#everyone shut up i loved this movie so so much

[hwkei]

pro-hero!bakugo whom you’ve been dating for the past year, managing to keep your relationship out of the prying gaze of the public eye

pro-hero!bakugo who walked you home through a dark alley one night in his civilian clothes, awkwardly asking you out for coffee the next day

pro-hero!bakugo who loves to stay at your place on days he’s not on patrol, he claims that it’s easier to make sure you’re safe if he’s closer to you

pro-hero!bakugo who has an entire back up costume at your apartment, you’ve lied on multiple occasions to your friends saying that it was just a cosplay outfit

pro-hero!bakugo who always dodges questions about if he’s seeing anyone—and when “shipped” with another hero, he’s the first one to shut the rumor down

pro-hero!bakugo who loves a night in, there’s nothing more he’d enjoy than cooking a nice meal for the both of you and watching some sappy romcom you had picked out

pro-hero!bakugo who falls asleep within the first half of the movie, causing the two of you to have the most uncomfortable night of sleep on his couch

pro-hero!bakugo who has mastered the art of sneaking in through your fire escape window, making sure that he slips in through the shadows—“okay batman”

pro-hero!bakugo who’s so deeply in love with you but is scared that if the world knew about you, you’d be in much more danger

pro-hero!bakugo who accidentally lets it slip to his friends that he’s seeing someone; though, he doesn’t let them know how long the two of you have been together

pro-hero!bakugo who is usually very good at keeping secrets, but a small smile at his phone was the reason why 5 other pro-heroes now know about your relationship

pro-hero!bakugo who threatens to blow denki up into smithereens if he runs his loose mouth about your relationship, effectively shutting everyone else up

pro-hero!bakugo who you’ve been dating for nearly two years now, who knows in his soul that you’re the one for him and there’s no one else he’d rather spend his life with

pro-hero!bakugo who proposes to you shortly after your two year anniversary, a very intimate and secret proposal in your own home that you had moved into together just a month prior

pro-hero!bakugo who lets the world know that he’s taken by the gold band on his ring finger, just shy of three years since the first time he took you on a date

@rueclfer @saturnzlv @poemeater @standcom @chlosology & special thanks to @fushiguruuzzzz for being on call with me while i typed and spoke this stuff out loud like a weirdo

hwkei, 2025

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 31

word count: 7.1k

i broke my heart about twenty nine thousand times writing this. have fun!

Aspen couldn't get out of bed for a few days. She was glad that the weekend was there to aid her, alongside Isobel. There was no need for any words, just movies and ice cream and pasta.

By the time next Friday had rolled around, Aspen decided she wasn't going to lull around any more. The tired she carried on her shoulders and the pain still settled in her heart were mere reminders of Harry.

She wished endlessly that night that things could have been different. But being new to this, to a relationship at that, Aspen felt suffocated. She laughed to herself for hours in between tears at the insane realization of it all.

The girl was only nineteen. Nineteen years old, in college, in a small town living with her best friend, dating a brooding asshole who's just a big softie littered in tattoos. And that brooding asshole just so happened to be wrapped up in drug dealing? What were the chances.

Her anger didn't lie within Harry, no matter how much she wanted it to. She wanted to be mad that he lied, that it was so easy for him to lie, but she always circled back to his words. 

Even if he did tell her, what was Aspen to do? She would have worried endless until she was sick to her stomach about it. She thought about everything Harry might have felt, the fear of losing her. 

Aspen was no stranger to knowing what she meant to Harry, even if it was a small part. She knew how he grew up and what girls he had been with, or slept with, and she knew how his heart had been treated. Even in his every day actions, she could see how appreciative he was. 

When Isobel got with Zayn, according to the story she told Aspen, Isobel was worried sick about how things would change after three months. Three months flew by, and then she worried about six. After six, it was nine, and Zayn had told her to get a damn grip 'cause he wasn't going anywhere. Now, here they were, practically married. 

Aspen didn't have to fear the upcoming months with Harry. Everything felt so... good. He never frayed away from the love he gave her since day one. If anything, it only grew as he opened up to her more.

Harry always kept his promises. He did keep her safe. He did show her love. Whenever she had an exam, he always made sure to leave her flowers. Whether it was at her apartment, or tucked into the handle of her car door, he was always lingering. When Aspen couldn't focus on her studies, Harry offered her a quiet place in the shop. He barked orders for everyone to shut the hell up, and even turned on a quieter playlist that strayed from his normal rap and rock mix. 

He always held her hand, and he always looked both ways for her before they crossed the street. Harry always made sure that her headlights were on before she started driving, when she insisted she could do it, and he always made sure to flick them off when she started skipping away into the store.

So, she could understand where he came from. How could she not? If she were to be in his shoes, she wasn't sure how she'd even begin to explain something like that. The way Harry had looked seemed like there was more than just an exchange of drugs followed by a beating. His eyes were so empty, filled with so much fear. 

And she knew, she trusted, that Harry would understand her, too.

Each day she drove past the shop on her way to school. His car would be there when she left to when she came back from her shifts at the library. It sat in the same spot, practically collecting dust and leaves clung to the windshield wipers as time went on. It made her heart hurt more, it felt like he was cowering away.

They hadn't spoke since. That night when she left, just around midnight, Harry had texted her. He said that he understood her need for space, but he loved her. He read her message when she replied, saying that she loved him too and thanking him. Some part of her wished he would have pushed for more.

Aspen sighed as she rolled onto her side, her fingers mindlessly playing with the frayed edge of her blanket. Her body felt heavy, the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical but emotional, too. It had been a week since she walked away from Harry, yet his absence clung to her like a shadow. She still reached for her phone sometimes, half-expecting a message, but there was nothing. The last text thread between them remained frozen in time, a painful reminder of the fallout she wished she could forget.

The soft knock on her bedroom door pulled her from her thoughts, and she barely had the energy to lift her head.

"Hey, Asp," Isobel’s voice was gentle, a knowing lilt in her tone. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression laced with sympathy.

Aspen forced a small smile, though it barely reached her eyes. "Hi, Iz." She patted the bed beside her, inviting her friend in.

Isobel pushed off the doorframe, her steps light as she crossed the room and settled onto the bed beside Aspen’s curled-up frame. Her hand rested on Aspen’s shoulder, a comforting presence in the quiet room.

"You know I love you and all," Isobel started, a teasing edge creeping into her voice, "but the bed is starting to eat you."

Aspen scrunched her nose, reaching for the remote on her nightstand. She flicked through the channels lazily, her attention barely on the moving images across the screen.

"It’s Friday, Iz," she murmured. "I went to classes and work all week. I’m exhausted."

She left out the part where exhaustion wasn’t just from her schedule—it was from thinking too much. From feeling too much.

Her fingers clutched the pillow tighter, pressing it against her chest as if it could fill the empty space inside her. "And I just… I dunno. I miss him."

Saying it out loud made it feel even more real, more painful. She hated how easily his absence affected her, how much it hurt to not hear his voice or feel the warmth of his presence. He was everywhere in her mind—his touch, his laughter, the way he’d look at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. And yet, in reality, he was nowhere to be found.

