#every single one of you are worthy of love

[meadowfics]

suddenly, you're my valentine

se-mi x f!reader

your bestfriend turned lover gives you a good valentine's day

warnings: friends to lovers. reader has issues with love.

valentine’s day has always been bittersweet for you.

no matter how much you try to ignore it, the ache of loneliness never fails to creep in. everywhere you turn, there are couples holding hands, exchanging gifts, sharing soft kisses.

reminders of the love you’ve always wanted but never truly had.

you’ve never had good luck in love.

every time you let someone in, they leave.

maybe it’s you. maybe you’re just not meant to be loved the way you hope for.

so, when you wake up to a bouquet of deep red roses sitting on your nightstand, your heart stutters. confusion swirls in your chest because no one has ever done something like this for you.

did someone get into your house? there is only one person who has a key to your apartment besides you.

attached to the bouquet is a small envelope, your name written neatly in handwriting you recognize instantly..

semi’s.

your best friend,

the other person who has a key to your apartment.

your lips twitch into a small smile as you open the card.

nside, there’s a note written in semi’s familiar, neat script:

happy valentine’s day, y/n. get ready, i’m picking you up at 7. wear something nice.

your heart races.

semi’s always been sweet to you, but this feels… different. still, you push down the lingering hope that bubbles in your chest, telling yourself that she’s just being the best friend she’s always been.

at exactly seven, semi arrives, a small grin on her lips as she stands at your door with a single red rose in hand.

she looks stunning, dressed in a dark red blouse that complements her effortlessly, her dark hair styled just right.

your breath catches for a second.

“wow,” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

“you clean up nice.”

semi chuckles, handing you the rose.

“you look beautiful, y/n.”

your face heats up at the compliment, but you shake it off. this is just semi being semi.

nothing more.

she takes you to one of the nicest restaurants in the city, one you’ve always wanted to go to but never had the chance. the candlelit ambiance, the soft music, the way semi’s eyes never leave you.

it all feels so intimate, so much like a date, and yet you don’t let yourself believe it.

“so,” you say, swirling your drink, trying to ignore the way your heart is betraying you.

“what’s all this for? i mean, i know it’s valentine’s day, but this seems like… a lot.”

semi leans forward slightly, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass.

“you deserve it.”

you scoff, shaking your head.

“i don’t know about that.”

se-mi's brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?”

“act like you’re not worthy of good things. of love.”

your stomach twists.

“because I do not feel like I am worthy, semi.”

semi's expression softens, but there’s a certain intensity in her gaze that makes it hard to hold.

“that’s not true.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on your food, pretending like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest.

the night continues with semi making sure you feel special, treating you with so much tenderness it nearly makes you want to cry.

she pays the bill before you can argue, and when you step outside, the cool night air kissing your skin, she turns to you with a small smile.

“one more surprise,” she says, taking your hand in hers.

you don’t question it.

you never do when it comes to semi.

she drives you to a secluded hilltop, where a blanket is already set up with fairy lights twinkling softly around it. there’s a small box sitting at the center of the blanket.

“semi…” your voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed by everything she’s done for you tonight.

she gestures for you to sit, and when you do, she hands you the box. with hesitant hands, you open it, only to find a delicate silver bracelet inside, a small charm hanging from it..

your initial intertwined with hers.

your breath hitches.

“semi… this is… this is beautiful.”

you smile up at her.

"you're such a good best friend, semi."

she watches you carefully, lips parting slightly like she’s holding something back. then, she finally speaks.

“i didn’t do this as your best friend, y/n.”

your fingers tighten around the bracelet. your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

“what… what do you mean?”

semi exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair.

“i did this because i’m in love with you.”

everything stills.

your eyes snap to hers, searching, needing to know if she’s serious.

there’s no hesitation, no doubt in her gaze.

“you’re lying.” the words leave your lips before you can stop them.

“you… you don’t love me like that. i’m not even your type, semi.”

she shakes her head, frustration flickering across her face.

“what does that even mean, y/n? you’ve always been my type. I just...i didn’t know how to tell you without scaring you away.”

your breath shudders as you take in her words, your emotions a tangled mess inside of you.

all this time, you’ve convinced yourself that you weren’t enough. that love wasn’t meant for you.

however, here she is. semi, your best friend, the only person who has ever truly seen you...telling you that she loves you.

before you can think, before doubt can creep in, you surge forward, crashing your lips against hers.

semi freezes for a split second before responding with just as much urgency, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

the kiss is desperate, filled with all the emotions you’ve buried for so long.

your hands tangle in her hair, and she groans softly into your mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. your plump lips attaching to hers..

it’s intoxicating, the way she tastes, the way she feels against you.

when you finally pull away, breathless, foreheads pressed together, you whisper,

“i love you too, semi. happy valentine’s day.”

she lets out a shaky laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“best valentine’s day ever.”

masterlist

[burningcheese-merchant]

"sorry but I love your writing so much OP" ARE YOU FOR REAL? I LOVE YOUR WRITING, DUDE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ADDING YOUR IDEAS, THEY'RE FANTASTIC

Ugggghhhhhhhh the Ancients and Beasts being SO CLOSE to understanding each other, SO CLOSE to accepting the truth of their undeniable and unbreakable connection, but always letting their personal flaws big and small get in their way and drive a wedge between them!!!!!!! Fear of rejection, fear of further suffering and loss! All of the anger and grief and self-loathing! And amidst all of this, those two that dared to defy this order that no one meant to establish, but no one is able or willing to break, and stepping across that threshold to meet each other halfway, to become one as all five pairs were meant to, if only for a single, fleeting moment...

To the Ancients, they see a maverick. That one that, of their ragtag group of five, they had always known was the one most worthy of the title of "hero", more than any of them could ever hope or strive to be. A man who overcame his fear of the world and of himself, and who somehow always finds insurmountable strength in even the most fragile, fumbling weakness. He did what they so desperately wish to: he confessed. That cloying sentiment that tugged on the strings of their hearts like a delicate instrument; the fabled happy ending they'd see in their dreams, that made them smile and sigh softly in their sleep. He did it. Pure Vanilla did it. It ended badly - the way they all suspected, lamented that it would - but he did it, and that's what matters most at the moment. Do they congratulate him? Do they gather round and cage him in a warm embrace, mourning his cruel rejection alongside him? Bah... they'll do both. They'll do it all for their friend. And perhaps, in doing so, they can live through him, and share in this small, fleeting victory...

Shadow Milk knows better than to show his face to... are they even still his friends, in this day and age? Is that a term he could use, a relationship he could imply, without a savage bite or bark in dismissive response? Did their camaraderie mean anything anymore, after all they've said and done?

Hmph... It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Not them, not the Ancients, not that miserable, mewling, bleeding heart coward Pure Vanilla. Meant to be together? HA! "No one else but me can truly understand you"? Now THAT'S a good joke. So good, that he actually brought the house down! That saying is supposed to be just that, but Pure Vanilla actually gave it life and limb! He was the true jester all along, it would seem! And far be it from Shadow Milk to allow himself to be outdone by anyone, never mind... him. But oh well. That rosy-cheeked bastard's time will come.

Understanding... No one understands Shadow Milk. No one ever did, and no one ever shall. It is Shadow Milk who understands. He, the once great Fount of Knowledge. HE is the arbiter of truth and understanding, no one else. It is HE who understands.

And what does Shadow Milk understand?

He understands that that mask Mystic Flour wears from dusk to dawn and every minute in between will finally shatter, should he ever grace her with his presence again. The cocoon she wove ever-so-tightly around her heart will unravel once and for all - and from it will spring an unfettered, grief-stricken rage the likes of which none have ever seen. Those silk ribbons and spider webs will instead coil around his wrists, his ankles, his neck, and they will squeeze. She will gaze into the abyss of his soul as all of the air and excuses are slowly wrung from his aching lungs, without a sound herself; he won't deserve any answers from her, and they both know what they are, anyway. He had enlightenment in his grasp. The one she recoiled from and longed for so strongly. He threw it away. For it, he will suffer. He must.

