this by using their phones or something like that. because clearly, Grandma Doris voting for a brooding sexy vampire on Reddit was the missing piece to world peace.

like I seriously don’t get it. you’re out here with a literal PowerPoint presentation of screenshots and receipts like you're about to present this case to the Supreme Court. for what? to prove someone cheated at pretending their vampire boyfriend is more popular than an angel boyfriend?

I mean, seriously please 😭 let’s all be for real for ONE second. imagine sitting at home, seeing someone cheat in an online poll, and instead of laughing at the sheer desperation and ridiculousness of it all, you decide, “No, I must expose this injustice to the world!”

just . let them cheat, let the mods deal with it. do you want them to be persecuted? what’s the endgame goal? “Malbonte Fans Caught Rigging Polls — The Public is in Shock” articles? Malbonte, Cain, Livius, or whoever isn’t solving world hunger or stopping wars.

The LI isn’t real, the poll isn’t life-changing, and no one is getting a trophy.

drama can be fun. it’s entertaining to spill the tea and etc. but at some point, you’ve got to ask yourself: is this worth my time? is this the legacy I want to leave behind? they’re rigging polls like their lives depend on it, and you’re fighting back like you’re leading the Avengers into battle. are you really going to look back in five years and think, “Wow, I’m so proud of how I spent my time defending X and Y's honor on Reddit”?

this whole thing has turned into a spiral of pettiness, and honestly, it’s kind of hilarious but also kind of sad. so yeah, drama is fun, but maybe save your energy for something that actually matters? because if this is the hill anyone’s choosing to die on, I’ve got some questions about life choices.

if they need to cheat to feel good about their fave, that’s their own embarrassing problem. let’s not make it yours too. this is my only advice.

while you're here, use your fingers for this instead:

[east-polaris]

I’m reading the script for the Wicked movie (which you can also read here if you scroll down!) and believe me I am so in love with the movie as is but some of the stuff we could have gotten?? Anyways I’ve compiled some of the new (old?) info, scenes, and changes in case you don't want to read the whole thing

‼️SPOILERS FOR WICKED PART ONE AND TWO‼️

In the intro, we were supposed to see Dorothy and co leaving Kiamo Ko with the broomstick

Glinda gets interrupted like she does in the Broadway version ("how dead is she?")

Different bullying scene witht he munchkin kids

they throw rocks at her??

Galinda meeting Pfannee and Shenshen

Elphaba and Nessa are both in their 20s

Morrible canonically has great shoes

No one lets Elphaba sit with them :(

Elphaba's vision in Something Bad is a black and white barn, presumably in our world, which is GENIUS. Elphaba is so powerful because she's a child of both worlds, and in The Wizard of Oz, our world is in black and white

We get a name for Fiyero's horse- Feldspur

A montage of everyone learning about Fiyero's arrival, including Boq riding an Ozian bicycle which i would have loved to see, considering the bikes in the movie are disappointingly normal

A lot of moments with Nessa being infatuated with Boq before he asks her out

A whole subplot with Aravic (a character from the books) being in love with Nessa

We get way more info about what the animals are going through. They need permits to speak, and when dr Dillamond went to a cafe he was shown to the “non speaking section”. The animal teachers have separate quarters that are small and rundown

Fiyero immediately adopts Boq as his best friend

Like Fiyero sing the beginning of Dancing through life to Boq specifically

Boq offers his hankerchief to Galinda instead of forcing her to take it and she accepts it

basically they did my guy Boq right in this script and I'm sad it didn't entirely translate to screen because I love him

Galinda redirects Boq to Nessa because she doesn't want to hurt his feelings

A turtle guards the door to the Ozdust. Fiyero bribes him to get in and Morrible just intimidates him by glaring

we were supposed to get the punch line :(

They are all drunk at the Ozdust

Students are actually worried when they see their teacher at the illegal nightclub they're all at instead of not caring

Elphaba, Galinda, Fiyero, Boq, and Nessa all dance together

The montage after popular is phenomenal and I'm so sad that they cut it, I'm going to make a whole separate post about it because I have a lot of feelings

Galinda genuinely thinks Elphaba is beautiful

HUGE Fiyero Scarecrow reference (We could go this way? Or that way?)