Isobel let out a soft sigh before she flopped down beside Aspen, their heads smushed together as she let out a dramatic, "Oh, poor baby."

Aspen laughed despite herself, her breath hitching as Isobel’s blonde strands tickled her nose. The sound of her own laughter felt foreign, like she hadn’t heard it in too long.

"What are you doing?" Aspen asked, her voice still laced with amusement.

"Shh, shh… I’m sending you telepathic good vibes," Isobel said, pressing a finger to Aspen’s lips before closing her eyes and dramatically humming a buzzing sound.

Aspen burst into another fit of laughter, her body shaking with the effort. The ache in her chest didn’t disappear, but for a brief moment, it felt a little lighter.

Isobel grinned at the reaction, finally pulling away. "Sooo," she started, her tone shifting.

Aspen’s brow arched. She could already tell where this was going. "Oh, shut up," she groaned.

Isobel smirked. "I was just going to say that Zayn invited me over. Just for some drinks and pizza. Said I could bring you if I wanted to."

Aspen shook her head almost instantly. "I’ll be okay here."

Isobel squinted at her. "You hate being home alone."

Aspen huffed and shrugged, knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument.

"Aspen Waverly."

"Iz!" Aspen whined, sitting up just enough to glare at her friend.

"You are coming with me," Isobel declared. "And you are not cooping up in here all alone until your bed eats you alive."

Aspen crossed her arms, lips pressing into a thin line. She wanted to argue, but the truth was, Isobel was right. Being alone with her thoughts all night wasn’t going to do her any favors.

"Zayn said you could raid his bookshelf," Isobel quipped, her tone knowing.

Aspen tried—really tried—to keep her face neutral, but she could already feel the way her lips twitched at the thought. Zayn had an incredible collection, full of first editions and rare copies of books she’d been dying to get her hands on.

Isobel grinned, seeing the shift in her expression. "Knew that’d get you. Come on, we’re gonna leave in fifteen."

Aspen sighed, throwing her pillow aside. She might still be hurting, but maybe, just maybe, getting out of this room for a while would help her forget— if only for a few hours.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The warm glow of Zayn’s apartment was a welcome contrast to the crisp night air. The place smelled like freshly baked pizza, the scent mixing with the faint musk of cologne and old books. The three of them were sprawled around the living room, their laughter filling the space as they nibbled on slices of pepperoni and garlic knots.

Aspen had made herself comfortable on the oversized armchair, her legs tucked beneath her as she flipped through a first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray that she had pulled from Zayn’s bookshelf. The worn leather cover and gold-foiled lettering had her heart racing when she first spotted it, and she wasted no time sinking into the pages.

Isobel, on the other hand, had draped herself across Zayn’s couch, tossing a throw pillow into the air and catching it absentmindedly as she spoke. "Okay, but hear me out—if you were in a horror movie, who do you think would be the first to die?"

Zayn, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a beer in hand, scoffed. "That’s easy. It’s you."

"Excuse me?" Isobel gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "How dare you?"

"Are you kidding?" Zayn laughed. "You’d be the one to say, ‘Guys, let’s split up!’ and then immediately get caught."

Aspen chuckled, glancing up from her book. "Yeah, Iz, I love you, but I feel like you’d trip over your own feet trying to run away."

"Wow. Betrayed by my own people," Isobel huffed, shaking her head. "I, for one, think Aspen would be the first to go. Bookworms never survive."

Aspen raised a brow. "Uh, excuse me? Have you ever seen The Mummy? The book nerd saves the day."

Zayn grinned. "She’s got a point."

"Okay, fine," Isobel conceded, waving a hand. "Then Zayn dies first."

"Not a chance," he smirked. "I’d be the one secretly working with the villain the whole time and then switching sides at the last second to help the final girl."

Aspen snorted. "You’ve thought about this before."

Zayn took a slow sip of his beer, his smirk never fading. "Maybe."

The conversation carried on like that—effortless, full of teasing and warmth. For the first time in days, Aspen felt like herself again. The ache in her chest dulled, if only slightly, as she found herself smiling, truly smiling.

She turned the page in her book, her fingers gliding over the delicate paper as Zayn and Isobel launched into another ridiculous debate. She wasn’t fully listening, but the hum of their voices was comforting, grounding.

Then came the knocks.

Three loud, insistent thuds.

The laughter died instantly. The air in the apartment shifted, tension settling over them like a suffocating blanket.

Then, a voice.

"Zayn?"

Aspen’s stomach plummeted.

Harry.

His voice was slurred, thick with the unmistakable weight of alcohol.

"Are you home?," he called again, his voice muffled through the door.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Zayn’s eyes widened slightly before he shot up from his seat. "Go upstairs," he whispered urgently, gesturing toward the hallway.

Aspen hesitated. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her hands gripping the book so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"Now," Zayn whispered more harshly, already moving toward the door.

Isobel didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed Aspen’s hand and pulled her up, dragging her toward the stairs as quietly as possible.

From the hallway, Aspen could still hear Harry’s voice. It was rough, desperate.

"Zayn, mate, open the door."

She swallowed hard, her feet barely making a sound against the floor as she and Isobel disappeared upstairs.

Back in the living room, Zayn exhaled sharply before undoing the lock and pulling the door open.

And there stood Harry.

Disheveled. Eyes glazed over. Jacket hanging off one shoulder. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes clung to him like a second skin.

His gaze was unfocused at first, but when he saw Zayn, his lips parted slightly.

"Can I come in?"

Zayn raked over his frame before stepping to the side and let them in. Before Harry could turn to look at the living room where the three of them sat, he took his friend's arm and guided him to the kitchen.

"Let's get you some water," Zayn mentioned, setting Harry down against the counter before grabbing a glass from the cupboard. He pressed the cup against the lever, the water from his fridge hissing to life and streaming into the cup.

Harry groaned softly, placing his head in his hand. "I don't know what I was thinking," he scoffed.

"What did you drink, Harry?" Zayn sighed, handing the glass to Harry before leaning against the counter across from him.

"Too much," he slurred as he raised the glass to his lips, gulping down the water with ease. It wasn't an exact answer to what Zayn asked, but he knew his friend well enough to know that didn't mean any good.

Harry set the glass down with a small stumble, wrapping his fingers around the ledge of the counter. "I don't know what to do," he laughed bitterly, looking up from the cup to Zayn. "I don't know what to fucking do."

Zayn pursed his lips, taking in a small breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"It's hard. I won't say I understand, but I'll try to, if you want to keep going. I'm here for you."

"No," Harry groaned, shaking his head. "I don't want to talk."

"Harry," Zayn raised a brow, "you didn't walk here drunk off your ass for nothing. My place is further than yours, assuming you came from Joes."

Harry grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Zayn before huffing. His heart swelled then broke instantly as he did, reminding him yet again of Aspen. How she'd glare playfully at him and huff from her soft, perfect lips.

"That night was bad," Harry said after a beat. He pursed his lips, his words slurred as he spoke. His hands came into motion now, moving along with whatever he said.