He understands that there is no Hell torturous enough for Burning Spice to damn him to, no corner of the earth he can scuttle off and cower in, nothing he can say or do to quell his spitting fury. He will beat him, break him, put splinters beneath his fingernails, slather him in lamb's blood and throw him to the wolves, tear out his guts with his bare hands and use them to hang him from a bridge. And all the while, he will scream and shout every last ounce of his disappointment. His longing. His sorrow. All he wants anymore is Golden Cheese. He needs her. And he KNOWS Shadow Milk needs Pure Vanilla in the same way - and instead of accepting that precious gift, he chose to be boring and lie like he always does about EVERYTHING in his worthless life. If Shadow Milk has a joke, a poem, a scathing criticism, however he chooses to dress his EXCUSES- no, Burning Spice won't hear them. They will seep into the earth, never to be of use again, along with every last drop of his blood as Burning Spice split every last vein open with his axe

He understands that Eternal Sugar will be tempted to play a song for him. Let her fingers dance along the strings of her precious harp one more time, just for him, even though she lost her taste for music long ago. Soft, sickly sweet crooning about how much of a coward and a failure he is. A melody that graces his ears with the warmth and affection of a seditious courtesan dutifully handing her king his poisoned tea. And he would listen and scowl and say nothing in reply - he needed to dedicate his focus to staying awake, because the last thing he wanted was to fall asleep in Eternal Sugar's presence. It was what she hoped for; in his dreams, she could demonstrate her REAL frustration. So he'd deny her that chance for as long as he could, and let her trill that Hollyberry's disappearing act was more captivating than his would ever be

He understands that it never mattered that Silent Salt was born mute, for he was nevertheless a master of expression that rivaled even Shadow Milk himself. The tremor in his hand as he gripped his sword tighter. Tighter. Tighter. The loud, clanking stomp of his armored boots as he marched towards Shadow Milk, unyielding to any obstacle or distraction he tried to throw onto his path. That aura, more powerful than any of theirs had ever been, cold as steel and equally as heavy and suffocating, looming over Shadow Milk like a storm over the sea. The bleeding imprint of his gauntlet on Shadow Milk's cheek. The lilies - soft-hearted fool, he always has at least one on hand - he'd shove into Shadow Milk's mouth and down his throat until he choked and perished in his shaking grasp. The tears Shadow Milk could sense welling in those furious, bloodshot eyes hiding behind that helm. Perhaps it was for the best that Silent Salt was truly born silent; Shadow Milk shuddered to imagine what horrors would spill from his mouth and strike the whole world down otherwise.

He understands that Pure Vanilla's love is persistent and unconditional. There is nothing Shadow Milk can say or do to push him away, not really. He can reject him a thousand times and he will always return and try again. The man wrapped himself around Shadow Milk's finger willingly; he and his heart and soul were forever his to toy with as he pleased.

... He understands that somewhere, in his heart of hearts, he wanted to say yes. He wishes he did. No one will ever hate Shadow Milk more than Shadow Milk himself for choosing not to, no matter his reasoning. No matter the outcome.

He understands that he bears the exact same curse as his compatriots. He understands there is no cure, no solution, no salvation. Not that ones such as them deserve such a mercy, anyway.

... It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Fools, the lot of them. Every single one.

Somewhere in the hollow pit of his damned soul, Shadow Milk understands that he's the biggest fool of them all. Such is the burden of Knowledge...

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.

[dimlylittorch]

Viktor won the Valentines Day poll! Yall enjoy✍️🙂‍↕️

My Masterlist🌱

Viktor x pre-op!transmasc!reader

small synopsis: Valentine’s Day was a tradition in Piltover- not Zaun. Viktor never quite acclimated to the holiday.. until he had a reason to.

Viktor never considered himself lucky. Whether that be in life or in love- it never struck him as something he was blessed with. Everything he valued in himself, he felt he earned. He pushed himself to learn, and he worked himself to the bone to gain any sort of status in the scientific community. Nothing was gifted to him- that was something he had accepted early on. He just wasn’t worthy of things being easy. Well- he believed that for a long time. Until you showed up.

When Jayce informed Viktor that there would be a new assistant joining their team, he thought nothing of it. If you were anything like the others you would stay in the background and keep to yourself, only stepping forward when asked. But you were something different entirely. You were like Jayce in a way- charming and unafraid to be yourself. But there was no arrogance from what he could see, just a kind demeanor with a sweet temperament. Often Jayce would flash his dashing debonair smile to get what he wanted from potential investors or politicians. That was where the two of you differed- your smile was never faked, or simply put up for your own gain. It seemed to be practically glued to your face.

He couldn’t stand it at first. That sweet grin and soft chuckle you’d supply at every waking moment- how could he not hate it? He didn’t have anything to be that happy about- that content with. He often imagined what kind of person you were when you were all alone. Did the smile remain? Or were you more like Jayce than he thought? It annoyed him- how often his thoughts were consumed by you, his new assistant. Your purpose was to help him, yet you felt like nothing but a distraction. He worked slower when you were in his presence, errors ever more common when you were in his line of sight.

No amount of glares and sharp snaps of his tone sent you scurrying away. If anything you seemed amused by it all. Like you could see through his tough act- or maybe you even liked how he treated you. Surely a sweet thing like yourself knew you deserved better than working under him? He was never outright rude, but he wasn’t exactly a warm welcome whenever you walked into the lab. The longer you stayed, the more bold you became. You learned to combat his grumpiness with your quick wittedness.. something he never thought he’d find so attractive. On paper, someone who replied to him in a playful manner made him cringe. Yet.. when you did it? He could feel something stir in his chest.

He dreaded Valentine’s Day. Arguably more than any other holiday. It was a holiday that came around every year, just to remind him of his loneliness. He had no issues with being single- more so the fact that it wasn’t by choice. He wasn’t any standard of beauty, and having a bad leg certainly didn’t help anything. He was smart, yes, but charming? Nothing like his partner. He had no life outside of his work and his profession, where he was constantly overshadowed by Jayce. Was there truly any point in trying to shine when there were brighter stars so close?

As much as he tried to ignore the holiday as a whole, it was difficult with the parties, chocolates, love notes- it was everywhere. Haunting him like a ghost with a personal vendetta. This one day in particular made him wonder if he could’ve avoided it all by staying in the Undercity, having never crawled up from the gutters and making a name for himself. One silly holiday had a hold on him like no other.

Imagine his surprise when he arrived at the lab to find an envelope on his desk. He set his cane aside, leaning over the desk and picking it up. When he read the front, his eyes widened and for a moment his brain froze. It had his name written on it, with a few hearts scribbled on the blank space. He hesitantly turned it over, opening the envelope and pulling out a piece of paper. His eyes scanned over the words, a pit forming in his stomach. A love letter. To him, of all people.

‘Dear Viktor,

I know this probably seems silly. It feels silly writing it. Well, more than that. I feel idiotic for confessing my feelings to you like a teenager. It’s hard to put into words how you make me feel. My day gets brighter when I have the opportunity to see you. And my nights are darker, knowing you’re probably in the lab, working yourself half to death. I know you’re a logical man, Viktor. So let me put this as logically as I can. Your presence makes my chest ache, my mind race, and my thoughts drift. You do something irreparable to me. It feels significant enough that you deserve to know. My perception of you should cause you no concern, but you reserve the right to understand how I view you. Forgive me for being so blunt. I look forward to seeing you at the party tonight. If you choose not to attend, I will have my response, clear as day.

With love, your secret admirer.’

He could hardly breathe. A secret admirer? At least his ‘secret admirer’ was self aware enough to understand how silly this was. He felt like he was a teenager again with the way his heart was racing at the thought of someone having a crush on him. Maybe it was just a joke.. one meant to get his hopes up. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened in his lifetime. Well, whatever it was, it was a problem. And an even bigger problem? The fact that he hoped it was you. Perhaps, just this once, lady luck placed a bet on him.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you wrote that note. You knew Valentine’s Day was right around the corner, and Viktor didn’t seem to have anyone in his life.. it seemed like you had a fair chance. But ever since you’d dropped that note off, your heart was in your stomach. He was a genius for Christ’s sake. What would he ever want to do with you? Well, it was too late now. You already left the note on his desk, and all you could do was go to that party. As much as you wanted to back out, imagine how disappointed he might be if no one approached him? If he thought it was some mean joke?

And if he didn’t go to the party, you’d have some kind of indication if he could even be remotely interested. If he showed up, at least there was some kind of chance, right? You knew he didn’t like the parties Jayce asked him to attend every so often, so surely he wouldn’t go unless he was interested. And if he wasn’t there.. he never knew it was you. You could go back to your normal work relationship with him none the wiser. It was simple. (It was anything but simple.)

Standing alone at a party was a special kind of awkward. One he had become quite accustomed to. It was the same tonight like every other, standing in a corner and watching the crowd while sipping on a drink. He had been here for almost an hour, with no sign of anyone approaching. He couldn’t help but frown, wondering if he should’ve stayed in the comfort of his room. At least there he didn’t have to feel eyes on him everywhere he went.

After a small while, he glanced to his right and saw you approaching him. Maybe you were just coming to say hello. It didn’t.. it didn’t have to mean anything.

“Enjoying the party?” You smiled as you stood next to him, your eyes downcast.

A sigh left him, and he shifted his cane into his other hand. He had waited long enough, and so far you seemed like the only possibility. He wasn’t one to let things lie. “You’re quite the little writer.” He says dryly. “‘I do something irreparable to you’, hm? Tell me more about that, won’t you?”