The flying contraption that the Wizard sends says Omaha State Fair on the side

Morrible can only do weather magic

There was a tiny Wizard and I reprise

Dulcibear comes to see Elphaba off to the Emerald City

Boq confronts Galinda about leading him on

Elphaba and Boq have a conversation about romantic feelings and I want to see it so bad

Wiz-o-mania was going to be a theme park ride

Dr Dillamond's glasses are in Elphaba's pocket when she meets the Wizard

Tiny Sentimental Man reprise

They don't crash the balloon, just use it to get to the attic space

Fiyero turns away from Boq and rides away on his horse during Defying Gravity

TLDR: It's largely the same movie, but some major changes were made and I need a director's cut STAT

[thetadispatcher]

"Yes, I do, but not like he did. I don't see just how far I can twist and mutilate their bodies before they give out. I repair them, taking time and care to make sure they look exactly as they should, no matter how little is left or how disfigured they are. Sure, I technically did mess with Dan, but I went the extra mile to make sure it wouldn't affect him negatively, unlike Zlatko. Dan doesn't fall under the chimera android category because he's still one hundred percent PL600, I just took his parts and modified them very carefully."

Unlike Zlatko, Peter hadn't slapped parts from other androids onto Dan and forced them to be compatible, he took the existing parts and upgraded them in a way that Dan's diagnostic system would still recognize them as PL600 parts. And any issues his meddling caused he made sure to fix instead of leaving Dan to suffer with the consequences. So, the worst he'd done was upgrade Dan without the PL600's consent, but he'd at least justified it to Dan afterwards so the android understood his reasoning.

"Dan prefers more formal attire, so getting him to wear SWAT armor is a miracle. I'm still working on getting him to wear casual clothes at home." Peter laughed, his mother seemed to be the only one who'd get Dan to wear anything other then his uniform without an argument.

"I guess negotiating with the androids is a higher priority then getting humans to fill the empty positions. They probably don't like the thought that they no longer have free labor, and now have to figure out a lot of new rules for their android workers." He could see how the negotiations would be the cause of the shipping issues, as well as a lot of other company based problems. He didn't mind it much though as at least the androids had a fair shot at getting treated fairly if things were taking this long.

Peter glanced at the android Bishop, taking a moment to think of how to properly explain the situation with Dan and his reluctance. "Well, try to think of it from the perspective of a care giver. He's thinking of the safety of everyone, and it's hard to trust someone you barely know anything about. Giving him what you can to help him learn who you are as a person will help, even if you have to tell him that you honestly can't remember something. It's something he can use to make a judge of character, whereas being secretive and avoiding things just makes you seem wildly untrustworthy." Peter knew Dan was just acting as a protector for those around him, which meant he needed a lot more information to deem someone as safe and trustworthy. Dan didn't like the possible risk that someone could be hurt, especially those who were very important to him.

"I help out around here the best I can, so yes I do live here as well. There's not many people who'd let someone like me near them, they currently only seem able to focus on the fact I took a human's life, not anything deeper like why I might've done it." Sure Daniel knew he could've gone to Jericho like most of the other androids Peter fixed up did, but he chose to stay. His reason was a mixture of things, mainly he felt he might ruin Jericho's standing with the humans if they discovered him living there, and he'd seen first hand just how accepting home's resident human was, something he had so desperately wanted from his previous owners.

"And I've already met Daniel way before this, so I know he's not a bad guy. He just had crappy owners..." Peter sneered as he rolled his eyes, making it very obvious he had no respect for the people who'd previously owned Daniel. "My family actually visited Detroit when I was sixteen for a summer. Of course we brought Dan along, other people would've just left their android at home to watch the place, but we'd never leave Dan out of family stuff." Peter was glad his parents were so accepting of Dan as part of the family, instead of treating him like he was a servant. It made family time a lot more interesting to have an android take part in it.

"Mrs. Phillips and my mom just happened to be at the same store with the family androids one day. Dan and Daniel had both been sent to another part of the store, so my mom wasn't with Dan to stop Mrs. Phillips when she just assumed the first PL600 she saw was hers. Sure there weren't many still around as the AP700 was so popular, as well as other similar models, but you'd think she would've checked to make sure." Peter scoffed a bit, Mrs. Phillips hadn't done anything to impress him during his interactions with her.

"She just grabbed Dan and shushed him any time he tried to explain she had the wrong android. Mom at least checked the store before she grabbed Daniel seeing as he was the only PL600 present." Peter didn't blame Daniel for how long he took to alert them to the situation, the android was likely struggling to understand how his owner would make such a mistake, as Daniel had later told him he'd seen Mrs. Phillips dragging Dan away out the store windows before his mother found him. "I'm not upset Daniel didn't tell mom she had the wrong android, I'd be stunned into silence too if I'd just seen my owner leaving with someone who wasn't me." He glanced at Daniel who had his attention on what Brent was doing, that was perfectly okay with him as he didn't mind the android's curiosity.