"I know space is necessary sometimes. I know she deserved it, after what I did to her, but Jesus, man. Could you imagine if Isobel said she needed space? If she was the one to need it? It's selfish, I know that, and I think of her feelings too, I just... I can't even get over mine."

Zayn nodded as he listened, his eyes softening. "I couldn't begin to imagine how much it hurt, Harry."

The man scoffed, shaking his head. Harry didn't know 'hurt'. He didn't know heartbreak, not like this. His worst one was when his cat had passed when he was twelve. Then he hardened up and he became... whatever this was.

Harry let out a long breath, his fingers curling around the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His body swayed slightly, the alcohol making everything feel heavier, slower, like he was sinking into the floor. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but Zayn’s face remained clear— steady, understanding. It only made him feel worse.

"I don’t even know who I am without her," Harry admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His throat was tight, like something was lodged deep inside, refusing to come up. 

"It’s like… like I finally had something good. Someone good. And I fucked it all up."

Zayn exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew Harry well enough to understand that when he let his walls down like this, it wasn’t just drunken rambling— it was raw, stripped down, all the pain he usually buried under sharp words and forced indifference spilling out in broken pieces.

"You didn’t fuck everything up," Zayn said, keeping his voice calm. "You made a mistake. And yeah, it was a big one. But it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to fix it."

Harry let out a bitter laugh, tipping his head back. His eyes burned, the alcohol pulling every emotion to the surface with no filter, no control. 

"And what if she never forgives me? What if—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, gripping the counter tighter. "What if she never wants to see me again?"

Zayn watched his friend carefully, the weight of Harry’s emotions settling in his chest. "Then you respect that," he said simply. "You own what you did, and you give her what she needs. But you don’t get to just… give up on yourself because of it, man."

Harry's jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he shook his head. "She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like she didn’t even know me." 

His voice dropped to something small, something broken. "Like she hated me."

Zayn sighed, stepping closer. "Aspen doesn’t hate you, mate. She’s hurt. She’s allowed to be."

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth, his body slumping further against the counter. He felt exhausted— emotionally, physically, in every possible way. The weight of his own actions, his own emotions, was crushing. He ran a hand through his curls, tugging slightly at the roots as if that would bring some kind of clarity.

His voice was barely audible when he muttered, "You should’ve just left me there."

Zayn stiffened. "What?"

"You should’ve just left me there to die," Harry repeated, defeated, tired, worn down to nothing but an aching mess of regret. His shoulders caved in, his head dropping forward. "Would’ve been easier."

The words settled heavy in the room, pressing against the walls, suffocating the space between them.

Zayn’s heart clenched.

"Don’t say that shit," he said firmly, his voice edged with something close to desperation. He gripped Harry’s arm, forcing him to meet his gaze. "I mean it. Don’t ever fucking say that."

Harry exhaled shakily, his lip twitching like he was trying to hold something back.

Zayn’s grip tightened. "I get that you’re hurting. I do. But you don’t get to say that, alright? You don’t get to fucking mean that." His voice softened just slightly, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. "You matter, Harry. To me. To Niall. To Louis. And yeah, to Aspen too, even if she’s hurt right now. You don’t just get to check out because things feel too heavy."

Harry blinked a few times, his eyes glassy, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Zayn exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw before shaking his head. "You’re staying here tonight. No arguments."

Harry didn’t fight him. He just nodded slowly, the weight of everything pulling him down, exhaustion finally settling into his bones.

Zayn glanced toward the hallway, knowing damn well the girls were hiding in his bedroom. There was no way he could let Harry crash on the couch and risk Aspen coming out in the middle of the night to find him there.

"Come on," Zayn muttered, looping an arm under Harry’s to steady him. "Spare room’s open. You can crash there."

Harry groaned but let himself be guided up the stairs, his legs unsteady beneath him. Each step felt heavier than the last, the alcohol still lingering in his system but starting to wear off just enough to let the full force of his thoughts creep in.

Zayn pushed open the spare bedroom door and gestured inside. "Bed’s yours. Get some sleep."

Harry mumbled something incoherent as he stumbled inside, barely managing to toe off his boots before collapsing onto the mattress. The ceiling spun for a second, his body sinking into the bed, but his mind… his mind wouldn’t shut up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to pass out, but the alcohol had left just enough clarity for the thoughts to keep buzzing—too loud, too intrusive.

Aspen. Her voice, her touch, the way she looked at him before everything crumbled. The way she looked at him that night.

He turned onto his side, burying his face into the pillow, but nothing helped. His heart still ached, his stomach still twisted with guilt and regret. He wanted to sleep. Needed to. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, the ghost of her lingered, keeping him awake.

Harry almost missed it. 

He almost missed the sound of the bathroom door opening and clicking back shut. He would have if it wasn't for the small, surprised squeak.

From Aspen. His Aspen.

Harry shot up out of the bed, the floor spinning as he stood to his feet in surprise.

"Aspen?" He called out, his voice slurred and heavy with his drunk accent.

His feet padded to the bathroom door, his hand on the knob as the other knocked. Normally, Harry would've just left the room but alcohol left no space for common sense.

"Aspen, baby, 's tha' you?" Harry asked through the door as he knocked once more. He swore he could hear her puffs of breaths, so he knocked again.

"Please open the door. Please."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Aspen gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling too quickly as her head spun.

Harry.

Her mind raced, heart pounding in her ears as if it were trying to drown out the drunken slur of his voice just outside the door. She could hear him knocking— gentle, unsteady, desperate— but she couldn’t move.

This wasn’t how she was supposed to see him again. Not like this. She only came to pee, and seeing Harry in that bed made her heart flip. 

She had spent the last week convincing herself that space was good, that distance was necessary, that avoiding him was the only way to keep herself from breaking all over again. But now he was here— just on the other side of the door, pleading in that voice that made her chest ache.

"Aspen, baby, 's tha' you?"

His words were heavy, weighed down by alcohol, but there was something so raw about them that made her throat tighten.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the sink even harder, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked frantic— wide, glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted like she had been running.

She had been doing so well.

She had held herself together, fought the tears when they threatened to fall, buried herself in work and school just to avoid thinking about him. But now, he was here, and all that hard work was unraveling at the seams.

Another knock.

"Aspen, please open the door. Please."

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see her. His voice was softer at first, but with every unanswered plea, it grew more frantic—more desperate.

"Aspen, please, open the door," he murmured, his voice thick with alcohol and heartbreak. Then, his hand jiggled the doorknob, the metal rattling sharply in the small space.

Aspen flinched.

Her breath hitched as she stumbled backward, her body pressing against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. The air felt too thick, like she couldn’t get enough of it, and the walls suddenly felt like they were closing in on her.

"Aspen, come on." The doorknob shook again— harder this time. "Talk to me, baby, please."

Her head was buzzing, thoughts spiraling too fast to catch onto one before another crashed into her. Her fingers dug into the porcelain sink, her knuckles turning white as the room spun around her.

"I just— I need to see you. I need you to talk to me," he begged, his voice cracking.

He yanked at the doorknob again.