Your smile fades and you cross your arms over your chest, looking out into the crowd. “I didn’t think you’d come.” You murmur.

“That is not what I asked.”

Letting out a faint breath, you turn towards one of the entryways out onto the balconies. “Maybe we should talk out here.” You said quietly.

“Perhaps a bit of privacy is needed, yes.” He replies, setting his drink aside as you did the same.

When the two of you are out on the empty balcony, you close the doors to give you a bit of privacy. Walking over to the balcony, you rest your arms on the stone railing.

“I didn’t think you had a Valentine.” You said faintly.

Hearing the click of his cane, he walked up next to you and mirrored your movements.

“I don’t.”

Glancing up at him, you take in his form. As beautiful as he was while invested in his work, he was remarkable outside of the lab, his pale skin practically shimmering in the moonlight.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Me either.”

After a few quiet moments, he spoke again.

“That was quite childish.” He spoke softly. “A love letter? Signing it as my ‘secret admirer’?” He smirked.

A small smile formed on your lips, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t going to tell you in person, that’s for sure. You might’ve hit me with your cane.”

“And who says I won’t?” He chuckles quietly. “It was a silly stunt to pull. But I can admit, it is a very.. you thing to do.”

Shaking your head with amusement, you turn towards him. “You came to the party. You must at least be a little interested.”

He glances down at you, his smile gone. “Interested isn’t the right word.”

Your smile fades as well, and you look downcast. “You came to tell me you weren’t looking for a relationship, is that it?”

After a few moments of silence, you feel the cold metal handle of his cane on your chin. You flinch slightly, but your face is being guided up, your eyes meeting his own.

“Intrigued. I was intrigued.” He says faintly. “I had a fair guess that it was you.. if it was, I felt it was necessary to share my sentiment.” He speaks as he pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Handing it to you, you take it and read the front. It has your name, and a singular, small heart next to it. “Read this. I’ve had enough of the party.. but if you should need me, you are welcome to the lab.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but reach out, grabbing his arm. “Wait- wait” you say quickly. “This- this was meant to be romantic.. not just us flirting in the lab like every other day. Surely you want something more? Right?” You ask softly, your eyes pleading.

Before you can say anything else, you feel yourself being pulled towards the wall, Viktor yanking on your arm and pushing you towards the wall. You huff when your back hits the stone, realizing the nook you were in kept you hidden from any view through the balcony doors. Your head lands against the vines growing up the wall, and when you look up you see Viktor leaning over you.

“You can be remarkably dull when you want to be.” He says dryly, his hand reaching up above your head, picking a red rose off of one of the vines. “It wasn’t my preference to do this here..” he mutters, sticking the rose in your front jacket pocket. “But since you insist.”

Without another word, his lips are on yours. Your eyes widen, your body freezing under his touch. You feel his hand slip up into your hair, pulling you towards him as he kisses you. He wasn’t sure where this burst of confidence came from- but something about you gazing up at him.. it drove him mad. He had hoped you would read the note, sitting in stunned silence as he walked back to the lab, making preparations to have his way with you there. But no, you had to throw his plans to the wind, just like you always did.

As soon as your brain registers his actions, you kiss him back, your hands reaching up to cup his face. After a moment you pull his face away, looking up at him with confusion. “Viktor..” you whisper softly. “I didn’t think-“

He cuts you off, leaning down to press small kisses along your neck. “That is so often your problem.” He groans as his hand slips down to cup your chest. “You do not think.”

Letting out a weak gasp, you squirm under his touch, cupping his chin and pulling him away from you again. “You really want this?” You ask softly as you gaze up at him.

With a sigh, he reaches into your pocket where you had stuffed his letter, opening it and reading it. “‘You never fail to surprise me. Allow me to surprise you for once. Come to the lab. You will not be disappointed.’” He reads from the paper. “If you had had a little patience, assistant.” He muses. “Perhaps you would be comfortably resting on my desk while I tended to your every whim.”

Your mouth falls open, the look making him chuckle quietly. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours once more before pulling away, grabbing his cane and stepping back. “Viktor-“ you start to say, but he holds his hand up, silencing you.

“You will come to the lab. As much as I would like to do as I please with you here.. I’d rather we keep our affairs as our own, yes?” He smirks before walking towards the doors, opening them and disappearing into the crowd.

I’m sorry this is so short😭 it was definitely a last minute writing. But I hope you all had a nice Valentine’s Day!!

[marshmallowprotection]

What if I gifted Ray some Valentine's chocolates. And maybe even. Hand fed them to him. And then gave him a kiss. What then 🤨

Ray never expected to receive a treat for Valentine's Day. After all, from what he'd heard about the holiday, it was a day for princes to give their significant others something special. He always imagined that he would be able to make his princess, prince, or whoever he met that made his heart flurry—a marvelous treat that would in no uncertain terms prove how much he loved them.

He wanted to be the person who made someone else feel special on the most romantic holiday of the year, but you turned that concept... upside down. He never thought he would be the one being swept off his feet in a heartbeat. Sure, there were princes out there who would know the day to be theirs forevermore, but he never considered that he could be one of them. How could he?

He was a giver, one who would always work to make sure his place in the world was cemented because he had something to give, but you had attempted to prove to him that he didn't have to do anything to... to be worthy of that.

It didn't make sense.

At least, not in the context of Paradise. He was supposed to fight for as long and as hard as he could to be even a fraction of what he was supposed to be. He could easily be thrown away, but the Savior had promised she would never abandon him... even if he was a failure in every aspect of life. He was precious enough not to be thrown away, but not precious enough to be worshiped.

And yet, your hands continued to fight against the current to show him what you knew he was worth.

Ray blinked back a couple of stray tears that dared to spill over before he could stop them. He didn't know what to say! You were standing in front of him with a small box in your hands, smiling ear to ear as soon as he realized what was inside of the box. It was an assortment of tiny chocolates. They looked nothing like the ones he consumed to avoid wasting his time on a walk to the kitchen.

They looked like they'd be created by hand. A machine would be far too perfect to forgo the soft lumps and drizzle that would come by hand. That was the charm... the character of it all. He thought he'd surprise you with a wonderful bouquet he spent all evening trying to piece together with all the right meanings in tow, but you out-shined him by a long-shot.

His heart fluttered as the hand holding onto your bouquet began to tremble. "You... you made that for me?"

"Of course, my prince. You mentioned to me before how you wished the chocolate you eat every day could be sweeter... that's why I asked if I could have a picture of what you've been eating the other day. The picture told me all I needed to know about it! You've been eating dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate. Milk chocolate isn't quite as bitter as the kind you have! The amount of cacao is super different in the manufacturing process... So, I made sure to use milk chocolate in these treats to see if you liked them more!"

Oh.

Was that the case?

He never once put much thought into the treats he received from the Savior. She was the one who brought him candy now and again, and he assumed it only tasted strange because the Elixir always clung to the back of his throat no matter how much he tried to wash it away with water and juice. He never once thought to read the label. He saw no point. He thought his Savior would give him something sweet and worthwhile. But, she hadn't.

Was that because she wanted him to grow to like the taste of bitter things?

He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to think about it as you continued to smile at him with those eyes that made him melt. You laughed at his rosy cheeks and plucked one of the chocolates from the box with a single tug. He wasn't sure what you intended to do with that, but as you leaned over, he realized you wanted to feed him one of your soft, tantalizing treats.

How could he say no?

He parted his lips and soon after, he felt sugar, cream, and chocolate coat his tongue, as well as your playful fingertip that nudged both of his agape lips closed so he could relish the flavor. Every spot you had touched felt like it was fire, but he could think of nothing but how the sweetness of your confection gave him life. It was as if you put a little piece of yourself into the treat and he could taste you.

Would you taste like that?

Would you melt on his tongue?

Ray prayed that if he ever had the chance to taste your lips, they would be as sweet as—

His wide eyes trembled as you leaned in that much closer, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth without a second thought. The kiss was both tender and sweet. He called it a kiss, but he wondered if it could be called a kiss when your lips weren't as united as he had expected them to be to match the stories he'd always read as a little boy. A kiss was when two lips blurred together, but this was... it was something different, something special.

He didn't know how else to describe it.

It was sweeter than the chocolate still slowly melting against his tongue. The bouquet fell from his hand and onto the grass below when he felt your tongue nip his cheek. He gasped at the gesture, and you took that as a chance to pull away for air. It was there in a flash and gone just as soon... just like the chocolate. A moment of love and tenderness all stored in a precious treat.

"Sorry," you whispered, long lashes fluttering over knowing eyes. "You had a bit of melted chocolate on your lips. I wanted to see if it would taste sweeter on your lips than it did on my fingers."

This was paradise.