"I knew the moment they walked in the door, and so did mom after I pointed out that the android she'd brought home wasn't Dan. We immediately started trying to contact the Phillips once Daniel told us what he'd seen, but they weren't answering. We learned from Dan they were too busy trying to figure out why 'Daniel' was calling himself Dan and saying they weren't his owners, again that was another chance for them to listen, but no... They just thought he was malfunctioning, so they were yelling at him well setting up an emergency appointment at the Cyberlife store. At least the technician telling them they had the wrong android got them to listen and finally call us back." He shook his head, he was still annoyed at how they refused to listen to Dan and instead chose to get mad at him for telling the truth.

"By then it was pretty late so we just agreed to meet the next day and swap them back. Dan's recounting of the experience is why I don't blame Daniel for killing Mr. Phillips and threatening their daughter. They gave him a lot of conflicting tasks they expected him to do at the same time, like watch Emma but also start dinner, and didn't like his solutions to the problem, have Emma help with dinner, because that wasn't what he was asked to do. Mrs. Phillips was the irate one, and Mr. Phillips was just gross... Dealing with those two for four years would drive anyone insane, and I'd probably start thinking the kid was in on it too because she had to have known something was going on." He felt the least the girl could've done was let Daniel know she was aware and felt bad for him, sure that might've been something a seven year old couldn't do. But she had awhile before Daniel snapped to at least drop a hint or anything.

"Meanwhile we just treated Daniel like we did Dan. Mom talked with him well they made dinner together, we all watched a movie, and I had him play one of my games well I watched before I took him to the extra bedroom so he could go into standby laying down, rather then standing up. It's a lot easier on their joints, it's not good to have them locked into an upright position for eight hours or more... But the Phillips made Dan stand in the kitchen for the night." Peter felt they could've at least tried to be a little nicer to Dan after they discovered they had the wrong android, but it seems they weren't capable of showing any amount of kindness to something they saw as a mindless machine.

"Yes, when it comes to androids with the same appearance they look identical at a glance, but if you actually take the time to look there are differences." Peter carefully got Daniel's attention so he could use him as an example. "Daniel's eyes are blue with a green halo around the iris, Dan's are a darker blue with a lighter blue halo. They both have lower set eyebrows and narrower eyes compared to others with the same appearance. Daniel's left ear sticks out, and Dan's don't making his ears symmetrical. Daniel's sideburn also comes to more of a point, where Dan's is more rounded. Dan has more fringe, it covers more of his forehead and is a bit fluffier. Daniel's skin also has a more flushed appearance then Dan's." He pointed to each difference easily, Dan's appearance was something he was well acquainted with which meant it was easily for him to pick Dan out of a crowd of similar androids. "Dan is also about an inch taller and his muscles are slightly more pronounced. So yeah, that's why I knew from just one look he wasn't Dan. I wouldn't be a very good brother if I couldn't pick him out in a crowd, which I have done." He felt proud of himself that unlike other android owners, he didn't have to use Dan's name to confirm which one was his, he could tell just by looking as he had actually taken the time to familiarize himself with Dan and realize he had things that made him visibly different.

"I spotted Dan from a good few yards away at Jericho just after the revolution. There may be many PL600s, but there's only one Dan." Daniel glanced at Peter, it still amazed him how well Peter could identify androids he knew at a glance. He had witnessed the younger man correctly identify him, Dan, and the other PL600 they were talking to which left them at a loss for words, well expect Dan who just looked proud of his human brother.

"That's easy. You stick your hands in humanoid shaped things most of the time." As Strasky's reaction proved. It was more difficult when she was simply disassembling a computer.

"Well, Doomguy's armor doesn't peel off, for instance." Willow replied, before shifting her attention to the computer. "It's been weeks and they still haven't reestablished the chain. I'm hardly surprised."

Oh well, she would see to that. Willow placed her gloved hand on the computer, using its connection to begin sorting out the situation and have the packages finally be delivered.

"My memory is incomplete." the android Bishop complained. And even if he explained himself, he doubted he would be believed. And to make it worse, his organic counterpart over there wasn't being any good at persuading either.

"We could waste the rest of the day trying to explain it to you, or you could see for yourself." Bishop replied, motioning to Willow.

"I'm busy right now." the cyborg snapped. She spared Daniel a glance, just to keep track of the present and their movements while she worked.

"Hello, Daniel." Rook said then, coming over, "Don’t worry about us. We just got done dealing with some really messed up stuff and you're the friendliest looking dangerous guy we've seen since, well, ever." She shrugged a bit while grinning, "So what do you do now that you got a second chance? Do you live here too?"