Aspen gasped, pressing her hands to her ears as the overstimulation crushed her from every side— the knocking, the rattling, his voice— pleading, desperate, relentless.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

The room felt smaller. Her vision blurred. The sound of her own breathing was deafening in her ears, but she could still hear him.

Jiggling the handle. Begging.

"Aspen, please."

Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might be sick. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

The pressure built inside of her, suffocating, overwhelming, consuming— until it all snapped at once.

"Stop it!" she choked out, her voice raw and panicked. "You’re scaring me!"

And then everything stopped.

The rattling. The knocking. The pleading.

Pure silence.

Heavy, deafening silence.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry's hands dropped to his side, fingers twitching. His ears rang as the air was practically wiped from his lungs in an instant.

He was scaring her.

The man stumbled back across the room, drawing in heavy and uneven breaths. That sure sobered him up. Possibly felt worse than getting pistol whipped by one of the cruelest men he came across.

As Harry's back touched the wall, his palms placed flat along the surface by his sides. His heart twisted in pain as her words repeated in his head. First the lying, now this? Now he was scaring her?

How could he be so stupid? To go and bang on the door and beg her to open it while jamming the knob, while being drunk? The feeling of shame settled deep in his chest, tangled with guilt.

The door clicked open and slowly swung open, Aspen's frame coming into view. She took a shuddering breath and stepped out. He kept his eyes on the carpeted floors, swallowing thickly.

Just as he opened his mouth, her voice came through. Harry was sure his knees buckled and almost gave out from under him. It had been so long, too long, since he's heard her. He missed her with every fiber in his being, every single part of her coursed through his veins.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean you were scaring me. I.. I guess I was just scared in general, with seeing you. I didn't know how to react."

Harry finally looked up, and when his bloodshot eyes met hers, something in him cracked. The shame, the guilt, the desperate love he had for her—it all spilled over in his expression.

His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out at first. Just a shaky breath, a weight heavier than his own body pressing down on his chest.

"You don’t 'ave to apologize," he croaked, his voice hoarse and strained. "I’m the one who," he exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists at his sides, "I’m the one who should be sorry. For all 'f it."

Aspen stood still, arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. The sight of her like that— so small, so uncertain— sent another brutal pang through his chest. He had done that to her. He had hurt her, made her afraid, shattered the trust she once gave him so freely.

"I'm sorry for what I did at the door," he continued, swallowing the lump in his throat. "For pushing. For begging. I wasn’t thinking. I was just...," His voice wavered, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before reopening them. 

"I just needed to see you. Needed to hear your voice. And I’m sorry, Aspen, I swear, I—."

She shook her head, as if to tell him she already knew. That she understood.

But Harry wasn’t done.

"And I’m sorry for tha' night," he whispered, his voice cracking over the words. "For the way I treated you. For the way I let y'walk away, knowing damn well I was breaking the best thing I ever had in m'life."

Her breath hitched, but he kept going. He had to.

"You don’t know everything, though," he admitted, his hands trembling at his sides. "About me. About Zayn. About why it all happened."

Aspen’s brow furrowed, but she stayed silent, waiting.

Harry dragged his fingers through his messy curls, gripping them at the roots as if trying to ground himself. "We didn’t just start working with Leone when he took us that night," he muttered bitterly. "We were already involved, long before you ever met me."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening slightly, but she didn’t move.

"It wasn’t s'pposed to be like this," he went on, shaking his head. "We used t'take under-the-table jobs for extra cash— tattoos, no questions asked. But then... then the wrong people started coming in. Dealers. Gang members. They paid us well, and we were stupid. Greedy." He let out a hollow laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Then it stopped being 'bout the money. It became about survival. Because once you work f'them, once you take their money, you don’t get t'just... walk away."

Aspen’s throat felt tight, her breath shallow as she absorbed his words.

She had known— at least, she had suspected— that whatever Harry and Zayn were tangled up in was dangerous. But hearing it from Harry’s own mouth, watching the way the weight of it crushed him, made it feel so much worse.

Harry let out a bitter, shaky laugh and shook his head, staring at the floor like he couldn’t bear to see the way she was looking at him. "It got worse, Aspen. We started saying no, started refusing jobs that felt like traps. But when you say no to men like Leone, they don’t just let you go. They make examples out of you."

Her stomach twisted. "Is that why they—."

Harry nodded before she could even finish. His fingers flexed at his sides, jaw clenching. "That’s why they took us. Why they beat the shit out of us. Asp, he had... he had your shirt." He exhaled sharply, glancing up at her. 

His eyes were glossy, red-rimmed, exhausted. "And that night… that night at my place… I should’ve told you the truth. I should’ve told you everything. But it was about protecting you, but I knew in that moment he taunted it in my face that I failed."

Aspen opened her mouth to say something— to tell him she understood, that she knew he had been trying to protect her— but he cut her off before she could.

"But I didn’t," he muttered. "I lied. I pushed y'away. I was a stupid fool, Aspen." His voice broke at the end, and he sucked in a shaky breath before dragging a hand down his face. "I was scared, and I was selfish, and I thought, fuck— I thought if I jus' let you go, if I made you leave, you’d be safe."

Aspen’s chest ached, a deep and relentless pain that spread through her ribs and settled into her bones.

Harry let out another broken, humorless laugh. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his messy curls. The alcohol had worn off plenty, leaving behind the pain. It would always follow. "But all I did was break your heart. And I’ll never stop blaming m'self for that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I’ll never stop hating myself for it."

Aspen swallowed against the lump in her throat, her fingers gripping the sleeves of her sweater. Her heart was pounding, her mind spinning, but the only thing she could focus on was the wrecked, shattered look in Harry’s eyes.

His voice was raw when he spoke again, barely more than a whisper. "I just don’t want to lose you." He let out another bitter, empty laugh, muttering to himself. "But I did anyways."

The words shattered something inside her. She stepped forward before she even realized what she was doing, shaking her head. "I'm... I'm still yours, H.," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Harry’s eyes snapped to hers, filled with disbelief.

"It was just space," she continued, swallowing thickly. "I needed space, but I could never leave you, Harry."

Harry blinked at her, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, he let out a breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from them.

"You mean it?" he rasped.

She nodded. "I mean it."

A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words, but the pain in Harry’s expression softened just slightly.

"You’re still mine?" he whispered, hesitant, vulnerable in a way that made Aspen’s chest ache.

She took a shaky breath but nodded. "Always." How could she not be?

Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment like he was trying to keep himself together. When he opened them again, they were still glossy, still filled with lingering pain, but there was something else there, too. A flicker of hope.

"Come here, please?" he muttered, voice hoarse.

Aspen hesitated for only a second before stepping closer, letting him take her hands into his carefully. He brushed his thumbs over her knuckles as he let out a shaky breath. It had been too long since he got to feel her warmth.

"I’m so sorry, baby," he whispered as he brought her knuckles to his lips, grazing them along her skin in small kisses. "'M so fucking sorry."

Aspen closed her eyes, letting herself sink into him. "I know," she murmured. "I know." Her fingers gently placed under his chin, tilting his head up.