[mintyys-blog]

BLADE TO THE HEART— loki laufeyson

—> Valentine’s Day special

WARNINGS: none

Loki wasn’t one for sentimental traditions. He found Midgardian holidays trivial, overindulgent, and terribly predictable.

And yet… here he was, standing in your dimly lit living room, watching as you twirled the silver dagger he had just gifted you between your fingers.

“A dagger, Loki?” you mused, raising an amused brow. “For Valentine’s Day?”

He smirked, stepping closer. “You deserve something worthy of you. Roses wilt, chocolates melt—but a blade? A blade is eternal.”

You turned the weapon over in your hands, admiring the intricate engravings on the handle. It was undeniably beautiful—dark, elegant, and sharp. Just like him.

“You are impossible,” you murmured, but your voice held no real bite.

Loki leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You did. Against all reason, against every warning, you had fallen for the God of Mischief.

He lifted your chin with a single finger, emerald eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You are mine,” he whispered, his voice silky yet possessive. “And I am yours. No holiday, no mortal tradition could ever define the depth of what we are.”

Your heart pounded as his lips brushed against yours, teasing, waiting.

“And yet,” you murmured, smirking, “you still got me a gift.”

Loki chuckled, pulling you flush against him. “I suppose even gods have their weaknesses.”

And with that, he finally kissed you, claiming you as his in the most deliciously sinful way.

[sanhwaism]

i just read MEET UP FOR A COFFEE AND A SMILE and AAAA ITS SO GOOD !!! can i 🤭 mayhaps request san x gn!reader who feels rlly bad about their body or just has confidence/low self esteem issues and san does his best to listen whilst also reassuring his partner that they’re a beautiful person?

thank you so much 💌 i love your writing !!

한슴 (BREATHE) | C.S

pairing ⟡ bf .ᐟ choi san x gn .ᐟ reader

synopsis ⟡ feeling down because of so many insecurities, all you want is to be swallowed by a black hole and never perceived again. slowly, but surely you understand that you don't have to deal with these worries alone, but instead let your lover prove to you how worthy of love you are.

genre ⟡ established relationship, hurt/comfort, romance, a sprinkle of angst??? at the beginning, fluff!

warnings ⟡ reader is emotionally struggling; a bit of self hatred and some venting; mentions of a lost appetite and san touching body parts (arms, stomach, legs, etc); pet names; tears inducing! (idk about you but i! sobbed! writing this!)

wc ⟡ 2.8k

author's note ⟡ my first ever request :,) and it's so comforting :,) thank you so much for motivating me to write this one shot @megumisthv sobs ㅠㅠ it means the world to me knowing you love my writing <3 anyone reading this, a gentle reminder that you are not alone and are so beautiful inside and out. i love you.

"jagiyaaaaaa, i'm home!" you barely hear the familiar, comforting voice of your boyfriend coming from the hallway. in a panicked state, you try to wipe away the tears as quickly as you can and get yourself up off the floor. your legs are slightly trembling and your hearing feels muffled. you can't recall for how long you have been crying all by yourself, engulfed by the darkness and coldness of the bedroom. bedroom that you and san share, and which feels warm only when he is around, when he paints the four walls with his delightful laughter, his heavenly voice or just his pure presence, when you're safe and sound in his embrace. there are no worries, no bad thoughts or terrible, terrible inner voices that mess up with your mind.

but it can get suffocating when you're alone, it's so much more difficult to tell yourself all the heartening words he can say to you when things get rough, when you start forgetting your worth. when overthinking makes it harder for you to breathe or look at yourself.

there are moments like this evening, when you can't stop asking yourself what does he see? what could san possibly have found in you that made him fall in love and what can san still see in you that doesn't make him want to leave? you can't wrap your head around it. all you see when you look in the mirror is someone with so many imperfections that it's hard to believe you are even lovable in the first place. worthy of his love. you wish you could radiate confidence next to him, but how is that possible when you feel like your thoughts swallow you whole? making you feel so insignificant?

it breaks your heart. and it evokes such sadness and disappointment inside you. because you understand that there isn't much you can change. that you may, unrightfully so, bring san's mood down and make him feel guilty. you love him so dearly — that's why you're so afraid of losing him.

there are moments like this evening, when all you do is cry your heart out because he's not around, all curled up in a ball while tightly hugging your knees, your flushed face hidden between them. but no matter what, you don't feel better. not even after the hours that had passed by.

"waaaah, baby, baby, i saw a new shop on my way home and it has soooooo many cute things," he squeals. ''i couldn't get inside because i was rushing to see you but i spotted a plushie that looked just like byeol! ah, really, we should go there together!" you hear his excited chattering while he takes off his coat and sneakers. in the bedroom, you try your best to look like you're in a deep sleep, your tears clothed eyelashes softly touching the skin of your under eyes.

and there are moments like this evening, when you can suddenly feel yourself being pulled away from your corrupted, self destructive bubble by a gentle touch that saved you so many times before, in the past.

"y/n? aegiya? hey, hey, hey, what's the matter? honey, what's wrong? why are you crying?"

at first, san innocently thought you just fell asleep while waiting for him and he was ready to close the bedroom's door, but he missed you too much and wanted to take a look at his lover before leaving. to delicately trace the line of your cheekbone with his fingertips, to stare at the way you look so peaceful and beautiful while sleeping with hearts in his eyes. it's what he does every time, but this time something was off. you couldn't fool him, not when it comes to your truthful feelings.

in a desperate way of needing to protect you, san swiftly changes his position, from crouching besides the bed to sitting at the edge of it, leaning towards you. he is panicking internally, but he wants to help and showing you this side of him right now won't do. for how long have you been crying? for how long has his precious lover been hurting themselves?

his heart feels crushed by the way you sob his name out and hide your face in the soft pillow. "sannie... i am sorry. i am so sorry."

"shh, it's alright. i am here, baby, i've got you. whatever it is, i am here," he reassures you in a hushed tone. "don't hide from me, beautiful, look at me. please, y/n."

san's voice sounds wretched and a bit shaky, as if it's hard for him to control his emotions. a big weight is taken off his shoulders the moment you decide to turn around and gaze up at him, all teary eyed, looking so exhausted. mentally and physically exhausted. even if there is so much unspoken worry in his eyes, his unforeseen smile takes you by surprise, but warms your heart and makes you forget about everything for a split second. it's a genuine, soft and loving smile, the familiar curl of his lips whenever he's encouraging you about something.

"can i hug you, my love?"

the whispered question makes you choke up. until this exact moment, you had no idea how badly you yearned for san to wrap his hands around you, to push away all those bad thoughts for you because you can't bear doing it all by yourself anymore. so you nod your head and reach out to him, his fingers gently interlocking with yours to pull you in a tender embrace. he lets out a long sigh, one of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist whilst his other arm hugs your shoulders, offering them a small squeeze as if he's trying to comfort you. in this vulnerable position, you feel him beginning to slowly rock both of your bodies from side to side because he knows it calms you down. after a long minute, his sweet voice lights up the room.

"what happened, jagi? do you want to tell me?"

you sniffle as silently as you can, rubbing your cheek against his broad shoulder while you try to find the right words to speak up. you hear a soft ''take your time'' coming from san's lips that soothes your hazy mind, his hand finding the perfect spot to caress the top of your head.

"do you love me, sannie? like, really love me? for who i am?" you shyly ask him. it's such a stupid question, you think while wiping away with your thumb a hot tear that just rolled down your cheek.

san is taken aback by your questions, but he immediately pushes that aside, knowing it's human for everyone to have their doubtful and insecure days. he promptly answers you. "i love you for who you are to the moon and back, y/n. i love you 3000, i loved you yesterday, i love you today and will surely, definitely, more than one hundred percent love you tomorrow. aaaand the day after tomorrow, beautiful."

he lowers his head so he can leave a light kiss behind your ear and continues to whisper to you. "and so on. for the rest of my life. i love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

not only your body, but your dark thoughts as well seem to melt away the more san comforts you, the more he envelops you in his adoration.

you slowly rise your head and meet a pair of cat-like eyes fondly looking back at you. san softly hums as he leans in and kisses your forehead, the intimate gesture compelling you to close your eyes in content.

"i just... gosh, i hate the way i look, the way i act, i think, i speak, i hate it all," you let out what has been eating you inside. you sigh as you feel his lips turn into a pout against the skin of your forehead. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't sadden you even mo–"

"ah, how dare you apologize for such thing, aegiya?" he gently scolds you, but his frowning quickly fades away once he understands the gravity of the situation. "when i say that i love you, i mean it especially in moments like these. even if my heart hurts to see you this sad and all i want to do is keep you in there, protected from everything, i do want to witness every part of you. no matter how awful you think it is. i am not leaving, y/n. i am willing to love you through all of your ups and downs."

the wicked voice in the back of your head tells you to deny his confession, but san feels your uncertainty and slowly raises his hands, cupping your face as you feel the warmth of his palms against your cheeks. you inhale deeply, — an attempt to stop another wave of tears.