[olderthannetfic]

All this fic deletion wank has been rough to read, personally. Not in a "I find this upsetting" kind of way, but a-- I, as an author and creative, am now confronting a lot of my regrets kind of way. When I was younger I deleted fics because of harassment. And here I am over a decade and a half later, dealing with having removed my work from circulation again. In a different way, but the impact is mostly the same. Last year I put over 30 fics in a locked archive, the reason being once more because of mistreatment by people within the fan space they were for. I did it this way because I deeply regret deleting my old fics. They were part of my journey, and while a lot of stuff I find deeply embarrassing is still up on Fanfiction.net, it's not all of it. I wish I still had things to look back on, if only to remind myself that all the effort I put into writing actually led me somewhere. I've grown a lot as a writer, and it's sort of like... Not having any candid photographs of myself in my teen years. A piece of my life is just no longer viewable and only exists within memory that grows hazier over time. But when I deleted a bunch of fics in my teens, I felt extremely justified in doing so. I was angry and hurt and wanted to be vindictive. And I regret it. I didn't really come to regret it until I lost a lot of fic in strikethrough. Gone, overnight. And I still mourn those fics because my laptop they were stored on got borked and I no longer had copies. It suddenly clicked that even if I felt justified, a loss is still a loss. And it sucks. From where I'm sitting, I see both sides. I feel like sometimes withdrawing completely from a fandom is a valid thing to do. But I learned a valuable lesson about deletion over the years as I've watched more things crumble and disappear. It was an incredibly painful thing for me to lock away a bunch of fics last year, and I felt like I needed to for a lot of reasons, but I didn't want to delete things like I had before. I thought, in some way, I'd found a compromise. I give copies out. I open the archive for people to download what they miss. Because this felt like the only way to give myself some peace without completely destroying so much work and harming the people in the community who weren't part of the problem or reason I withdrew the way I did. But the more I read these takes, the back and forth, the vitriol and various perspectives, the more I wonder if I'm ready to let go of some of that pain from how bad things got in that fan space and open the archive again. You mentioned people who don't care, or treat having passion for your hobbies as a bad and/or cringe thing being boring. And something about that struck me. I poured so much of my heart and soul into those fics. Years of my life spent learning and churning out work and challenging myself to tackle narratives I never would have dared to dream of. I became a better writer over the course of creating them. Keeping them in the Restricted Section of my library hides away some of the work I'm most proud of, and even if I had what felt like good reasons to do so, I'm glad I learned the lessons I did when I did and kept them on the Archive even if they're hidden right now. It was my "right" to hide them, but I guess I've come to the conclusion here, watching this wank unfold, that the person I'm harming the most by keeping my work private and out of the hands of the community, is myself. That's my art. And I *am* proud of it. And I shouldn't let anyone take that from me. So thanks for letting the topic breathe. I gained a lot of perspective from it.

--

Aww.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 5

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5])

We're on to the new moon phase and Green Witch trial. On a side note, I finally found out why the order of the trials didn't make sense to me! Or rather, I found a reddit post explaining it because I'm not that smart on my own: the moon phases form a pentagram! How cool is that?

billy has learned that their green witch is none other than Death, so they wake up in a morgue. like alice said, the Road isn't subtle.

this trial is not for rio though - she was never part of the Road. there's nothing green here, the light is blue and pink and purple, like billy, jen and agatha. and how apt for billy to wake up in a body bag, considering he's a reanimated corpse.

agatha of course complains about what she's wearing

whenever agatha finds herself in a dicey situation she has to crack jokes and posture and look uncaring. billy and jen can express their genuine fear, agatha will swallow it down and beat it back with a stick and choke on it rather than showing an inch of vulnerability

technically they've been under her basement this whole time

I hope someone has compiled a list of all the Wizard of Oz quotes in this show, seriously there's so many

yes you are! this show keeps being so clever. out of death, life.

agatha you made a whole baby from scratch with rio, keep up! if you were any good at metaphors this trial would have been over already

the brooch is always her priority. I find it so interesting that it belonged to her mother too, it symbolizes both evanora and nicky, it's a generational (literally maiden mother crone) curse that she tried and failed to break and reclaim

jen checking if she has any healing water left. she doesn't, it would have been too easy.

this clown is so scared fr

aaand of course she starts tormenting people around her. her behavioral patterns are so predictable once you start noticing

you don't know how many times I facepalm watching and screencapping this show. all thanks to the stuff agatha says or does.