"I'm so sorry," He whispered, his eyes closing momentarily as his brows furrowed. He swallowed the lump in his throat and shakily breathed out, leaning into her touch. The man rested his hands on her waist gently, needing to feel her in his grasp.

"Hey," Aspen whispered, her fingers forming around his chin and sliding up to cup his jaw along with her other hand. They caressed over the area lightly, her thumbs brushing over his chin. 

"You don't have to keep saying sorry, H," the girl sighed softly, her chest tightening at the sight of him.

His usual quiff had fallen, strands of hair sweeping over his forehead. The furrow between his brow carried so much sadness that Aspen could feel it too as she brushed her thumb between them before settling back down to his chin. His eyes were so sad, glossed over and full of guilt and regret and love for her. The tip of his nose pink, complimented by a soft pout on his lips. The skin around his piercing still looked raw and fresh, and she made a mental note to tend to that when they got a moment.

"Oh," She breathed out in a small, sympathetic sigh, shaking her head at the sight of him ruined. In some weird way, it made her heart flutter. He would only care this much if he was true to his words and feelings about her, and she knew that.

Her hands cupped his jaw, her tiny fingers lightly smushing his face as he looked everywhere but her eyes. He muttered another apology, hinted with pang of hurt, and she shook her head once more.

"I love you, Asp," Harry muttered, taking her wrists into his hands, sliding up to pull her tiny hands into his. He clasped them, pressing kisses over the bunch, nosing at the warm skin between kisses. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening ever so slightly, like he was trying to memorize the way her hands fit in his, how delicate and trusting they felt against his rough palms. He wasn’t meant to hold something so soft. His hands weren’t built for tenderness, not after everything they’d done, after everything they’d touched. They weren’t made to hold something so good.

He wasn’t meant to hold something so soft. His hands weren’t built for tenderness, not after everything they’d done, after everything they’d touched. They weren’t made to hold something so good.

But I’ll hold onto you anyway, he thought bitterly, even when you slip away. Even when I drive you away.

He pressed his lips to her knuckles again, lingering there, breathing her in. His nose brushed against the warmth of her skin between kisses, his grip desperate, reverent— like she was something sacred, something holy.

"You’ll forever be mine," he whispered, voice raw and weighted with something she couldn’t quite place. "But I won’t forever be yours."

Aspen’s heart clenched. "Harry—."

He could already see it, already feel the inevitable unraveling that hadn’t even begun yet. There would come a day where Aspen would look at him with something less than love, less than trust, and it would destroy him. She would walk away for good, because he would make her— because one day, he’d break her heart one too many times, and she’d realize she was too good, too strong, too important to stay.

He shook his head, cutting her off, his lips brushing over her skin again. "You'll leave, Asp," he murmured, voice thick and defeated. "Not now. Not today. But one day, you’ll realize I was never meant t'be yours the way you were always meant t'be mine. I'll drive you away and I'll... let you. I'd have to."

She felt herself shaking her head before she could even think. "That’s not true," she whispered.

Harry let out a soft, broken chuckle, his breath fanning against her skin. "It is. You’ll leave for the better. You’ll find something— someone— who doesn’t fuck up every chance he gets. Someone who doesn’t drag you into darkness when y'were meant t'shine." He exhaled shakily, squeezing her hands, as if grounding himself. "And I’ll let you. I’ll let you go, but I’ll carry you with me for the rest of my life."

Through every street he walked, every song he heard, every quiet moment where the silence would ring too loudly in his ears, he would carry her. She would be the ghost that lived inside him, lingering in every heartbeat, in every regret, in every piece of himself he wished he could fix.

Aspen’s chest ached, a sharp, twisting pain that settled deep in her ribs. "Harry, stop."

He only squeezed her hands tighter, tilting his head to rest against them. His curls were wild, damp with sweat, his breathing uneven. "I don't deserve you. I never have and I never will."

Tears welled in Aspen’s eyes, burning the edges of her vision. She shook her head again, her voice firmer this time. "Harry, stop."

His breath hitched, but he obeyed, falling silent as he clutched her hands to his chest.

"I'm jus'… 'm gonna break your heart again. 'M gonna be the reason why you leave and I just...," he exhaled sharply, voice crumbling at the edges. "I just can’t—."

His heart twisted painfully, stomach churning at the weight of his own words.

Aspen swallowed past the lump in her throat, blinking away the blur of tears. She softened her hold on his hands, slowly untangling them from his grip so she could cup his face instead.

"You’ll forever be mine too, H," she murmured, her thumbs brushing gently over the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

Harry swallowed thickly, his eyes fluttering shut under her touch, like he was absorbing the warmth, letting it fill the cold spaces inside him.

Aspen exhaled softly, gathering her words. "It’s not just me, then you. It’s us. Together. We belong to each other, Harry. And if we’re forever, then we do everything in our power to love each other the right way."

Harry’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to protest, but she shushed him with a soft brush of her thumb against his lips.

"I’m not leaving," she whispered. "Not now. Not ever."

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, his hands twitching at her sides.

"We fight for each other," Aspen continued, her voice soft but unwavering. "We love each other the way we’re supposed to. We don’t let the bad things win, Harry."

Harry inhaled sharply, his hands finally moving, finally gripping her wrists again like they were the only things keeping him tethered to the earth.

"You promise?" he rasped, his voice barely more than a breath.

Aspen nodded, tilting her forehead to rest against his. "I promise. Do you?"

Harry’s breath stuttered as he nodded. "I promise, baby. All the good in the world, I wan' t'give t'you." 

His fingers flexed around her wrists before his hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders, until they cradled her face.

"Okay," he whispered after a beat, like he was surrendering. Like he was finally letting himself believe.

Aspen exhaled shakily, letting herself melt into him, into the warmth of his touch, into the quiet understanding that no matter what came next, they would face it together.

"Forever?," she murmured, fluttering her eyes open to look down at his gentle features.

"And a day," he nodded, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

Aspen’s heart ached in the best way as she leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into every part of her that had been cold without him. She tilted her head slightly, gazing down at him beneath the dim lighting of the room, memorizing the softness in his tired eyes, the way his lips parted like he was holding onto something he wasn’t ready to let go of.

Harry’s thumb traced over her bottom lip with the lightest touch, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. He exhaled a quiet, shaky breath, his fingers grazing the side of her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before resting against her cheek.

Aspen leaned into his palm instinctively, eyes fluttering shut at the tenderness of it all. It had been so long since he touched her like this, like she was something fragile and precious, like he was desperate to hold onto her but terrified of breaking her all the same.

"Forever and a day," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper, like a promise he didn’t dare break.

Aspen lifted her hand, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, grounding him just as much as he was grounding her. When she opened her eyes again, he was already staring, already waiting, already so unbearably there with her.

She didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was both of them, moving towards each other like the pull between them had never really faded.

Their lips met in the softest, slowest, most delicate kiss, the kind that wasn’t about hunger or desperation, but about something deeper. Something unspoken.