"hey. can you do something for me baby?" he quietly asks you, with hope written all over his face. the second you agree with him, your boyfriend breaks into his well known dimpled smile. "thank you. here, hold my hand as tight as you want, okay?"

you listen to him and grab his hand, san bringing yours close to his mouth and kissing the back of it affectionately. he helps you get up.

"follow me."

"where are we going?" you ask, a bit anxious and san can sense it from the way you've tightened your grip on his hand.

"don't worry, we aren't leaving the bedroom. come on, come on!" he cutely giggles, gently shaking your hand.

without any more questions, you walk behind him until both of you are facing the long mirror on the wall. you can't help but frown, visibly confused as san makes you stay in front of him, your back facing his front.

"give me a few more minutes of your time, my love. i promise it will be worth it."

you can't help but softly smile at him. "san, you know i would give you my every second for the rest of my life if needed."

he dramatically clutches his heart, shutting his eyes tight while his head falls back. "aing! wah! ouch, baby, my heart!"

his playful reaction sparked an amused chuckle out of you. your lover smiles, clearly very proud of himself for making you laugh a bit. and very proud of you for allowing yourself to feel better.

"do you have the slightest idea how brightly you radiate when you smile? when you look at me with those pretty, sparkly eyes of yours? do you have any idea how lucky i am, mm?"

you instinctively bite your lower lip, looking away from him. you yelp when you feel his fingertips all of the sudden tickling your waist. laughing, you want to protest, but his face expression softens your heart.

"don't look awaaaaay, my plan won't work if you do thaaat!" he admits, all sulky and with begging eyes.

"okay, okay," you mutter, fighting another giggle.

smiling again, san stops his tickling. instead, he comfortably lets his hands rest on your hips. "this time, can you try looking at yourself in the mirror rather than looking back at me?"

you close your eyes for a brief moment, gaining some inner strength to look at yourself without breaking down. when you open your eyes, you notice san patiently glancing at you.

"mm. ah! no, no, eyes on yourse– that's it," he lets out a breathy giggle, patting your hips. "good job."

his praising gives you more courage, even if you still find it hard to keep your eyes fixated on your face and body. "um... where do i look?"

"just listen to me and your eyes will follow naturally, okay?"

you hum, leaning onto him slightly. he notices and with a cheerful sound escaping his curled lips, hugs you from behind.

"i love your eyes. their color, their shape... those gorgeous eyes have seen so much. witnessed so many memorable moments, but also unpleasant ones that helped you grow as a person. i also love your nose. really, ah, i really love your nose, did you know that, jagi?"

san raises one hand and softly traces the line of your nose. when his finger reaches the tip of it, he gently taps it as he lets out an adorable "boop!". you close your eyes and laugh at how endearing he is.

"i also love when your nose wrinkles like that when you laugh. you're so cute," he whines. "why can't i just make you pocket sized and keep you in there? because i wouldn't be able to kiss you and cuddle with you then!" him answering his own question is a very amusing sight for you.

"ah, and your cute cheeks that i always kiss and–"

"and sometimes munch on them." you teasingly finish his sentence. he pouts again, as if he got caught.

"but they look munchable! it's not my fault!"

while you're giggling at him, san's fingers move a bit lower, to the corner of your lips. you feel your face starting to heat up.

"i love your lips. the shape of them. so mesmerizing, baby," he whispers and your eyes follow his, staring at the way his fingertip barely touches your cupid's bow. you don't move, barely breathing while he traces the shape of your mouth. "your thoughts always come out through those lips. and you always bless me with the way you talk, the way your voice sounds. and the way you pucker your lips when you lean in to share a kiss with me. how soft they feel against mine. i strongly believe they were made for me."

you become aware of how hot your cheeks have become. san notices that as well and smiles, muttering a "cute" under his breath before moving lower with his hands, making sure to lovingly caress every inch of your skin.

"your shoulders. you carried and still carry so much weight on them. and i admire you so much for that. you are such a strong person," he speaks softly and his words touch the deepest corner of your heart, making it flutter against your rib cage. to know he appreciates you for the battles you went through the same way you admire him for fighting his own struggles is very comforting.

"but my shoulders are broader, baby, so i don't mind if you throw some of that weight on them, if not all of it. your strong boyfriend can handle it!"

his fingers slowly move down your arms. "i love your arms too. the way you always wrap them around me. you make me feel so loved," san whispers, softly kissing your right shoulder. "so loved. i love when we snuggle up to each other and i get to be the little spoon."

"mhm, i know. you're always so excited about that." both of you laugh at your words. san kisses your hands one more time before going lower on your body. once they reach your stomach, he interlocks his own fingers against it, smiling to himself.

"i love your stomach, baby. so much. it always makes me so happy when you fill it with yummy food. when i bring you to the best restaurants and we sit there, enjoying each other's presence and the delicious meals we chose to eat. i know it's hard to have a good appetite sometimes, but i want you to know how proud i feel when i look at you enjoying your favorite food. the way you go nom nom nom nom nom nom," he cutely mimics. you giggle, shaking your head. "really! it warms my heart."

he takes you by surprise when he crouches down behind you and hugs your legs, clinging to them with the sweetest look on his face.

"sannie, love, wha–"

"i can't forget your legs, jagiyaaaa! those legs that i love so much. they bring you to so many places. they brought you to me," he sighs in content, hugging them a bit tighter. "the way they move whenever i make you dance with me in the living room or kitchen. ah, i'm so thankful for them."

this whole time, your eyes have been following san's hands without even realizing. with his help and gentle care, you managed to draw imaginary, precious flowers all over your body. from the corner of your eyes, to all the way down where you ground yourself. everything feels like a breath of fresh air, thanks to him. and you will probably never know how to thank him enough for everything he does for you. but as you turned around to press your lips against his in an intimate kiss, you secretly made a promise to him. that no matter how difficult the real life gets, he has the key to your heart, a heart which will always beat for him. that you will forever allow him to ease up your mind and help you breathe.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡ taglist: my loveliest @yuyusuyu

{💌ྀི} masterlist

[actual-corpse]

I really fucking hate it here man.

I keep seeing commercials BEGGING for support and aid and donations for the wildfire victims.

But... why us? Why are WE called on to provide aid? We, who can barely take care of ourselves, are begged to help when there's TONS of money at the top in the government. And all those blessed celebrities? Why aren't they doing anything? These people with all this money are doing jack shit with it, and they believe they deserve praise when they "promise" to donate... Fuck that.

[musical-chick-13]

My God. Does anyone knows when it stops hurting. Does anyone know how to stop feeling like this.

[tchotchkez]

😮‍💨

[sorry for the hardcore tag rants, y'all]

[the-far-bright-center]

‘Revenge of the Sith may be the greatest work of art in our lifetimes...’

(an excerpt from a long-deleted blog post, archived here)

“Revenge of the Sith is still (and probably always will be) the greatest thing that will ever come out of the Star Wars franchise. I always go further, in fact, and say that it’s the greatest thing that will ever come out of big-budget, action/fantasy cinema at all. George Lucas’s final contribution to his Star Wars legacy—2005’s final prequel offering—was not only an artistic, cinematic and operatic masterpiece, but it was the ultimate, consummate manifestation of everything Star Wars was capable of being and, for that matter, everything that big-scale cinema is capable of being.

It literally does not—and probably can’t—get better than this ever again.

Lucas, who himself pretty much set the standard and invented the genre in 1977, had now taken us to the absolute zenith of what that genre of film-making could produce.

Epic, ambitious, stunning, moving, nuanced, and everything else, it was the glorious completion of Lucas’s original Star Wars saga that I had been waiting for—and something for which I will always be immensely grateful George Lucas came back to film-making to give us. I have already made the case at length for why Revenge of the Sith was an absolute masterpiece of staggering proportions, so I’ll refrain from re-stating here all the ... reasons I eternally bow at the altar of that film and its unfairly maligned architect.

People who didn’t get it or still don’t get it probably never will get it.

I’ve given up arguing with those on the tedious backlash bandwagon, those who join in with the Lucas-bashing for the sake of YouTube channel views, or those who, like [spoilt children] throwing a tantrum, bitterly disavow George Lucas and whine about how the prequels ‘ruined Star Wars’.

Someone who did get it, however, was the noted author and social critic Camille Paglia: she of course famously declared a few years ago that George Lucas was the greatest artist of his time and specifically that Revenge of the Sith was the greatest work of art in the last thirty years.

The respected, if often controversial, academic Paglia didn’t argue that Episode III  was merely the best movie of the last thirty years… but the best work of art in any genre and in any medium.