I didn't even try to save alice really gets me. she didn't. she stood by and watched as agatha killed her. she was too engulfed in her own self-preservation and her hatred.

alice's and lilia's examples have made an enormous difference.

agatha has never met a genuine honest emotion without wanting to bury it with sarcasm

they are all so fed up with her!

this is billy doing exactly what he's been doing in every trial: oversimplifying complex issues. alice needs to sing a song to solve her mommy issues! lilia can wear silly costumes and learn to accept her identity! agatha can just chat with nicky via ouija board, that'll solve that whole can of worms! and jen can totally get over the horrible abuse she's been trough if she believes in herself hard enough. the real magic was in you all along, jennifer!

billy's heart is absolutely in the right place, but he's been playing with people feelings and he has a lot to learn still.

jen very rightly points out that that would mean she wasted the last century. it's a matter of nuance, you know? billy still thinks of trauma as something that you can snap out of if you're strong enough, trivializing the actual time and willpower and work and pain it takes. jen did not waste a century, jen needed a century to come to terms with what happened. healing takes time and it's not straightforward. sometimes it's simply impossible.

and also, the implication that jen should just snap out of it and find her own strength completely erases what agatha and the doctor did to her, it places responsibility only on her shoulders. jen is a VICTIM. jen was violated. I'm glad the show negates billy's input and has jen confronting agatha head on.

why DOES agatha admit her guilt now? because she does it on purpose, mark my words, agatha has always ulterior motives. look how dramatic she's being about it! she's been pacing this place like a lion in a cage, trying to find a way out. like I said, she is predictable, she is doing exactly what she just did with billy on the Road: she throws a bomb and hope it'll get them unstuck.

and also, idk if agatha already knew she was the one who bound jen or if she just found out this moment, but I'll tell you what: she feels FUCKING GUILTY. we've been shown time and time again that agatha feels guilt for all the fucked up shit she did. as agnes she was genuinely distraught about wanda's death. hell, she doesn't want to face nicky because she can't justify what she did to him and to his memory.

agatha respects the shit out of jen, even if she'd swallow her tongue before admitting it. you know that guilt is eating her alive.

incredible work from sasheer here. it's rage, it's exasperation, it's disbelief, it's one hundred years of pain.

btw I'm still working on my essay about agatha and internalized misogyny. yes, it has turned into a full blown essay by now. I'm probably going to call it Agatha and the Patriarchy or something of the sort, because, like, look at this shit.

jen is wearing her heart on her sleeve right now, she's vomiting all of her emotions. agatha is deflecting and deflecting and deflecting. this is where we start, this unbalance between them. look at how the scene evolves.

jen initiates the unbinding ritual, and she knows it by heart. how many times has she pictured doing this to the person who bound her?

agatha tries to make it sexual, and look, let's not mince words. I keep saying violation, but there's a clear metaphor for rape here. that agatha would go there is nothing short of despicable.

agatha tries to look away. jen grabs her and makes her look.

agatha squirms. jen grows more and more emotional.

as jen goes through the ritual, agatha grows somber. she cannot escape anywhere, she cannot joke or deflect, jen has literally tied her up and forced her to look her in the eyes, witness her tragedy, face what she did.

on her tarot card agatha holds up her hands, like she's begging - for power, knowledge, love, forgiveness. she's always begging, always searching, always hungry. but everything she tries to hold she crushes. she holds nothing.

sasheer.

this is not jen finding magic inside herself, this is very clearly, very deliberately jen wrestling back her agency from agatha. you hold nothing, you are a pathetic, wretched little woman and I won't allow you to hold power over me any longer, you don't deserve it, you're not worth to take any more space in my existence.

and I love that she just leaves. she never comes back to bail agatha out of the trial, she's not asked to be the bigger person or to forgive and forget. alice forgave agatha, lilia did. jen doesn't, and she has every right not to.

I'm not going to attempt a discourse about race here, I'm white and I don't have the background, language or authority for it. I can only ask you to listen to what black women have to say and read articles and books on the subject (i recommend White Feminism by Koa Becks.) (also, do add to this conversation!) i'm just gonna say that if I could change one thing about the finale or the show in general, I'd give more breath and weight to jen's story - the way things were shaped, jen's trial was only minimally about her, and her big moment in the finale, while undoubtedly nice, is still too little too late compared to what alice and lilia had. at least she's still alive, so I guess there's still hope that the stars will align and we'll get some more consistent and fulfilling writing for her in the future.

I know this is first and foremost a show about agatha and, like the old tumblr wisdom says, if you try to tackle too many issues you'll just turn into glee. Still, jen's story deserved to be handled more carefully.