Harry’s lips moved against hers with aching gentleness, like he was pouring every apology, every regret, every unspoken word into the way he kissed her. Aspen sighed softly into it, tilting her head to mold against him perfectly, their bodies slotting together in the way they always had like they were made for it.

Harry cupped her face, his other hand resting at her waist, holding her close but not trapping her, like he was making sure she wanted this just as much as he did. And God, she did.

She tilted her head down, stepping forward and pressing into him, and he sighed into her mouth, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper but still so unbearably soft. It was slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that didn’t demand but offered, the kind that whispered, I’m here, I’m sorry, I love you, I’ll love you forever.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts beating in sync.

Aspen let out a tiny, shaky laugh, her fingers tracing over the back of his hand. "We’re okay now."

Harry exhaled, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, baby," he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. "We’re okay."

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 5

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Warnings : None

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ WC : 1,001

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Previous Chapter : 4

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ A/N : Hope you enjoy!!!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Chapter 5: Mixed Signals

The halls of KISS buzzed with energy the next morning as Y/N made her way to her locker. Students were chatting, swapping notes, and preparing for the day’s classes. She was halfway through organizing her textbooks when she heard Minho’s unmistakable voice behind her.

“Good morning, girlfriend,” he drawled, leaning casually against the locker next to hers.

Y/N turned around, giving him an exasperated look. “Do you have to do this everywhere?”

“It’s called commitment,” he replied smugly.

“More like harassment,” she shot back, slamming her locker shut.

Minho chuckled and fell into step beside her as she walked to her first class. “You love the attention. Admit it.”

“I love peace and quiet. Big difference.”

As they turned the corner, they almost collided with Kitty and Yuri, who were deep in conversation. Kitty’s face lit up when she saw them.

“Aw, you two are so cute!” she exclaimed.

Y/N forced a smile, resisting the urge to groan. “Thanks, Kitty.”

“You know,” Yuri added with a smirk, “you two have been the talk of the school. Everyone’s wondering how you went from barely speaking to being inseparable.”

“Destiny,” Minho said smoothly, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “More like poor decision-making.”

The group laughed, and they all walked to class together. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Kitty kept glancing at them, her expression a mix of curiosity and approval. It made Y/N feel a little guilty—Kitty genuinely thought they were a couple, and the longer they kept up the charade, the harder it would be to come clean.

Later that afternoon, Y/N sat in the library, attempting to focus on her history notes. Minho had insisted on joining her, despite her protests that she needed to concentrate.

“You know,” she said, not looking up from her textbook, “you’re not required to sit here and stare at me while I study.”

“I’m providing moral support,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“You’re providing a distraction,” she muttered, flipping a page.

Minho glanced at her notes and frowned. “Do you actually enjoy this stuff?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Some of us care about our grades.”

“I care about my grades,” he argued.

“Really? Because I distinctly remember you trying to copy my math homework last week.”

“That was a one-time thing,” he said defensively.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Despite his infuriating personality, there was something oddly entertaining about having Minho around.

That evening, the entire friend group gathered in the common room for a movie night. The couches were packed, with Kitty and Dae cuddled up on one side, Q and Jin sharing snacks, and Yuri scrolling through her phone. Minho and Y/N had claimed the loveseat, much to Y/N’s dismay.

As the movie played, Kitty suddenly paused it and turned to Y/N and Minho. “Okay, I have to ask—what’s the sweetest thing Minho’s ever done for you?”

Y/N froze, her mind racing. She hadn’t prepared for this level of scrutiny. “Uh… sweet?”

“Yeah,” Kitty said eagerly. “Like, has he surprised you with anything romantic? A grand gesture?”

“Of course I have,” Minho said smoothly, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to continue.

“Remember that time I brought you coffee before your big test?” he said, smirking.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. That actually had happened—completely unplanned, but still. She decided to roll with it. “Oh, yeah. That was… nice of you.”

Kitty sighed dreamily. “See? He’s such a good boyfriend.”

Minho shot Y/N a triumphant look, and she fought the urge to smack him.

“Okay, but what about you, Y/N?” Q chimed in. “What’s the sweetest thing you’ve done for Minho?”

Y/N hesitated, scrambling for an answer. “Uh… I helped him with his history essay last month.”

“She saved me,” Minho added dramatically. “I was on the brink of failing, and she swooped in like a knight in shining armor.”

The group laughed, and Y/N felt a pang of guilt. She hated lying to them, especially Kitty, who was practically glowing with excitement over their “relationship.”

The next day, Y/N joined the volleyball team for practice, but this time, the boys’ dance team was rehearsing in the adjacent studio. As Y/N warmed up, she couldn’t help but notice the way Minho’s ex, Madison kept glancing his way during their breaks.

Madison, with her flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair, was clearly trying to get his attention. Y/N wasn’t the jealous type—or so she thought—but something about Madison’s smug little smiles made her blood boil.

Minho, oblivious as ever, caught Y/N staring. He jogged over to the court and leaned against the net. “What’s with the death glare?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, looking away.

“Right,” he said, unconvinced. “You’re totally not mad about Madison flirting with me.”

“I’m not mad,” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Minho smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” she insisted, spiking the volleyball so hard it hit the floor with a loud thwack.

Minho laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, girlfriend.”

That evening, as they walked back to their dorms, Y/N finally snapped.

“This whole fake dating thing is getting out of hand,” she said, stopping in her tracks.

Minho turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone’s starting to believe it,” she said. “Kitty, Yuri, the whole group. And I don’t want to lie to them anymore.”

“So what are you saying?” he asked, his voice unusually serious.

“I’m saying maybe we should end this before it gets more complicated.”

For a moment, Minho didn’t respond. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If that’s what you want.”

Y/N hesitated, suddenly unsure. But before she could say anything else, Minho turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone under the dim glow of the campus lights.



[floodonthefloor]

Sorry flood, eoyo sneak peak plsss pls 🥲

HAHAHA i actually wanted to avoid doing the sneak peek but now i feel bad for making the jest i promise i was jesting but here

“If Hightower wants to keep everyone at arm’s length to get through this,” Laena says to Rhaenyra, “Then it’s what she wants.”

They’re sitting in Laena’s hotel room in Oldtown, half-watching a film, half-conversing over it.

Rhaenyra sighs. “I’m just worried that whatever fucking— fire is in her right now will go from being a controlled burn to something that’s— not that.”

“Very poetic of you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, she seems fine— honestly, Rhaenyra, she does. She’s acting fine, and playing fine— what’s got you so bothered?”

Rhaenyra doesn’t respond right away; stares at the hotel TV as she tries to think of a good answer, but nothing comes out— just a half-formed sound in her throat.

Laena glances over slowly. “…Hello?”

“What.” 

Laena grabs the remote and pauses the movie, and Rhaenyra immediately knows that what’s about to happen is something that she’s going to fucking hate, and —

“…Oh, my fucking gods.”

“What —” 

“Do you have a crush on her.”

“…Fuck’s sake, Laena.” Rhaenyra scoffs, trying and likely failing to stop the rush of heat that blooms in her entire fucking face. “There you go again with your— everyone wants to fuck everyone bullshit —”

“— Literally how did it take this long for me to see it— the fucking— moony eyes and— I need a drink.” Laena gets up, goes towards the mini-bar. 