[...] Predictably a lot of people either assumed Paglia was being sarcastic or they simply pooh-poohed her conclusions. Paglia, however, was not trying to be ironic, and she has reaffirmed and defended her position over and over again and with a passion—Lucas’s final Star Wars film, she maintained, is the greatest work of art in the last three decades.

[...] I cannot think of any film in any genre that has been as absorbing or as immaculate (or as ambitious). Even just conceptually, what Lucas tried to do with the prequel trilogy was staggering and is without any parallel. And while we could argue that the execution was off-the-mark in certain places, the sheer visceral power and broad artistic value of what he did manage to create—even with its various failings—puts Lucas’s saga (and ROTS in particular) into a different stratosphere entirely.

In her own view of it, Paglia especially focuses on the final act of the third prequel—the climactic finale centering on the extended Anakin/Kenobi lightsaber duel against the dramatic lava backdrop and the extraordinarily powerful way that the birth of the Skywalker twins is juxtaposed with the ‘death’ of Anakin and ‘birth’ of Vader. That latter sequence, by the way, in which the death of the mother coincides (and even feeds into) the birth of the ‘dark father’, all of it underscored by John Williams haunting, gothic choral/hymn composition, is just one example (among many) of Lucas’s extraordinarily acute and nuanced levels of vision.

‘The long finale of Revenge of the Sith has more inherent artistic value, emotional power, and global impact than anything by the artists you name,’ she said in this interview with Vice. ‘It’s because the art world has flat-lined and become an echo chamber of received opinion and toxic over-praise. It’s like the emperor’s new clothes—people are too intimidated to admit what they secretly think or what they might think with their blinders off.’

Speaking to FanGirlBlog, Paglia continued her celebration of Lucas’s final masterwork, saying, ‘I have been saying to interviewers and onstage, "The finale of Revenge of the Sith is the most ambitious, significant, and emotionally compelling work of art produced in the last 30 years in any genre—including literature".

Paglia’s assertions flowed from her 2012 book Glittering Images: A Journey Through Art from Egypt to Star Wars, which in part addressed the problem of modern cultural ignorance and the author’s worries that 21st century Americans are overexposed to visual stimulation by the “all-pervasive mass media” and must fight to keep their capacity for contemplation.

In the book, Paglia discusses twenty-nine examples of visual artwork, beginning with the ancient Egyptian funerary images of Queen Nefertari, and then progressing through various artistic works, including creations from Ancient Greece to Byzantine art and Donatello’s ‘Mary Magdalene’.

She explained, ‘Lucas was not part of my original plan for Glittering Images, which has 29 chapters crossing 3000 years. My goal was to write a very clear and concise handbook to the history of artistic styles from antiquity to the present. When I looked around for strong examples of contemporary art to end the book with, however, I got very frustrated. There is a lot of good art being made, but I found it overall pretty underwhelming. When I would happen on the finale of Revenge of the Sith, I just sat there stunned. It grew and grew on me, and I became obsessed with it. I was amazed at how much is in there—themes of love and hate, politics, industry, technology, and apocalyptic nature, combined with the dance theater of that duel on the lava river and then the parallel, agonizing death/births. It’s absolutely tremendous.’

Paglia also entirely recognised the sheer scale of Lucas’s creation and the value of even its various constituent parts as important or worthy works of art. ‘The fantastically complex model of the Mustafar landscape made for the production of Revenge of the Sith should be honored as an important work of contemporary installation art,’ she argued. ‘And also that Lucas’ spectacular air battles, like the one over Coruscant that opens Sith, are sophisticated works of kinetic art in the tradition of important artists like Marcel Duchamp and Alexander Calder. No one has ever written about George Lucas in this way—integrating him with the entire fine arts tradition.’

The problem is that Lucas and the prequel trilogy have become so widely misrepresented as ‘bad’ that most people don’t know how to deal with someone like Paglia sincerely proclaiming “Nothing in the last 30 years has been produced—in any of the arts—that is as significant or as emotionally compelling as Revenge of the Sith…”

[...] In fact, contrary to widespread misconceptions about how the Star Wars films are viewed, a Rotten Tomatoes poll ... found that Revenge of the Sith (and not Empire Strikes Back) scored as the best-regarded of the [Lucas] movies according to aggregation of archived reviews. So the idea that everyone dismisses the prequels seems like a misconception; but it is fair to say that a substantial body of people —including a lot of people who, rather incongruously, regard themselves as Star Wars fans—do completely dismiss this film along with its two predecessors.

As I said at the start, people who didn’t get it or still don’t get it probably never will get it.

But what has always struck me as pitiful about the whiny ‘Lucas Ruined Star Wars’ attitude is that it seems to flow from the premise that Lucas—a man whose stubborn commitment to his own singular vision gave an entire generation from the late 70s and early 80s unparalleled joy—somehow ‘owes it’ to those same people to do things precisely how *they* deem acceptable. That’s essentially what it comes down to—that he, as the artist, should make the art that the fans or the public want and not follow his own creative vision.

What people don’t realise, however, is that if he had done that from the beginning, there never would’ve BEEN an original Star Wars trilogy at all—and arguably all of these huge blockbuster SF/fantasy films that people spend their money seeing today wouldn’t exist either. What a lot of people also don’t realise is that Lucas was never setting himself up to be a populist or even mainstream filmmaker. On the contrary, he was the avant-garde film geek, the rogue, the outsider. The fact that Star Wars spiraled into a billion-dollar behemoth was an accident; and when the first Star Wars movie was released in 1977, it was an oddity that no one in the film industry understood or believed in.

But Lucas had stuck to his own creative vision—a vision that was largely incomprehensible to everyone else at the time the film was being made—and his singular vision hit the mark big-time and accomplished something unprecedented.

By the time of the endlessly-maligned The Phantom Menace in 1999 and everything that followed, Lucas was still doing exactly the same thing—following his own vision, trying to create something extraordinary and largely ignoring contemporary trends or opinion. The only difference was that the vast fan-base he had acquired from the original films were older now, far more jaded and over-saturated with blockbuster movies (most of which were influenced by Lucas’s pioneering work in the 70s) and they essentially didn’t *want* something new, creative or challenging—they just wanted the same thing they’d had when they were kids.

In effect, they weren’t interested in Lucas the artist or Lucas the pioneer—they only wanted Lucas the Popcorn Movie dispenser. But Lucas the Popcorn Movie Dispenser had never existed—he was simply an illusion created by the extraordinary commercial success of the Star Wars Trilogy.

What Lucas had in fact envisioned—and created—with the prequel trilogy, especially Revenge of the Sith, was something that transcended the whole summer blockbuster ennui, transcended genre, transcended the very medium of film itself, and could be discussed in the same breath as Shakespeare, Virgil and the Aeneid, Julius Caesar, and a number of equally fascinating and endlessly debatable works of serious and complex gravity.

But there was an audience of millions who were instead looking for something that could be discussed alongside Jurassic Park or Terminator 2. Which is fine—Star Wars of course can also be discussed just as validly in that latter context too; but it also exists in a stratosphere beyond it. And because Lucas’s process and vision was in that higher stratosphere a lot of the time, there was a frequent disconnect that occurred, whereby a lot of people were unable to meet him halfway or relate to the films on those kinds of levels.

But Lucas pushed on with his long-envisioned trilogy; and by the time the final installment of his Star Wars saga arrived in 2005, a sizeable proportion of the old fan-base had either departed or were by now just coming to the party for the thrill of seeing Darth Vader one last time. Some dismissed the film the same way as they’d dismissed its two predecessors, some were full of scathing mockery, while others were ambivalent. Some were suitably entertained, but didn’t take it much further than that.

Another group, a smaller minority—myself included—had just seen something of epic, overwhelming proportions and had the greatest cinematic experience of their lives.

But great art is like that.

Great works of art divides people, provoking endless debate [...] An argument could be made that the greatest artist will go all-out to create something special and substantive, even if it won’t appeal to everyone. Said artist would follow his own creative vision and not compromise it to the committee of consensus or demand.

Lucas, it should be borne in mind, never made ANY of the Star Wars films with film-critics in mind—even the Original Trilogy movies were not critically approved, despite becoming cultural landmarks. And interestingly, the hang-ups of many of those who were scathing about the prequel movies—ROTS included—were virtually identical to the hang-ups of the critics in the early 80s who either just didn’t get those original Star Wars films or were unwilling to praise a rogue filmmaker who was rebelling against Hollywood at the time and who was making something entirely out-of-step with contemporary trends and sensibilities.

Fittingly enough, the Lucas who was out-of-step with the sensibilities of the time during the late 70s and early 80s is the same Lucas who was equally out-of-step with sensibilities and trends at the time of the prequels too. In both eras, Lucas rebelled against the sensibilities of contemporary cinema and carved out his own piece of utter magic according to his own stubborn vision—the difference is that so many of the same people who adored what he had done in the first instance couldn’t understand what he was doing in the second instance.