“Could you not be dramatic, please —”

“— Hightower’s hot and talented and she’s got that whole mysterious and broody and mildly bitchy thing going on that you’ve always been weirdly into— what is wrong with me, what kind of friend am I —” 

Laena looks through the mini-bottles, opts for the vodka.

“You’re being delusional— and don’t open that —” Rhaenyra snaps, lunging out of bed just as Laena twists the cap off with a grin.

“Too late,” Laena says, taking a dramatic swig. “I need this to cope with the fact that you— Rhaenyra fucking Targaryen— are hopelessly in love with your teammate and didn’t tell me —”

“I’m not in l— do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Wait. What about Lyra? Holy shit,” Laena says. “Dude— you cannot start a love triangle during the Westeros Cup, you absolutely can’t —”

“— Alicent ended it, first of all, and— do you have any idea how much they charge for the minibar shit— don’t open another one, else your father will be on your ass.”

“…What? When did she end it?” Laena pauses. “And how do you know that before I do?” 

“The night of the Stormlands match— oh, just— never mind, you— can we just keep watching the film — if you keep going on about this, I’ll leave.”

“And you’re keyed into her relationship status? Fuck’s sake, Rhaenyra— and you’ve said nothing to me this entire time —”

“There’s nothing to say, Laena— I mean it, I’ll fucking leave—”

“‘Oh, Alicent, are you okay? Alicent, you’re not playing like yourself. Alicent, let me stare at you across the pitch with longing in my eyes. Alicent, please, let me cradle-rob you—’”

Rhaenyra, bright red, grabs her things while Laena talks and storms out of her room— she can hear Laena laughing even after she slams the door shut behind her, and she whirls around to go back to her room when she actually almost collides into none other than—

“Whoa,” Alicent says, abruptly stopping in her tracks just short of Rhaenyra. 

[parksrway]

JUST SAW THE FNAF MOVIE LIFE IS AWESOME AND WORTH LIVING

[seyaryminamoto]

My latest completed commission may have been a bit ambitious... because I went wild with it. But I certainly relished in doing so :') Combining my favorite ship with my favorite-ever Disney movie is, uh... a dangerous concoction :'D

The commissioner specifically requested for Azula as Mulan, Sokka as Shang, and Xin Long (my OC dragon from Gladiator) as Mushu. The rest of the cast was up to me to choose, and I pretty much went wild rewatching this movie and picking out some of my favorite moments to recreate them in my style, with these characters. I came up with a lot of correlating characters between both ATLA and 1998's Mulan, but I couldn't hope to draw EVERYTHING, unfortunately. Still, if you want my reasoning for the cast correlation... check out the Read More! Beyond that, feel free to reach out to me if you'd like to commission me, or if you want to join my Patreon!

The Herbalist as Mulan's grandmother might feel arbitrary but she honestly felt like the ATLA elderly lady with the most similar personality to Grandma Fa. Fickle, with a unique connection with a seemingly perfectly ordinary animal, old and sassy? Figured it fit! So for once, the Herbalist is Azula's grandma! xD strange notion, I know, Azulon/Herbalist is not a ship I ever thought I'd accidentally put out in the world but there have been wilder ships than that in this fandom...

Momo became Cri-Kee, I wasn't 100% sold on it but when I considered that Avatar features soooo many hybrid animals... I figured he could be a hybrid cricket-lemur. Weird, I know, but eh? Better than nothing xD

Aang as Chien-Po was a no-brainer. He's the only character I settled on instantly, never even considered anyone else for the role. Their personalities line up really well, and Chien-Po's tendency to be OP and resolve things that are outside of other people's reach sounded like he was prime Avatar material! So, while their dietary preferences are an obvious difference between them, I decided to go for it nonetheless considering all their other similarities!

Kino (another Gladiator OC) is Ling, and he actually did give me a ton of trouble to choose. I considered many characters for the role right up until I realized that Kino's personality actually lines up fairly well with Ling's, down to being a class clown type (who ABSOLUTELY would have cut gym class!) and breaking out in song about the hypothetical woman he'd like to fight for? Yeeeeah that's right up his alley xD but there's another reason why I picked Kino...

... And that is my likely unexpected choice for Yao:

ZUKO.

ZUKO IS YAO.

YES.

I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

(For the uninitiated, Aang, Zuko and Kino are best friends in Gladiator, very often together, and they make a really good team, so that's the extra reason why Kino became the obvious choice for Ling aside from having really similar personalities, definitely closer personalities than, say, Jet, for instance.)

People have likened Zuko to Shang a LOT since ATLA aired. This is the main reason why I'm even making this huge note! I suspect it's primarily because of the aesthetic, let's be real here, and because he becomes Aang's teacher, but people have exaggerated Zuko's alleged similarities with Shang, or taken them out of proportion, in many ways. I actually remember an AMV ages ago with "Be a Man" and it was Zuko "training the Gaang"?? It... didn't feel right to me. Obviously, someone might rebuff with "well, how does Sokka make MORE sense than that, though?" And believe it or not, I have arguments for that... (when do I not...?)

Not only is this what the commissioner specifically requested (and it obviously lines up with the ship we love!), but let's examine the actual reasons why Sokka as Shang adds up:

Sokka actually had to train a bunch of toddlers who weren't paying any attention to him. You know. Kind of how Shang had to train the unruly soldiers who weren't getting anything right. Sokka has a positive relationship with his dad (Zuko, ofc, does not). Shang also has a positive relationship with his dad! And not only this, but there's a military component to both relationships, specifically with Shang wanting to follow on his father's footsteps and aid him in the war... so much like someone else I know, who jumped at every opportunity to rejoin his father in the war, even wishing to join him as a child until Hakoda tasked him with protecting their Tribe instead (kinda like Shang is tasked with training soldiers rather than joining a battlefield).

And the final cherry-on-top that I'd loooove to hear Zuko fans try to argue against... is sexism :') didn't Sokka get characterized as a sexist guy for four episodes, which made people decide that this was his main character trait even if it went away that quickly? Um, yes, that happened. Shang literally sings the memorable song that's a crazy ode to masculinity, including the rather sexist line of "did they send me daughters when I asked for sons". Shang outright abandons Mulan once they discover that she was a woman all along (while, admittedly, choosing to abandon her rather than KILL HER, which as we saw from Chi-Fu, he was NOT supposed to spare her!)...

So, is this REALLY what Zuko fans, who willfully believe their boy is a feminist king (... why? beats me...) are trying to compare their unproblematic blorbo to? :'D Me? I have no problem linking Sokka with Shang due to Sokka's beginnings and due to the fact that both Shang and Sokka have similar growth when it comes to accepting femininity is as valid as masculinity, and as they both learn to respect women as fighters and potential heroes! (I simply do not believe Sokka's ENTIRE tenure in ATLA was about that, though, and that's what I continue to clash with the fandom over...) So... all this is why I've reasoned that Sokka is a VERY solid choice for Shang, in fact, better than Zuko could hope to be.

... but this isn't all.

Maybe some might accept my arguments for Sokka-Shang. And then, they might ask:

WHY ZUKO AS YAO, THO??

... And the truth is it took me long to see it, myself, but HOLY SHIT, DOES IT FIT!

What is the primary thing we remember about Yao in Mulan? This guy is constantly itching for a fight, to prove himself, surely riddled with insecurities that he exteriorizes through overcompensation of masculinity. He's funny as fuck, but he's taking himself 100% seriously as a manly man all the time, and he's always ready for violence. But there's one more thing...

He treats Mulan as his RIVAL.

And more often than not? SHE SCREWS HIM OVER. Intentionally or not.

What does that sound like? Why, yes, it sounds a LOT like Azula and Zuko's sibling relationship!

The fact that Yao is a temperamental dude who lashes out easily at things (oh, something he has in common with Zuko!), that he specifically resents Mulan (in this case, Azula, just as Zuko does!) and is either constantly looking to defeat her and prove his superiority over her (... wait, just as Zuko with Azula??), that he has a black eye perpetually across the movie, and it's his LEFT EYE (just as Zuko's scar is on his left eye! :'D), that he's friends with a pacifist he has basically nothing in common with, personality-wise (just like Zuko and Aang!), and that he pretty much has a REDEMPTION ARC in which he goes from a bitter, asshole rival to Mulan to treating her as a friend and ally, to the point where he was disappointed to leave her behind and THEN joined her at once when she says she has a plan? :') I have always been critical of Zuko's redemption arc, goes without saying. But if ANY of these characters redeemed himself in any significant way, it certainly seems to be Yao to me, and with people gushing NON-STOP about Zuko's redemption? Why, he ought to be the character who goes from bitter rival to loyal friend, right?

So. I'm not even sorry. Zuko is Yao. And I'd dare say that he should be flattered by the comparison, even, because Yao ends up being cool as FUCK!

I don't really talk about this much nowadays, but Mulan was my favorite Disney movie growing up, it ABSOLUTELY had a formative influence on me as a little girl, and Mulan was my favorite female character for a looooong time. Thus, any excuse to rewatch this movie makes me happy as heck. With the wisdom of age I know, of course, that it's not perfect, it's not what China wants, it's not the most thoughtful depiction of Chinese culture or the most faithful adaptation of Mulan's poem (... but I'd also dare bring up that the 2009 Chinese adaptation ISN'T all that faithful either...), but it has a kind of magic in it, a solid storytelling flow, so many memorable moments one after the next, that I could hardly choose which scenes to depict... Disney has never again seen the storytelling heights it reached with Mulan in 1998. I don't even care if that's a controversial opinion in any way... this is their best animated feature for me, and nobody can change my mind.

So... depicting Azula, my beloved, in all these scenarios as this character I adored and idolized as a child, was so damn fulfilling for me. While some might think that, personality-wise, these two ladies don't have much in common, the fact that Mulan is sent to a matchmaker who basically tells her she looks good but is going to be the worst wife ever...? Our girl Azula, with all those insecurities about being unloveable and a monster, probably would relate big time to that.

Mulan is also an INTELLIGENT soldier rather than a brawny one, which is how she starts to make progress in the army, it's how she manages to overcome the huns with that avalanche... and Azula's primary difference with most other antagonists in ATLA is that she's smart as fuck. She is very strong, no doubt, but a LOT of that strength comes from her intelligence, from assessing situations in unique ways, from planning and strategizing. The way Mulan finds the most unexpected solutions that still pay off reminds me a lot of how Azula achieves unexpected feats through rather unorthodox means, capable of taking over a city with basically no bloodshed while her nation has spent 100 years trying and failing to do so through major army incursions and who knows how much senseless violence. Obviously, I'm not saying what Azula did is GOOD and it's kind of dumb that we always have to point that out... I'm merely comparing the magnitude of the feats, and the fact that they both come from ladies who use strategy and intelligence to achieve their goals rather than muscle and physical power.

And while anyone would rage at me for the comparison between Fa Zhou (her dad) and Ozai, the truth is the dynamic between them CAN be compared, if loosely: Mulan literally goes to war to keep her father safe. Azula goes to war under her father's orders. Hell, she makes herself BAIT in the Eclipse to make sure the Gaang won't get to her dad?? While it's very much possible to say that both characters have different personalities and attitudes in life... I'd also bring up that their contexts are evidently completely different. I wouldn't say for certain that Azula, had she been raised outside a Royal Family, would be EXACTLY like Mulan... but they might have more similar traits than one might expect. Ultimately, though... I love them both. And this opportunity to swap their places was pretty much a dream come true!

Alright, that was plenty of rambling xD ultimately, I had a blast doing this commission, as I'm sure is obvious by now. So! If anyone wants to commission me, feel free to check out my prices right here and hit me up if you're interested!

[aquickstart]

ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

[pastellmochi]

non paralive moots im begging yuo listen to my wife singing

[whumpy-wyrms]

yk i was having trouble writing tllr chapter 12 because Dew is sick with a fever in the beginning and i just,, idk felt uninspired or something because im not the biggest fan of sickfics or whatever

well now i’m sick with a fever and it’s helll so sorry Dew im gonna have to put you through this now my bad 👍👍 at least i am now inspired

if this post makes no sense it’s because my brain hurts and i’m tired 👍👍👍

[slasherscream]

showed my little sisters 28 days later last night... movie had me looking crazy i was like "watch this scene... it's sooo influential to zombie horror. this DEFINED the genre. it REIGNITED the genre." and they were staring at me dead eyed like LISTEN TO ME... I beg of you LISTEN-

[gojohatemail]

Laios wouldn't judge me or make me feel bad for being excited about things I enjoy.

[pardonmydelays]

IN THE HEIGHTS countdown: 4 DAYS!

song for today:

it's hotter than the islands are today and mister softee's truck has broken down and here come all his customers my way i told you i run this town!

[rosicheeks]

🎶

[welcometogrouchland]

I also want to make it very clear that the spider-verse franchise has made miles one of the dearest characters ever to me. All of the spidermen in the movie are great. But despite all our differences in bg and identity Miles' story speaks to me like very little else does (w/ some rare exceptions I keep very close to my heart). I'm not really coherent enough to provide sophisticated analysis rn but just know that he is my everything and I adore him so so much

[badolmen]

“Sorry for all the pings” as though I’m not the one single handedly keeping the friend group meeting regularly despite adult life schedules across three states.

[bluebeatle-gone]

post-movie j.aime deciding to go to law school there in el paso... spending most of the summer torn abt what he wants to do because as grateful as he is of the k.ords for replacing tío r.udy's truck and fixing up their house, he knows he can't just expect them to cover Everything all the time. he wouldn't be able to accept it even if they offered, that's just not the kind of guy that he is. (probably makes a joke abt how he doesn't Actually wanna be like m.aria la del b.arrio) wanting to keep going towards being a lawyer so he can eventually make enough money to support his family while also staying close to them in the absence of his dad and being able to finally give el paso and ciudad juarez their own hero like rudy had said up on the roof in that one scene.