Even though what he was doing was essentially the same thing.

For that matter, I always suspected that one of the main reasons so many people failed to appreciate (or in a lot of cases, to even understand) this film is precisely because it isn’t contemporary. That’s a key thing to understand about the Star Wars prequels—they were not made in a contemporary style.

Lucas doesn’t make contemporary cinema. Both of Lucas’s Star Wars trilogies are written and designed specifically to NOT be contemporary, but to have a more timeless quality, steeped in traditions from the past.

Lucas, you have to remember, has never been a contemporary or generic filmmaker, but a more avant-garde artist and experimenter who foremost specialises in tone and impressionism. The fact that he invented modern blockbuster cinema is purely an accident. As he himself once said, “None of the films I’ve done was designed for a mass audience, except for ‘Indiana Jones.’ Nobody in their right mind thought ‘American Graffiti’ or ‘Star Wars’ would work”.

 [...] They were not contemporary or generic at all—consequently, a lot of people didn’t understand or relate to what they were watching: because they couldn’t find a point of comparison in popular culture.

To really understand these films, you have to go back to some of the historical epics of the fifties and sixties, particularly films like Ben-Hur, Cleopatra or Spartacus. If you watch any of those films (and all three are timeless, truly marvelous cinematic works) and then watch the three Star Wars prequels, it will suddenly make much more sense. The acting style, the dialogue style, the themes, the epic scope and settings, the vast mythologizing, the way the films are scored, even the intricate costume design—all of it.

There’s nothing surprising about that. After all, it’s easy to overlook the fact now from our current vantage-point, but the original Star Wars trilogy movies weren’t contemporary in style either—they were stylistically based on things like Kurosawa, Flash Gordon and the Saturday matinee serials of the 1930s and 40s. The original trilogy films made no stylistic sense in terms of contemporary cinema or sensibilities in the late 70s or early 80s—they were, in style, a homage to a long-gone era.

So too were the prequels—just a different homage to a different era.

[...]

When you look at everything that makes up Revenge of the Sith, the scope of vision along with the degree of artistic nuance and juxtaposition is breathtaking.

There’s lots of action, yes, as you’d expect; but the action, like so much of what Lucas was doing by this stage, is almost transcendent. Sure, the acting or delivery is off in a few places; mostly due to some of the actors having to perform in non-existent CG environments—remember Lucasfilm and ILM were breaking new ground technologically in these movies, which we take for granted now with all our CG and digital filmmaking, but which at the time were bound to cause some teething problems. But Ewan McGregor is superb in this film, while the maligned Hayden Christensen....in fact does a solid job in any number of key scenes.

And there’s everything else. The special effects aren’t just good, they’re actually often beautiful in a way that most special effects don’t aspire to be. The level of detail and artistry in the visuals mean you could turn the sound off and still be captivated. Some of the backdrops could make extraordinary paintings that could hang convincingly in art galleries. And Lucas is the absolute master of the establishing shot and the scene transition, turning it into an art every bit as nuanced as in a piece of music.

For that matter, the music is extraordinary—and actually if you look at how underwhelming or non-existent the music is in the post-Lucas ‘The Force Awakens’, it becomes clear that Lucas and Williams had a collaborative process that really influenced how these films were scored (and which is now no longer the case). Lucas himself said that the music was 50 percent of what mattered in these films and that is certainly evident.

Much of it, particularly the climatic Kenobi/Skywalker duel and that final act with the birth of the twins, death of Padme and creation of Vader, almost isn’t cinema at all—but opera. This could’ve been something Wagner was composing if he had ever existed in the cinema age.

In fact, the final few scenes of the film don’t even have any dialogue, but are purely musical and visual. Even some of the most stirring parts earlier on in the film are without dialogue; take, for example, the breathtakingly beautiful sequence of Anakin and Padme trying to silently sense for each other across the exquisite, sunset cityscape—it’s all visual, tone and subtle music, pure emotion with no dialogue. A scene like that could almost be part of a silent movie; and it’s also like an impressionist painting in motion.

Even that Kenobi/Skywalker duel itself is more than just an action sequence. With Williams’ epic, stirring, choral score, it too is opera. But it’s opera married to performance art: the level of intricacy, fluency and speed of Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen’s dueling is insane, having required an immense amount of prep and practise. The choreography takes it onto the level of dance; of true performance art as opposed to disposable cartoon violence or cheap blockbuster action.

Everything here—to the last detail—is choreographed like a ballet and it is spellbinding.

Yet while other filmmakers would try to sell an entire movie on such an exquisite centerpiece, for Lucas all of this—all of this poetry, opera, dance, music, visual art and everything else—is ultimately mere constituent part to a greater whole: a Shakespearan epic of a tortured fall from grace and a Greek tragedy... wrapped within an even larger epic about the fall of a Republic, the fallibility of religion and the genius of the Devil and failure of the angels.

[...] What Lucas created in fact was the ultimate expression/culmination of the art of the epic itself—fittingly enough, in order to conclude the defining epic of our modern times (what Brian Blessed once described as the Shakespeare of our age). The Shakespeare comparisons aren’t trivial. The evident Star Wars/Shakespeare resonance has even prompted things like Ian Doescher’s book William Shakespeare’s Tragedy of the Sith’s Revenge: Star Wars Part the Third—a retelling of Revenge of the Sith as if it had been written by William Shakespeare for real.

[...] Various observers, including academics, have noted the obvious fact that Lucas’s story is also a retelling of the fall of the Roman Republic and birth of the Roman Empire. Lucas himself admitted this, pointing to how Revenge of the Sith in particular is partly a story about democracies become dictatorships and citing the historical stories of Caesar and Augustus. You can quite easily watch the prequel trilogy alongside I, Claudius or something like HBO’s brilliant Rome series.

But none of those references or allusions are the important part. Even the fact that the prequel trilogy—and again, ROTS in particular—is quite clearly in part a story about false-flag wars, banking conspiracies, the corporate and military-industrial complex, the Bush administration and the Iraq War, etc—isn’t particularly relevant to the issue of why it’s such an epic work of significance.

Lucas is the author and architect of our preeminent modern mythology—as interviewer Bill Moyers asserted during his fascinating and revealing 1999 interview with Lucas (for the release of The Phantom Menace). Partly inspired by his friend Joseph Campbell’s thoughts on mythology, but moreover informed by his own careful distillation of elements from various cultures and civilisations (what he has referred to as our collective human ‘archaeological psychology’), Lucas is every bit as influential as Virgil, Homer or Shakespeare were in their respective times, and has crafted out the ultimate mythological saga.

Revenge of the Sith is the final, completing piece of that saga—the piece that gives the saga its full scope and true soul, and the piece that makes every one of the other films count for so much more.

And it does it so well—with such vivid and breathtaking quality—that, even having written an article as long as this one now is (and another before this), I still don’t feel like I’m adequately able to explain its full brilliance.

Neither could Lucas himself, I suspect. I’m not sure Lucas even realised how masterful it was; but, as Paglia and others note, the guy is so mild-mannered and self-deprecating that it simply wasn’t in his nature to boast about his own work. Instead he just took in all the abuse and mockery with mild bemusement, shrugged his shoulders and walked off into the twin sunset, knowing that with Revenge of the Sith he had finished what he’d come back to do.

In fact, what Lucas did was so extraordinary, so complex and so nuanced that it may take another decade or two for people to even appreciate it properly—assuming they ever do. As film experts like Mike Klimo have noted, some of what Lucas did in ROTS and the prequels may have been so sophisticated that he deliberately didn’t talk about it, but just left it there, not knowing that anyone would ever even notice.

This, as I said earlier, goes beyond cinema, and possibly even beyond Star Wars itself. Lucas genuinely outdid himself, and it is unlikely anyone will reach that height again—firstly because no one is going to be in the position Lucas was in again in terms of total ownership of a property, and secondly because no one is going to have that kind of ambition again, especially having seen how much of a backlash Lucas received from the legions of popcorn munchers, YouTube profiteers and ungrateful fans who were really looking for something much more in keeping with a generic, formulaic, standardized blockbuster formula.”

[missmeinyourbones]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH BABIES

[autism-corner]

erm

[librarylexicon]

dan's fate in jo's boys. tell me about it ;-;

WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE LIKE THAT WAAAAHH

I was already not enjoying the book because Dan just could not catch a break, and then Alcott had to go and throw in that line at the end. WHY. Unable to set down roots, falling into the wrong circumstances, manslaughter, prison, hard labour, isolation and suffering and trauma and despair, topped off by a love that can never be (even though it's not unrequited)... Lou, just say you hate Dan and go! He and Nat were why I loved Little Men so much, and then Jo's Boys went and stamped all over that. I have never wanted a book to not exist as much as the visceral reaction I had when I got to the end of Jo's Boys. Just thinking about it makes me angry all over again. UGH.

[girlfictions]

something i’ve been thinking about lately is like. growing up muslim right after 9/11 is something i’d never really reflected on much because it was all i’d ever known — at 5, my friend’s mum didn’t let her invite me to her birthday party because i was the only brown girl in our class, at 12, my classmates would joke about my family being part of isis, at 16, my dad was interrogated by american airport security for hours — and it always stung and it always hurt but it was just the way things were because the western world hated muslims. but i don’t think i’ve ever fully comprehended the extent to which we were hated until now.

palestine is being turned into a mass graveyard. every single day there are new photos of the atrocities being carried out against them and videos of them pleading for help and still those who can actually intervene turn a blind eye. israel is claiming to only be targeting hamas “terrorists” while bombing a refugee camp. israeli police raided and assaulted a non-zionist jewish neighbourhood. israeli soldiers are posting tiktoks of them torturing captured palestinians. this is not a complicated issue and it never has been. ethnic cleansing is being committed right in front of us. and yet the western world leaders refuse to call for a ceasefire.

and while zionist organisations accuse pro-palestine demonstrations of anti-semitism, while zionist celebrities insist that they’re afraid to leave their mansions in los angeles, a six year old muslim boy was stabbed to death and his mother wounded in the same attack in chicago. a muslim doctor was murdered while sitting outside her apartment complex in texas. hundreds of peaceful protesters have been arrested (many of whom have been jewish). despite what zionists want you to believe, this is not a jewish/muslim conflict. i have so much love and gratitude to my brave jewish brothers and sisters all over the world who are condemning israel for their actions.

ultimately, israel have been granted impunity by the west. they have slaughtered thousands upon thousands of innocent palestinians. they have bombed hospitals and schools indiscriminately. they have used white phosphorus, violating the geneva convention. they have completely eradicated nearly 900 bloodlines. how many more need to be wiped out? how many more children need to be buried underneath the rubble? how many more doctors need to be confronted with the bodies of their own family members? how many more journalists need to detail the horrific acts of violence they are witnessing? what more can be done to the palestinian people that has not been done already?

i truly believe that palestine will be free one day. i believe the palestinian people will receive the justice they finally deserve. but what breaks my heart is how much they have suffered and will continue to suffer before they are deemed worthy of help. and it would be to all of our detriment if we ignored how much of a factor palestine being a predominantly muslim state has played into the way the world has reacted to their genocide.

[dostoyevsky-official]

The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books

Nicholas Dames has taught Literature Humanities, Columbia University’s required great-books course, since 1998. He loves the job, but it has changed. Over the past decade, students have become overwhelmed by the reading. College kids have never read everything they’re assigned, of course, but this feels different. Dames’s students now seem bewildered by the thought of finishing multiple books a semester. His colleagues have noticed the same problem. Many students no longer arrive at college—even at highly selective, elite colleges—prepared to read books.

This development puzzled Dames until one day during the fall 2022 semester, when a first-year student came to his office hours to share how challenging she had found the early assignments. Lit Hum often requires students to read a book, sometimes a very long and dense one, in just a week or two. But the student told Dames that, at her public high school, she had never been required to read an entire book. She had been assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.

[...] Twenty years ago, Dames’s classes had no problem engaging in sophisticated discussions of Pride and Prejudice one week and Crime and Punishment the next. Now his students tell him up front that the reading load feels impossible. It’s not just the frenetic pace; they struggle to attend to small details while keeping track of the overall plot.

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences. Many had discussed the change at faculty meetings and in conversations with fellow instructors. [...] Daniel Shore, the chair of Georgetown’s English department, told me that his students have trouble staying focused on even a sonnet.

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing. “It’s changed expectations about what’s worthy of attention,” Daniel Willingham, a psychologist at UVA, told me. “Being bored has become unnatural.” Reading books, even for pleasure, can’t compete with TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. In 1976, about 40 percent of high-school seniors said they had read at least six books for fun in the previous year, compared with 11.5 percent who hadn’t read any. By 2022, those percentages had flipped.

[...] Mike Szkolka, a teacher and an administrator who has spent almost two decades in Boston and New York schools, told me that excerpts have replaced books across grade levels. “There’s no testing skill that can be related to … Can you sit down and read Tolstoy? ” he said. And if a skill is not easily measured, instructors and district leaders have little incentive to teach it. [...] The pandemic, which scrambled syllabi and moved coursework online, accelerated the shift away from teaching complete works.

[...] But it’s not clear that instructors can foster a love of reading by thinning out the syllabus. Some experts I spoke with attributed the decline of book reading to a shift in values rather than in skill sets. Students can still read books, they argue—they’re just choosing not to. Students today are far more concerned about their job prospects than they were in the past. Every year, they tell Howley that, despite enjoying what they learned in Lit Hum, they plan to instead get a degree in something more useful for their career.

[...] For years, Dames has asked his first-years about their favorite book. In the past, they cited books such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. Now, he says, almost half of them cite young-adult books. Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series seems to be a particular favorite.

[screampied]

“tch, what are you doing.”

“hugging you.”

“i’m not stupid. why are you hugging me,”

sukuna grouses, his entire vast frame growing stiff. it was always like this with you. every few seconds, you’d be talking to him about literally anything and out of nowhere, your human arms just wrap around his waist. the demon stands still with the most repulsed poker-face, yet he doesn’t attempt to pry you off. for whatever reason, your warmth was surprisingly .. comfortable. you’ve got the cutest smile contorting against your features. burying your face into the center of his chest, the demon sighs, flicking your forehead. “oi brat, i asked you a question.”

playfully wincing at his gesture — you have a tiny pout. “you looked like you could use one,” and your arms briefly tighten around his slim torso. “also, usually when someone’s hugging you, you’re required to hug the other person b-”

“don’t tell me what to do,” and you gasp, feeling strong arms pull you in close. with an oof, you land right into his soft padded chest. your cheek tenderly rubs against the various ancient markings that paint and decorate his skin. the ‘hug’ only lasts for about three seconds before he pulls away, pretending to feel ill. a mere drama king. “disgusting. got me participating in such a revolting, humanly act. think ‘m gonna be sick.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” you tease, leaning into his touch. you’re met with a crimson-red glare but you could spot the vague pout forming against his lips if you squinted. out of all the pesky humans he’s encountered, no one was ever tolerable or worthy for his attention.

no one except . . . you.

a simple gesture as hugging makes him feel mushy ‘n soft inside and he hates it. loathes it, that dumb carefree grin that cheeses against your lips, the cute glimmer sparkling in your eyes. so irritating, so . . adorable.

as you rest your chin against his chest, you let off a tiny huff. “do demons not hug each other?”

“not in this way,” he murmurs, feeling an awkward lump brew in his throat. sukuna’s eyes suddenly avoid yours and you grow curious. not only that, but his body language changes. your softness was making him nervous.

he swears a plethora of inaudible curses under his breath, remaining rigidly stiff and refuses to move his beefy arms another itch. your arms wrap around him again and a huffing sigh makes his tense shoulder lower. with a grumpy grunt, his eye twitches and a single fang bares below his top lip, a sign of cute stubborn annoyance. “ack, you’re squishing me, human. release me at once.”

your chin swiftly rubs against the soft fabric that made up his personalized kimono before deadpanning. “not until you hug me back.”

“i am hugging you back.”

“no you’re not,” you giggle, burying your face inside between the opening slit of his clothing piece. his body heat tepidly radiates against you and you’re engulfed with his loud natural scent. the demon’s almost always naturally warm, your personal heating pad. he shoots you a vexing glare, nostrils flaring up in exasperation before his arms awkwardly pull you closer. “hey, not s- so tight, ‘kuna.”

“now you wanna complain? you’re gonna take this hug,” and you giggle, feeling him gingerly shove you into his broad chest, squeezing you tight.

sukuna sassily rolls his eyes at the audacity,

he’s never been one to participate in such ludicrous, but if it was with you, maybe it wasn’t that bad. sukuna stares down at you, a weird soft feeling pooling its way into his heart — after a while, he unwraps his arms from your body, ruffling your hair. “stupid.”

with a cheeky grin, you wrap your arms right back around his torso, nuzzling against his chest like you were a kitten. with a gruff groan, his arms suddenly mirror you, slinging around your waist, pulling you close tightly. how annoying, he’s starting to enjoy this little thing called ‘hugging.’

sukuna slowly adapts to the warmth of your body against him, a faint smile creeping on his face at your next adoring words. “love you ‘kuna.”

“you’re gonna experience a deadly cough in five days, brat.”

“huh?”

“hmph. i said . . i love you too.”